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whalesforhands · 1 year ago

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swallow your doubt (gojo x reader x geto) pt.1

next masterlist

warnings: ao3 is down and i’m losing myself; i have a clear bias but i like them equally i swear; gojo

In more ways than one, Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru completed each other.

Darkness and light.

Black and white.

Yin and yang.

What they had for each other was more than a feeling, more than a simple friendship. It transcended the meaning of the much too simple word of ‘like”, or ‘love’.

It was always, always so much more. What one was, so was the other. What one could, so could they.

In other words, they were made just for each other.

But, why, oh, why? Why do you long for what couldn’t, shouldn’t be yours?

Your lingering gaze on Geto whenever he gently placed his hand on your waist to move you to the side whenever he needed to pass by you.

“Please excuse me…” He would whisper into your ear, the dull, calming scent of lavender filling your nostrils whenever he pressed himself close to you for that brief moment.

Your stunned stare at Gojo whenever he would unceremoniously shove one of his many treats into your mouth. Sometimes even purposely leaving his sugar-coated fingers in your mouth to perhaps spite you. His grin a little too wide when you obediently chewed, his pale fingers reaching to pull at one of your cheeks and cooing before leaving.

It was wrong. So wrong. Yet, your heart ached, yearned for them.

You craved them.

But how do you fit in what has already been completed?

How do you trace the calluses that mar Ge- Suguru’s hands as he watched you so?

How do you count the stars reflected within Satoru’s eyes as you both gazed up at the night sky above?

How could you continue to live with such guilt, such pining, such anguish?

Your hands shook as you watched the pair shove and tease each other, their forms slowly disappearing into the distance, with Shoko watching with a lazy grin on her face as she leaned against your dazed form.

A hot summer afternoon, a warm bench and a cute girl to relax with. Everything Shoko needed to kick back and chill, all she was missing was an ice cold drink from the vending machine. Should she get one with you?

She watched as your eyes glazed over, your breaths growing a little shorter, your hands moving to hug yourself a little tighter than usual.

“Hey.” She shook you gently.

No response.

You must be really deep in thought. It wasn’t rare to see you lose yourself to your creative little head. Wasn’t rare to see you dazed over in your imagination and giving Shoko free reign over you for a little while as she played with your fingers or twirled your hair.

She let out a hum, debating whether or not to interrupt your little internal debate, watching your pretty eyes shine before she caught a glimpse of the troublesome duo making their way over. With gifts in hand, no less.

“Yo! Feeling hot?” Gojo greeted as he tossed a can of cold soda over to Shoko, the girl catching it with ease and an easy grin as she felt the coolness of the can against her warm skin.

“And for the other lady… Tada! Your favourite chocolate milk! Fresh from the vending machine!” The grandiose speech went unheard even as the white-haired menace dangled the drink in front of you, waiting for your response in order to tease you.

No response.

Gojo leaned down to be eye level with you, sunglasses tilted down onto his nose bridge as glittering blue eyes stared into your empty ones. Ah, you were having another of your moments.

“Satoru! Don’t run off with the drinks I bought!” Another male voice made itself known before Gojo was roughly shoved to the side, a whine escaping the white-haired sorcerer’s lips as he absorbed the shove, nearly falling over as Geto moved to snatch your drink from him.

He gave one glance at you, and another to Shoko.

The brunette shrugged, “I bet she’s having fun in there.” Opening her can, she leaned back into the backrest and chugged. “You could try to get her out though. You succeed the most.”

“That’s not true! Suguru and I have a 50/50 split on that!”

“More like 70/30. She doesn’t even respond to you half the time.” A pause. “And why does my soda taste weird?”

Their continued banter went unheard by the raven haired sorcerer as he moved to sit beside you on the 2/3 filled bench.

No response.

He gently tucked a strand of stray hair away from your face.

No response.

He pressed the still cold carton of milk to your cheek. Watching with a fond smile as you slowly started to come back. A hand reached up to relish in the chill of the drink, to relish in the feel of his hand pressed close to you.

“Suguru.” You quietly greeted, lips slowly pulling into a cute smile as your eyes moved to meet his.

“Welcome back.” Your hand was now placed over his in another greeting, gently patting it before you moved to take the packet from him with gratitude.

(He wished you let yourself linger your touch on him longer.)

Suguru chuckled, watching as you pulled the plastic straw out and began to drink. “I should be telling you that.”

Suguru moved himself to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with you, relaxing in your presence as he searched his pocket for his now lukewarm soda. He’s still content anyway.

“And why is everyone on the bench but me?! No fair! Move over!”

His last statement was directed at Shoko. Instead of pressing Ieiri inward and sitting at the other end of the bench, the long legged menace chose to squeeze himself in-between Shoko and yourself, pushing you closer to Suguru as he fought off Shoko’s smacks and yells of discontent.

Finally settled uncomfortably with all of you on the bench, his long arms stretched out over the backrest, one arm even daringly resting over your shoulders as he crossed his legs and took in the afternoon sunshine.

“Lovely day we’re having!”

masterlist next

Notes:

Shoko still finds it hard to believe you aren’t taking any of the hints the two boys have been giving you. No matter, she’ll let you figure it out yourself as she continues to lowkey flirt with you.

You remain oblivious to the two’s very obvious flirting but, you’re not immune to Shoko’s charm at all.

Shoko, despite not showing it much here has made you flustered way more than Gojo or Geto ever have.

