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forbidden-sunlight · 4 months

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yandere! literary agent with fem!reader scenario

warnings: implication of obsessive thoughts or love.

There might be potential triggers in this story. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant.

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Hey guys, welcome back to another yandere fic, introducing Yulian Prescott. I'd like to give a big shout-out to my dear friend @deathmetalunicorn1 for helping me write this and finding the perfect likeness for my character, especially when this idea came to me all of a sudden on a Sunday night when I should be sleeping instead of staying up an ungodly hour.

As always, bullying on here will not be tolerated. If it does happen, this scenario will be taken down. I'm not sure if this will be a series. At the moment, this is just a scenario.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's dive into the cutthroat world of publishing.

PART TWO

Yandere!Literary Agent is a man who prides himself on being very good at his job. He represented one of the best publishing houses in the country. Anything less than what he expected from his clients was unacceptable.

If the manuscript arrived in his inbox exactly two minutes past the promised deadline, he would not look at it. If his client is acting like a stupid moron at a function or royally fucking up their reputation by posting something inappropriate on their social media account, he is not cleaning up their mess. He is not their babysitter. They are full-grown adults. And if one of them is not able to produce another book that will actually sell past the number of copies slated to be printed, he will let them go. Call him cruel if you want. Yandere!Literary Agent is simply being pragmatic. He wasn’t cheap. He only wants the best of the best.

So imagine Yandere!Literary Agent’s surprise when a particularly difficult client sent him a completed manuscript. He planned on writing her an email that after much deliberation, it was time for her to find another agent to represent her. The client, Abigail Crowley, had written an adult dark academia trilogy and a feminist retelling of the myth of Theseus, told from the perspective of his lover Adriane. The manuscripts following the conclusion of her last book, however, were complete shit. Her royalties were nearly gone, having squandered them on a penthouse in a high-end neighborhood, the latest clothes, and a wine fridge. You heard him. A fucking wine fridge when she could have replaced that shoddy laptop of hers with something better so she could keep writing books and not have it crap out on her.

Half-amused and half-annoyed at this pathetic attempt to keep her contract with the publishing company from being null and void, Yandere!Literary Agent clicked on the attachment and read it. One page became four, then fifty. He had to force himself to stop when it was lunchtime and he was already at the mid-way point.

This story, it was…good. No, it was more than good. It was absolutely fantastic. And Yandere!Literary Agent did not compliment his clients’ works very often, which meant he believed at this very moment, this manuscript will most definitely become Abigail’s comeback to the literary industry. Book sales would go through the roof, A Netflix deal was also possible. But the first hurdle he had to overcome was pitching the manuscript, and making sure the query letter was at least consistent with the story that Abigail was trying to sell to him.

And he’ll make it happen. He is very good at his job, after all.

Once he had successfully pitched it with a bit of extra charm, he contacted Abigail. She was over the moon, promising to make any necessary edits to the manuscript and it will be sent to him on time. From there, time fast forwarded. ARC books were sent out, Abigail selected the cover designs for the regular and special editions, and a tentative book tour was scheduled. Seven cities, and one international trip, maybe another in the future. Sales for this book were projected to exceed expectations. Yandere!Literary Agent was very confident things would go smoothly from here. At least he had thought so.

A month before the book was to be published, his secretary knocked on his door and said he had a visitor. They insisted on seeing him. Yandere!Literary Agent raised his brow, rising from his desk and stepping out into the hall and saw you.

In the beginning, he will begrudgingly confess that his first impression of you was someone who is painfully average and out of place. A backpack slung over your shoulder, dressed in navy blue medical scrubs and looking absolutely haggard. Your eyes, though, shined with anxiety and determination. You inclined your head.

“I apologize for the sudden intrusion, I know you’re busy, but I have some concerns about the book that’s going to be released soon by Abigail Crowley.”

Yandere! Literary Agent’s gaze sharpened.. “And what, pray tell, are your complaints?” He crossed his arms. “Are you one of the people who had signed up to be ARC reader and didn’t get their copy?”

You raised an eyebrow. “...No?”

“Then why -”

“Because it is my novel that is being published. Without my consent.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Look, I know it is hard to believe, I get it.” You then swung your backpack around to your front, unzipping the larger compartment. You pulled out a large notebook, some papers, and a flash drive. You held them out to him. “But I think what I have here might convince you to allow me ten minutes, if not five, to hear me out. That’s all I’m asking. This isn’t about money, this isn’t about suing your company. I just want my story back. I’ve already tried talking to Abigail about it, and she isn’t picking up my calls. Please.” You said. “Three minutes.”

His schedule was clear until the two o’clock meeting with another client on the other side of town. That was about an hour and half from now, as he had just come back from lunch. He supposed he could give you three minutes. Rolling his eyes, Yandere!Literary Editor swiveled on his heel.

“Let’s see what you have. Melissa, please hold my calls until I’m done.” His diligent secretary nodded and went back to her desk. You followed him like a lost little duckling back to his office. Once the door was closed, you handed him everything.

Yandere!Literary Editor went over the materials carefully, flipping through the pages of the notebook. The outlines and character designs were here, all written in excruciating detail and in such tiny print. He asked you random questions, going off of his memory from the manuscript and these notes. You answered him without hesitation.

“Yes, that’s correct. What? No, absolutely not. I would never have those characters be romantically paired up! Their relationship is too toxic, and wouldn’t set a good example to the target audience. I’m sorry, what? No, that isn’t her name! It’s Cristabel, not Anastasia! She’s supposed to be assisting the Night Emperor with collecting intelligence via the gossip of salons under her alias, not swooning over his brother when he’s already happily married to his wife! Good God, no. That scene should not even be there! That’s filler content and makes the character growth of the protagonist seem like the pay-off wasn’t worth it, or that he didn’t learn anything at all since the beginning of the book!”

Yandere!Literary Agent grounded the molars of his back teeth, inhaling slow, deep breaths through his nostrils. Keeping his emotions in check is one of the reasons why he has survived in the publishing industry for this long, and he’s such a successful man.

But hearing you speak about the characters, perfectly recalling the manuscript’s themes and looking back at the notebook in his hand, seeing the colorful sticky notes with edits and improvised scenes written on them…he couldn’t deny it any further. You were the real author of the book he’s representing, and Abigail Crowley played him like a goddamned fiddle.

If this wasn’t enough damning evidence of his client’s plagiarism, you had shown him an original illustration of the world you had created. It was done by an artist you had commissioned on Etsy, with proof of purchase for their services and a timestamp. Three years ago. That was when Abigail’s last best-selling book hit the shelves, and when her creative well began to dry out.

You must have caught on to his irritation, because you told him that you weren’t here to intentionally stir up any trouble. A coworker had told you about Abigail’s newest book coming out, and the premise was exactly yours, at least what was advertised in the BookTok and Youtube trailers online. You’ve been searching high and low for your manuscript, and the only other person who has been in your apartment and knew about your creative endeavors has been Abigail. She wasn’t really your friend, per say. You took some of the same creative writing courses. You eventually found another career to pursue, and you kept writing as a hobby. She went on to become a professional author and never missed an opportunity to show off her success whenever she invited you out for drinks at an upscale bar or went to fancy dinners.

Why would Abigail steal the book you’ve been working on for three years when you work a full-time day job, you had no idea. She’s living the dream that she’s always wanted, defying her mother’s wishes to get a normal job because writing is everything to her, and she would never give up on it. But if you were to be hypothetical, it might be another attempt to somehow get one up on her self-proclaimed rival, Cindy Chen, who is an even bigger success than her.

You then rubbed your eyes. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.” You murmured, standing up from your seat. “Keep the notebook, the maps, whatever you want. If you could return them to me when you’re done, that’s all I ask. And an apology from Abigail, if you’re able to get one out of her. Like I said, this isn’t about money, royalties, or fame. I just want my story back.”

Yandere!Literary Agent immediately stood up, his eyes slightly widened in fear. “Wait, please, just a moment! I know you’re tired, you want to go home…but I need to set things right. If I had known that this manuscript, your story, had been stolen, I would have never spearheaded its publication.” And he wouldn’t have. Not only would it affect his reputation, but the company’s too. Stocks would plummet, and there would be a feeding frenzy on social media with #abigailcrowley, #plagiarism, #sailboatpublishinghouse.

When you looked at him, his heart lurched uncomfortably at seeing your lips fall into a crestfallen expression. You looked so tired, so done with everything, and oh god you looked like you were about to cry shit. Walking around his desk, Yandere!Literary Agent eased you to sit back down and quickly prepared an espresso, possessing a machine to make it in his office so he did not have to walk down five flights to the break room.

You thanked him for the drink and took a sip, wrinkling your nose slightly, no doubt surprised at the taste. You must not be a regular espresso drinker, or prefer how you made it. Either way, he was grateful that you did not bolt out of the office. Picking up his office phone, he dialed Melissa’s number.

“Call all of the heads, including the marketing and social media departments. This is an emergency meeting. Now!” Bless Melissa, she did not ask him questions and said she would get on it immediately, hanging up on him. The next person he called was Abigail fucking Crowley. He sweet-talked her into coming to the office, apologizing for interrupting her ‘creativity time’ and promised it won’t take long. She swore to be there in a half an hour, so long as traffic didn’t back up. Yandere!Literary Agent played the understanding card and hung up, his smile being replaced with a smirk. Hook, line, and sinker. He scoffed. He then turned to you.

“Everything will be resolved soon.” He promised.

“Sir -” You began.

“Yulian, please.”

“Mister Yulian, I understand that you want to make things right, but…can you really get Abigail to talk? She blocked my calls, and the book is hitting the shelves in a month, maybe less than that? How are you going to recover the money that has gone into getting it published, the fees for the printing companies, and the marketing? Correct me if I’m wrong, I’m not too familiar with how publishing works these days.”

You weren’t wrong, at least in the aspect that the company has put a significant amount of money into the publication of the stolen manuscript, your work, he added mentally. It was too late to stop the printing, and the final draft would need a significant amount of changes. Unless…

“Abigail is a plagiarist, and you are the rightful creator. The way I see it, we can salvage the financial loss by putting your name on the cover, and fixing the glaring omissions as well as other scenes you claim shouldn’t even be there.” He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Of course, we would need to have a press conference and explain why we are changing authors, and what she has done. Considering the timetable and coordinating with the printing companies, it will be cutting it close.”

You stared at him silently for a long moment before placing the espresso cup back onto the tiny saucer with a soft clink, releasing a heavy sigh. “If I agree to do this, to help with the edits, probably fuck up my sleeping pattern and might potentially be fired from my job unless I can use some of my PTO, what will I get in return?”

He smiled. “Abigail will be the one to pay for publishing and marketing fees. I can extend the deadline for the revisions by a week. And you will be paid for your time, of course. There will be no need to come here to drop off revisions either. All correspondence will be through email. As an agent, I am qualified to be your representative during press conferences, so you will not have to be present. All I would ask of you is to turn in the final manuscript on time and not say anything on social media until our legal team is fully prepared.”

“No need to worry about Twitter or Facebook. Haven’t logged on to my account in years.” You raised the espresso cup to your lips. “Too much politics.” You tilted your head to the side, a puzzled frown stretching across your face. “Any chance I could get all of this in writing? I might need to get a lawyer if Abigail tries to take it to court and sue me for defamation.”

Yandere!Literary Agent nodded. He opened up a blank document and immediately typed up the contract, including everything that you have discussed and a few other variables. Once he finished, he printed it out, handing it to you. You read through the contents carefully before handing it back to him.

“It looks good - it’s all here and I’m agreeable to the terms.” You said.

Humming under his breath, Yandere! Literary Agent signed the bottom. You signed your name next to his, with today’s date and the time.

He ignored the tiny tingle that crawled up his spine when your fingertips brushed against his as you gave him back the pen. You agreed to stay until the matter with Abigail was over, and he would email you the manuscript so you could go through everything when you get home.

As it turned out, you did not have to wait much longer for the best-selling author to make her entrance at Board Room 3. Exchanging numbers with Yandere! Literary Agent you would wait in the adjacent room until he sent you a text to make your entrance. Melissa escorted you to said room when he received a message from Abigail that she would be here in ten minutes.

It’s time. That was the message he sent you. When you opened the door, revealing yourself to the staff and the flustered Abigail…she snapped.

She rambled how she needed a book, just one more successful book, and she would be set for life. She wouldn’t lose her penthouse, she would still be considered a worthy rival to Cindy Chen, and above all else, she could still write as she had always wanted to do since she was a teenager. You already had a normal job, you had a steady income, you weren’t even a writer. Being a hobbyist writer did not count. Yes, she took your manuscript, but it wasn’t a big deal! You could just write another book when you had time between shifts at the hospital, right?

The look you gave her…it was resignation. Hopelessness. Disappointment.

“Abbie…it wasn’t just a story I wrote. You should know that. Writing is so much more than that. I’ve tried to be nice, to talk to you but you wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry it’s come to this, I really am.” You said. That was the last thing you said before you were escorted outside of the door. Seeing your part in this is over, Yandere! Literary Agent took control of the room.

“Whether it is a hobby or professional writing, it doesn’t change the fact that you stole someone’s work and tried to pass it off as your own.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You are a thief, nothing more and nothing less.” Then the lawyers approached Abigail, presenting her with the fees she will need to pay. If there was an issue, going to court would not be an issue as he had all of the evidence needed to ruin the once best-selling writer Abigail Crowley.

Her reaction was….amusing.

After security had escorted the screaming woman off of the premises, Yandere!Literary Agent went to search for you, thinking you had gone back to his office to wait for him. You weren’t there. Melissa said you did stop by her desk, only to leave a message on a sticky note that you needed to go home but promised to get the revisions done as fast as you could, and thanks for the espresso it was really good.

Yandere!Literary Agent smiled softly at the hastily written chicken scratch, pocketing it in his trousers before going back inside his office. You weren’t like any of his other clients. And he would like to get to know a bit more. Who knows? Perhaps….he could persuade you to sign a contract with him, be your agent. You shouldn’t hide your talents from the world. There were people who would love to read your stories, and he had no doubt that the company would benefit from it too.

But there was no need to rush. There was a month until the book was to be released. That was more than enough time for him to work his magic. He is good at his job, after all.

Taglist

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@navierkalani

@yanderefangirl

©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere x you #fem!reader #yandere! literary agent #yandere fanfiction #yandere manhwa x reader #ns.fw #tw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior

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pronoun-fucker · 9 months

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IN 1986, Sophie Ottaway was born with a very rare condition which required immediate surgery.

