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yellowharrington · 2 months

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wildflower and barley -- joel miller x reader

pairing + fandom: joel miller x reader, the last of us (hbo)

word count: 5k+ oops

warnings/notes: smut smut smut!!! minors DNI, 18+!!! no outbreak!au. age gap (it's implied reader is in her 20s while joel is 45) and mentions of joel being kinda perverted and liking it lol. drinking (both reader and joel, not excessive), use of a dating app like tinder but not specified, unprotected PIV w creampie and oral (m+f receiving), do not fuck your tinder hookups without protection i'm just horny and gross. excessive use of darlin' as a nickname. implied that reader likes men. she/her pronouns used, afab!reader (with mentions of body parts), no use of y/n. if i missed anything lmk!

a/n: heavily inspired by this post by @yesttoheaven about joel's tinder profile!! it has been rotting my brain since i saw it which literally inspired me to write my first fic in the tlou fandom ever so please be gentle with me. i imagined show!joel because i've never played the game so do with that what you will. please reblog and leave comments if u enjoy it <3333

divider by @cafekitsune

summary: after deciding to change your age range on a dating app in hope of a change of scenery, you stumble across joel miller.

No one likes using dating apps.

Swiping left, left, left mindlessly at troves of men holding fish, showing off their trucks, or with deer heads mounted to the walls behind their selfies holding guns.

This was Texas, after all.

Having just moved here, it was a little shocking, to say the least. But you were getting used to the “eligible” bachelors that were your age generally looking and acting the same. When you did end up finding someone of interest, you were usually turned off pretty quickly by whatever shitty pick-up line they had chosen. Or, your personal favourite, “wanna fuck?”

No thanks.

It was an idyllic summer evening, the hot stuffy air of Austin flowing in through your windows. You laid in bed, propped up on the pillows against your headboard and sorting through the faces that adorned your screen. No one particularly interesting, as usual, and every profile was starting to melt together to look the same.

You sighed, looking into your settings, adjusting and increasing different metrics to hopefully change the pool just enough for there to be someone new or interesting.

Age range: 25-30

Your eyebrow cocked as you looked onto the screen, pulling the slider more to the right experimentally. No one was here to see you, and even though it was slightly embarassing to be interested in older men, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t pique your interest to imagine it. Even just to try, and see, if they ever really did grow up. You imagined it was wishful thinking, but increased the range anyways.

Age range: 35-45

Feeling the need to throw your phone across the room after doing that, you placed it face down under your pillow and slid out of bed. No use in swiping through them now, and you were getting tired of looking. A pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a new episode of your favourite show was waiting for you downstairs.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel Miller does not use dating apps.

He barely knows how to send a text on his phone, let alone navigate the world of online women. Not to say he didn’t explore the options, so to speak, but they usually were not ones that were single, his age, and in his area. Unless the ads on those sites were real, that is.

“It’s starting to get sad,” Sarah had remarked at breakfast, when they got on the topic, and Joel feigned hurt. Hand over his heart, he dropped his fork onto the plate. “It’s not sad, Jesus. I’m just busy, is all.”

“Busy not gettin’ busy,” Sarah remarked, and Joel’s eyes widened. “Hey now! None of that.”

A blush spread up his cheeks and ears as they continued to eat breakfast in slightly awkward silence, before Joel took his plate to the sink. “Okay, off to school, you. And no more conversations about my dating life. Ever.”

Sarah laughed as she finished off the last of the juice in her glass. “I’m just saying, dad. You can if you want to. Might be nice for you.”

Joel planted a soft kiss to her head before she bounded out the door, rolling his eyes and calling out a ‘love you’ before she closed the door swiftly behind her. Joel stared at his cell phone on the table. Maybe it would be nice.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

The following evening, you were a little too excited to see the dating app specimens you had acquired. Not sure what to expect, really, and you went in with no expectations. It’s not like they’d magically all be tall, dark, and handsome, but some variety never killed anybody.

Paul, 41

Daddy, but not yours. No libs allowed. 6’ because that matters.

You sighed deeply. Some things never change.

After swiping through much of what you were used to, a profile managed to catch your eye among the sea of disappointment.

Joel, 45

Just a Southern gentleman trying this out for the first time. Contractor of over 10 years. I love my daughter, BBQ, strong coffee, and sleeping in.

Now that was the most interesting thing you’d seen in a while.

He didn’t look a day over 40. His eyes creased at the corners when he smiled wide in his photos. He looked tan, a product of the Texas heat and his job, you thought. His features were accompanied by salt-and-pepper facial hair and messy curls that looked soft and pliable. His photos showed off his physique incredibly, tight wash-worn t-shirts pulling over his arms and shoulders, looking big, broad. He was no doubt the most handsome man you’d seen on an app, maybe ever.

When you swiped right before you could think too hard, you were surprised to see the green “Match!” Flash across your screen.

Your fingers ghosted over the keyboard on your phone, thinking of a witty thing to say, probably for too long.

Your phone buzzed as you saw a notification pop up.

Joel has sent you a message.

Hey, darlin’. How are ya?

You felt your face warm at the sweet message, when was the last time someone had called you darlin’? Ever?

Hey cowboy. I’m great, how are you?

He was certainly an eager responder, taking only a few seconds to reply. You found yourself smiling down at your phone screen.

Cowboy… I like that. I’m better now that I’m talking to you.

Oh, Joel, who told you to say that? 😂

No good?

Not bad. 6/10.

Only 6/10? I’ll work on it. I like to think I’m better in person.

I would love to find out.

You found yourself emboldened by how easy the conversation was flowing. Joel was certainly easy to talk to, easier than the other matches you had going for you, and infinitely more handsome.

Oh, would you? Alright. I’d love to take you to dinner sometime. If you don’t mind being seen with an old man such as myself in public. Or meeting a stranger from the internet.

He’s a very handsome stranger. I would love to go to dinner with you. Know any good spots? I’m new around here.

There’s a great barbecue spot in downtown Austin. If you’d prefer something fancier, let me know.

I love bbq. Just tell me where and when, cowboy.

Tomorrow, 7pm ok?

You sent him your phone number in the message. Fuck it.

Sounds great. Text me the address, I’ll be there. :)

Joel’s reply didn’t come. Instead, a text appeared at the top of your screen with an unknown number.

It’s Joel. This the right number?

Yup. You found me.

Great. Talk tomorrow sweetheart. Looking forward to it. :)

He texted you the address of the restaurant, right before you opened the contact card, saving his name as “cowboy ♡”.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Cowboy. Cowboy. Cowboy. It was playing over in his head like a broken fuckin’ record.

Joel was positively freaking out about this date.

Sarah had managed to secure a sleepover at her friend’s place, so the house would be empty for the night. He had been busying himself with cleaning the entirety of the house, even taking the time to mow the grass before work and vacuum the family room. He can’t remember the last time he vacuumed anywhere.

Would she even make it back here? How does this work? Will she want to sleep over or hang out on the couch or should he be making a dessert for after?

His mind was brought out of it’s craze by Sarah jumping down the stairs. She plopped her bag down on the freshly wiped countertop.

“Careful,” he warned, putting a hand up. “I just cleaned that off.”

“I can tell. It smells like the cleaning aisle threw up in here.”

He smirked before patting her head with his hand, as she aggressively smoothed out her hair. “Dad! Don’t!”

“When do you wanna go to Ellie’s?” He asked, more gaging how long he has left to get ready than actually asking.

“Probably soon. Why? Tryna get rid of me?” she poked her dad in the side, but when she flinched away instead, a large smile spread across her face. He was tense.

“What’s your deal?” Joel hated the way she knew him so well sometimes.

“Nothing.“

“Are you going on a date?”

Silence fell over the kitchen between the two of them, as Joel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “How did you know?”

“Oh my god, you actually took my advice,” Sarah laughed, watching her dad’s face burn red with embarrassment. “Just don’t do anything weird on communal surfaces, please.”

Joel shook his head at her suggestion, already becoming annoyed with the whole prospect. He was so nervous, about what to wear, how to act, what the expectation was… let alone, what would happen if they made it back to his place at all.

Although, when he was able to shake his nerves for a second, he was just really fucking excited.

“Wear those dark jeans, and that green shirt you wore to Tommy’s last week. Looks good on you.” Sarah smiled as she put her arms around Joel’s middle, while his worries melted away with her touch. “She’ll love you, I promise.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

It had been such a long time since you’d been on a proper date, you were starting to lose your mind at the simple process of deciding what to wear.

Clothes were strewn across every surface of your apartment, shoes matching with jeans that matched with cardigans, tops that matched with belts and jackets.

It’s 87 degrees at 5 o’clock, idiot. You’re not wearing a jacket. Relax.

Exhausted of picking out outfits and making decisions, you collapsed on your couch and took a look at your options. You landed on an easy sundress, putting the rest of your clothes back in their respective drawers, and pulling out all of the products you were expecting to use to get ready.

You scrolled through your phone aimlessly as a notification bubble popped up on the screen.

We still on for tonight darlin’? Or did you change your mind?

No worries if you did. I respect that.

You let out a cackle at the message, thinking about how he must look right now. Was he nervous? Scared? Was he just looking for a controversially young fuck?

You weren’t… completely against that.

Didn’t change my mind, wouldn’t in a million years :)

Meet you there. Can’t wait to see you.

His eagerness to meet up would’ve been a red flag if it were any other run of the mill guy, but something about Joel felt special. There didn’t seem to be any funny business with him; too sincere to try anything other than just a good old fashioned date.

You too, cowboy.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When Joel showed up at the restaurant, he clenched a small bouquet of pink peonies in his right hand and checked his watch obsessively. The minutes ticked away, as he kept a high alert for anyone who could be his potential date. He knew what you looked like, of course, but this being his first time doing anything of this sort is making him hyperaware of anything going awry.

When he does lay eyes on you, his whole gaze softens. A pink sundress, hair pristinely styled and a bounce in your step that reminded him of summer. You looked like an angel, the sunset behind you painting the sky tangerine, which reflected off of the shine against your supple skin. So young, beautiful, it was taking his breath away.

“Joel?”

Your voice matched your sweet demeanour, and he was taken out of his waking daydream.

“Hi,” is all he can say, letting his breath out as he relaxed. “Yes, hi, sorry. I’m Joel.”

“Hi,” you laugh back, eyes darting to the flowers in his hand. They matched your dress.

“These are for you,” he gets the hint, extending his arm out, and you can see the veins bulging in his forearm. He looked so much stronger in person, it was making your knees go weak.

“Thank you, wow,” you held them up to your nose to smell the sweet aroma. “I love peonies.”

“Me too,” he smiled, showing off a string of pearly white teeth, that contrasted with the pink of his lips and the even tan of his skin.

“Shall we?” He extended his arm to you for you to grab onto, and you got to feel the warmth of his skin for yourself. Your hand wrapped around his forearm as he opened the door of the restaurant for you, leading you inside and catching a glimpse of the backs of your thighs as you walked in front of him.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When you were finally sitting, the conversation flowed easily. He was truly a Southern gentleman, like he had said. It wasn’t normal for you to open up so quickly, but Joel was so easy going and smart, he asked the right questions and knew when to listen. He knew how to listen, a warm gaze and a nod along, asking follow up questions to your answers and easily getting to know you.

You asked about his daughter, his family, his work. He was happy to tell you.

“So, what’s a man like you doing being single in this city?” You take a sip of the wine in the glass in front of you, burgundy staining your bottom lip.

He takes a bite of the food in front of him, a napkin pressing to his lips quickly after. “Been busy,” he started to say, honey brown eyes meeting yours for a second. His gaze sent an electrifying pulse down your spine.

“And, well, when Sarah’s mom left there was a ton to do,” he says it nonchalantly, as if that should be something normal to happen. “House, work, school, she keeps my hands full. Hasn’t been a lot of time.” His syrupy drawl is pulling you in, you’re enticed by the way he speaks to you. So easy, warm, soft. You wonder what his hands feel like on your body, lips pressed to your neck, torso pressed against yours.

“Sorry, that’s a lot of information for a first date,” he laughs to cover the awkwardness, and quietly curses himself for going into so much detail about his precarious family situation and basically admitting to you that he hasn’t fucked anything other than his hand in the last 5 or so years.

“No, it’s okay,” you slide your hand across the table, palm up, urging him to slot his hand into it. He takes it, easily, enveloping yours. His fingers find the pulse point on your wrist. You let your eyes drift up to his, drinking in the way his chest fills out the shirt he chose.

“What’s your story?” He asks earnestly, giving your hand a squeeze. “Can’t imagine there isn’t a long line of people outside waiting to take my place, darlin’.”

You blush furiously at the nickname, and let your eyes meet his once again. “You have no idea the… mess that is out there,” the wine is calling your name to take another sip at the mere thought, but you refrain. “Certainly not too many I am interested in.”

“So, is that why you’re on a date with an old man on a beautiful summer night in Austin?”

You could tell Joel, in a twisted way, liked that you were younger than him. It made him feel younger by admission, that you’d want to spend time with him.

“You’re not that much older,” you laugh, not even believing it yourself as the words left your lips. “And I like to try new things. Don’t you like trying new things, sometimes?”

It was his turn to let his face go red at your insinuation. If only you knew how ‘new’ this really was for him, how much he was pushed out of his comfort zone right now.

You didn’t notice.

A little more polite small talk and exchanging of stories was all you could take before the tension was becoming too much. After another glass of wine and a shared plate of sky-high chocolate cake for dessert, you were enjoying his company and could tell he was enjoying yours all the same. When you met his gaze again, hands still intertwined, you could tell there was a question on the tip of his tongue.

“Would you want to…“ - a nervous pause, with a halo of lust - “come back to mine for a nightcap? I’ve got an empty house this evening.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, knowing in your heart that Joel must’ve made arrangements for his family not to be home in anticipation. He had to have planned for you, known in his heart you’d say yes.

“I’d love that.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel’s home is unmistakably him. It smells like a pine candle that sits near the front door and a faint aroma of laundry detergent. There’s photos everywhere, him and his daughter, his brother’s family. Big windows were letting in the twinkling lights of the city outside, the inky sky making them look brighter against its canvas.

“You have a beautiful home,” you say, although it seems a little formal for the situation. What else do you say to a grown-up in their house?

“Thank you,” he takes a bottle of whiskey from the bar cart and pours two rock glasses, handing you one. He flicks on a lamp, ambient light filling the room and painting his skin amber orange, as he joins your side by his kitchen table.

“I did a lot of the construction myself, the decorations are my daughter.” He points lazily to the trinkets on the shelves and photos on the wall. “I don’t really have a good eye for that type of stuff.”

You take a sip from the drink and it coats your throat, burning down as you suppress a cough at the taste. You nod along as he explains the design choices he made in the home, and you play along, knowing it’s likely out of anxiety.

“What about upstairs?”

Your eyes are innocent as they meet his, although you understand the implication you’re making whole-heartedly. He puts his glass down on the kitchen table and you follow his lead, his strong hand around your wrist as he leads you up the stairs wordlessly.

“It’s not anything,” - he clears his throat - “special,” he shows you around the second floor, finishing at the door of his bedroom that has been left slightly ajar.

You step in quietly, leading him inside as you take in the bedroom. Neatly folded clothes, a made bed that looks well loved. Blue sheets and fluffy pillows, big bay windows that let the moonlight in.

“I think it’s nice,” you say simply, letting yourself turn around to meet his broad frame. He looks down at you slightly, eyes meeting yours as your hand drops from his grasp and snakes around his neck. His hands come up the sides of your dress, pulling it up slightly, but landing on your waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks tentatively in the dark of the room, his lips so close to yours already you can practically taste the whiskey on his lips for yourself. You answer him by pressing your tentative lips to his, slotting them together easily.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightens momentarily as he takes you in, pulling you as close as he possibly can. He can smell the perfume on your neck and the wine on your lips from earlier, and it’s making his need for you increase tenfold.

You pull him into you as you stumble back to let your knees hit his mattress, sitting down and letting your hands come to his belt buckle. Your hands came to undo it as he pulled his t-shirt off to throw onto the floor beside him, bending down to help you pull the dress over your shoulders to meet his t-shirt.

You made quick work of his jeans, pushing them to the ground and looking up at him with a keen glance. You could see the breath making his belly rise and fall, anticipating your touch on him any second.

When your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his breath hitched and his head rolled back. He was already half-hard only from kissing you, so a few pumps made him easily ready for your mouth.

“You’re so big,” is all you can think to say, head spinning from the sheer size of him right in front of your face. Your mouth watered at the way his hand palmed through your hair, pulling you in closer to him for some relief.

It was intoxicating to him, the way your mouth fit around his cock. Such a beautiful sight to see, your head licking and sucking at his tip, gathering spit there to lubricate him. His knees were going weak as he watched intently, no thought able to cross his mind, other than maybe how long it had been since he’d had anyone to do this with. He was going to have to pace himself if it was all like this.

Your mouth constrained around the length of him, taking him deeper and deeper with every bob of your head. Filthy sounds were filling the room now, of your eager mouth pulling him in as best you could. His hand stayed steady at the back of your head, not pushing, just softly pressed there for support. His other hand found your shoulder, pushing down your bra strap.

“God, darlin’,” was all he could choke out, using his hand to pull you off of him. Your hand lazily stroked him as you looked up at him, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that,” his laugh eased some of the tension in the room, as you took your other hand and wiped the spit away.

He leaned down, pressing a fervent kiss to your lips before using his own hands to unclasp your bra and let your breasts free. His lips traveled to the side of your neck, before he was kneeled down between your legs, sucking your nipple into his mouth. He lapped at you, all consuming, as his hand came up to grasp the other breast that wasn’t being serviced. He moaned at the noises you were making, lewd whines into the night air that only encouraged him.

His lips made their way down your body to your clothed centre, your back against his soft sheets. You looked down at him intently, watching as he pulled your panties down your legs and immediately delved into your pussy with broad strokes of his tongue.

Your body jerked upwards at the contact, hand fisting the sheet beside you as he lapped at you, like a man starved. His expert tongue found your clit easily, sucking and licking at you for what felt like hours. You thought about his heavy cock between his legs, begging to be touched, hard as ever as he licked at you desperately.

“Joel,” you whined out, feeling your hand reach down to grab at his curls and push him deeper into you. That only made him moan, one hand lazily fisting his cock as the other came up to dip a finger into you, allowing you to see stars when you screwed your eyes shut.

His fingers were so large, pressed into your core as you fucked yourself on them and his tongue in tandem. He was groaning and grunting, and you hoped his neighbours couldn’t see into the window at the desperate filth that was going on in his bedroom.

“Fuck, Joel, please,” you begged, but he had no mercy, and your orgasm was creeping up on you. He was ready to watch you come undone, pushing a second finger into you and furiously sucking on your clit. His other hand left his own pleasure and wrapped around your breast, pressing and playing with the hard nub there, pinching to provide a little bit of sting to it. It was sending you into another dimension.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” and his voice is gravely and debauched, enough to send you into your first orgasm, chanting his name and pulling on his hair. He was happily licking at you, fingers still pressing in and out as to not mess up the rhythm, as you rode out your orgasm against his face.

When you started to come down, he finally detached himself from you before standing up between your legs and pressing his broad palms to your thighs. He stayed there for a moment, cock still hard and heavy between his legs as you gazed up at him, out of breath from his work.

“You’re really good at that,” was all you could think to say, head clouded with arousal. You moved up on the bed a little, opening your legs and pressing your knees apart to show your pussy to him again.

“Please fuck me, Joel,” you breathe out, letting your hand find your own clit to rub it teasingly for him. It was still so sensitive, but the way he was looking down at you, eyes dark and stormy with need, you could almost come again just from that.

He put a knee down on the bed and crawled on top of you, his lips finding yours once again as your hands found his face. You held him there, savouring the kiss as his tongue crashed against yours, all warmth and spit and the taste of you. His hand found your breast and continued to play with your nipples, softly, coaxing more moans into his mouth from yours.

He leaned back and slipped his cock inside of you, filling you up immediately and making you gasp. He groaned into the side of your neck, tonguing the side of your ear and kissing you feverishly as he pumped in and out of you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly close, your moans filling the room as he rocked in and out of you. He kissed your jaw and chest, before reaching down between your bodies and pressing his thick finger to your clit again, using the wetness there to draw circles around your sensitive nub.

“So pretty,” he smiles into your neck, your hand on the back of his, playing with the now-sweaty strands of hair on the nape. “So pretty for me, taking my cock,” the dirty talking is welcome as he continues to bring you closer to a second orgasm, your breath hitching once again.

“Come inside of me,” you say it like a whisper, a secret in the stillness of the room, and Joel is unsure he even heard you correctly.

“Are you sure?” He says it not accusingly, but in a way that conveys he feels like he just won the lottery.

“Yes, please, fill me up.”

You can see the way his eyes darken more, shifting so he’s on his knees and using your body to fuck himself on his thick cock. His hand continued to play with your clit, bringing you so close to your orgasm that tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. His cheeks were getting hot as he thrusted in and out furiously, and you could almost see the stress melt off of his face as he came close to his own undoing.

The white-hot feeling washes over you once again, eyes shutting before you’re back on your elbows and watching intently. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as his thrusts become sloppy, your name pouring out of his lips like a prayer. You’re clenching around him and letting him ride out his high alongside you, slowing after his hot cum coats your walls and leaves you full of him.

He collapses on top of you, cock softening inside as you both catch your breath together. Your chests are sticky with sweat as you breathe, taking in the smell of him, and the feel of his warmth on your body.

He pulls himself from you and flops beside you, still taking a moment to admire you. You look over at him, a lazy smile on your face as your hand reaches out to caress the skin of his chest. He takes the time to run his fingertips up your arms and back as you lay there in silence together, just soaking in the moment in a post-sex glow.

“I guess I should get going,” you say after a few beats, sitting up to grab your dress off the floor. You cringe at the thought of throwing your underwear on and leaving, this being just another random hookup for you that never lead to anything. Joel was sweet.

A confused look spreads across his features and his brows knit together, before sitting up next to you at the edge of the bed.

“I mean, I don’t know how these things usually go,” he laughs, as his hand finds your lower back. “But you don’t gotta run outta here like a scared animal or somethin’.”

You look up at him again, unsure of what to do next. In your, albeit limited, experience with dating app hookups, you were expected to leave pretty much right after.

“Oh, um,” you look around the room at the soft worn-in sheets and the TV across from Joel’s bed. You take a look at him again, your eyes meeting his to match his gaze, where you can tell he’s mentally begging that you’ll stay the night.

“I mean, if you don’t mind, I’d be happy to stay.” Joel smiled lopsidedly and let his hand rub soothing circles at your lower back.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he laughs, stepping over to go into the bathroom and warm up a cloth for the mess spilling out from between your legs. “I wouldn’t mind wakin’ up and doing all that again tomorrow.”

You laugh and lay back onto his bed as he presses the warm cloth to your pussy, his lips once again finding yours to pull you in for a sweet kiss.

You nod, sliding between the comfortable sheets as Joel runs downstairs to grab your abandoned drinks as well as a couple of bottles of ice cold water. He slips into the sheets next to you, not bothering to throw on any pajamas (not that you were complaining), and settling in beside you. After a few gulps of water, you nestled into his chest and let your hand find his tummy, resting on it as you listened to the even pattern of his breath.

“We should do this again. Like, after tomorrow morning.” you say quietly as you’re drifting in and out of sleep. His fingertips continues to slide across your arm and give you goosebumps as you snuggled closer into him, hearing a laugh exhale out of his nose and feeling a kiss press to the top of your head.

In his sleepy, deep southern drawl, he replies. “Don’t have to ask me twice, darlin’.”

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic

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megalony · 3 months

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My Little Man

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, based on a lovely anon request which I thought was very sweet. I hope you all like it, feedback always makes my day.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: Chris finds a memento that brings back a lot of memories for (Y/n) and Eddie from when he was born.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What have you got there, baby?" (Y/n) looked over her shoulder and smiled when Chris toddled into her and Eddie's room.

He had a familiar smile on his face as he made a beeline for the bed and flopped down on (Y/n)'s vacant side of the bed on his stomach. His legs kicked happily against the duvet and he started tapping whatever he had in his hands that he had brought through to show them.

Finishing typing up her hair, (Y/n) looked away from the mirror and walked across to the bed. She slowly crawled over the end of the bed and worked her way up towards Eddie. He was laid on his left side, one arm propping his head up against the pillow and his right arm moved out to let (Y/n) worm her way against him.

She sat down and crossed her legs beneath her as she leaned her back into Eddie's torso, feeling his arm curve around her waist so his hand could splay out on her front. He leaned across to press a chaste kiss to her arm and diverted his attention from the tv over to Chris to see what he was up to.

It would be his bath time soon and then they would watch a movie before bed, but Chris had been doing some crafts and colouring in the dining room for the last half an hour. Clearly he had found something of interest that he wanted to show them.

(Y/n) leaned further back into Eddie and reached her hand down to hold his wrist when she realised what the small red book was that Chris had found.

"My book."

"Your book- oh, your record book… God I haven't seen that in a while." Eddie skimmed his fingers across the leather cover and found himself smiling.

It was the health record book they got when Chris was born. It contained all his information from when he was born up until he was three years old. Of course, all of Chris's records were on file at the hospital and had been transferred here when they moved up from Texas. But this was the book they had to take with them to each appointment when Chris was little, showing his progress and achievements and any changes.

When Chris opened the first page of the book, he skimmed his finger across his name and started to laugh. It always tickled him to see his middle name. Edmundo. He thought it was so funny to know Eddie's full name and know that it was his middle name, after his dad.