#geto x reader x gojo #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #whalewrites #getou suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #dyf au

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murdrdocs · 1 year ago

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ethan landry is so fall boyfriend :(

holding hands when walking to and from class, usually a meetup then a split with the difference in majors. he wears one of his jackets that you love to steal, not nearly thick enough for new york weather but for now it works. you make a comment about him needing to get a puffer jacket soon and he sighs, thinking about the expense, until he looks over at you, smiles, and suggests making it a gift exchange sort of thing. because even though you'll still end up spending the money, at least it goes to each other.

spending so much time in the library studying together. or your favorite little study spots that you find around campus or the city when the stuffiness of the library becomes too overwhelming. trying new coffee orders each time, because ethan needs to get away from the energy drinks and he found himself sipping your sweet drinks more often than not so you just convince him to start trying some with you. he always picks them up, while you pick up the snacks, and you two meet and exchange. playlists are exchanged, too, usually a bit of a mystery element to it so you both can look up when a delightfully unexpected song starts playing, a grin on your lips to replace the frown previously directed to the difficult material.

movie nights are a given. cuddled up in one of your dorm rooms, tucked in the corner of the twin XL bed that has more blankets and pillows on it than it usually does. sharing popcorn that almost burned, and candy bars from the vending machine downstairs while you argue over what movie to watch (either a 'halloween' rewatch, or watching a newer indie film). and after the horror elements of the autumnal based films have mushed your brains up, you watch a disney channel original, usually 'halloweentown', until you fall asleep. these days are especially better when it's raining, and it usually becomes a group element sort of thing then, overnights spent at the carpenter-bailey residence while sharing a couple of pizzas and a few beers courtesy of sam.

outfits that accidentally match, mostly because you have a habit of stealing ethan's clothes and he has a habit of stealing your style. earth tones, sneakers, scarfs when it gets colder, new jackets, and a cup of hot chocolate or an insanely sweet coffee. kisses taste like the sweets of the season, makeouts taste like the treats, hugs are cold then warm, and silences are appreciated more than ever as a time to let your brains rest from all of the cramming.

#ethansworld!#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry #scream 6 #celeste writes scream #scream 6 x reader #scream 6 fluff

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atlantisplus · 1 year ago

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https://flokii.com/blogs/view/98098/boost-your-office-experience-with-top-quality-atlantis-vending-machine

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nanamis-bigtie · 1 month ago

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autumnal walk

↬ ino x afab!reader | lucid love ↬ lucid love masterlist // jjk masterlist // ao3 version

cw: smut, reader has a vagina (no excessive body descriptions), piv sex, creampie, exhibitionism, public sex (and yes, you get caught), outdoor sex, sub & bottom reader summary: wearing nothing but a trench coat, you're strolling around the park with your boyfriend word count: 2k a/n: i'm sorry for the long break in posting 😭 i promise i'll catch up as soon as possible. i quite enjoyed writing more pervy approach to ino, i already put a few more kinky ideas with him on a list to eventually try 👀 tag list: @thesacredfanfics

Your boyfriend stares at you intently through his reflection in the window of the vending machine.

The image is dim and a bit blurred, a street lantern behind your backs diffusing it with its orange light, but you can feel its weight, nevertheless. You're scanned inside out, stripped with the gaze only, the trench coat you're wearing already but a laughable barrier. There's nothing underneath, not even underwear, and even if your own reflection appears properly dressed and modest, Takuma's eyes skim along your figure right along his favorite lines, his precision making you feel uneasy in the most delicious, lust-soaked way.

For him, you're completely naked, and you trust him more than your own eyes.

You tremble, yourself not sure if in excitement, anxiety, or from the cold, inexorably soaking through the light coat. Under other circumstances, it would be perfect for a serene fall evening and a lazy walk through the park, but with nothing else on you bar your boots, you're a one, thin step away from the area where the conditions become uncomfortable. Maybe you're already there but the heat blowing you apart plays into your hands and helps you power through. It's not like it's your first rodeo either, it's become one of your favorite outdoor dates, and you've been impatiently looking forward to them through warm months, when attire necessary for this kind of a play would only raise suspicions instead of blending with surroundings.

"Need a warmup?" Takuma approaches even closer, now nearly glued to your back. As his hips slot flush against your ass, you can feel his own excitement poking at you with great interest. Like your innocent trench coat, his baggy clothes hide all the dirty secrets away from sticky eyes, reserving the delicious bulge for you only.

He's still far from full mast, any extra 'fold' in his pants with ease passing as loose fabric, but he leaves you no doubt that the stop for your favorite instant hot chocolate is the last he allows.

"Maybe a little," your voice is calm and smooth and beaming with a smile, but on the inside you're burning. His arms wrapped around you, warm breath skimming along the side of your jaw and neck, Takuma pours gallons of gasoline into this crazy flame. You're grateful that he's cradling you from behind, you can focus on your drink and on keeping your face straight without worrying about your legs just giving in.

God only knows how badly your knees shake. And there's still quite a distance to do until you reach 'your' bench.

Hot chocolate fixes your morale. It's overly sweet, artificial and warm, exactly as you need right now. You cradle it in your hands right after taking a sip, and take a turn, now facing Takuma and pleasing your eye with his real appearance. From up close, he looks much younger than he is—and so, so innocent, unfitting such a pervert, a man who's fucked you already in dozens of public spaces in your neighborhood.

Well, you're no better, with all that eagerness between wide open legs and nails digging in his back when he's taking you a meter or two away from unsuspecting bystanders.

"Is it good?" Takuma leans close, feigning a kiss, his lips brush against yours when he adds the real question: "Are you as wet as I think you are?"

"Yeah." Sweetness on your tongue and wet trails on the inner side of your thighs don't need any second thoughts.

"Don't make me check." His hand slots below your hip, having your heart skip a beat, but he only pulls you close to steal a sip from the cup.

He stains your nose with chocolate a second later, such an innocent peck, befitting the middle of the park and company of an elderly couple enjoying their drinks on a bench nearby.

Holding hands, you slowly head towards your spot. Even if lanterns are already on, it's still naturally bright and it's not hard to pass someone on the pavement. The area gradually thins down though, the more you venture into the maze of alleys, the less you run across joggers, dog owners on their last walk of the day, and unlucky salarymen heading home from the overtime, taking a shortcut to the railway station on the other side of park. By the time you finally make it there, the voices and steps you can still hear are just a distant hum.