Cloacal exstrophy happens when the organs in the abdomen do not form correctly in the womb, resulting in babies born with organs such as the bladder or intestines outside the body.

Doctors had to operate to save her life.

Sophie was actually a boy, with a tiny, damaged penis but healthy testes.

But doctors advised Sophie’s parents that their baby’s male genitalia should be removed to avoid further complications.

The baby had to be registered by the following day, which meant they had to decide whether to tick male or female on the form.

Sophie’s parents Karen and John followed the surgeons’ advice.

“They were told not to tell me,” says Sophie, a warm and friendly 37-year-old who has since fully forgiven her parents for their decision.

“We are very close,” she tells me, “despite going through some rocky times in the past.”

Life changed for Sophie, who grew up in Beverley, East Yorks, when she was 22 years old and visiting her GP surgery for tonsilitis.

She says: “I saw on the computer screen that I had XY chromosomes, had been castrated hours after birth, and an incision was made where a vagina would be.”

Although Sophie exploded at her parents in the moment, she buried her feelings about it all until 13 years later when, hospitalised during a Covid lockdown, it was discovered she had developed sepsis that had ended up in her intestines.

‘I went into 13 years of absolute denial’

This was what led her to decide to speak out.

Sophie was already aware that many children and young people were being groomed in gender ideology, persuaded to take puberty blockers, then set on a medical pathway for life.

She says: “At age 11, as I approached puberty, they put me on oestrogen because there’s no ovaries, and no testes to produce testosterone.

“This is what doctors are doing now to kids who wish to change gender — putting them on blockers.”

It was a lie when Sophie was told she had to take oestrogen for life because her ovaries had been removed at birth as a result of damage.

Sophie was born biologically male. “So obviously there were never any ovaries,” she says wryly.

She adds: “The time to tell me and try to get informed consent was at the point we introduced the endocrinologist. This is the time puberty blockers are being offered to kids, so I make that connection with what’s happening today.”

When feminists and others critical of the medicalisation of children with gender dysphoria have said that these drugs and interventions are harmful, we are often labelled bigots. But Sophie is speaking from personal experience, in the hope that she will be listened to rather than dismissed and vilified.

About five years ago, Sophie chose to stop taking the hormones, because “I was adamant that many problems in my life were being caused by them.

“I was about 4st heavier than I am now, and I wasn’t eating badly. I was having bladder pain beyond belief.

“I had fatigue and was quite angry a lot of the time.”

By then, Sophie had been taking oestrogen for 20 years, and decided enough was enough. She was told she should keep taking it because it was for bone density, to which she replied that she would have regular bone scans.

Sophie had no choice but to go on oestrogen, because the doctors prescribed it to her as a child — but surely she should be listened to when she warns of the effects cross-sex hormones have on the body?

Now that she no longer takes it, all her symptoms have improved.

She says: “We’re selling this idea of perfection in the guise of changing gender. You’ve got all of these problems and might be struggling because you don’t fit in at school, or because you like boys’ toys and you’re a girl, or vice versa. As someone who knows all about decisions made under time pressure and who has paid the price, Sophie’s understanding of the sales pitch being made to children before puberty is crystal clear.

She says: “You’ve got a sale based on a time pressure.

“We’re going to push you through this for the puberty blockers, we’re going to make that sale.”

Keen to stress that there is a big difference between a girl behaving “like a boy”, wearing boys’ clothes and haircuts, Sophie adds: “Puberty blockers are a different level to how we dress and which toys we favour.”

The idea being sold is that gender reassignment is the answer to all your problems, but Sophie says: “What you get is genital mutilation, castration, and a lifetime of dangerous hormones, which was my experience.”

As she points out: “Children can’t vote, they can’t drink, can’t drive.

“But you can choose to do something life-changing.”

Sophie hopes that by speaking out and telling her unvarnished truth, some children — and parents — might make a different choice.

She says that when she found out that she’d been born male, “I obviously knew I had urological problems, and I knew that I had no vagina because of the surgeries.

“I didn’t address it at that point. I was 22, in second year at university.

“I had a plan of my life. And dealing with this monstrosity was not in the plan. I got up the next day and went to university.

“I still had the same connection with my friends. I was still the person I was 24 hours ago.

“But I went into 13 years of absolute denial.”

She never told anyone about it, not even close friends.

‘When I came out of hospital I was raging’

Then, during the pandemic, Sophie found herself in hospital a couple of times, and it all came crashing down.

She recalls: “They thought it was a kidney infection, but they couldn’t get to the bottom of it.

“When I was born they had fashioned some female genitalia. Brown putrid fluid starting leaking out of the hole and it would not stop.

“I presented at the hospital and I had to tell them for the first time about what had happened to me.”

When doctors examined her, they saw that there was something very wrong.

It turned out there was a mass in her abdomen, which was the neovagina — inserted when she was a baby — and left to rot.

Sophie says: “I found out from my mum that they had inserted it when I was two days old, and that one day it popped out and was found in my nappy.”

Surgeons replaced it during a later operation, sealed it up, and left it, which is why it led to sepsis many years later.

“No one had been told it had been put back in,” says Sophie.

Up until this point she had thought that the surgeon had simply operated to save her life — “which he did, but he also did a hell of a lot of other stuff that was unnecessary.”

What’s more, the doctors failed to do something that was necessary — namely, address the complex urological problems that have plagued Sophie all her life.

She says this “is one of the things that has the biggest effect on having any kind of intimate relationship. And yet the one thing that they could have fixed is my incontinence.”

She tells me: “When I came out of hospital, I was raging at that point.”

And she thought that by speaking out, she might be able to help those who think they are in the wrong body.

Sophie says: “A lot of them are being groomed to feel that way or question those thoughts in the first place by the school and the system and the media. Those kids need help.”

A much better solution, she argues, would be to divert funding currently being used for puberty blockers, cross sex hormones and surgery and allocate it to children’s mental health services and counselling.

Sophie says: “We can work with that person to find out why they are feeling like this.

“Then, maybe when they become an adult, they might be mature enough to be properly informed and consent to any changes to the outer body.

“It is often assumed I am transgender, but I really don’t like labels. I am just Sophie.

Poised for a backlash from the more extreme trans activists, Sophie makes it clear that she respects any adult’s decision to choose that path — so long as they are properly informed.

But she is clear that this is never appropriate for children.

“I don’t want this to happen to any other baby born with this condition,” she says.

“We have to find better ways to support kids to live in the body they are born with.”

Link | Archived Link

#radical feminism #radfem #gender critical #gender #trans #transgender #Julie Bindel

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bloodynereid · 7 months

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Hi, Jordan Li fan here again! Could you maybe write an angst/comfort fic where (preferably gender neutral) reader really likes Jordan, but because Jordan and Marie have been getting closer they’re scared to confess? So they try to distance themselves from Jordan and eventually the secret comes out? Bonus points if there’s some sort of panic attack + comfort in there :). Again, completely understand if not, no pressure. Have the best day!!

Whiskey in the Shadows

pairing: jordan li x gender neutral reader

tw: cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of suicide, death, canon typical violence ish, panic attack, kissing

description: jealousy is a rather stupid emotion that unfortunately you have to contend with.

a/n: hope you enjoy this one <33 i literally wrote it out in like less than an hour and i'm actually happy with the result so yayyy. requests are open as always and yeah don't have much else to say.

Life at God U was something you had to adjust to over the years. It was completely different from the time you spent in high school but it definitely felt way better to be surrounded by supes, not just humans who constantly pushed you away because you were ‘different’. A plus was definitely being in the top 10, which meant you had extra privileges the other students didn’t have. One was your friend group.

You first met Luke in the first week of school. You were both taking the same mandatory intro to marketing seminar and were paired up together to make a sales pitch for a product that could combine both of your powers. God, that day was almost as vivid as if you were living it right now.

“Hi.” You jumped slightly and looked up from your notes to see a tall blonde guy standing in front of your spot.

“Uh hi.”

“You want to be my partner?” You scanned the room and saw that everyone had already paired up.

“Sure, I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Luke.” He was about to set down his bag when he realized the mess that surrounded you was going to make that difficult.

“Right, shit. Let me get this out of the way.” You quickly took all the multicolored folders from the spot next to you and shoved them into your bag, Luke pulled out the chair and sat down next to you before pulling out a notebook.

“Why the fuck do you have so many folders?” Luke said as he watched you struggle to organize them in alphabetical order.

“This class is bullshit so I mostly spend time catching up on outside projects.” You say as you are finally able to fix all your folders and turn towards Luke who has an incredulous look on his face.

“Jesus, I guess I picked the right partner then.”

“Oh don’t count on me doing all the work.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He said with a smirk before he started to rattle off ideas of what your pitch could be.

From that moment on you two had become instant friends, eventually your little group expanded to include Luke’s girlfriend, Cate, who was probably the nicest person you had ever met. Then Andre, a legacy who didn’t actually act like it. Jordan was the last to join and all of it happened during one of your many sparring sessions with Luke.

“Ok come on you have got to be cheating!” Luke complained as you once again pinned him down on the soft mat. Your little spar was gathering some attention because the boxing ring was now crowded with supes holding up phones.

“Nope. I’m just better than you. Oh shit.” Luke took advantage of your distraction to grab your shoulder and flip you around so you landed hard against the mat.

“I win.”

“Fuck you.” You bit out before you used your powers to wrap and twist shadows around Luke’s wrists so he tumbled down next to you.

“Ok now that’s cheating.”

“We never said no powers.”

“It’s an unspoken rule!” Luke exclaimed but he had a big smile on his face as you offered a hand to him after jumping up from your own spot.

“Truce?”

“Truce.” Luke said as he smirked and grabbed your arm, allowing you to pull him up. The crowd around the ring started dispersing as you climbed out through the ropes.

“That was pretty fucking badass.” Came a voice from one of the few remaining spectators, you expected their voice to be focused on Luke but their intense stare was pinned on you.

“Why thank you. Luke’s an easy one to beat.”

“Hey!” Luke exclaimed in indignation as he jumped down next to you and threw you one of the spare water bottles he had. You grabbed it with one of your shadows and screwed open the cap.

“I’m Jordan.”

“Nice to meet you Jordan, I’m Y/N and this is Luke as you already know.”

“Hey.” Luke said as he did some kind of military salute.

“So what are your powers?” You asked when suddenly Jordan shifted in front of you. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah…”

“That’s fucking awesome.” Luke said as he finished taking a long drag of the water bottle.

“If you’re ever up for a spar come find me.” You said as you checked the time on your phone and realized you were going to be late for class. “We have to go but it was great to meet you Jordan.”

“You too.” They said with a smile as you and Luke grabbed your bags from the floor. You waved as you went your separate ways.

“Someone has a crushhhh.” Luke said with a sing-song voice when he realized you were still staring at Jordan’s retreating back.

“Fuck off.” You said as you slapped his shoulder, making a booming laugh explode out of Luke.

Somehow you had managed to keep your crush on Jordan secret when you all reached junior year. Luke was the only one who knew and he constantly teased you about the situation, any time you stumbled over your words or got flustered in front of them. It just seemed harder and harder over the years to actually confess to Jordan. They had gotten so damn confident and like a thousand times more attractive - which is something you didn’t think was possible.

Everything sort of started to fall apart in your life the first days of junior year. It was like the universe decided to throw a wrench in your stableish life. Incident 1: Andre nearly kills a woman in the club you like to frequent. Incident 2: Luke’s nightmares get worse and he keeps having to bunk in your room because for some fucking reason he’s getting suspicious of Cate. Incident 3: Jordan is making heart eyes to someone who is not you. (not that you don’t like Marie but that was the problem, she was too damn perfect) Incident 4: Luke kills himself…

It was like your world was torn apart in the space of half an hour. Your best friend, who you considered a platonic soulmate and brother, killed Brink and then himself right in front of you. The last thing you said to him was that you loved him. Right after he hugged you as tight as humanly possible before flying off to his doom. He was fucking Icarus in that moment.

Incident 5: Luke has a brother, who’s somehow stuck in a fucking underground experimental facility in the school. Incident 6: Brink’s memorial gala…

You carefully adjusted the all-black suit embroidered with shiny black vines that you had gotten in preparation for Luke’s birthday… something that wasn’t even going to happen this year or any year for that matter. Fuck, not the time to cry. You mentally chidded yourself before assessing your look one last time in the mirror before making your way out of your dorm.

You really fucking hoped you wouldn’t run into Jordan tonight. It was getting harder to be around them… every time you saw them, they either started ranting about why Marie was around so much (you almost hoped they actually hated her for a second there but there was a certain spark in Jordan’s eyes whenever they spoke about Marie) or well yeah more complaining about Marie.

You had taken to spending more time alone, you still had a bad feeling about Cate and Andre spent most of his time with Cate so that left alone time as your only option. It had started taking a toll on you though. Mourning wasn’t exactly your strong suit.

You stepped into the decorated hall and cringed at all the posters with Brink. You knew he was a good man but… Luke wasn’t fucking crazy. You had been trying to help him for months, he had a reason to do it and you were going to try to find his brother… as soon as this damn gala was over.

You picked one of the champagnes off of a random waiter’s tray and quirked your lips up. Time to put on a real fucking show.

The next hour was spent mingling and chatting up potential sponsors. They all seemed hesitant to even speak to you because they knew how close you and Luke were but you reassured them that it was nothing to worry about. The Vought PR lines left a sour taste in your mouth that by the end of the hour you were itching for something stronger than champagne.

Once you were sure that the bartender was looking the other way you extended one of your shadows and snatched up one of the good whiskey bottles off the shelf and into your hand. You fucking loved your powers so much sometimes. Happy with your little prize a genuine smile made its way onto your face. Only to fall when you saw Jordan directly talking to Marie. They were smiling softly at each other, making a knot form in your stomach.

You hadn’t cried since Luke. All that had managed to come out of your eyes was a single measly fucking tear right before blood rained down from the heavens. But it seemed like Jordan’s moment with Marie was your fucking breaking point.

A sob threatened to force its way out of your throat as you hurried towards one of the alcoves that you knew this damn place had. What you didn’t notice was the way a pair of brown eyes followed your rushed movements. The second you were cocooned in your shadows was the moment that the tears slowed and a hiccup left your throat.

Safe. Safe. Safe.

“Y/N? Look I know you’re in there. I know your shadows when I see them.” The distinct voice of Jordan Li permeated your little hideout, disturbing the peace that you had somehow been able to culminate.

“Fuck off.” You said in a strained tone, tears were threatening to force their way out of your eyes once more so you opened the bottle and took a long swig of burning whisky.

