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beardedjoel · 11 months

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smother - part i: deliverance

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: starving. lost. desperate. you find a cabin in the woods, and to your dismay, it's occupied. a plan to have a quick bite of food with an intense, intriguing stranger turns into more than you'd bargained for when he makes you realize everything you've been missing out on. 8.6k words chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! noncon, nonconsensual touching, dubcon - reader eventually enthusiastically consents but the syndrome is stockholming so its dubcon, reader is a virgin, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is 55) manipulation/lying/gaslighting, slow burn and tension building chapter, joel is kind of a creepy menace ngl a/n: i'm so so very excited to share the first chapter of my new series! (if this flops after how much i got hyped for it i will be logging off forever) the themes in this story are dark so if the tags aren’t for you it’s understandable & just keep scrollin on by! this will end up being nasty and smutty, but only after a wee bit of buildup so don't fear. comments and reblogs are always beyond appreciated!

Save me. Please, anyone…

Another wave of desolate, crying desperation tears through you as you trudge along, tripping yet again - maybe over your own two feet, a root, the very ground you walk on, something. You’re much too hazy and burnt out to even care what you stumbled on as you just press on, press on, press on.

A wave of pain rolls through your stomach again as it burns cavernously empty. You move as a ghost, a shell of yourself now, using passing trees as support. Your hands touch the cold wood reluctantly, a painful little hiss through your teeth as your fingers practically cramp up from the cold. You’d lost your gloves somewhere along the way, days ago now, what feels like a lifetime. You need to stop and rest desperately now, your body close to giving out. Your heart hammers in fear, wondering if you’d even be able to get up again.

A cabin comes into view in the distance, tucked nicely in a clearing of trees. You think your eyes are deceiving you, that you’ve finally succumbed to the madness that comes with such hunger and loneliness, your brain conjuring up images to comfort you. You see smoke coming out of a chimney on the roof, and your heart equally swells and drops at the discovery - it’s not a shelter for you alone, no. Not a lucky discovery, somewhere to lay your head tonight that’s dry and warm without disturbance. Someone already lives here, has a home here, and they might not take too kindly to strangers. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the last few weeks of your own personal hell, it’s to tread carefully. Always.

You keep your footsteps light and quiet, trying to approach with some semblance of caution. Your empty stomach is pushing you along, begging for any scrap of food that might be inside, hopefully offered up to you by the kindness of a stranger. Berries and the occasional rabbit or lucky can of food found were not enough to live off of anymore - you could feel the way your body faded away by the day, losing any bit of strength you’d had in the first place.

You pause, hitching your breath and then barely daring to breathe at all when you get close enough to hear a sound - a low, throaty grunting followed by the crack of wood. Your eyes scan the area as you sneak closer and then land upon him. He’s broad and muscled, you can see that much from back here. Messy, dark hair that curls all around his head and down his neck. When his body turns enough that you see his face a little bit more, you notice he looks older and has dark, piercing eyes. They send a shudder through you, even from afar, only making you feel colder out in this frosty afternoon.

You wrap your coat a little tighter and decide to get closer, assess the situation, see if he seems friendly enough to give you something to eat and send you on your merry way. He swings an ax high up in the air and brings it down swiftly onto a large piece of wood, splitting it before tossing the logs into a pile already full of more firewood. You press your lips together, noticing how strong he is, betting there are well built up muscles underneath that flannel shirt of his. That makes him a threat, a big one, you quickly assess.

You’re too distracted, not watching your step, when a large branch cracks underneath your boot. You wince and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, holding perfectly still, your breath coming out in quick, staccato exhales.

“H-hey!” you hear a gruff voice, sounding out of breath. You peek your eyes open slowly to see the man looking in your direction and silently curse yourself. “C’mon out!” he yells, and you see him reach to his waist, hands grazing a shining revolver holstered there.

Your stomach pulls into tight knots and you stand frozen for a few moments. Your brain quickly assesses everything, weighing the options. Running away, with no possibility of eating a single thing is one option, but the likelihood this stranger will shoot you seems high no matter what, so you decide to take your chances.

You put your hands in front of you, palms out, and slowly emerge from behind the trees. You walk gingerly along the crisp, frosty grass, crunching under your feet every step of the way. Your anxious breaths come out in little puffs in front of you as the cold air enters and exits your lungs.

The man falters, his fist closing and then opening again, pulling away from the revolver on his hip a bit. He blinks hard, staring at you in this silent showdown. “W-well shit, you’re just a girl…” he finally says quietly to himself, his posture relaxing a little. You stand perfectly still, choked up now that you’re confronted with the idea of speaking to him, such a large, imposing wall of a man, and those eyes, god, those eyes.

“I’m not gonna hurt you if you don’t give me a reason to, now, girl.” His voice is the tiniest bit softer, and you pick up on his Southern drawl, an accent you’ve heard a few times before. “Do ya need help?” He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, a gleam of sweat having built up from chopping wood and his large chest still heaving. He takes a step closer to you, and you don’t step back, but feel every muscle coil up tightly as your mind screams at you that this was a mistake, a huge fucking mistake. Your feet tingle, toes flexing and getting ready to run, but you can’t make yourself do it, to take that first step.

Instead, you nod. “I- y-yes…” you say quietly. You’ll never understand why you say it, other than the fact that you’re drawn in by him, by his chestnut hair flecked with gray, his patchy beard that he’s currently scratching. By his build that looks so… safe yet dangerous, but you get the feeling that no, he’d never hurt you. You envision those arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly, shielding you from the world and everything you’ve been through. You never thought much about relationships or boys before - just a few simple and innocent crushes, but it hadn’t been on your radar as such a shy kid and teenager. But this… this was what people talked about - attraction. It nearly stole your breath the closer you got to him, threatening to suck you into what felt like an endless void.

“Alright,” the man replies, trying to match your quieter demeanor. He glances around, eyes narrowed and scanning the woods beyond you. “You with anyone? Or all alone out here?”

You know why he’s asking, you’ve seen what people can do - sending someone innocent and unimposing out to lay a trap, but you don’t lie when you shake your head. “A-alone. I’m alone, swear, sir.”

His jaw seems to tick, noticeable even from the distance you’re at before he answers you. “Okay, then. C’mon a little closer, I won’t bite, okay?” he says, and he’s so convincing that you do believe him, despite your instincts telling you otherwise. The world is cruel and unrelenting, taking away most of the trust you’ve ever had in humanity the second you place it into anything or anyone.

You move a little closer, small, gentle steps, and he nods encouragingly.

“Now there ya go. Look at ya…” he marvels with a click of his tongue, shaking his head once you’re just a few feet away from him.

He takes in your messy hair, slightly matted from wearing a winter hat on and off the last few weeks and sleeping on the ground. Your clothes have seen better days too, your skin smudged with dirt no matter how many water sources you found to try and rinse off a little bit. Even despite all of that, he gazes at you with a curiosity, with that look of interest that you felt like you’d given him without trying to. It’s quiet for another moment, the both of you sizing each other up, until Joel’s look turns a little more pitiful when you shiver as a sudden gust of wind whips past you, your threadbare coat doing little to protect you from the chill in the air here. You can’t be sure if your shuddering has less to do with the wind and more with the way that this man’s eyes are digging into what feels like your very soul.

“We gotta get you inside, okay? You’re shakin’, and you look like you ain’t had a proper meal in… too long…” He continues to eye you up and down, taking in your weak frame.

You stay silent for another moment, swallowing hard and then shuddering again. “I - I don’t know…” you breathe out. You might have some sudden, fantastical dream that this man is your savior, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be cautious - the mind is a tricky, deceiving thing.

“I ain’t gonna ask again, ain’t gonna beg ya, girl. C’mon,” he says a little more roughly, a hand shooting out quickly and grabbing you by the wrist and tugging. “Just want to get a good meal in you, alright?”

You wince at the grasp on your wrist, the roughness and hardness he’s starting to show you, but you let him pull, starting to move your feet and trail after him.

“T-thank you…sir,” you murmur quietly, and he swings his head to look back at you, his eyes softening.

“You’re welcome. Now get inside and get warm. I’ve got a fire goin’.” He lets go of your wrist, trusting you to follow him as his heavy boots clunk up the few steps leading to the front door of his cabin. It’s modest, beautifully constructed, all dark wood around the outside and a small porch. You start to wonder if this man built it himself, or just found it as it is. Your initial impression of him leads you to believe that he does seem like the type to build a whole god damn cabin. He half looks like a lumberjack already in the plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

“Found this place ‘bout five years ago,” he says as if he could read your mind while he swings the door open. “Real nice and private, so don’t worry.”

Your eyes narrow slightly at his last comment, but you try to brush it off as you enter inside with him. The warm air hits your body, an immediate balm to your frayed nerves and chilled skin, a slightly smoky smell from the fire hits your nostrils and you immediately hear the crackle and pop of the logs in the little fireplace. The cabin is mainly one big room, a kitchen tucked into the corner right to the left of the door, and the living room beyond that with cozy couches and chairs, even a TV that you doubt is working but find yourself hopeful for some reason. It’s been a long time since you were able to watch a movie, flashing back to childhood memories when you’d lived in a more stable, thriving community that had power.

Stairs beyond that lead to what you assume are bedrooms or a bathroom, and your eyes curiously take in all the little details and decor - the man’s jackets hanging along the wall near the entrance, his rifle propped next to the door and several different pairs of worn boots.

You realize you’re just standing right near the doorway, silently looking around in a daze while your new acquaintance has been trying to get your attention.

“Hey, girl, I’m talkin’ t’ya…” his voice says, the noise fading back into your consciousness.

You shake your head. “S-sorry,” you say quietly, a shy little squeak. “I was just -“

“S’alright. I got some stew goin’, that okay? I mean y’don’t have much of a choice, but I’ll ask anyhow,” he says with a wry chuckle. You simply nod in response.

“Now go on, put your things down and sit ‘n get comfortable,” he waves towards the general direction of the kitchen table and the couch before turning back to the stove to stir the pot simmering there. You stand, feeling frozen still, panic threatening to climb up through your insides and completely take over. You still don’t feel safe, despite this man offering to warm you and feed you. How could you, you think, when you’ve been running for several weeks, trying to get away from the carnage that became your life.

He eyes you, unmoving and frightened looking and sighs heavily. “I said,” he says, tension thickening in the air around you, “Sit.”

You clear your throat, desert dry and scratchy, and set your backpack by the door, slowly creeping over to the couch, not wanting to make this mystery man any angrier. You settle yourself down and the cushions feel like heaven, your legs and body achy from the lack of comfort you’ve had for weeks. You try not to show just how good it feels to settle into the soft, plush fabric, letting the cushions mold to your body.

“Good,” Joel coos as he glances at you from the stove. “Now that we’ve got you settled in, you got a name?”

You weakly tell him your name and he shows you the first little smile you’ve seen from him, nodding. “Gotcha. I’m Joel, okay?”

“O-okay.” You push the words out while you watch him stir the pot on the stove. You sit in silence for a few moments, thankful for the time to just catch your breath and think. Just one bowl of stew, and you’ll be out of here. You’ll ask if there’s a community nearby, somewhere that could take you in, then grab that information and run, not bother this man any more than you need to.

Joel walks over, handing you a cup of water that you shamelessly start to gulp down before he goes back and ladles some of the delicious smelling stew into a bowl. The second the scent hits you, your stomach rumbles loudly. Joel cracks a smile as he hears it and continues ladling, a brow quirked.

“Hungry, huh?” he asks, walking the steaming bowl over to you with a spoon. You gingerly take it from his hands, being careful not to brush your still chilled fingers against his. You swear his eyes flash at you when he notices how avoidant you’re being, but he turns and walks back to the stove, getting himself a bowl as well. Joel settles down into a chair across from the couch where you sit with a weathered groan, just watching you for a few quiet moments. It does everything but put you at ease, your stomach twisting a little. You blow on a spoonful of stew before taking a bite, your mouth an explosion as it waters and takes in the delicious, rich, food.

“Mmm,” you whine out, unable to help it. Your body wants to lunge forward, lap the stew up until every single drop is in your starved body and you can finally feel a sense of fullness again. You quickly take another spoonful, much too hot, and wince a little as it hits your tongue.

“Slow on down, girl,” Joel says. “Let’s talk a little and it’ll slow down your eating.”

You just stare, noticing your body is trembling a little bit, and has been since you met Joel outside. You try to take a deep breath to settle your nerves, your legs so tensely pressed together that it's starting to hurt.

“You feelin’ afraid of me, that it?” he asks you, looking a little too self satisfied at the observation as he crosses his arms and leans towards you. His biceps bulge and stretch with the motion and you can’t help but find your eyes drawn to them, the way they pull at the soft flannel of his shirt. You feel your face heat up all the way to your ears and you blink hard, averting your eyes.

“I- I mean… I don’t know you…” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

“I know,” he says, sounding more sympathetic. “Done some bad things in my time, so hell, maybe you should be scared of me. I ain’t a nice guy. But I won’t hurt someone like you, promise ya that.” His words are enough of a reason for you to hightail it out of here the first second you can, but why do you believe them? Why do you believe him?

“How d-do you know I’m not bad too? That I don’t deserve it?” His eyes narrow and his lip twitches into a smirk before he lets out a mocking little chuckle in your direction.

“Oh sweetheart, a man jus’ knows these things. You never hurt even a fly, now have you?” That smirk stays plastered on Joel’s face as he asks and it frustrates you how little of a threat he sees in you, how little fight you have left to give. Yet you can’t find yourself blaming him, you think. If you were facing yourself in his position you’re sure you’d look like as much of a feeble joke as you feel.

You frown, still unable to look him in the eyes for longer than a few seconds, and shake your head. “No… just for hunting…” you admit.

“Alright then. Y’don’t need to act tough in front of me, girl, got it?” Joel concludes, going back to eating his stew.

“Got it,” you respond quietly, letting yourself sink further into the couch as you feel your muscles slowly relaxing.

“Now tell me... what’s this all about? What’s a little young thing like you doin’ out here by herself?”

You bite your lip and sip slowly on another spoonful of stew. “I’m… uh…” you stutter nervously.

“Spit it out now, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of here, hm?” Joel tries reassuring you, but his words keep coming out so gruffly, doing little to make you feel much better.

You inhale a deep breath. “Okay…” You swallow. “I was in a… community. I lived there a long time. T-they’re all gone now, I think. We got completely overrun and so I ran.” You sniffle as your nose starts to run from the warmth of the house opposing the cold you’d gotten accustomed to.

Joel leans forward a bit in his chair, taking a hearty bite of stew, mulling your words over. “Overrun how?” he asks simply, glancing at you, studying your movements, your body language, everything.

“U-uh, hunters, raiders, whatever they are. Bad.. b-bad people…” You look down at your bowl, not wanting to meet the intensity of his gaze, afraid to fall into his strange, hard warmth.

“Hm… awful fuckers, ain’t they,” he says, scratching a hand down his beard. “You got away, then?”

You nod and bite inside of your lip, taking another spoonful of stew to keep yourself occupied. “Y-yeah. I ran and ran… just kept… going. They took everything, took over all of our homes…”

Joel sighs, his eyes finally going a little softer. “‘M sorry to hear that, darlin’. You know if anyone is still alive?”

You shrug. “No…”

“Your family? They with ya at this community?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No. They… all, uh, passed a long time ago.” Why the hell are you being so open with this stranger? You don’t owe him your story, your secrets, any of it. But you sense the urge to share it, anyhow. Maybe you’re just that desperate for human connection right now.

“Mm, sorry to hear it again. We all know that feelin’ in a world like this,” he replies thoughtfully. Your eyes widen a bit at the softness he’s showing you right now and you give him a tight lipped smile to show your own sympathy for his losses.

“You feel up for tellin’ me a little more about the attack? S’okay if it’s too much,” Joel adds on, still studying you with an odd gaze, almost like he’s drinking you in, quenching some thirst he had. His hand twitches, almost as if to reach out to you, but he’s much too far from where he sits right now.

“I’m not sure if t-there’s much to tell…” you start, but then you find yourself spilling out more details, feeling the freeing sensation of unloading your burdens onto someone else. You tell Joel your community was small but well taken care of, plenty of supplies and food, in an abundant time in its history the last few months. One evening everything changed, when an armed group of mostly men came in, a few women and children in tow, looking absolutely miserable, and they aimed their guns in the air and shot off a few rounds to get everyone’s attention. People came flooding out of their homes, trying to run, only to be tackled or shot down, forced to give up our food and belongings. You tried to hide for as long as you could before slipping out of the home you shared with an older couple who had been taking care of you since you were a teenager, Harry and Josephine. They’d urged you to run, run, run, so you did. Then came your lost days, where you had no clue where you were, when you’d find your next semblance of humanity. Just trying to head west, further and further from the bitter memories you’d now have to leave behind. Barren towns and wilderness passed you over the days, hardly seeing another soul as you hid from infected, spending your nights crying yourself to sleep when you had the energy.

And now… here you were, sitting on Joel’s couch and eating stew. Unsure of what the hell you’d do next or where you had to go. You had been an orphan for a long time, but this felt deeper, like you were an orphan to the entire world, almost, like you had nothing to even call your own now.

Joel sits patiently, watching you stumble on words as you tell your story to him, trying not to get too choked up as all the emotions resurface. How empty things had been, how desolate the landscapes to match your faintly beating heart.

He’s leaned fully forward now in his seat, stew somewhat forgotten in his lap as you finish your recounting of the last few weeks. He breathes in and out, a large, heavy sigh that fills the room. It’s still now, fully quiet for a moment.

“You’re a strong girl for goin’ through all of that, you know that?” he says finally, eyes softer than you’ve seen them yet.

You just look down, returning to your stew, taking a few bites now that it’s at the perfect temperature. You’ve stopped shaking now, your body warmed up and starting to recognize that you’re getting full. You can’t eat much, your stomach unable to handle more just yet, so you push the stew away, setting it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Yeah…” you say, not really believing it as you glance out the window to watch the late afternoon sun, glaring off the ground outside, light filtering through the trees.

“You got somewhere to go? After you’re fed and looked over, of course,” Joel asks, his eyebrow shooting up.

You consider lying, just to avoid what you’re afraid he’ll ask you. What you’re afraid you’ll say yes to. You still end up shaking your head silently, clearing your throat. You feel a sting of tears behind your eyes, your whole body going hot with the need to cry, but a deep desire to not show that weakness to him holds you back. You sniffle and blink, studying the knots in the old wood floors.

“Hey,” Joel says, trying to get your attention, to make you show him your vulnerability. “Look at me, c’mon now.” You hear him shift in his seat, a small movement born of irritation as you refuse to do as he says.

You sniffle again and clear your throat, a shake of your head making your hair fall forward, covering and hiding you further.

“I said look at me.” That stern tone of his is back, sending a shudder through you and fear rippling deep inside your chest. You flick your red rimmed, shining eyes up to his, meeting the dark brown stare, lines permanently etched in between his eyes from all his years of worry.

“Atta girl,” he coos, completely pleasant now. “I got you, okay? You can stay, if ya need. I got food, a home, a warm bed for ya. If you have nowhere else.”