It's a small playground, an older type, rather secluded even during the rush hours, as the majority of kids prefer the fancy one closer to the entrance from the side of the main street. Here, with only two lanterns supporting the fading sunset, the night has already settled, providing you two comfortable shadows. 'Your' bench is handily placed at the back, almost hidden among the shrubs. They give more privacy during summer, but so early in the fall they still have enough leaves to shield you in case of unwanted company.

There's still a good third of chocolate left in the cup but you toss it into the trash can without a second thought. You crash into each other, nearly tripping over your legs as you take the last few steps together, entangled in limbs and kisses. The bench is hard and cold, uncomfortable with only one fine layer protecting you from the wood, but soon you find a better seat: Takuma pulls you into his lap and hastily unbuttons your coat.

As always, he's far from patient, his hunger for you too great to waste any second now. He trails wet, open-mouthed kisses from your neck to your chest, sucks and teases your nipples until they're perky and sensitive, and a simple brush of his thumb against one of them has you mewling, your voice echoing around the empty playground.

"Shhh," he guides your face to slot against the crook of his neck and keeps you there, until you collect yourself. "We don't want to be caught, don't we?"

The way he scolds you, more like an older brother than a lover, would have you soaking through your undies, if only you were wearing them. Instead, a trail of your arousal falls straight into his lap; he inhales sharply through clenched teeth, himself on the brink of a moan, and collects your moisture with a thumb. A simple swipe across your slit makes your thighs shake but you keep your position, just enough to paw him through his pants and to fight with the zipper. Takuma doesn't help you, instead busying himself with marking your neck and chest. He supports you only with one arm pulled around your back, just to maintain the balance and veneer of an appropriate situation.

We're just a young couple making out on a secluded bench, please don't mind us and just pass by, there's really nothing to look at.

There are indeed people somewhere in the direction you're facing, little you care now whether they're approaching or not. Your senses are full of your boyfriend, of his taste and smell, of his teeth nipping teasingly around your nipples and his strong arm enveloping you close. He lets out a little groan, muffled by your skin, when you finally peel his clothes out of your way and stroke his cock. He's decently hard already and reaches his prime fast, with just a few strokes.

"You have cold hands," he complains and bites you harder , trying to leave a decent hickey, but lacking time and patience to do so. "C'mere, we need to warm you up."

You're guided to wrap your arms around him and lean against his chest as Takuma takes over. His fingers aren't any better, when he slides them between your folds, you have to hide your face against his neck again to stifle the whine. He laughs and uses your own heat to defeat the unexpected temperature play; they're still cool when he slots them deep in you and you grind against them, desperate for more once you've found the long-awaited friction.

"I have something better to ride, you know?" He teases but doesn't allow you to shift your weight and slide off his hand. He stretches you patiently as he listens for possible intruders, his gaze focused over your shoulders. Once you're connected, it will be harder to play innocent, so he awaits a perfect moment, until then deaf to your barely held back cries. Meanwhile, his dick twitches in inattention against your abdomen, precum threatening to stain the skirts of your coat and betraying the real thoughts racing through his head.

He's better at hiding it but he's as pumped as you, maybe even more so with the way his moves change once he's sure no one is going to interrupt you any soon.

"Alright," he breathes into your ear and bites on its shell, until he forces you to make a louder noise. "It's clear. I'm yours."

Seated comfortably and leaning to the back, Takuma spreads his legs to give you the best base. Hooking your calves comfortably under his knees, you straighten and, hands rested against his chest, lift yourself right above his cock. He holds it for you, the other hand sneaking under your coat to grab your hip, and you lose no time, impaling yourself with one smooth move.

Takuma throws his head back, his beanie sliding off his forehead a little and his Adam's apple bobbing as the tries to swallow a groan, "Fuck. How are you always so tight?"

You take one last look around and roll your coat up to your ass, for freedom of movement. Cool air sneaks against your wet thighs and your union when you test the angle and lift yourself a little, so you quickly slot yourself back down, deciding a shallow rhythm is better for today. Takuma's chest shakes with laughter as he helps you make up for the lost inches with upwards thrusts.

"You wanted to do it outside," he teases, his voice husky. "We could go somewhere where wind wouldn't get in our way."

Rolling your eyes, you silence him with a deep kiss. He lets you have the upper hand here but from the shape of his lips you can tell he's still smiling.

Luckily, with the tension building up for hours as you were strolling, naked under your coat, through the city, you don't need much for your pleasure to reach satisfying levels. Being so close, you relentlessly rub your clit against his pubes, a great addition to the race for orgasm against the everlasting risk of getting caught. Just the thought of a possibility sends a new dose of sparks through your nerves, your hole clenching around his cock.

Takuma groans, face half-buried in the crook of your neck, as always following you close. He's right behind when you're reaching your peak, fingers digging sharp into your hip and his thrusts stuttering—just to suddenly freeze.

"Fuck, Y/N, there's— Wait." He tries to force you still, his eyes fixed on something—someone—behind your back.

It's too late for you to stop. If someone is staring, then it's only better; the thought of being watched finally drags you towards the high and you cream around Takuma's cock, a moan sneaking past your hand plastered to your mouth.

You hear someone's steps quickly withdrawing and your boyfriend cursing under his breath right before he fills you up. His hold eases, he lets you slop against him as you both catch your breath—but there's no time for a proper rest, not when you've already been caught once. Your hearts racing and limbs trembling, you both adjust your clothes in hurry.

Before you leave the scene of the crime, you reach for a pocket for tissue, wanting to clean yourself at least a little, but Takuma's hand suddenly catches yours midway.

"Nu-uh, you're walking back home like this," he catches your bottom lip between teeth, nibbling playfully before he leans in for a short but heated kiss. "Let it be a punishment for making me cum in front of that guy."