“Y/N… is this about Luke? Shit- I haven’t even talked to you- I’m so sorry.” Those last few words made the stupid little resolve you had left deplete so you waved your hand and the shadows parted like curtains exposing Jordan’s ethereal face which looked incredibly apologetic. She climbed into your alcove as you closed the shadows back up.

“It’s fine, Jord. You had your own shit to deal with.”

“No, it’s not fine. You- you’ve been listening to me rant about Marie and I didn’t even ask if you were okay. I’m a shitty friend.” A resounding pang echoed through your heart at the word friend. Fuck. Another swig of the fancy whiskey.

“It’s not about that Jord, I’m really fine.”

“You’re drinking whiskey… you only do that when you’re stressed and/or depressed.” It almost hurts to realize how much Jordan actually knows you.

“It’s not that Jordan.”

“Then what is it?!” Jordan almost yells, probably exasperated by your perceived stubbornness.

“I fucking like you okay? I’ve been in love with you for fucking I don’t know how long. So can you please just fuck off and leave me alone.” You yelled out, only realizing after you finished speaking what you had just said. Oh. Oh no. A familiar panic started to seize your chest. Shit, they were going to reject you. Shit. Shit. Shit. You could almost feel yourself drifting off to join your shadows when warm hands gently got a hold of you.

“Y/N, Y/N. Listen to me, you have to breathe. You have to breathe with me. Come on. No passing out on me tonight. You didn’t even hear what I was going to say. Hey.” Your breathing started to slow down as you listened to Jordan’s calming voice. They were slowly bringing you back to earth as their hands rubbed against the material of the suit, creating a calming pressure.

“Sorry about that.” When Jordan realized I was calming down I saw a quirk of a smile appear on their face, her eyes twinkled in the dark with an intensity I had gotten familiar with over the years.

“You don’t have to be sorry at all. You get those often?”

“More now than before. I’m really fucking sorry, let’s just forget I sa-”

“No, nope. No take backsies. How the fuck did you think I didn’t like you, no wait sorry, love you back?”

“I-umm” You stuttered out as you looked at Jordan in awe. They loved you back. Holy fucking shit.

“Who came up to who first? I’ve wanted to ask you out on a date for years.”

“And why didn’t you?” You said as Jordan smirked at your renewed confidence.

“Because you are wayyy out of my league. I mean you are like the most incredible being to grace the Earth.”

“Ok now you’re exaggerating things, Jord.”

“No I’m not. I can’t believe you didn’t realize I wasn’t totally gone for you before.” You let the giddy feeling of love spread through your extremities when a realization made you stop short.

“What about Marie?”

“Marie? What are you talking about?”

“You’re like-” You made wavy motions with your hands that had Jordan’s laugh resonating against the shadows, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you watched them.

“Oh fuck, you are too funny, love. No, me and Marie are not-” Jordan repeated the wavy motions you had just done which made you smack her playfully. The movement had you shuffling closer to Jordan so now your faces seemed like they were only millimeters apart.

“Fuck.” You uttered under your breath as your nose skimmed against Jordan’s.

“Fuck is right. Can I- I umm really want to kiss you right now.”

“What are you waiting for?” You answered just as Jordan surged forward and your lips met in an explosion of sensations. You felt your shadows jump and play around you excitedly as you pulled Jordan impossibly closer by threading your fingers in their oh so soft hair. That decision rewarded you with a little whine from Jordan that had warmth spreading over your body once again.

Reluctantly pulling away you rested your forehead against Jordan’s as they smiled giddily up at you. Her eyes sparkled in the darkness and you smoothed the pads of your fingers against their cheek.

“Hi.”

“I really fucking love you.” You said as you looked into those brown eyes that looked just like the perfect cup of coffee. Inviting, warm and absolutely enthralling.

“I love you more.”

“Always a competition with you Jordan.” You said with a chuckle, making Jordan laugh in response.

“Well you should have known what you were signing on for when you fell in love with me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

so... reader's powers in this one are known as darkness manipulation which are sort of like the darkling's powers from shadow & bone (they're suit for the gala is literally directly inspired by the darkling's kefta lol) also here's the link to the superpower wiki page if anyone's interested.

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tsukishimakeiswife · 2 months

Text

You just spent the dirtiest night of your life with Geto Suguru.

a/n- this song reminded me of him<3 you could play it throughout the post if you'd like.

------

One chance. That's what you told yourself and Geto before agreeing to go on a date with him. Everything about him was so alluring. You knew once you crossed a certain line with him, there would be no going back. Not with him. In the 3 years you worked with Geto Suguru, not once did you resist catching a glance at him. How could you not? When he looked at you as if you were his only source of life. He was perfect and amazing at everything he did. That's also why you loathed him. Anything you did, he would do it better, that too with such ease.

Hating him wasn't easy, either. Your seniors would want you to consult him if there was any issue. Got a problem with your paycheck? Ask Geto. Want a sick leave? Ask Geto. And wouldn't he enjoy it when you came to him, seeking help? His signature smirk plastered across his face every time you stood outside his office. He was so infuriating, yet so attractive.

One day, he finally pushed you over the edge. A sales pitch you worked on for weeks was scraped just because Geto had a better idea. 'Of course, they should just let him run the company, huh?' You made the not-so-graceful decision of walking out of the meeting and going back to your office. You got your stuff, clearly done for the day, and left the building soon after. Trying to haul the cab in horrendous city traffic only frustrated you further. That was until someone put their hand on your shoulder, almost making you jump.

There he stood, looking egregiously hot. He stood in front of you with his shoulder-length hair in a half bun and a shirt that hugged him just right. He fixed his tie before speaking up after what felt like an eternity of eye contact.

"I didn't mean for that to happen- look, (y/n). I know you hate me right now, but let me make it up to you."

And that's how you ended up here. Sitting in front of him so prettily, adorned in your most breathtaking dress and high heels- to look somewhat tall next to his large build. You made sure to look your best, and the way his eyes scanned your body made your efforts worth them. The glass of wine in your hand, long forgotten as you leaned back and heard him speak. The tension between you two was wild. The air was heavy and thick. The ambiance of the restaurant didn't help much, either. You were sure he picked such a place on purpose.

However, that wasn't the craziest part about tonight. It was the fact that you were enjoying this so much. His eyes never left yours, alternating between your lips and orbs while you spoke. He leaned in to 'hear' you better and 'accidentally' brushed his knees against yours. Tonight, there was something different in him. It was as if nothing was stopping him. Hunger was apparent in his eyes. He was determined to get what he wanted.

You saw through his game. You weren't dumb, and he knew it. He wanted you to make the first move. Moreover, with every second passing, it seemed more difficult not to do that.

"Easier said than done, love. You ne-", he stopped talking immediately. He had something better to focus on now. Your freshly manicured nails were currently placed on his thigh. If his winning this silly game meant what you thought it did, then you'd take it any day. You were attracted to Geto, more than anything at the moment. His eyes darkened and in the blink of an eye, his entire aura shifted. You felt smaller, and you didn't think that was possible with Geto. He called the waiter for the cheque almost as if in a hurry.

The two of you got up and he immediately took your hand in his, taking you towards the elevator, maybe. You didn't care. Not when Geto has you in such a state. And he hasn't even touched you yet.

The two of you enter the elevator, finally alone. He didn't react, though. All you wanted to do was kiss him, taste him, feel him. His calm composure, on the contrary, was far from your flustered state. He looked down to meet your gaze as you did the same, bodies facing each other, but not reacting.

The lift doors opened and he immediately walked out. You tried to keep up with him, but he was practically dragging you now. You entered the suite he'd booked for you and the man in front of you didn't even wait for the door to close before pinning you against it. He leaned down to make sure he was just above you, his hair falling out of place onto yours. You tucked the strands of his hair behind his ears before pulling him down to kiss him.

You could physically feel the smile on his face when you did, and he didn't spare you for a second. His hands immediately reached for your throat and the other one pressed your lower back to bring you closer to him. The kiss was electric, hot, passionate, and desperate. Geto Suguru kissed hard. He gently led you towards the bedroom- not breaking the kiss for a second. You felt ecstatic, his hand on your throat applying the slightest amount of pressure- the kiss which was so hot you felt dizzy already. Breaking apart to catch your breath; you looked into his eyes, his pupils were completely blown out; his hair was a mess now; he was so pretty.

He pushed you onto the bed and you were now lying on your back. Geto caged you in before kissing your jaw, your neck- biting and leaving marks with utmost grace. He kissed you on that spot behind your ears, to which you sharply exhaled. He smirked against your skin and whispered in your ears, "I haven't even done anything yet, and look how you're reacting." you rolled your eyes and scoffed before whining at the feeling of his teeth sinking into your soft skin. Your hands were on his neck, playing with his hair and occasionally tugging on them. It drove him crazy.

He gave you a genuine look as his hands landed on the hem of your dress, making sure you were still okay with this- to which you nodded. He slipped your dress off and tossed it aside, taking in what was in front of him. It was as if he was consuming you completely, his gaze was dark- it sucked you in, trapped you inside. You tugged on his hand for him to hurry. He kissed you again and you unbuttoned his shirt. You knew he had an amazing body, but it was nothing like you'd imagined. There really was not a single thing in him that you could complain about.

He kissed down your chest, taking off your bra and stopping right at your stomach. He looked straight into your eyes and said, "What do you want me to do, love?" your breath hitched and you hesitated. You felt more needy than ever, Geto knew that. But he had to show you he had power over you, didn't he?

"Geto, please. I need you," you said- whispered. He raised his eyebrow to indicate that he'll have to hear you again. "You'll have to be louder- and more specific." he retorted.

"I want you to fuck me, there?" you almost spat out. Only getting more and more frustrated. You sneaked in a 'please, Geto' to make sure he didn't get pissed. All he did was simply nod while taking off your lace panties. He didn't hesitate for a second before shoving two of his long, rough fingers into your cunt. A loud whine left your lips and your hands immediately covered your mouth, trying their best to muffle your moans- screams. His fingers were long. You meant that. He stretched you out and immediately began pumping in and out. He tutted and shook his head- almost as if he was disappointed.

"I wanna hear you, baby. Covering your pretty mouth won't help. And, it's Suguru for you." at this point, anything this man said only made you wetter. He found your g-spot effortlessly, abusing it as he added a third finger. "Fuck- Suguru, too much." your back arched and your breath hitched with every thrust. He could tell you were getting close. "Too much? This isn't enough, my love." his thumb was now on your clit, toying with it as if it wasn't making you whimper and moan out his name. His free hand caressed your face, tucking your hair behind your ear and locking fingers with yours.

You were close, lewd sounds echoed through the suite and his harsh, degrading comments only got you riled up more. "gonna cum- shit. hah- Suguru, more." He chuckled before picking up his pace. "Come on, come for me." pushing you over the edge. You screamed out his name and held onto his hand as your orgasm washed over you. It was ecstatic. Your body spasmed and you tried to catch your breath. Your orgasm barely passed by before you hear his trousers drop to the floor.

"Don't think we're done, love. I meant what I said. We're just getting started." he took off his boxers revealing what he'd been hiding the entire time. This man was big. And you meant that. A wave of shock and excitement passed your body as you gasped at the sight before you.

"Get on your knees for me." you nod and shuffle around till your knees and elbows are on the mattress, your ass is up and your hair brought to one side of your face. His hand trails along your spine kneads your ass before giving it a harsh slap.

“I’m gonna go slow at first, tell me when you’re comfortable, hm?” he says as he coats his cock with your slick. He aligns himself and slowly enters your hole. A sharp exhale left your mouth as you groaned and threw your head back. He was way bigger than you expected, you bit your lip to drift your attention away from the sting you felt. He leaned forward so that his chest was on your back now and he sank his teeth into your neck while entering you slowly. You whimpered and tears pooled in your eyes, carrying your mascara with them as they ran across your cheek. He kissed your tears away and whispered how ‘you’re such a good girl’ and you’re ‘so obedient for him’

After what felt like an eternity, he completely bottomed out and the pain slowly faded away- transforming into the most pleasure you’ve ever had. You gave him a quick nod which was his signal. He turned immediately. His pace increased and he went faster- harder. Your face was now smushed against the pillow while you screamed in pleasure. His hand rubbed against your overstimulated clit- only making you cry out more as you begged him to slow down, to go easy on you. His hips snapped against yours picking up his pace despite your cries.

You could feel your next orgasm nearing, feeling embarrassed over how much tighter your cunt got with every thrust, a groan left his lips and he grabbed a fistful of your hair to lift you up to his level, your back pressed against his strong chest.

“You’re gonna be a good slut for me and take it, yeah? I see the way you’d look at me everyday. Fucking me with your eyes in front of everyone. Now take it like a good girl.” you cried out his name and tried to grab his hand that was currently abusing your clit. Your choked cries and unsuccessful attempts at getting him to slow down did nothing but boost his ego more. He let go of your hair letting you fall back onto the pillow and grabbed your face, turning it to the side, “You’re not gonna look away, okay?” he said.

You bit your lip and nodded at him as you grabbed the bedsheets, seeking support from the silk sheet underneath the two of you. He thought you looked beautiful, your pouty lips were swollen and glistened with your own saliva on them, your cheeks stained with mascara and your eyes, half lidded and pooled with tears. You looked ethereal.

With a final thrust you came around him, crying out choked moans and whines as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you felt like you couldn’t think anymore. Geto thrusted into you throughout your orgasm and gently lifted you up while he fucked into you, you gasped as you still clinged onto him. This man was strong- he lifted you off the ground while fucking into you as if it was no big deal.

By the time you rode out your high, you realized you were pressed against the glass window of your suite. The cold glass made you hiss as you looked down at the busy street. Humiliation took over you as you looked at Geto with a confused face. You were tired, that's for sure. A mess. That was an accurate word to describe your state right now. Geto pulled out of your abused hole and you whined at the empty feeling, still breathing heavily from your last orgasm. He turned you around to face him.

"You alright there?" he tilted his face to the side and leaned down to lock lips with yours. He was soft, kind, and caring. At the same time time; he was rough, mean, and sadistic. He had you wrapped around his finger. You whispered his name out when he slowly entered you again. Your back arched and you dug your nails into his back. He hissed at your actions and groaned your name out. Your name left his lips as if it was his favourite word.

His pace increased and you clung onto him with every bit of strength left in you. Your mind felt foggy and you didn't know what took over you, you spoke up. "Suguru, let me ride you. Please." it was a weak whisper. He wouldn't have been able to hear you if it wasn't for how close the two of you were. He slowed down and carried you to the bed, placing you down before getting on. He made himself comfortable against the bedframe and tapped on his thigh, "There's nothing I would love more, love."