A smile danced across (Y/n)'s lips as she held Eddie's hand tighter and nuzzled her face against his shoulder to try and get a better look at the book. Chris must have been snooping through the box in the dining room where (Y/n) kept all their scrapbooks over the years. When she didn't need the baby book anymore, she kept it safe with all their family pictures and albums.

Chris dragged his finger over the chart on the left page which showed milestones and his age progression. He didn't quite understand the chart but he traced it anyway before looking onto the next page.

"What's that mean?" He slid the book to the left so it was level with Eddie's arm, allowing both parents to look over the next page.

"That's how big you were when you were born. Four pounds, see." It made Eddie's chest tighten to think that Chris was that small when he was born. It brought back memories that plagued Eddie in the dead of night. And it hurt knowing his son was that small when he was born, knowing he would of barely fit in Eddie's hands when he was a newborn.

Chris flicked across a few pages to the developmental pages but he didn't understand what they meant. There were doctors notes, saying his speech was delayed, he could hold himself up but couldn't walk yet. But he was engaged in conversation and seemed to understand everything around him.

"What about that?" He tapped his finger against the two words that stuck out to him which appeared on the page before and the next few pages in the book.

Correct age.

"That means your development age… you were doing good for your proper age." Eddie ran his hand across his chin and scratched up the side of his jaw. He couldn't think how to word it in a way that Chris would understand.

"Proper?"

"Your birthday's in November, yeah?" (Y/n) waited until Chris nodded, suddenly alert at the mention of his birthday. "Well, you should have been born in February, baby. So every February, that's when you hit your correct age… it's just something the doctor uses to make sure you progress properly, that's all."

It always irritated (Y/n) that Chris was three months ahead of where he should be. When he had his first birthday, it was clear he technically looked like a nine-month old and then he didn't look two, or three. He never looked his age because he had been born far too early.

And in terms of progression, the doctors used his due date to give his correct age. So it didn't matter if Chris didn't hit his milestones on or around his birthday, they used his correct age to guess where he was at and track how he was getting along. His speech was behind but he had done so well in getting back on track. His walking was different and couldn't be judged because of his Cerebral Palsy.

But things like sitting up and following conversations and interacting and playing and socialising, they could all be tracked. And Chris hit every milestone in those areas as he should have near his correct age.

"I was small?"

"You were tiny,"

Chris made a small whine like he was disagreeing and before Eddie could move, Chris leaned over him. Eddie gruffed and rolled onto his back so it was easier for Chris to lay on his chest and reach across for his chest of drawers beside the bed.

His nimble fingers moved into the top drawer and he scoured around until he found the silver photo frame he knew was tucked away in there.

"I wasn't tiny, see." Chris put the photo frame down on the bed next to the book and pointed.

(Y/n) felt the way Eddie tensed behind her and he leaned back up and smothered his lips against her bare arm. She felt his hand tighten over her stomach and his arm tensed and bulged at her side when he looked down at the picture.

It was the first time Eddie held Chris.

The photo stayed on Eddie's bedside table since the moment it was taken and now Chris was a bit older, Eddie swapped the picture for an updated photo. But he kept this first memory in his drawer, close by for whenever he felt the urge to look at it.

Eddie was still in his uniform in the photo, he had raced down to the hospital from the moment his feet hit solid ground back in Texas. It hurt Eddie more than anyone could ever comprehend to not have been there when Chris was born.

They had it planned out, he would finish his tour in the army two weeks before Chris's due date and be home in time to be there with his wife when she gave birth. Eddie hadn't expected to be told while he was out in the army that his wife had already given birth prematurely, without him there beside her.

He had to deal with pictures and video calls of his son, seeing him progress over a dodgy internet connection for the first three months of his life. Eddie never got to hold his son when he weighed four pounds. By the time he came home, Chris had bulked up to seven pounds and was finally able to leave the hospital and go home.

Eddie had lost even more sleep in the army, fretting that he wouldn't be there if something happened to his baby and he lost his son. He couldn't stand the thought of losing Chris without ever seeing or holding him first.

"No, bud… I wasn't here when you were born. I was away in the army." Eddie perched his chin on (Y/n)'s shoulder and managed a smile when she brushed her hand across his cheek to wipe away a tear.

"You were being brave."

"No, not as brave as you and mum."

***

"There's my girl- you're gonna have to speak up mi amor, it's fucking loud over here."

Eddie held the Ipad in both hands and grinned when the screen finally lit up and he was faced with a blurred pixelated image of his wife. Three months out here was starting to feel like three years with how long Eddie had been separated from her.

He knew it would be hard when he signed up. Being away from his family wasn't as much of a burden as being kept away from his wife. Letters were good, they were a physical keepsake he could hold close to his heart when he thought of (Y/n). Pictures were even better, they reminded him that he was never going to forget what she looked like and that he would be home soon to hold her in his arms.

Talking to her like this was the best out of everything. Seeing her on the screen and hearing her voice kept Eddie going and gave him something he could think back on and listen to in the dead of night.

He hadn't been excited to leave for the army while (Y/n) was pregnant, though. He was missing everything. The appointments, the sonograms, the pictures. And worst of all, he was missing out on watching the way (Y/n)'s body was growing and changing while he wasn't there. But he would be home soon. Just less than three months and Eddie would be home to hold his wife in his arms and see how much she had changed and hold her stomach before she gave birth.

"How are you, mi amor?" Eddie tangled a hand in his hair and ruffled it further back and away from his eyes. He didn't want anything to obscure the vision he now had in front of him.

He was glad the tent was empty. There was nothing Eddie hated more than having to talk to (Y/n) with people watching and listening. He couldn't ask her to stand up and strip for him or let him see how much her stomach had changed if he had others in the room.

Panic struck Eddie in the heart and wiped the smile from his face when the image on his screen cleared and started to move.

Within seconds, the signal improved enough for Eddie to see his wife. Tears stained her face, her eyes were red and puffy and her hair was falling out of a loose bun at the back of her head. Her body looked to be trembling and Eddie could see her chest quaking as she struggled to take proper breaths.

"Baby what's the matter?" Eddie squinted at the screen before another realisation hit him like a truck and sent his heart reeling in his chest. "Where are you?"

"The hospital," (Y/n) finally dragged her eyes up from her hands to stare at the screen and the moment she saw Eddie, a floodwave of tears drenched her face and a horrible sob bubbled past her lips.

For the last two days she had been crying and screaming his name like it was the only thing she could understand. To finally have him on screen in front of her, able to talk to her was too much to handle. She just wanted him home, and there was no way to get that wish and have her husband's arms wrapped around her or his voice in her ear or his lips on her burning skin.

She couldn't have any of it.

"Why, what's happened?" Eddie had spoken to her only a few days ago and she had been fine. A little under the weather, but nothing to warrant going to the hospital. They had moved location and now they were set up here, Eddie had been able to schedule another video call today. "Is it the baby?"

He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to ask that question in case the answer was yes and he wasn't mentally prepared for the outcome.

"I… oh Eddie… I've had the baby." (Y/n) swiped her sleeve along her eyes and beneath her nose, but it didn't help the sob she let out.

She hated the way Eddie paled like all the colour was being drained from him and he started to shake his head in denial.

She couldn't have.

How could she of had their baby now- already? She was twenty-eight weeks pregnant. Not thirty-eight or forty. She was six months along, nowhere near ready to give birth or be at risk of labour. Eddie had told her he would be home before she went into labour. He promised to be there to hold her hand and coax her through it and hold their baby when they were born.

"You, no. No- how? What happened?!"

"My water broke w-when I was with your mum… they tried to stop it, but… but, I had him last night."

(Y/n) didn't have all the answers Eddie wanted. She didn't know why it happened or exactly how it happened. One moment she was feeling sick while at his parent's house, then the next, her stomach clenched and she realised she was sat in a pool of water.

She was given medication and put on observation to see if labour would stop, but it only held off for one day. She went back into labour yesterday afternoon and by eight o'clock in the evening, she had a baby boy snatched from her arms and taken away from her. And all (Y/n) could do was scream out for Eddie throughout it all until she passed out.

It would have been some sort of comfort to have Eddie on the laptop like this, just to have him aware and somewhat present was all (Y/n) wanted. But she couldn't have him in any sense of the word.

"Him? It's a boy?" Tears pooled in Eddie's eyes and began to fall down his face as he held the Ipad closer as if it would help him inspect his wife. "Is… is he okay?"

A quiet noise vibrated at the back of Eddie's throat when (Y/n) moved the laptop further back so she wasn't as close to the screen. She could see Eddie's eyes zoom in on her stomach and his lips curled down at the corners like he was going to howl when he saw the change in shape. She still has something of a bump, but it was different now. And with (Y/n)'s arms wrapped around her waist, it cemented the fact that Eddie had missed it.

He missed the birth of his son. He missed being there for his wife when she was in agony and needed comfort and reassurance. Eddie missed everything.

"We have a boy. He's in the neonatal ward… but I can't hold him. H-he's only four pounds." She could see the relief in Eddie's eyes and it made her cry harder.

He dreaded the thought that their baby didn't make it.

"Oh God. Mi amor, I'm so sorry… I- fuck I can't even come home and hold you. I'll try and video every day I swear. Will they let you stay with him? Is someone there with you, has ma stayed with you?" The thought of (Y/n) being there on her own sent Eddie reeling.

If she was alone he would go mad. He would message both his sisters and his mum and demand someone go down and stay with his wife. He wouldn't have her being on her own for a minute when she's just had the most stressful event of her life.

"Your mum's sitting with him, she won't leave me." (Y/n) was relieved to have Eddie's family right around the corner. She was grateful to have been with his parents when this happened and for his mum never leaving her side.

She took (Y/n)'s hand, she let her scream and cry and say Eddie's name until she was blue in the face. She had done everything she could, and now she was watching over her grandson while (Y/n) had a moment alone to explain everything to Eddie.

"Good."

"Eddie, t-they couldn't find a vein, God his skin… skin is like paper. The canula is, is in his head."

(Y/n) watched the way Eddie grimaced and almost gagged at the thought.

Their boy was so small that they couldn't find a vein anywhere to give him his fluids and medication. His skin was as thin and fragile as paper and they couldn't put the canula in his hand, his arm, his leg or even his foot. They had managed to find a vein on the top of his head that was prominent enough to push the needle into and it made (Y/n) want to scream.

She had never seen one in a newborn's head before.

"Ooh, baby." Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose but it didn't stop the tears from falling. "I'll be home with you soon, you'll see. I swear, I'm never leaving either of you again."

***

Eddie tipped his head forward and let the water trickle through his hair and hit the back of his neck. He could feel his skin shivering and prickling at the lukewarm water draining down over his back and pooling around his feet.

He leaned his head down a little further until his lips were smothering the top of Chris's head.

He had his son curled up against his chest, his small head resting just below Eddie's neck against his collar bone. He had one arm across Chris's legs and the other curled around the back of his neck with his fingers spread across Chris's back to keep his son steady and stable on his chest.

Droplets splashed up against Eddie's shoulder and the bottom of his chin when Chris began bashing his fist down against Eddie's chest and making little gurgling sounds.

"Is that better?" He murmured quietly against the top of Chris's head while he began swaying from left to right. Moving the stream of water over each shoulder while he kept his head leant forward so the water didn't pelt down on Chris too much and overpower him.

It was strange to think that Chris was three months old when he was the exact look, size and weight of a baby that could have been born yesterday.

Eddie didn't like it.

He didn't like looking down at his son and knowing that he had missed the first three months of his life. Eddie didn't like the thought of people coming up to him, asking how old his son was and having to explain he was already three months old. It wasn't right. Chris shouldn't have been born so soon.

He shouldn't still be struggling to breathe and coughing into Eddie's neck like this after recovering from an infection. He was too small and fragile for any of this.

"Come on then little man, back to bed." Eddie turned off the shower and shook the water free from his hair before he stepped out the shower.

He hadn't planned on getting a wash this late into the night, but when he went to settle Chris and found him coughing, Eddie figured it might help. The warm water and condensed steam might help settle Chris and make him breathe easier and it seemed to have worked.

It had tired Eddie out too and he felt like he might be able to get a proper night's sleep now.

Eddie had been home three days before the hospital said Chris could come home. Part of him was pleased he was home before Chris was discharged from the hospital, it meant the first night having him home, Eddie was here. He could help (Y/n) waking up in the night with Chris and seeing him in his cot and giving him his bottles.

But he knew it had been a struggle for (Y/n), she had been living down at the hospital while Eddie had been praying for time to speed up so his tour could end and he could go home.

"Let's find mummy."

He began to hum quietly as he tilted Chris down so he could wrap a towel around him and settle him in the crook of his left arm. He kept his arm moving up and down to rock Chris while he quickly dried his hair and ran the towel briefly over his frame. It took some effort to wiggle his way into his boxers with one hand and drag them up over his hips, but he managed it.

A soft smile pulled at Eddie's lips when he headed into his and (Y/n)'s room and his eyes found his wife. She was asleep. Just where Eddie had left her when he went to settle Chris and subsequently get a shower with him.

He eased Chris down on the bed and moved to find a nappy and onesie. His tongue poked between his teeth as he carefully wiggled Chris's legs and arms into the onesie and buttoned it up the middle. Eddie wasn't the best at getting him dressed, but he was certainly starting to get better.

He was happy to be doing this now, with Chris grown to be the normal, perfect size for a newborn. Eddie wouldn't want to of been a nurse changing the tinny, obscure size nappies when Chris had been born. He had seen Chris plenty of times over zoom calls with (Y/n) and the photos she had taken for him. It was strange to think such a small, fragile, wrinkled infant was the boy who was now in his arms.

"Okay, there we go." Eddie loved the tired yawn Chris made and the way it crinkled his button nose.

When he carefully picked Chris up, Eddie held him close and looked over to (Y/n)'s side of the bed.

Suddenly, he didn't want to put Chris down in the cot near (Y/n).

He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to. Eddie shook his head and carefully sat down in bed. He shuffled the pillow higher behind him and reclined down until he was slanted at an angle and drew the cover over his lower half.

He eased Chris up and snuggled him onto his chest, watching the way Chris coiled his arms up to his chest and his knees pulled up near his tummy as he laid on his front on Eddie's chest. The weight was comforting. The slight compression down on his ribs and the strain it put on his lungs to try and take deeper breaths. It made Eddie's mind settle and did something to relax him.

He wound his arms over his chest, resting one hand on the back of Chris's head and the other hand on his lower back, snuggling close. He kissed the top of his head before he leaned back into his pillow and started to glide his thumb up and down the back of Chris's head.

Eddie couldn't find the will to turn the lamp off or close his eyes yet, so he focused on trailing his thumb up and down the back of Chris's head and watching his boy take big, snuffly breaths.

Something shuddered down Eddie's spine and made his chest quiver when he glided his thumb across the left side of Chris's temple.

His scar.

By the time Eddie came home, the canula had been removed from Chris's head, much to (Y/n)'s relief. But Eddie had seen it on video calls and in pictures. It had been a horrid sight. A needle right into his skin, kept in place with tape and pinned to the side of his temple so he couldn't scratch it or pull it out.

"I'm here now. I've got you."

Eddie groggily opened his eyes when he felt something tickle across his chin and glide up the side of his jaw. His eyes couldn't focus for a second or two when they opened, but when his vision focused, his sights set on (Y/n).

Her lips pressed against his bare shoulder and her fingers dragged along his jaw before she laid her arm over his collar bone. He could feel her shuffling up and gluing her front against his left side.

(Y/n) winced when Eddie lifted his upper chest and shoulders up from the bed and his spine made a loud crack as it slotted back into place.

"How long have you held him?" Her voice was quiet against his shoulder and her hand reached to cup the side of his neck.

She could see Chris settled comfortably in the middle of Eddie's chest and both his hands tightened around Chris as if to make sure he was still safe and settled.

"A while."

All night.

He had been laid on his back, slightly propped up against the pillows, all night. With his baby boy right on his chest where he should be.

***

A smile graced (Y/n)'s lips when she walked into the living room and looked over at the sofa. Placing her drink down on the side table, she tiptoed to the sofa and slowly perched down beside Eddie.

He was slouched in the corner, both knees bent out to the sides with his legs spread wide. His right elbow was propped up on the armrest with his hand curled into a fist and his cheek smushed up against his fist, stopping his head from flopping down and hurting his neck. His shoulders were slumped down, his left arm was laid on his thigh and his eyes were closed.

He hadn't been asleep for long, but he had managed to nod off despite the noise circulating through his parent's house.

His parents were making a ruckus in the kitchen trying to prepare dinner, both his sisters and their partners were moving inside and out into the garden and music was playing in the background. And yet, Eddie still managed to fall asleep.

(Y/n) slowly curled her hands around Eddie's bicep and leaned her head against his shoulder while she looked to see what was on tv. She heard Eddie mumble something and groan, but he didn't move.

She leaned her chest up against his arm and slung her left leg over Eddie's thigh until she was practically lying on top of him.

A round of coughing caught (Y/n)'s attention and her eyes darted to the right and locked on Chris.

He had been suffering with a chest infection for over two weeks now, and he was still croaky. Antibiotics took the edge off and an inhaler helped to get him breathing properly for a while, but then the coughing came back. (Y/n) had been giving him two baths a day with salts and vapour drops in the water to try and get the steam into his lungs to clear them.

Her eyes followed Chris as he toddled over, his glasses almost falling off the edge of his nose. His arms were stretched out in front of him and he planted his hands down on Eddie's thighs the moment he reached him.

The four-year-old whacked his hands against Eddie's inner thighs enough to make him groan and stir him awake.

Eddie blinked slowly and huffed, lifting his head off his hand just as Chris used his upper strength to pull himself up onto his dad's lap. Once he was up, Chris scraped his hands against Eddie's arms and flopped forward onto Eddie's chest causing him to grunt.

"Hi buddy." Leaning his head back on the sofa, Eddie closed his eyes again while he moved his hands under Chris's arms and pulled him up higher. He settled Chris down on his chest, with his head on Eddie's shoulder and his arms loosely draped around his neck.

When Chris started to cough, he pressed his lips into Eddie's shirt, over his chest and closed his eyes tight. He felt Eddie's hand rub up and down his back and his lips pressing to the top of his head.

"Deep breaths, that's it." Eddie opened his eyes and glanced down at the watch on his wrist. "Let's get you some medicine… do you want a drink?" His head turned towards (Y/n) and he pecked her lips when she nodded. It was about time for Chris to have some more medicine and Eddie knew his parents would be done with dinner soon.

His hand cradled the back of Chris's neck, and his other arm curved around the back of his legs to keep him in place before he slowly stood to his feet.

He felt Chris nuzzle into his neck and begin taking deeper breaths while he tried to hum into his dad's neck. Eddie kept his lips pressed into Chris's temple, nudging his nose into his boy's curls as he trailed through the living room and made his way into the kitchen.

"Okay, here we go." Lifting his arms, Eddie tried to shift Chris onto his hip but the toddler wouldn't have it. His arms deadlocked around Eddie's neck and his chest glued down against Eddie's with his knees jabbed into his lower abdomen. Chris didn't want to sit on his hip, he wanted to stay curled up against Eddie's chest.

This was how his dad always held him and he wanted to stay like this. Eddie held Chris with one arm and reached out to grab the Calpol, struggling to get the medicine in the syringe with one hand so he didn't have to put Chris down.

"Take this, buddy."

Chris didn't object and took the medicine gladly before Eddie started to pour two glasses of wine.

He felt his mother's hand on his back and Eddie smiled, trying to liven himself up a bit more. His head turned to the right to watch his mother move round and stand beside him, but he watched her narrow her eyes when she noticed Chris curled up in his arms.

"He can walk on his own, Eddie." Her voice was soft but her words and her tone was chiding. It was as if she thought Eddie was doing something wrong by carrying Chris like this.

"I know."

Eddie nodded nonchalantly and took a large swig of wine before he curled his fingers around the stems of both glasses. He turned to face his mother, his son in one arm and the glasses in his other hand. He wasn't stopping Chris from walking. He and (Y/n) had been trying hard to get Chris walking on his own, especially when it was such a struggle to get him standing on his own two feet and able to shuffle around.

Since he was two, Chris had mostly been crawling and shuffling on his bum rather than walking. His cerebral palsy made it harder for him to hold his balance and standing was a struggle.

Eddie didn't want to stop his progress or carry him everywhere, but he was sick. And if Chris wanted to be carried or cuddled or lay on Eddie's chest, then Eddie certainly wasn't going to object.

"He's a bit big to be carrying around." She rested her hand on Eddie's arm but he shook his head and pulled away.

"No he's not." His shoulders shrugged and he pursed his lips as he looked down from his mother to his son. "He's my little man, I can carry him anywhere if he wants me to."

Spinning on his heels, Eddie passed back down through the hall and back into the living room where (Y/n) was sat just as he'd left her. He let her take both glasses from his hand before he turned and slowly eased back down beside her, trying not to jostle Chris too much on his chest.

He felt Chris shimmy on his chest again, curling up with his knees into his chest and his arms left Eddie's neck to wrap around his chest instead. Eddie pressed his hand down on Chris's back before he curled his left arm out and wrapped it around (Y/n). He reeled her into his side with her head on his shoulder so his lips could attach to the top of her head.

His son would never be too old to be carried or to lay on Eddie's chest.

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz #eddie x reader #imagine #911 imagine

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christinebloodwrittings · 2 months

Text

To hunt or be hunted #4

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer Summary: Truth unveiled, Alastor being unusually touchy, Lucifer being himself. Warnings: Mentions of child death.

Hazbin Taglist: @sakuraluna2468 @boogiemansbitch @mysterypotatoink

One year and seven months left. You reminded yourself while watching the black snake tattoo that slowly made its way up your arm, soon it would reach your heart and all would be over.

“Ten years, you work for me at my Hotel, and if I can’t manage to convince you to find something good to do with yourself, I’ll set you free” Charlie’s voice resonated in your head, it made no sense, but the true meaning of the deal was that if she could manage to help you find a reason to continue living, you would have a permanent home at the hotel.

If she couldn’t, you would have your soul back, and then the snake takes care of ending your suffering.

A swarming of feelings and thoughts came from thinking about the countdown, “It’s probably the best” who was going to miss you anyways? No one did back at the living world, your daughter died post-partum, your husband had died because of his sins, most of your friends at the time flew overseas looking for a better life, and there was no family left to mourn you.

Still isn’t.

Your father and your husband were most likely around in hell somewhere, in a hundred years you haven’t bothered to check, probably ended up repeating the same pattern: Gambling, debts, death.

May was a dreadful month, Mother’s day, your daughter’s birth and death anniversary, and just by the end of it, your birthday. Turning 40 is bad, but imagine turning 140 years old, that is worse.

You died at 35 years old in the 1920’s, since that to now it’s been 104 years, plus your age at the time 139, now turning 140. “It’s a blessing that I stayed looking the age I died in, otherwise I would be looking worse” you outlined your hips with your hands while straightening the leather straps around your waist.

‘Y/n, can you come to the parlor please?’ you heard Charlie speak through. You immediately knew what was going to happen, giving that it was nine Am sharp, and you weren’t summoned to make breakfast.

She either told them, or Angel was going to be fried alive.

Just as you guessed, there was Charlie in front of the fireplace, as the rest, except Alastor, looked rather hurt and shocked, specially Lucifer and Vaggie.

“You called?” the smoke cleared, making yourself appear sitting on the couch next to Charlie. A gasp found its way out of Vaggie’s throat before anyone could say anything. The angel collected her thoughts and then she was able to speak.

“Charlie, what the fuck is the AXE-MAN DOING IN THE HOTEL!” Vaggie didn’t doubted a second to stand before her with the spear pointing at you, “She’s the chef of the Hotel” Charlie smiled weakly, trying her best to stay collected. “Since when?” the feline bartender asked, not minding your presence very much.

“Before it started actually, eight years now?” she turned to you for confirmation, which you nodded affirmatively. “And you hid this, because…?” Angel’s turn to ask. Charlie was in shambles trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t raise more questions, but failed, so you interceded.

“We made a deal; we don’t need to disclose the details, but it made her feel guilty” she shot you an unamused look before turning to her partner, her hand softly tracing the outline of her cheek.

“How come you got angry at me for lying to you, but you keep this kind of secret, honey?” ‘Oh hell no’ master or not, you weren’t going to allow that girl to talk to her (or anyone) like that.

“Hey now, whether she wanted to tell you or not it’s my and her business, but you hid the fact that you are an angel, worse than that a murderer, and no better than us sinners, so don’t act all hurt because now you two are even” your eyes lit up as the staring began to feel more lie a threat towards the fallen angel.

“You knew?” she diminished the distance between her spear and your neck, not earning a single flinch on your part, “One piece of advice, your golden blood leaves a trail, and the stench is very… specific, those like me that are used to blood can tell the difference” Alastor nodded in agreement.

“Why didn’t you tell me” Charlie sounded suspicions not hurt, to no one’s surprise really, “Last thing I knew I was a chef, not the gossip press” you took a look back to Vaggie, using a finger to lower the spear with zero effort, “Besides, wasn’t my secret to disclose” you winked an eye.

“Wait hold on, what makes the Axe-man want to work in a place for redemption?” Lucifer questioned, now more relaxed, he was all and hellfire before thinking you had taken her daughter’s soul. “She’s…kind of…forced to be here” another gasp.

Everyone turned to you, “I’m not ashamed of it, I got my ass kicked by miss sunshine here, lost my soul in the process and now I’m the chef” all except you and Charlie laughed, tearing up a little too.