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eff4freddie · 8 months ago

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Touch | Part Three

Of bar fights and ice blocks

Words: 4.3

Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four

Warnings: slow burn to the point we might just be embers, eventual smut but next chapter I promise, teeny bit of blood, quite a lot of masculine nonsense, Joel is hot but remains grumpy

When you were in eighth grade you fell madly in love with Johnny Hocart. He was a theatre kid, wildly charismatic for a 14 year old boy, and smart enough to recognise that you had a crush on him and use you for it. You’d signed up to help out with the school play that year, Johnny being the lead in Death of a Salesman the only motivation for your sudden interest in the arts, and he turned you into his roadie almost immediately. You used your own money to fetch him chocolate from the vending machine, you carried his water bottle around behind him on the off chance he might be thirsty. The afternoon you applied his eyeliner for him, on tippy toes and terrified to topple over and take his eye out in the process, fuelled your first fumbled attempt at an orgasm (you wouldn’t get it right until eleventh grade, but you had fun figuring it out). He made you feel something heavy and relentless and heated in your chest, something that unfurled its wings and beat against your rib cage when he walked into view. The little shit let you dote on him hand and foot right up until the wrap party when he stuck his hand up Donna D’Marco’s skirt and spent the rest of the year bragging about it. You were crushed by it, the weight of the humiliation heavy on your shoulders, slumping you forward and folding you into yourself. You vowed to never forget it. But you had, until you met Joel.

Sitting in the mess hall you wondered what happened to Johnny Hocart on outbreak day. You liked the idea that he hadn’t died immediately, that he’d lived in fear for a few months before getting shot by a raider, or maybe that he’d been traded to a slaver and collapsed one day from exhaustion, from malnutrition. You hated to think of him as a clicker, because even though he was a dick no one deserved that, but at the same time you liked the kind of dramatic irony of him as a bloater, overblown as his ego had been.

You chewed your sandwich, one eye on the door, waiting for Marla and definitely not waiting for Joel. You thought instead about the clients you had booked in for the afternoon, and how you were going to finally sort out Peter Fletcher’s tennis elbow so that he could comfortably hold his rifle, and why didn’t they call it rifle elbow since that sounded so much cooler, and you considered all of this while you kept your head down, and very purposefully didn’t think about the hazel flecks in Joel’s eyes as he gazed up at you, one hand cupping and lifting his muscle while you stood square between his knees.

He’d been grumpy and dismissive, you reminded yourself, and the minute he’d felt some relief he had just up and left. You conveniently forgot the part where you had essentially ushered him out the door, suddenly keen to exorcise your living space of him. You weren’t even sure exactly what that was about, except that you had felt the first flutterings of a wing against your ribs, had recognised the feeling as something dangerous and done your best to quash it.

You were contemplating this when a shadow appeared at your table, and you startled.

‘Shit, sorry, just me,’ Ray said, and you craned your neck up to regard him. ‘Can I?’ he asked, pulling at the chair opposite you, and you nodded while you tried to calm your heart. You could see something was up.

‘You ok?’ you asked, when he was finished apologising.

‘Me and my stupid glorious brain,’ he said, and you were tempted not to let him go on any further. ‘I intercepted a message that read like it was raiders, something about a big stash, an old pharmacy that hadn’t been hit yet. Coordinates, too.’

‘That’s great,’ you said, watching his face carefully, studying the lines across his forehead, his furrowed brow, decoding Jackson’s best decoder. ‘It’s not great,’ you concluded.

‘They called in a bunch of patrols to go check it out,’ he said, and suddenly you imagined Joel on the back of a horse, leaning to the left to try and protect his right side, gun strapped to his back and his neck muscles straining under the ache of it. You grimaced. ‘Marla’s was one of them,’ Ray finished, oblivious to your sudden turmoil.

It was a poorly kept secret that Ray was in love with Marla. Poorly kept in that the only person who didn’t seem to know was her. You suspected Ray would have happily stayed put in Chicago were it not for Marla going arse over tit for the idea of living on a ranch. She had barely had to convince him to come with you both, such that he had offered to trade and borrow to get the supplies you’d need, parting with his mother’s wedding ring that he wore on a chain around his neck in the process. You weren’t even sure if Marla noticed, as it had been lost in the service of gaining three passable sleeping bags, and Marla had wrapped her arms around Ray’s neck and kissed behind his ear when he presented them to you, and you had seen in that moment that for Ray it had been enough.

You could tell Jackson hadn’t been what he expected, not least of all now having to share Marla with an entire town.

‘Ray, you did a good thing,’ you said, reaching out and putting your hand on his bicep. He nodded his head, slowly.

‘You heading to the Bison tonight?’ he asked, and you scrambled quickly to come up with an excuse.

‘I was going to check on Maria,’ you replied, grateful for your guilt reminding you that you’d still not caught up with her. ‘It’s been a while since I saw her, and she’s due soon-ish I think. I was going to take her some dinner.’

He looked at you, his mouth downturned and his brows saddled over his eyes, and you felt yourself retracting from his sadness, from his regret. Johnny Hocart had painted your face in similar colours.

‘Yeah, ok,’ you said. You tried hard not to show on your face that the idea was making your skeleton want to crawl out of your mouth and try its luck on the road. But you could see Ray was struggling, that he was bouncing his leg up and down under the table. ‘Marla’s a fighter,’ you said. He looked at you for a long moment, then nodded his head.

‘Bison. Tonight,’ he said, with finality.

You didn’t ask if he knew who else was going on the expedition. You reminded yourself you didn’t care, taking a big swig of water to drown the butterflies.

—

Propped up at a table off to the side, you had a clear view of the bar on your right and the door on your left. You were sitting with Ray and his friend that you didn’t know, and you were trying to participate in conversation but your guts were churning. As much as you wanted to stay in the moment, you couldn’t stop yourself scanning the crowd for threats. Someone smashed a glass over by the jukebox and you felt yourself startle, nearly knocking your own drink off the table. Over by the bar Chloe Bennett, owner of lumbar back problems and occasional sciatica, demonstrated how much her yelping laugh sounded like a woman being stabbed to death with her own stiletto, and you wanted very much to push your chair back and leg it, but Ray kept glancing at you to check you were ok, and his friend Simon seemed quite nice generally speaking, and if nothing else you might be able to drum up some more business out of him.