You weren't so sure if that was a mistake or not.

"Tired already? You've barely moved."

"So gorgeous, all f'me."

"Look at you, my cock-drunk princess."

"Want me to lend a hand?" he smirked. He had the 'genius' idea of tying your hands behind your back before you got on top of him. You definitely made a mistake with your suggestion. Your head was on his shoulder now. Your thighs felt like they were on fire. Every single movement made you cry out. He didn't help you out, either. His large cock only adding to your mix of pleasure and pain. He enjoyed this more than anything. Your struggle to take him and maintain balance riled him up even more. You groaned at his words and nodded into his shoulder.

"What was that? You're gonna have to tell me." you can't believe you almost forgot why you hated him so much. He grabbed your face by the neck and brought you to face him, inches apart. You bit your lip to muffle out your moans and rolled your eyes. He looked at you, waiting for you to speak. "Help me, Suguru." "Please," you added, before he spoke up, causing him to smile.

"Whatever you say, love," he whispered in your ear before gripping your hips and bucking his hips upwards. You gasped at the sudden movement and lost balance, falling back onto his shoulder as you cried out his name. He was close, and so were you. Your whines and moans of his name made him feel like his body was on fire. You had no idea how obsessed he was with you. And there you were, in front of him, breaking down because of him.

"Fuck, (y/n). You're driving me crazy." he pulled you up and looked at you, and you didn't dare to look away from him. No, if you did, you were sure he would ruin you. His words threw you over the edge as you tightened around him and came. He hissed at you and shot his seed into you. He held onto you as you clawed at his chest- riding out your high.

The two of you stayed in the same position for who knows how long. "I thought this was supposed to be an apology dinner." you panted out.

"Would you rather have that?"

"...no."

You let out a tired giggle before looking up to meet his eyes, smiling and pulling him into a simple, pure, passionate kiss.

"I still dislike you, though,"

“I wouldn’t pass a judgment so soon. After all, I’m not done with you yet.” he said, while his hands moved down your body.

———

part two??

#geto suguru #geto x reader #geto smut #jjk geto #suguru #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #this is so hot please #i need this #Spotify

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pastanest · 1 year

Text

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

A/N: set in Alexandria, no spoilers of events, just one character who lives there

For Your Hand

From the moment Daryl strolled into Alexandria with one hand holding yours and the other holding a dead opossum, he had made a statement, and everyone in Alexandria had understood it loud and clear. In truth, Daryl had not thought much about the deeper meaning behind his statement, he simply wanted the crowd of strangers to understand that you were under his protection and he was very capable of handling pests. In his own way, the gesture was very sweet and because you knew him so well, you took it as a compliment.

Anyone that had looked at you and seen you as an easy target or - god forbid - available, had quickly been set on the right path upon seeing the large hand that held yours and the way in which you partially hid yourself behind what you had accepted to be your guardian angel while others saw an unpredictable, animalistic, territorial wild-man, and you didn’t mind that description, either. There was only one person in the crowd of strangers that had been stupid enough to misinterpret the display and, instead of taking the “back off” message and following suit, took it as a personal challenge.

Deanna’s eldest son, Spencer, was the furthest thing from your type you could have conjured up if you were to try. Clean cut, smooth talking, clearly views himself as charming; the perfect salesman, in a time where nothing would ever be sold again. But, you were never one to be impolite without good reason, which was something Daryl admired about you from day one. Being naturally standoffish, he could not understand the warmth you immediately offered every person you met, including him, until a person gave you a reason to treat them differently. As ridiculous as you thought Spencer’s attempts at wooing you were, he had not overstepped a boundary or acted inappropriately, he remained respectful and would accept your refusals at every turn, but would approach you again in no time from a different angle, trying out some new sales pitch on you. It became an inside joke within your group, everyone laughing and rolling their eyes when they saw Spencer approach you, and because you had made it clear to Daryl you had no interest in the guy and he trusted you wholeheartedly, he saw the humor in it, too.

That was, until yesterday, when you went to Daryl nervously to tell him that the previous night, after Daryl had left to check the traps he’d set beyond the walls - not wanting to rely on the community’s food just yet - and Spencer took it upon himself to knock at your door. It was very late by the time your soulmate and protector had left your home, meaning it was no coincidence that Spencer was around when he left; he had been waiting for Daryl to go before he made his move. While the conversation he approached you with was nothing out of the ordinary for Spencer, you were made uncomfortable by the way in which he had snuck around Daryl, it meant he understood that your boyfriend would not approve of his intentions and that raised alarm bells for you.

Listening intently to your explanation, Daryl nodded only once, scowl already darting around Alexandria until it landed on the idiot that had dared make you feel uncomfortable. Fixing his icy glare on him, Daryl finally answered you.

“I’ll deal with ‘im.”

He considers running over and tackling the guy to the ground then and there, but decides against it in favor of a better plan, the thought of which leaves a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth for the rest of the day.

Daryl makes the executive decision to stick to you like glue for the rest of the evening. While he is not always at your side, he is never more than a few feet away, smoking a cigarette while you chat to someone else, helping you with your daily tasks, leading you over to his bike and having you sit on it while he works on it for absolutely no reason, solely to relish in the disdainful expression he catches on Spencer’s face from the corner of his eye when he stands up and you swoon over your greased up wildman. He ensures that, for the duration of the day when the sun is up, Spencer has no opportunity whatsoever to get you alone, for your sense of safety and his own personal enjoyment.

Much like the previous night, Daryl spends the evening with you in the house you share, the two of you enjoying each other’s company, cooking up what he retrieved from his traps the night before, laughing and joking around like a married couple in the suburbs. As ironic as that description is, considering the state of the world and Daryl’s general opposition to that kind of dream, he cannot deny that, when that kind of dream involves you, it brings the softest smile to his face and the lightest dusting of pink to his cheeks.

Around the same time as the previous night, Daryl takes his leave, kissing you goodbye at the door and swinging his crossbow over his shoulder before heading for the gate. This time, though, he intends to trap a different kind of pest. Instead of going to the gate, he turns left down a different street, then left again down another, then left one final time, between some houses that bring him right back to yours. There, he finds Spencer jogging up your porch steps with some flowers clasped in his hands. Daryl scoffs, approaching silently to stand at the bottom of the steps and right as Spencer lifts his hand to knock at your door, his voice cuts into the silence of the night.

“The hell you doin’?” His voice is quiet and gruff as ever, but the way Spencer’s stance stiffens tells Daryl he has already succeeded in making the younger man shit himself where he stands.

Clearing his throat, he turns to face Daryl, trying lamely to hide the flowers behind his back. “Daryl! Hey!”

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Daryl tips his nose, gesturing to the flowers. “Those for (Y/N)?”

Accepting that he has been caught in the act, Spencer can only nod.

Daryl nods back at him. “She don’ like ‘em, she likes pink ones best.”

Spencer’s eyes widen. “O-Oh…”

Dropping his cigarette on the ground, Daryl puts it out with a single drag of his shoe. “Course, ya’d know that if ya cared enough t’ ask ‘er, but ya dont. Every time ya talk to ‘er, yer tryna persuade ‘er that yer her dream guy, but ya know nothin’ about ‘er.”

Spencer frowns at this. “Hey, man, I never meant to-”

Daryl waves him off. “Save it, I’ve known what you were doin’ since the firs’ time I saw you lookin’ at ‘er.”

Spencer’s frown intensifies. “You knew and never tried to stop me? Isn’t she supposed to be yours?”

Daryl smirks at the idiot’s poor attempt to get under his skin. “Glad ya know that, at least. Never stopped ya ‘cause (Y/N) never asked me to, she didn’t wanna be impolite an’ as long as you stayed respectful, I would’ve had no problem laughin’ at yer attempts to get ‘er. Ya crossed the line las’ night, so ‘m stoppin’ you now.”

Spencer sighs, feigning defeat as he hangs his head and walks slowly down the steps, not meeting Daryl’s scowl as he passes him. “I never meant to make her uncomfortable…You win, man.”

At that, Daryl scoffs again. “She ain’t no damn prize to be won, asshole.” Then it’s his turn to jog up the steps and stand at your door, intending to guard it until Spencer is out of sight.

Unfortunately, Spencer’s ego just won’t let him leave without taking one last jab. Looking over his shoulder from down the street, he calls out.

“I hope someday (Y/N) realizes what’s good for her and chooses someone that will actually fight for her!”

For a moment, there is silence, because Daryl allows it. He watches the silence lull Spencer into a false sense of security, waits for the victorious smirk to appear on his face, and then lets that smirk disappear at the sound of a crossbow falling against your porch.

The steps towards Spencer are silent, but he turns to face the fast approaching wildman with an expression of a deer in headlights. Once only a few feet separates them, Daryl stops.

“Ya think I won’t fight for ‘er?”

Spencer clears his throat. “W-Well, I just meant that you haven’t-”

Daryl shrugs, interrupting him. “C’mon then, gimme yer best shot.”

Spencer’s jaw drops. “Wh-What?!”

Daryl crosses his arms over his chest. “C’mon, man, you wanna fight for ‘er hand or whatever, go for it. I’ve got all night.”

The sound of your front door opening pulls Daryl from his current conversation immediately. As soon as his eyes land on the sight of you, stepping out onto your porch, his scowl softens into the loving smile that only you can bring him.

“Daryl? Is everything alright?” You call out to him, your concern for what is unfolding between the two men obvious by your tone.

“Everythin’s fine, almos’ done here!” Daryl calls back to you.

Seeing your expression relax makes his heart sing, even from afar, but it doesn’t last long. A look of alarm flashes across your face and you’re quick to point behind him.

“DARYL! LOOK OUT!”

Scowling, Daryl turns around just in time to duck out of the way of Spencer as he lunges for him, sending him stumbling. The moment Spencer is steady on his feet again, Daryl closes the space between them with a swift right hook to his jaw, Spencer landing on the ground with a thud. Standing over him, Daryl shakes his head.

“If ya wan’ed me t’ fight for ‘er, only had t’ ask.”

With that, he steps over Spencer as he sputters blood onto the gray street and rolls onto his back, staring up at the night sky in total defeat. Meanwhile, Daryl strolls over to you so casually, as though he hasn’t just made the most chivalrous and impressive display for your hand you have ever seen. Playing along, you hold your hand out to him and as he ascends the porch steps, he takes hold of it and gently kisses your knuckles, the two of you chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all, but both feeling heat rising in your faces at the intensity of your feelings towards each other, following such a gesture.

Hand still in his, you tug him as close to you as you can bring him and lean up to place a chaste kiss on his lips. You can both feel Spencer’s eyes on you as you do, bringing amused smiles to your faces, but a chaste kiss is the most PDA either of you want to give him the satisfaction of showing off. Leaning down to pick his crossbow back up, Daryl swings it over his shoulder, and you are quick to instinctively brush his hair from his face as you admire him in all his glory.

“My knight in shining armor.”

—————

taglist:

@ruinedbythehobbit @iamburdened @evilbabyelf @of-storms-and-sadness @crossbowking @spidergirla5 @jodiereedus22 @thanossexual @captain-shannon-becker @cordialgargoyle @romanoffs-bitch @daryldixonandfrogs @just-always-tired @pillowjj @the-musical-doodle @likeablevillain @irrelevantyettopicalusername @notquitecannon @alyisdead @polkadottedpillowcase @twdeadfanfic @wishingtobeforeveryoung1994 @sigynlokiem @courtnytrash04 @thatwrestlingfan91 @buttsology @prettylittleblog13 @milariskanavasi @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @your-new-mom @daryls-angell @lilzebub @amaroho @bakedcrispss @yes-sir-hotchner @wasted-years @kpopandharry @madshelily @datidixon @dumandbass @savageneversaw

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagine #x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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cuubism · 2 years

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some (semi)crack-treated-seriously for @magnusbae, featuring Hob (accidentally) rescuing Dream, the awkwardness of summoning your naked crush into your living room, and Hob being absolutely ride or die and ready to kill people at a moment's notice

---

It was pure luck that brought Hob to the antiquities sale. Later, he would wonder if perhaps Fortune herself was also an entity, and had been looking out for the Dreams which so often brought her to fruition.

Hob found the poster for the thing by chance when he stumbled over a curb on his way home and nearly faceplanted into a lamppost. And it was similarly by chance that Hob was available that night. By chance, it was not far from his home. So many moments of happenstance stacking up into a bit of luck he’d be grateful for for the rest of his life.

Hob was always interested in any supposed magical artifacts. He knew that magic of some kind existed – no matter that his Stranger refused to tell him anything about himself, Hob was well-aware that he was not human and held powers of some kind – but it could be hard to discern real from fake. Hence, his habit of attending whatever strange auctions might pop up – more for curiosity’s sake than for the need to buy anything.

This sale was different.

This sale had something Hob recognized.

He froze in front of the display case, grip going tight around his glass of wine. Behind the glass panels of the case, a familiar ruby pendant glimmered. It caught the light strangely, reflecting prismatic bursts of rainbow in obliquely wrong directions, and that alone would have immediately alerted Hob to its not being a normal ruby even if he hadn’t been intimately familiar with its proper owner.

Where the hell was his Stranger?

Hob had only seen the man—being—six times, and therefore couldn’t make a wholesale judgment that he never went anywhere without the ruby, but he knew for sure the Stranger wouldn’t have let it wind up here, about to be delivered into the hands of any asshole with enough money.

So where was he?

Disturbed, Hob returned to his seat, waiting for the sale to start. He was tempted to simply break the glass and take the gem, but getting arrested wasn’t particularly on his list of fun things to do on a night out. So he’d have to do things the legal way.

One benefit of being extremely old: Hob had a lot of money to throw around. And while something in him rankled at having to buy something that was clearly stolen from his friend, he had bigger concerns.

Concerns that rattled around his mind as he walked home, ruby tucked safely in his pocket. Concerns whose screaming rose to a fever pitch as he sat down at his kitchen table, looking at his Stranger’s gem under the lemony kitchen lights.

It felt warm in his hands, the cut edges of the gemstone surprisingly smooth. The crimson at the heart of the jewel’s many faces was full-bodied as an old wine and deep as the sea; easy to get lost in.

Hob tore his attention away, looking instead at the empty apartment. The pendant chain pressed into his hands as he held it tighter, the jewel growing ever-warmer between his palms.

“Where are you, Stranger?” he murmured to himself. Hob had no way to contact him, and there were forty years yet before they were meant to meet – if his Stranger even decided to show up. “I hope you’re alright; I hope this”—he squeezed the gem—“doesn’t mean something horrible’s happened.”

He sighed. “If only you were here.”