“Charlie doesn’t own a soul, don’t be stupid, she’s lying right, Charlie?” Lucifer, watched his darling, perfect daughter image crumbled when all she could respond to that was a quiet shameful nod.

“YOU OWN A SOUL?” the shock was understandable.

It was too much for Lucifer so he sat beside you, holding his head on his hand, “Before you all judge her, I was stupid enough to challenge her when Lilith had just left, she was in a very dark place, my timing was terrible”

“How dark?” the king whispered your way, “I was her punching bag” he muttered a ‘oh shit’ both impressed and somewhat feeling guilty. They both had similar eyes when it came to pain.

“The infamous Axe-Man of New Orleans, I must say I am a big admirer of your work” Alastor came forward, grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Oh, how unfortunate” he knew your name from above, so he lived around or in New Orleans.

“Why would you say that? You made an entire state fear your axe, for years there was nothing but jazz playing in the streets at night, and what’s best you were never identified nor caught” he pulled you from your seat, hitting his chest, his cane disappeared, leaving his free hand to sneak behind to hold your back in place.

“Well, I’m not that person anymore” Alastor drank in your scent, the sweetness burning its way down his lungs.

Every fiber, every hair on his body, told Alastor to run. Animal instinct, a deer in the jaws of a lion, a prey in front of a carnivore. Maybe because of the post-battle adrenaline he didn't feel the same instinct when you helped him. What will you feel with him so close? hunger? anger? lust? Curiosity ate him alive, he wanted to know what was telling you your instinct, how would it feel to be eaten by you.

“What made you bury the hatchet?” Angel’s pun made you smile, “Alastor” still in his arm, you felt him shift. “When you made yourself…present in hell, young, power hungry and all that, something inside me just told me that it was time to stop” ‘or else it was going to end with blood’ you thought.

“Also before all this, I had heard about the cannibalistic murderer” you were aware of his aberration to touch, but given his closeness, you had no choice. Both of your hands settled on his hips, mostly for leverage, but to see how he would react to you.

“What an honor, I must say your performance inspired mine” his smile twitched, specially after feeling your warmth though his coat.

“You’re insulting me, Mr. Heartfelt” his chest tightened, a growl emanated from your throat, subtle but it made Alastor’s mind cloud a little. Focusing on your dilated pupils at all times to read any sign of warning, he saw nothing, no emotion whatsoever.

“Your act was sloppy, careless. The bullied that became executioner of his bullies, tell me, do you feel better?” He didn’t understood what you were implying, once he tasted human meat he just couldn’t stop. He never asked himself if he was content, or if the blood made him feel better.

“You only targeted Italian mobsters; I’d say that’s rather sloppy” that’s all he could think, “And yet I didn’t allowed myself to be shot in the head” there was a weird aura surrounding you and him.

The situation was charming, two assassins of excellence, powerful Overlords with influence and stigma. Despite their sins, they were beautiful beings full of life and grace. Lucifer couldn't help but feel a tingle on his back watching such a scene. It seemed like they were going to devour each other, and relish in it.

“Disappointed?” your fangs shined with the firelight. “A little” he answered, expecting you to be more sanguinary, just as you used to be. “I’ll make Jambalaya today if that makes you feel better” but no matter what he did, while froze in place, like a deer in headlights, you couldn’t make him feel less excited, so alive.

“Thank you chérie, what about my work as of late?” reluctantly he let go of you, taking both of your hands in his.

“Very entertaining” he has a very slim waist, and yet it felt strong under your fingertips, warm. He has his hands and forearm blackened, just as his legs must be. The rest of his skin must be of that beautiful cream color. Of course, his chest wasn’t bald, like you he has a thin layer of short and soft fur.

“Get a room” Lucifer broke the moment, making Alastor’s eyes turn into the demonic radio stare you knew so well, “Funny I didn’t think such a tiny person could have a massive mouth” he then stepped away. Was it normal to be cold? Your body missed his closeness.

“Here he goes again, how about you help me with breakfast munch-king?” Lucifer felt his jacket being pulled off the couch, dragged by it towards the door that lead to the hallway to the kitchen, “Did you seriously called me that?” he allowed that, with a smirk he gave Alastor the finger.

“Want me to sing the song too?” you warned with a smile, “You wouldn’t dare-” your arm hugged his small frame into your side as you started to mock him, “Ding Dong the witch is dead!” you started, dragging the king down the hallway, “STOOP!” that was the last thing the crew heard before the door closed behind you.

🍎📻

“So, you challenged my daughter?” you hummed a yes, “She took the split a bit bad, huh?” on the corner of your eye you could see him sit on the kitchen island, just a few inches from where his daughter had hurt her hand.

“I’ll send you my medical bill” your sarcasm made him laugh a little, “You don’t look like you belong in the sin of pride, yours must be wrath, isn’t it?” do demons look accordingly to their sins? You didn’t knew, “You tell me, I have yet to allow myself to ponder over what I have done”.

“I think I didn’t introduced myself, please forgive me” you left the kettle under the fire and walked over him, “My name is Y/n” you extended your hand to him, he took it with a smile. “Lucifer Morningstar, you may call me however it pleases you” his touch was gentle, but firm, you could feel his pulse though his gloves.

A thought tickled your brain, “In that case, would you like sugar or honey in your tea, Samael?” his eyes shifted, his horns grew. Like wood, like wood, his gaze was the same as his daughter's, and yet they harbored both hatred and sadness, both as deep as an abyss.

It shot an intense wave of electricity up your spine. You stood in front of the biggest predator in all of hell.

“Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you” he hadn’t let go of your hand, nor squeezed it, “I apologize, my king” your free hand caressed over the fabric.

He pouted, still not letting go of your hand. “If you let me touch your ears, I may forgive you” he turned back, you caught the sight of his tail slithering inside his pants.

“Sure, but please don’t get too close to the inside, my instincts are very strong and unforgiving, I would hate to have your blood on my uniform” You couldn't even finish speaking when he pulled your hand, immediately starting to touch the fur surrounding your ears. His knees settled on either side of your hips, taking advantage of the extra height the furniture provided.

“So soft, it’s so weird, a lion sinner, usually it’s a loyal, brave and true creature, heaven material” the sensation made your heart flutter. You felt like a dog, which made your ego bruise up a little, but at the same time his hands were warm and gentle, he took your advice and avoided the areas that you mentioned.

“Anyways, you’re forgiven, again, you’re very soft” Another cold feeling due to loss of touch, how annoying. You swallowed a lump of saliva before you could speak again, “Thank you, I take care of myself”.

“Oh and the note, thanks, it hasn’t been easy” he didn’t eased the pression on your hips, “Marriage ain’t easy, and being apart after thousands of years must be rough” it’s not like the closeness bothered you, but it grant him a cocky smile and a sense of power over you, that feeling brought back the feeling of looking like a dog.

“I just…I wish I could make it up to Charlie” his hands grabbed one of yours, fidgeting with your fingers and the palm. “If it makes you feel more at ease, the sole fact that you’re here partially does more than enough” the light in his eyes lasted a few seconds, it was a lovely sight.

“Partially?” worried? Understatement. “If I say it you can’t hit me or anything” he made an X over his heart, then his hand went back to yours.

“She lied to you and you just went along with it? Parenting 101, mutual respect: she doesn’t lie and you don’t either” he applied a light pressure to your hand pads, making your claws come out and retract, that seemed to amuse him.

“So I have to…ground her?” his golden gaze went up to your eyes, but you were far too concentrated in his movements. “Well not now, but maybe speaking with her about it might be the right course of action”.

Melancholy, he had a feeling so he went for it.

“You were a parent?” he was right, your pained expression lasted a second but it was enough for him to feel a pang on his side. “For a day and a few hours” your eyes darkened, as it they were lost in a thought. The warmth of his hand on your cheek and a soft ‘My condolences’ brought you back.

“I just know appropriate parenting by taking my parent’s example and do the opposite” you masked your pain with a smile and a smart remark, just like him, “Yeah, me too” his response made you scoff, “Where would you’ve sent you daughter for this kind of idea, Heaven?”.

Laughter filled the room. He wouldn’t do such a thing, nothing Charlie did would make Lucifer banish her anywhere, much less punish her like that for trying to help others.

“I had a different perspective of you” your tail stiffened around your leg, “What, a soulless maniac killer and nothing more?” you used to be like that. He laughed, “I mean, soulless indeed” you ruffled the hair that fell on his forehead, “But I’m glad I was wrong, thank you for taking care of my daughter, I see she trusts you a lot” you wouldn’t call it trust, nor she relied on you much.

Now that you think about it, taking care of her was instinctive, “I just grew used to her this past eight years” he smiled, “Thank you” he sensed the shift in you, the situation tensed up very quickly.

“Don’t, and just to be fully open about it, you were my objective” you would never show your fangs to anyone, looking like an animal doesn’t give you the right to act like one.

“Wait really?” his lips twitched, almost smiling. “I thought if I bruised up your daughter you would appear, but you saw how that ended” he hummed, rather amused. Your intimidation did nothing to him.

“Are you strong enough?” his question, he was insulting you? “Are you offering to fight?” you looked at him up and down, not a trace of malice. “I mean if that’s what you wanted?” he was willing to fight with you? “I…I knew I wasn’t strong enough, nor I am now. To be honest, I wanted to pass to history as a crazy bitch who died at the hands of the devil”.

‘I’m oversharing, shut up’ you took a deep breath, adjusting yourself in between his legs, “I see” his breath hit your skin, “Now I just do this, and I’m fine with it”.

“I’d say, you’re terrific in the kitchen, no matter if it’s a served cold or hot type of dish, you always make it taste like home” your ears flattened against your head. “Thank you” he then looked up from your hand once again, a tender pink hue adorned your cheeks.

“Anyways” you got rid of his touch, as well as separated his knees just enough to walk a few steps backwards, “I have to make breakfast, and I just pulled you away because your constants fights with Alastor has gotten old very quick” you walked away, taking your white apron off the hanger, then tied a lovely bow on your back with the laces.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, see you later then” was that disappointment? You didn’t knew, and couldn’t care as long as your body remained trying to shake off the excessive heat, and the phantom of his touch still lingering. “Fuck” thinking about it made you cut your finger with a knife.

-------------------------------------------------

Stay tuned :3 Part 5

#alastor hazbin hotel #radio demon #cursed cat alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fanart #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin fandom #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin angel dust #hazbin alastor

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cakexblankett · 3 months

Text

Lap dance

Character

Larissa Weems

Rating

Red

Words

1.804

~•~

It was a chill sunday evening when you received a message from Possum.

Possum:

Wish you could be here with me, mommy is feeling very naughty tonight.

10:30 PM

You bit your lip, reading the message again and again.

You had been texting this misterious woman, who called herself Possum, for a couple of months now. It all started innocently, she found you on Tumblr and sent you a message. You remained intrigued by her, her way of texting was sweet and passionate, especially when she talked about what she liked- fashion shows and fashion in general, she could go hours telling you about it.

You stalked her account; she reposted pictures of cats, and, obviously, fashion related posts. She seemed innocent but refined. Soon enough, you found out she wasn't that innocent after all.

She started asking you personal questions, at first normal one, like what was your colour or your favourit dish, then getting more insidious, like what was your favourite position in bed or if you liked to be toped.

You didn't mind, you took a liking to her, so you replied truthfully, knowing she would do the same. And before you knew it, she started wanting you to call her mommy and even asked you if you would be willing recording you touch yourself. You declined, but not because you didn't trust her or because you were ashamed or shy about it, but you would have prefered leaving this kind of things for when you would meet in real life.

You:

Then maybed I should come over and make mommy feel good.

10:35 PM

It was time to get things in motion and see who you were talking to. You imagined she was a beautiful woman, she said she was in her forties, and you loved middle aged women, so that was surely a point in her favour- and in yours. You imagined she was a freak in bed- all those messages she sent you, about how she would have liked to try different positions with you, made you certain she was a beast in making love.

You waited for her reply, while your thoughts filled with fantasies of her touching you. You didn't even know how she looked but that didn't stop you from dreaming.

Possum:

I'll send you my location. Don't make mommy wait.

10:40 PM

You jumped off your bed and ran towards your wardrobe. You were wearing your pajama, so it was evident that you needed to change. What to wear, though, was a dilemma. You wanted something that would have caught her eye, something luxurious, sexy, but easy to be undressed from.

After a while, you opted for a tight skirt and a blouse- you left the first three buttons unbottuned. You wore a choker with the word "pet" spelled on it.

You smiled, calling a taxi and giving the driver the adress. The ride there was torture, you nimbled on your bottom lip, thinking of all the ways she would make you come undone. You were already feeling the ache, the need to feel her touch all over you.

Once arrived, you paid the taxi driver and texted Possum.

You:

I'm here.

11:19

You looked around you. The neighborhood was quiet and you could tell from the villas and expensive houses that she was rich like everybody else there.

You glanced at your phone, seeing that she read your text. You waited for a second, before the door in front of you opened and your breath itched in your throat.

Before you stood the most beautiful woman you had ever layed eyes upon. Her white hair was in an introcate updo, her plump lips were painted a sinful shade of red. Her blue eyes were watching you curiously and hungryly. She was tall, very tall and she wore a tight, beige dress, that accentuated her curves in a delicious way. You imagined she was beautiful, but she was divine, she was more than you could have ever dreamed of.

"Please, do come in."

You smiled, making your way into her house. It was huge and well decorated. She wasn't lying when she said she liked fashion. Everything was curated meyiculously, every detail added to the perfection of the interior.

"This is nice. You are nice."

She raised an eyebrow, smiling. You were so nervous, you felt your cheeks flush red.

"Am I just "nice" or do I make you feel something more... carnal?"

You gulped. You had just met her and yet you were ready feeling inebriated by her. It made you feel dizzy, like you were dreaming, but you hoped it was really real, that she wasn't just a fantasy born from your imagination.

"You make me feel everything at once."

She hummed and you had to close your eyes, the sound going straight to your core. Her voice was something otherworldly. Her english accent made her sound refined, and her voice was sweet and low, making you feel like a sailor at sea, called by a siren. You were doomed, you could have easily fell for a woman like her. Maybe you already did.

You opened your eyes at the feeling of her hand on your throat. You gasped, her fingers tracing the letters on your choker. She giggled, an exquisite sound that you wanted to hear more of.

"My little pet."

You watched her lips move whilst she said that, feeling the need to know how soft they were. Her hand closed gently around your neck, squeezing gently. You let out a moan, watching as Larissa's eyes grew darker. Then her lips clashed on yours, it was so fast you could have missed it if it wasn't that now you two were kissing, and her lips were soft as feathers, your wanted to stay like that forever.

Her tongue swept on your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and you gave it to her. Her tongue didn't have to battle with yours for dominance, because you were more than alright being the one seduced and dominated. The fact that a woman like her wanted you made your ego reach up the stars.

"Come."

She took her hand and led you up the stairs, to her bedroom. The room was spacious but almost empty. There was a huge painting on one wall depicting two women having sex. It was beautifully made, it almost looked like a photograph. There was a kingsized bed, who screamed for you to use it.

She kissed you again, more gently than before, and started unbottuning your blouse.

"If you're not feeling comfortable, tell me to stop and I will."

You shook your head, helping her undress you.

"I want this, I want you."

She gave you a quick peck on the lips before taking off your blouse. The skirt followed it on the floor. She took two steps back, glancing at you.

"Hm beautiful."

You blushed, her compliment meant the world to you. She made you sit on the side of the bed, then she slowly started taking off her dress. Her legs were long and toned, almost in contrast with her pale complexion that made her look like she made out of porcelain. When she remained in her undergarments, she sat on your lap and began moving on you, giving you a lap dance. It was funny, her, the tall and mature one, giving you, the small and young one, the lap dance. But you didn't complain.

She knew what she was doing, roaming her hands on your body, her hot breath on your ear. You clasped your hands on her butt, helping her move easily on you.

"Tell me what you need."

Her whisper made you shiver.

"Fuck me."

She stopped her motions and got off you. She kneeled and opened your legs. You moaned at the sight. She looked at you with doe eyes while she took off your panties. The fresh air hit your wet center and you whimpered. She stroked your folders with two fingers, feeling just how ready you were to be taken.

"Is this the effect mommy has on you?"

You nodded frantically, seeing her on her kneew, between your legs, made you horny like nothing else could.

"Do you want mommy to make you feel good?"

You nodded again, letting out a small moan. She was so hot, so seductive, you wondered if she was ever like this or if she learned to be.

"Say it."

"I want mommy to make me feel good."

"Hm good pet."

She licked your slit, latching on your clitoris, sucking at it and swirling her tongue around it. Waves of pleasure washed over you, you felt euphoric. She swept her tongue one last time on your bundle of nerves before entering you with two fingers. You let out a whimper, grasping the sheet under you. She curled her fingers inside you, making you see stars.

"Good girl, taking me so well."

You were a moaning mess, soon you felt the orgams wash over you. She helped you ride it, still moving gently inside you.

"Such a good pet, did mommy make you feel good?"

"You made me feel more than good."

She smirked, taking out her fingers. She put them in her mouth, looking at you straight in the eyes. She moaned, tasting you on her digits. Your pupils dilated, feeling yourself grow needy once more.

"Do you want to make mommy feel good too?"

She took off her undergarments, and positioned herself between your legs. Her clitoris touched yours, and you felt a jolt of electricity run in your veins. She started slowly moving her hips, the friction making you whimper. Your clitoris was still sensitive, but it felt good to feel her moving on top of you.

"Hm you're going to make mommy come."

She started riding you faster, her hips swaying up and down quickly. In a matter of minutes, you two were pn the edge.

"Come with me, make me hear you scream my name."

You only needed a few more movements and you both came.

"Larissa!"

She layed beside you, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. You hugged her, feeling her warm skin touch yours. You could get used to this.

"It was awesome."

She laughed.

"You had doubts?"

You smiled, shaking your head. She cupped your cheek. You tried to take a picture of her in your mind. Her lipstick smeared, her updo slowly falling apart. She somehow looked better than before.

"If you want to, you can stay the night."

"I would love to."

You both smiled. You felt incredibly lucky to have met her, and you knew that night was the start of something far bigger and marvelous than you could have predicted.

#fanfiction #ff #lesbian #actress #gay #gxg #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #gwendoline christie x reader #gwendoline christie #x reader

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lazyjellyfish300 · 3 months

Text

Traitor💔

Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman Reader

Synopsis: A blurb detailing your heartbreak from Miguel inspired by some breakup songs. Word count 1.5k ish. Meant to be a one shot. (JK, I MADE AN EPILOGUE)

A/N: had this idea after @prettyinpink350 commented that The Woman He Didn't Choose part 1 reminded them of All Too Well-10 minute version by Taylor Swift. I imagine getting your heart broken by him would SUCK. The man has such a tragic backstory, it would take a long long time to get him to be comfortable with getting hurt again and vulnerable, possibly hurting whoever he's dating or seeing in the process if their expectations don't align. I think that ATSV and the comic version of him are different however, it's possible some of the personality traits would stay consistent and so as a result he might struggle with infidelity. I think he's had his fair share of experiences.

BUT I do still write sweet, fluffy soft Miguel, though. Because I do believe he has a soft side that exists and it's unfair imo to write him off as completely incapable of being a good partner because I believe he can. I imagine it'll be a tough road but he would eventually get there. He's a complex man and I love him anyway. 🫶🏽 Working on DD part 9 and the woman he didn't choose I promise, I've been dead lately in terms of motivation.

TW: MINORS DNI, ANGST, CHEATING (I DON'T CONDONE THIS), HEARTBREAK, BREAKUP, MIGUEL IS MORE COLD IN THIS, SMUT ( IT'S BRIEF, P IN V, DEGRADATION, SPANKING), age gap(reader is 26, Miguel is like 34-35), no happy ending

The songs that inspired this(all rights to rightful owners, some of the lyrics were tweaked slightly):

----

It was her. It was always going to be her.

🎶I was just the villain built to come between you two.

I'm just the other point of view. 🎶

It's the movie where the guy gets the girl in the end. She's the one that got away but then comes back into his life, lighting up his world, making him realize his new girlfriend would never come close.

That all too familiar shift in the way he acted when she moved back into the city. When you noticed how he started looking at you with a gaze that was clearly being stolen by someone else. You decided to ask him about it and he dismissed you with a shake of his head, calling you paranoid.

🎶Brown guilty eyes and little white lies

Yeah, I played dumb but I always knew🎶

Now he brings her around, almost as though to shut you down on purpose. Showing her off like a brand new trophy.

If any of the sweet nothings he told you were true, there's simply no damn way that he could have fallen in love again so quickly...

🎶Ain't it funny....🎶

----

But months later

🎶You call me up again just to break me like a promise.🎶

The 1 am call you know you shouldn't answer but you do anyway.

"She's not here.......Please, I need you."

And there you go, jumping in the shower for a quick rinse and brushing your teeth, speeding towards his apartment like a dumb ass.

------

"Fuck......FUCK! God baby...so fucking tight.....I missed this pussy, fuck...."

A shower of sharp spanks land on your ass, one after another, after another as Miguel thrusts his cock into you from behind.

"Yes.....harder, baby.....HARDER!"

"Yeah?....You would fucking like that, wouldn't you....Needy little slut....mmmm you like it when I fuck you like this, huh? Can't get enough can you? "Had to come crawling back for more of this cock?"

Every word stings harder than the slaps he's giving you but it's a sick, twisted, erotic feeling. You actually love it. The fact that he's still craving your pussy even though he's supposedly with his dream woman. The fact that you're still on his mind as soon as she leaves.

The fact that you're in his bed right now, not her. Even if only just for tonight.

"Fuck....yes.....baby.....can't get enough of you....mmmmm fuck I missed you so much....."

"Say that again."

"Missed you so much Miggy...."

"¿Cuánto?..." (how much)

"So fucking much....I crave you all the time....."

Miguel lets out a loud groan and you practically scream as he pounds you without mercy into his mattress he shared with the other woman.

Shortly after, you're laying all fucked out, panting as you close your eyes, decelerating from the heavenly orgasm he pulled out of you, only for it to shrivel up when you feel your clothes land in a pile next to your head.

"She'll be back any minute....you gotta hurry."

"What?" You sit up, confused.

Miguel's too busy taking a shower, trying to rid himself of your scent. The damning evidence of someone else in his bed while she was gone.

You immediately regret ever coming over.

You're about to rip him a new one but your spider senses tingle. You can feel her ascending the staircase. You throw on your leggings and hoodie and swing away into the night without saying goodbye.

-----

You let him have it on the phone later.

"I wish you thought through all of this before you strung me along and made me fall in love with you..."

Miguel stands outside his apartment, he had to sneak down to take your call as soon as he was sure she was asleep. He tenses his jaw. He feels guilty but there's not much he can do about it now.

"She's older...more mature. I need to be with someone who's able to understand and live with my responsibilities. I shouldn't have given us a chance, but I did because I needed to move on from her.... I can't help that I've known her since we were kids. She gets me."

🎶So casually cruel in the name of being honest. 🎶

"Oh and I don't? I don't Miguel? So all those times I stayed up with you, crying, holding you and promising you I wasn't going anywhere, those didn't happen? Or the fact that I saw you lose it completely multiple times and still called you the next day? The fact that I was willing to let go all the times you let me down because I knew it wasn't your fault and the fate of the multiverse comes before everything else? I literally loved you at your worst, but that didn't matter?"

Silence.

"Look, I just think that maybe if we had been closer in age, we would've been fine."

🎶And that sentence made you want to die. 🎶

"That's not fucking fair, Miguel! I'm 26, not a baby! And we spoke CANDIDLY about this when we got together. I NEVER had, not even a HINT that this would be a problem for you, and now you drop it on me right as you tear my heart out?! And it's not even something I can change!"

You pause, more sobs erupting deep from within your soul.

"I'm sorry, that the stars didn't align and the timing wasn't perfect and my dad didn't fuck my mom around the same time as yours so I could've been born at a better time. I'm sorry that I tried so fucking hard to be the chill girlfriend who lets you do whatever even though I'm not. I'm sorry that I kept my fucking mouth shut when I knew damn well you were talking to her when we were together just so I could keep you around. I'm sorry that I'm not her..."

The line is painfully silent.

🎶The idea you had of me, who was she?🎶

"So who's this version of me in your head you envisioned, huh Miguel? The perfect me that would've made you stay. Do I even know her? She's me, but she's not. She's not needy like I am. She's perfect. Has the perfect body, perfect hair, doesn't ever look bad for you. She's intelligent and has all the maturity you claim I don't. She reflects back on you perfectly every little thing you just LOVE about yourself because let's face it, that's the only person you really ever gave a fuck about."

Loud beeps assault your eardrum and you scoff in disbelief. He hung up, and who knows how long you were just talking to a wall. You hurtle your phone at the ground, letting the screen crack as your knees buckle beneath you and hide your face in your hands in despair.

🎶When she's sleeping in the bed we made, don't you dare forget about the way you betrayed me.

Cause I know that you'll never feel sorry, for the way I hurt, yeah. 🎶

----

Trying to forget him as the weeks passed by ,albeit agonizingly slow. You find yourself weeping in the HQ bathroom, some girl asking you what happened:

🎶You. That's what happened, you. 🎶

A few weeks later, a package with all of your clothes arrived at the post office for you so he didn't have to see you face to face. It even contained all of the pictures you took together and the letters you wrote him. He didn't keep a single one.

You sat in the parking lot for a few minutes as you clutched the Disneyland tickets to your heart, sobbing. The cruel, cruel irony of remembering how you were in the happiest place on earth with him, the place that planted those dreams of happily ever after in that little girl's head, only for her to be crying over a man that stomped it into the ground years later.