‘So you don’t charge anything?’ Simon was asking. Simon and Ray worked the radio together most days, Ray listening in to the white noise for any sign of covert communication, and Simon dutifully twisting the knobs beside him. Some part of you registered that he was conventionally attractive, and you wondered if the way he was leaning in to you as you chatted was what passed for flirting in an apocalypse, but also you were watching Ray scanning for Marla, trying to telepathically tell him it would be ok.

‘I mean, we don’t have money,’ you answered Simon.

‘You don’t barter then?’

‘I’m grateful to be here. My home is payment. My safety is payment.’

‘I don’t buy it,’ he said, and he was grinning and you knew that it was playful, but also you felt a wrinkle of frustration in the folds of your skin.

‘You don’t agree?’ Simon shrugged at you in response, and for a reason still not clear to you it made you want to slap him a little bit. You turned to Ray for help, but Ray was looking at the door, and when you looked too you saw Tommy and Joel had just walked in.

‘Fuck,’ Ray said, and you scanned his face for anxiety but found only awe. ‘They are so cool.’

Simon nodded in agreement, and you scoffed in surprise.

‘Are they?’ you asked, and your companions turned to you, confused, and Ray even slightly betrayed.

‘Tommy basically keeps this place going, him and Maria,’ Simon informed you as if this was news.

‘Peak Mama and Daddy Jackson,’ Ray chimed in.

‘Joel. He’s just…’ All three of you turned to watch him approach the bar, nodding to the bartender, who had started pouring him a whiskey the moment he walked in, and slid it over to him.

You weren’t sure how you wanted Simon to finish that sentence. Your eyes kept being drawn to Joel, the broadness of him, the salt and pepper in his hair in stark contrast to his strength, the power under his muscles and behind his eyes. You felt warm in your palms where you had held him, flexed your fingers to try and get the heat out.

You let the conversation move on without you, staring down at your drink, tracing the droplets of condensation first from the body of the glass and then down to the tabletop. If you hadn’t rushed him out would he have let you keep massaging him? Would you have peeled his shirt from his body and explored the planes of his skin? You wiped the water away before it could damage the wood.

‘They’re heading out tomorrow, first light,’ you heard Ray saying, and suddenly your attention snapped back to the present. ‘So I want to be on the radio early, before they go. See if we can find the signal again, make sure the raiders aren’t going in first.’

‘You said you thought they were further out,’ Simon pointed out. ‘That it was bouncing off the mountain.’

‘I know but we’re a day behind.’

‘That’s a lot of ground to cover.’

‘Not on horseback,’ Ray reasoned.

‘We don’t know if they have horses,’ Simon replied. He held his hands palm up on the table, in appeasement, you realised.

‘We don’t know that they don’t, either. We’re sending seven of our people out there…’ your stomach lurched at seven, and your eyes flicked again to Tommy and Joel, and you wondered if tonight was last drinks for them, not knowing if they would both make it back, a time for two brothers to come together before heading back into war. ‘…including Marla, and I just want to-‘

‘What does Marla have to do with it?’ Simon asked, and you decided then he was either an idiot or heartless, and neither option was preferable. You exhaled slowly through your teeth, and watched Ray for his reaction, and wondered if either of them would notice if you just slipped away into the crowd.

You watched Ray gather himself. ‘Marla is a good shot,’ he said, eventually.

You could feel Simon preparing to argue but suddenly there was yelling, actual yelling not imaginary traumatised-by-the-end-of-the-world yelling, and all three of you turned to the bar.

Jacob and another man you didn’t recognise were standing at the other end of the bar, pointing fingers at Joel and Tommy. Joel had already stepped around his little brother, squaring off with them, and you could see that his body was braced, a tightly wound spring in a flannel shirt and jeans. You picked your glass up off the table and cradled it to your chest, as if that would solve it.

You didn’t know Jacob. He was one of the men who had already decided he didn’t own muscles, or feel pain. You knew that he was younger than the men he was squaring off with, that he was full of bravado and empty of brains, the type to shoot first and think later, and it wasn’t lost on you that back in the day he would have made the type of cop that was the subject of several enquires and a few unflattering news items, who would have been shunted off to be the deputy of a shithole town that’s biggest crime wave was when a couple of cookbooks went missing from the local library, a town that he nevertheless tortured until he retired.

Jacob was currently yelling so hard spittle was flying across the bar, and you could make out the carotid artery along his red neck.

‘All well and good for you two,’ he was saying. ‘Sitting back while the real men go out and defend this town.’ Joel was moving forward towards him, despite Tommy pulling on his sleeve to bring him back, and everyone in the bar was now frozen, watching. Jacob continued, because he was as dumb as he was hateful. ‘Oh I’m on the fucking town council, that means I get to decide who lives and who dies without having to put my own arse on the line. Fuckin’ weak, pathetic-‘

‘Lower your voice,’ Joel said, completely calm and also utterly terrifying. Jacob laughed, actually laughed, in Joel’s face.

‘Fuck off old man,’ he spat, taking another step towards Joel, who wouldn’t back down. ‘You don’t get a say either, ridin your little brother’s dick all the way to retirement.’

‘It’s men and women,’ Joel continued, undeterred and still deathly calm. One afternoon on the road you’d come across a snake on the path, big and brown and poised with its head up, watching you. It had taken you ten minutes to back away from it, so sure it was about to lunge. Watching Joel now, inching forward towards Jacob, you had the same feeling. Jacob wasn’t following Joel, made too stupid by his misplaced entitlement, his anger and his impotent fury. ‘We are sending the real men and women to defend this town, and Tommy and I’ll be here to keep it safe while you’re gone.’

You exhaled for the first time all day, the tension you didn’t even know you were carrying with you suddenly releasing. But Jacob was more angry now, and Tommy was backing up Joel and squaring off too, and you felt the heat in the room ratchet up.