The room shifted around him, like Hob had taken two steps backward in time and changed direction. Hob might not have even noticed if he hadn’t been staring absently in the direction of the living room at the precise moment that his Stranger appeared on the couch.

Hob jumped so high he banged his knee on the underside of the table. His Stranger seemed equally baffled, looking at his own hands, touching the fabric of the couch as if unsure it was real, then finally looking up at Hob with wide eyes.

Hob stared back at him, breath quickening. Somehow—he could only assume—the magic ruby had fulfilled his wish and summoned his Stranger here, but why was he naked? Oh God, this was Hob’s fault for having one too many… uh… dreams—

“Hob Gadling,” murmured his Stranger, voice hoarse but with wonder in it. “You have rescued me.”

“How?” This was all a lot to take in, but Hob went over to him anyway, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around his bare shoulders. It was unnerving to see him so… unrefined. Disheveled. Hair a mess and body unprotected. “Wait, rescued from what?”

His Stranger’s gaze zeroed in on the ruby, still lying on the kitchen table. Hob wondered if he might be angry, but he just tilted his head in curiosity. “Now, just where did you come across that?”

“Um.” Hob forcibly tore his attention from the narrow line of his Stranger’s neck and shoulders – had he always been that thin under all those fine clothes? Had he eaten at all recently? Rescued from where? – and back to the gemstone. “Bought it. Just a few hours ago. No idea where it was before that. Knew it was yours, though. But no way to get it back to you.” Shit, he was rambling.

“And you used its power to summon me.”

Hob rubbed at the back of his neck. “That… wasn’t intentional. Though, I mean, probably would’ve been if I’d known you needed summoning.”

His Stranger stood, walking on wobbling legs – again, Hob wondered with deepening concern, rescued from where – blanket wrapped around him like a cape, to pick up the ruby from the table. A shudder ran through him as soon as he touched it and he seemed to stand straighter, taller. “How did you use it?”

“Just— just wished you were here so I could make sure nothing horrible had happened.”

His Stranger’s mouth tipped up into that tiny, fond smile Hob had seen so rarely but missed so dearly. “So you could make sure nothing horrible had happened?”

“Hey, you yourself just said you were rescued. Was I wrong?”

“No.” His voice was resigned now. He turned back to Hob, still holding the ruby. It looked far more fitting in his elegant hands than in Hob’s. “You have pulled me from an unjust imprisonment, and recovered one of my tools. I owe you a great debt.”

“You owe me nothing, friend.” Hob cringed internally as the word slipped out, but his Stranger didn’t deny him this time. “I would do it again. Though I’m still not entirely sure what I did.”

His Stranger sat down at the kitchen table. He must have been exhausted, mustn’t he? Who knew how long he’d been imprisoned. God.

Feeling restless at the thought, Hob busied himself making tea, as his Stranger explained, “The ruby contains some of my power. In the hands of humans, it can… bend certain happenings. I am grateful it was not in your possession for longer; it has the tendency to drive men mad.”

Great, Hob thought, of course it does. Kind of like you, my friend. Not that Hob had ever claimed not to be mad, from the start. “Does it usually summon whole beings, though?”

“No. It is curious… I will have to explore this more at a later time.”

Hob placed two cups of tea on the table, nudging one towards his stranger until he, reluctantly, took it. Though as soon as his skin touched the warm ceramic, he wrapped his fingers tightly around it.

“Are you alright though, my friend?” Hob asked, sipping on his own tea. He kept his tone low, casual, gentle, anything not to scare him off. But could he be scared off? Could he actually do whatever sort of quick, magical departure he usually did to disappear before Hob could possibly follow him out of the White Horse? The thought that he might not have the power for it made Hob a little sick to his stomach. “I don’t know the circumstances of this… imprisonment… but I would like to know if you’re alright.”

“I am… alright,” said his Stranger, in a tone Hob did not believe whatsoever, “but I am yet to be truly free. Your use of the ruby sprung me from Burgess’s glass prison, and restored some of my powers, but the binding circle remains intact. Without breaking it, I am bound here.”

Hob gripped his mug so hard it started to burn his fingers. Fuck whoever this Burgess guy was. And he knew, just knew, that his Stranger was downplaying by several orders of magnitude how awful it had been. What gave this guy the gall to capture a being like his Stranger, a being so beyond their mortal plane?

A being so… exquisite. So independent. So free.

“So you have to head back to break it, is what you’re saying?” Hob asked, shaking himself.

“Yes.”

“Well, alright, then,” said Hob, taking a fortifying gulp of his tea. “Then I’m coming with you.”

His Stranger looked—to the extent he ever made such an expression—alarmed. “No.”

“Yes. I’m not letting you walk back into a place you were imprisoned with no backup.” Hob crossed his arms. “As you may know, I’m a fair hand with all manner of weaponry.”

The stubbornness settling on his Stranger’s face ceded into amusement. “I am sure.”

“So that’s settled, then.”

His Stranger didn’t protest again. Hob wondered when the last time was that anybody had tried to help him. How long had he been in there?

“If you come along, you may not like what you see,” cautioned his Stranger.

“Are you saying you’re going to wreak horrible vengeance on them? Cause yeah, I’d hope so. You better save one for me, though.”

Again, his Stranger looked startled, but Hob just grinned.

“So, are we going now, or do you want a fortifying supper first?”

His Stranger was starting to look as whiplashed as Hob had felt when he’d suddenly appeared. “You would… feed me… supper?”

“Can’t go around killing people on an empty stomach.” Besides, Hob thought, more tenderly, you look like you need some care.

But his Stranger shook his head, coming back to himself. “We must not tarry. I do not know how my realm has fared in my absence.”

“We’ll grab a meal later, then,” Hob said easily, and was rewarded with a tiny nod and smile.

He stood, and offered his Stranger a hand up. Their gazes met, and Hob caught a glimpse of that same wonder he’d seen briefly before, when his friend had just been summoned. Confusion and hope at having a hand held out to him. Hob just smiled at him in return.

After a moment, the Stranger took Hob’s hand, pulling himself to his feet with a strength Hob hadn’t expected after such an imprisonment. He clasped the ruby pendant around his neck, and it lay gleaming against his bare sternum. Hob suddenly had to look away.

“We should, ah.” He had to pause to cough, and could just see his Stranger smirking out of the corner of his eye, the devil. “We should probably get you some trousers first.”

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #listen magnusbae and i have a lot of insane crack headcanons and this is nowhere NEAR the worst #not even close

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boatboysrowout · 1 year

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i am So Very Interested in the burger king vs mcdonalds au if you're willing to share more 👁️👁️

i'm so glad you asked

it's all grian's fault, of course. 'it'll be great if all my friends got a summer job around the same place!' he said. 'it'll be fun hanging out on our lunch breaks!' he said. 'this is a genius idea, nothing will go wrong!' he said.

it goes wrong in less than a day.

it all starts with scar's job application getting rejected from burger king. he takes this very personally, as the man who interviews him is grian's friend who had just been hired the day before, and scar had been assured he would get an easy in. ren, however, didn't like how many questions scar was asking about their ice cream machine and where their security cameras were placed.

so out scar goes, sulking his way through a successful interview to work at the white castle down the road, joining bdubs and cleo. the rest of grians friends end up scattered in shops around the two restaurants with varying degrees of satisfaction with their summer jobs.

grian, as he is wont to do, waffles around a bit before committing to a job. he's pretty sure he's going to join bigb at the library, but before he decides, he goes to pay scar a visit to make sure he's still not sulking about the burger king fiasco.

that, too, is a mistake.

grian doesn't know what happened. he swears he just meant to stop in and say hi. and maybe play a little prank! just a funny little joke! only he didn't realize how much hair spray bdubs uses and how flammable that made his hair, and really, how could grian have known that the second after he fled the scene of his crime, scar would walk in at the exact wrong moment holding a lighter, making him look like the guiltiest motherfucker on earth?

it's absolutely not his fault.

but.

now scar is out of a job again, and he's gotten it in his head that the only way to get his revenge on ren is to work at the mcdonalds across the street from the burger king and, to quote scar, "make him regret not taking my offer." and listen. this is the third job scar's had in two days. it kind of feels a little bit like grian's responsibility to make sure he doesn't get fired from this one too. but it'll be fine. what else could go wrong?

so much. so, so much.

scar almost immediately goes off the rails. he creates his own customer rewards program in which he refuses to serve a customer if they don't pledge their undying loyalty to the mcdonalds in exchange for scar certified McReputation points. this somehow is remarkably successful despite grain's repeated warnings that this is a scam- scar pulls some strings and grian is forced into kitchen duty after he tries to warn one too many customers. martyn and ren catch word of this and try institute a similar program, albeit to a much less successful degree. scar, however, cannot let that stand.

grian also cannot let that stand, but this is more due to martyn coming over every day during his lunch break and annoying grian by telling increasingly convoluted jokes all ending with a punchline relating to the mcdonald's broken ice cream machine.

so that afternoon grian and scar pay the burger king a visit. scar goes up to the front counter and gives ren and martyn the longest sales pitch of his life, something about cereal, and while they're distracted grain climbs through the drive through window and smashes their ice cream machine with a baseball bat.

that's the beginning of the end.

ren takes the attack way too personally. he gets naked, makes martyn crown him with a shitty cardboard crown, dubs himself the burger king, and declares war on the mcdonalds.

he and martyn set out to recruit for their army amongst the rest of their friends in the area to varying degrees of success. they first go to visit joel in his art shop, but quickly decide to leave after the first thing they hear upon walking in is a conversation in the back room in which someone appears to be blackmailing joel over something in the basement.

they decide to try impulse and tango down at the arcade, and both of them are so confused by ren's sales pitch they just agree to make him go away (they do the same thing when scar and grian visit them a few hours later).

ren and martyn's visit to the white castle is the worst yet. instead of walking in and recruiting bdubs and cleo with their impassioned speech and thirst for justice, the burger king and his hand walk into an active warzone.

there's smoke everywhere. bdubs is screaming. martyn swears he hears a gun go off. cleo is cackling. someone runs past them entirely engulfed in flames. as ren and martyn make a hasty retreat etho cheerfully greets them from his seat on a bench outside the building, tinkering with something that looks suspiciously like a pipe bomb.

they decide to take a break from recruiting after that.

meanwhile, scar and grian have been busy. they've recruited jimmy and scott from the florists down the road to launch a yelp smear campaign against the burger king, tanking them from a respectable 3.8 stars to 1 star in an afternoon. to a normal human being, this would mean nothing, but they text a screenshot of this to martyn and ren with the caption 'this u?'

martyn and ren have never once reacted to anything normally or proportionality in their life.

skizz, one of their regulars, also takes great offense to this. he insists that this is a devastating blow against the burger king's honor, and vows to get revenge.

no one's sure exactly how he does it, but within an hour he manages to trace one of the bad reviews back to jimmy and promptly doxes him, getting him fired due to the content of his surprisingly popular google+ account.

scar and grian, after laughing hysterically for an hour over the fact that jimmy was a google+ influencer, continue their reign of terror over the burger king by taking a selfie of them next to the burger king drive through menu, which they somehow have relocated to the roof of the mcdonalds.

it's the last straw for ren.

decked out in a red cape made of the burger king curtains and armed with a spatula and the fury of a thousands suns, ren marches across the street to the mcdonalds and challenges scar and grian to a winner-takes-all duel.

a crowd begins to gather, with nearly everybody grian knows save for the people involved in what has been dubbed the white castle war, forming a loose arch behind ren and martyn as they begin to chant for a fight.

grian and scar, who came outside to see what all the commotion was about, both predictably panic at the sight of two men in capes charging towards them backed by a crowd chanting for blood. grian tries to claw his way back up the roof while scar, possessed by the spirit of apollo, does the only thing he can and chucks a potato at ren's head.

that potato hits ren square in the forehead and knocks him out cold.

the crowd goes silent.

martyn, thinking ren is dead, drops to his knees and cradles his unconscious body close to his chest and dramatically confesses his everlasting love, vowing to never leave ren's side and to never stop spreading the tale of ren's 'grey long and strong' bits.

grian, upon witnessing this, realizes to his abject horror that he also has gay feelings for his manager.

he has no idea what to do with these feelings, and the crowd is still chanting fight, and he's experienced a lot of stress and unexpected emotions in the last five minutes, so he really can't be blamed when he turns on his heel and punches scar in the face.

scar, surprised but absolutely willing to go along with it, punches grian back, and they begin beating the shit out of each other in the most pathetic fist fight a mcdonalds parking lot has ever witnessed.

meanwhile, there's police cars and fire trucks with sirens on speeding down the road past them, and someone in the crowd realizes 'oh shit are those all going to the white castle?'

so the crowd immediately abandons the world's worst fight to go see what the hell has been going down in the white castle.

it takes a bit, but, with martyn still confessing his love and sobbing over ren's unconscious body, grian finally manages to land a lucky hit and knocks scar out, sending him crumpling to the ground. for the second time that day, grian realizes with horror what he's done, and frantically tries to run to get a medic only to trip over scar's unconscious body and knock himself out as well.

The headline of the local newspaper the next morning reads as follows:

...anyone wanna ask me about my last life mall au

#this is the new dumbest thing ive ever written #anyway thanks for asking. so sorry to inflict this on you #i had to cut so many scenes from this bc it was just too long so if there's any characters or scenes youre curious about hmu #more specifically: Ask Me About The White Castle Pipe Bomb C Plot #shoutout to lew for helping me plot this out. ill never forget u #third life #desert duo #renchanting #grian #gtws #renthedog #martyn inthelittlewood #cats words

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slamminslamminmcgill · 4 months

Text

I LITERALLY ONLY FINISHED EP 1 OF TLOU BEFORE WRITING THIS 😭 this man just has me going fucking insane rn i had to word vomit. spent my whole day on this bc im delulu

warning: homophobia and transphobia, trans fetishization, degradation/humiliation, slurs, vaginal sex, rough oral sex, NASTY daddy kink (like… borderline incest rp and ddlb maybe idk i just work here), hanky code, spit kink, breeding kink, gags, drug dealing (weed and opioids), reader is a sex worker/weed dealer with clit piercings

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/kitty, clit/(t-)dick

It started as a drug deal. A bad habit picked up after top surgery. A rumor that this guy sold opioids. A wink and a nod of the head from across the plaza during a hanging. A few hankies tucked in your jeans, two shades of blue on the right, light green and a flag on the left. You were never sure if he knew what they meant. You’d never had the chance to ask. Until today, you happened to have a favor to ask him.

