#I’m not holding a gun to your head and saying you should use one over the other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silkendress · 2 days ago

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Bitten Bullet

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-ˋˏ➛ Chapter 4: Jumping The Gun

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build

-ˋˏ➛ 8k Words

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Friends certainly didn’t hold each other like that.

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Read on AO3

Friends certainly didn’t hold each other like that.

You were sitting on your bed after pacing around incessantly with your towel still wrapped around you, having just finished your shower. Your head hung low in your hands. It’s rather early in the morning, you had just woken up a few minutes ago. The pastel blues of night shifting to day do little to calm your nerves.

His affection was plain, even your attempts at denial were so foolish that you stopped after the first try. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to have your feelings returned—but rather that you were scared.

You should be relieved, of course. Your tender feelings were finally reciprocated by someone for once. But you couldn’t help but be worried.

Worried. You always worried.

You worried that you would make a mistake, that maybe Simon was endeared with a version of you that didn’t exist, or you would get your heart broken. It was paradoxical; to crave affection so desperately to only be petrified when said affection was given.

You couldn’t help but agonize over it, you were already terrified of pushing him away, or smothering him, or—

The ring of your phone echoes sharply in your ears.

You didn’t even have to look to know it was Simon.

Your throat felt tight, your skin did too. You didn’t want to avoid him per se, it was just that you had no idea on how to talk to him after yesterday.

Doubts that were previously passing whispers were now a roaring cacophony. The contrast between your emotions were so harsh and disparate that it was actually beginning to feel draining.

Still, you didn’t want him to think his feelings weren’t reciprocated—in matter of fact, that very concern was what pushed you to answer the phone.

Simon says your name at the same moment you say ‘hello.’

You clamp your mouth shut, the burn in your cheeks only worsening.

There’s a moment of pause, perhaps he’s giving you a chance to speak first, perhaps he’s thinking—maybe it’s both.

Either way, it’s him that speaks again first. “I’m headin’ your way now.”

You don’t miss the subtle rasp in his voice, the sort of huskiness that was evidence he woke up around the same time as you did.

He to come see you as soon as possible. Your hand clutches desperately at your bedsheets.

“Okay.” It comes out strained. There’s a beat of silence that follows your reply.

You hear Simon softly breathe out on the other end, the sound heavy and stable. “Have you eaten yet?”

You’re hovering by your front door, peeking out one of the nearby windows to see when Simon arrives. Déjà vu.

You got dressed the instant you got off the phone with him. Your emotions had calmed somewhat—but that was more due to the fact you became numb to the whirlwind raging inside you rather than those feelings being quelled.

You see Simon’s car pull in to park after some time. You are already opening your front door.

You’re quick to lock it behind you and are even quicker to walk out to the car. You still haven’t looked him in the eye yet due to some irrational fear that if you did, he would see your thoughts written plain as day on your face.

The sound of his car door clicking open echoes in your head. You fail to resist the natural impulse to look in the direction of the noise.

It’s just Simon, as you have always seen him. You ridicule yourself for being so unnecessarily nervous.

He’s wearing a thicker jacket this time around, which was understandable; you were doing the same. It was nigh frigid today.

Interestingly, he takes his mask off once he sees you. You’re still getting used to seeing the entirety of his face. You can’t help the way your temperature increases when his features come back into view. You wonder if he took it off just because he wanted to or for you. Either way, you feel your heart dully ache. You watch his midnight eyes take you in.

You’re not sure what to say, you think you are supposed to say something, but you don’t know what. It felt rude to remain mute after yesterday night. You want to say something, you truly do.

You manage to eke out a small ‘hello,’ the sound grating your own ears. Simon regards you.

He stares at you just long enough for you to believe that maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, but then he nods. Your cheeks burn self-consciously regardless. In the back of your mind you worry over whether or not this small interaction had set the tone for the day.

Simon makes his way over to the passenger side of the car the moment you do.

You hear his boots come over and trail behind you. You can almost feel his presence at your back, on your heels, much closer than was necessary yet still not close enough for your yearning heart.

You expect him to reach his hand out to open the car door as he usually does. When no such thing occurs, you risk looking up at him.

He truly was towering, especially when standing so close.

Simon’s figure looms over you, his eyes unwavering. You swallow thickly, finding yourself incapable of breaking his gaze.