One more blink sends the tears falling down your cheeks, fat and overdue as they slide down your dirty skin, leaving tracks. You sniffle and nod, suddenly feeling a rush of gratitude towards Joel. He may be a stranger, but he fed you, got you warm, and is offering just about the kindest thing he can right now - an invasion on his space, his personal sanctuary, all for a girl he hardly even knows.

“Y-you’d really do that?” you ask, a little incredulously, like this is a dream you’re about to wake up from any time now.

He nods, a half smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Satisfaction plastered there now that he’s swayed you in his direction. “I would. Now I don’t wanna hear another word about it. You need to rest, you’ve been through a lot.”

“T-thank you. B-but-”

“Not. Another. Word,” he practically hisses, flashing his eyes angrily before it fizzles out quickly. You can see him practically having to reign in his impulsiveness in the moment. “There ain’t anywhere else to go that’ll keep you as safe as here, I’m tellin’ you that now. You’d be fuckin’ lost out there.” He sits back with his arms crossed now, and you’re worried that you’ve truly upset him now, that unsettling look in his eye glinting again. He wants you to stay… nearly seems to need it. It scares you, yet you feel a tug, a pull, some form of intrigue wanting you to explore that need, understand just what he could see in you.

“I’m s-sorry… I just - you’ve already done a lot for me, and I’d hate to, well, impose, or something,” you say, trying to appease him. It’s mostly true, anyhow, that you do hate to take Joel’s food and time away from him.

He stands up and silently walks the few steps over to the couch, sitting down next to you, turning himself towards you. It feels like every muscle in your body tenses at his proximity - it makes him seem even bigger the way he takes up his cushion on the couch, body sinking in deeply, his wide shoulders practically a shield to you right now to everything behind him. Something about seeing him up this close is sending you reeling, able to study the lines in his face, his strong, wiry beard streaked with a few gray spots. You flick your eyes over his face, hoping to not be too obvious, but needing to drink him in, learn his features.

“I’m gonna have you listen to me right now, okay? Make sure you’re listenin’ real good, sweetheart.” He pauses for a moment to catch your eye, reaching a hand towards you but resting it right next to your thigh on the couch. “I’m offerin’ somethin’ mighty nice to you, ain’t I? You were ‘bout to die out there, if I’m honest. Much longer and you’d be a goner, I think. Don’t you?”

He’s waiting for a real answer from you, you realize, so you nod, eyes practically unblinking as you hang on his words, a hot coil burning in your stomach as you feel uneasiness eat at you.

“Right.” He sighs quietly. “I’m not tryin’ to be mean, sweetheart. In fact, I care a lot, that’s why I’m tellin’ the truth to ya like this. You ain’t built to be on your own, can see that clear as day. So I’ll have ya stay here and get fed and get your bearings. And I don’t want to hear anymore about it.”

Of all the things Joel has just said to you, the thing that is stuck in your mind as you turn it over, is the way he’d said he cares. He cares about you. Would that be such a bad thing to be cared for, even if just for a little bit?

You give him a small dip of your head, a shaky smile coming to your lips. “Thank you. I’m uh, grateful.” You’re not sure what else to say, feeling like you’re signing yourself away to something you don’t feel sure about.

“Ah look at that - a smile,” he says, clearly feeling much more light hearted now that you’ve agreed to accept his help.

You sit back a little, your muscles finally losing some of their tension and start to eye Joel a little more curiously. “S-so you just live here all by yourself?” you ask, wishing you weren’t still such a stuttering mess. The fact was, this man made you nervous, in a way that you weren’t used to. He scared you, but in a way that it drew you in, a magnetic pull you couldn’t quite explain yet. Something in him commanded respect, reverence, almost, without trying. It was mesmerizing to witness, completely scrambling your mind if you started to think on it too hard.

“Mhm,” Joel nods languidly, finishing off his stew and then sitting back with a satisfied sigh. He eyes your bowl that’s only half empty and then flicks them back to your face. “Ain’t gonna finish?” he asks, sounding a little irritated before his face softens. “Probably can’t fit much in your little belly right now, huh? Shrunk right up when you didn’t eat much these last few weeks.”

You nod. “I-it was good, I just… I couldn’t finish. It started to hurt…”

His eyes flash with concern. “We’ll take it slow, then,” he says, a little smile creeping onto his face.

You had noticed his avoidance to say much more about himself, so you decide to try your luck and press him again. You clear your throat, trying to turn towards him a little more as well. “You live alone. Don’t you… do you ever talk to other people?”

Joel chuckles, almost condescendingly. “‘Course I do. Town not too far from here - Jackson. I go once and a while to stock up, trade ‘em for some stuff and they’re mighty hospitable to me.”

You nod, trying not to let his snide laugh and tone get to you too much, blinking away the sensitive little tears that threaten to fall again. Joel cocks his head suddenly, seeming to notice. “T-that sounds pretty nice,” you choke out quickly.

“Sorry if I upset ya. Guess you’re right, don’t get enough practice talkin’ to people,” he says a little lighter now, smiling softly again. Joel’s version of a smile seems to only be a soft upturn of his lips, not friendly by nature. It puts you at ease and unease at the same time, that smile of his, but you’d rather see that than the scowl he was sporting at you earlier today. He pats your thigh a few times, showing his apology, and you watch his large hands move on you, noticing they’re scratched and rough. A man’s hands.

“W-wait… Jackson… this town. It’s close by?” you ask, glancing back up at him, the wheels in your head starting to turn.

Joel’s face falls in an almost dramatic fashion, the lines between his eyes and around his cheeks getting deeper. “Why d’ya ask?” he says, his tone short and frayed sounding, leaning forward again, practically glaring at you from under his eyebrows.

Your own face falls, jaw slack for a moment before it tightens back up. “I just… I want to get out of your hair as quickly as possible, I-I don’t want to be a bother. Could find a new community there, or something…” You feel quiet as a mouse, unsure of how to assert yourself in front of Joel - it feels like there isn’t space for it when you share a room with him.

Joel’s expression becomes more stern. “Didn’t I already tell you, girl, that I’d take care of everythin’?” he spits out, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You’re visibility tense now, your hands pressing into the cushions of the couch, ready to get up at any moment and bolt. “Y’don’t want to go to a place like that, so big, you’d be lost there, darlin’. Nobody to take care of you…”

He sits back a little, hands falling into his lap and an eyebrow cocked at you. “‘Sides,” he says, glancing out the window for a moment before studying you again. “Too far to go on your own. Can’t have you gettin’ lost in these woods again… look what happened last time, yeah?”

Maybe he’s right. You barely survived these last few weeks without completely losing your mind, and then your life, as he’s been so apt to tell you several times now. Joel… he saved you, and is offering you a place to stay, so the least you could do is be grateful for now. You could always convince him tomorrow, after you’ve had time to think and reset, to take you there, show you the way, and you can see for yourself if it’s a good fit for you or not.

“Y-yeah…” you stutter out, nodding. The look he shoots you has you choking out the next word before you can even think about it. “Yes,” you say more definitively.

“It’s settled then,” he says matter-of-factly, breathing in deeply, his burly chest rising, and then letting it out in a long, slow breath. “You probably wanna get some rest, yeah? I can set up the bed for ya.” Joel says, standing up and grabbing your bowl, taking it to the kitchen along with his empty one.

“Do y-“ you start, standing up off the couch.

“Yeah, I got two bedrooms, don’t worry.” His smile grows, liking that he found you predictable enough to know what you were about to ask. Your shoulders sag a little in relief and you give Joel more of a proper smile now, nodding your thanks.

“That would be great, then, yeah. And if it’s not too much…” you voice trails off and you stare at the ground, focusing your eyes on the pattern of the well worn rug underneath your feet. “Maybe a shower, bath, whatever you’ve got.”

Joel turns to face you and then walks back into the living area. He has a calm, serene expression, slightly lit up. “I’ll do ya one better. Get you some clean clothes to wear after that shower, too.”

Nothing in the entire world sounds better than what he’s offering right now.

You hiss loudly as the hot, steaming water hits your leg when you step in. Within moments, you’re basking under it, watching the dirt and dried blood from your various scrapes and scratches swirl down the drain for what feels like ages, finally seeing the water run clear as you lather up the threadbare washcloth Joel had left out for you and scrub yourself down. Every nook, every cranny, your scalp, face, everywhere you could get three times over. You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so clean, even when you’d lived back with your community. You hum happily for a few moments, letting the water soothe you for just a while longer. You hoped Joel could forgive you for taking a little bit of extra hot water today given the circumstances.

Joel hears the water running from downstairs, his fists balling up and relaxing over and over as he sits on his favorite chair, his gaze facing the stairs leading to the spare bedroom and attached bathroom. He feels tense, rolling his neck, continuing to pump his fists open and closed. A feeling in the back of his neck, traveling down his spine and legs that he couldn’t ignore - an urge. He stands up an instant later, not bothering with his well-ignored conscience, and walks upstairs and through the bedroom door with careful steps as he still has on his boots. He presses a hand onto the brass doorknob, turning it slowly, ever so slowly, pushing the door open just an inch, just… enough.

His eyes fall on the shower curtain, a white cloth that perfectly shows your silhouette through it. The valleys and curves of your body move around, arms scrubbing yourself. Joel can smell the evergreen scented soap drifting through the steamy, thick air, watching your body move fluidly as you start to hum quietly to yourself and rinse off.

He wishes he could lie to himself, deny that he felt the blood rush straight to his cock at this little show he was watching. So content, so sweet, so vulnerable right now. Need consumes his every cell - the need to show you just how good you could have it here, to take every bit of you for himself. He grins, a hungry little twitch of his mouth, moving to shut the door when a floorboard creaks under his heavy boot, and he freezes, shuffling out of the way quickly.

You’re humming quietly when you hear it, just a distant sound, but enough to catch your ear. A creak of a floorboard, something you figure isn’t unusual for an old cabin like this, but you feel a shiver run down your spine and rush to turn the water off. You throw the curtain open, water dripping down into your eyes. You quickly rub your fingers over them and glance around the spacious bathroom to find… nothing. You sigh, shaking your head, nearly laughing at the relief you feel. You’re just being paranoid, you chastise yourself as you grab the towel off the hook, squeezing the extra water out of your hair and wrapping it around yourself, snuggling into the simple comfort of a fluffy towel as you dry yourself off.

Your fingers freeze, running cold when you reach the door, noticing a few inches of space that has the door cracked open. You swore up and down that you’d shut the door behind you, giving you that extra layer of privacy in a stranger's home. It wasn’t possible that… no, you think quickly, shaking your head again. You have to stop being so damn paranoid - your brain is just in survival mode still, looking for threats that aren’t there.

You step into the bedroom, surveying the heavy wood furniture - an extremely cozy, country feel to the room with large logs comprising the bed frame and a patchwork quilt draped over the top. You peer around, feeling somewhat squirmy at the realization you don’t have any clothing. Joel seemingly came in and took your dirty clothes while you were in the shower, failing to leave you anything clean. It made you feel that strange swirl deep in your stomach again, the one you kept brushing off.

This is a kind man. A kind man, got it? Positive thinking.

You decide to pull it together and head out and down the stairs to the living room. You feel your cheeks heat up, a hot heat creeping all over your body as you feel so exposed, standing in your tiny towel as you descend the stairs. Joel’s eyes follow you down, watching your glowing skin, so fresh and clean, hair dripping errantly, leaving water droplets on the floor in your wake. You see a flash of something a little cloudy and hungry in his gaze before it disappears just as quickly as he showed it.

He isn’t saying a word, isn’t offering anything, so you swallow down your discomfort and clear your throat a little. “Er… I noticed there weren’t any… clothes… for me…”

Joel sits up a little straighter, putting down the book he’s been looking at. He offers you a smile devoid of much emotion and stands up, his eyes locking on your hips for a few extra seconds. “Shucks, sorry about that, sweetheart. Let’s get you something right now. Got your old clothes ready to be done next time I do the washin’.”

You nod, fighting the urge to chuckle nervously as he walks over and passes you, his arm brushing your damp, bare one before he heads up the stairs. You’re grateful you get to trail him, afraid of just how skimpy this towel is if he’d have insisted on following behind you. You follow him into the other bedroom, his bedroom, and it’s a little more decorated, some books and little wooden carvings on the surfaces, dirty laundry scattered throughout. He opens up a drawer and tugs out a tee shirt, handing it to you, then a pair of gray sweatpants and warm, thick socks.

“These should fit alright for ya, honey. We’ll get you some more proper fittin’ stuff soon, just gotta have a look around this place. This’ll be nice and warm for ya f’now.” He seems more chipper now, clearly much more talkative than before, and you suppose you don’t mind the change too much. It’s only proving that your paranoia was completely unfounded, just a symptom of your current circumstances. You typically find yourself a pretty trusting person, enough to have gotten you in trouble before, but the events of the last few weeks have broken that for you, leaving you feeling like a shell of who you once were.

You snap back to reality and take the clothing in your arms, nodding in gratitude. “Thank you. I’ll go, um, change.”

Before you turn, Joel’s voice booms through the air again. “Need anythin’ else to eat? Anythin’ I can get you?” He almost sounds hopeful, like he wants you to need something from him. His eyes linger on your body, leaving you feeling just as naked as if you didn’t have the towel over you at all.

You shake your head nervously. “Er, if it’s alright with you, I think I just want to rest… A full night’s sleep in a bed sounds like heaven right now.”

“Let’s get you on off to heaven, then.” He grins, letting you leave the room before trailing after you, waiting outside your door while you change into your clothes. You discover some women’s underwear in the drawers inside of your bedroom, gratefully putting on a clean pair before throwing on everything Joel gave you. It’s comfortable and dry, so you won’t complain about the fit or the style - you’d still be in your dirty, worn down clothes if it weren’t for him.

You creak the door open to find Joel and thank him again for hosting you, only to see him waiting right outside in the hall. You nearly jump, your face completely giving away your tense surprise.

“Jus’ wanted to make sure you got to bed alright,” he says gently, explaining himself.

“Oh…” You bite your lip. “I, uh, I think I’m all set. Thank you again, Joel, really, for everything.”

His smile brightens as much as you’ve seen it and his eyes look much kinder as he nods, a dip of his head. His hand reaches forward and takes yours through the frame of the door and squeezes it. You freeze at the sudden touch, his hand so warm and rough, calloused fingertips grazing over the softer skin of your hands. It sends your entire body into a fuzzy flash of heat for just a moment before it dissipates. He squeezes once more, thumb swiping gently over the back of your hand before he releases it. Your lips sit parted in shock, eyes a little wider and hand starting to tremble a little.

“Anytime,” Joel replies simply, his face falling before he turns to walk away, leaving you standing breathless for several moments before clicking the bedroom door shut behind you.

You jolt out of your sleep, a gasp of breath catching in your throat and dying out as you go to yell, finding your mouth tightly clasped by a large, warm palm pressing in.

“Shh, shh,” the voice comes, right near your right ear. You shudder involuntarily from the hot breath fanning on such a sensitive spot and try to yell again, letting it die out as a whimper against the skin pressing on your mouth.

“Shh, it’s alright. I got you,” Joel coos, his voice coming out hoarse. “No yellin’.”

You squirm helplessly against his hold, realizing another arm is draped across your abdomen, holding you in place. Your body exhausts quickly, still half asleep as you feel your struggle die out. Joel’s hand across your mouth loosens slowly, relieving the pressure.

“You were havin’ a nightmare, darlin’. Shh… c’mon now…” His hand that had been against your lips ghosts up to your head, landing in gentle strokes against your hair. You blink a few times, heavy breaths through your nostrils now as you try to steady your mind and body. Your chest struggles against his heavy arm as it heaves, your body fully taut and mind trying to play catch up.

“W-what…” you murmur groggily, laying stiffly as Joel holds your waist, fingers brushing against your curves, pressing you close as his other hand still works tender strokes along your hair.

“Oh, sweetheart, glad I heard you, hm?” he practically whispers, his face nuzzling close to the skin right under your ear. You feel the tickle of his breath and facial fair, prickly and rough against such delicate skin. You squirm gently, trying to signal that everything is too tight, too much, too… confusing. Joel is lost in his own world, absorbed in the softness of the places he begins to touch, hand grazing from your waist to your bare arms, fingertips exploring hungrily under the guise of being caring.

All he’d needed, alone and laying awake tonight, his body burning and resolve thin, was a simple touch. A chance to show you all that you needed, all he could provide for you. Only to help you, to take care of someone who couldn’t care for herself. You’d proved that much to him - you needed his guidance, his protection, his experience.

“What’re you…”

“Jus’ comforting you, darlin’. C’mon now,” he whispers, never once pulling back or stopping the exploring he’s doing with his hands.

He runs through his list of reasons to convince himself why everything he’s doing is perfectly necessary before losing sight of all of it entirely when he strikes that sliver of bare skin where your tee shirt has hiked up a bit off your waist, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. His hand travels a bit higher, pushing the shirt up and grazing famished fingers across your ribcage and stomach. A small groan ripples across his chest, the vibration felt by where your body meets his. He surprises you next by tugging your shirt back down, covering the bare skin before returning his hand to your hip, pulling you closer. He’s a wall of pure mass, muscle underneath his soft belly and chest, a man who’s strong but still showing a bit of his age. You nearly whimper and shake, feeling a sickly heat coursing through your veins now.

“Mmm…” he mumbles in your ear, your own voice caught in a trap of fear lodged right in your throat. Equally afraid of the way you don’t know how this night is about to end and that you’re not sure you mind where it’s going. You’ve never understood men or their intentions, and never had anyone bother to teach you, no worked up teenage boys offer to show you when you were at that age. No, you were left to guess, giggled at by other girls when you couldn’t pick up on their meanings as they discussed their own secret rendezvous. This had to be everything they talked about, didn’t it? The way you could feel heat and energy practically pulsating off of Joel’s body, his noises anything but natural sounding as he hummed little groans in your ear.

“Y’just needed someone, sweetheart. Y’need someone to take care of you, don’t you?” he finally says, fingers still running their way across your hair, nails scratching against your scalp. You whimper quietly at the feel of it, how damn good it all feels. You don’t move, don’t speak as he goes on.

“Need a man like me, darlin’, y’do. I can see it - need me to take care of everything…” He mumbles similar sentiments repeatedly in your ear before bringing his lips right to your neck, just letting them graze, the wet but chapped skin of his lips pressing in gently on your pulse point. You try not to gasp, the feeling as pleasing as it is terrifying, finding yourself gripping the sheet tighter to try not to give yourself away, give him any kind of response.

“Don’t you, honey? Need me to take care of you?” He sounds a little more desperate now, needy for the answer he’s searching for from you.

He’s broken you down to the point you feel tears stinging at your eyes, the long awaited emotional release you’ve needed sitting right there on the precipice, a small crack waiting to fully rupture. You can’t be sure if you nod, just imperceptibly, you think, but Joel’s body language relaxes against you as he leans his entire chest and torso into you even more, giving you a squeeze. You know then that he got his answer, just what he was looking for. You let the tears slip out, rolling down your cheeks, onto the pillow on one side, likely falling right onto Joel’s face or in his hair on the other. He seems to barely notice, just swiping them quickly off your cheeks before resuming his position wrapping himself tightly around you.