“Look, you know I’m usually reliable, right? If you could just gimme more time, I promise I’ll get you an ounce on Monday, on me.” That was a pretty decent offer. You usually gave him a quarter of bud every trade, so an ounce for the same price was surely nothing to sneeze at.

“If you’re not ready today, you ain’t gettin’ shit today. Sorry, kid.” Fuck. Ah, well. At least he wasn’t mad at you. Plus, he always called you ‘kid’. It made sense, since he was definitely old enough to be your dad. Maybe he had a soft spot for you. And he certainly met the diagnostic criteria for DILF, but goddamnit, your gaydar couldn’t get a reading on him. You figured the best way to find out for sure would be to offer up your other goods and services and see if he takes the bait.

“Well, uh… maybe there’s…” You took a step closer to him, putting all your weight into your hips hoping they’d jump out at him, “…something else I can offer you?”

They didn’t. His stare never shifted from your face. “Like what?” Joel asked unclockably.

You took the tips of your hankies between your fingers and held them out to him, spreading your wings, a display for attracting mates not unlike that of a peacock. “You know what these mean?” You asked with a quirk in the brow and some devious faggotry in your voice.

Joel crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, a cocky, almost sort of try me type stance. “What do they mean?”

You named your hankies, one-by-one. Green, “This one means I’m a sex worker,” Trans, “This one means I have a pussy,” Navy, “This one means I get fucked,” and Cyan, “This one means I suck co-“

“I’m sorry, that one means what?” Joel interrupted, and pointed at your trans flag. He wasn’t just gonna let you gloss over that, just as you’d hoped.

“Oh, this one?” You pinched the tail of the trans flag and let the rest fall to your sides. A cheeky, cherubic, chaotic smile on your face as you taunted him. “It means I have a pussy. I’m trans.”

Joel’s face contorted in a few spasms of different emotions. A blink of shock, a blip of disgust, a second of intrigue, ‘til he landed on confusion. “So, uh…” His eyes crawled downwards to your crotch, then back up to you. “…how’s that work?”

Sure, you could give him the polite conversation explanation of the transmasculine identity, gender dysphoria and its treatments. Or, you could give the simplest and sexiest possible definition that would appeal to Schrödinger’s Straight Man over here. “Was born a girl, cut my tits off, shot up testosterone, and now I’m a man, but I kept my cunt.”

“Fuckin’ Christ…” He grunted, then cleared his throat, trying his damndest to remain calm and bloodbend his newfound erection away. Today was the wrong day for the light wash jeans. His growing bulge was the visual feedback of your influence on him.

A by-the-book boypussy sales pitch. Testing well with the focus group. You took another step with a sway of the hips, encroaching on his personal space but not penetrating it just yet. “Well? Whaddaya think?”

Joel bit his lip and said nothing for a moment. It seemed he was taking his time to figure out what exactly he did think about your revelation. “…Just 2 pills?”

“Just 2 pills…” You nodded, “Just enough to last me the weekend…” and took another step closer, then one more, until you could reach out and rub his bicep. “I’ll bump you up to an ounce, get it to you on Monday…” Your curious fingers started to trail down his arms and over to his delightfully soft dad-bod tummy. “And I’ll show you a good time today… Show you something you’ve never seen before…”

To say you were coming on pretty strong would be a massive understatement. And, hell, touching him? You were coming on like you had a death wish. Your hand slid downward, down to the heat he was packing in his pants, and stroking his rifle in your game of tactile Russian Roulette.

You loaded the chamber…

“All for just two little pills. So?”

Spun the barrel…

“What do you say?”

And pulled the trigger.

“Please, Daddy?”

And with those two whorish words, he snapped. Joel grabbed you by the wrist and slammed you into the brick wall behind him. You gasped in shock and winced in pain. It happened so fast, you barely had any time to think about the mistake you’d just made, but before you could choke out an I’m sorry, his lips were on yours. You moaned into the kiss and he snarled into it, slobbering all over each other in a fit of lust.

“Bratty little fuckin’ queer. So you’re saying you have a cunt, huh, boy? No bullshit?” Joel sneered as he shoved his hand between your legs. He grabbed your crotch and squeezed it tight, delighted to find no bulge, nothing in his way but a few layers of clothing. “Ooh, damn, kiddo, guess you’re right. Ain’t you fuckin’ special…” He let your wrist fall so he could grab your jaw. “Open,” he commanded, and your lips obliged. He spat into your open mouth, and then his lips were back on you.

Your hands scrambled for purchase on his back, eventually clutching his hair and his shirt for lifelines. The second you’d laid eyes on this guy, you knew he’d be a good fuck, and you couldn’t believe your luck. That monumental gamble you took just now had won you the jackpot, and now it was time to bask in your victory.

Joel grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you out of the kiss. “You want your fuckin’ pills, cuntboy?”

“Yeees…” That was why you originally came to him, yes, but now you wanted a whole lot more.

“You want those fuckin’ pills?”

“Yeees, yes, I wan-em…”

“Say please.”

“Pleeease…”

“Please, what?”

“Pleeease, Daddyyy… P-Please, Daddy, I wan- I wan’ the pills…”

“You gonna suck your Daddy’s cock for ‘em?”

“Y-Yeees, Daddyyy…”

“So do it.”

Joel dropped you and let you stumble onto your knees in front of him. You rocked back and forth impatiently as he undid his belt and fished his cock out of his jeans. As you suspected, it was massive, flushed an angry shade of red, and throbbing painfully. He gave it a tantalizing stroke, peeling back the foreskin and pulling it taut on the rebound. You licked your lips at the precum leaking from its slit, waiting for his instruction.

“Open,” He demanded once more. You acquiesced, opening your mouth wide enough for him to stuff his cock in your throat. He let out a deep, husky, growl as he slid down your airway. “Yeahhh, that’s it… That’s it, kiddo…”

Even in your dickdrunk, cockgagged haze, you could guess what was coming next. In preparation, you braced yourself with your hands on his hips, and relaxed your throat as best you could for him to fuck it. Turns out, your intuition was right.

“Fuck, yeah, fuckin’… Fuckin’ choke on it, whore… Choke on Daddy’s cock.” He grunted, grabbed your hair, and held you still while he thrusted into your mouth unforgivably. Tears, snot, and drool were running down your face in no time, and Joel was loving it. “Aw, look at that, yeah, good boy…”

You whined reflexively at the praise, accidentally sucking some spit into your windpipe and choking you in a less sexy and more dangerous manner than intended. Your eyes bulged open and you slapped his thigh twice, tapping out. Thankfully, he got the hint and let you go.

You coughed up the spit and smacked your own chest to clear your airway. “Sorry… Wrong pipe…”

“Take your time.” Joel replied, “Not try’na kill ya.”

Once you could regulate your breathing and you were sure you weren’t at risk of death by blowjob, you got back to work, at your own pace this time. You had the chance to explore him. Stroking and squeezing his shaft and his sack, fluttering your tongue underneath his tip, licking long stripes from the balls to the head. Less force, but no less intensity.

“Ngh, little faggot sure knows his way around a cock, don’t he?” Joel snickered and ruffled your hair. “So good at this, I would’a never believed you don’t got one yourself.”

True, you may not have been blessed with a cock attached to you, but you’d gotten plenty inside you. Not exactly your hometown, but familiar terrain nonetheless. When you felt like you could, you swallowed his length whole, swiping your tongue along his balls as you gagged. Joel threw his head back and moaned into the air, and then, you rode him with your throat again.

“Fu-u-uck, oh, shit, yeah… Yeah, you suck Daddy’s cock… Suck your old man’s cock for pills, and you’ll get ‘em, son... You’ll get ‘em, you fuckin’ junkie.”

You’d honestly forgotten this was about pills. You just got so caught up in the love of the sport, it had totally slipped your mind. Though dangling the carrot of oxies in front of your spit-drenched face was as good an incentive as any, and despite the burning in your windpipe, you sucked him with more power, more speed, more emotion, and more determination. You could taste victory leaking and throbbing on your tongue.

“F-Fuck… I-… I can’t…” Joel’s face was a picture of overwhelming pleasure. He had to pull you off. His wet, pulsating cock popped out of your mouth, and he huffed and puffed wiping sweat from his brow. “As much as I’d like to dump a load in your stomach…” He nudged his boot in between your legs, right up against your burning cunt. “I need to see your specialty, first.” He extended a hand to help you off your knees, then when you stood, hugged you to him and spanked each of your ass cheeks, jiggling them both as he gave his next order. “Take off your pants and bend over. Let Daddy see that pretty kitty of yours.”

You giggled, a goofy, stupid slutty smile on your face, and nodded. “Hehehe, okay… Okay…” You unbuckled your pants and let your jeans drop to the dirt. You stepped out of them and kicked them aside. You turned 90 degrees, put your hands on the brick wall, and stuck your ass out to Joel. He took his place behind you, grabbed your ass, and spread you open to take a peek at your holes. You shivered as the cool breeze ran over your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, I can’t even remember the last time I saw a cunt like this…” Two of his fingers traced your slit then spread your lips, exposing yourself even more to him. He chuckled when he saw your dick piercing. “‘Specially not one with these fancy hood ornaments.” He couldn’t resist the urge to tug on the jewelry.

Naturally, your knees buckled beneath you and you slid down the wall. “A-Ah!” You squeaked, “F-Fuck! S-Sen-Sensitive!” You tried to warn him, but really you were showing off your weak point with the conspicuousness of a video game boss fight.

“Oh, yeah?” Joel scoffed and supplemented it with a smack on the ass. You could feel him kneel down behind you, and he said, “Good.”

And then his lips were on your t-dick and sucking it like a leech.

You had to scream, bad, but it was broad fucking daylight and FEDRA could show up at any second. Instead, you bit down on your hand, sinking all the energy into your teeth as your body collapsed in on itself. Before long, your cunt was dripping down into his mouth, so much so, that there was an audible splash when his lips let you go.

“Christ, you’re a mess. Gonna ruin my fuckin jeans, ‘f I don’t take ‘em off.” Joel stood up and out of his own pants then tossed them beside yours. You heard some more rustling of clothing, felt a swipe up your pussy, then a tap on your lips with wet fingertips. “Open,” he instructed yet again.

You opened your mouth to lick and suck at his fingers, or so you thought. Instead, they pulled away and gagged you with one of your own hankies. Judging purely by the texture, you deduced that it was the trans flag. You relaxed and let him tie the gag more comfortably.

“There.” Joel said, patting you on the ass affirmatively. “Now I don’t gotta worry ‘bout you bein’ a fuckin’ screamer.” Two strong hands took your hips and lined him up with his target. You could feel his head prodding, but not breaching your hole. “Ready?”

You bit down on the gag and nodded feverishly at him. He poked your hole once, then twice, then started to push in and ohmyfuckinggodhe’shugeimeanyouknewthatalreadybutfuckitfeelsbetterthanyouthoughtitwould.

Without the ability to articulate any of those words, you whimpered through the gag and clawed at the wall like a cat trying to get in the bathroom.

“Biiig stretch, kiddo, that’s it…” Joel groaned, “That’s a good boy… Daddy’s almost in…”

Almost in? What the fuck did he mean by-ohshitthatswhatthefuckhemeantbyalmostin… He was so fucking thick that the stretch nearly burned, and long enough to feel like he was excavating your pussy to make room for himself. It was mind-numbing how big he was. He took up not only all the space in your cunt but in your brain as well. You’d never had someone dig so fucking deep.

“There you go, nice and full.” He leaned down to kiss your neck and pin your wrists together above your head. “Daddy’s perfect little cocksleeve…”

He withdrew his hips, practically taking your cunt with him on the way out since it refused to let go, and then speared his cock back into you. His thrust was a shockwave that rocked through your whole body. You let out a garbled moan into the spit-drenched fabric each time he did it. Eventually, he had a steady tempo going.

“Nghhh, so fucking tight… Real fuckin’ tight for a whore. And you’re fuckin’ soaked…” He gave your ass another swat, then stopped moving for a moment. “C’mon, slut, fuck yourself back on your Daddy’s dick. Ride your Daddy’s dick, now-yeahhh, that’s it…” He purred as you started to bounce your ass on him. For a little extra encouragement, he reached out to pet your hair. And for some guidance and a little extra oomph, he slammed his hips forward in time with yours, making his cock hit you twice as hard. “That’s a good boy…”

It was unbelievable, almost intolerable how good he felt. You almost couldn’t bear the thought of fucking any of your regular clients ever again. This was a Flowers for Algernon-type dicking, the absolute pinnacle of nasty sex for just a little while, and you’ll spend the rest of your sex life downhill from here. You’d like to hope that wouldn’t be the case, but none of the other dick you’d gotten in the past could even compare.

And it all stemmed from asking for a front on some oxies.

Joel reminded you of that when he said, “Next time you’re needing a front, I’ll-ngh… I’ll make you work for it, whore… Take you home and fuck you in the ass instead… Let you scream as loud as you need to… Let that little pussy weep for me and it’s gettin’ nothin’… You want some painkillers, then you gon’ hurt for ‘em, son…”

Honestly, the idea of a ‘next time’ had you excited regardless of what hole he wanted to bust open. If you were lucky, maybe it’d be out of mutual enjoyment rather than an exchange. Soon, he struck that special spot inside you, that inner button that has you seeing stars and screaming obscenities into the flag gag. Your hands balled into fists and pounded at the wall. It was getting to be too much to bear. Of course, with your flag in the way, your cries of Fuck! Fuck! I’m gonna come! sounded as, “Auck! Auck! Ah gah-ah cah!”

Luckily, Joel spoke fluent slut. “You’re gonna cum? Gonna cum for your daddy?” He knotted his fingers in your hair and yanked you up against his chest. He shoved you both forward until you hit brick, and without an inch of space for you to squirm, he rutted into you relentlessly. “Then do it, slut. Cum on your daddy’s cock. Daddy wants to feel his little man cum all over him.”

God, how could a sentence be so nurturing and so nasty at the same time? So sweet and yet so fucking sick? Regardless of Sigmund Freud screaming ‘I told you so’ somewhere in your head, you came buckets, splashing Joel’s thighs with pussy juice on his every thrust. Your legs gave out around the fourth or fifth gush, and Joel had to hold you up for him to finish.

“Fuck, yeah, keep coming, keep coming, baby, Daddy’s close…” Joel groaned. Every word he said grew more vile and more primal than the last. His only need was to breed. “Daddy’s gonna knock you up, son… Gonna dump some brothers and sisters into ya… ‘N’ you’re gonna fuckin’ take it… Ngh, gonna take my fuckin’ load in ya ‘cause you’re a little cumdump pussyboy whore… ‘S what you’re meant for-shit… Shit!”