You feel his fingertip, worn and calloused, brush up slow and gentle against the side of your hand. He rubs a small circle there unabashedly, you feel your heart beat double. His sight never leaves you, it’s blatant. His gaze is searching, and once again you find yourself at a loss for what precisely.

“Forgot your gloves.” He murmurs, the low register of his voice making the hairs on the back of your neck stand.

“Oh, I…” Your mind goes blank. Maybe you could have said something witty about how hypocritical that was, considering he was barehanded, but wit never came naturally to you. Not to mention, you weren’t really in the most legible states of mind at the moment.

Simon simply stands there. He doesn’t take his hand away from yours, he doesn’t stop mapping out incoherent constellations on the far smaller surface of your hand with his fingertip. Your mind doesn’t get any more coherent.

“Get in the car. I’ll get ‘em.” Simon mumbles, a gentle authority lacing his voice that made your insides feel molten.

It is only when his hand leaves yours that you realize why he’s holding his palm out expectantly.

You give him your keys without much thought, and without any hesitation.

Perhaps if your mind wasn’t especially frazzled today, you would have insisted to get them yourself just out of courtesy, but you trusted Simon. You knew he wouldn’t go looking anywhere he wasn’t supposed to.

It is only after the keys are in his palm that he opens the passenger door for you.

He lingers by the car door until you’re seated and fully settled, then he closes it shut and goes walks back inside your home to retrieve your gloves.

You watch his broad back as he goes, observing the sureness of his step and his long strides. The denim of his jeans stretch around his thick thighs. It was a wholly innocent observation, but halfway through you remember yourself. You make yourself look away with no small amount of self-directed chastisement.

In your peripheral you see the movement of your front door opening and closing—Simon entering—and it is only then that you slump in your seat.

Trying to untangle your thoughts felt like a nigh impossible task at the moment. You still felt like you should say something, but you didn’t know what to say. Silence was always an option, but that didn’t feel right either.

So why couldn’t you open your mouth and fix your lips to say what you wanted?

You were scared. Confounding, considering Simon was in frequent rotation in the carousel of your thoughts ever since you met him.

Your heart ached. You wanted to talk about it, but you didn’t know how. You neverknew how, you always settled things in your own head, by yourself.

You never knew much of anything when it came to other people.

Simon was far more worldly than you, certainly had more life experience than you by virtue of him just having more years on this earth under his belt. Even on a practical level, you weren’t certain of the unspoken rules of being in a relationship.

You couldn’t shake the ounce of dread that welled up in the pit of your stomach the more you thought about it. Soon droplets of insecurity became a downpour, your mind going in a fruitless loop that left you more confounded and drained than you were before.

You actually jump when the driver’s side door opens.

You didn’t even realize that Simon came back already.

“Did you find them?” You blurt out, not wanting to acknowledge how you were so deep in thought that he surprised you.

When Simon gets inside and pulls his car door shut he hands you the gloves wordlessly.

“Thank you.” You mumble hastily, already putting them on your slightly shaky hands. Simon simply grunts. His dark eyes linger on you for just a breath longer than necessary. It was remarkable how disinterested yet intimidating his neutral expression was, even without the mask.

“Where were they?” You suddenly ask, sliding your hand into the other glove.

He stares at you, unblinking. “On the counter. In the kitchen.”

Neither of you say anything more, it’s long a long enough silence for one of you to do so, but nothing comes out. You get the thought that he’s interrogating you with his eyes, but dismiss it.

Simon’s eyes only tear away from you to look out the windshield to drive.

There was certainly some manner of static in the air.

You couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the mild rigidity in his shoulders or the subtle narrow to his eyes. Despite his outward demeanor being as it usually was, you couldn’t shake the feeling. It was a stark contrast to whatever enchantment came over you yesterday night.

You wondered if you were reading too much into how his eyes flicked over to you every now and then, or if there was a twinge of concern there.

Irregardless of the odd tension, you were still contented to be spending time with him. Simon must have thought the same, considering he was the one that not only told you he wanted to see you once again, but also offered to take you to breakfast.

Speaking of… “Thanks for taking me again.” You mumble sheepishly, so quiet that it would be forgiven if Simon didn’t understand you.

Simon doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“‘Course.” He eventually replies, voice gruff.

Simon didn’t seem like the sort of man to avoid conflict, or dance around something that was bothering him. Perhaps that was what truly bothered you. Perhaps that was where that odd tension was coming from.

You chew on your bottom lip, only speaking after giving it considerable thought.