“Good, sweetheart… good girl, I got you…”

You hear his breathing start to even out shortly after, steady rise and fall of his chest against your body, and you realize he’s dozed off. Like he got what he wanted and decided he could rest now. Your entire body relaxes, a careful breath whooshing out that you hadn’t even been aware you were holding in. His hand is still tangled in your hair, other one possessively on your hip, giving you absolutely no room to move. You’re not sure you want to anymore, anyways, never having had such strength covering you, cloaking you from all of the dark, sinister things that the nighttime holds for you.

If you’re going insane, feeling safe with this man who forced his way around your body tonight, then so be it. Why shouldn’t you let yourself feel safe for once? Let yourself feel less of that burden, turn it over to Joel? Your own turning wheel of thoughts starts to scare you, the little voice in the back of your head telling you what you already know and have been trying to ignore. The one little thing that you immediately put your finger on but were too scared afterwards to lift it back up and observe it closer.

You weren’t having a nightmare, no, not at all. You knew when you woke from one, as sure as the god damned sky was blue and the grass was green. It wasn’t a foreign concept to you by any means after what you’d been through in your life. And tonight… tonight hadn’t been one of those nights.

dividers by @/saradika!

thank you @jupiter-soups and @huffle-punk for always beta-ing my shit and talking inspo with me. love you to the moon and back <3

#fic: smother #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel miller x reader #x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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baldurs-writers-3 · 1 month

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Astarion: A Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfic Rec List

This week, we have Astarion Centric fics! Check under the cut for a whopping seventeen fics all about our favorite vampire spawn, and as always, give them a comment and kudos if you like them!

The stars began to burn by peregrinefeathers (87k, Mature) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Gale

An AU where instead of having an orb lodged in his chest Gale got stuck in a book. Then when a vampire spawn opened that book he got stuck in that vampire spawn's head. This is the best thing that has ever happened to Astarion; within 15 minutes he's running out of the Szarr palace into the sunlight. Then adventures begin!

Reccer says: a slow burn, like bloodweave is obvious endgame but it takes a while to get there, and Astarion is written /so/ well

Uncrossed Lines by Asidian (1209, Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion & Wyll, Astarion & Halsin, Astarion & Karlach

Friends don't let friends get hurt and/or pressured into doing things they don't want to do

Reccer says: Just an incredibly sweet depiction of people recognizing Astarion's boundaries and helping to enforce them, whether he's expecting them to or not. I love it

Hydnellum Peckii by OctolingO (4403, General) Warnings: talks of Astarion's past but no gruesome details Pairings: none

Astarion is doing a great job hiding what he is from the party, until they reach the Underdark and he has nothing to feed on.

Reccer says: this is so angsty! i loved Gale being too curious for his own good and trying to help and be supportive, and all of Astarion's fears of getting kicked out or killed, bc nobody could ever be in his corner, and having anyone in a position of power apologizing *to him* like that's so foreign - this gave me so many feels!

caught between the dark and the dreaming by Raayide (18925, Teen) Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Pairings: Astarion & Friends

Marcus wants answers, and no one is going to give them to him, unless he forces them to. Astarion is the unlucky target forced to drink a truth serum.

Reccer says: Absolutely delicious whump and found family comfort afterwards

of death potential and death absolute by Raayide (39119, Teen) Warnings: Derealization Pairings: Astarion & Gale, pre-relationship

Astarion is never quite sure, until the moment Cazador lies dead before him, whether this entire adventure is anything more than an extremely vivid hallucination.

Reccer says: this story takes Astarion and twists him up into a little heartbreaking ball of a premise that makes him think everything is just a dream, and how desperate he is to stay in the dream rather than waking up. it retells most of the game with a tight focus and some lovely lovely characters scenes, everyone gets a moment in the spotlight!

Those left behind by Gally (73949, Mature) Warnings: None Pairings: Past Astarion/Karlach

What's Astarion to do after the Absolute is destroyed and the love of his life is now dead?

Reccer says: Lots of funny. Lots of sad. Lots of excellent characterization and slow but steady healing

All it Cost Me by HydieMurderBabe (38529, Explicit) Warnings: Ite explicit, very raunchy and Durge elements of rougher kinds Pairings: Durge X Astarion

Two traumatized nubbins heal from their pasts. Lots of sex and violence ensues.

Reccer says: Its funny, its raunchy, its detailed and most of all I feel like Im invested in the pairing

Collision Course by VakarianSyndrome (123444, Explicit) Warnings: No warnings. Tropes: Modern Girl in Baldur's Gate, found family Pairings: Astarion/F!OC

Set in Baldur’s Gate, this series follows Adelaide, a human woman from Earth, and her somewhat clumsy attempts at navigating this new and fantastical realm. In the process, she falls for Astarion, the pale elf, vampire spawn with level 100 rizz.

Reccer says: It starts out really funny, but then gradually gets serious where needed. The buildup between Astarion and the OC is spicy and sweet, and the smut delivers! And it's completed!

No Good End in View by not_whelmed_yet (60,797, ongoing, Mature) Warnings: Character death (temporary), torture Pairings: Astarion/Wyll/Karlach

Astarion doesn't get time to be terrified of the party, because Wyll cuts off what he sees as a feral vampire spawn's head long before he can try to seduce them. The only problem is that this doesn't kill him. And it continues to not kill him.

Reccer says: this is an achingly beautiful exploration of a team that gets off not so much on the wrong foot but on a freefall - each doing horrible things to each other in ways that all read perfectly understandable from their point of views, but have wretched lasting consequences. the author writes them so in character that I want to throttle them and fall in love all over again

What Could Have Been by Bella1433 (70000, Explicit) Warnings: There is mention of past sexual trauma, its Explicit, and goes into dark territory but not dead dove. Pairings: Named Tav X Astarion

Astarion's transformation into a vampire lord and Sima's fight to reclaim their lost love thrust them into a perilous dance of power, obsession, and redemption.

Reccer says: Its dark, rich, has a different tone and some of the most immersive writing I've read

the ghost of elturel by Raayide (4452, General) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion and Zevlor

Astarion and Zevlor meet, talk, hate each other, and hate themselves. There is nothing particularly of note about any of it.

Reccer says: Recognition of self in the other tied with some amazing introspection and metaphor

Circus of the dead by Ineadhyn (5995, Explicit) Warnings: Rape/Non-con, graphic violence, self-harm Pairings:

A dark horror circus AU with Astarion, Cazador, and his other spawns.

Reccer says: This is so beautiful, tragic, gripping, and I'm utterly obsessed with everything about it.

No Good Deeds by Garnett Gibson (39715, Explicit) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav

A young woman trying to be a good person gets corrupted by Astarion as they navigate the tadpole issue.

Reccer says: Delicious slow burn and creative deviations from canon.

The Lord and his new ways by FartasticDurge (26459, Explicit) Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Coercion, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, Dissociation Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Ascended Astarion and Spawn Tav's post-game turbulent relationship from Tav's POV.

Reccer says: She struggles between doing what she thinks is right and obeying him, and seeing her process is interesting. In the latest chapter, they go to therapy, a unique twist for Ascended Astarion.

In Time by FartasticDurge (16927, Explicit) Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Astarion & Gale

Post-canon fic where Astarion is looking for a Tav who died and reincarnated into another person. Gale helps him find her, but things take an unexpected turn when they find her.

Reccer says: Astarion POV, a lot of D&D lore, the friendship between Gale and Astarion is interesting and supportive. Tav and Astarion's roles are reversed; he is being nice and she is suspicious of him, which is a nice twist with funny moments.

How Far You've Come by Garnett Gibson (5481, Explicit) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Astarion's obedient consort has come a long way, but sometimes she still steps out of line.

Reccer says: I liked it!

If Only For One Night by Terrormisu (682, Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav

With their party always busy, Astarion finds himself longing for his little love.

Reccer says: It's a short sweet one shot that made me feel all warm and squishy inside. Hehe. But even the implied intimacy was steamy.

The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ!

Next week, we’ll be back with another character rec list, this time focusing on Family!

#bw3 rec list #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction rec list

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dorkynerd23 · 11 months

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"I Love Them And I Love That They're There For Each Other." 🥺🩷

[Liam Vickers (The Creator Of Murder Drones) Talking About N And Uzi.] (GLITCH X 2023)

In all seriousness though, although I'm a Nuzi/Biscuitbites shipper and all, I overall really do love and adore how much N and Uzi's relationship has blossomed and developed over the course of the show so far and how much closer the two have gotten. Whether you see them as either platonic or potential lovers, you can't deny that these two are absolutely adorable and badass, and just work so damn well off one another, they're honestly the heart of the show, in my opinion. (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠) You can honestly see the friendship and connection between the two and see that they do deeply care about one another and bring the best out of each other, it's honestly understandable why so many fans love the pairing between these two and their dynamic and find it comforting, because there's so much charm and even relatability to both characters. You truly do believe in their bond and their relationship is only going to get so much stronger once the final two episodes of the season are released next year, especially with the huge amount of stakes involved now + with N having to choose between either saving the universe or potentially killing Uzi.

N X Uzi is pretty much a slow burn, it's taking its time before things get serious between the two. To me, nothing in my eyes feels forced or rushed unlike other romances in pieces of media I've seen which didn't have the best development and growth, or the right amount of it. Although, relationships like N and Uzi have been done so many times and can be seen as cliche, (which I can get behind!) that doesn't always mean it's automatically bad and horrible, some cliche tropes for potential couples can/have worked as long as they're written correctly and done well! For me, when it comes to my favorite ships I like for them to have chemistry and believability and show the connection between the characters.

Honestly, for any romances/relationships in pieces of media to come across as believable than the audience must be convinced that the couple is genuinely connected and N and Uzi fit this category although we're only in the first season and we aren't sure what the future holds for the show, there's more potential to show more growth and development for N and Uzi and their relationship, with the potential of them being more! I honestly don't see how these two wouldn't end up together by the end especially after so much buildup and teasing only to have the two end up with different characters at the end of the show, it would've definitely left a bad taste in the fans mouths and would've been pointless. It would be understandable for N and Uzi to get together and it works, as not only do they have the strongest dynamic and relationship out of all the characters but throughout all the episodes (so far, at least) the two have shown to start growing closer and closer, the show has hinted at them being something more eventually. ❤️

Now, of course, anything can go and Envy might end up being the endgame couple instead, especially after V's sacrifice and her growing character development things could change. But, I honestly don't really see them getting together and besides, He and V could still be friends and connect and not everyone needs to get/be in a relationship to be happy. V doesn't need to be in a relationship with N to be happy, she needs to improve herself first and become a better person which is what she's slowly doing and as said, she can still find happiness in a found family and friendship, she can still find happiness in other places! 💙💞

#murder drones #liam vickers #liam vickers animation #glitch productions #murder drones uzi #uzi doorman #md uzi #murder drones n #serial designation n #md n #n x uzi #nuzi #biscuitbites

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n0cturna1-m3 · 2 years

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Bunny | Bottom Phillip Graves x Top Male Reader | Smut

Warnings; Fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, anal sex, no after are, this is probably bad, i did not reread this.

Request; "bottom graves"

A/N; @j-hauke you're lucky i like you bc i hate this mf. NEVER EVER REQUEST A GRAVES FIC BC I WILL NOT WRITE FOR HIM. this is a ONCE in a lifetime opportunity. enjoy. idc that its short and not good i want it AWAY from my google docs.

1.2k words. enjoy.

Graves clasped his hand over his mouth tightly and gripped the edge of the table, his back pressed against Y/N’s chest. Muffled moans were let out into his hand, his pants pooled around his ankles and his shirt was pushed up slightly to put his ass on display, pale and smooth. He had a scar above his hip, and Y/N’s hand was resting on it while he kissed the back of Graves neck.

“God, fuck,” he moaned, cock drooling precum on the floor. He let go of his mouth to grab the edge of the table with both of his hands, his head hanging forward as he panted. Y/N kissed the side of his neck and brought his hand up to shove two of his fingers into Graves mouth, the blonde choking on them from his bad gag reflex. Y/N pressed the pads of his fingers onto his tongue, slowly pushing them further into his mouth until he started sucking on them.

Drool spilt past his lips and dripped down his chin as well as Y/N’s palm. Tears welled in his eyes at the heat pooling in his stomach from Y/N’s fingers working him open so nicely, consistently pushing against his prostate and massaging the sensitive gland.

“You gonna cum?” Y/N asks, adding another finger.

“Ah! Uh-huh,” Graves moans and clenches around his fingers, knees wobbly. He digs his nails into the table, choking slightly on the buildup of saliva in the back of his throat accompanied by Y/N’s fingers shoved into the back of his mouth.

He let do of the table and grabbed Y/N’s forearm, tapping it thrice. He ceased all of his movements and pulled his fingers from Graves mouth, cupping his jaw and tilting it to look at him.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, eyes darting across Graves' flushed face. He nodded, looking at Y/N’s face with half-lidded eyes.

“I don’t wanna cum if you're not inside me,” he whispered. Y/N’s breath caught in his throat. “And I want you to fuck me til I’m beggin’ you to stop.”

Y/N stared at Graves a moment before pressing his lips against his roughly, pulling his fingers from his ass before beginning to fumble with his belt. He quickly shoved his pants and boxers down to his mid-thigh, his erection springing out and resting against Graves' ass as he began to grind on him slowly.

As he began guiding the tip of his cock to Graves entrance, pressing the head to his hole and slowly pushing inside, he shoved his tongue into his mouth, the blonde gagging and reaching up to grab at his forearm.

“Take me nice ‘n slow, bunny,” Y/N whispered against his lips, his hand still holding his jaw firmly in place.

Graves moaned at his demanding tone, a hot feeling burning in his chest. Y/N never failed to make him unbearably flustered. And horny.

Slowly inching his way inside, Y/N rubbed Graves hip in an attempt to keep him calm. He tried his best to take deep breaths, but the feeling of Y/N’s hand holding his face forward while he kissed his neck was overwhelming.

When he finally bottomed out, he let his face go, moving it to press firmly against his lower stomach just under his belly button. His skin burned, and Y/N continued to pepper kisses on his neck, occasionally pausing to suck a hickey onto the pale skin. One that wouldn’t easily be covered up. One that would show all of his Shadows that he was being taken care of VERY well.

Y/N slowly pulled his hips back before snapping them back against Graves ass, a loud slap filling the room and quickly being joined by more as Y/N fucked into Graves hard and fast. Graves moaned at the way Y/N’s cock filled him, scraping his sensitive walls with every vein, the head pressing against his prostate with every push in and pull out.

Lube dribbled out of his hole and down Y/N’s balls as they slapped Graves' ass. It felt so lewd and so good. Y/N gripped his hip tighter before letting his other hand trail down to grab Graves cock, which was dark pink and dripping wet. He started stroking him in time with how he was pounding into Graves.

“Fuck!” he moaned, grabbing the table again. His legs shook as he came, almost immediately after Y/N wrapped his fingers around his aching erection and stroked it to hardness.

“You’re so sensitive today,” Y/N said, continuing to jerk him off.

Graves doubled over onto the table and slapped a hand over his mouth. He felt too good. Tears brimmed his pale blue eyes, and he reached back to grab Y/N’s forearm, squeezing it tightly.

“Oh, God, fuck,” he whimpered. He was so close to cumming again, the deep ache in the pit of his stomach tightening and leaving his skin burning hot, a flush covering his ears. He begged, “Slow down.”

Y/N leaned down and kissed his shoulder before grabbing his hand and pulling it, the side of his face pressing against the cold wood. Y/N moved to hold both of his wrists in his hands, pulling them back and causing Graves back to arch as he was lifted off the table slightly.

The new position gave Y/N a perfect angle to abuse his prostate, causing Graves to let out a shrill moan and cum again, the white liquid spilling onto the floor and puddling with his previous release. Tears began pouring from his eyes from Y/N not ceasing his relentless pace. His entire body felt as if it were on fire, an uncomfortable heat pooling in his stomach.

“Fuck- Please!” Graves cried. His face was melting into the table, hot and wet and salty. “Please, please,” he begged.

“You can take it,” Y/N stated as his hips slapped against Graves' ass. “You’re a big boy.”

Graves choked on his spit as it gathered in the back of his mouth, slowly spilling past his lips and mixing with his tears on the table.

“I can’t,” he sobbed, moaning again when Y/N leaned down and bit the side of his neck.

“You can,” he whispered against his neck. Graves' hair stood on end and he came again, a guttural groan ripping from his throat. The amount of cum that dripped from his cock was pitiful, clear and thin.

He clenched around Y/N hard, the latter moaning and pulling out before wrapping his hand around his cock and angling it to cum on his ass. He grunted when he did, thick spurts of cum spewing from the tip of his cock and decorating Graves' ass.

He was panting and shaking, desperate to catch his breath and calm down from so many orgasms in such a small period of time.

Y/N pulled up his pants and buckled his belt before patting Graves thigh.

“Clean up, dinner’s in 10,” he said before walking out the door to the small office. He closed the door shut, leaving Graves to clean himself up with no materials to do so. He shakily sighed and pressed his forehead to the desk as he slowly regained his breath.

He wants this to happen again soon.

#graves x male reader #graves x reader #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves x male reader #bottom graves #bottom cod #top male reader #x top male reader #dom male reader #mw2 x male reader #smut #i am never writing for graves again #this was hell

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yeyinde · 2 years

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Hey darlin. I've had a week from absolute hell at work and I'm in desperate need of some soft!Soap in my life. When and if you have time, would you mind doing a little drabble with Soap pampering his overly stressed and exhausted s/o? Perhaps a well deserved back rub (I need one in the worst way 😫). And spice it up if you like, I'm sure that man's got some serious wandering hands. Much love ❤️🖤

Johnny presses his chest against your back. His heart echoes through your ribs: the steady brag of Atlas. He holds the world on the slope of his broad shoulders—

"Let's get you to bed, alright?"

—and your heart in the cup of his palm.

hiya, love~ 🖤

sorry this took a bit, but i really hope you enjoy this! @brewed-pangolin

⇾warnings :soft Soap; slight petting–fingering; f!reader, gendered female anatomy; Soap just takes care of you the way the man would

It starts slow—a gradual buildup: nothing immediate or noteworthy. Tension in your brow, an ache in your back. You've felt it all before. It's nothing to worry about.

It's not that you're being crushed by anything in particular. There is no weight bearing down on your shoulders, no anvil locked around your neck pulling you down to the unforgiving concrete. You're not drowning in the middle of an ocean, or clinging to life on the edge of a mountain. And yet—

Heaviness. Brassbound bones filled with hardened lead.

You waver under the ache. The malaise. The ennui.

It's that feeling of being persistently chipped at until your skin is flayed, muscles exposed; a rawness in the cut of your brow, the sag of your eyes.

You need sleep, but you know nine hours are just not going to cut it.