‘I’m having a baby, you fuck,’ Tommy said, and Joel raised his hand to calm him. Tommy immediately settled back behind his bigger brother.

‘Not to say we ain’t grateful,’ Joel continued, but Jacob had noticed that the whole bar was watching, that Joel was about to talk him out of an argument, that he was about to be alpha’d by a man twice his age. He took three steps forward toward Joel, who had already reached back to push Tommy out of the way, and Jacob’s arm was swinging just a fraction slower than Joel’s, who clocked the younger man hard in the jaw and sent him spinning, landing hard on the top of the bar and shattering glasses and bottles underneath him. He was only down for a second before he was back up and swinging, landing a blow on Joel’s eye socket before he and Tommy had him by the back of the collar. You realised you had stood up and had moved towards them only when you were close enough to hear Joel grunt ‘a fuckin bar fight, really? You that fuckin clichè?’

Jacob just grunted, his airway constricted by his shirt that Joel was now using as a vice, and even in the middle of the violence you could see he was careful not to compress harder than he needed to, holding him sturdy but without gripping so hard as to injure.

The four men headed for the door, Joel pushing Jacob through first and then following, using the momentum to swing the younger man out and down the stairs and into the dirt below. His friend rushed to him, pulling him up and away, and as you followed them out you heard Jacob spitting threats of his return. Joel was puffed, leant against the railing to catch his breath. He turned to his brother, checked on him, and then to you, where his eyebrows shot up and you realised he was seeing you only now. Your breath caught in your throat. You had no idea what you were doing there, either.

‘You’re hurt,’ you said after a moment, gesturing to his fist. You could see a scrape of blood pooling on the knuckle.

‘Ain’t broken,’ he said. Turning to Tommy he more or less ignored you. ‘You ok?’ he asked. Tommy nodded, before he also nodded to Joel’s fist.

‘Take him to ours,’ he said to you. ‘We got ice in the freezer. Time to work some more miracles.’

You were alarmed, pretty much constantly, but especially so when Tommy turned back to go inside.

‘You’re not coming?’ you asked, and you hated that your panic had carried through into your voice.

‘Gotta make it right here,’ he said, without turning around.

—

The walk to Maria’s was three minutes at most and still you would have flayed your own skin clean off not to have to do it. You could feel the wings now, beating hard against your rib cage, and you swallowed only to taste acid on the back of your tongue. Joel was silent, but it was the type of silence that belies being pissed off, a general curmudgeon-ing, that set you on edge.

You thought again back to your teacher. When the clients in pain, keep them talking.

‘How’s the shoulder?’ you asked, into the darkness in front of you instead of looking at Joel’s face.

‘Thought it wasn’t my shoulder,’ he said, and it took a second for you to realise he was teasing you, not goading. ‘S’ok, I hear it’s all connected,’ he pretend to console you, and you squawked out a surprised laugh, wondering if you’d ever, up until this moment, made a sound like that before.

At no point had you considered that Joel Miller could be funny. Now, though, you discovered you had even less of an idea of how to talk to him.

‘You’re not going out on the run?’ you asked, and you hoped not to sound too relieved, too hopeful.

‘Got things to look out for at home,’ he said, and you stayed quiet in the hope that he would keep talking. ‘Ellie and me, we had a rough time of it…she’s been quiet. Thought best to…’ he trailed off.

‘Maria said you went to Salt Lake?’ you asked, and because you were still unable to look at him you didn’t see him flinch. ‘Why did you have to go there?’ you continued on.

‘Didn’t realise Maria liked to gossip so much,’ he said, and you heard it then, the hardness of it.

You rushed to defend her. ‘I was just curious,’ you started, and Joel stopped you, stopped walking altogether. You turned back to him.

‘Dangerous thing,’ he said, and you wanted to tell him that you knew that, that you weren’t normally like that, that you were clever and you had survived this long because if it, but he was already turning up the path to Maria and Tommy’s place, and all you could do was trail behind him, like a fucking lap dog, worried he’d lock you out if you took too long to get inside.

From the couch Maria called for Tommy, and when Joel responded she pulled herself up to stand. You were surprised by how big she’d gotten, trying to remember the last time you’d seen a pregnant woman. Let alone a pregnant woman about to pop.

‘I know, I’m huge,’ she said, when she saw you staring and you snapped your eyes back to her face.

‘Radiant,’ you said, and she snorted.

‘Thank you for lying,’ she replied, and you felt the warmth of genuine affection between the two of you, thought for a moment of sunshine on your skin, of your sister.

‘Tommy said you had ice,’ Joel cut in, and Maria noticed Joel’s hand, her face hardening.

‘They started it,’ Joel said, and you nodded behind him to confirm that this was indeed true. You saw the suspicion in her eyes, the way she was careful with him, and you stepped forward, taking his elbow.

‘I’ll sort it,’ you said, smiling with what you hoped was confidence. Joel looked down at your hand on his arm, then up to your face, where you ignored his obvious indignation at being herded like a child. ‘On we go,’ you said, feeling like a deranged grade school teacher, trying to get her class of unruly six year olds through to 3 pm unscathed. You didn’t see the bemused look on Maria’s face as you pushed Joel down the hallway, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway.

Once again you found yourself crammed into a kitchen with Joel. Sitting him at the table you put some ice in a cloth then plopped down into the chair beside him and held out your hand. He stared at you, unmoving.

‘I can do this,’ he said, and you were tired then, having dealt with quite a lot of male bullshit in just the last two hours, and so you groaned and pulled his hand to you, holding him firm by the wrist lest he try and patriarchy his way out again.

‘I can do it better,’ you said simply, and he huffed out a laugh.

‘Now that I don’t deny,’ he said, and it was quiet, just barely muttered between the two of you, and when you looked up into his eyes you found that they were crinkled with something like amusement, something like affection.

You looked down, flexed his fingers for him, heard him hold his breath when you inspected the knuckle.

‘They teach you this in school, too?’ he asked, and you heard again that he was ribbing you. You decided it was a good sign.