He squeezed your body tight and growled into your ear. Hot spurts of his cum flooded your battered cunt. On any other occasion, you’d cringe at some rando calling his load your siblings, but it just felt so good. You couldn’t give less of a fuck what he called it. And it’s not like he was your actual father. He was committing to the bit, a bit that had you mewing and sobbing with pleasure and repressed emotion, but that was a problem for your therapist later.

The world went still as you both came down from orbit. The rest of the QZ didn’t exist in that moment. It was just you and your “daddy”, a man twice your age that you trade drugs with and who just busted a nut in you. Honestly, still a better father figure than most. Closest thing to a dad you had for damn sure.

You felt that paternal vibe from him as he kissed the side of your neck. “You okay, little guy?” Joel asked tenderly. He untied the gag and tossed the flag by your jeans, letting you answer him.

“Mm… Mhm… I’m okay…” You stuttered, still counting on his grip to keep you standing.

“Good boy.” A few quick pecks to your neck and he slipped out, a few drops of his kids pooling in the dirt below you. “Now get dressed. I got shit to do.” He demanded with a final slap on your ass.

You stumbled over to your pants, leaning onto the wall to guide yourself. Even after dressing himself, Joel got to them first, and held them out for you to step into.

“Yeah, there you go, kid. You’re okay.” He cooed, and then clapped you on the shoulders to get your attention. Your head snapped up to see him reach into his pocket and pull out a plastic bag wrapped in tinfoil. He fished out two white pills and gave them to you, just as you agreed to.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it,” You gave him a shy smile, feeling grateful for the front and the frenzied faux-father-son fucking he just bestowed upon you. “Oh, and, uh… I… I had a good time, s-so if you ever wanna-“

“I’ll see you Monday, kid.”

#i am UNWELL #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #tlou x reader #tlou smut #what the FUCK do i tag this #dd/lb #daddy k!nk #slurs

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queenpiranhadon · 3 days

Note

Hey hey

I wanted to request a dad aizawa x singer daughter :))

She is his only and biological daughter and wanted since she was little to become a singer and musician but never told Aizawa becase she thought he would told her to become a hero, and one day he finds her singing and playing an dificult instrumen.

Thankss

A/N: HIII IM SORRY THIS MIGHT BE KINDA BAD BC I HAVENT HAD A HEART TO HEART WITH MY DAD IN A WHILE LOLLL Here's my masterlist!

Warning(s): reader uses she/her pronouns, slight cursing, inaccurate Japanese translations lol, violin terms bc I'm a violinist :), reader's biological mom is dead, Aizawa became a dad at 19 - he's like 34 in this jsyk, reader's 15-16 yrs old, mentions of being disowned, fluff, mentions of depression and death, Kae makes a really bad pun, hime means princess in Japanese

Pairing(s): Shota Aizawa x daughter f!reader (PLATONIC)

Link to the song in this fic~

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴍᴀᴛꜱᴜʀɪ ────•°•☁︎•°•────•

“Goddamnit!” you groan, as you fiddle with your violin. (LMAO PUN!! sorry)

Your fingers ached, as you tried to nail down the pizzicato run at the top of the page. However, your fingers refused to move with the fluency they used you, and you felt the calluses starting to develop on the surface of your fingertips.

Self-teaching yourself to play the violin was a pain in the ass, but you were determined to go to a performing arts school once you graduated junior high.

The only problem?

Your father was Shota Aizawa, underground pro hero Eraser Head, and was not only a pro, but also a teacher at UA High School- one of the top schools for pro heroes in training.

You loved your father to the ends of the earth, as he did you, considering your small family only consisted of the two of you, your mother having died during childbirth. Aizawa, only 19 at the time, struggled with the loss of his lover, but you helped him get through it.

You were his pride and joy, the perfect combination of his love and himself, his precious daughter.

Nothing you could do could make him hate you.

And you knew that, but your insecurities were bigger.

What if he wanted you to become a pro hero like him?

In all honesty, you didn’t see that future for yourself. It was an honorable job, one that you knew was very important, and a job many children wished to have in the future, and yet, that was never your dream.

Pro heroes went out every day, fighting with their lives on the line, patrols constantly, dealing with paparazzi, not to mention the

paperwork

It wasn’t that you weren’t ambitionless, no, certainly not, but it wasn’t something you found passion in.

But to be fair, if you were successful in your career path, there would sure be a lot of paparazzi either way.

You were set on following a path into the performing arts, but it was always a little disheartening whenever you heard your Uncle Hizashi or Auntie Nemuri go “Awww Y/N! You’re going to be an amazing pro hero when you’re older, so kind and so determined”

You knew they meant well, but still.

Sighing you set down your violin, gently setting it down in your case and safely securing you bow in before tucking it underneath your bed. That’s where most of your instrumental arsenal lived, all compact and tucked away, awaiting your every musical whim.

You worked tirelessly to earn enough money for each of your instruments for the past two years, combing through online marketplaces and sales to find decently priced quality instruments.

Grabbing your keyboard and setting it up, your fingers find their way to ivory keys that played a sequence you knew well.

The notes left your fingers immediately, music filling your bedroom walls as a stream of tunes flow like a waterfall, smooth and connected, and yet, somehow still intense in its own way.

Music is a form of communication, you always thought. The right notes paired together convey moods, thoughts, feelings. It always amazed you how something as simple as sequential pitches could convey something words never could.

Ai shika kanjitaku mo nai (I don't want to feel anything but love) you sang, letting yourself get lost in the music.

Mou nan no wakehedate mo na (There's no difference anymore)

Matomete kakatte kinasai (Please call all at once)

Ima nara subete uketomeru kara (I'll accept everything now)

You finish the song with a resounding chord, the room eerily quiet without any music flowing through it, until a slow clap breaks the silence.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You jump in surprise, scrambling away from the keyboard to see your father standing in the doorway of your room, the look on his face unreadable.

You turn bright red and feel your heart sink.

You never told your father about your dreams and aspirations for the future- what would be say now?

You steel yourself, taking in a deep breath.

Calm down, Y/N. He wouldn’t disown you because you don’t want to be a pro. And plus, it’s my life! I should have a say in what I want to do. You think to yourself.

“Dad, I don’t want to be a pro hero...” you mumble out, refusing to look at him. “I want to be a musician, or a singer! I really like music and it just...really makes me happy.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and you think with a sinking heart that he’s furious, but then a chuckle is heard, almost deafening in the silent room.

“Oh, thank god.” he exhales in relief, leaving you staring at him, dumbfounded.

“Y-You’re not mad...?” you ask, extremely confused.

“Oh no, of course not hime - don't even think that. I'm so sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me anything. ” he says, and you’re put at ease. “Everyday, pro heroes go through pain and hardships to try to save the people of this world.”

He sighs “Many pros lose their sanity and fall into an abyss of depression and despair because it’s too much for them. “he looks at you, his eyes genuine and sincere. “I don’t want that life for you.”

You hug him, and his arms wrap around you comfortingly.

“I love you dad.”

“I love you too, hime.”

Then he pulls away with a sly grin on his face. “So, you gonna show me what you’ve been working on?”

Your face flushes and you shove his arm playfully.

“Dad!”

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littlerequiem · 10 months

Text

— enchanted ˚⁎⁺ levi ackerman x reader

content — A Howl's Moving Castle inspired one-shot featuring Wizard Levi and a Violin Maker Reader. No real warnings, just some fluff about first encounters, Levi's POV (wc: 1.1k)

The rhythmic sound of coins being deposited into the till ceases.

Levi looks up as you finish recording the transaction of his payment in a notebook, a magical quill transcribing your thoughts directly onto the paper. Despite the help, you remain concentrated on your task, creases forming between your brows.

Levi studies you.

You are as he last remembers, but different.

Your essence is the same, but your strength is yet to be discovered.

And you are more modest than he remembers. You wear a simple straw hat, which doesn't have any woven details nor ribbons to adorn it.

All things considered, it is a rather plain hat. But perhaps its most offensive transgression is the fact that it is worn by someone as special as you.

Oh yes, Levi wasn’t sure when he spotted you in the crowds in the bustling town of Market Chipping, but now, he is certain of it.

It’s you.

And someone of your caliber?

You deserve the finest silk hats.

You deserve to be far away from a step-sister who mistreats you and takes advantage of your skills as an artisan.

You deserve to open your own shop, in a town you choose for yourself.

You just deserve more.

“I hope you enjoy your violin, Sir,” you say to him, tearing him out of his observations. Your voice is low and collected, as though you are afraid to draw attention to yourself.

You hand him a package—the violin he just bought—wrapped carefully in a leather-bound box. It is one of the finest instruments Levi has ever seen, but that you're the one who crafted it makes it priceless.

Levi says nothing as he takes his new purchase in his two hands. He tucks it under one arm and continues to stare at you.

Behind the counter, trinkets float around the different violins on display, jewels of all colors gleaming and reflecting a myriad of colors on your skin. It is a beautiful and delicate sight, and Levi secretly wonders how you would look surrounded by more colors.

At Levi’s silence, you follow his gaze and catch what he is staring at.

“Oh, those?” you let out, a timid smile creeping up on your lips. You reach out into the air, and various gems hover around your fingertips, like metal attracted to a magnet. “These are enchanted gemstones. We sell them to musicians looking for a muse. Our local Witch has charmed them to float around like this. Catchy, isn’t it?”

As you finish explaining your story, you pluck one stone that’s swirling above you. You turn and offer it to him, opening your palm.

It’s a pink stone, etched with sharp corners and glistening surfaces.

“It is said that each stone brings a different kind of luck to its owner,” you explain, a gleam of light reflecting onto your cheeks as you twirl the stone around. “This one’s a rose quartz. It’s meant to promise long lasting love.”

Levi's lips twitch at the sight of the stone.

Long lasting love, huh?

Of course, Levi recognizes the pink gem—he recognized it the moment he walked into the shop. It is the same stone that you wore as a necklace in his past when you first saved him.

Despite this, he still finds himself asking you: “Why hand me this one?”

Levi still doesn’t retrieve the gem from your hand, allowing you to finish your sales pitch.

You blink, your eyes flickering to him. Your expression is riddled with uncertainty, as if you didn’t expect Levi would be interested in what you had to say.

You swallow a heavy breath, your hand faltering.

“D’you know what? I don’t understand it myself. It just… felt right. Isn’t that strange?” You bite your bottom lip nervously. “Here, you keep it—it’s on the house.”

You bring your hand closer to his own, offering him the stone.

But Levi waves a hand in the air to refuse.

“No,” Levi answers coolly. “This isn’t a charity.”

He sees you frown, appearing taken aback.

Levi gestures to the stone still in your hand. “But I would like to buy it.”

A victorious grin creeps on your lips, as though you didn’t believe your speech might lead to this turn of events. You nod, looking oddly satisfied with yourself.

“Alright then,” you hum. You tell him the price of the stone and he hands you the change. Before handing him his new possession, you give him a curious stare. “What name should I put on both receipts?”

He stills.

“Levi Ackerman,” he answers, studying you carefully to gauge your reaction.

You look up at him. Recognition flashes on your face and you appear startled. Afraid, perhaps.

“Oh.” There’s a tremor to your voice that wasn’t there before. “Are you… the Levi Ackerman? Humanity’s Strongest Wizard?”

Levi crosses his arms over his chest. The term Humanity Strongest was first coined many years ago, when he was still an apprentice and his mastery of magic was deemed extraordinary.

He hates the title.

“Fucking pretentious, isn’t it?” Levi comments, the muscles on his face tensing.

You seem to relax upon hearing Levi's response, the same smile ghosting your face. “Well, it is a bit much. Couldn’t settle for a title with less… flair?”

“Believe me, I would have loved to,” Levi mutters.

The corner of your mouth lift upwards. “I suppose Humanity’s Okay-est Wizard doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, huh?”

Levi shrugs. “I think I would settle for just Levi, if I could,” he confesses.

Levi wants to say that he’d settle for you calling him like that, but he refrains himself. That would be way too forward of him and way too creepy of a thing to hear from someone you don’t even know.

But Levi knows you.

(He’s known you for many years.)

For him, to hear his name on your lips would be as natural as the wind blowing through the valley of this town.

There’s a gleam in your eyes now, the beginning of a fire Levi recognizes. “Alright, just Levi. Tell me, do you believe in the properties of stones?”

Levi clicks his tongue in a way that it hisses through his teeth, amusement and disbelief blending on his face.

“Not really.” Levi gazes at you thoughtfully. “But maybe one day.”

You give him a curious look and place the gem into his palm. The contact of your fingertips against his skin sizzles.

Levi pockets the stone, burning the memory of you in his mind. He’ll gift you the necklace one day, and you'll both see that the properties of the stone are true.

But before that, your own story has to start.

See you soon, Violin Maker.

— Masterlist

#levi fanfiction #levi x reader #levi ackerman #aot levi #levi x oc #howl's moving castle #levi x you #levi x y/n #attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #captain levi #ao3 fanfic #attack on titan fanfiction #aot #flo's oneshots #flo is writing . . .

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princess-ibri · 7 months

Text

Darkside Disney Princesses: Tiana

Guys, I'm so sorry I meant to write out a whole thing for Tiana too cuz I love her (heck yeah, Lousiana gals) but Real Life threw another wrench my way and atm I'm too tired to do writing, so this also might be the last Darkside Disney Princess :(

But my basic idea was that instead of Charlotte taking her aside when she trips at the party after hearing she doesn't get the restaurant after all, Charlotte is distracted by the faux Prince Naveeen and so Dr. Facilier, seeing a desperate soul and never one to pass up an opportunity for a deal, swoops in, takes Tiana aside and starts laying out his whole sales pitch.

And Tiana is angry and tired and feeling humilated enough to make a deal. Hard work hasn't seemed to get her anything but emptiness and disappointed in the end, maybe it is ok for her to use an easy out. Just once.

She doesn't outright wish for the other buyer to die of course, she doesn't want that. She just wants them to be unable to outbide her on the property.

But voodoo dolls are just so convenient for the good doctor.

And so then, of course, she's in his pocket. The guilt over inadvertently causing a man's death and then benefiting from it, is ripe stuff for blackmail, plus once you make one deal, it's so easy to make another amd another whenever things start to look prickly. Plenty of people in Louisiana arn't happy about a black woman running a major business, and are willing to cause trouble in all sorts of ways.

And having some untraceable trouble come back their way is just so much faster--and satisfying--then trying to fight back clean.

Of course its not all bumping off bigots and bad critics. The good doctor knows so many well connected clients who'd be willing to help the restaurant out in less magical but equally prosperous ways--in exchange for some favors here and there, some permanent table seats shall we say? Use of a backroom or account book here or there.