It's the slough of life. Another cog in the machine that never stops moving. Grinding you down over time; an erosion until you are pulverised powder.

It's everything. All of the aches and pains and the pressure that turns you into hard coal instead of a diamond, and then—

"You're home late, hen," he murmurs, twisting his head to stare at you from over his broad shoulders. They, you think, can take the weight of anything. Bear the burden. The promises made.

Atlas stands in your kitchen wearing the worn apron you'd bought him as a joke a year ago for Hogmanay. He wears it each time he cooks.

The kitchen is thick with humidity; dense with the scent of stew. Something robust and hearty. It's soft and secure, a warm familiarity that makes you shake when his hazel eyes meet yours.

His hand curls around a bottle. He holds it out to you. Irn bru. Your fingers are stained with dust and ink; carpal and shaky, and you can't bring yourself to reach out when your joints are tense and brittle.

Johnny says something low, but all you can think about is the time on the clock and the ache in your lower back. Only precious hours are left until you need to sink into a fitful sleep that is never enough only to wake to the jarring blare of your alarm in what feels like a minute.

Maybe it's the way you sag, shoulders slumping, head knocking against the doorframe, or maybe he just knows, but it's instant. He's there. Arms around you, pulling your temple away from the harsh press into the wood.

He smells of orange pekoe tea and clary sage.

"C'mon," he murmurs against your temple, stubble digging into your skin. "Let's get you settled, aye?"

All you can do is nod, hands grasping the fabric of his shirt.

(Atlas can hold up the world, but surely there is no room for the weight of your burdens on his shoulders.

He does it, anyway.)

The tub is full of rosy bubbles that slosh over the porcelain rim. A clove candle sits precariously on the corner where your bar of soap used to be. The light is dim. You smell blood orange patchouli burning.

Its—

Heaven.

And yet:

Eleven hours.

"None o'that, hen," he murmurs, hands falling to your shoulders. You ease into him to him. Softened wax under warm hands. "Can hear you from the other room—;" his cheek rubs against the back of your aching head. "Just relax, aye? Got a nice dinner waitin', a long soak in the tub."

"Not too long," you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. His fingers stroke your skin with the finesse of a musical maestro. Expert touch digging into each knot that formed, full of lactic acid, and aching. "Gotta be up early."

He huffs. The soft exhale is a breeze over the ridge of your ear. "Aye, aye. Now get in the tub, bonnie."

He doesn't give you a second to think. His hands tug, pull at your clothes—the ones that reek of work and ink and ennui—until you're bare in his arms. The heft of them circles your middle: firm and tight.

He perches you on the ledge of the tub, flashing another soft smile in your direction before his hands drop to the hem of his white Henley.

"Come on," he husks, moving you forward. You're limp in the bracket of his embrace.

(Atlas, you think, with nothing but burdens to bare.)

The sight of his chest—muscles rippling, pulling taut; pale flesh dusted with black hair—makes something hungry spool inside of you. Desire. Want. Your eyes are heavy, lidded, and weighed down by lead, but the grittiness, the sting, isn't enough to make you look away. You savour it all.

He catches your stare when his hands drop to his trousers. His brow ticks. A smirk curls over his lips.

Johnny says nothing, but you suppose he doesn't have to. You can see the way his gaze darkens, a boscage in the bloom of spring, as he takes in your bare breasts, your tummy, your thighs plush against the white ledge of the tub. The contrast between your flesh and the porcelain makes his jaw tighten.

His pants drop. "C,'mon, hen," he husks, hands grasping your arms, helping you stand again on knees that wobble at the sight of him. Atlas: sinew and strength. A man capable of carrying the heavens. "Let's get in the tub, aye?"

Johnny moves, lifting his leg over the rim. He goes first, sitting in the milky water—used that stuff you like, the bomb thing, or somethin'—and once settled, his eyes cut to you.

He leans back, open for you. You move after him, and his lips crook up in a smile. The water sloshes when you sit, back to him. It's warm, and perfect, and you shudder when you feel his damp skin on yours. His arms wind around your middle, tugging you back into his embrace.

"Shush, shush," he rasps, a gentle coo in your ear, pulling you tighter in the seal of his clutch.

His chest is warm, wet, when you press your back to him. It's bliss when you ease into his hold, head falling back on his shoulder.

Arms loop around you, big and firm and secure, and the whimper you let out when everything finally cracks sounds a little bit like a sob.

Johnny reaches for the loofah, lathering it up with the bottle of body wash on the ledge. It smells of eucalyptus and birch. His wash. You melt a little more into him when he reaches down, hand wrapping gingerly around your wrist.

"Close your eyes, hen. Know you need it."

"Johnny—;" the protests are cut short when you feel the drag of the sponge over your flesh. The fresh, minty scent clots in your lungs.

It's soothing. A gentle scrub as he washes the stress of the day, days, away with your sponge. He's meticulous in everything he does, and washing you is no different. He starts with your fingers. Each digit is brushed with the loofah and then massaged with his bare hand. Your joints liquify. The knots in your hands ease with each pass, each roll of his fingers over you. Your palm tickles when he rubs circles over it. Pulse flutters when he drags it up over your wrist, forearm. Your biceps.

He pulls away when he reaches your shoulders, changing hands so that his arm is crossed over your chest. Secure. Heavy. The angle is a little stiff, but he says nothing, no complaints, and gathers the suds in the cup of his palm. He works his rough hands over your tense flesh until your breath stutters in your chest. Your head tips back further. The base of your skull plinthed on his broad shoulders. The wall is cold on your crown.

His stubble scratches your temple when he nuzzles his mouth over the thrumming flesh, lips pressed taut to the place that hurts the most. "Good girl."

It's a baptism in bliss. Each pass of his rough hands over your skin turns the titanium in your bones to mercury. You melt under the heat of his flesh working those stubborn knots into ash. Johnny's hands are heavy, dragging away the malaise from your pores with each careful, reverent swipe.

You breathe in the scent of wet pine when he drags his palms over your collarbones, the swell of your chest. His fingers catch on your nipples—hard from the chill in the air, the graze of his flesh over yours—and the pinch of pleasure makes your legs part slowly, a small mewl brimming from your throat.

"That feels good," you whisper, head lulling on his shoulder.

"Scoot up a bit," he husks, hands falling to your hips, helping you move. He pushes your back forward, hands sliding up to your shoulders.

The groan you let out echoes against the humid walls when his fingers dig into your stained muscles.

"Johnny—"

"I know, I know…" he nuzzles the space between your shoulder blades, stubble grazing your sensitive flesh. Goosebumps ripple over your skin. "I got ya, hen."

And he does, of course: always.

Bliss leaks from the tips of his fingers into your muscles. He moves in small, deep circles until your body is liquid; a gooey polymer that sags in the water around you. He doesn't relent. Johnny finds each knot, tenderising it into a fine dust. Nirvana is in the tips of his fingers.

You groan: a low, drawn-out quiver of pleasure when he works out the kink that had clotting in your shoulder blades. One born from deadlines, and meetings, and—

And gone.

You breathe out, heavy and full, until your lungs quiver, flattened to your chest.

"Feel good?" He murmurs, soothing his hands across your back. His knuckles notch over the curve of your spine, and the thrill of pleasure makes you pant.

"Yeah—"

Lavender is thick in your nose. Your eyes slowly slide open when his hands curl through the gaps in your arms, winding around your waist.

You fall back into his chest, boneless. Shattered. Dissolved. His chest rumbles with a chuckle.

Johnny tucks you against him, coarse, damp hair tickling your back. His breath is heavy on your shoulder.

"Hen…," there is a click in his throat when he swallows, hands roaming down to your thighs, sliding between them slowly. "Lemme make you feel even better."

It's a whisper of a touch that makes you shiver against him.

"Johnny—"

He hushes you again, nails grazing your sensitive flesh until he meets the seam of your thigh and pelvis. "Let me do this for you, hen."

"Something tells me this was your plan all along," you huff, pressing your nose into his neck, and breathing in the mossy scent of him.

"Nah," he murmurs, palm pressing against your core. You can feel him against your back, thick and hard, and when he parts your folds, fingers gliding through your slit, you feel him throb. His hips shift into you with a gritty inhale. His chest expands across your back. When he speaks, it's barely a whisper: "this is just for you."

Johnny knows your body, knows where to touch; his hands on you are magic. He works you—a potter moulding clay—and you melt in his arms.

His finger ghosts over your slit, trailing slowly until he reaches your clit.

"Relax, hen," his voice is thick, full of lust. "Lemme make you feel good."

His fingers slide back down to your hole, pushing in gently until you stretch around him with a gasp of pleasure, hands dropping to clutch at his thick forearms. His huff ghosts over the shell of your ear, lips pressing against your flushed cheekbone.

"Gonna make you cum," he rasps, throat clicking again when he swallows.

The low hum of his voice makes your legs part further, hips canting into his palm. His fingers thrust against your sensitive walls, thumb rubbing soft circles over your clit until you see stars in your eyes; phosphenes of pleasure that dance and sway with each press of him inside of you. Knuckles catch on the seal of your pussy, stretching you, rasping over that gummy spot inside that makes your belly fill with molten euphoria.

"That's it, bonnie," he urges, words liquid in your ear. Oil over your flesh. A soft thrum to your core. It's good. So good.

Your nails dig into his flesh, desperately clutching at something, anything, to keep you from slipping below the waves that lap at you. A soft erosion. The the way Johnny dissolves you into pieces until you're effervescent, veins bubbling with soporific pleasure, makes your heart lurch. The swell of affection for him—your atlas, your buoy in the churning sea—brings tears to your eyes.

He's observant. Incredibly so. Any change, even one almost indiscernible, must have been noticed. The bunch of your shoulders. The sag of your eyes. Exhaustion fell over you in a blanket of malaise.

You think about those nights spent bundled in his arms on the couch. Mind adrift in a sea of responsibility, lip between your teeth. You hadn't noticed the copper on your tongue until his fingers tapped the furrow in your brow.

Y'alright, hen?

Just—

Work. Life. Everything.

He noticed. And—

Dinner, your favourite. The bath. The candle. The lavender bath bomb—

Lavender? He asks, rubbing a petal between his thumb and forefinger.

You nodded. It helps with stress.

—he knew.

And now: euphoria pools in every synapse inside of your head until all you see is white. Body languid, more relaxed and sated than you have been in a long time, and—

The strong arms of atlas secure you to his chest. The cup of his palm is a plinth keeping you above the torrent below that wants to consume you.

"Come on, hen," he urges, voice rucked and trembling. He throbs against the small of your back, cock trapped between your bodies.

You melt into him with a moan, dizzy and delirious from the pleasure spooling inside of your core with each press of his blunt fingers against your soft, fluttering walls. Each roll of his thumb across your clit. Your body sings for him. Aches for him. A maestro; you dance for him.

Your head is fuzzy. Thick with somnolence and pleasure that congeal over the heft, the weight of everything else. All you can think about is how secure you feel in his embrace. Gentle and safe, and—

It's the coalescence of everything that pushes you off the edge.

You're falling, falling—

"I got you, hen."

Your core tightens, throbs. You pulse around him like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. Oxytocin floods your veins in a deluge, inundating your being until all you can feel is static pleasure blooming inside of you.

You fall into him. Languid and bone-weary. He catches you with a chuckle, lips pressed against your temple, chin nuzzling the skin of your cheek.

"Feel better?"

You've lost the capacity for speech. Tongue leaden, eyes heavy, you twist your head, nose scratching over the stubble on his cheek. Your lips find his. Soft, gentle. He peppers you in small, fleeting kisses; full-lipped and dulcet sweet. You catch oat on his tongue; almond. Sweet London fog.

His arms tighten around you. Johnny breathes your name, and the crooked axis you teetered on shifts. The precipice you wobbled along rights itself in the hymnal he sings for you.

Johnny presses his chest against your back. His heart echoes through your ribs: the steady brag of Atlas. He holds the world on the slope of his broad shoulders—

"Let's get you to bed, alright?"

—and your heart in the cup of his palm.

#i hope you enjoy!!#johnny mactavish x you #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap Mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x you #soap call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x you

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starsarefire824 · 10 months

Text

Fic Recs

In honor of things being shitty in the tag right now and everyone in their depression era, I'm offering a few fic recs in these trying times. Hope you discover something new, friends. 🖤

the comforts that make us feel numb by passerine_in_jade.

“No, but really. If I were a girl,” Mike presses on, looking up at Will with red-rimmed eyes through dark lashes. Leaning in. Somehow, fully unaware that this line of questioning has Will's heart climbing up to his throat. “Would you want to kiss me?”

or, Will and Mike get high in the desert.

Well written, almost dreamy quality to it. Author to watch for me! Can't believe I only just discovered their writing.

A Wish For Something More by @waroftheposes

Seven year old Will didn't have a problem with kissing his best friend on a dare. Seventeen year old Will, however, would not do it if someone held his hand over a fire.

Or: Truth or dare at seven and truth or dare at seventeen.

They're silly and sweet and oh so confused. The writing is lovely as well. Great if you're in the mood for fluff.

On the Same Frequency by @oldfashionedmorphine

Ever since his best friend Will Byers was murdered back in 1985, Mike Wheeler wanted nothing more than to leave his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana and never look back—only each and every year he’s forced to make an exception when it comes to the holidays. And when Mike visits for Christmas in 1995, his mom asks him to help clear out some junk in his room and down in the basement before he returns home to Indianapolis. But when he comes across an old trunk containing his Supercom walkie-talkie and ham radio, he discovers something strange that has the potential to change everything…

(or an AU inspired by the movie “Frequency” from 2000)

I'm only just starting this, but Frequency au?? Hell yes.

Fleeting by olliecoddle. @souverian-are-we

Mike liked Will’s art shows, albeit slightly less the higher class they had gotten. Little paintings in the corner of a cafe morphed into white walls and rich spectators poised with champagne and well-mannered criticism. Still, he had been looking forward to it. He wanted to go. But now, walking up to the glass doors, he had to admit he felt jittery.

or, Will's new paintings are a little too personal

This is one of my absolute favorites ever. The writing of course, it's ollie. But the descriptions, the entire buildup of Mike's reaction in the art gallery, the content of the painting? The entire concept is beautiful. And be sure to look up the painting Will's was inspired by. It will tell you everything.

any semblance of touch by anonymous.

“Nothing,” Will says, right into Mike’s ear. “Still feeling good?”

So good. Mike makes sure to not say it aloud this time. “I think,” Mike says slowly, heart pounding, “I need” — Will pulls back just a little, just enough for their noses to bump against each other, clumsy, and Mike bites the bullet — “one more.”

Will is still in Mike’s lap, which is maybe not very platonic of him, and the joint has smoldered its way down to the end, nearly over, all eaten up by the fire. Will swallows thickly, then leans closer, a perfect imitation of their positions from earlier. Mike isn’t sure how long it’s been, but fire has been eating away at him too, this whole time, leaving him on the brink of going up in smoke, slow and burning and so good.“Yeah?” Will murmurs, realization dawning on him, eyes wide. “One more?”

or: Mike’s still new to this whole smoking thing. Will has a few ideas.

Utterly depressing this is anonymous because the writing is phenomenal. So alive and vivid. Not sure where this fic was hiding, but I'm glad I found it. Highlights: Mike’s inner dialogue, the playfulness between them, the lowered inhibitions finally letting them relax into the moment.

nosebleeds from epiphanies (i took full in the face) by wheelersboy @karenchildress.

Hawkins, Montana, June 1988. When Lonnie Byers catches his youngest son in the arms of another boy, he calls in that favor owed to him by rancher Jim Hopper in Lenora: Will must work as an unpaid ranch hand and learn to "man up." Mike Wheeler follows him to the creepy ranch with electrical problems, like any best friend would.

jo's writing is always fantastic. he has such a unique voice and mike's struggle in this just does things for me.

When The Sun Runs Out by olliecoddle @souverian-are-we

On a dreary day in March, 1989 the population of Hawkins, Indiana dropped to four. Will Byers watched as the final family left, the bed of their truck packed to the brim and tied down with a tarp. Furniture stuck out at odd angles, and the corner flap flailed in the breeze as they turned onto the highway. Will followed the vehicle with his eyes until it disappeared as a dot on the long stretch of pavement. Then, he got in his car and went home.

Or, Will is burning out, and Mike is mesmerized by the flame.

This was sexy as hell and all I'm gonna say is tattoos. I really enjoyed this little rougher around the edges, let down by life, closed off Will after being left in Hawkins alone with El, Hopper, and Joyce to wait for the end of the world that never seems to come.

dirty rain by henrycreel

mike wheeler is an average alpha teenage boy working on keeping tight control of his raging hormones in the wake of being seventeen years old, unmated, and a virgin who's never spent his rut with anyone before. when one of his teachers makes an innocent request of him, he finds himself spiraling almost right away. the omega sitting next to him in class is going to be his omega one way or another even if it means employing some traditional and unconventional means to show him who he belongs to.

will byers is an omega with a tendency toward anxiety and outright fear, marked by years of abuse at the hands of his father. high school should be a chance to open a new chapter for himself, but he only truly finds comfort sitting next to mike, an alpha whose presence seems to keep the usual mocking and bullying at bay. but when mike starts to cross the line from friendly classmate into so much more, will has no time to decide if he's ready to move on to a relationship of his own, to finding a mate to settle down with like his big brother already has.

mike is making the decision for both of them.

A solid Omegaverse fic! <3

#byler #fic recs #byler fic #stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #if you are not @ here would like to be just dm me!

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thatanimeramenchick · 5 months

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Yandere Blitzø x Reader Headcannons

I can see him getting in one of two types of relationships. The first is the kind you see between him and Stolas or even him and Verosika. It’s a romance of convenience, where he blows someone’s brains out and in exchange he gets the perks of whatever that person gives him as his lover. With Stolas its the grimoire and Verosika the fame and thrill of being connected to a pop star. The other type of relationship I could see him wanting though is that more clingy, genuine one that he seems to stalk Moxie and Millie over. He would desire a really functional, mutual relationship with someone who is sweet and caring. I could see this as a romance of passion that develops at rocket ship speed and implodes just as fast.

This is for the simple fact that while Blitzø seems like the type to be a master at the initial seduction, he sucks at the maintaining part of the relationship. This would likely come from him self-destructing it. Heck who am I kidding, we both know this is exactly what would happen. He would do something stupid to push you away and probably emotionally neglect you as well.

The inevitable rejection is faced with rage. Oh, you don’t like him? So what, he doesn’t care. He never liked your ugly ass to begin with. You look like a diseased dog and have the brain power of a turnip. What makes you think he would want you? If you accept his doubled down rejection though and play it cool, you’re only going to piss him off even more. You’re not even gonna fight back?! How dare you!

I could see him having slight stalker tendencies. This can be seen in all the “research” that he has saved up, as well as how he views M and M. He’s not one of the super creepy, meticulous stalkers, but I could see him wanting to keep tabs on the person he likes, even if you don’t have a romantic relationship.