‘No this is purely growing up with a daredevil older sister,’ you replied.

‘Family resemblance, then,’ he replied and you looked up at him sharply, angry for a second that he was calling you meek, that he was deriding you for a perfectly normal reaction to the collapse of society, but you saw nothing on his face that belied any aggression. If anything, you saw warmth.

‘This sore?’ you asked, just gently wresting a fingertip on the bone. His hands were big, with thick and powerful fingers, and you were doing your absolute best not to consider what they could do to you, if you let them.

‘S’alright,’ he murmured. For a moment you saw outside yourself, watched you hunched over inspecting the paw of a lion, a little mouse reaching in to extract a thorn.

‘Here?’ you said, hushed under the light of Maria’s kitchen. You pressed down slightly, on exactly the same spot, and heard his breath stutter. You realised the makeshift ice pack was too bulky to fit between his knuckles, so you opened it and took a block out, resolutely not looking up into his face.

‘Tell me if this is too cold,’ you said, holding the block between your fingers and running it gently over his skin.

‘Mmhmm,’ he hummed, gently. You kept the ice moving, your eyes watching his hand for any sign of a tremble, but he stayed resolute under your touch.

The heat of his skin started to melt it, cold water running down and snaking under his palm, between his fingers. It washed away the blood, so that you could see only scratches, surface abrasions, from where knuckle met jaw. You watched the pink of it, mixing with the water, little rivers of something precious, something Joel. You were aware only of your finger tips, the push of wings against your chest present but forgotten, as you witnessed him, his essence. As you gazed down on the thing that made him, that kept him, the life in his veins. As the block melted down to just a wafer, as it healed, sealed over the hurt, you lifted it to your mouth to taste it, wanting the iron and the tang of it, the sharpness of the cold mixed with the heat of him, of your open mouth.

You heard his breath hitch. Your eyes flew open, not having realised you’d closed them, and landed on his face, where you gasped when you saw the look of pure wanting, of pure desire, painted pink and red over his features. You dropped his hand in your panic, your face burning, your legs moving before your brain had even taken a moment to collect itself.

‘Thanks Maria I gotta go think Joel will be fine I hope you’re ok will drop some food around you’re the most beautiful pregnant lady I’ve ever seen take care bye’ you vomited, gathering your coat tight around your shoulders and wanting but not wanting, terrified but hoping, to hear footsteps down the hall behind you. You wrenched the door open, felt the welcome rush of cool on your face, already halfway down the porch before you heard it slam shut behind you.

You sprinted, shuffling over ice but not slowing, back to your home. As you went you followed the wall, wondering how it could have made you feel safe now that you were trapped behind it, wondering how you could possibly live with the snake poised to lunge at you, how you could outrun it when it had taken up home inside your belly, beside your breath.

Tag list (just learned what these are, lemme know if you want me to add you)

@orcasoul

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou

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raccoons-garbage-can · 2 months ago

Text

Day 8

Been back from uni pretty late today so today is a tired Luis day. He's holding a vending machine hot chocolate because that's what keeps me warm and sane... I love projecting

#tinyserratober #my art #luis serra #re4r #resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil fanart #art #digital art #tinyserraposting

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sannasruins · 4 months ago

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never enough

hitoshi shinso x reader

type: angst

warnings: abandonment/ghosting, disappointment, femmenine compliments but gn!reader

a/n: first post in 10 months, this is loosely based on a romance i had last year, it always sucks to be left behind, doesn't it?

word count: 2k

He left.

You weren’t enough for him, or maybe you were too much. You couldn’t help yourself though, it was adoration at first sight with his stark gaze and shockingly deep violet hair.

Maybe he never even liked you in the first place, because if he did, why would he do this?

It was a cold winter day when he approached you, frost creeped at the corner of windows, and small snowflakes drifted down from the dark grey sky. It was probably the coldest it had been that whole season.

Christmas was coming soon. In your college days that meant going out with friends and drinking parties, but now all your friends were dating or married, spending their day off with their loved one. Leaving you, a newly graduated office worker at a top 10 hero’s company, to come in on your day off so that you didn’t spend your night alone in a cold empty apartment.

That was where you first saw him, Hitoshi Shinso, in person at least. Of course you had heard of him, the brainwashing hero, the hero with a villain’s quirk.

You had seen him on TV, on newspapers, in magazines and on social media. Despite having only graduated 4 years prior and only recently advancing from sidekick to hero, he was rising through the hero ranks while being employed at another, bigger and more popular, hero’s company.

He had also come into the office on Christmas, though it wasn’t as sad when he did it, you thought to yourself, crime doesn’t stop for holidays. Your paperwork could have though.

Hitoshi noticed you when he walked into the small office space you occupied that you were occupying, making eye contact with you, before walking into the breakroom that was connected to the office. You felt heat rise from your shoulders, up your neck and into your cheeks, and you knew that your face must be brightly flushed.

But how could you have helped yourself, when those piercing purple eyes looked right into you, past what felt like every boarder you had up, past every lie you told yourself, and saw you. You felt exposed, and bare, in a way that not even nakedness could compare to.

You rationalized to yourself as you see his figure retreat into the breakroom, the door closing behind him, that it was just all in your mind, he had just glanced at you, that was all. You still couldn’t help but feel your heated face, sighing and putting your face in your hands for a moment before focusing back on your computer and work.

You heard the door to the breakroom open and close again, signaling that he had exited, but you decided to not look up, because your face had just started to cool down from the last time he looked at you with his pretty pretty face and his pretty pretty eyes.

So, you were surprised when something, a chip bag, was plopped down onto your desk Infront of you, with a small jump, you looked up at and saw that Hitoshi Shinsou had just placed a bag of chips from the vending machine in the breakroom on your desk.

“Its cold,” he murmured, and his voice was like velvet and melted chocolate to your ears, sweet and smooth and everything you ever needed. He leaned on the desk opposite you, “the heat isn’t on today, no one was supposed to come in.” he explained further.