Remembering how you walked back, arm in arm to your hotel room together as you leaned into his chest, giggling when you finally got him to admit the park wasn't as dreadful as he thought it would be, despite the ridiculous price tag. He only wanted to make you happy.

🎶I remember it all too well. 🎶

Your lip trembles when you find the Mickey Ears you bought for him lying in the box. "Miguel" cross-stitched in curly gold writing on the back.

Your red scarf from that first week together hung in the corner of his closet until your scent wore off. He would eventually have the gall to offer it to her one December night when she was shivering, saying that it was his mother's.

----

Your tears make your vision blurry as you drive down the dark, rain soaked streets of Nueva York.

You know his street is coming.

When you do finally pass it, you use all your strength to keep your gaze straight ahead, the faded letters on his street sign disappear rapidly behind you as you take a deep breath, and head on home.

----

Epilogue

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #spotify #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #across the spiderverse #miguel o hara angst #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #Spotify

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harryforvogue · 4 months

Text

“This is so nice,” Harry murmurs, staring up at the ceiling. He’s sure that if he keeps his head back against the couch like this for a few minutes longer, he’ll develop a crick in his neck, but that thought seems far away as his fiancée continues to assault his jaw and jugular with soft, yet pointed kisses. His hand rests on the back of her head, her hair spilling over his fingers, and the press of her thighs against his keeping him awake.

Mia pulls away to frown at him. “I’ve been kissing you for ten minutes and all you have to say is ‘this is nice’?”

He smiles down at her, the hand in her hair traveling to cup her cheek. “You are so nice, I meant.”

“You’re right,” she says, looking pleased. “I am.” And then she ducks her head and continues kissing his collarbones.

He’s half sprawled on the couch with his legs wide, and she’s directly on top of him. The collar of his shirt is open, his tie undone, and he’s pretty sure that somewhere between entering their house and Mia basically pouncing on him, she managed to undo the button and zipper of his pants.

Harry sighs softly, melting into the soft presses of her lips. He imagines how his neck must look right now, riddled with lipstick stains and slight marks from her nipping. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten into her, but he’s not complaining.

Today, Harry is thirty.

Mia calls it the "hot age", which he’s unfamiliar with, but if it gets this type of treatment, who is he to argue?

His hair was carefully done before they attended dinner, but now, it’s a complete mess. By Mia’s orders, he’s not cut his hair for several months now, and without any product, it falls into his eyes. Her face lights up whenever he comes out of the shower and has to tuck the curls behind his ears to avoid getting his face all wet. Some days, it’s hard to scrape her off of him. He’s even been late a few times to work because of it. If he actually had to answer to someone, it may have been a problem.

“I love you,” Mia suddenly mumbles against his collar.

Not realizing he’s closed them, Harry opens his eyes and glances down at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She’s quiet. And then: “I’m really happy I get to see you at 30.”

He runs a thumb over her cheek. “What do you mean?”

She turns her head into his neck. “I mean – well. Eight years ago, I didn’t think I’d see you at 25, much less 30.”

“Didn’t think I’d be in your life?”

“Yeah.”

Harry rests his chin on the top of her head. “There have been a few bumps, hm?”

(They don’t really talk about their break up much these days. Mia saw Harry struggle with accepting it and moving on from it for a very long time. Now, they’re both at ease, it seems.)

“Mhm,” Mia says. She bites down on his shoulder gently. “I hope I get to see you at 35. And 40. And 50. And 100.”

He laughs again though his heart is heavy in his chest. “Think you’ll still love me at 40 and 50 and 100? Doubt I'll be too hot then.”

She raises her head then, and Harry is surprised to see her pretty eyelashes sticking together with tears. He immediately stops smiling and puts his palms over her eyes, wiping away the moisture. He leaves a streak of mascara down her face, but that matters little right now.

Mia holds his open collar, bunching up the fabric between her fingers. She leans close, sliding her nose against his. “I wish,” she whispers, “I could put into words what I feel for you. And how it grows every time I wake up next to you. It is so–” she takes a breath, “unbearable sometimes.”

Harry swallows, too stunned for words. Mia kisses him softly, trailing her fingers down his chest, resting her fists against his butterfly tattoo. He kisses her back, pushing off the back of the couch to lean into her as well, pressing their hearts together. At some point through the kisses, his fingers become tangled in her hair. Mia pulls away to take a breath.

When he releases her, their chests rise and fall hard with their breaths. Mia rests her forehead on Harry’s, a smile twisting onto her lips. “Happy birthday, Harry.”

He surges forward and kisses her again.

#harry and mia #harry styles #happy birthday GRAMPS #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff

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rustedhearts · 10 months

Text

severed lamb: part iv: white horse (pastor!steve x fem!reader)

summary: all your sinning plagues wyndgate with a summer storm. pastor steve tempts you with a drive home in the dark. you know it's wrong, but you just can't stay away.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♰ severed lamb masterlist ♰ ♰ main masterlist ♰

tags: religious imagery/trauma, age gap (steve is 35, reader is 19), heavy petting, manipulation, abuse of power, coercion, a whole lot of god guilt.

recommended listening: if you know anything about anything, you'll listen to family tree by ethel cain.

♰ wyndgate, georgia, august 1981 ♰

The rain pattering down on the old tin roof of Wyndgate's Dairy Mart sounded like hail. The wheels of the cart squealed and hissed their way down the linoleum tiles of the bread aisle, metal jostling and clanking with every hurried step. You snatched a loaf of Wonderbread and tossed it in the back, rushing on before you could be stopped by somebody's mama asking where the cereal was.

Ever since you went to the church last week to see Pastor Steve, you felt like God set a pair of eyes on you. They followed you everywhere, scrutinizing your every move. Sometimes it was the gas station clerk handing you a pack of bubble gum. Sometimes it was your mama's friend Sal lounging on the sofa with a beer on his thigh. Other times, you were just lyin' in bed, feeling some phantom stare burn a hole into your head.

God was watching you. You could feel His judgement pouring down on you like that heavy rain. Drenching you in terrible, sickening guilt for all that sinnin'.

But when the lights went out and the world went dark, and no eyes could find you to set their judgement upon you, you awed. Warmth touched your lips where Steve's had been, buzzing and tingling like bee stings. Fingertips skating over the plump flesh, you felt the surface where Steve had set his tongue. How it wriggled and slithered, cleaning away remnants of sweet cherry blood.

Slipping the first knuckle past your lips, you pinched your eyes shut and imagined they were his. His hand heavy and fingers slender, skin hot and pulsing with blood, calluses firm and tough on your tongue. You wondered what sort of work a preacher got up to with hands like that. He taste came with a little tang of old sweat.

"Whoa!"

You skirted to a stop, jolting at the pull of the cart in your hands as it slammed into another. Eyes free of lustful fog, you gaped at your victim with warm cheeks and teary eyes. The woman, cradling a young child against her hip, glared at you beneath a set of blunt, blonde bangs.

"I-I'm so sorry, ma'am," you stammered, hand flying to your chest to fondle the gold cross.

She swerved the nose of her cart around yours, eyes sharp and narrow the whole way. "Best watch where you're goin', girl."

The woman whizzed past you with the child, disappearing down the aisle with the whoosh and squeak of rusty, damp cart wheels. You heard the child babbling something nonsensical an aisle over. Your heart hammered heavy in your throat, pulsing at the back of your neck. The Lord was watching you—and now, He was making a fool of you, too. More punishment for those filthy thoughts.

You adjusted, cleared your throat, and pushed the cart on. You had a list of things to get for Mama, and she wouldn't be pleased to know you were dilly-dallying.

Mama had been belligerent all week. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner consisted of cigarettes and wine. It was up to you to cook a meal, but trying to feed it to her felt like shoving applesauce at an infant. Mama's belligerence came with a temper that waxed and waned. You knew never which mother you were gonna get.

Today, she was quiet. She scribbled a grocery list, smacked a few bills on the table, and told you to 'get.' The sky only started to blacken and cloud when you were walking into town, toes aching and calves sore. If the trek to town wasn't bad enough, all the twirling you'd been doing only made it worse.

You weren't sure you could dance the sins away, but you did your best to try. To combat the lustful thoughts and memories of what you'd done at the church, you went to the barn and slipped on your new pointe shoes. But the feel of fresh, smooth silk on your skin, and the tough, gruesome squeeze of hard glue around your toes just reminded you of him. Those sensations were a gift from him.

On more than one occasion in the past week did you collapse to the sticky barn floor with heaving breaths, throbbing between your legs and writhing for air. Flesh slick with sweat, beading along the backs of your knees and crooks of your elbows, fingers sliding through the wetness to slip beneath your shorts. It was only when you brushed the soft, sensitive button beneath your underwear that you recoiled and gasped. The pulsing arousal shriveled away like petals wilting in the blazing sun, replaced with sharp-toothed disgust derived from the guilt only God and Georgia could provoke.

You swallowed thickly as you turned the corner toward the dairy aisle. The milk carton came with a black and white photograph of Bethanne Lee, a girl missing since January. She was only two years younger than you. You set the carton in the cart and turned her face away.

♰ ♰

A few miles in the direction of home, the sky shuddered with thunder. A streak of lightning slashed through the clouds in menacing white light, and then the rain came down again. You waited it out for fifteen minutes under the awning at the Dairy Mart, clutching the paper bags full of food with shaking fists. Now, in the shower, the paper thinned.

Shrieking, you did your best to shield them from the storm as you picked up the pace. Sandals slapping against wet gravel, squeaking over slick grass, you huffed and puffed and cursed your sinning for putting you in this predicament. This was more punishment from God, no doubt.

The crunch of tires rolling over the road, muffled by the noisy smack of raindrops on the ground, caused you to halt. Headlights beaconed through the hazy darkness. The world usually so sun-bleached and yellow, faded at the edges by time and rust, appeared grey and blue in its current plague. The bright car lights brought a sliver of white to it, blinding you until the vehicle screeched to a stop beside you.

The window cranked down, and dangling through the gap came Pastor Steve's leather-banded watch. Sleeves rolled to his elbow, cheeks flushed and swollen with heat, he tapped two fingers on the wet car door and passed you a smile.

"Need a ride?"

Temptation. The Lord's Prayer gathered on the tip of your tongue just at the sight of him. The burgundy of his sleek BMW deepened in the world's state of darkness. The swampy green and gold of his eyes seemed to adopt a muddy brown. And his skin, sun-kissed bronze by the Georgian sun, held a glowing shine.

Steve met his cheek to his shoulder, a coy grin toying with the corner of his lip. "Delilah. Come get in the car."

He cooed. He called to you the way you coax a stray to come close. Gentle, tempting, a smoothness that enticed. You couldn't blame your feet for stepping forward, arms hugged tight around the paper bags soaked thin with rainwater.

"Come on," Steve chuckled, patting the leather of he passenger seat beside him. "I ain't gon' bite ya."

Once you were next to him, Pastor Steve rolled up the windows. The patter of rain grew muffled, pounding on the roof of the car with sharp metallic pings. The heat in the car thickened immediately, and the murmuring whir coming from the vents led you to believe the air conditioning didn't work much. Your thighs suctioned to the seats, clamped close together, gathering pools of rainwater dripping from the grocery bags.

"Your mama send you to the store?"

You glanced at him, bobbing your head with a deep swallow. He switched hands on the wheel, and the whoosh of air came with a waft of his smell. Your stomach clenched at the presence of it, thighs tightening.

"Poor thing out in all this rain." Steve's mouth drooped into a frown, but his eyes were bright with an invisible grin.

Your shoes squeaked together on the car floor. The dry spots of the paper bags crinkled as you reached over them for your necklace. In the driver seat, Steve tore his eyes away from the road to watch you. Something about the way you fondled that cross—delicate, soothing ministrations—always made him twitch.

Before he could withhold himself, his hand darted across the center console toward your lap. His big palm swept over your thigh just beneath the hem of your dress, smearing droplets of rain into your skin. Your body gave a jerk, a sharp gasp tumbling from your lips. You caught sight of his knuckles over your lap just as his fingers slipped away.

"A lil' wet there," Steve remarked, lip quirked with amusement at the shortness of your breath.

"I-I—Pastor y-you can't—"

His hand returned, slithering over your leg until it disappeared beneath the skirt of your dress. You froze, watching with blurred vision as his palm traced the swell of your thigh. Your chest felt like it was caving in, lungs shriveling and leaving no space for air as the pads of his fingers brushed the elastic of your underwear.

Your body began to tremble: calves quaking against the seat, knees wobbling, stomach twisting and clenching. His index grazed the front of your underwear where slickness pooled.

"Here, too." His voice was quiet, airy with shallowed breath and wonderment.

But when you gazed over, his eyes were on the road.

The tip of his finger pressed firmly against your sensitive flesh cupped behind the thin fabric of your underwear, yanking a sharp gasp from your throat. You throbbed against his touch, hips shifting—you weren’t sure if they were aiming away from him or toward him.

Head turning toward the window, you caged your lip between your teeth to stifle the chance of more noises as the pastor’s touch roughened. Two fingers now, pushing into your pulsing core over cotton, sticky with the thrill. Steve took this moment to gaze over at you, delighting in your flushed skin and twisting body. He felt it settle into his own body—that aching need, that festering desire. Lust overwhelmed him. His pants strained around the crotch with his excitement.

“Does that feel good, Delilah,” Steve drawled, tone low and silky.

You inhaled deeply, trying to see past the fuzzy spots clouding your vision, trying to work your way through the tingles attacking your bones. Fingers curling into fists, you shifted back into a straight position in the passenger seat, muscles constricting tensely as pleasure swished around inside you. The grocery bags seemed to have clambered to the floor somewhere in the daze.

“W-we can’t—“

Steve disrupted the barrier: slipping a finger beneath the elastic band of your underwear, and bringing it to the smooth skin beneath. The warmth that waited for him made him huff a laugh, throaty and perverted.

He fixed you with a soft, endearing look, all round eyes and pouted mouth. “Can’t what? Can’t feel good? Doesn’t it feel good, sweetheart?”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded despite every bone in your body telling you to deny it. This was the devil overtaking you, making you give over to this sinful pleasure. Shame jolted in your body at the same wavelength desire did—they melded together until you could barely discern the difference anymore.

“How can somethin’ that feels so good be a sin?” Steve cooed, sweeping his finger through the pool of gooey cream collecting beneath your panties, brushing over the most sensitive part of your body.

Back curling off the seat, you mewled into the roof of the car and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Anybody ever touched you like this, Delilah?”

You shook your head fervently, banging against the seat with your thrashing. Your nails bit into your palms with a piercing nip. His voice, deep and lush like a sticky summer evening in the woods, only intensified the churning and whirling in your belly. You weren’t sure how much longer you could contain yourself. Heat swelled in your cheeks painfully, brought sweat beads to your limbs. You wanted to let go. But—

“N-no, never—never! M’ a good girl, Pastor,” you cried, bucking up into his hand as two fingers slid down toward your pulsating hole.

Steve swept his tongue over his teeth, licking away a grin as he placed his eyes back on the road. “Oh, honey. I know.”

Your breaths shortened to hoarse little gasps, wheezy and shallow. Pleasure wound its choking knot and you weren’t sure you could hold back from it much longer. Steve took note of the way your fists flexed and trembled, the way your face almost purpled with fight. He dipped the start of one finger into the tightness of your hole and watched your mouth gape with a silent cry you refused to let loose.

Always the good girl, always the angel. Couldn’t you sin just for him, the way he’s sinning for you?

“You’re right with The Lord, Delilah. I’m sure He’ll forgive you this once. Come on, sweetheart, it’s alright.”

Heaving, you shook your head again, giving a little hiccuped cry. “I-I can’t.”

Sighing, Steve tore his hand from between your legs and whipped the wheel to the right. The car jumbled and jostled over the shoulder of the road where the asphalt fell to grass. He parked beneath a lonesome tree standing tall in the field of grass and wildflowers. Once the engine cut, you realized how hard it was still raining. Beating down furiously on the windshield and metal roof, smacking agains the windows that fogged with the damp heat of your overworking bodies.

“C’mere, honey," he huffed.

Steve spun you in your seat, widening your legs with one push. Another gasp flew from your mouth as coolness met your core. Steve’s face remained steadily sure as he pushed your panties aside once more and returned his fingers to your aching, weeping cunt. A dull pain gathered in the nape of your neck as your head tipped back against the window, but all you could focus on were the width of the pastor’s fingers between your thighs, delivering a delicious quake. His thumb rolled and rubbed against your pearl, unleashing a sound never heard from you.

“Ask the Lord for forgiveness, Delilah. Ask the Lord for forgiveness and let go.”

As your face pinched with a wailing cry, Steve settled his eyes upon your sweat-slick body, writhing just for him. Planting one hand on the window above your head, the pastor fixed himself to hover above you, body heat ghosting your clammy skin like a breezy sheet. His breathing shallowed to mimic yours, overtaken by the rise and fall of your breasts, shuddering with frayed waves of pleasure still sparking inside you. The gold cross around your neck glimmered in the dim, grey light of the storm.

You gushed over his fingers, glossing his palm as he continued his gentle, massaging ministrations. Your cries fizzled to whimpers, deliriously searching for something to hold to find balance. When you lifted a shaky hand to his chest, Steve found pity on you and removed his hand. It swept over your thigh, down toward your knee, dragging strokes of sticky spend in its wake; until finally, it slid behind your knee to cup the pudgy flesh of your thigh.

Using his grip on you and the steady surface of the window, Steve dipped down until his mouth brushed your cheek. The skin there was hot, and soft like sheep skin, and he just couldn't contain the urge to encompass it with his mouth. A firm kiss, lips parted just enough to gather your taste on his tongue. It was the frenzy the stiff heat and sweet stench of your body delivered that had him baring his teeth and scraping them over your flesh.

You hissed, hands coming to feel the fabric of Steve's crisp button down soaked through with sweat. The cotton clung to your hands where you balled it into fists, squeezing in time with the dull, pin-pricking ache in your cheek from the pastor's incisors.

The moments of shuffling and readjusting came hazily, now flashes of colors and shapes in your memory when you thought back. Pulling your underwear back into place, cool where slickness gathered and soaked through. Smoothing your hair down, rubbing your fingers over the faint, sore scrapes on your cheek. Watching Pastor Steve put the car into drive, feeling it teeter back onto the road. Rain splashing with the force of the windshield wipers. The milk jug between your legs leaking condensation onto the floor.

Pastor Steve pulled into the end of your drive, where he parked in the soiled dirt and brought his hand to the back of your seat. You gathered the groceries back into your lap and gazed over at the pastor.

He smiled, flashing those sharp white teeth. "Say hi to your Mama for me, hmm?"

The walk up the rest of the drive was goopy and slick, and your shoes were caked in soupy mud by the time you reached the steps, hair dripping and dress soaked through. On the porch swing, lit cigarette resting in the hand on her knee, Mama watched the pastor's license plate zoom down the road. You stopped at the top step, petrified like stone. The sudden silence brought the rain back in a melodious spat.

"Y' get the eggs?" Her tone held the robotic grumble of Southern dissatisfaction.

Impassive, but frosted with shame.

"Y-yes, Mama."

Your mother raised the cigarette to her mouth, holding it at bay.

"Well alright now."

♰ ♰

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staerplatinum · 2 months

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Some of my favorite doodles from my headcanon/redesign concept sheets used as an excuse to list my headcanons about the main six (for an AU that I'm writing)! More under the cut!

Charlie Morningstar:

She's way more hot-headed than in canon, albeit still keeping her cheerful and gentle persona.

She loves food, and she's always hungry. I always loved the trope of protagonists (both male and female, like look at Goku himself, Usagi Tsukino or Minako Aino) and I think it could fit Charlie perfectly!

She loves planning (and this is already canon) and she has a lot of stationary gadgets. "Sure Alastor, you can borrow any pen! ... Not that one! :D" And takes good care of them.

Her birthday is February 29th. I thought that it wouldn't be strange if her birthday ended up being that day if she follows a demoniac calendar...

Vaggie:

It's canon that she likes everything to be clean and organized. I think she would help Niffty with the rooms and everything! They bond!

She and Angel Dust absolutely have BFFs vibes. Before Hazbin Hotel I remember they were meant to be a couple, but with the new canon they're still adorable as best friends and I love the dynamic more. They get into fights but it's never anything serious, they look like a big brother and a little sis, even though sometimes she definitely acts as a big sis to him. Angel sees Molly through her :(

As we know she doesn't really believe in herself, but she actually makes a very good leader!

In my fanfic, contrarily to the series, she was really fighting with burning hate towards the angels that cast her out. She holds a deep grudge and it's hard for her to come out of it. (I want Out for Love to be useful, it's my favorite song ç_ç)

Her name as a human was Agata Flores, she was born the 28th of June in 1993. If we still count 2014 as her death and if she was once a winner that then became sinner... my headcanon is that she died of a hate crime in March 25th 2014, aged 21.

Angel Dust:

He's not in drag 24/7. He really is feminine, but sometimes likes to try masculine outfits too. (which make Husk wonder "why am I staring??")

He's secretly a nerd. Or not so secretly. He owns video games, and especially likes RPGs and life sims.

He overanalyses everything. Well, almost everything but still. He actually likes reading, and this led him to analyse anything that comes into his eye. (Oh, I can't wait to write one of those scenes because I already had fun outlining it LMAOO)

He's probably Charlie's food buddy. Give them some food and they'll be happy (Valentino doesn't like this but get screwed Val, give him food too)

His name as a human was Anthony (canon) Cavallaro and had Neapolitan heritage. He's born in April 1st (and this is canon) 1912, he died of overdose (canon) in October 11th 1947, aged 35.

Alastor:

I loved his pilot persona more than the series', and most of the things are confirmed canon... but I do have some headcanons for him, too! (also yeah I don't think that will be my last radioapple drawing or doodle lol)

We know he either doesn't sleep or sleeps with his eyes open. Well, I imagine him that in the few rare occasions he actually sleeps, his radio works as a mental surveillance "camera". Also, he's a light sleeper and would definitely go "Do you fellows mind? I'm trying to sleep." like the old man he is.

I would like to explore Alastor's feelings for Charlie more, and how he sees her as a daughter. While we may not know if he was telling the truth, I think they both seeked each other as a fatherly and daughter figures in a way. Many in the fandom headcanon Alastor's father to have been shitty to him. If he truly sees Charlie as a daughter, it could be because he would like to be a better father than the one he had, and since he never had children, he grew affectionate to Charlie as such.

He knows how to handle alcohol well, but I like to think that when he's really drunk he doesn't even know what he's doing. Oh, you saw him playing with Angel's Nintendo Switch? He even brought it into his room to continue playing Animal Crossing by himself? He was totally wasted.

His name as a human was Alastor (which is apparently canon, but I wonder if it'll be retconned or not?) Boudreaux-Alexander. Boudreaux was his father's last name, Alexander was his mother's. He didn't like his mother taking her husband's last name and wanted to keep his mother's. He was born in March 7th 1901, and died in August 4th 1933, aged 32, after being shot by a hunter that confused him with a deer and was mauled by dogs afterwards. (Yikes, I'm so sorry)

Niffty:

She definitely has written lots of fanfics about her fellow hotel friends. Especially men. Yet, she loves Charlie and Vaggie too, so they're there as well.

We know both Niffty and Husk have deals with Alastor. She loves them both, I love to headcanon that when she feels lonely and can't sleep well or had nightmares, she either goes to Husk's or Alastor's room to sleep with them. They welcome her warmly ç_ç

Alastor and Husk most definitely know Niffty's story, which is why they care about her so much. She's childish for her age, but it could be tied to a past that only the two of them know very well.

Niffty knew Vox when they were alive. Now I know it could be a weird headcanon since Niffty is Japanese and Vox is American, but if Niffty's work brought her around the world it wouldn't be weird if they crossed paths. When Vox died Niffty was 19, she either saw him die in front of her eyes or something else happened.

As I mentioned in my concept sheets, she used to wear glasses when she was alive so she can't see really well without them after she died. Sometimes she borrows Alastor's monocle, and if we apply the headcanon that he's colorblind, without his monocle not only he can't see anything but can't even see colors LOL

Her name when she was alive was Sachiko Tanaka, born February 27th 1934. She died September 1st 1956, aged 22, there are popular headcanons about the way she died and yikes, if it's true she didn't have a good death either. Not at all.

Husk:

Maybe I'm overanalysing but what if the reason why he grew affectionate to Niffty was because he once had children? Or just one? Either he had a child and was with him but felt like he wasn't a good father or his ex-wife left him because of his gambling addiction and this made him feel guilty, not able to see his child ever again. (I feel bad just thinking about this but ç_ç)

Despite the fact he hates being on a leash and none other than Alastor's, he actually cares about him. If the two were friends when they were alive (including Mimzy), this could explain why he's still around Alastor even if reluctantly. (Sure he says he's forced, but in the pilot Alastor summoned him, so it's safe to assume either Alastor-Husk-Niffty were roommates before coming to the hotel and did their business without telling Alastor, or simply we need more explanations of Alastor's deals)

His name when he was alive was Ivan Goncharov, born January 29th 1900, and died in December 23rd 1967, aged 67. As I mentioned in my concept sheets, he was friends with Alastor and Mimzy when they were alive and he was the last one of them to die. He would often visit his friends' graves when he was still alive :(

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billthedrake · 6 months

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I was inspired by the latest hot story by @maturedadsandmen. He gave me the blessing to write a riff on the premise. It started out as a prequel but became something else. Thanks to him for the inspiration and for the permission to let me adapt his idea.