This man is a slow burn yandere. All the ingredients are there for a perfect Michelin five star dinner, but you have got to let it COOK. All of his self destructive habits and bad dating experiences have slowly built up into MAJOR insecurity and prickliness. But at the same time, I see him as wanting to have a vulnerable, real relationship, and overall this deep seated NEED to be loved by someone. He just doesn’t have any idea how to do it without blowing it up right in his face. After so many failures in relationships, there would need to be a slow buildup to the right one that ends badly and causes him to act rashly.

I sincerely believe that this guy is a gold mine for yandere content. See, I like yandere content for the psychological aspects of it. The self destruction, manipulation, and unhealthy coping mechanisms, like my own little fictional case study of the darker selfish side of human nature. And I feel like Blitzo would be a PERFECT character to do this with. Insecure? Check. Self-destructive? Check. Aggressive? Check. Tends to get himself involved in other people’s relationships? To poor Moxie’s dismay – checkaroo. There is just so much potential for him to develop into the worst version of himself in a good fanfiction (especially since it looks like a toxic bad breakup is about to rock his world in the canon), and I would love to see someone do it in a realistic and in-character (KEY WORD HERE) way.

#helluva boss #yandere x reader #blitzø #blitzo #yandere blitzo

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whatavery · 7 months

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Ordained Defiance Ch. 1

Finally, after weeks of buildup, finally I can start posting this very special story. Of all the characters in Lackadaisy, I really wanted to create some Abelard content, because I love him.

So what better way to do so than to write a little fanfiction featuring him, his family and my OC? A slow-burn story set in the small town of Defiance, Missouri...

For the first chapter, I present you with an image of my new OC alongside Abelard!

This lovely piece here was drawn by the amazing @mergestucs1!

-----

With the sweeping, green hills, the freshly sprouting leaves on the trees and the mostly clear, blue sky, Defiance was beautiful in spring. The air was getting warmer, but the breeze still had a sharpness to it whenever it graced Abelard’s face. It was a Thursday morning like any other as he made his way into town on foot, the apricot-furred cat enjoying the spring weather. Abelard's shoes dug into the dirt road that led the way through the small town that was Defiance. Granted, it really wasn't much of a town (it was closer to a village, if anything) given how small it was, and how much distance there was between the homes here.

The lean reverend took long, fast strides, walking with purpose. His morning strolls generally took him all over Defiance. He started at home and took the scenic route out to Defiance General, going through the small community and finally ending by the church.

He'd left the store just minutes prior, having stopped by the outskirts of town to see the shop owner. It was usually his first stop these days. Most days Mr. Weaver was up and working early, despite his age. Abelard always did make sure to purchase something when he visited, often in the form of cigarettes or other small items, usually something edible. Sometimes he brought home bigger items such as potatoes and the like.

And Abelard would, of course, gladly take on Mr. Weaver in a round of chess when time allowed it. Reverend Arbogast usually wasn't one to turn down an opportunity to spend time with the locals. It was part of his daily routine, making sure to visit with members of their little community. Though he didn’t personally visit each and every inhabitant of the small town, he made sure to at least greet them whenever possible, whether by the church or around town.

The man running Defiance General was one of the few that Abelard regularly visited personally. As reverend, Abelard saw it as part of his job to maintain a good relationship with said community; it was what the reverend before him had done. And it was what he’d taught Abelard; it was any reverend’s job to spread the word of the Lord and maintain good relations to those who believed, and even those who didn’t. After all, it was how a man of faith might help others see the light.

And as village minister Abelard didn’t just do services in the church on Sundays. Of course, that was part of the job; he took care to preach to his fellow man, woman and child. Though it had been a while since the last time, he had also done confessions and he’d heard quite a number of things. But as was his sworn duty, he’d never disclosed this to anyone; it was for him, the Lord and the sinner to know.

He’d been doing this job for decades at this point, and everyone in Defiance, and the nearby townships, that was part of his congregation, knew him. He'd established a good trust and good relations with the community, but it had taken time.

The township of Defiance primarily consisted of a small collection of farm buildings and barns around a main road that stretched through the small town. Defiance General was the primary place to do shopping for those who didn’t wish to travel further away by car, where they had more options. St. Louis was about forty miles away and Abelard himself hadn't made the trip there in quite some time. He was content in this small town where he'd grown up.

The town itself had a few things of note, despite its small size. For one, there was a local mechanic, though it wasn’t really a proper business, just a farmer who knew how to handle cars and other machinery. It wasn't so unusual to see him taking a look at someone’s vehicle, just as he was today. The farm house he lived in with his family was one of the larger ones on the side of the road that Abelard walked on. The barn door was open and the tuxedo cat could be seen fiddling with the engine of one of his neighbors’ cars.

As Abelard passed, he was spotted by the mechanic, who wore messy overalls over his clothes. He waved to Abelard as he passed. “Good morning, Father Arbogast. How do you do?”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” the lean cat called back in a proper tone. Abelard waved back as well, and offered him the slightest of smiles. Abelard was clad in all black from top to toe; black shoes, black pants, black jacket, black hat. The only article of clothing Abelard wore that wasn't black was his white button-up shirt under his jacket. “I hope you are as well.”

Though not a man who smiled much, nor a man to whom smiling came naturally, Abelard still did his best to be personable with the locals. At least for the most part. That wasn't to say he was all-smiles around them all the time, far from it. Father Arbogast, as he was most often called, had quite a reputation for being a man not to cross. It wasn't often, but he’d had to tell local children off more than a few times, using the colorful language he had become rather infamous for. And for the most part, it worked. He’d even had to tell off their parents on occasion.

Children as well as their parents knew to respect him and that was how Abelard liked things to work. Abelard was never one to shy away from doing such things if someone were to do or say something morally apprehensive.

Abelard didn’t linger around too much as he continued down the road.

The houses around the main road were generally large, quaint farm houses, many of them quite old with a fair bit of distance between each one. Defiance had never had a large population. Abelard knew they currently didn’t even amount to a hundred. The entire community could fit inside the church during services, even despite how small the church was. In the open area of Defiance, they had a few small businesses, such as a post office, an inn and a carpenter who also did metalwork on occasion. There was also a single bookshop and of course, further away there was a train station with its depot.

The businesses were mainly being run out of people’s homes, further adding to the feeling of a small, tight-knit community amongst the locals.

The area all around was wide and open with small groves and forested area nearby fencing in the majority of Defiance. The rolling hills and fields all around offered space for farmland, like the cornfields near Abelard's home.

The cornfields had gone from being harvested for food to also being harvested for more unsavory reasons in recent years. He'd been there for it all, as the changing political landscape of America had ushered in changes to his life. Not just his life either; Abelard also knew the unspoken truth that farmers both in Defiance, as well as all over the country, were doing the very same thing.

Abelard had spent most of his life in Defiance, as had many of its inhabitants. He'd traveled to visit nearby towns and cities, but home was always here. For better and for worse. But the small town of Defiance needed him. The Lord’s work was never finished until the day of reckoning and Abelard intended on continuing to spread the word of the Lord till his last breath.

He knew that there was no such thing as a one-man army when it came to his job. Abelard wasn't entirely alone; he spread the Lord’s word, he preached to warn of sins and temptations in the hopes that his congregation would help spread the same message. It was the point of preaching at all to begin with, to spread the word of the Lord, to help enlighten and to save as many souls as he could.

Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil… That part of the Lord’s Prayer had taken on a new significance to Abelard just a few short years ago. The nation-wide prohibition on alcohol had changed so much for so many people, again for better and for worse.

For Abelard? To him the very idea of stripping away a source of temptation in such a way was an affront. It had never been something that sat right with him; Abelard knew so many who saw it as removing the very option of giving in to sin from their lives, but Abelard privately saw it as a disruption to the natural order of things.

If anything, it seemed to have inadvertently added a whole new caliber of trappings into the lives of many. Abelard knew as much, being an initially reluctant participant in the illicit alcohol business.

But alas, here he was; illegal liquor had paid for much of the maintenance around the church and the town. Abelard knew that the cursed liquid would go on to add temptation back into the realm of the living – of the souls who would eventually need saving. Abelard knew that the very allure of the illicit only made sin all the sweeter to the ones who chose to give in to it.

But in the end, he knew that the truly good people would make the right choices, even with temptation in their lives. God would forgive sins, and although Abelard too would do his part to make sure people would not be led into the many pitfalls in life, he knew these complexities to be a necessary evil to separate the righteous from the wicked.

But Abelard kept these views to himself and a very select few close to him.

Passing more homes on his way, Abelard spotted more people who were getting their days started; a woman looking after the small garden around their front-porch where her small children were playing; a young couple leaving their driveway together in a car. Once more Abelard offered waves on his way, even if the children seemed rather frightened of him. He didn’t mind, of course. There was a fine line between fear and respect, and Abelard hoped they would learn to walk that line well.

If nothing else, Abelard hoped the younger generations would be given the chance to grow up with all of life’s complexities; the good, the bad and the tempting, all ever-present. Their parents (and he to some extent) would need to arm them to face the many trappings of life, and never stray from the righteous path. Whether they'd succeed or not was ultimately in their own hands.

All he could do was hope for the best… And hope that they may never get involved in unsavory business like his family.

Being in the liquor business had proven to have more downsides than upsides to Abelard. He resisted the urge to spit on the ground, to curse the names of those he'd had to deal with, as he continued on his way. Lackadaisy, Marigold, they were both the same to him; bands of immoral, cutthroat criminal that needed him and his kin for liquor and nothing else.

Though Abelard had no qualms with partaking in the making and smuggling of the liquor, dealing with others in the business had been less than pleasant. All the trouble that had come with it… It had cost him an organ player as well. Little Defiance had been the scene of some gruesome acts of violence, which Abelard still found unsettling to think about.

And that was despite all he'd seen and heard in his fifty-two years on this Earth.

Leaving the main residential area, Abelard passed the single inn that the town had. It was a small, family-owned place, a decently popular location that Abelard had visited many times. It was a two-story farm house where the family lived on the upper floor and the inn itself was located down below. It was one of the popular places for members of Abelard's congregation to end up after service on Sundays.

After passing the road that would take him towards the Arbogast Funeral Home, Abelard made his way past a tree line and out to another open area. The wide, open space was fenced in by trees from all sides, and the nearest farm houses could look right up to the white church with its single tower and tall spire that pointed straight to the Heavens. It was a relatively new church,; Abelard recalled in his youth that his parents had remembered the time when it was still newly constructed. Since it had been finished, it had been the church his family would visit for services every Sunday morning, and eventually the one that he himself would be the reverend of.

It wasn’t large and grand, but it was beautiful. All-white exterior, the church had two small steps leading up to the two tall doors out front with one short, wide transom above it. Further above the window as part of the tower was a clock, a relatively new installation. On either side of the large doors was a window, each larger than the one above the door, with a grid-like frame holding many small panes of glass. Each side of the church had four similar windows lining the walls, always making sure plenty of light could shine inside. The dark roof was angled upwards, the front merging into the small tower. The tower itself wasn’t that much taller than the roof, a small platform housing a thin, eight-sided spire reached higher than the roof, ending up in a sharp point.

There was always something to be done around the church, always something new to worry about, surprisingly so for such a small town. The illicit, ill-gained money helped keep the church in pristine order, and while they were currently out of a steady organ player, Abelard had other things to worry about. The groundskeeper was looking to retire. He was old and he had been looking after the grounds since before Abelard became the village minister. Just looking for a new groundskeeper would be a a mild challenge in the small community. Just something new for Abelard to figure out in the near future. Hopefully, the current groundskeeper would stick around long enough to find a replacement, so they wouldn’t leave the grounds unattended.

As a brisk morning breeze ruffled his facial fur, Abelard arrived by the entrance to the church grounds. The church was right by a crossroad; corn fields to one side, open stretch of grassland with graves on the other. The cemetery had expanded since the church’s founding, of course. Being framed in by the farmland, there was only so much space that could be used for graves; further away more grave sites had since been established.

No one was around at this time of day and as Abelard made it up the small steps to the large doors, he removed his hat and stepped into the Lord’s House.

It wasn't a very spacious interior, being a small church, but the space available had been optimally used. Stepping onto the wooden floor, Abelard walked up the aisle by himself. On each side of him were pews that could house the entirety of Defiance’s population during services, and there was even room for more people from neighboring townships. And in part owing to the small size of the church, Abelard had mastered utilizing the building’s acoustics to let his voice carry from the altar to the very back of the church, for all to hear.

Behind the last pew on the right side of the church, a small spiral staircase led up to a small landing above the entrance. This was where the organ was located, overlooking the small church’s interior. Abelard admittedly didn’t spend much time up there, nor did anyone else these days. The landing was close to the ceiling, which was painted blue like the sky outside, but even a man as tall as Abelard could comfortably stand up there without bumping his head on the ceiling.

Abelard made a mental note to attempt to send for a potential organ player in the nearby townships. He might even have to send for someone living further away, such as over in St. Louis…

The wooden pews that stood in rows on either side of the aisle were painted white, like the walls surrounding them. There were two windows up ahead flanking the altar, right across from each of the windows on either side of the door. Perfectly symmetrical. Along with the four windows on each of the church’s longer sides, plenty of light always poured in through these in the daytime hours. The same went for the circular stained glass window up above the altar close to the rounded ceiling. And of course, once it was dark, the multiple bronze candelabras on the walls and the large ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling in front of the altar would help keep the building illuminated.

Abelard stopped before the altar, right below the chandelier and closed his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the peace and quiet that the church offered him at times like this. The tall, lean cat had a white podium off to his left, where he would stand to preach and speak during services, facing the congregation.

Leaving the altar, Abelard slowly made his way back outside again, casting a glance out at the woods in the distance that served as the natural fence for this part of Defiance. Leaves were sprouting from the branches and the grass all around was starting to look as green as could be, it was a beautiful sight indeed.

The dirt road leading to the left from Abelard's vantage point led up towards where a small part of the cemetery was located. Further away along the road that ran along the side of the church was the Arbogast Funeral Home. It hadn't always been a funeral home, as it was these days; it had also been Abelard's childhood home where he’d grown up. He’d inherited the place from his parents and now it was also where he conducted his other ventures, including more unholy business.

Glancing up the path towards the cemetery, Abelard put his hat back on. The nearby funeral home would prepare the dead for burial, the church would hold a funeral service and the dead would be buried in the nearby cemetery. It truly was an efficient, albeit morbid, little system.

Abelard’s own parents laid buried there as well, as did other past inhabitants of Defiance and the nearby area. Growing up so close to not only the church, but also the cemetery had made Abelard’s skin crawl as a young boy, but these days the thought didn’t bother him at all.

The area outside and around the church was beautifully maintained, the grass kept short, the nearby trees kept healthy and the paths kept clear and clean. The morning sun’s rays casting a brilliant light over the trees’ fresh leaves, and the blades of grass, only added to the place’s natural beauty.

It was going to be a tall order to find someone new who cared about looking after the grounds this much. But Abelard had no doubt in his mind that he’d find the right person for the job, as was his responsibility. Odds were someone in town would be willing to do it – it would be easier and more efficient to not have to call in someone from out of town. Abelard knew he shouldn’t keep putting it off.

After enjoying a bit of time to himself, Abelard let out a content sigh. But he knew he ought to go about his business once more.

Turning back towards the church, however, Abelard spotted a single figure lingering by the white brick wall to the left of the church doors. He squinted slightly. He didn’t recognize the stranger at a glance, in part due to them facing away from him, apparently glancing out over the cornfields nearby.

The stranger turned their head as Abelard got closer, and already Abelard didn’t get the best first impression of them, noticing the way they were leaning on the church wall. They were practically lounging, like the church was their personal property.

“Ah, hello… Reverend Arbogast is it?” The stranger sounded uncertain as he spoke in a surprisingly soft voice. The Turkish Angora stood just a couple inches shorter than Abelard, his fur a grayish off-white color all over. His ears were particularly fluffy, though his fur overall was short, yet fuzzy. He had bangs reaching down to his eyebrows and the tips of his ears had white tufts on them. Very unusual.

Behind him he had a particularly fluffy tail that drooped ever so slightly. He wore a dark gray sweater with a thick, folded collar and a pair of blue denim pants. The right knee of his pants was torn open, his white fur showing through.

“Yes, how can I help you?” Abelard asked, his blue eyes taking in the stranger before him. Abelard's tone was polite, but slightly stiff. He didn’t recognize him, and yet there was something familiar about him at the same time. Abelard guessed he was likely from out of town – he made it a point to know everyone in Defiance, after all.

The stranger left the wall and approached Abelard, his fluffy tail fur swaying in the wind. Eyes met, sky blue and minty green, and Abelard noticed the younger cat had a face with soft, rounded, almost slightly… feminine features. The stranger held out his white-furred hand. “Well… I was just looking around a bit. I haven't seen this place in a long time…”

“You’ve been here before?” Abelard asked in surprise as they shook hands briefly. He squinted slightly at the white cat. Again, he got the sense that they’d met before…

“Oh, I lived here a decade ago, before I- Well, I moved out a long time ago.” The stranger’s stumbling didn’t go unnoticed by Abelard, but he was more so intrigued, though perhaps a touch suspicious as well…

Abelard still fixed the stranger with some amount of dislike, which based on the look on the younger man’s face didn’t go unnoticed. “Hmmm, I don’t recognize you… I know everyone in Defiance. What’s your name, young man?”

“My name’s Cainan – Cainan… Wirth.” Once more Abelard couldn’t help but feel as though something was wrong. The stranger seemed hesitant to give his name, which only made Abelard all the more suspicious of him. However, his name did stir something in Abelard – that sense of familiarity.

“Wirth? With an ‘i’?” Cainan nodded at this, though he didn’t meet Abelard's eyes when he did. “I see… Well, I might have known your parents in that case. Harold and Gabriela Wirth, correct?”

Abelard could see Cainan's face tightening at this, but the younger cat nodded. “Yup, them’s the ones. I was planning on visiting them after I’m done here, actually.”

At this Abelard raised an eyebrow as their eyes finally met again. He wasn't sure what Cainan's situation was, but this was… curious. For a number of reasons. The least of which being: “Well, they moved away a few years ago, if I’m not mistaken. They have not called Defiance home for a while.”

Cainan blinked up at Abelard with those pale green eyes. “… Oh.”

Was that disappointment Abelard heard in his voice? Or was it relief? Abelard genuinely couldn’t tell. The older reverend frowned down at the white cat. “You didn’t know…?”

The younger cat didn’t answer right away. Abelard could tell he was thinking hard about what to say. What was he up to exactly? He hadn't immediately struck Abelard as a troublemaker, though the way he hung around outside a church did seem suspicious. Abelard cast a glance over Cainan's shoulder towards the area beside the white building, which seemed to be quite untouched. When he glanced back at Cainan, the younger cat seemed ready to speak.

“Well, to tell you the truth, Reverend, no, I didn’t realize they'd moved. You know where to?” he asked. Again, Abelard found it curious how he spoke with the tone of someone just asking for the time; not with the tone of someone urgently needing to know the whereabouts of their parents.