You looked at him with a question on your face, it was cold in the office, that’s why you were wearing your coat and scarf still, but it didn’t explain why he had come over and why he had put a bag of chips on your desk.

“Eating helps keep you warm, replenishes your energy.” He answered your unasked question.

You nodded; your ears hot with a blush you thought he could for sure see all over your face.

“Thank you,” you grabbed the bag from in front of you and put it in one of your desk drawers, “I appreciate it Mister Hitoshi.”

He nodded at you, a small smile graced his lips, before he pushed himself off the desk, and left the room, leaving you in a face splitting smile the second you heard the door close behind him.

You squeezed your eyes shut and told yourself to breathe, to calm down, it couldn’t have meant that much, that it didn’t mean that much. And that just because he was so beautiful, heroic and it seemed kind to boot, that you couldn’t get a crush on him, he was just being a nice person, right?

It seemed like Hitoshi Shinsou wanted nothing more than to have you not be rational though.

After that Christmas day where he gifted you a bag of chips in a cold office, he began to be the places you were more often. Smiling at you as you passed each other in the hallway, asking you how your day was going.

It slowly became more, he soon started seeking you out at your desk, talking to you on his breaks when he wasn’t on patrol, it didn’t really matter if you were working, it wasn’t his company but he was still your superior, so he could do as he saw fit. That didn’t stop your coworkers from starting to whisper though.

Hitoshi Shinso would notice things on your desk, knick-nacks or books, and surprisingly to you, he was a fan of some of those things as well, and it felt almost like fate to you. Your similar hobbies, your taste in music, your taste in coffee, it was all so close to his, how could it not be meant to be?

It didn’t take long after his desk visits started for him to get your phone number, and the two of you would call, only on his schedule though, he was the busy hero who had to work odd hours, so it wasn’t surprising and quickly became normal for you to be awoken at 3 am from a call by him, asking to talk. It wasn’t his fault you were tired in the mornings and it started to affect your work, you didn’t mind if it meant you could spend time with him.

You finally one day, after getting home from the office, worked up the courage to ask him if he would like to hang out on his next night off, maybe to go out to the movies, to dinner, anything would be fine with you, as long as he was there. And to your pleasant surprise, he agreed, but then told you he had tonight off, and to give him your address, he would be there in 30 minutes.

You panicked, this amazingly beautiful man who you thought was so out of your league was coming over to your apartment? In 30 minutes? You weren’t ready, you looked frazzled and tried after a long day working, and your apartment was messy. How could you make both yourself and your apartment presentable in that little of time?

You texted him back, “okay, that sounds great! I live at XXX, apartment number XXX :).”

You rushed to pretty yourself up, putting on nicer clothes in comparison to the office clothes that he has only ever seen you in, and quickly tried to tidy your apartment.

You were shoving clothes and boxes into a closet when you heard the doorbell ring, and with one last push you got them in and quickly closed the door behind it before it could all come tumbling back out onto you. With a quick brush of your palms down your clothes to smooth out any wrinkles from your outfit, you went to the door excitedly.

There he was, the tall man with tired eyes, and he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. His socks didn’t match. It didn’t look like he was planning on going out with you tonight, but that’s okay, it wasn’t a date, you had asked him to hang out, not to go on a date, so its fine.

You invited him in, he complimented you.

“You look pretty tonight.” His voice was like honey and salve, soothing away all your mental pains, “you look really nice outside of those florescent office lights.”

He smiled at you, a dimple in one of his cheeks, and his tired eyes crinkled at the edges. Your heart melted. How could a man this perfect ever exist?

The two of you played board games that night, him beating you badly at all of them, all the while, smiling at you and telling you that you were lucky you were so pretty. You didn’t mind him insulting your intelligence like you would have when most people do it, all it did was make you bush and look down, because you were happy, he called you pretty.

He left that night with a parting hug, you had told him to get home safe and he thanked you for having you, and then pulled you into a hug. You were so startled you almost didn’t hug him back, but you gave him a quick squeeze before seeing him out the door and closing it behind him.

You were obsessed, he was all you could think about, your friends got tired over how often you would text them about him but you didn’t care because you were so happy that his attention was yours, that he had set his sights on you.

He came over to your apartment a few more times, and the two of you even started watching a tv show together, he had recommended it and told you he wanted to watch it with you.

He sat on your couch, and when you sat further away than where he wanted, he pulled you to him, and put his arm around your shoulder.

He smelt like cigarettes and it made your nose scrunch but you tried to not let it bother you too much, he was perfect in literally every way, and he liked you, he liked you enough to call you, to flirt with you, to cuddle with you on your couch and watch a tv show together. You could deal with a little cigarette smell.

And you started to get hopeful, hopeful for something more, that maybe you could join your college friends and by next Christmas, not be spending it alone but be spending it with a rising hero, someone so amazing had made time for you, had noticed you, thought you were pretty, beautiful, desirable.

He kissed you good bye when he left that night, just a quick peck, but it had you on cloud nine for the entire next day.

As quickly as his attention came, it left.

At first you tried to tell yourself that he is a pro hero, that he is busy, that he doesn’t always have time to text you, to call you. But the spaces in between texts grew longer and longer, hours turned to days, and days to weeks.

You were watching him slip between your fingers and no matter what you said, no matter what invitations you made, or witty jokes you told, he simply was non-responsive.

You didn’t see him at work anymore either, besides occasionally seeing a glance of him in the first-floor entrance, he never came to your branch of the building anymore. Those glances hurt so bad, but you couldn’t help but look, he was still so perfect, and you don’t know what you did wrong, no matter how hard you wracked your brain for an answer.

Your friends told you he used you, or at least tried to. And the whispers at work didn’t stop for quite a while, poor you, not too long ago you were going around telling everyone about how much you like him and how sweet he is. How could you never notice that he didn’t talk about you the same way.

You weren’t enough, and you were too much.

He didn’t like you.

And he left.

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