After a while, it just becomes more expident to have the good doctor on the premises, a permanent background fixture at the increasingly high-end restaurant, with its increasingly shady bunch of wealthysharing his skills with so many of Tiana's willing patrons.

Between his front there and his puppet prince Laurence splashing his now orphaned wife's cash towards him whenever he needs, Dr Facilier's doing more than alright for himself. At this rate, with all the souls he's collecting, he'll be paying off his debts in no time. What Lousiana (and Tiana herself) looks like with all this voodoo and increased shady dealings...well, thankfully, that's just the Darkside verse's problem...

#disney #my art #darkside disney princesses #darkside disney princess #dark Tiana #princess tiana #patf #princess and the frog #(oh and Naveen is captured again and stuck in a jar somewhere :s )#dr facilier #disney villains #spooky season #halloween #darkside disney

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theminecraftbee · 4 months

Note

I have a sales pitch for your folklore animals!

Gem as the wolf: cunning, often representative of death, normally endears itself to its prey in some fashion [ex. Tricking Little Red Riding Hood by dressing up as her grandmother], meant to be feared and defeated, but always gets you in the end

Pearl as the Bear: the bear is often the muscle in stories, something that is overtly feared, but still tends to fall to the trickery of animals like the coyote or the fox. [Ex. Losing its tail in a frozen lake because of the fox]

Regardless, very interested to see what you've got brewing 👁️‍🗨️

oh those are GOOD ONES actually I really like those for them… yeah I may switch gem to wolf you’re RIGHT………. ohhh I’m really thinking now…..

anyway AS I SAID WE’LL SEE IF IT GOES ANYWHERE I JUST HAVE. IDEAS.

#answered #silverskye13 #also to be fair death also has another symbol in this one. don’t worry about it though

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bethanysnow · 4 months

Text

In Y/N's defense

In dedication to some of the greatest writers I know.

@kaciidubs @forlix @moonjxsung @moonlightndaydreams @skzms @j-oneproduces @dreaming-medium @candlewaxandp0lar0ids @cbini @mykoreanlove @dreamescapeswriting @1-800-shedevil @j-0ne25 @sanakimohara @hyungszn @hyunsvngs @itshannjisung @channieandhisgoonsquad @7ndipity @sweetracha @queen-in-the-shadows

If you go to the website Archive of our Own, or Tumblr, Wattpad, or TikTok and type in Y/N you will be greeted by stories of all sizes, shapes, colours, and tones. Rich worlds created on coffee breaks, breakfast tables, and 3 am visits from a muse. Illustrious worlds to hold you close, warm your hands in the cold reality winter. Permafrost on your heart will melt eventually Y/n.

Because you as a person so complex and great are Y/N they are you, you are them, you in tandem find yourself encased in the trappings and sorrows of the other hand holding yours. The story. The characters and people you call beloved! Calling your name- that’s what it's about right? Your name? Y/N? This is about you! Darling! Let me carry your burden a little longer. Dishevel the skin that coils and folds, the one that binds. The things you carry let them go.

For the world is a dangerous place...

let the authors and scribes of your phone, computer, or tablet if you must give you the sword to seal away the darkness- at least for today, for an hour or two. For the next five minutes.

These tomes break spines better than any best-seller, it holds out fruit and asks you to taste. For freedom is in oranges and pomegranates and whisps of an answer you don’t know yet till part 13.

In defense of Y/N she holds the suspension of disbelief in the rafters and tugs you on stage for the spotlight that can safely be yours. To experience lifetimes of happiness and sorrow and intimate acts beyond comprehension... He is sorry if you do not find him realistic. They aren’t meant to be.

For the main character is you, your plight is theirs, hers, his, all of it in the palm of your hand. Their hand, Y/N doesn’t mind to shelf those thoughts you keep hidden in back rooms, in crawl spaces, they let you play with the ichor of your soul and dissect it, shine a light through it, see if you can heal the wounds.

Only if you allow them to.

Read. This is not a bargaining chip or a sales pitch, there is no bill on the way out.

This is a pillar of culture. Literature in its best forms is transformative, makes you reflect, and heals the parts of yourself you didn’t know were broken.

In Y/N’s defense, you are real and they are not, but the emotions you feel reading great works are. The love you feel is real. The tears shed, the hiding under the blankets, that’s real.

Things don’t need to be realistic to be real.

So is Y/N.

+=+

I kept seeing posts disparaging X Reader or Y/N fiction and it bothers me so much. We as a community must hold steadfast in this storm for our art, our release is just as great and important as anyone else. Do not let them tell you differently. Do not let them sway you. You are brilliant as stars do shine and laughter is had.

You are loved.

You are beautiful.

You are needed here in this community.

Make no mistake about it. I love you so much.

#works by me #poetry #x reader #plus size reader #fanfic #writer #writers on tumblr #skz x reader #bts x reader #stray kids x reader

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feralbutfluffy · 9 months

Text

Crowley | 1941.

A good night. Ridiculous amount of reciprocal rescuing going on.

He’d gone in first of course, saving Aziraphale from nazi-bullet discorporation, but Aziraphale had been close behind with his miracle to keep them safe from the rerouted bomb, and Crowley had thankfully had the foresight to save Aziraphale’s precious books.

And the way Aziraphale had looked at him - really looked at him - when he handed him that bag of dusty old books; a completely stunned expression, like… like… Well. Anyway. Crowley had felt something twist tight in his chest.

Then, in the Bentley, Aziraphale had thanked him again in his own way.

There must be something I can do for you, in return?

And he couldn’t possibly have meant it the way it sounded, but Crowley had heard the implied proposition and he'd gripped the steering wheel far too tight and been grateful to the burning city around them for hiding the flush that crept up his neck.

And then, of course, that whole mess with Aziraphale's magic act. The miracle blocker. The real fear of discorporating his best friend. The sheer relief of not having done so, and then Furfur’s threat, and Aziraphale saving the day with truly astonishing sleight of hand the likes of which he hadn’t managed before or since.

And then dinner, and then wine, and then toasting to shades of grey, and then more wine…

And long past midnight then, drunker than they'd been in ages, staring at the ceiling, lying on the floor with their feet far apart and their heads close together like the hands on a clock. Aziraphale was talking nonsense about some new invention he had heard about called a ballpoint pen , and Crowley was doing his level best to focus on what he was saying, but the alcohol smudged his thoughts, making them hazy and warm and ephemeral, and when it came down to it he found he didn't really care about ballpoint pens. He only cared about how content he felt, lying on the hard floor, listening to the familiar cadence of his friend's voice.

Aziraphale shifted slightly to emphasise something and his absurd cloud of hair brushed Crowley's temple. He was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the angel’s proximity. He shifted his head slightly, away from Aziraphale, and tried to focus on the words.

“It’s not actually for sale yet. But. Rumour is it'll be the next Big Thing.”

“A pen,” said Crowley dubiously.

“Yes! A pen!”

Aziraphale moved his head closer to Crowley’s and his hair brushed his temple again, soft and distracting and irritating. Aziraphale was still speaking, but Crowley could hear nothing but a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

Tinnitus, probably.

He twisted his head away, only to feel an unexpected jolt as Aziraphale swatted at his chest with the back of his hand, asking him something. Crowley looked down his nose at the hand still on his chest, fingers curled slightly, languid, content. He froze, his body becoming so absolutely still that it was a struggle just to pull in air, and all he could think of was ‘ There must be something I can do for you, in return?’ And maybe he hadn't imagined it. Maybe there had been something there. But probably not. He turned his eyes away from the hand on his chest and stared straight ahead.

He forced himself to exhale.

He could feel Aziraphale looking at him, expecting an answer to whatever he’d said, and Crowley wished he could say something mildly amusing but he hadn't heard the question and frankly it was all he could do to keep his eyes fixed on the ceiling and focus on breathing in and out.

And Aziraphale noticed. Naturally. “Are you listening to me?”

“Not really.” Crowley sighed. Might as well be honest.

“It’s going to replace quills! ”

“Alright,” said Crowley, and tried to remember the last time he’d written down anything longer than his signature. He sidled a glance at Aziraphale, who looked quite distressed. He’d never been great with new developments. He was worrying at his lip, the back of his hand still absent-mindedly resting on Crowley’s chest.

Crowley returned his gaze to the safety of the ceiling.

“How about this, angel; if I ever see anyone carrying around one of these ballpoint pens, - which is not a given, might not even ever be a thing - but if I do… ink explosion! Little demonic miracle ink explosion. Every time.”

He felt the hand leave his chest. Aziraphale flipped over, dragged himself up on his elbows and shuffled closer on his forearms until his face eclipsed Crowley’s view. He smiled all crooked and sweet and drunk and heavy-lidded and said, "You really are a good demon " in the same way one might say, "You really are a good dog " and Crowley thought that if he had a tail it would have wagged against his will.

"Well, actually," continued Aziraphale, frowning slightly, "not a good demon, really. In fact you're actually, you're actually… I think you might be too good to be a good demon, Crowley."

"Shut up," said Crowley, not sounding half as annoyed as he’d intended.

"I'm serious! I don't think you’ve the heart for it. Except maybe tempting. You're very good at that." He somehow managed to sound both proud and disapproving.

Crowley made a non-committal sound.

“I think what you are, my friend, is a very good not-very-good demon,” Aziraphale pronounced.

And then Aziraphale had tipped forward and given him a peck on the lips.

It was a wine-drunk, closed-mouthed peck thoughtlessly delivered, but it might as well have been a lightning bolt. Crowley’s entire body flushed hot. He closed his eyes and willed himself not to react; given the tremendous amount of wine they'd managed to put away, he doubted the angel knew what he was doing in general, never mind what he was doing to Crowley in particular.

Aziraphale gurgled a bewildered laugh as if he had surprised himself, and idly patted Crowley’s head, and then he didn’t take his hand away, and Crowley could feel the faint tug as Aziraphale rubbed a lock of hair between his fingertips. Crowley opened one eye. Aziraphale was looking at the top of his head with a lopsided smile. He opened the other eye and watched him warily.

“Your hair's silky,” he sighed. “Didn’… I didn’t know. Never touched you. Thousands of years and never!”

Crowley swallowed hard and said nothing.

“‘S nice, ‘s lovely,” said Aziraphale. “Very nice.” He finally pulled his hand away.

Thank fuck, thought Crowley, because his self-restraint was hanging by a thread and he was pretty sure he was all out of miracles.

Aziraphale leaned over him again, swaying slightly. “You alright? You’ve gone awfully quiet.”

Crowley thought it was probably past time to sober up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Didn’t want to move from this spot. Couldn’t bring himself to end the night.

“I’m fine.” He muttered, although the slurring rather ruined the effect. “Don’t touch it, you’ll ruin it.”

“Oh, much too late,” Aziraphale said affectionately, eyeing his tousled hair. “Don’ worry, still looks quite dashing in a- in a roguish way. Don't be cross.”

Crowley's heart was hammering in his chest so hard it was a wonder Aziraphale couldn't hear it. He wondered if he was being tested.

“I’m not cross.”

“You sound cross.”

Aziraphale blinked lazily, dipped his head, and planted another drunken kiss on the corner of Crowley's tight line of a mouth.

“There!” Aziraphale said. “Isn't that what humans do? Kiss it better?”

He was definitely being tested.

Aziraphale’s hand was up again, fingers threading through the hair at Crowley’s temples.

“‘S alright, don’t worry. I’ll, I’ll fix it-”

With phenomenal restraint, Crowley wrapped his fingers tight around Aziraphale’s wrist and glared at him.

“Stop.” The word came out a low growl.

Aziraphale smiled lazily. “You’re being silly.”

“ Aziraphale .”

Aziraphale shifted slightly and used his free hand to trace the serpent above Crowley’s jawline. Crowley shuddered involuntarily, Aziraphale smirked - smirked! - at him, and with that the last strand of self-control that was still in Crowley’s possession vanished completely.

He made a noise that could only be described as a hiss, and then he was rearing up and pulling Aziraphale to him, catching his lips with an open mouth, rocking into him and kissing him with a hunger stoked over thousands and thousands of years. It was desperate and he was shaking and Aziraphale’s mouth was soft and warm and his hand was tugging at his hair and he was being pulled closer and Crowley had never- wasn’t sure if- couldn’t even think and then suddenly Aziraphale was-

Aziraphale was frozen in his arms. Crowley stopped to glance at the angel and pulled away the moment he saw his face. He looked terrified . Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s wrist, drawing in ragged breaths of frustrated desire, swallowing it down in gulps.

Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbows and stared at Crowley, who scrambled back until his shoulders hit the bookshelf.

“What are you doing ?” Aziraphale sounded offended, which stung.

“What are you doing? You kissed me!”

“I did not kiss you! I gave you a friendly peck ! That’s not the same thing at all!”

The only sound was their harsh breathing and the ticking of the clock. They stared at each other, both looking a little outraged, both looking more than a little wounded. Crowley’s shoulders slumped.

“Ah. Ngk. Look… Sorry, misread things, I think.” It actually hurt to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Demonic nature, and all that. Won’t happen again.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were enormous. He was looking at Crowley as if he had turned himself into the serpent he had always known him to be, and Crowley resisted the urge to look down and check that he still had limbs.

“You- you were trying to tempt me!”

“Tempt-? What? No! ”

An awkward silence stretched between them and Crowley wished they could wind things back, fill the silence with more nonsense about ballpoint pens, but that had hurt , that accusation, because surely Aziraphale knew him, knew that wasn't-, knew he wouldn’t-

“Alright.” Aziraphale dipped his head in a resolute little nod.

“Alright?”

“Yes. Prob'ly too much wine. I’m going to sober up.”

“Sure. Yes. Course. Me too.”

They each rid their bodies of the alcohol and Crowley suddenly felt appallingly, horrifically sober. He had never been less glad of a clear head. “I should go.”

“You don't have to…” Aziraphale said, trailing off, and Crowley knew he was just being polite, that he had just, in a matter of seconds, cratered his oldest and only true friendship.

If it had been a test, he had failed.

He got to his feet and headed for the door.

"See you around, Aziraphale," he said. He grabbed his glasses, slid them on, and resolutely ignored the burning in the back of his eyes.

He didn't look back.

********************************************

Chapter 22 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably on Ao3

#good omens fanfic #crowley #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #crowley and aziraphale #ineffable idiots #ineffable #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #good omens #good omens 1941 #ineffable divorce #azcrow #vavoom #good omens crowley #good omens flashback #ineffable husbands fic #ineffable husbands

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