WHAT HAPPENS IN FRANKFURT

"So, Trent..." I said as we settled into the business-class seats on the transatlantic leg of our flight. "Whadya have to promise Becky to get to come for a week?"

My friend and golf buddy shrugged. He's a big guy, 6'5", real muscular with a good deal of middle aged padding on his thick, ex-jock beef. Good thing I had scored the plush seats with my miles, because I couldn't imagine the poor guy squeezing into economy. Even now in his jeans and button-down shirt, the sight of him got me going. From the twinkle in his eyes, I could tell he was maybe feeling the same about me.

"It's not a week," he corrected.

"Pretty close," I smiled. We were flying to Frankfurt for the Chiefs-Dolphins game, but tacking on a few days in Bavaria for the typical guy-trip stuff. Beer halls and outdoors time. Stuff our wives had no interest in.

"I didn't have to promise Becky anything... what, is that something Heather expects?" he asked with genuine surprise.

I nodded. "Fuck yeah, that's something she expects," I said. "She's already planning the Napa wine trip."

Trent smiled. He had a personality that was laid back almost to the point of being taciturn, so I always found him especially handsome when he smiled.

Yeah, me and Trent have a thing. A sexual connection, an affair, whatever you want to call it. Sometimes we talk about it, sometimes we sweep the complications under the rug. But it had been a solid six months since our last time having sex and with the prospect of this trip together for six days, there was just this unspoken sexual tension between us. SOMETHING was gonna happen, all right.

"Didn't she just do that for one of her girls trips?" my friend chuckled.

Our wives got along OK but weren't close friends outside of my and Trent's bond. I was always surprised that Trent was able to keep up with my wife's doings.

"Oh yeah," I said. "Only she wants to go back with just me. You know, do something romantic. I don't even wanna know how much the cases of wine are gonna set me back."

That got a belly laugh out of my buddy. It was a running joke between us. He was the hunky ex-football player who ran his own construction company. I was the number-crunching corporate exec who admittedly had the MUCH deeper bisexual streak, to the point I carried around a lot of what-ifs in my middle age. But I was the one who was more bro-ish. Maybe I wasn't quite the sexist asshole I played up, but Trent gave me some real eye rolls from time to time.

"You can afford it, buddy," he chastised me. "And a lot fucking more."

I started to reply but he held up a finger in warning. "Don't you even pull that 'happy wife, happy life' BS." He was smirking.

"Dude... you gonna bust my balls this whole trip?"

I saw a naughty look sweep across my buddys masculine, handsome face as he leaned. "Whaddya think, Josh?"

I bit my lip and did as casual a crotch adjustment as I could. Trent had given me a full-on boner.

I knew Trent was chubbed too. It had been THAT long since we'd fooled around. Sometimes it was lack of opportunity, but my buddy likes to put the breaks on a lot. Probably for the best, since I had zero self-control, around him or in general. When I was 35 I had to vow never to go to Vegas again. This affair had a different kind of high stakes, but it felt like an extension of my addictive personality.

But my hunky buddy was pulling back now, putting in his earbud and pulling up his iPad to watch some shows he'd downloaded.

I had a book. Some stupid spy novel that let me get my mind off of work. Trent teased me for bringing the office with me, and on the first leg I'd caught up on a bunch of emails. I'd have more stuff to do in Germany, but I'd worry about that later. Trent told me I should set boundaries with my company, but hell it was my work travel that was getting us these business class seats and the hotel rooms on points and I'd probably cover the majority of our meals, too...

I took a breath and paused. I had this dickish thing where I'd enjoy treating people in my life - spoiling my wife or picking up the tab with my buddies - then I'd get resentful or controlling. I was lucky to have a travel buddy like Trent. Even if we didn't suck or fuck at all this next week. Though God knows I hope we did.

I put on my noise-canceling headphones and picked up my book.

****

"You gentlemen here for the game?" the concierge asked.

I'd booked us at a chain hotel in the old city. The guy at the desk was in the typical hotel uniform - vest and tie - and I was immediately attracted to him. Early 30s I'd guess, light brown hair, almost boyish in his handsome looks, though he had the kind of athletic build that comes with doing sports, maybe soccer, or rock climbing or something. I had a soft spot for German guys, I'll admit. They always seemed to have that boy next door thing going on, with a naughty side beneath.

Or maybe it was just the slightly clipped, more formal accent.

"Yes, sir," Trent said. "You got a lot of folks in town for it, I suppose." It was a trip to see my not-so-chatty buddy get all Midwest now that he was abroad.

I couldn't tell if the desk man was trying to humor us, but he replied back to Trent's small talk with a smile. "It seems so, yes."

I felt like I had to pull Trent away. He was asking for restaurant and bar recommendations, asking for the guy's first name, the whole works.

"What?" he asked, not quite annoyed as I shook my head in the elevator.

"Dude, you don't know how much I'm looking forward to a hot shower. Wash some of that jet lag off."

He seemed contrite. "You should have told me buddy. I honestly didn't think we'd get into the room early." It was nearly noon, but we were ahead of check-in time a little.

"I guess it'll be good to stretch the legs some this afternoon, get in some sun and fresh air?"

He nodded. "Looks like a nice day."

We rolled our luggage down to our rooms and entered the clean but soulless business hotel room.

"You go first," he said. "I'm gonna call Becky and let her know we're here." I knew from Trent's account that his wife was an early riser, a yoga devotee who got an early start on her day. I'd text Heather in a bit and call her later.

"Yep," I said, already pulling off my sweatshirt and kicking off my sneakers.

The shower felt good. No, it felt great. I could have stood under for much longer, but I didn't want to hold things up. I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and turned off the water. I was just as quick drying off and putting product in my hair. I took one look in the mirror. Not so bad for 46, I thought. I'd gotten into Crossfit lately and tried to eat clean, saving beer and junk food for game days or the nineteenth hole with the guys. I was shorter than Trent, 5'9" and some, even if I rounded up to 5'10" when I told people my height. Everything was looking pretty sculpted and hard and compact, and the thick blond fur on my torso was groomed and trimmed.

"You fucking narcissist," I thought. I wrapped the towel around my waist and opened the door, letting the steam out.

"Damn, that felt nice," I said to Trent. He was waiting for me, stripped down to his boxer briefs. It took me a second to realize what was in his hand, but it was a portable enema kit.

"I know you wanna hit the sights, buddy... but maybe I can clean out for you, first?" he asked. An excited glint in his eye but also some embarrassment. It had taken some convincing to get my hunky friend to bottom for me and even more sweet talking to get him to do a deeper prep. But it turns out Trent loved getting his ass eaten out, and he knew I'd go at it more freely and fervently if he was squeaky clean.

"God yes," I said. "I guess vacation starts for real, huh?" I said. Already I was chubbing beneath the towel.

He nodded with a grin, clearly excited by how easily I got turned on.

I let him do his thing while I texted Heather and answered a couple of work emails. I set down my phone and took off my towel, hanging it up in the closet. I pulled down the sheets on one of the double beds. My dick wasn't hard at first but as I lay down naked, I thought of Trent's hunky ass and meaty body. I thought of the reception guy and what it would be like to watch him and Trent go at it before I came in and fucked that German stud hard and fast from behind.

I was rock hard now. I thought of picking my phone back up and scrolling through some porn but decided I'd enjoy the more purely mental excitement I was filling. Just enjoy the moment of being in a hotel room with my good buddy and sometimes fuck buddy. For a whole week. I shut my eyes and let my sexual fantasies visualize themselves.

"Dang," I heard, snapping my eyes open. Maybe I'd been dozing some, but apparently my prick wasn't. "I never get sick of seeing that cock of yours."

I'm not huge, but I'm big, and my endowment looks bigger on my frame. I smiled and spread my legs, showing my meat off to Trent.

"OK if I suck it first?" he said, stepping up. In the big mitt of his right hand he had a small bottle of lube, which he set on the night stand.

"When have I ever said no to that?" I asked.

"Bro," Trent retorted, "You're such an ass-man... you can have a one-track mind sometimes." I felt defensive and I was gonna say something, but Trent got on all fours and crawled toward me. He was such a big guy, tall and beefy, that it was never anything short of mind-blowing to see him in such a posture. Already his hand was on my quad muscle, rubbing it in a way that sent electricity right to my boner. "It's OK bud. It's a good look on you," he said in a hushed, sexy voice.

Then he leaned forward to get a closer look at my crotch. Inches away close, and I could feel his breath on my dong. Trent's brown eyes were on my dick, only flitting up to my face occasionally.

"What happens in Frankfurt, right?" he growled.

"Fuck yeah," I hissed. When I started up with my buddy, I just thought I was scratching that bisexual itch. And yeah it was naughty fun. Clearly I fantasized about other men, too. But I was coming face to face with the reality that no one turned me on so much or so effortlessly like my 52 year old friend.

His first licks were a get-reacquainted approach. It had been a while since he'd taken care of me. I sucked him too, and on a blue moon bottomed for the stud. But this is what we did the first time we fooled around, and it felt like our own private anniversary ritual.

"That's it, buddy," I hissed. Trent had that combo of not-quite-skilled and very enthusiastic that appealed to me more than I realized. Outside of my times with Trent, I'd only had dude sex a couple times behind Heather's back, and those guys were better cocksuckers. But not better, you know? They weren't Trent Grayson.

My buddy coughed some on my dick as he swallowed more. Not a gag, but a grunt that said he was fighting back that initial reflex. Instantly my fingers went to the back of his neck. "Easy, bro... you got this."

He did, too. After that initial shock, he was working more of me into his gullet, over and over, faster and faster.

"FUCK!" I gasped, my eyes wide as I watched my best bud deep throat me with silky steady mouth strokes. "Buddy... if you don't let up," I warned, my breath ragged. I normally wasn't this quick at the draw, but I hadn't gotten off the last couple of days. My balls were drawn up tight.

Trent spit me out, a satisfied smile on his face. He knew he'd done a great job.

"You been practicing?" I asked. "You haven't done THAT before," I said.

"I may have gotten a toy to work on," he admitted with a wink.

"Yeah?" I asked, my chest heaving in excitement. My dick was twitching in time with my heartbeat. "When was that, bud?"

Those brown eyes were hungry and playful and sexy as fuck. "When we booked this trip."

"And here I was worried I was gonna push up against some boundaries with you this week," I said.

Trent nodded and leaned up. He was excited all right, his medium-sized tool rock hard and wet at the tip. My buddy had a beefy build that was something shy of a dad bod, but he was real and muscled head to toe, and his size meant he carried the mid-section girth well. "You probably will," he answered honestly. "Hell, I know you well, Josh," he added.

"Yeah," I admitted. Chastised some. I was the one of us who got carried away. But this man was so incredible, body and soul.

Trent didn't seem too fazed. Or maybe the sexual heat was winning out. He turned to face away from me so I could see that broad back, that short hair cut with the gray fringe and the balding spot on top, that round daddy ass fitting a tall, athletic man.

That ass was backing up toward, the buns getting closer. Trent didn't shave down there, he somehow naturally had a smooth ass, except for deep in the crack.

"You gonna...?" I asked. Or started to ask. Already the big guy was leaning forward and spreading his legs, opening that crevice right up for my gaze. Softly furry with that neglected crinkled pucker in the center, freshly cleaned for me.

My hands were already on his butt doing the rest of the work to part the cheeks as I dove in.

"Oh god yes," Trent hissed. "I've been thinking about this... so much."

I licked softly at first. Giving some gentle kisses beween a more exploratory approach to his hole and trench. Then I gripped his ass more tightly and started drilling in. I couldn't even say I was an expert at rimming. I just loved it and went at it, hard. Slurping and sucking. Munching and tonguing. Alternating my moves in part because I just fricking loved it all.

Trent loved it too. I still think he had hang ups when it came to anal. I know I did. We were two men unwilling to relinquish what we considered the more masculine role. I'd probably put up with his misgivings this week, and he might try to break down my hesitation to bottom. We'd see. For now, though, it was clear that I was even more into eating out a male cunt than actual pussy, and Trent enjoyed the oral treatment to his hole.

Finally, I pulled back, practically growling into his spit wet trench. "Dude, I gotta be in you. Now."

I expected some pushback, but instead Trent was scrambling his big body. Moving forward and pivoting around. His prick was outright dripping now, a thin strand of clear sap swayed from his tip. I wondered how many days he'd held off from sex or jerking off.

Hurriedly he reached over and got some lube in his palm, eagerly reaching back behind. "Let me ride," he said. "It's been a while."

I nodded and rode out a deep couple of breaths while he lined my prick up to his wet buns and settled back on me.

The initial penetration stung some for him, but quickly he relaxed.

"That's nice," he muttered as he sank down a couple more inches. He got a grin on his face. "I love how hard you get, Josh."

"Jesus buddy," I hissed. I'd had to sweet talk him into barebacking a little over a year ago. Now, every time I entered him was pure bliss. Silky, warm, and drum-tight. "I'm like that everytime I'm with you."

"I know," Trent replied. "I fucking love it." He settled further back and my cock popped past the last bit of tightness. Suddenly, Trent was sitting all the way in my lap and his guts were gripping my boner in spasms.

"You good?" I asked with concern. But a little hesitant to ask, because this was all VERY good for me.

"Yep," he said. He reached down and wrapped his lubey fist around his hard on, smearing this own sap to add to the slickness. His initial strokes made his ass clench down tighter on me, then the self pleasuring helped his body relax into it.

Within a minute of settling down on me, Trent began to lift his burly body up off my dick a couple of inches, only to swivel back down.

This was the almost feminine part of our mating that Trent felt self conscious about. Working my bone with a slutty hip motion. But I'd told him that starting slower is much better for me, and it turned out to be better for Trent, letting him build up the stimulation of his prostate as we locked eyes.

Our fuck was silent now, other than the sloshy slick sounds where his ass connected to my dick and the soft bounce of the bed. Trent's a heavy man, in the mid 200s on the scale, and my dense muscle added to it, too.

I watched him get into it, watch the pleasure grow on his face. This is what surprised me with Trent. I thought sex with dudes was simply about getting my rocks off, but I loved giving this man pleasure. Giving him an orgasm. I was about to give him one now.

"You're getting close," he said in his deep gravely voice. Not a question. Trent could read it on my face, register my impending cum before I did.

"Oh yeah," I hissed. It was arriving fast now, that crest of pleasure, like an ocean swell that breaks right in front of you. My fingers gripped his hard quads, maybe a little too hard, just seconds before I felt his hot spray of semen jet onto my bare chest muscle. Then another, then another. All heavy wads of bleachy-floral seed raining onto me. I was pounding out a mammoth load from this beautiful man.

My own cock was firing now, matching Trent's in its heaviness. "Fuck!" I whimpered. Trent sometimes teased me for the way my voice would get higher pitched when I came. But our nearly simultaneous O meant we were synched in our lust and deep connection.

Finally Trent's hips slowed and he eased off. Some semen came out on the dismount but he clenched up to stop the rest as he plopped down on the spare side of the bed. The double mattress didn't hold out two big bodies easily, Trent's especially but he kind of snuggled up to me in an uncharacteristic intimacy and rested his face on my shoulder. Lazily his hands ran along my torso, smearing his own cum into my chest fur.

"You have an incredible body, Josh," he said.

My dick hadn't gone down. I was drained and not ready to fuck again or anything, but I was still pretty keyed up. I kissed his forehead. I didn't want to push the guy too far but figured he'd initiated this closeness. "Yeah?" I asked. I knew we enjoyed a physical chemistry, but Trent had never complimented me like this, even though I sometimes gushed over his body.

He ran his hand down my ripped abs. I didn't have the body of a 26 year old, but I kept my core tight and knotted.

"I've been afraid to tell you," he said.

"Really?" I asked. Trent didn't seem to be afraid of things.

"You can get a little conceited," he said, brusquely.

This was the Trent-and-Josh thing. Teasing each other. Humble guy and the corporate exec. But something about his words seemed to cut deeper. "I don't know what to say," I said softly.

He patted my stomach. "You're you, Josh. I understand ya, buddy. And I know I'm not easy to get along with." His hand drifted lower and wrapped around my cock, which was still rigid as just a minute earlier. "In all fairness, you have good reason to be conceited."

I wanted to kiss this guy, so bad, but that was against our bro code. "If I get to be too much, buddy..." I started. "Well, I just don't want this week to be weird."

Trent looked up. "It's not gonna be weird, Josh. Football... beer... hot steamy hotel sex... what more can you want?"

"Nothing, man," I growled. I enjoyed the soft touch of his hand as he explored my dick. Finally with a sigh, I spoke up, "I will absolutely fall asleep if we keep lying here... maybe get out for a bit?"

Trent didn't answer but just scooted away from our tight embrace, edging his big tall body off the bed. I watched him walk to the bathroom to clean off.

Somehow, the spell had been broken.

#drakestories

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senualothbrok · 1 month

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Helloooo!

Quick question: do you think Gale has always been a sex god (just as he’s innately good at magic) or do you think he acquired his legendary skills over time?

Hello friend! <3 I have thought about this a fair bit (in fact there is a scene in Promise where Aurora asks Gale the exact same thing). It's a great question because when it comes to romance/sex, Gale presents as a fascinating combination of a flustered bashful dork, who awkwardly withdraws the first time you express interest in him, and an absolute rizzard who is not coy about his desires, seduces you with the Faerunite version of the kama sutra, and takes you on an astral gang bang on your first date (if you choose to go astral rather than 'old ways' in Act 2). Gale may have a predisposition to being a beast in bed - in the sense that he is a thoughtful, generous person, who throws himself wholeheartedly into everything he does, and gives his whole self to the people he loves. Physical attributes aside (length/girth/stamina, and all the rest), those qualities are what makes someone a good lover - the sensitivity to what gives your lover pleasure, the drive to learn and improve in skill and attunement. Putting someone else's needs above your own. Gale definitely has a tendency towards these things within his character (sometimes to his own detriment). You've made a comparison with Gale's innate mastery of the Weave, which I think is apt here. I agree with the theory that Gale was born a sorcerer (able to channel the Weave a babe/child without training), but he is a wizard - it is in his nature to want to study and learn and perfect his skills. He is ever curious and enthusiastic about accumulating new knowledge. I think of Gale's sexual prowess in the same way. Gale tells the player character that he had mortal lovers before Mystra. We know that Mystra took Gale as a lover at a relatively young age, though we don't quite how young (I'm going to assume that he was old enough to consent, because I can't quite bear the alternative at the moment). I believe that as a young man, Gale accumulated sexual experiences, and came to understand his own sexual preferences as well. I'm sure, like most youths, there was a fair amount of trial and error. He is 35 when the player character meets him, and he is not green behind the ears in this area. He is not coy, he knows himself and what he wants. That requires experience, mistakes, learning. He studied and practised the skills of love and sex. He is able to make you feel sensations beyond imagining. He has a "practised tongue". So on and so forth. I don't think Gale was a blushing virgin when Mystra took him into her bed. Mystra isn't the sum of his experiences of sex and romance, although I do believe that, before the player character, she casts a dominating shadow over them. Mystra, obviously, would have been a demanding lover, and he would have learned how to please her. I think the more incorporeal, Weave-inspired modes of pleasure that Gale is able to channel were probably refined through his time with Mystra. (As an aside, I have no doubt that whatever scraps of affection and pleasure Mystra gave him were ultimately unsatisfying, because he was never her equal, and she never really cared about his needs and wants. Gale is obviously still coming to terms with the nature of their relationship and has limited insight when he speaks about his time with Mystra.) So, all in all, I think Gale probably started off with the fundamental traits of a good lover, and refined his legendary skills over time. <3

#gale dekarios #gale headcanons #gale of waterdeep #unhinged galemancer thirst #ask

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mayakern · 1 year

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I second the person who was talking about polyester being the sticking point for the shirts--I've been following for ages because I love your design sense and color choices, but I don't wear skirts much and between overheating issues & personal sustainability goals I've stopped buying synthetic fabrics. I LOVE the designs and several of them are in color combos I'd love to have in my button-up wardrobe, but alas I know I will not wear a polyester shirt. I'm mentally comparing them to Morningwitch, who does similar graphic cotton short sleeve button-ups for $50 each, and I'd be willing to potentially pay more than that for something as striking as the desert sunset button-up in 100% cotton (idk how scales/suppliers compare), but it would *probably* just be one if the price went any higher. Anyways, I'm wishing you good luck! Sucks about the numbers. They are really stunning designs.

i adore polina's work! i have a couple of her old button ups, which use the same fabric mine have now, but i haven't bought any of her cotton ones so i'm not sure if they're a texture i could wear or not.

(i have unfortunately had bad luck with other small artist natural fiber button ups and found them too rough for my textural sensitivities, so between that and me already owning enough clothing, i haven't bought any more in quite a while)

it's also important to note that polina spent an entire year (maybe longer) and a not insignificant amount of money searching for a natural fiber option for her shirts and that because shirts are her staple item (like skirts are mine), she sells significantly more of them than i do (even before making the switch to cotton), which enables her to drive down her PPU (price per unit) slightly and also charge less for them.

also, when the issue of sustainability comes up, it's not as simple as natural fiber vs. synthetic fiber. everything from the high cost in water for growing cotton, to the fuel cost for transporting it, and then its shorter lifespan (which is part of the point, i know, that natural fiber degrades faster, but it also means longterm you are buying more garments), as well as ethical concerns about labor rights...

in my experience when it comes to being a small brand functioning at my size or smaller, you can typically pick one of the following (if even that): natural fiber, ethical labor, or affordable price point. i have personally chosen to prioritize ethical labor over everything else while doing my best to keep my price points as reasonable as possible without undercutting myself. payroll and office space are expensive. 😅

of course, if you sell a higher volume, you can not only negotiate a lower PPU based on volume of sales (a factory will make more money from your business if you buy 10,000 shirts for $10/piece than if you buy 1,000 shirts for $12/piece*) but you can also get away with a lower margin because you're expecting to sell more units to customers. imagine selling 10,000 shirts for $25/ea instead of 1,000 for $35/ea. even with a profit margin of $15/ea instead of $23/ea, you would only need to sell about 1,534 shirts of your 10,000 to make the same net profit and you'd have almost another 8500 shirts you could keep selling.

*these are not real numbers just an example for easy math and to show how stupid manufacturing math is

#ask #long post #store

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givemea-dam-break · 4 months

Text

the calm before the storm

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ in which circumstances pull two souls apart

pairing: anthony lockwood x (fem) reader

a/n: the angst queen is back. no apologies. i was craving writing another luke castellan fic, but decided it was about time i came back to the hyperfixation that began about this time last year (happy one year lockwood and co!!) so surprise!!! i'm not sorry for this, just so you know. enjoy!

warnings: canon typical violence, descriptions of murder, angst (as always)

words: 4.7K

taglist: @irisesforyoureyes @neewtmas @wellgoslowly @waitingforthesunrise @oblivious-idiot @jesslockwood @magicandmaybe @gotlostinfiction @ettadear @locklylemybeloved @aayeroace @mischiefmanaged71 @mirrorballdickinson @ikeasupremacy

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

01. the calm

There was a certain kind of peace when it came to 35 Portland Row at night.

The way the fire flickered, casting the library in a golden-orange glow and filling it with cosy warmth. How the kitchen always smelled like whatever wonderful meal George had made earlier in the day. The sound of the crackling fire and pages brushing against each other and creaky floorboards. They all compiled together to make it feel like home.

(y/n) sat curled up on one of the library’s armchairs, nose buried in one of the aged books. A steaming cup of tea sat on the coffee table beside a pile of senseless magazines - Lockwood’s guilty pleasure. He was thumbing his way through one just at that moment, and the cover - an edited photo of Penelope Fittes and Steve Rotwell with a big, bold-lettered caption “Inside the minds of the most treasured people in Britain!” - told her everything she needed to know.

“That stuff is going to rot your brain,” she murmured, turning the page of her book. “I don’t know how you can stand reading that gossip.��

Lockwood, still looking at the magazine before him, shot her a sideways grin. “You just don’t appreciate today’s culture.”

A laugh bubbled from her lips. “I appreciate it plenty when I’m not under threat of death from ghosts. I mean, seriously. How many times can you read about what colour dress Penelope Fittes wore to a gala, or the stupid things all those snotty old rich people keep saying?”

“You have to admit, they’re a little bit funny.”

“It’s funny how stupid the things they say are.”

Lockwood rolled his eyes, dog-earing a page before closing the magazine and setting it down atop the already massive pile. His head tilted as he looked over at her, face cast in that same golden-orange hue that basked the room. He looked positively ethereal.

“I have read plenty of books, too, you know,” he said, still smiling. “I just don’t find them as interesting.”

Raising an eyebrow, (y/n) slipped her tattered bookmark between the pages of her book, balancing it on the arm of her chair. She twisted slightly so that she could look at him in the other armchair.

“Have you ever considered joining a gossip circle?” she asked. “You know, the kind where all those old women meet up in a cafe and have a little blether about their drama? You’d fit right in. Have half of them charmed within minutes.”

His smile changed, then, shifting into the exact kind she had imagined him using to get into a little gossip session. “You think so?”

She snorted, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. “Without a doubt. You’d have them convinced that, because Penelope wore a green dress to a gala and Steve Rotwell had a green tie, there is some kind of secret relationship between them. Secretly married, or some bosh like that.”

“Well,” Lockwood drawled, “just as well one of us has the skill of charm. If it were you doing interviews, we’d have no clients.”

She swept his magazine off the table and thwacked his arm with it. “If there was no one here to keep you alive, there’d be no business.”

He laughed then, and the sound was like music to her ears. If it was something she could bottle, she’d have a thousand vials of it collected. She could listen to him laugh all day, especially if she was the reason for such a beautiful sound.