“Hmmm, well, I don’t recall, I’m afraid,” Abelard told him calmly, though he watched Cainan closely, his gaze fixated upon the younger cat to wait for a reaction. Abelard had his suspicions, but he wanted to see just how Cainan might react to this information. To his surprise, the younger cat barely seemed to react at all – he just nodded slowly.

“Ah that’s alright. Guess I’ll try and ask around town,” was the response Abelard got, a surprisingly casual response. Now he was certain something wasn't right here.

“Were you hoping to run into them here?” The longer he spent in Cainan's company, the more Abelard could start to see some family resemblance. While he couldn’t say he'd been close with the Wirths, he still partially remembered what they looked like. He could see aspects of both Cainan's parents as he remembered them, when he gazed upon the younger cat before him.

“I suppose, yeah,” Cainan replied, his tone carrying that same casual carelessness as he spoke. Cainan seemed to hesitate for a moment, clearly thinking about… Honestly Abelard wasn't sure what was going through the young stranger’s mind. “I suppose I really just did come looking for you.”

“I guessed as much,” Abelard admitted, nodding slightly as he crossed his arms. The way Cainan had greeted him had indeed made it seem like he’d been waiting for him. Whatever this young cat could possibly want from him, Abelard didn’t know, but he was willing to hear him out. “So once more I ask you, how can I help you, child?”

Cainan’s left ear gave a small flick, possibly out of annoyance, though his facial expression didn’t show any signs of it. Abelard didn’t think calling him a child was unfair; he was young, clearly, though Abelard didn’t know quite how young. Perhaps he was older than his youthful face made him seem. “Well, I decided to return to town and, well, I’d like to do some work while I’m here. I’d like to… stick around for a li’l while.”

This was certainly a surprise to be sure. It wasn't at all what Abelard had expected of the young stranger, the reverend frowning slightly. He sighed. “Hmmm… And why didn’t you simply head into town and ask around? And why weren't you just honest from the beginning, young man?”

“I’m sorry, well, I figured this way was easier – I heard you were the village minister, so I figured… Actually, maybe this was a dumb idea.” Cainan suddenly seemed to change his mind mid-sentence. The younger cat shook his head and made to leave. “Sorry to waste your time, I should just drive-”

“Now hold it just a minute…!” Abelard put a hand on Cainan's shoulder to stop him in his tracks, gripping him firmly with his slender fingers. Cainan turned to look at up him, apparently surprised, his white eyebrows raised. “Slow down and explain yourself. I can’t figure out where to put you, if I don’t know where you came from.”

“So, you will help me…?” the Turkish Angora asked hopefully, his ears perking up immediately. Abelard let go of Cainan's shoulder and stared at him in disbelief. Had he been hoping for this kind of reaction…?

“I asked you to explain yourself. We shall see if we can find a solution to your predicament once I know everything… And I do mean everything.” Abelard had a feeling Cainan just might be a troublemaker, but of a different sort than the kind he had encountered before. He gestured towards the church with some apprehension. “We can step inside and talk, if you'd please.”

Cainan turned towards the church with an equal amount of apprehension of his own. He bit his lower lip and seemed to consider this for quite a little while. He awkwardly hovered around where he stood, though he didn’t step towards the church. “Uh… maybe we could talk out here? Or we could go for a walk? It was a long drive here, I’d like to just stretch my legs a little bit.”

Abelard thought it curious that he'd mentioned a long car ride, seeing as there wasn't a car around to be seen nearby. He looked at the younger cat, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Oh, I drove into town, but I walked here,” the white cat hastily added, apparently not ignorant to the doubt written all over Abelard's face. The white cat offered a would-be innocent smile, but given the hasty way Cainan had offered up a rather flimsy explanation, it didn’t make Abelard trust him any more. “And besides… I haven't really been in Defiance for years. You could show me around… Please…?”

Abelard scowled at the shorter cat, crossing his arms again. Cainan continued looking at him with that would-be innocent smile of his, but Abelard saw right through it. Whatever he was playing at, Abelard wasn't going to let him win. He knew for sure he didn’t want to participate in his little games. But if he wanted to stick around and work in the town he grew up in… Abelard supposed it wasn’t the worst thing to want, even if he was being deceptive about it. Still, something wasn't right about Cainan…

“Very well, we can walk together,” Abelard finally agreed, though he still scowled at the younger cat. Cainan on the other hand seemed perfectly pleased with this outcome. It indeed seemed like this was the outcome the younger man had desired.

As the two of them left the church grounds and walked up to where the two roads outside the church crossed, Abelard couldn’t help but feel like this was all an elaborate rouse. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Cainan was trying to manipulate him in some way. His intentions sounded innocent enough on paper, but the way he went about everything didn’t sit right with Abelard. “Now, young Mr. Wirth-”

“Ugh, no… Just call Cainan… uhm… please. Reverend.”

“Well, Cainan… If you wish for me to… potentially assist you with your plight, I must ask you a few things. And I ask that you return the favor by answering my questions honestly.” Abelard turned his blue-eyed gaze upon the other and fixated him with a scrutinizing look. “Do I have your word?”

“Of course, I’ll be… honest.” The hesitation made Abelard scoff and offer Cainan a side-eye as the two walked down the dirt road together. “No, sorry, I mean it. I’ll be honest – I swear.”

Abelard still scowled, but he ultimately nodded, breaking eye contact to look ahead. The two walked along the road that ran parallel to the church’s front door. They moved in silence for a few seconds as Abelard gathered his thoughts. He still wasn't at all sure what to make of Cainan. He didn’t appear very trustworthy; the way he spoke, his closed off body language from the way he slouched and the way he shrugged so often. Abelard very much felt that the answers he got from the white cat would prove whether he was to be trusted or not.

“So, tell me: when did you move away? And how come your parents didn’t contact you to let you know that they'd moved themselves?” Abelard decided to go for two big questions back to back. When he looked over to Cainan on his left, the younger cat did indeed seem taken aback by the questions. Abelard simply hoped he'd honor his promise and tell him the truth.

“Ah… Well, those are very good questions…” Cainan replied hesitantly, looking away at the cornfield they walked past. Abelard could tell he was stalling to answer, and he was starting to feel rather annoyed with Cainan already. Though the scowl on his face didn’t go away, Abelard calmed himself the best he could, and just waited. “Well, to answer the first one, I left town when I was… I think fourteen. Thirteen? Around that time at least.”

“Really now? And how come you decided to leave Defiance then?” Abelard wondered aloud, and he couldn’t help but privately wonder if Cainan had run away. It seemed unusual to travel away alone at such a young age. But all the same it seemed so unlikely; from what Abelard remembered of the Wirth family, they were a respectable sort, a good family with good values. They were people of faith and everyone in town seemed to like and admire them.

At least if Abelard's memory served him correctly…

“Oh, I needed a change of scenery.” Once more, Cainan appeared so casual. He stuck his hands into his pants pockets, looking completely unbothered. He still slouched a bit, whereas Abelard took proper strides, back as straight as a board. “Small towns like this are nice, but I wanted to see more of what the world had to offer.”

Abelard had to admit, the younger cat’s answer had surprised him. Assuming it was the truth, he couldn’t help but find it almost admirable to want to experience things like that at such a young age. Perhaps that was how his parents had raised him?

Of course, being out in the world meant temptation. How old was Cainan now? Abelard wasn't sure, but if he left about ten years ago, perhaps… Ten years was a long time… Who knew, maybe Cainan was older than he seemed at a glance. “And where did the road take you then?”

“Oh, here… there… all over the place.” Cainan offered up another casual shrug, Abelard feeling a twinge of annoyance shooting through him at the sight. “I started going from town to town. I traveled down south for a bit, then over east to St. Louis for a while. Never really out of state, though.”

“And now you’ve returned home.” Cainan glanced on over at Abelard in a manner that told Abelard all he needed to know. The look told him far more than the young cat likely meant for it to; he didn’t like the idea of referring to Defiance as ‘home’. Although he said nothing, it was written all over the younger cat’s face. “And what did you do while you were away exactly? I take it you must have done some kind of work to get by, have you not?”

Cainan nodded as they approached the treeline that bordered the fields near the church. Past the treeline there would be yet more farmland with more houses and more of what Defiance had to offer. “I did a couple different things. Factory work, courier work, personal driver, everything in-between, really.”

It was of course a very vague list, but Abelard supposed if he truly was that versatile and had gotten a lot of experiences in his time away from Defiance, he might just fit in after all. It shouldn’t be too hard to find something for him to do at least; Abelard was sure he (or at least the locals) might be able to find a niche for the Turkish Angora to occupy. But of course, that was all up to the community and how well he got himself reintegrated with them.

Defiance was a small, small town, but there should be room enough for one more – it might even help that he grew up there. Abelard wasn't sure if anyone would remember the white cat, but perhaps if they did, that might ease the transition.

As the two of them reached and passed the treeline, they also reached a more densely populated area. This was of course relatively speaking as the buildings scattered here still had a considerable amount of distance between them. Cainan glanced around with considerably more interest than he’d shown up until that point, his green eyes taking everything in. “Ah yeah, I do remember this place… a little. It hasn't changed that much from what I remember…”

“Suppose there’s not too much of a point in showing you around then. Hmmm, let’s see… If you left some ten years ago, I suppose you may not have seen that we have a bookstore now, have you?” Abelard asked as they approached the nearest building. He didn’t remember exactly when the bookstore had been opened, but he was fairly sure it must have been after Cainan left home.

“Oh, I don’t think so, no. I might have to stop by later,” the younger cat said. Abelard thought it might be the first time Cainan said something genuine. At the very least it seemed more genuine than anything else he had said up until that point.

Out here, there was more open grassland, less of it dedicated to farmland, more of it just simple grassy, green hills that rolled along the beautiful landscape. While there was distance between the homes here, they were closer in proximity than some the farms around the church. Cainan looked around curiously as the two of them continued along the dirt road. “Ah, I recognize some of the buildings.”

“So, where are you staying exactly? I take it you’re not staying in your parents’ old home. Are you renting a room at the inn?” Abelard inquired as they neared the very same inn on their stroll. Although it was one of the larger buildings in town, they only had two rooms they rented out, seeing as Defiance didn’t see many visitors, usually. It had a seating area inside for guests to sit and dine as well.

“Oh, no, I’m not. I’ve already got a bed with my name on it,” Cainan replied vaguely. As the two of them passed the inn and approached other houses, a few people took notice of the strange duo.

Abelard would nod in greeting to them, but he could tell people were curious. “And where might that be? If you’re planning on working here, I think we ought to make sure you don’t have to commute back and forth…”

“Ah. Well, I’m staying on over in Cottleville, it’s not too far.” Abelard watched Cainan closely, trying to see if he was being honest. He had a difficult time with this young, white cat; he was easy to read at times, yet other times, such as now, Abelard hadn't the faintest idea what he was thinking. His face was neutral, blank like a fresh new canvas, not showing a single discerning emotion.

“I see. I suppose that isn't too bad as far as distance is concerned,” Abelard reluctantly agreed as they continued on their way. He fell silent for a moment, the older cat needing a moment to think things through. They passed by the post office on their way.

It was another business that had had its start in someone’s home, albeit a house considerably smaller than most of the others. A single-story house where the very front had been converted into the post office where letters were sent and received daily.

Abelard privately thought that if anyone had kept in touch with the Wirths, Cainan may be able to get their new address and send for them… if that was even something he wanted at all. Abelard had gotten the distinct feeling that perhaps there was some unpleasant history between Cainan and his parents.

“So, say if you were to stay here, what work would you be willing to do?” Abelard finally asked after a brief of silence. He fixated the white cat with a scrutinizing stare once more. He supposed this too might reveal a bit about Cainan's current situation, as well as his character.

“Oh, anything and everything,” the young cat said almost lazily. “I did do food service for a while, but I don’t know if the inn would need to hire any help. I don’t know what else there would be around here. But I suppose I’ll just have to find out.”

Anything and everything was a very wide spectrum, and Abelard wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. It could mean one of two things to Abelard; either Cainan truly was incredibly versatile and not at all picky; or he was desperate. Abelard supposed that regardless, it shouldn’t be too hard to find something for him to do.

“I really ain’t too fuzzy about it. Maybe I’ll just stick around for a few days and see what happens.” Cainan cast an inquisitive glance back over his shoulder towards the post office. It was one of the first buildings one would encounter when entering Defiance from the direction they were going. “Hmmm…”

“What is it?” Abelard looked towards the building as well, then looked back at Cainan. He raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just considering my options,” the younger cat replied with a shrug. Cainan pulled his hands out of his pockets and cracked his knuckles rather loudly, before resuming his slouching posture. “So, hmmm… anything else you want to know about me?”

Abelard could tell Cainan was hesitant, and odds were he was only asking to be polite; it was clear to Abelard that Cainan was being secretive on purpose. Whatever it was, the younger cat did indeed seem to hide something, though perhaps he just simply didn’t enjoy sharing. Abelard supposed he couldn’t blame him there.

“So, if you’re staying somewhere over in Cottleville, are you a permanent resident there? Or what is your living situation? I’m trying my best to understand here…” Abelard had a feeling he knew the answer, but he needed to be sure. That was assuming Cainan chose to answer truthfully, of course.

“I’m… more or less homeless at the moment,” Cainan admitted, looking up at Abelard. Their eyes locked again and Cainan just gave a small smile when he saw the look on Abelard's face. “It’s alright, I’m managing just fine for now.”

Abelard watched the younger cat for a moment as they continued on their way. He wasn't so sure; being a young man without a job and a home didn’t seem like he was managing. He supposed if he had money saved up that was one thing, but he also didn’t know for sure. Abelard's eyes drifted down to the torn knee of Cainan's denim pants. That seemed like something he could and would have fixed if he’d had the funds for it.

Although Abelard didn’t want to give Cainan too much just yet (in case he was the type to take an arm, when offered a hand) he couldn’t help but feel as though he ought to do something for him. As untrustworthy as he’d been acting up until this point, Abelard thought that perhaps he was making light of his own situation to make it seem less severe. Perhaps a coping mechanism of some kind.

Nevertheless, the two of them continued along the road. They didn’t speak too much outside of Abelard explaining which buildings were from after Cainan had left town, which seemed to be a good number of them. Even with Defiance’s small population, there ought to be quite a few new faces among them now, at least for Cainan who had been gone for so long.

The two had made it all the way to the road sign that would first greet those arriving in Defiance, at which point they turned back. They’d ended up further from the residential area and closer to Defiance General.

The post office was the first building of significance they reached on their way back. A decently sized building with just one floor, a quite scenic one given the open field behind it. Abelard knew a local artist had once painted a beautiful piece featuring the post office and its backdrop. It was, in fact, iconic to the residents.

Glancing through the main window as they passed, Abelard offered a wave to the local postman, Mr. Lang, who was working inside. The gray tabby offered a wave back, though he cast a curious glance at Cainan, who seemed to be glancing the complete opposite way. He almost seemed to willfully try to ignore the post office’s existence.

“Would you like to go inside? Perhaps we can ask if there’s work to be done in the post office.” Cainan turned towards Abelard again and looked apprehensive at best.

“Oh, uh… Yeah, we can head inside,” the younger cat replied, speaking with a similarly apprehensive tone, his eyes not meeting Abelard's. Abelard raised an eyebrow curiously. For someone who said they’d take on anything and everything, this was a curious reaction, when the very prospect of a potential job was brought up.

What are we going to do with you? Abelard privately wondered as he stepped up to the post office’s door, looking sideways at the younger cat. Abelard knew next to nothing about him at this point, maybe Cainan truly was doing better than he appeared to be.

He was an enigma, this one…

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy fanfiction #lackadaisy oc #oc x canon #Abelard Arbogast

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gnomescarfcomics · 1 month

Text

Rings of Power: Episode 6 - Udun

Rewatch mini review. Chaotic and out of order.

This episode really benefits from having essentially just one plotline.

The Southlands plot may have been my least favorite overall this season, at least when it came to the villagers themselves. Adar and Arondir were the strong characters that held it together up to this point (honorable mention to Waldreg). But the slow burn of their collective story pays off here.

On the surface, it's a pretty standard underdog battle with some nice buildup and a rather predictable last minute save from a cavalry charge. A mini Helm's Deep in a lot of ways. But it works as a nice vessel for the Southlands and Numenor plots to come together. And the individual beats of the battle are unique because the villagers have to get creative with their small numbers. The part where they trap the orcs and ambush them feels like a nice nod to the Scouring of the Shire in the book, which had similar circumstances.

The detail of the two elves, Adar and Arondir, planting seeds before the battle is such a nice touch. Both sides are fighting for a home. One side has chosen darkness, despair, hate, and selfishness. While the other has chosen light, hope, love, and compassion.

Adar may have good intentions in his own twisted way, but his cruelty and one-track mind keep him and the orcs rooted in evil. He's only bringing his "children" further into harms way and making the rest of Middle-earth see them as nothing but slaves and creatures that must be wiped out, which is what he wanted to escape from.

Arondir started the series essentially as a somewhat reluctant jailer of the people of the Southlands. But he's chosen to focus on the good in them, no matter how much may go wrong. He acknowledges the darkness but holds onto the light, while Adar has given up on the light completely and pretends darkness is an acceptable alternate.

The big reveal of the villagers realizing they were killing their own people is such a perfect representation of this season's themes. Everyone is fighting the darkness within themselves and finding unnecessary conflict with people that should be friends and allies. And this is the ultimate result of when those inner struggles fail and the petty differences escalate beyond repair.

I'm not a fan of fake out deaths in general. They have to be done very well and used sparingly for them to work for me. So having two for Bronwyn an episode apart feels really weak, especially considering she won't even be in the second season. That wasn't the original plan, but still…

The scenes with Galadriel, Adar, and Sauron are some of the best in the entire season. They explore the moral ugliness of slaughtering orcs and Tolkien's own unease with the fact that he essentially created a "damned" race. Delving into this was such a great idea and executed very well. The orcs are kept pitiable without ignoring their evil. I'll really miss Joseph Mawle as Adar. He was one of the highlights of this season. I especially love the subtleties of his acting when he's reunited with Sauron. Does he actually recognize him and just refuses to acknowledge it? So much is accomplished in just a few moments.

And just how redeemable is Sauron? Knowing who he is makes every interaction so fun to watch and interesting. His scene sitting beside Galadriel is one of the best. Their relationship was such a surprising aspect of the series for me, but it worked so well. On paper it sounds like such a lame idea. Yet with the right amount of thought and care, along with a couple of skilled actors, they created a significant connection between characters that holds the themes of the season together. While it may have gone further in some places than I would have liked, you can at least see the roots of every choice being inspired by bits and pieces from Tolkien's writings.

The creation of Mt. Doom may not be 100% practically sound, but its combination of dark magic and soulless machinery feel thematically right for the story. Just as Galadriel surviving getting engulfed in fire and smoke might not completely make sense. It's a stunning visual that works perfectly for her arc.

(And let's not pretend Frodo and Sam wouldn't have been instantly suffocated and cooked alive at Mt. Doom).