With a playful kind of annoyance, she tossed the magazine back on the table. She might have imagined it, but Lockwood watched the movement with eagle-like attention, as if studying every move she made. Every face she pulled. The thought had her heart pounding a little faster.

“I wouldn’t be surprised by that idea, by the way.”

“What?” (y/n) tilted her head. “You being dead without me to save your ass? It’s a proven statement.”

Once more, he rolled his eyes. His smile would have buckled her knees had she been standing. “No. Penelope and Steve being secretly married. I’m going to cop that idea now. Just in case it’s true.”

“As long as I get the credit.”

“Always.”

02. before

“Another murder? Lockwood, do you ever think of broadening your horizons?”

Lockwood grinned, spreading out a few pages from different newspapers in front of him. “We seem to specialise in them. How many murdered ghosts have we successfully contained? Besides, the murderer of this one is unknown. I thought it’d be a fun challenge to see if we could figure out the perpetrator.”

“We have extremely different definitions of fun,” (y/n) grumbled, flipping open a folder full of dated documents. “Don’t you fancy something less… brutal? Someone who died of old age, maybe?”

“Boring,” he said, drawing out the vowels. “We’re Lockwood and Co! How else do we get in the papers without something like a murder?”

She watched the way his eyes seemed to gleam with a strange sort of joy and shook her head, holding back a smile. They most definitely had different definitions of fun.

“Maybe we can bake some really nice cakes,” she suggested. “Donate money to help stop homelessness? End world hunger?”

His smile then was so beautiful that it stole the breath from her lungs. “While those are wonderful suggestions - I do particularly like the thought of cakes - I think we can do much better by getting rid of some ghosts. Now! What have you found?”

They went on like that for a few more hours, passing taunts back and forth while noting down any points of interest from their research. Really, it would have been more beneficial to have George researching with them - he made sense of all the big, fancy words and mixed-up dates - but he was researching his own case with Lucy.

It was an interesting case, that much she had to give to Lockwood. A woman, named Fearne Watson, who had been killed in her home a mere four years prior, whose body was not found for another two days when her neighbour had come to drop off some food she had baked for her. Police had flooded the scene and all of the journalists from popular news sources managed to squeeze their way in, getting all the details they could wring out of anybody, including the poor neighbour. (y/n) could remember seeing a glimpse of it on the news, sitting in her mother’s living room, waiting for her father to come home from work. The body had been sealed in one of those black body bags. There was caution tape everywhere, tape that journalists and paparazzi seemed to ignore.

Her family had been interviewed, each of them grieving harder than the last. It was hard to read their heartfelt words. Her sister, who had practically raised her during their childhood while their single mother worked multiple jobs, was by far the most emotional. It was even worse seeing photos of her attendance at the funeral - her pure devastation at a private memorial being disrupted by paparazzi.

What had seemed like at least half of London’s population had ganged up on the press, after that. Some smaller companies were thrown out of business.

The biggest mystery of it all had been the murderer. Whoever had committed it had covered their tracks well: nobody had seen anyone in the home with the victim - though they had not been paying much attention, therefore it had been partially investigated - nor had they seen anybody leave. No weapon was left behind, which was no matter because, as it was later revealed, Fearne had not been killed with a weapon.

The autopsy reports had not been released to the public, but Lockwood’s charm and (y/n)’s bare-faced insistence managed to garner them the second-last piece to the puzzle.

“Hemlock poisoning,” (y/n) murmured. “What year are we in? 1623? Don’t people usually use, what, paracetamol nowadays?”

Lockwood’s eyes flitted over the document, trying to absorb as much information as possible. If DEPRAC found out they had weaselled their way into getting their hands on it, there would be trouble. They had a very limited amount of time with it.

“Would’ve been a painful death, I imagine,” he said. “It’s a paralytic - says here she died from suffocation. Her respiratory system was paralysed after her muscles seized, also paralysed.”

She shuddered, taking the sheet of paper when he offered it to her. It wasn’t long before she had to pass it back, insanely disturbed.

“You sure know how to pick a belter of a case,” she mumbled. “Next time, take George with you.”

He only smiled, more reassuring than anything else, and reached over, squeezing her hand. Sparks coursed through her veins at the touch, and she looked up at him, melting at the way he looked at her.

“We’ll be okay,” he promised. “We have each other.”

A smile curved her lips, and she squeezed his hand back. “Always.”

03. the storm

The chains were heavy in her hands, cold enough that the skin of her fingers and palms were beginning to hurt. The house itself was not cold quite yet, but iron had that effect.

Lockwood stared down at his thermometer before nodding. (y/n), gratefully, began laying down the chains in a circle, closing the ends in on each other. Lockwood set a lantern down in the centre but didn’t turn it on just yet.

“Eight degrees,” he said. “You ready?”

She pursed her lips, nodding.

“No sympathising with visitors this time,” he added, and while there was a smile curling his lips, she could feel the seriousness in his statement. She did have a history of it.

The house’s living room was large enough to fit two three-seater sofas, as well as a dining table tucked under the back window with six chairs. The walls were a dingy shade of beige. A large patterned rug, red as blood, covered a good portion of the dark wood floor. With a thumping heart, she knelt down and lifted up a small corner of the rug.

She took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow its beating. Nothing good would come from being in a panic. The slight tremor in her hands ceased. She was a well-versed agent, this was nothing! She had helped solve the mystery of Combe Carey Hall. She had solved dozens upon dozens of cases. One more murder was nothing.

But, as she pressed her hand flat against part of the floor, stained slightly darker than the rest, it became clear that she was wrong.

Time seemed to swell around her, spinning and spinning until she was crouched in a brighter version of the house. A version without the big rug and the dining table beneath the window. The walls were a beautiful shade of duck-egg blue. Photos hung in simple white frames, plants were dotted around the room in pots shaped like cats and hedgehogs and dinosaurs.

Music played softly, a song (y/n) recognised as one her mother used to listen to while she still lived at home. Someone was humming along.

A woman swept into view, one she recognised from the newspapers that did not do her beauty justice.

Fearne Watson’s auburn hair was swept over her shoulder in loose waves, glowing like fire in the sunlight. She had blue eyes that were ever-smiling, and her freckled cheeks were rosy. She was no older than twenty-five.

Another voice could be heard, feminine and soft. She was singing along to the song while Fearne mimicked the instruments. (y/n)’s parents had often done the same.

The second woman came into view, and (y/n) couldn’t help but smile. Her sister, Dahlia, brushed over, gently taking Fearne’s hands in hers. They spun for a few moments, dancing along to the song. When it ended, they laughed and laughed, sipping from delicate teacups.

“Mm! What kind of tea is this?” Fearne asked, smiling. “Tastes very floral. It’s not jasmine, is it?”

Dahlia smiled, too, watching her sister with soft eyes. “Something like that.”

A terrible feeling began to settle in (y/n)’s bones. The thoughts building in the back of her mind began to come to fruition, and as she watched, she could feel her blood running cold. There was a terrible, nauseous lump in her throat. The police had thought nobody had been home with Fearne.

Fearne’s hand brushed her throat lightly. There was a faint sheen on her brow. “Did you add parsley to this? It’s got a bit of a weird taste.”

Her sister merely shook her head. She had not drank any of her tea.

“Dal, this - this doesn’t taste right.”

Dahlia tilted her head just so slightly. She did not seem concerned. “Oh?”

It was then that it began. The drawn-out death.

Fearne’s skin took on a pale tint, coated in a layer of sweat. The teacup dropped from her hand, smashing on the hardwood floor. Dahlia swept it up, disposing of it in the bin beside the sofa. She watched her sister closely, bright eyes narrowed as Fearne’s limbs took on a rigid look. She slumped on the sofa, panic flaring in her eyes.

She was struggling to speak, lips coated in her own saliva. She managed one word. “Why?”

Dahlia did not respond to her question. “Hemlock tastes very similar to parsley,” she murmured, standing as her sister began shaking, trying to suck in as much air as she could. “It was a shame things ended like this.”

The question, Why? hung in the air, unanswered. But the glaring look in Dahlia’s eyes revealed truer feelings than she had expressed in interviews. She resented her sister. Wholly and irrevocably. Why exactly she hated her was left a mystery hidden by a cruel smile.

(y/n) was torn from the vision as Fearne’s face began to turn purple, her lungs failing. She was saved from the horror of watching her die.

Lockwood was crouched in front of her when the present world began to melt back around her, his copper-and-caramel eyes taking the place of the sofa Fearne’s body had slumped upon.

His hands were on her face, warm and calloused. “You okay?” he asked gently. “Need any water?”

She shook her head, goosebumps rising across the skin of her arms. “It was her sister.”

“What?” Lockwood frowned, hands slipping from her cheeks to rest on the skin between her shoulders and neck. His touch made her shiver. “The newspapers -”

“They got it wrong,” she said. There was a bitter taste in her mouth. “She - she put hemlock in their tea. She murdered her own sister. She lied to the journalists. I can’t even begin to understand -”

Her voice fell flat. In some space in the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware of Lockwood speaking, trying to draw her attention back to him, but all she could focus on were the whispers. The glow.

A few feet behind Lockwood, there was a faint shimmer in the air, akin to how heat shimmered above pavements in summer. But this was all wrong. This was the dead end of winter. This was inside a house, where that kind of heat didn’t appear anywhere but the oven. This shimmer was glowing.

At first, it was no more than that - a shimmer - but the features soon developed. Long auburn hair. Freckled cheeks. Down-turned eyes and a wide nose bridge.

“Fearne…”

Lockwood’s hands were on her face again, trying to get her to look at him. “What? (y/n), talk to me.”

Dahlia, said the apparition with such spite that (y/n) could taste it. Bitter and pungent and poisonous. Dahlia.

She sounded out the name as if speaking to a child and teaching them syllables. Her very voice, strained of air and yet still, somehow, melodic, had her frozen on the spot.

“Fearne,” she uttered again. She could not move.

Perhaps had she not felt such sympathy for their visitor's circumstance, she would not have found herself ghost-locked. Perhaps she would have been standing already, rapier in one hand and a salt bomb in the other, prepared to hold her off whilst Lockwood found her source. Or, no, really it would be the other way around - Lockwood would never let her fight a ghost on her own, his pride and needless urge to protect were a killer. So maybe she would have been searching for that source by now. Maybe she would have found it already.

But it felt as though her joints had locked up, preventing her from moving at all. Her eyes could focus only on the shape of Fearne Watson’s ghost and not Lockwood, who she would much rather have been looking at.

He seemed to realise then what was happening, standing as he spun around to face the ghost. His rapier was drawn in mere seconds, angled towards her purple, glowing face. Her teeth were bared in some gruesome excuse of a smile that creased her tear-stained cheeks.

“(y/n).” His voice was steely as he looked ahead at the ghost, hiding any of the fear she wasn’t entirely sure he ever felt so as to not empower the ghost. “I need you to find the source. Snap out of it.”

She couldn’t, not when Fearne’s voice whispered in her ears so painfully, so full of betrayal. Her sister’s name over and over and over again, tear-filled and sickening. All (y/n) wanted to do was wrap her arms around Fearne and promise her that things would be okay, that she would take her story back to the news with the revelation of her killer. Even if it was just her word against the world’s, supported by no evidence but her Talent, she would do it.

Then, Lockwood threw a salt bomb at Fearne’s face, dissolving her spectral form for a moment.

He turned back to (y/n), eyes uncharacteristically wild. “(y/n), go!”

And she did. She was on her feet again, heart thumping in her chest as Lockwood turned to follow the moving glow of Fearne Watson, slashing at her with his rapier whenever she came too close.

(y/n) grappled for anything that could be a source, feeling them in her hands for any signs. Ice cold. Traces of memories that she would be able to see or hear. Most were fruitless, just ghastly-looking vases and pretentious photo frames. What on earth would be the source if somebody else was living here now?

A thought came to the forefront of her mind, driving her back to the blood-red rug. She folded the corner over itself again and again until she reached somewhere near the middle, cringing at the wailing noises that came from the visitor. Salt exploded in the air, tangling in her hair and melting on her lips. With the miasma she had misunderstood as fear and sympathy, it was a horrible taste.

The dark floor was stained darker in one spot, splotchy and strangely shaped, exactly where the teacup had fallen in the vision. Fearne howled when (y/n)’s fingers brushed it.

“Hurry!” Lockwood called, twisting his rapier in ways far too complicated for (y/n) to ever attempt. “I know what you’re thinking!”

And he likely did. She was unsure as to why Lockwood expected any different from her - to not feel even the slightest bit bad for these ghosts. Some had died so brutally, so heartbreakingly, that sometimes she doubted if he truly had a heart, despite the way she so often saw him looking at her.

This poor woman had been killed by her sister for nothing more than existing. She had died horribly, unable to move or breathe as her sister watched her struggle, ignoring the hemlock tea stain on the floor beneath her feet. She had remained at the site of her murder for years, with no escape from the memories of her death.

How could she not feel bad? How could she not wish for something more for ghosts like Fearne, more than a fight and another violent end, surrounded by the flames of the Fittes Furnaces?

The wailing disappeared for a moment, and all she could hear was Lockwood panting behind her. And the whispers. The whispers from the floorboard.

“Have you found the source?” he asked, his voice cool. She wasn’t sure when the last time he had used that tone on her was.

His answer was a resounding yes.

Fearne’s glowing apparition appeared in front of (y/n)’s face, her haunting smile and glassy eyes like a hand around her heart.

Dahlia, she murmured. A tear slipped down her purple cheek as one of her hands slowly reached upwards, towards (y/n)’s cheek. Her other hand neared the site of the source, from which she had just appeared. Dahlia.

(y/n) didn’t notice how cold her hand felt until the chill was gone, replaced by the weight of a silver net. All noise felt as though it had been sucked out of the room, replaced by a heavy silence.

Then came the angry breathing Lockwood so often resorted to when he could not bear to speak to George or Lucy when they had particularly annoyed him. But never had he done it because of (y/n). Never.

She turned her head, slipping her hand out from beneath the net, and met Lockwood’s gaze. His brows were drawn close over his shadowed eyes, lips curved downwards as his shoulders rose and fell with each deep, steadying breath he tried to take.

“We get rid of ghosts,” he said, voice tight. “We aren’t paid to sympathise with them.”

(y/n) stood slowly. “They deserve more than this.”

“They are ghosts.” His words were clipped now. “They deserve nothing.”

“She didn’t deserve to die.”

“And neither do we!”

He had raised his voice just so slightly, but, even still, it took her by shock. He slipped his rapier into his belt, pocketing his salt bombs, and stared angrily at her in a way he never had before.

“I let you off the first time something like this happened,” he said, “because you were new. I wanted to see how you worked, see how you processed these things. The second time, well, that was different - the ghost had no intention of doing anything but sitting sadly in a corner. The fifth time? Well, I suppose that, along with every other time you’ve pulled this, was because of my feelings for you. But you’ve put both of us at risk today, again. I won’t have it.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What? So you want me to go around with no feelings whatsoever and just get rid of all of these ghosts?”

He threw his arms into the air, exasperated. “Yes! That’s what I pay you to do!”

“Well, I won’t do it.” (y/n) bit the inside of her cheek. “Without the emotion, I wouldn’t be able to find the sources the way I do. I’m not going to be some emotionless paramount of an agent like you. And if you don’t want me to work that way, then I won’t. I'd rather leave than do that.”

“Then go.”

The words hung in the air, and (y/n) found herself immediately regretting hers. But Lockwood's certainty in his, they had her dead-set. If he was so blasé about her threat of leaving Lockwood and Co after all they had been through, all she had felt for him, then she would go.

She didn’t want to work in any way but hers. She had perfected her technique, used it on every case to support her findings. Sure, she sympathised with many of the ghosts; how could she not, when many were late children or murdered women or family members taken too soon? Telling her not to work that way, to not use the pain felt by the victims to help her bring them peace, was like trying to cut a piece out of her body. She’d kick and scream and stop it at any cost.

With a breath that constricted her chest, she clenched her fists. Pain flared up through her right hand and, when she looked down, she had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn’t making up the blue tinge her skin had taken on.

Lockwood seemed to notice it at that very moment, eyes widening as he stepped forward. His voice softened as he said, “(y/n), let me see -”

Taking a step back, she clutched her hand to her chest. “No.”

She said it with more force than she has ever used with him. It shocked her almost as much as it did him.

With her good hand shaking, she turned and strode out of the living room into the kitchen, where their kits were stashed.

DEPRAC’s main goal was to protect and provide for the agents that fought off visitors across the whole of Britain, and they had recently managed to get legislation approved for agents to carry adrenaline shots with them to cases. Far too many agents, most of them being barely teenagers, had died waiting for ambulances to provide the shots after being ghost-touched, especially when working in remote areas. DEPRAC wanted to reduce fatalities as much as possible.

So she reached into Lockwood’s bag - legislation had only been approved with the compromise that supervisors or business owners carried adrenaline shots with them, rather than allowing other agents to have possession of them - and pulled out the box containing the shot.

Lockwood was at her side in a second, reaching over to help her out, seeing her struggle with only one hand, but she turned away from him. She hoped he hadn’t seen the tears clouding her eyes before she had moved.

“(y/n),” he murmured.

“Don’t,” she said. “Just don’t.”

And, so, she stabbed the needle into her arm, administering the adrenaline despite the rules surrounding even that part of the legislation. She did not want to feel his hands on her skin. Not anymore.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

(y/n) sat curled up on her chair, newspaper laid out before her.

Her last case with Lockwood and Co had made it into the news, page eight, much to Lockwood’s likely chagrin. That was a guess, though. She supposed she wouldn’t know anymore.

Light flooded in through her window, illuminating the walls of her childhood home. She had not wanted to return, but what choice had she had? Getting a flat in London was almost impossible.

Her parents had taken her back with open arms, happy to have their little girl back, but they fell into old habits quickly. It seemed that the years she had spent living in 35 Portland Row had left them to store some passive aggressive comments ready for her return. Everything she did elicited some kind of comment.

She flicked through the newspaper, filling in crosswords and drawing devil horns on the heads of the Fittes agents that had made it into the paper.

Page eight, though she hated it, held her attention. After the effects of ghost-touch began to fade away, Lockwood had called the police and DEPRAC regarding the case, informing both of their findings. Though no evidence had been found to prove their claim, paragons of each big agency with the talent of Touch were brought in the DEPRAC van. Every single one confirmed her story.

The police disappeared shortly after, alerting higher ups and figuring out a strategy. Dahlia Watson still lived in London.

The floorboard was pried from the house, wrapped tightly in a silver net and taken by a DEPRAC officer en route to the Fittes Furnaces. She didn't miss the way Lockwood looked over at her at the announcement of the source's destination.

Journalists appeared shortly after, shouting their questions and writing down every move (y/n) and Lockwood made in their frustrating notepads as if their silence was condemnation. DEPRAC officers managed to shoo them off, but not before they snapped pictures of the two walking out of the house.

Lockwood looked as he always did, with that charming smile that, despite (y/n)’s anger, had a horrible flutter arising in her stomach, His long jacket blew back just so in the breeze, and his hair brushed his forehead softly. (y/n), on the other hand, looked far sterner than she had ever seen herself, her hand still a faint shade of blue, her eyes wan. Anybody who had seen their pictures in the news before that point likely knew that that was the end of their business together at Lockwood and Co. They were stood about two feet apart.

She should have left it there, left her remorse and fury mixing terribly in her chest, but she didn’t.

Her eyes caught onto the final sentence, and she felt rather sick. “I give full credit of the discovery to my partner, (y/n) (l/n), (pictured left). This case, and Fearne Watson's murder, would not have been solved without her. Always.”

Former partner, she thought with a lump in her throat. And, well, always did not seem so true anymore.

She tore the page from the paper, ignoring the bewildered look on her mother’s face. With bleary eyes, she crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the fire.

Perhaps always was only for fairytales.

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #anthony lockwood fanfiction #lockwood fanfiction #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood #lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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meimi-haneoka · 1 month

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Report of CLAMP's Twitter Space - April 1st, 2024 (part concerning Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card)

As it was quite predictable, CLAMP sensei opened a Twitter Space on April 1st to celebrate this important and special day, which they consider their "birthday" as a creative group. ✨

It is also the birthday of quite a number of characters in their works, but it's hilarious they mentioned later in this Space how April 1st is actually only CCS!Sakura's and TRC!Sakura's birthday, as all the other characters have "ambiguous" situations going on. 😂 I'll delve into this part later.

You will find the full report under the cut, since the post became considerably long once again - it was inevitable since they kept bringing Sakura things up and the Space was almost 50 minutes long! 😅I also wanted to feature as many info as possible, and where I could, I wanted to translate their conversations directly rather than making a summary of it.

CLAMP celebrated April 1st going to a beloved cafè in Kyoto (they later revealed in their IG stories it's called Mont and there's always a cute dog there), spending some nice relaxing time drinking something all four together. That's when they got the idea to open a Space to celebrate with their fans too. CLAMP reiterated several times during the Space how grateful they are for being able to do a creative job like this, even after 35 years. A job none of them really imagined when they were little, as "to become a mangaka" wasn't a specific dream any of them really had.

And then, Ohkawa introduced the part of the Space where they talked about CCS Clear Card, starting by the mention of the release of volume 16 (which happened precisely on April 1st)!

Ohkawa: A serialization that lasted 7 years and a half, isn't it? Mokona: So long, right? Ohkawa: Yeah, quite long! Satsuki: Elementary schoolers have already graduated by now. Ohkawa: Yeah, the readers who were in the first year when the serialization started have graduated elementary school long ago. We had decided that Sakura would start middle school when Clear Card Arc began, and readers of her same age reached adulthood by now. Satsuki & Mokona: Ah, it's true! Ohkawa: They've stayed with us for long time, right? And now the final volume is out. *they all applaude* Mokona: It's quite a happy end, isn't it? Ohkawa: Uh? Mokona: a happy, happy, happy end. 🥰 Ohkawa: 😨...you mean, an APPEALING end, right? (Nekoi echoing her: right?) (note: happy and appealing start with the same pronounce in Japanese) Nekoi: 😅(to Mokona) What are you talking about? Ohkawa: What do you mean, Mokona? 🙃 *Mokona laughs nervously* Nekoi: Is that your headcanon or something? Ohkawa: Is this okay to say? Nekoi: Or rather, is this your conspiracy? 😂

Of course they all joked like this because they wanted to avoid spoiling how the story ended 😂 Ohkawa thanked all the readers for sticking with this story for such a long time. Long time after Sakura Card Arc, when the right opportunity came, they were able to draw this "Clear Card Arc". In that regard, Ohkawa mused that she can't even recall why the previous arc is called "Sakura Card Arc", despite no one actually calls those cards as "Sakura Cards" in the story itself (she said the characters do call them "Sakura's Cards", but not "Sakura Cards"), and Mokona seemed to agree with her, but here sensei was simply forgetting that it was Tomoyo herself the one who named them that way in volume 7 😅(in the beginning she wanted to call them "Sakura-chan Cards", then she settled for "Sakura Cards"....unforgettable Sakura's comment: "It sounds like the name of a credit card..." 😂) It was long ago, we can forgive them. 😉And they made sure to repeat the same thing with Clear Card Arc, since in this story NO ONE ever calls those as "Clear Cards" but actually just "transparent cards" or "new cards". 😂

Ohkawa added that middle schooler Sakura grew up a bit more in the last part of the story, and people who have already read the last chapter can understand what she means by that. She also said that she'd like to leave a more in-depth talk for another time, when they get the right opportunity, but the biggest reason why they decided to open this Space was to talk about unknown "behind the scenes" trivia that the fans could ask about using the hashtag of "CLAMP day" and those of the campaigns organized by Kodansha (in particular, the one to win the big A4 size clear bookmark). She also said that she wanted to give this opportunity to Satsuki and Nekoi to say something about Clear Card since the last time they all talked together, they didn't get the chance. Ohkawa also brought up the last CLAMP Kanbukai podcast, where she talked about the trivia of Fujitaka's iron kettle and that shocked both her colleagues, cause they didn't know about that detail! 😆

Ohkawa: The story I'm about to tell you is something me and Mokona know very well, since there's a precise reason behind this trivia. In Clear Card Arc there's a "key character" called Akiho. Akiho's last name is "Shinomoto" and that was decided ever since the very beginning, but her first name was originally Sairi! Her full name was Sairi Shinomoto. Mokona: It gives off a different vibe, right? Ohkawa: Indeed. I had already decided the kanji for it and all, but at some point, before we even started to draw chapter 1, whenever I talked to Mokona...(to Mokona) please explain what happened. Mokona: Whenever I tried to write the hiragana for あいお (aio) in our conversations on Line, the autocorrect on my phone would change it to 秋穂 (Akiho). (Note: another reading of the kanji in Akiho's name is indeed Ai'o) Whenever I tried to write those hiragana characters, the autocorrect would change it to akiho once the message got sent, and I was like "what's that akiho?? I didn't want to write that". I couldn't understand, because it's not like I had ever used that word with other people (note: she means the autocorrect didn't learn it from other conversations). Ohkawa: The first 2-3 times it happened I was just perplexed, but then as this "akiho, akiho, akiho" kept happening every time, I just asked her "Mokona, are you doing this on purpose??" and she was like "no, not at all!" 😂 She told me "Look what (the phone) converts this into!", but when we tried to do the same on our phones, it didn't come out to any of us! Mokona: But I did show it to you, right? That it came out like that to me. Ohkawa: Yeah, you did! I found it strange cause she said she doesn't even have any friend who's called Akiho-chan, she even tried to recall if there was a character of any series that's called like that... Mokona: Right, but I didn't know any! 😅 Ohkawa: So we started to think about it...Akiho seemed like a really cute name, it combines the characters of "autumn" (秋) with the ear of rice (穂), we pondered about it for 0.02 seconds and then I said "Let's use 'Akiho' for her name". And that's how she became Akiho Shinomoto. Satsuki: You thought that the ear of rice was a nice "opposite pole" to Sakura's spring. Nekoi: What were Sairi-chan's kanji? Ohkawa: Well, it doesn't really matter now but initially, I had designed for her name to bear a kanji only for the "ri" part, and leave the "Sai" part in hiragana. In CCSakura all the characters have their name either in hiragana or kanji, and there isn't any character who's got a name that mixes both. So I thought to do that for her. Ohkawa: Speaking of Sairi-chan, it's a good moment to mention that there's this morning drama show on NHK starting right today, called "Tiger with Wings" where Sairi Ito is starring. I really love her as an actress and I think Sairi is a really cute name, so I had decided for Akiho's name to originally be Sairi, just like hers. It's not like I created the "Akiho" character in Sairi Ito's image, but I just thought that Sairi was a really good name and there was a time when I thought that it would be better for her to have a name closer to Sakura's one, so I had initially decided for that one. But thanks to Mokona's fated intervention, she became Akiho.