#Rings of Power #TROP #Lord of the Rings #Gnome Scarf review #Adar #Arondir #Bronwyn #Theo #Galadriel #Halbrand #Sauron #Waldreg #Tolkien

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swaps55 · 8 months

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Trademark: Pining So Hard They Become Trees(tm)

Proud to be home to this particular trademark, my friend. Is it really pining if they aren't going so hard they can still long for each other while in each other's arms? I think no. XD

I could cite this entire chapter of Cantata for Pining So Hard They Become Trees, but I'll keep it to this bit, which is one of my favorites: ~

In the silence of space, the ‘Yang skips through firing lanes close enough to stick a knife in the enemy’s gut, the knife in this case being the GARDIAN lasers chewing away armor plating and shearing apart small enemy fighters that stray too close.

Ship-to-ship combat is an attrition of heat and numbers, and Kaidan has no control over any of it.

Not the moments of vertigo as the inertia dampeners temper the ‘Yang’s maneuvering burns, the intermittent shudder as the weapons systems find a target, not the slow, steady buildup of waste heat that will eventually force them to flee or cook within their own hull.

And not Shepard. The entire covert operation will play out on helmet cams and comm channels, with Kaidan as a witness. Shepard is nothing more than a pinprick of warmth, lost in the rage of heat playing out on sensors. Kaidan glues his eyes to that pinprick, heart in his throat as he waits to see if the Cannae’s GARDIAN lasers detect the infiltration team hidden in the heat signatures of the battle playing out around them.

It’s not until Shepard’s grav boots connect with the Cannae’s hull that the white drains from Kaidan’s knuckles.

But now that they’ve reached the target, there’s a new fear. Pendergrass hovers over Kaidan’s shoulder, chewing a hangnail as the N team hunts for explosives along the hijacked ship’s hull, because its captors would rather slag the whole thing than see it taken back.

Shepard finds the first bomb.

Pendergrass stops chewing and reviews the scans, walking Shepard through diffusing it, and every other one they find, while Kaidan listens in helpless silence until he’s forced to take another breath.

The comms erupt with gunfire when they breach the hull. Kaidan fixes his gaze on Shepard’s helmet cam, the visual slightly out of sync with the audio feed. They had no way to know how many enemies would be waiting on board, but four N6s led by the galaxy’s first N7 don’t give a shit about the odds. Somewhere in the mix Anderson manages to shut off the gravity, taking the linear firefight into multiple planes.

It’s like freeing a predator from a cage. Shepard’s helmet cam spins with dizzying swiftness as he kicks off walls, floor and ceiling ceasing to have meaning in zero G. His shotgun barks over the comm, tendrils of blue flickering around the edges of the camera lens, but this far away Kaidan’s gravity well remains silent and still.

A ragged cheer raises the rafters on the ‘Yang as the lead ship of the ragtag flotilla goes up. Kaidan presses a finger against his ear to ward off the sound, concentrating instead on the helmet cam and looking for any change in Shepard’s biofeeds.

The N team reaches the CIC. A lieutenant named Angevin goes down when they trigger an explosive while breaching the door, but not Shepard, it’s not Shepard, because there he is on Anderson’s helmet cam, blowing in like a tempest and executing three people, including their leader, without uttering a word. Minutes later, the stolen ship’s transponder changes back to an Alliance signature and the cheering begins anew.

Half the crew waits at the ‘Yang’s airlock to greet the N team when they return, Kaidan among them, swallowing back his relief like it’s a living, breathing thing. He gets lost in the shuffle when the airlock opens and the yelling starts, but Shepard’s gaze cuts through the crowd, and he parts it like Moses and the Red Sea. With a grin on his face that could shake the stars, he throws an armored arm around Kaidan and hugs him tight, thunking an energetic palm against his shoulder. Kaidan returns it just as fierce, the plating stiff and sterile against him.

“Did you see that?” Shepard exclaims when they part, elation on his face, hand still on Kaidan’s shoulder, biotic field humming with kinetic energy. This is Shepard in his element, Shepard at his best. The impossible means nothing to him.

Kaidan grins back. “Yeah, I saw it.”

How can I look away when it’s you?

#swaps replies #mallaidhsomo #mshenko #mememe #meme replies #opus!verse

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demonbanger · 2 years

Text

𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞 𝖎'𝖒 𝖆 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗 | 18+

/ feat: obi from fire force / fluff & smut / enjoy <3

♡ pairing: obi akitaru x fem! reader

♡ summary: a cashier turns into a burning demonic infernal as you just want to get some work done at the cafe. luckily your date, the fire captain of fire force company 8, comes to your rescue and takes care of you, in more ways than one.

♡ c/w: hurt -> comfort, slow buildup, raw sex (use a condom!), hints of mating press, mild choking, pussy slapping, rough sex, captain kink, daddy kink, size kink, reader is called “princess” and gets babied a little, two horny idiots thirsting after each other the whole time who are secretly in love

♡ suggested songs: 🎧 I’m a firefighter by cigarettes after sex / rosemary by deftones

��—————————————————————————

You weren't expecting this. you weren't expecting any of this.

-- just fifteen minutes ago, 4:00 PM--

you were in one of your favorite outfits, feeling elegant and comfortable. you wore swooshy wide-legged pants and heeled boots that dangled as you sat in a tall chair. fun earrings dancing in the air each time you moved your head. brown-tinted glitter lip gloss lightly marking where you sipped on the hand-painted sage green mug. a sight to behold in the cafe. quiet, focused, charming in your own way.

you swirled a biscotti in your hot beverage and sucked on it before taking a bite of the softened part of the crunchy pastry and taking your first cautious sip of the drink.

it scalded the parts of your tongue that it touched, but you appreciated the pain, masochist that you were.

burning a hot trail down your throat, making its way down the esophageal tunnel, into your stomach. like a hot soup on a cold winter day.

your laptop was open. too many tabs open, frankly, for the project you were working on.

letting the noise of people's deep conversations and small talk fuel you to focus on productivity. you tuned their words out a little, now, as you scanned the message on the five-minute break you allowed yourself, over and over, butterflies fluttering in your coffee-filled stomach.

the handsome fire-fighter your friend set you up on a date with, Obi Akitaru, yes, the Obi Akitaru, was asking you out for a third date.

"Hey, beautiful. I hope you're having a good day. I know it's a bit early to ask, but I'd love to make us dinner at mine tonight, let me know. I can pick you up. x"

How could you say no to that? Usually men tried to take you right home from the club, or treat you as a booty-call after only asking for your social media with no real conversation going anywhere. Just a quick fuck. Not like you cared about that part--they just weren't even being creative in asking.

This man, on the other hand, caused heat to flush in your ears. Made you feel ways you haven't felt since having crushes in high school. Said and did everything that made your mind and body say "yes, just yes." You guys haven't even physically kissed yet and you loved how slow he took this--he saw you for the person you were. He made you remember that maybe romance wasn't actually dead in this day and age.

You bit back a smile--he had called you beautiful-- and typed,

"Hi handsome. I'd love to. I'll bring my favorite sake for you to try. See you later, have a good day too, okay? :)"

Not too long after you sent that, you saw a notification flicker in the upper-right corner of your screen. He hearted your message.

Another notification;

"Yay :)) I will now!!"

The way the giant man didn't even hide his warm excitement did something to your heart. He didn't play games. It made you less wary, unlike more than half of your dating history. To be fair, your friends did vouch for the guy, saying he was such a wholesome sweetheart, but you were still scared. What if it was just a front?

You always gave the nice guys a chance, but they'd turn out to be actual demonic entities in still-human bodies, you were convinced, and try to make you feel crazy for not taking their shit. You tried to do your healing and allow yourself to be vulnerable again, albeit behind a wall of glass first, but this guy was so damn attractive, and that in itself was kind of intimidating. Plus, he was the bravest kind of man out there. A part of the Fire Force.

When he took you out, though, you couldn't help but feel something different about him that set him apart. You felt safe. You felt like you could just be you fully and not have to mask for the first-date formalities. He gave you fucking flowers, complimented the little details of how you styled yourself, complimented your personality, not your body.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere brought you out of your sweet dreamy haze and back to earth. It felt like you were falling in a dream and suddenly awoke, nerves racing when you were supposed to land. It was an uneasy feeling...

And you weren't the only one.

It was quiet. Even with the cafe music playing, it felt uncomfortable.

Then suddenly a hiss sounded.

And afterward came the little gasps. A portion of the ceiling lit up a yellow-orange color, and right below it, the cashier had become an Infernal in the middle of calling out the latte they were handing out.

The smart people ran out the building out of true self-preservation. Some called for the Fire Force. You were...frozen while packing your things, heart pounding as shrieking filled your ears. You were tough and driven, but not prepared for combat or Infernal situations. This wasn't in your line of expertise. You were all just civilians.

The infernal was approaching a woman and her baby, who were farthest from the exit.

Something in you clicked, and just like that you realized, you really didn't give a fuck how afraid you were. Your vision was shaky from the adrenaline and you barely felt your body running as you somehow appeared right behind the Infernal. You opened your water bottle and splashed it right onto the Infernal, making it pause.

Large patches extinguished from the water, hissing louder than dumplings sizzling in oil-coated frying pans.

"RUN!!! Just go!!! Don't worry about me!!" you ordered the woman, who nodded gratefully, very wisely grabbed her car keys, and booked it with her sobbing infant, flashing you an apologetic look.

This was a cashier, one who had a life and seemed so kind, did nothing to deserve this, and had everything taken away in an instant. You took a moment to mourn for the cashier, whose corpse was never given a chance to rest after...well, yeah, its death.

The Infernal that remained did not care. Cutesy little pins -- like the Cinnamaroll and Mitski pins you complimented earlier-- on its burning apron juxtaposed with the flames coming from all orifices of the distorted face. The charred face looked like it was in agony but also like all of its memories were replaced with hellish bloodlust.

Little tendrils of flame suddenly re-appeared from the extinguished portions, and you got goosebumps as you saw its head slowly turn to you.

Its blazing attention was right on you. A searing pain entrapped your shoulders, like burning your scalp with a hair straightener--except this was so, so much worse. You gasped and tried to kick the thing away on impulse, but it was inhumanly fast, and hurled you to the wall. You flew right onto a table and chairs, metal and wood bringing searing pain that was sure to bruise. Somehow you were okay, though.

Those who were still in the cafe tried to fight off the Infernal, but it was wreaking utter havoc. The delicious aroma of roasted coffee beans blended with the acrid scent of singed hair, burning clothes, and no--please, it can't be-- burning skin. The charming little green plants around the cafe were converted into little bonfires.

Ever the greeter, the Infernal was right in front of the entrance, too. Smoke made your eyes feel dry, and there was a sharp pain in your lungs.

_____________________

—PRESENT TIME—

And here you are. You weren't planning for any of this today.

You hold your breath and try to think of what to do. You're trapped with an otherworldly creature that was just a kind person who took your drink order. Who didn't deserve any of this. Your shoulders are somehow not even second-degree burned as if by some miracle by Sol. You can say that the worst injury is a favorite shirt being forever ruined. But others aren't able to say the same.

A man hugging his boyfriend who is badly burned, telling him everything will be ok. A son in tears, screaming at the infernal not to touch his mom.

For a second you feel a fleeting thought. What if you die here?

So far there haven't been any casualties, save for the Infernal, but you're terrified.

You want to live. You want to see..how everything pans out. Because what if it does all work out? What happy experiences does life have in store for you that you have yet to discover?

To have a baby to keep safe, just like that mother, no matter how scary and dark this world has become. You... want to take the risk.

In the fire, the smoke, and the ashes, you tug your blouse over your nose and mouth to hopefully filter some air. Your stinging eyes fill with tears--tears coming from the resolve to actually live.

Slowly, you get your crumpled form back up.

You want to live to maybe even see Mr Hot Fireman.

His bravery. His ability to face death every day. The way he trains every morning, building thick tree trunk arms to carry people, save them. The same arms that brought you into a warm, gentle embrace when you both met outside the restaurant on your first date.

That's right, what would he do?

You gulp the cleanest gulp of air you could through only your mouth, and hoist up a heavy metal chair.

And that's when you charge. It's all or nothing now.

You have to keep this Infernal at bay until the Force arrives.

You swing and aim for the head. It actually makes the creature fall back.

Thank Sol you weren't holding onto the chair, as the metal would have conducted the angry heat from the torrent of flames the creature lets out straight to your hands. You shriek and dodge the attack, just in time. If you can't take flight, at least the adrenaline helps you to fight somewhat.

A white-hot pain wraps around your shin and blindsides you. Your heart drops. No. Not again.

The creature's hand is extended and warped to rope around your lower leg. You've pissed it off.

Just as you think, shit. This might actually be it but at least I tried, the Infernal suddenly lets go and the searing pain leaves, if only slightly.

The creature screeches the most horrid sound you've ever heard, leaving your ears ringing as its eyes face towards the sky.

And then you notice the black gloved hand impaled through the chest of the infernal.

A soft, "Latom" from a young sister's voice trails from behind the dying creature.

Finally, the poor cashier can rest in peace. The Infernal slowly dissipates into thick, black cinders that dissolve into the air, revealing a hulking figure clad in back with glowing blue stripes--who immediately props you up with thick arms you could feel through the heavy uniform.

"Y-Y/n," a deep, gentle voice breathes through the metal grated face shield.

He props up his grated face shield and looks over you, making sure you're not overly hurt.

"Obi?" you reach out for him, your bottom lip trembling. Fuck, you've only seen him twice before this but you need a hug.

And that's just what he gives you.

He holds you tightly, amidst the other survivors being escorted. Nothing can hurt you now, because he is here. Rubbing soothing circles into your back. Rocking you back and forth, dissolving your worries with just a touch. "I'm sorry it took me so long, you're safe now."

You want to diffuse the situation, to cope with humor as you always do. Except...there are no jokes, only every emotion you should've felt in the last fifteen minutes, giving you whiplash all at once. Your throat tightens.

You try to fight the wavering in your voice but he still hears it.

"No, you're g-good, you came so quickly, I thought for a second I was going to die," he's looking into your eyes, and dammit, hot tears are flowing down your face, so as a defense mechanism you smile and laugh, wincing a little at the pain in your ribs from being thrown earlier. "But, at least I got to throw a chair at its face!" you choke out.

His concerned expression breaks into a soft smile as he tenderly wipes away your tears with a rough gloved hand, the same one that punched right through a burning possessed corpse.

This moment alters your brain chemistry forever. Feeling warm, safe, soft under his dark brown gaze. Seeing his pupils are kind of wide as he looks tenderly towards you.

"That's my girl."

My girl. He really just called you his....Your cheeks burn at him saying that, and you turn away, unable to look at him without blushing. Biting your tongue to keep from grinning so hard. It's not lost on him.

You need to change the subject, and fast.

"I, uh, might need to get my things, since they didn't burn thankfully, can I?"

Akitaru chuckles, as if that's so obviously not the answer. "I've got it, Y/n, don't worry about a thing."

Before you can protest, he's carrying you high above the ground princess-style and frees an arm to hook it through your bag. You feel minuscule compared to him, so secure, in his hold. Men don't generally make you feel safe like this. But he? He's made you almost sleepy, and you know it's not just you coming down from the anxiety and tears. You're serene like you just meditated for an hour.

The firefighters are silently gushing about how cute you both look together. The rest of Company 8 knows who you are. Little do you know that their lovesick captain has been gushing about you since your second date, as well as today.

Showing the picture of you to the girls having them squeal about how much they shipped you, Arthur saying you are the Captain's Holy Grail, Vulcan making him a little fan the same day because he said the captain was overheating and overthinking.

They all find it cute, Obi finally finding another person to give him a break from all this chaos in the world. So when he asks if they're okay to handle things for today, they brush off this Infernal incident as small anyways.

"This is nothing, captain. You can trust us to help resolve this today," a young man called Shinra grins adorably with sharp teeth. So finally the man asks to take a damn break, he thinks to himself.

You don't see them exchange excited glances.

"How hurt are you, Y/n?" he asks.

"My shin got burned, my shoulders not so much, got thrown around but nothing's broken," you state simply for him.

He looks over at the burned areas carefully.

"Let's get to the truck."

On your way, you spot the mother you saved, still cradling her baby, who is fast asleep in its teddy bear onesie.

She immediately recognizes you and runs to you without jostling the infant, and you realize how funny it looks with the fireman holding you the same way she's carrying her newborn.

"I know you," she smiles, "you saved me earlier. Fighting tooth and nail with that thing. I really can't thank you enough."

You wave her off. "Anyone would've done it, I'm nothing special!"

She clutches your hands in hers, narrowing her eyes. "Well, no one else did. You were so brave out there. Give yourself credit." She turns to Obi. "She was amazing out there."

You finally meet Obi's gaze. How long was he staring at you with all that love(?) and adoration?

You laugh. "Well, just know that you don't owe me anything, just live with your little baby and be happy. That’s all I wanted."

You all eventually say your goodbyes, and Obi is silently taking your behavior as the greenest flags he's ever seen in a lady.

He sits you down on the edge of the truck's back and climbs in to the cooler near the front. In there he finds two sets of cold compresses.

He lets you feel them. "These good?"

You nod. Before you could grab any, he jerks the compresses away from your grasp. "No, you don't", he places them on you, giving you a sweet yet frustrated look that says "geez, let me take care of you". You chuckle at how he's treating you like a newborn lamb.

"This should do for now. We're going to my home now to get you to recover fully, unless you need me to take you elsewhere," the large man states very matter-of-factly, when you get far away enough from the cafe.

"B-but...what about your heavy uniform?"

His dark eyes lock onto yours warmly. "I train every day, so wearing 100-something pounds in equipment and uniform feels like a windbreaker; I'll be okay, cutie, don't worry."

Well, that was unexpectedly hot. You bite your lip and fidget with his collar. "I know you're very strong, I can tell of course, I just need to be held, without this in the way.”

He nods, warmth filling his body. To him, you are so adorable right now, telling him you need him. And boy, does he want to be there for you. "My condo is actually kind of close to here. I'll hold you the entire night if you need me to."

You both haven't even kissed yet, but he was acting like true husband material. It was making you feel so soft, so gushy, and very warm...admittedly in your nether regions.

You think you should be more shaken from this whole matter, but instead you're getting turned on from your date rescuing you looking so hot in his uniform, that supposedly weighs nothing to him. You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck the negative emotions out of you. Is this unhealthy of a coping mechanism?

"Thank you, I'll definitely need to be held if it's not too much," you hum, resting your head where his chest is.

His chest rumbles through the uniform. "I would do anything for you, Y/n, don't mention it." Your brain buzzes in reaction for the entire fifteen-minute walk it takes to get to his place.

You almost ask him to let you walk when you both enter the building, but his grip on you is tight and comforting. The desire to stay in his arms overrides the urge to move and seem like a strong, independent woman. The receptionist does not question anything and gives a kind smile to the two of you.

He's quiet during the elevator ride. Eyes flitting down to you protectively on occasion, his rage at the fact that an Infernal came so close to you, very readable on his little tense scowl. His jawline clenches and unclenches as he thinks about what would've happened if today went differently, if he was even a few minutes too late. He seems almost scared you’ll dissolve right out of his arms. Being the empath you are, you sense he just might be a little, teeny bit concerned about you.