Many fans who were listening started to try to type "aio" on their phones and uploaded the screenshots of how their autocorrect would suggest "Akiho" as a conversion! Ohkawa and Mokona looked at the screenshots and commented that the same result can be obtained both on an iOS phone and on a Mac computer. Mokona felt relieved that it wasn't just happening to her! 😆 Ohkawa: It might be that Mokona-san unilaterally changed her name for us, but...😆 Mokona: it's not like I was scheming for it or anything! 😆 A fan also brought up the fact that in the prefecture of Yamaguchi there's an onsen facility called "Aio Onsen" written with the same kanji of Akiho's name, and CLAMP were quite surprised to find that out.

Ohkawa: If you look at the story you'll know what I'm talking about, but in the finale Akiho reveals her true name as a 'final move', and I did think in the past that the spoiler about her true name would show through the fact that we gave her an autumnal name, but Mokona writing that 'Akiho' all those times was just so guided by fate, to the point it shocked us. And it came from writing something trivial like "Yo!" (note: Mokona wrote "ai" as a colloquial way to say "yo", "hi!") 😆 Mokona: It seems like it's quite an unusual name but don't worry, it's not like I was scheming for it! 😅

Then, Ohkawa asked Nekoi and Satsuki if there was a particular scene or part of the story they liked or if they had a fun episode to tell about...while she was waiting for their answers, she said they received lots of praises for the cover of volume 16, with many comments saying how beautiful it is, and for them it's already enough if people can even just look at the cover on the internet.

Ohkawa: By the way, you said the tone used for Kaito-san after his eyes changed was quite bothersome to you, right? Nekoi: Yeah, because I kept forgetting it! Satsuki: I wonder if people will notice...his eyes are so tiny, right? Ohkawa: Were his eyes huge, before? Satsuki: No, I mean, when turned into a tankobon his eyes look so tiny... Ohkawa: Ah, I see, I see. Nekoi: it's because we're used to see it on a screen. Ohkawa: Lots of stuff happened to Kaito-san in volume 15, and....lots of stuff happened to his eyes too, as a result. Because of that, we added a tone finish to his eyes, and it would make me happy if people noticed it. Mokona: There's quite a non-human feel to his eyes, now. Ohkawa: Indeed, indeed.

Ohkawa then asked Satsuki for her own tidbit about Clear Card, and she mentioned a color spread she really liked was the one of chapter 55, with Sakura and Akiho seemingly springing out of water, each on a side of the spread. Satsuki commented it's "a pose quite common in our artworks". Ohkawa recognized it and said the spread was actually two pieces drawn separately (as it's quite deducible by how the spread is composed). Satsuki added that in general all the art of the last volume is quite cute.

Ohkawa: What about you, Mokona? Mokona: As for me.... As you know, right in the middle of the play written by Naoko-chan, they end up in the world of the book. Well, it's not like they really go to another world. When we reach the part of Syaoran's action, both Sakura's POV and Syaoran's POV progress simultaneously...and I think if this were a video, there would be a way to portray it smoothly, but when we were working on it, Nanase told me "I want you to find a way to portray it that is fitting for a manga". So when I've got down to draw the storyboard, I've arranged the panels in a way that was quite understandable to me, but I started to have doubts whether people would be able to get easily what was going on...💦 I could understand it completely because I knew the story, but what about somebody who was seeing it for the first time...? Would it be okay...? I was quite worried about that. Ohkawa: Ooh, I see. I think somehow they were able to understand it.

After this, Ohkawa mentioned Motoko Kumai (Syaoran's, Sumomo, Nataku's VA)'s quote-retweet of their announcement of the Space, where she wished them a happy CLAMP day and said all of the meetings with those characters are a treasure to her. She added "Thank you for pouring your heart in everything you do". It was very funny to hear Ohkawa say "I wasn't the right person to read this, I get embarrassed with these praises! 😳But no, really, thank you very much." ✨

Ohkawa then said "We've been told by Kodansha that they've never had a single manga that continued for two volumes after the end was announced...well, this is our volume 16 that was extended twice 😁"

Ohkawa: I say this every single time, but in my heart, this was the story where Sakura-chan acted as a proper main character, till the very end. I think this is the story Sakura painted for herself, following her own feelings. Sorry, but this is how I feel. Of course I think it's possible to not see it this way and you're absolutely entitled to it, but we think our Sakura-chan really did her best. Mokona: She truly did. Ohkawa: Also, we got lots of comments saying that Touya used too many cheats 😆But I would like to remind everyone that Touya was a "cheater" since long time ago. Mokona: Despite not appearing often, we stacked on him many strong points. Ohkawa: He was really a cheater all along. (note: of course here with "cheater" they're meaning his abilities that allow him to do unexpected and powerful things in the plot, in order to help Sakura at the most convenient moment) I'm talking about Clow Card Arc right now (note: this is a part concerning Sakura Card Arc, actually), but to have a magical power that allows you to transfer all of it to a magical being created by Clow is already a cheat to begin with. Satsuki: he can also see (non-living beings). Ohkawa: Sakura-chan was refusing to do so, but she's also someone who can see them.

While looking at the hashtags, I can't understand if this was Nekoi's personal comment or the comment of a fan, but she said "It's good that it wasn't Touya the one finding the Cards", mocking the way he would've said the incantation to capture the Cards, and Ohkawa replied "Well, he would probably be 'Cardcaptor Touya' now. But he was an high schooler! Feels a bit off..." and Nekoi along with Satsuki mused even more on the possibility of him having a transformation scene like shoujo heroines or if he would just go capturing cards in his school uniform 😂 Mokona: I don't really think Tomoyo would put that much effort in creating costumes for anyone other than Sakura-chan 😂 Ohkawa: Yeah, Tomoyo wouldn't make a costume for him. Therefore, despite it would be quite troublesome because I don't really think Yukito is particularly skilled in sewing, what I can think of is that he would make for him some kind of awkward outfits that don't even look like cosplay costumes. Satsuki: He'll make them by himself. Ohkawa: Well, it's not like Touya would make them... Nekoi & Mokona: There's no reason for him to do it, after all. Ohkawa: He wouldn't be doing this with a serious spirit. Nekoi: So he wouldn't feel a particular reason to change clothes. Mokona: What if he wants to hide his face? What do you think? Ohkawa: Ah, you mean a mask? Nekoi: Well, it's not like Sakura-chan herself had ever any eyewitnesses, after all... Nekoi: He gives me the vibe of someone who would go and capture cards swiftly like he just dropped an item...and hey ho! It would end immediately like a yonkoma (note: four panel manga)! Mokona: He might just pay attention to not get his school uniform dirty. Ohkawa: Then, if Sakura was in Touya's place, she would just go like "Oh, I think I've heard a noise" Satsuki: "There's some rustling" Ohkawa: But I don't think Touya would try so desperately to hide it from her, like she did with him! 😁

Then, Ohkawa tried to bring the topic back to the theme of the day, Clear Card and the release of volume 16.

Ohkawa: it was the first time we happened to draw again for one of our series after almost 20 years. Of course there's been a change in the design, it was impossible for us to keep it the same. I'd be happy if you could enjoy nonetheless. Moreover, at the end of the story, the front and the back of all the Cards changed. We were able to show the back of the Cards when the special chapter was published on Nakayoshi, after the story was over, but as for the front of the Cards themselves, we have just shown a peek. Mokona: Right, and just a few of them. Ohkawa: Truth to be told, we have modified all of the Cards in their manga version. (to Mokona) It was hard, right? Mokona: Yes. Ohkawa: Mokona has rewritten all of their names, too. Because the design is different. Mokona: Yeah. I had colored them too. I thought I would die. Ohkawa: Nekoi and Satsuki worked really hard on them too. Despite that, the truth is we have no opportunity to show the new designs of all the Cards in their manga version! Mokona: It would be good if we could show somewhere the colored version of even just one Card... Nekoi: Since we worked so hard...

Many people in the "CLAMP Day" hashtag suggested for them to show them at the CLAMP exhibition of this summer. Then, back on the topic of volume 16:

Ohkawa: I know there might be people who won't think in that way about volume 16, and everything we're talking about might be a spoiler for others, but I personally think that both Sakura-chan and Syaoran-kun matured little by little during this last volume, and I'd be happy for you to see it. Eriol ended up being that kind of character, as usual... (note: she impersonated him saying something, but unfortunately I can't really understand that line) Mokona: Beside him, the "camera" of the story focused properly on all the other characters, including the Kinomoto family. Ohkawa: This is something I wanted to do since long time ago, but...Fujitaka himself didn't have any powers, and although he didn't understand very well what was going on, he trusted Sakura-chan and in the end told her something like "I knew you were going out of the house at night!" 😁 I'm really glad we could draw that scene for him. I've always wanted to portray at least once what the characters of the "parents generation" did inside the story, it's not like Fujitaka-san was spacing out in a corner oblivious to everything...and I'm glad I could portray that in the story. Satsuki: He's collected lots of suspicious books too, right? Ohkawa: Yes. There's something I asked my three colleagues to depict long time ago, and it's connected to what happens in the end. Akiho-chan in the end says something like "I want to aim for a job like this in the future!", but not only that, she also looks for rare books while travelling to many countries around the world. The first time I wanted to portray what kind of rare books she would be collecting was in a scene of long time ago, when the girls visit Fujitaka's library. I asked to please put an homage to Cthulhu over there. Mokona: It's true! Please look for it! If I remember correctly, they were some kind of grimoires that appear in the Cthulhu mythos. We have included them clearly so please everyone, have fun looking for them! Ohkawa: We have intended all of those as homages, so I'd be happy if you could look at them. (note: the chapter they're talking about is the 26th one)

Mokona: It looks like something terrible is going to come out at any moment from a corner of Dad's library....💦 Ohkawa: Yeah. But Fujitaka is like "any kind of book is welcome here!", even with books like those ones. Ohkawa: And then, there's the matter of the chocomint. There have been questions like "why do you keep bringing chocomint up?" before. Among CLAMP, the ones liking chocomint are Nekoi and Satsuki. Mokona, what about you? Mokona: I've recently started to be able to eat the chocomint ice cream from Häagen-Dazs. Ohkawa: You didn't really like it before, right? Mokona: Yes. People from the "chocomint side" will probably think it's pretty mild tasting, but...😅 Ohkawa: As for me, I can't really eat it. 😅But I feel like when a person you love eats it so eagerly, you can't help but wanting to try it too. That's the reason why we employed chocomint in the story. Maybe people who like chocomint will disagree with me, but to me it's quite a divisive kind of food, you either love it or hate it. Mokona: Its color is so overwhelmingly cute too. I always end up wishing to eat it. Ohkawa: Are you like "ugh! This was a mistake" or "well this is quite good" when you actually try it? Mokona: If I do my best, I can eat it till the end. Ohkawa: Well, we have Lilie, an older character appearing in the story, whose person she fell in love with started to like chocomint precisely because she likes it too. That's something that can happen too, right? Mokona: Indeed. For Syaoran it was the same. Ohkawa: Uhm, right, didn't Syaoran dislike it? Nekoi: Yes, but when he tried it he actually started to like it. Mokona: He could eat it because it was something Sakura made for him! Ohkawa: Isn't that amazing? Mokona: It is 🥰

After this, CLAMP started to read some messages from the fans, and also mentioned that the word "Sakura-chan" ended up trending on Twitter. Ohkawa: We have realized it today for the first time, but among our characters, Sakura-chan is the only one whose birthday is TRULY on April 1st! Satsuki: The double Sakura-chan, right? Ohkawa: Right. First of all, I'm not sure we can consider as a 'birth day' what happened to the existence of xxxHolic's Watanuki. Then we have the birthday of Tsubasa's Syaoran, which was decided deliberately by princess Sakura, so even in his case it's ambiguous. Another one is Seishirou from Tokyo Babylon, and in his case the birthday is a lie. So that leaves us basically with just Cardcaptor Sakura's Sakura and Tsubasa's Sakura as the only characters who are truly born on April 1st? Mokona: In the case of Sakura from Tsubasa, I wonder if we should consider her calendar the same as ours. Ohkawa: Ah, right!! Because she lives in another country, right? Mokona: And another world too.

After reading some more messages, Ohkawa said that she's very happy even just with fans of the old Clow Card and Sakura Card Arc loving the new arc too, but what makes her the happiest is to know there are people who have discovered the CCSakura series thanks to Clear Card Arc, and will keep treasuring it from now on. They also mused over the fact that they've been in activity as authors for more than half their lives and the time they've spent working together is far longer than the time they've lived at their parent's home. All four of them are extremely grateful for being able to do this artistic job as a creative group for such a long time.

Taking the opportunity of a fan mentioning the CLAMP Exhibition in July, Ohkawa gave a warm suggestion to try to visit the exhibition if possible, because judging by the current condition of their original artworks and the difficulties they're having moving them around, they don't think there is going to be another opportunity to do this again in the future. 💦

Then, a fan sent them a particular question: "Do you have plans for another arc of Sakura and Syaoran from CCS? Maybe about their wedding?" Ohkawa: Hum, in my idea it'd be best for everyone to imagine Sakura and Syaoran's wedding in their own hearts, but if there's the possibility of a continuation after the events of the last volume, we will certainly let you know.

The person asked about an xxxHolic continuation too, which of course Ohkawa re-confirmed (they're currently preparing everything to resume the serialization) and asked us to wait just a bit more for the announcement from the editorial team of Young Magazine!

After some more messages from the fans, CLAMP gave their final greetings on such an important day!

Nekoi: We only have you to thank for reaching this anniversary on this day. Thank you very much. (they all clap their hands) There will be lots of things to enjoy ahead, and I invite all of you to gaze at the pink color of Tokyo Tower. Ohkawa: It seems we'll be able to watch it from Youtube too, so please don't miss the chance. Satsuki: I want to thank everyone for your support. Just as Nekoi mentioned, we have plans for more things ahead, there's the return of xxxHolic too, and...I wonder if there'll be a new work too? Ohkawa: (laughs) Well, more than anything, there's the Clear Card anime adaptation too. I think it will take some more time but surely, without fail, the announcement from Kodansha will come, so please stay tuned. Mokona: This one volume marks the end of Sakura's story. (note: the term Mokona uses, 区切り, seems to not be a "definitive end", but rather seems to be indicating more a point of "break", a "delimitation", a "place to stop"; there's still a marked sense of "end" - whether it's just to an arc or the entire story is not clear, so I chose that translation but I wanted to point out the other nuances in the term). I am extremely grateful to everyone who watched over Sakura-chan's growth and even those who grew up along with her! We look forward to your continued support. Also, I would like to add something that is probably a bit off topic, but there are also some anime projects we have created character designs for. Ohkawa: Oh, right, of course!! That's very important. Mokona, I knew I could count on you, thanks for reminding me. Netflix announced the "The Grimm Variations" series, then Code Geass, which we've been making character designs for long time, will have a new series: "Rozé of the Recapture". Moreover, the new season of the Vanguard D anime series was announced too. Please watch those too. 🙏 And then, as a leader, this is my turn for the final greetings. I truly feel like you've been watching over us in many, many ways for the past 35 years. Whether you've liked us before and now you're taking your distance from us, or on the contrary you weren't interested in us before but now you're following us, please know all of you are still very precious to me. If you stopped reading our works, it's all right. I hope we can be reunited with you again one day through another work that you'd feel like you want to read. For the moment, I would like to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for all of your efforts, your strength and lots of energy that allowed us to carry Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card Arc to the final act. I'm sure Tokyo Tower will shine with a bright pink color tonight! Please make sure to listen to our podcasts, and to other Spaces we'll open when we can. Thank you very much! ✨🙏

#cardcaptor sakura #card captor sakura #clear card arc #ccsakura #clamp #clamp space report #akiho shinomoto #sakura kinomoto #yuna d. kaito #syaoran li

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alexsoenomel · 1 year

Text

Zippo Lighter (Dean Winchester x Reader fluffy smut)

Request: Hi 😊 would you do a Dean Winchester imagine where youre secretly having a crush on each other but not admitting it. Then one time Sam is out and you're alone at the motel, so it happens you accidentally walk in the bathroom while Dean takes a shower. You get all flustered but Dean takes the chance to grab you and kiss you and you end up in bed making soft love that night. In the morning Sam finds you cuddling and is just happy you finally got together

Summary: You were born with a very special and powerful gift. This is the story of how you met the Winchesters and fell for the older one.

Pyrokinesis /ˌpaɪroʊkɪˈniːsɪs/ —The ability to set objects or people on fire or to supernaturally project fire from one's own being through the concentration of psychic power.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: mentions of rape, abuse and death, AGE GAP (DEAN IS 35 AND THE READER IS 20), sweet and vanilla sex (reader is a virgin)

Word count: 7,505 (OOPS! I got carried away...)

Note: I LIVE FOR MUTURAL PINING OKAY! I put my own little twist to it and the only thing I left out from the request was when Sam finds them together....I kinda wanted a funny ending. Request by @tieddown-withbattleshipchains

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

ALSO HUGE THANK YOU TO MY QUEEN FOR BEING THE BEST AND HELPING ME GROW AS A WRITER! LOVE YA GIRL! @ambergoddess444ALSO CHECK OUT HER BLOG!! SHE IS AN AMAZING WRITER HERSELF AND IS CURRENTLY WORKING ON AN AMAZING SERIES CALLED LAWFUL BALANCE!!!!

It was said that being different was, is and will, most of the time, be a bad thing. Why? Probably because people usually didn't understand why someone was different. Sure, there are good human beings in this world, but most of the time, when you hear something filled with hatred it tends to stay with you longer than the good things. That's why you kept things quiet.

You didn't really have good friends and your family died in a fire...a fire you started when you were just a little girl in diapers, crying yourself to sleep. One moment you were crying in your crib for mommy to pick you up and feed you, and the next, everything was on fire....except you. You still didn’t know what exactly happened. That day you became an orphan, depending on others and your home was an orphanage near the house you once lived in. You weren’t happy there whatsoever. You had no friends, the food was awful and the women who were supposed to keep you safe didn’t care and treated you like garbage. No one liked you, no one wanted you…so you decided to run.

The night before your 18th birthday you packed a bag and finally, when everyone went to sleep, at around 3am, you left and never came back. When they finally realized you were gone, they were furious. Of course they tried to look for you, but failed. You were far gone from your city and everything you knew. It was time to start over.

That was two years ago.

Now, at the age of 20, you were content and living your life instead of just surviving. You worked as a janitor in a local high school in Lebanon, Kansas. It wasn’t much but you had your own little place, some money to survive and had a somewhat normal life. You thought you had finally run away from your past, and as far as your outstanding ability went, you decided to shut it down. You didn’t think about it and just for a second it seemed like you had finally moved on. You were even thinking about going to college and finally doing something you loved. Being a janitor wasn’t something you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

Everything seemed fine, you managed to make some friends at that high school (more like people you were friendly with); some of them were students rushing desperately to graduate and go to college, some of them were even teachers, and for the first time you felt accepted, which was ironic considering you worked in the most judgmental place on Earth.

Who knew everything was about to change one night? You sure didn’t. You were clueless.

At around 1am on a Friday night you were awakened by the sound of the glass shattering. You got up and went to the kitchen only to see a shadow of a man.

“Who the hell are you?” You asked. You weren’t scared, you were angry and that wasn’t good for either one of you.

“Hey there.” The man spoke. His voice sent cold shivers down your spine, and not the good kind. It was the kind that made you sick to your stomach.

“Don’t move.” He said, pulling out a gun. “You’re going to be a very good girl for me tonight.”

You still weren’t terrified. The man had the face of a true monster and you still weren’t scared. He told you he was going to rape you and rob you, and you still didn’t flinch. Instead you were raging with anger. Your jaw was painfully clenched as your hands formed two fists. Slowly you approached him, step by step…

“Don’t fucking move.” He ordered but you didn’t listen.

“You told me to be good, right?” You asked innocently while the muzzle of the gun was on your chest. Slowly you put your palm on it. “I will be good I promise.”

The smell of melted metal filled the room, along with the smoke and…light?

A small beam of light came directly from your palm, intriguing the man to become fixated on it. You, on the other hand, didn’t notice. A few seconds later, the gun muzzle was shut, and the gun became useless.

“What the fuck did you do?” The man asked, as panic started to set in.

You weren’t feeling right. You knew he couldn’t hurt you now but you were still angry. He broke into your home, with the intent to assault you and might try again if you don’t do something. The anger was too much…

“Oh nothing…” You said calmly and pressed your thumb on his chest imagining the fire burning on that exact spot.

The man was confused until he looked down and saw his sweater on fire. He started to panic and tried to find the nearest object to put the fire out. It was useless; he was a dead man from the moment he broke into your apartment.

You stepped back from him and slowly moved your hand up in the air. The fire spread all over him now and he was screaming. That scream of pure agony woke you up. You quickly realized what you had done and it was time to run. No time to get your stuff, you just grabbed your wallet and left. Soon,the whole ground floor, where your apartment was, was on fire…

You didn’t know where to run or where to hide. You didn’t have a car and you wanted to leave town as soon as possible. What happened? What have I done?

Those were the questions you couldn’t get out of your head while running God knows where.You didn’t know where your legs were taking you, but you couldn’t stop running. It was dark and it felt like every soul was asleep except you. The night seemed so endless and hollow.

Why can’t I just be normal? I want to be normal.

It was probably 7am and you were still on the move. You unknowingly passed the highway and entered the woods you had no knowledge existed in the first place. Eventually you noticed the sun was about to rise and you were exhausted.

Still in shock from previous events, you felt like screaming. Tears were coming down your cheeks and your stomach made the loudest noise letting you know you were hungry. Realizing you were lost, you decided to sit down and rest for a bit. You let your mind slowly drift to sleep as you listened to the sounds surrounding you; birds chirping, wind blowing, branches swinging and…someone running?

You immediately got up, feeling anxious yet again. In your mind it could be a serial killer or a dangerous animal.

“HELLO?”

Nothing.

“HELLO?”

Nothing yet again.

You slowly started to panic, feeling like you could burst at any minute and setting everything on fire again scared the living shit out of you.

“Hey.” Someone said behind you.

You turned around, and faster than lightning, from your hand a small ball of fire flew and almost hit the guy who was standing behind you. Luckily, he was fast enough to throw himself on the ground and the fire hit a tree, missing him by a few inches.

“What the hell?” You mumbled and looked at your hand. This was new. You have never done something like this. Imagining where you wanted fire to burn was the only way you could create it.

Sometimes you would lose control (like last night) but you never thought fire could leave your body just like it did now. It was like you were a living, breathing lighter.

“I’m so sorry.” You said. “I’m so fucking sorry. Please don’t tell anyone what you saw. Fuck.” By this point you were having a full blown panic attack in the middle of the woods with a stranger. What a perfect scenario, you thought.

“Hey, first of all I won’t.” The stranger got up and cleaned the dirt off his shorts. He was tall, very tall, with long-ish hair and a pleasant face. By the looks of his clothes he was jogging. Who in their right state of mind jogs in the middle of the woods at 7 o’clock in the morning? Clearly this guy. “Second, how did you do that?”

“I don’t know.” You said wiping tears off your cheek. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Okay. This is going to sound crazy but I live in a bunker near these woods with my brother, we deal with this kind of stuff all the time. You’re clearly stressed out and tired, do you want to come with me? We can sort everything out.”

“What? So you have seen stuff like this?” You asked, genuinely surprised by his answer.

“This? No…but I have seen a lot of things people only dream about.”

“You sound like a character from a TV show…or a mental patient.” You said, still questioning whether he was telling the truth.

“Yeah. People usually tend to think I’m crazy.” He smiled.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Think about it this way, you can kill me if I try anything.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.”

He seemed genuine and you felt like you could trust him. He was right; you could kill him if you wanted to. Your powers were growing and you could feel it. You didn’t want it, but it was out of your control.

On your way to “the bunker”, you explained to him what happened: the stranger in your home, destroying his gun and killing him…he seemed to believe your every word. His name was Sam Winchester and he wasn’t lying. He did in fact live with his brother in these woods. It was some sort of a reinforced underground shelter, bunker of some sort; it screamed men cave but it was cozy and felt like an actual home.

“Hey Sam.” Someone emerged from the kitchen. A man in a long, gray robe with morning bed hair and coffee in his right hand. “Who’s this?”

“This is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is my brother Dean.“ He looked at him and just nodded.”I will explain later. Now do you want to take a shower while I talk to my brother?”

“That would be nice, thank you.” You said.

Sam gave you a towel, a clean shirt and showed you where the guest room was, along with the bathroom. You were still a little anxious and on the edge after everything that had happened the previous night, but strangely enough, you knew everything would be okay in the end. You could trust Sam.

“I’m hungry and I’m not gonna ask anything until I eat my breakfast.” Dean said calmly, looking at his plate of pancakes like he was looking at the most beautiful woman in the world.

“I’m screwed, aren’t I? Sam smiled.

“Oh yeah.”

After 10 minutes of Dean stuffing his face with pancakes and Sam looking at his laptop as usual, you were finally done with the shower and the older brother was ready to ask some questions.

“Okay first of all, why did you let a stranger use my shower?” Dean asked.

“It’s a guest bathroom, Dean.”

“Still…What’s her deal?”

“I ran into her while jogging…she’s…” He didn’t know how to explain it to him because he wasn’t quite sure what he witnessed in the first place.

“What?” Dean was growing impatient, you could hear it in his deep and sharp voice.

“She can create fire.” He finally spat it out. “I found her in the woods scared and alone and she threw a ball of fire at me.”

“And you brought her here?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“I scared her. The fire hit the tree.”

Dean wasn’t pleased with his brother and the decision to bring a complete stranger to their home, but of course, Sam already knew that and still decided to help you. He knew what it was like to feel completely alone, so he wanted to help.

“Still she could have killed you Sam.” Dean yelled.

“But I didn’t mean to.” You said standing behind them with wet hair and face almost red after a hot shower. The shirt Sam gave you was just above your knees but you were still wearing your dirty pajama bottoms. “I panicked and I’m so sorry Sam.”

“I believe you. Now, let's figure this out.”

You nodded and sat next to Dean while Sam was still searching for something on his laptop. “There it is.” He mumbled and showed you the article. Damn, those journalists were fast. It was about the dead guy in your burnt down apartment. Luckily no one else got hurt or died. You then showed Dean the article.

“You did this?” He asked. His face was a little tense. He was contemplating if he could trust you or not.

“Yeah. Some guy broke in and threatened to rape me. I got mad.”

“Rape you?” He said after checking the screen once more. The guy you killed was a convicted sex offender.

“Yes. He had a gun.” You added.

“Well, it’s safe to say he got what he deserved. “ Dean said.

“Yeah but my life is ruined.” You said looking at your hands. “I could never live a normal life.”

“What do you mean? Where are your parents?” Sam asked.

You couldn’t even look at him and you sure weren’t about to cry. You told them about your parents, the fire, the orphanage and the abuse you endured and how life has been nothing but running and hiding for you. You have been just surviving for the majority of your life. It became exhausting, but once you finally started living, it all seemed too good to be true. Now you knew, it was. You could never have a normal life.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Your voice was trembling as you struggled not to completely fall apart. “I just want to be normal.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were so angry at yourself it made your heart literally hurt. You felt like you were about to have a heart attack or maybe it was just breaking knowing you lost one thing you wanted the most – normalcy. You excused yourself and went to the guest room where you were staying. As soon as you shut the door you started to cry collapsing onto the floor. You suddenly heard Sam’s voice calling your name.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m a mess, better not. Give me a minute!”

“Okay but know one thing. It’s not your fault you were born like this. It doesn’t matter what you are nor what abilities you have, it only matters what you do. It’s your choice. You were a baby when it happened, (Y/N).”

Sam’s words hit you like a damn truck. He was right, you knew he was, but you couldn’t shake off the guilt you felt. You decided to open the door. You wiped your tears and let him in.

“You sure know your way with words, Sam.” You said, forcing a smile on your face.

“That’s because I’ve been there.” He confessed.

“You said you and your brother deal with all kinds of strange stuff, what exactly do you mean? Are there more people like me?”

He told you he will tell you everything if you stop crying and go back to the library.

“Okay.”

When you got back to the library, Sam proceeded to tell you stories that you would only read in books or see in movies. He told you he and Dean were hunters, but not the ones you thought. They hunted creatures… supernatural beings.

Stories about actual ghosts, demons and even angels followed. Dean even told you God himself existed…and that Lucifer was a tantrum making man-child which made you chuckle. When you asked them about humans with abilities he told you there were people with telekinesis, but your case was unknown to them.

“Well then…” Disappointment and confusion was all you felt in that moment. “This sucks.”

“Want a drink?” Dean asked.

“Yes, please.” You said as a thought followed. I’m not old enough to drink.

Dean went and got you the strongest whiskey he could find. When you took a sip, the burning sensation went straight through your throat. It was strong alright and you have never tasted alcohol before. Strangely enough, it tasted good. It made you clench your eyes shut, but it was really good.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

“Do you think I’m a monster?” You then asked him. Dean was taken aback for a second before he finally answered.

“Nah, you don’t want to kill people, do you?”

“No.”

“You don’t feed off people?”

“No.”

“Then you’re good, don’t worry. Besides, I think it’s pretty awesome what you can do.”

You have never heard someone tell you this; then again no one has ever known what you can do. His words rang in your mind as your gaze went to your now half empty glass, wondering how you drank the amount you did.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re like a walking, talking Zippo lighter.” Dean’s voice was naturally deep and husky; hearing him call you a walking,talking Zippo lighter sent light shivers all over your body. His lips formed a pout, he seemed to really like his little analogy.

Looking at your right hand, scanning every inch of it, you couldn’t get his words off your mind; a walking, talking Zippo lighter. Something in your mind happened that caused the tip of your index finger to make a small flame, indeed like a lighter. You smiled in shock; this was the first time you actually used your ability, without feeling angry. Rotating your hand you imagined the flame getting bigger, and indeed it became bigger.

“Like this?” You asked.

“Wow.” Dean said clearly impressed while Sam had a look of worry written all over his face.

“(Y/N)…” Sam finally spoke in a whisper. Brows furrowed; his face screamed concern. He was afraid you might slip and lose control, like you did with him. You took that as a sign to stop, so you brought your fingers into a fist and the flame was gone.

“Sorry.” You then mumbled.

“You’re indeed a Zippo lighter.” Dean said and lifted his glass. “Let’s drink to that!”

“Cheers!” You said lifting yours and chugged the rest of the whiskey. “What am I going to do though?”

One glass of whiskey wasn’t enough for you to forget your whole situation. You had nowhere to go, only a little money in your pocket that will probably last you a month if you skip dinner every night.

“Tell you what, why don’t you stay with us for a while?” Sam said. “This library is filled with books about the supernatural, there must be something about your ability, we just have to find it.”

“Really?” You asked, looking at Dean for approval.

“We don’t usually do this, heck we don’t do this ever, but if Sam trusts you I trust you. But if you do anything stupid we will have a problem. Got it?” Dean said.

“DEAN!” Sam yelled, annoyed because in his eyes, he was basically threatening a child. You were 20, but still apparently a child in his eyes.

“THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!” You got up from your chair and went straight for a hug.

“Oh, okay then…” Dean said as you wrapped your hands around his neck from behind as he was still sitting and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Dean was definitely surprised by your actions and couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. Then you went and hugged Sam. You felt so small due to his height. His body was firm and he smelled like a winter mountain’s air, fresh.

For the first time in your life you felt safe. These guys just met you and they were willing to take you under their wing and help you find answers to questions that followed you for as long as you have been on this Earth. You couldn’t be more thankful for that.

*********

First few weeks living in the bunker with the brothers was a bit awkward and not for them, but for you. It still kind of was after almost five months of being a part of their lives. Sam became like a brother to you, for the first time in your life you could just let go and tell someone what was bothering you and what was on your mind. He became your best friend.

But Dean on the other hand…

Dean was something else. You found yourself looking at him more and more, but in a way you didn’t understand. It came out of nowhere. The man was gorgeous, no doubt about that, but he also liked rock music, had a weakness for pecan pie and overall was a pretty funny guy with a heart of gold. Of course you couldn’t tell Sam about it, it would make things even more awkward and you definitely couldn’t tell Dean, so you decided to not think about it. Suffer in silence and be dramatic…

You had a pretty good life with them. At first Dean didn’t let you go on hunts with them because he thought you would get hurt, but you took care of that. When a nest of vampires came to your town you made sure to show Dean what you can do. You took down the whole nest with one flame.

“Damn (Y/N)!” He said when he realized the whole nest was dead. It made you blush like a schoolgirl.

Your ability just kept getting stronger. Sam was helping you control it and so far it was working, deep breaths, meditation and surprisingly yoga helped but as far as knowing the origin of your powers… that still remained a mystery. Being an impulsive ass you sometimes had moments when you couldn’t control yourself and lit things on fire. It was a little saddening knowing you might never find an answer where your powers came from but you learned to accept it. So far it was working for you. You were in a good place.

One Monday morning you were eating breakfast with the boys while Sam was on his laptop with a piece of toast in his mouth searching for a case.

“Sam, will you ever eat breakfast without your beloved laptop?” You asked him.

“Nope.” He mumbled.

You looked over at Dean who was looking back at you smiling. He was looking extra good today which made you nervous. Your little crush was still alive and well, tormenting you day and night. You smiled back at him before you heard Sam saying he found a case. Perfect timing, you didn’t want to look for too long and be obvious.

“Where?” Dean asked.

“Los Angeles. Two people dead and one is missing. Eyes burnt.”

“City of angels and dead angels. What an irony.” You said.

“Or demons.” Dean added.

“So are we going?” You then asked.

You were going and you were going right after breakfast. You packed your bags and went within 20 minutes. The ride was going to be long so you packed some snacks, water and beer as well. This was going to be the first LONG drive with the brothers. Almost 24 hours… Sitting in the back seat you couldn’t help but watch Dean as he started the engine and pushed the gas pedal of his Baby. He really loved that car, blasting Led Zeppelin through the speakers, jamming to their music and genuinely being happy.

After a while you put your jacket against the window using it as a pillow and fell asleep. You didn’t get much sleep that night so might as well use the time to nap.

You woke up about two hours later still on the road.

“Good morning.” You heard Dean say.

“Hi (Y/N).” Sam said.

“Hi, are we there yet?” You murmured, still a little sleepy.

They both laughed telling you, you have been asleep for only two hours.

“Damn it.”

The ride was long and exhausting. You listened to Dean’s playlist which you didn’t mind considering you loved classic rock and slept while the older brother was driving. You made a few stops here and there to stretch your legs and have a breath of fresh air before finally arriving in Los Angeles the next day at around 7am. You found a cheap motel and decided to eat and rest for a bit before going to work. The room was relatively small with three beds, a semi clean bathroom and a dining table.

“Dibs on the shower.” You said.

“I’m next.” Sam said, looking at his brother.

“Ugh fine.” You heard Dean as you closed the door.

After a steamy hot shower you felt like you have just been reborn. Because it was hot as hell (pun intended), you put on a pair of shorts, one of Dean’s old Led Zeppelin shirts you “borrowed” and your worn out boots. When you opened the door Dean’s gaze went straight to you. He was obvious but you didn’t see it. You were too tired and hungry to notice anything.

Dean was lost in you and he was quite confused by it. When he first saw you, he thought you were cute but then when you told him you were 20 he slapped himself mentally. He was 35 and it felt weird.

While he was drinking his beer and Sam was taking a shower, he watched you as you roamed around the room packing your stuff searching for God knows what in those damn shorts before you sat down across from him and opened your small bottle of vodka you bought at the gas station. You looked older than your actual age so buying alcohol was never a problem for you.

“What’s that?” Dean asked.

“Vodka.”

“You know you’re not old enough to drink?”

“I will be 21 in five months, leave me be.” You smiled and took a sip. Vodka was strong, burning your throat for a few seconds but it felt so good it woke you up instantly. Drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t smart at all and you knew that, but man you needed that little taste. You were a little nervous being alone with Dean.

You didn’t know but he couldn’t stop thinking how hot you were in those shorts and his shirt. “Why the fuck do I have a crush on a chick who's not old enough to drink?”

*****

The next day started at 6am. Dean woke you with a fresh cup of coffee under your nose.

“Good morning princess.”

His sarcastic tone made you roll your eyes before you even opened them. You got up, eyes still closed, hair all over your face, and took a sip of bitter black coffee. It was good enough to make you open your eyes, as you sat on the edge of the bed, processing your existence.

“Where’s Sam?” You said under your breath.

“Went to check out the bodies. Get dressed! We are going in ten minutes!”

“Without breakfast?” You asked knowing damn well Dean would never skip breakfast.

“With breakfast dumbass! We are meeting him at the diner two blocks away.”

“Good.” You simply said and went to the bathroom.

*****

The whole day was a bust. You checked out the bodies but couldn’t locate the source of the killings and with Cas (a badass angel whom you had a pleasure meeting once) not answering his angel phone, you were kinda stuck.

Later that day another body popped up, but no new leads followed. Annoyed, tired and sweaty in the suits you were wearing pretending to be the FBI, you decided to try again tomorrow. Sam decided to go for a walk and clear his head, while Dean was ready to hit the sack. You were hungry so you decided to grab a burger before going back to the motel.

After eating your Five guys you came back to the room, ready for a shower and some sweet dreams. Where's Dean?

Kicking your boots off, you noticed Dean’s suit on his bed and yet again wondered where he was. You took off the blazer and pants, feeling the warm air brush your skin and relief since it was so damn hot. Wrapping a towel around your naked body you opened the bathroom door only to see Dean standing surrounded by steam with a towel around his hips. You have seen him shirtless before, covered in cuts and blood, but shirtless nonetheless and every time you would tell yourself to not stare for too long.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry.” You said and closed the door immediately. You could feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you tried to shake the same feeling away. Dean was good at reading people and you had to be careful with your silly little crush. You didn’t want to make things awkward.

Dean opened the door, still wearing only a towel.

“You done?” You refused to look at him. Your eyes were looking at the bathroom door right behind him.

“Yeah.” He said. He was admiring the sight before him. Your locks of hair gently touching your shoulders, white towel wrapped around you, you looked tired and beautiful. I will lose my damn mind.

You just nodded and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Deep breaths didn't help, your heartbeat was in your throat, while your body felt unfamiliar and tense.

Meanwhile Dean got dressed and went to bed trying desperately to not think about the view he saw minutes ago. He failed.

Great, now I have a boner.

In the bathroom you took your sweet time to really enjoy the shower. You liked steaming hot showers, your philosophy was: if the skin wasn’t red afterwards, the shower wasn't good enough. You've always loved being hot, summer was your favorite holiday, hot coffee was your favorite drink; you sometimes wondered if your ability shaped your whole personality…BUT feeling hot and bothered because of a man was another story. It wasn't any man, it was Dean Winchester. You shook the sweet sinful thoughts of you and him doing the horizontal tango and focused on washing the shampoo from your hair.

After the shower you brushed your teeth and got into an oversized Mötley Crüe shirt you bought a few years ago in a random music store in Kansas. It covered your ass and was perfect for sleeping. Plus it reminded you of the things that once were and bittersweet memories of your almost normal life.

I wonder how his lips taste. God, I really want to bite his perfect little nose.

You shook your head.

No….skin care!

After finishing your skin care, which only consisted of one serum, you stepped out of the bathroom and saw Dean on his phone, pretending to not scan you as you went under the covers.

God, I love that shirt on her.

I should really do something before Sam gets back.

"(Y/N)?" You heard him as you were trying to get comfortable in a shitty motel bed.

"Yeah?"

She's too young for me.

She doesn't like me.

It's weird.

"Do you still wish to be normal?"

Stupid fucking question.

"Not really, why?"

Dean swallowed nervously, not knowing where to take this conversation.

You were surprised by his question. Why is he asking me this?

"Just wondering, I know how messed up you were when we met."

"You and Sam really helped me accept that part of myself. It's not something I would change." You were lying on your side, facing Dean. Something seemed off about him and you noticed. It felt like secrets were lingering in the air and he refused to say anything. The air was tense. You were nervous.

Maybe I'll get lucky tonight.

You're not in a porn movie (Y/N)! Snap out of it! He probably thinks I'm too young for him?

Should I do something though?

What is he hiding from me?

"Plus, I really like being a walking, talking Zippo lighter." You finally added, reminding him of his little comparison.

He chuckled. "You know, I have one and it's not as badass as you."

You felt your cheeks burning up. You were trying to determine if it was his comment or warm air in the room.

"Yeah well, I'm a collector's item. Unique, I guess." You said and sat up on the edge of the bed. You looked at your left hand before it was engulfed in fire. Dean was watching you closely, hypnotized by the flame. You wanted to try something you have been practicing for a while.

"Open your Zippo, Dean." You told him. He went to the sofa and got his lighter from his jacket. He was only in his boxers but you were too focused on the flame in your hand to fully process.

He opened the silver Zippo he had had for years and before he could say anything you snapped your fingers and a small flame started flying in the air before it settled on the wick.

"Holy shit that's awesome!"

"Yeah? Been practicing control for a bit."

"Well good job Zippie! This is fucking amazing!" For a second he sounded like an excited child in an amusement park.

You chuckled. Zippie. You liked when he gave you nicknames and occasional terms of endearment like sweetheart or darling. It made your little heart dance.

"I really like that." You said and formed a fist making the whole flame disappear from your hand and his lighter.

"What?" He asked. His voice was deep but something changed. You couldn't put a finger on it but your gut was telling you something good was lingering just around the corner. His face was a dead giveaway. You knew Dean, not long, but long enough to recognise the look he had whenever he wanted to devour a woman alive. You’ve seen it like ten times in the past few months. He was a flirty type.

His face was relaxed, smoldering eyes burning right through you, occasionally licking his perfect plum lips.

He likes me.

"I like the nickname Zippie." You finally said as you snapped back to reality.

He didn't say anything. He just put his lighter back in the pocket of his leather jacket and sat on your bed.

"Can I tell you something, Zippie?"

"Yeah, you can." You said, your voice struggling not to completely disappear.

"When I say I think you're badass I really mean that. You're really something else…"

Why can't I just tell her?

You smiled. You knew he thought your ability was awesome but to hear him say it was something else. It was from the heart.

"I believe you."

You sat next to him and put your index finger in front of him. A small yellow flame appeared.

"Make a wish!" You said. He wasn't sure why you did that but he knew exactly what to wish for.

I wish you would kiss me back.

Dean closed his eyes and blew the candle that was your finger.

After he did it, you did exactly the same.

I wish you would kiss me.

"What did you wish for?" You said, not noticing how close your faces were.

"This!" And with that Dean closed the gap between you with a soft kiss on your lips. You could taste the hint of mint right away from his toothpaste while your hand went to cup his cheek before you decided to sit on his lap. Your forehead was resting on his when you broke the kiss.

"I wished the same thing." You confessed.

His hand went in your hair as he smiled and kissed you again, this time letting you know he wanted more. He wanted it all.

You moaned into the kiss and you placed your hands on his cheeks, pulling him closer. His kisses were addictive, sweet and with a taste of something you have never experienced before – lust. You’ve kissed a few, you’ve made out with the few, but never actually felt wanted enough to sleep with someone. Until now.

You broke the kiss, panting like you just ran a marathon.

“Sam’s going to kill you, y’know?” You said as his lips drifted to your neck, leaving a small trail of kisses all over.

“Why do you think that?” He was, of course, clueless.

“It’s not like you’re 15 years older than me Dean.” You said sarcastically. “Plus he sees me as his younger sister.”

“Ew gross!” He answered between kisses. “I mean…I thought I’m too old for you but–”

“But nothing.” You cut him off. “It’s not like I’m 16, give me a break! Plus 35 is a perfect age for a man.”

Dean lifted his head up to look at you, his green eyes were sparkling and his lips were smiling. “You think so?”

“Yeah I know so! Sam showed me your old photos when you were in your early 20s. You are aging like fine wine.”

It was true. You and Sam were rummaging through old boxes on a random, rarely free, Sunday when you found old photos of the brothers throughout the years. Dean in his early 20s was an innocent, breathtaking boy with a stunning smile on his face. He would protect you and make sure you were safe, whilst Dean in his early 30s would kill for you and make sure you were far from danger. Dean in his early 30s was tired and wise, body and soul filled with scars, but beauty intact.

Dean’s smile became a smirk. He nodded, accepting the compliment before he kissed you again. His hands went under your shirt, his fingers tracing all over your skin, sending goosebumps all over your body. In response you started to slowly move your hips and grind against him, feeling how hard he already was. It then hit you. You didn’t tell him.

“Dean?” You said breaking the kiss…again.

“Huh?”

“I have a thing I forgot to tell you.” You started. You felt nervous even though you didn’t know why. It wasn’t a big deal and you knew that, The only question was how to properly articulate it.

“Spill it!” He looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes, excited about what you would say next. Who knew he was like a puppy when he liked someone.

“You’re going to be my first.” You finally spilled it after a few seconds of silence.

He tilted his head slightly. “You mean your first DILF?”

You sighed and gave him a bitch face. Too much time with Sam was rubbing off on you. “You’re not a father as far as I know, Dean! No, like the first guy I’m gonna sleep with!”

His lips formed a small O when you told him.

“You mean…?”

“Yeah!”

“Are you sure you want to though?” He then asked, even though he already knew the answer. You trusted him. He trusted you.

“Yeah. Now shut up and kiss me, will ya?”

“Yes ma’am.” He smirked.

This kiss seemed different, needy and filled with lust and adoration. It felt like he was holding everything back until now. It felt like you finally got to taste your favorite wine, so sweet and addictive. You couldn't get enough of it.

You leaned in, urging him to follow you as you fell into the mattress. While you were kissing, you couldn't help but slowly move your hips, grinding against him, feeling how hard he was. It was a brand new feeling. You liked the idea of him getting all hot and bothered because of you. He moaned into the kiss, growing impatient before he took your shirt off, exposing you completely. You thought you were going to be shy and hide your body from him, but something about Dean made you feel comfortable and free.

"You're so beautiful." He said in pure adoration.

"You're making me blush." You said and meant it. His words were meaningful and true. No other person has ever made you believe the things they said. That was why you didn't even bother to go all the way with people you have been seeing. You could read right through them and see their true intentions.

Your hands were roaming freely all over his body. He was all muscles and covered in scars, each one telling a story of his life as a hunter.

He took his time on you, making sure you were comfortable and relaxed for him. His right hand went down to your naked body, feeling every bump and inch of your skin. Your lips parted as you let out a sigh. When he reached the most sensitive spot between your legs his thumb started to rub you in a circular motion while his lips never left your neck. .

“You like that?” He asked between kisses.

The only thing that escaped from your lips was a light: “Aha.”

“Good.”

He took your panties off exposing you completely under him. Soon his boxers followed. When you saw how big he actually was you swallowed nervously wondering how much it would hurt. You knew first times always hurt and it usually sucked, but so far you were enjoying every minute of it. He knew which buttons to push and which places to kiss.

He positioned himself between your legs and slowly entered you. You were holding on to his back, fingers deep in his skin as you gasped in discomfort. It hurt but it wasn’t as bad as you expected.

“Holy shit!” You said under your breath.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…just….move!”

He nodded and started to move slowly. It still hurt but after every slow thrust, it hurt a little bit less and less, until the pleasure took over the pain almost completely. He was taking it slow while kissing every inch of your skin he could get his lips on. You were breathing into each other while his thrusts became faster and stronger. You could feel yourself getting warmer and something in the lower part of your stomach. You weren’t sure what it was but you liked it.

“You’re hot!” He noticed, feeling your body temperature rise after every thrust.

“I feel weird!” You whispered into his ear before placing a kiss on his neck. “I think I’m close!”

It felt like a rollercoaster but instead of going up and down; you only went up until you couldn’t take anymore and just crashed. But the thing was your body temperature kept rising and rising until you reached your breaking point. You were both panting, gasping for air, your hands were leaving light scratches on Dean’s back and yet he didn’t even flinch.

“FUCK!” You moaned, feeling the orgasm pierce through you. Your lips were parted, back slightly arched under Dean, but your eyes changed color – two yellow sparks appeared as you were experiencing your first big O.

“Dean!” His name didn’t leave your lips, just like a cigarette of a smoker.

Dean didn’t stop until you came down from the euphoric high. He watched your eyes go back to your normal color, following your body temperature.

When he stopped moving and collapsed on you, you kissed him on the lips and did what you’ve always wanted to do – you bit his nose.

“Why did you do that?” He smiled in confusion.

“You have a perfect nose and for some reason I’ve always wanted to bite it.” You explained.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He moved next to you, covered in sweat, wondering what he saw a few moments ago.

“(Y/N), did you feel your temperature rise before you came?”

“Yeah. It was weird and yet it felt amazing.”

“Yeah your eyes also changed color.” He added, thinking how perfect your nickname was. Zippie the human lighter.

“Changed color?”

“Yeah they were yellow, like you had sparks in your eyes.”

“Awesome!” You said and kissed his shoulder. “Sam is still going to kill you though!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah!”

That night you slept in separate beds since Sam was sharing the room with you. He came back three hours later and by that time you were both fast asleep.

The next morning during breakfast in the nearby diner, between stuffing your face with eggs and bacon, you decided to be a little bit of a dick.

“Sam, I found out something new about myself.”

Sam took a sip of his black coffee. “Really? What?”

Dean was ignoring the whole conversation, eating his pancakes.

“My body temperature rises and my eyes sparkle whenever I have an orgasm!”

Dean choked on his pancakes, while Sam stayed silent in shock before looking at Dean giving him his iconic bitch face.

“Really, Dean?”

“Zippie, you’re a dick!” He told you.

“Your dick now since you like me that much, handsome!” You winked at him.

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