"We're still on for tonight, right?" you ask, dissolving the tension in his mind.

His gaze softens. "You're still down?"

"Of course I am, you're my hero today," you purr up at him, knowing the gentle giant would probably like to hear that. He absolutely is.

Obi's wine-dark eyes twinkle as a blush creeps on his cheeks. He wants to be your hero everyday.

"That right?"

"Yes, big boy, I know you're worried, but" the elevator opens and he walks out, "I'm fine. Just a few scratches and bruises, my burns are only bad around my shins." You can still grab my ankles, though, you bite hard on the inside of your cheek to distract yourself from your mind that's always in the gutter.

It's hard to help, having this large hunk of a sweet man who saved your life princess-carrying you around town to his place, in 100+ lbs of freaking fireman gear as if it's nothing at all.

"Well, let me take care of you on this date, Y/n, I hope you don't mind homemade ramen."

You gasp. H-homemade?! Like all the ingredients??? Complicated beautiful ramen? You could just kiss him right now.

"Obi, that sounds wonderful, especially for today."

His smile is contagious. He's such a hard-working man, yet he wants to pamper you. This man couldn't get more dream-boaty than this.

He finally sets you down when you are inside the apartment.

It is spacious and clean, with some bits of industrial and rock music-inspired decor.

"Please, makes yourself comfortable. I'll get my first-aid kit and get a good look at wherever you're hurting, if that's alright with you."

You smile and nod, sinking into the most perfect squishy brown leather sofa as any worries you had, melt away.

His helmet and gloves are off as he brings you a cup of water. He smiles at you and you laugh.

"Obi, you've still got that bulky suit on, isn't it hard to move?"

He smirks, heading down the hall. "Not at all."

After a minute or two he reappears, and your breath hitches. Charcoal grey joggers hug his legs and...um..everything, and his black t-shirt is barely stretchy enough to hold his gorgeous arms.

He senses you eyeing him like a piece of meat and a heat creeps down his body. He clears his throat, pretending not to notice.

"Y/n, do you uh..have a way to take off your long sleeve shirt?"

Thank goodness you had a couple layers on underneath this.

"O-oh, yeah, allow me," you shyly avoid eye contact and unbutton your blouse, feeling the warmth of his gaze boring into you. He swallows thickly, and you don't hear it as blood rushes to your own ears. His eyes feel so heavy on you.

You strip of your shirt and are left wearing a flimsy little tank and bra. He notices how your nipples poke out, and he tries to think of something boring or unpleasant to keep from getting hard in front of you.

Luckily for him, you don't seem to be paying attention. You tug the shirt up to look at your ribs. There's a bruise, but not as bad as you thought it was. You press on it and wince.

"Silly, don't do that," Obi chuckles rather stiffly.

"It hurts here."

"Hahah, oh really? I had no clue that a dark spot would sting when you jab at it, Y/n."

"Okay smartass, you know what?" You laugh a little and wince again at your ribs reminding you meanly of the getting thrown incident.

His face is back to being serious as he looks over your injuries.

"I hope you don't need to be in urgent care and instead told me you were okay," he's anxious at the thought.

You laugh at how concerned he really is. "No, I'm just tender in some spots, no bone injuries, no organ injuries, promise."

His eyebrow quirks as he kneels in front of you, applying cool aloe vera salve on your minor burns. "Your skin is an organ. Liar."

Your face heats up as his rough hands tug your foot on his lap and he gently pulls up your wide pant legs to examine the burns on your shin.

"Y-you know what I mean, Obi." He's so silly when he tries to be stern with you.

He hums, bandaging the affected areas and doing a once-over of your body. You feel a little bold, and inclined to thank him for everything in a way that can resonate.

"Psst." Midnight eyes dart back to yours.

You beckon him closer, and his hands rest on either side of you as he props himself up to lean his ear close to you.

You whisper, "thank you for this," and move your hand from projecting your whisper to cupping his sharp jaw. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek while it's still turned to you. His skin is so smooth and hot to the touch.

You can tell he's now smiling from the way his cheek dimples, and he turns to you, eyes crinkling and pupils blowing wider as he gazes at you. You're so, so close to him.

"You're welcome, but just one critique," he drawls softly, his body heat, the scent of him in his cozy sweats utterly delectable. A gargantuan hand of his moves up to cover all the way around the back of your head.

"Oh? And what would that be?" you ask, tilting your head sweetly.

His nose touches yours, and you can't stop thinking about how you feel warm, so warm.

"You missed."

You both close the distance, and your lips lock hotly, cozily, perfectly. Your head spins and it feels like forever until he parts the kiss.

"Been wanting to do that to you," he whispers.

"Me too."

Your lips are back on his as you tug him back to you, and you feel him smile into the kiss, your hands trailing to the nape of his thick neck, feeling the fuzz of his fade. You're trying so hard not to devour each other, but it's really really hard for both of you to control yourselves. You gasp for air a little, and he pulls away to look at you, a love-dizzy grin on his face. You sigh at the loss of contact, giving him puppy eyes that make his heart throb.

"If I kiss you again, I won't be able to stop, and I'll forgo the need to cook you something to eat, which would be very bad of me," he murmurs sweetly, as he kisses the top of your head, hooking his arms around your legs and hoisting you up.

"I hope you can forgive me for being so mean and making us dinner," he finishes as he sets you down for the third time today.

You giggle. "Fair enough." You admire how his muscles are practically ripping out of his shirt as he turns his back to you to open the fridge. He takes out chasu meat he's marinated, noodles, green onions, dried seaweed, naruto, and eggs. Starts slicing the meat and simmering it with some onions, garlic, ginger, and broth. Boiling noodles. even the noodles look handmade, you think.

It starts to smell so good in the kitchen as you talk about funny work stories, about hobbies you enjoy, about music.

"Wait, you like rock, too?" his eyes light up, "no way!"

"Yes, way!" you smile, as you both talk about bands you enjoy. Music from before the cataclysm. Music with soul, with feeling, before most of the world burned down.

If not for the feeling of the bandages as you unconsciously trace a hand over your arm, you almost would have forgotten how today started.

"You know, not just anyone could make me forget about almost dying, but somehow you have," you ponder, eyes glittering up at him as you sip your water.

"That's how I feel about you, too, Y/n," he says. You can tell he means it. "Let's sit. Dinner's ready."

You hop down from the counter and grab a beautifully plated bowl of ramen. "This looks immaculate," you gush.

"Not nearly as good as the Lieutenant's cooking, I can tell you that much," he chuckles, cracking open a bottle of sake.

"We'll have the sake I mentioned at my place next time," you promise.

"Yes, I want to try it! I'm sure it's better than this one," he pours you a little sake glass.

"Pshh, nah."

The food and sake are both delicious. The raven-haired man may downplay it, but he's so good at cooking. Which, a man that cooks? Just one more reason why he's literally so enchanting. He's almost too good to be true.

_____________________________________________

"You pat your stomach , satisfied. "That... was beautiful," you say with a grin, "but holy shit am I stuffed."

Obi hums. "And you're amazing, lady! Almost ate more ramen than me. Almost. But no one can beat me.” He winks. “Let's watch a show, yeah?" You both cuddle up on the couch, your head resting on his chest as one of the best pre-disaster shows --The Great British Bake-Off-- plays.

Both of you are creating you own commentary on the show, and his thick arm is curled around your waist. You play with his other heavy forearm, feeling the veins coiled around its girth and squeezing his muscles.

“Y/n,” he says, breaking a few moments of silence.

You hum in response, and he smiles at you picking up his forearm like it’s the heaviest thing in the world, and hugging it in your arms. He blushes as he feels your soft tits against him and almost loses focus on what he's about to say.

“Am I holding you enough like I promised you I would?” He’s genuinely concerned, peachy lips pursed in thought. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how he’s such a sweet man. You want to show him just how much you appreciate everything about him and his kind heart.

You move a little bit to straddle him and hold his face, accidentally turning the poor man on way too much, flustering him.

“…Obi, you’re doing amazing. I feel so comfortable, so safe. You’re so good to me, so strong, and I just know you’re such a good captain.” Captain. Fuck, everything you’re doing and saying is making heat rush downstairs to his aching cock. Maybe he wants to hear you say that one more time.

“Yeah? Is that so, pretty?” he says through slightly-gritted teeth.

You sense something in the shine of his eyes, laying beneath the waters, almost like a ravenous crocodile waiting to devour what sinks in. The hysterically strong man smells of almost danger, like he absolutely does bite. But he's trying, key word trying, to push it all under layers upon layers of sweet frosting, to no avail.

His hands holding you on your lower back rub circles on your soft exposed skin, and your hips twitch involuntarily to your sensitive nerves being caressed.

The dark-haired man picks up on your little innocent movement. His cock fucking jumps at your hips slightly grinding on him, and his nostrils flare a bit to catch his breath.

“Yes captain, I think you should keep holding me as you are,” you answer him, a hand of yours feeling the planes of his pecs. His heart is beating rapid-fire, like he's about to have a heart attack under you.

“Ah, so I should keep holding you just like this,” he says, drunk on lust, his hands moving down to the globes of your ass, naughty thumbs now choosing a new place to circle—the crease your hips make where they meet with the plush of your thighs as they’re wrapped around his torso.

The skin of your hips is so sensitive to his electrifying touch, playing with the bands of your panties, massaging you and making you feel like squirming. You whimper and your hips jerk back to get away from the burst of stimulation, only to bump into something big and hard.

Is that.....

It jump against the curves of your ass, to answer your question. You gasp, and curl a fist in his shirt. His rings of dark brown have disappeared into the darkness of his blown out pupils and he smirks.

He tightens his grip, and you feel his abs through his shirt as you scramble for balance.

“I’m waiting for your answer, sweetheart,” he’s snarling now, barely able to contain himself from wrecking you. You take a second to remember what he's asking.

“Y-yes, you’re holding me—,” his hands get ever closer to your core—“just right, fuck,” you squirm, causing you to grind a bit more on his hardened cock.

Heat creeps through your ears as he leans in to whisper, “Don’t stop moving baby, you’re making your captain feel so good right now, being so tempting all fucking day.”

“Yes captain,” you moan—to which he growls—you shiver and shift your hips to grind right on top of his hard member, heartbeat in your pussy as you feel the shape of his cock, how utterly perfect it is, right down to the mushroom tip…holy shit he’s thick. He helps guide you and your clit rubs right on him through way too many layers of fabric.

You whine and bite your lip, hand still on his washboard abs for stability.

“You like what you feel, love?” he asks, and you think yes, you do enjoy what you feel, with both your palms and under your soaking pussy. A bead of sweat is on his forehead from how aroused he is and how warm the air is around you both.

“Yes daddy,” you test the waters, he's asking so many questions, and it's getting harder and harder to answer him each time. Suddenly a gasp is pulled out of you when he flips the two of you over. His hands tease your waistband, as he looks you deeply in the eyes, a sharp predatory gaze making you clench around nothing.

“Say that again.” Arousal drips from his voice; it's so deep it's almost hard to make out what he's saying.

“Yes daddy, need you in me, please,” you repeat, not caring about how needy you sound. His ears perk up like a hungry wolf’s at your desperate, pathetic pleas.

“Good fucking girl.” He yanks down your pants and panties in one go, eyes never leaving you so he can watch your face as he sinks a finger in, a hand on your hips to hold you down.

"Could smell how wet you've been all damn evening, see how obviously you've wanted me all day," he pumps the thick finger in you, curling it towards your pelvis.

He groans and you mewl at how good just one of his fingers feels. Holy fuck, his finger is so big and rough as it thrusts slowly into you.

“Shit you’re so wet, baby...and it's all for me, yeah, gorgeous?” He spreads your wetness around, admiring how wet you sound, look, and feel. Your hips buck, and he slaps your clit.

You keen as he puts two fingers into your wet heat, reveling in how you grip around him. Like you don’t want him to ever leave you. Like you’re begging to be filled.

You're just thinking about how two of his fingers is thicker than three of yours when you try to stuff yourself. Just how thick is his cock, you wonder? You want it, and you want it to hurt.

Your arms are wrapped around his head, and you pull him closer so you both kiss. The kiss is steamed and ravenous, and your gasps are the perfect opportunity for his tongue to enter your mouth and find yours.

His knees hold your legs open and keep you from squirming as the heel of his hand rubs against your puffy clit. He breaks the kiss to hear your breathy moans better, as your arousal drips onto the couch.

“Tight little thing, making such a mess for me, you like my fingers? Yeah?” His hot breath fans over your ear as he talks dirty to you, every single word turning you on more and more. You spread your legs wider because you want him so badly.

“Mmh! Yes daddy, feels so good! Please, need you please!” you beg. He doesn’t need you to ask him any more than that. He quickly pulls his sweatpants and boxers down, and his cock springs out, slapping his shirt, spreading a bit of precum in its wake.

His cock is dribbling and delicious. Perfect, just as it felt when you were grinding on top of it. Girthy and long, with some black, neatly trimmed stubble above it, topped with a peachy pink drooling tip. Veins to match his forearms snake around his cock, especially the beautiful underside, as he pumps it, eyeing you like you're his favorite dessert. Your eyes are wide at how gorgeous his cock is, like the rest of his delicious, fine self. You need to see more of him though.

You tug on his shirt, and he catches your drift, chest swelling with pride at feeling so desired by the woman of his dreams. You both help each other to get undressed, ripping clothes off and tossing them to the floor.

He’s leaning over you, absolutely rippling in pretty muscles, and you admire all of the hard work visible in his physique.

“Your staring is making me blush, Y/n,” he breaks the lustful silence, coyly rubbing the back of his neck. Oh, so he's shy now?

“Yeah, Well, this is all for me, can’t help but stare,” your hands trace his firm muscles, nails scratching his skin lightly, making his cock jump visibly.

“I train every day for this, to build a body only one special lady can touch, it's all for you,” he lines himself up with your entrance, your thighs on top of his lap.

"'M a lucky lady," you shift impatiently, trying to get him inside you as soon as possible.

"But I'm much luckier," he rasps, slapping his cock against your clit, making you cry out.

He coats himself in your sweet juices, high on how delicious your arousal smells in the air. He swallows, trying to keep himself from going completely in with one thrust.

Your mouth makes a little “o” shape as he eases in the first couple of inches, stretching you out deliciously with his fat tip. The sting feels divine.

“Obiii~” you whine, and you feel every ridge of his cock as he pulls out a little, and then drags back in slowly, then out, then impales you all the way in til he bottoms out.

The stretch is unbelievable despite him going slow, and he gives you a few moments to adjust to his size. You can’t believe his big horse cock fit, but that's because you're made just for him, and he will make it fit every fucking time.

“Y/n…shit, you feel amazing,” he pants, and he rubs your clit a little to get you to relax a little.

“I'm so fucking full, fuck me Obi,” you whine, needing to feel him move inside you, which he does, and you add, “‘m all yours, please,” so that all sanity leaves the giant man above you.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, and he starts pounding into you, his thick cock dragging along your walls making you cry and beg and scratch his back. Your legs feel like they're stretched and spread so wide to make room for the big man who's pistoning himself inside you. Your hands cannot possibly touch as your arms are wrapped around his back, and his largeness and vastness turns you on all the more.

He nibbles on your neck possessively as he folds you like the luckiest lawn chair alive, hitting spots no finger of yours could ever reach, making you see stars.

You’re babbling little “yes’s” and begging over and over in a melody to his ears, coaxing him on towards ramming into your sloppy little pussy, fat breeder balls slapping into your cunt, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Pleasure is making you feel dumb, and you want his cock inside you where it belongs, forever and ever.

“Obi,” you struggle to mewl his name, and he looks at you, clenching his jaw not to come right then and there at the adorable, hazed over look in your eyes.

“Yes, Princess?” He rumbles, hitting a spot that makes your eyes roll back. Then he hits it again. Your nails claw his back like kitty scratches. And again. You squeal, sinking your teeth into his big ol chest, And again. Your body rocks with each of his powerful thrusts.

You’re drunk off his cock hitting your spot over and over, and he eats up all the little noises you make.

"Princess?" He holds your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact with him with your poor, teary eyes.

“K-Kiss… me,” you whine when you’re finally able to form words with your dumb little brain, and he happily obliges. Anything for his special girl. You’re devouring each other’s faces, tongues wrestling, eating each other’s moans.

You bite on his bottom lip, and he smiles into the kiss. “Dirty girl,” he rasps lowly, hips smacking into yours in one particularly sharp thrust, making you wail. Your legs wrap around him so he fucks you extra deep, as you kiss extra deep, your hands looking to hold onto something, anything, and settle to hook onto his shoulders. He curses under his breath, wanting to cum inside you just like this. But he can't. Because he was irresponsible enough to forget a condom anyways. you take him out of his thoughts with your weak babbling.

“You’re,” kiss, “so,” you both kiss again, “fucking,” *kiss* “big,” you whimper in utter bliss, a small bit of drool dripping from your mouth.

“Sorry, who’s big?” he nips meanly on your neck, and your legs and walls clench around him in sync at his bite, making him grunt loudly.

“You, captain Obi,” you whimper, and he moans beautifully, only hitting your overstimulated spongy spot now, battering into it with his huge cock.

You're close to finishing as most of your vision is filled with static, and he can tell by how sporadically you’re fluttering around him, threatening to milk him for all he's got. His rough pubes are brushing against your sensitive clit just right, and your toes curl extra tight as you can barely handle the pleasure.

Then, the cherry on top. One of his hands goes up to wrap around your throat and lightly squeezes, making you extra lightheaded and he sweetly says,

“Go on, angel, cum for me.”

Your vision goes white as you close your eyes tightly, your back arching into him as he slowly and deeply thrusts into you through your orgasm, your mouth open but not producing any sound.

When you come back to earth, it takes him a few more thrusts into your clenching heat before he forces himself to pull out, spilling his hot, sticky seed onto your stomach. His moans are the hottest sounds you've ever heard.

You pant and look at each other in the eyes as you both come down from your highs, and he smiles down at you. You smile back, sleepily, head buzzing, and he tells you he’ll be right back.

He wipes a warm, wet towel on your abdomen to clean you off. You twitch when he wipes your still sensitive pussy, and giggle as he folds the cum rag neatly once he's cleaned himself off.

Then you both lay there, on cloud nine, warming each other up on his couch, in utter bliss. He lays on top of you, his weight better than any weighted blanket or body pillow, sharp face smooshed between your boobs.

“Like I said, you can have me as many times as you want, any time you want me, I am at your service,” he reminds you as you snuggle, the sweet smell of sex still in the air.

“It’s gonna be a long night then,” you whisper, and he smiles, already hardening again. ♡

___________________________________________

A/N: thank you for reading 💌 after fucking all night they had a sleepover and y/n wears his big tee to sleep. <33 as they should.

#[✏️] speaking in tongues #demon papí draws #fire force smut #obi akitaru smut #obi akitaru x reader #fire force imagines #obi akitaru #akitaru obi #anime fanfic #x fem reader

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