“I…” It seems like your thinking was for naught, because the second you open your mouth your mind goes blank.

You catch Simon glance at you out the corner of his eye for a split second before reverting his attention back on the road. A burn trails up your neck and coils around your face.

‘Maybe I should just be honest.’ The calculated, well-thought out route didn’t work, after all.

“Yesterday. I-I’ve…Thought about it a lot.”

This piques Simon’s interest, you can tell by the way his index finger begins to slowly tap against his thigh in thought. If he wasn’t preoccupied with driving you were certain that he would have glanced at you.

“Yeah?” You nod meekly. Simon sees it in his peripheral.

“What about it?”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

You thought about his tattoos. You thought about the scar on his lip. You thought about how, in his own words, you never bothered him. You thought about his chest so close to yours you could feel his heartbeat. You thought of how simple it was for him to slip into your life. You thought of his lips brushing against your hairline. You thought of his lips against—

You blink rapidly when you realize Simon has pulled into an empty parking lot. Not of a restaurant, you note. He does so rather quickly, almost like it was a split decision he made.

He parks the car and kills the engine.

Simon remains almost eerily still, save for his chest rising and falling with steadying breaths.

It takes another second or two for him to speak. “If I overstepped, tell me.”

Your eyes go as wide as dinner plates.

It made sense in retrospect that Simon would mistake your nervousness as discomfort. You can’t help but mentally belittle yourself for not considering that as a possibility.

“No, no—you didn’t overstep at all.” You blurt out hastily.

Simon still isn’t looking at you. He’s thinking, perhaps. Either way, you keep opening your mouth.

“Yesterday, I…I really liked it. It’s all I could think about today.”

You continue, “You were all I could think about today.” Your voice trails off in a mumble, your heartbeat is thunderous, your cheeks scalding.

In your peripheral there is a moment where Simon’s expression goes gentle, if you blinked you would have missed it, because then it’s gone as quickly as it came.

The pauses between his answers aren’t too long as to be awkward, but just long enough for it to be noticeable. He’s thinking, for certain.

“What are we doing?” His voice is a steady, deep timbre, but there’s a looming intensity there. His voice is agonizingly flat, a practiced monotone that stripped away any hint to whatever he was truly feeling.

Despite that, in context he sounds almost frustrated, impatient—desperate for an answer. When you don’t respond immediately he finally locks eyes with you, unwavering.

You blink at him, and blink at him again.

He stares at you, and as the seconds add up there’s an anticipation that rises along with it. You can see him make an active effort to relax the tension his shoulders. There’s a weariness in his umber eyes that you don’t recall ever seeing before. It’s all too easy to imagine the thoughts going through his head, all some variation of—

He says your name, he’s fixed his voice to be as neutral as it could be at the moment. He takes another breath before going on.

“Listen. This isn’t just something fun for me. I’m not that sort of man.” And I never will be, is unspoken.

You hang onto his every word, he was giving you the smallest molecule of what could be considered vulnerability and you were giving him your full attention.

“I’m not the sort to fuck around, I’m too damn old to be playing at that.” Your mind did not yet fully comprehend the point he was getting to, but somewhere your subconscious must have—because you feel your heart squeeze in longing.

“This isn’t a game to me, or temporary.” It almost sounded like a warning, like he was giving you an out if needed.

You remain silent, because it wasn’t needed at all.

Simon’s brows are knitted harshly together, his lips thin and severe. This pause is far, far longer. So long in fact that for a moment you think he’s waiting for you to reply.

“I don’t want another man spending time with you like I have.” Your pulse stutters.

“I don’t want anyone else holding you. I don’t want anyone else holding me.” Your mouth feels dry.

You can’t shake the impression that he intended to say more—to admit more. But something—his mind, his tongue, him—wasn’t cooperating. Like the words he ended up with weren’t nearly eloquent enough to describe what he was feeling.

Simon runs a palm roughly over his face, his fingers not quite pinching the bridge of his nose but pressing against the side of it. “Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth.

“I want to come home to you.“

It’s a tone of voice you’ve never heard Simon have before. It’s severe, yet still measured and restrained in that way Simon always was. Your heart aches, your throat feeling tight, all just from the fact that it was you that made him sound such a way.

The sound of your own heartbeat is deafening in your ears, you can feel its beat in your stomach.

Then Simon’s eyes tear away from you. He’s staring off out the windshield, he’s staring somewhere else, somewhere you can’t see. He rubs his hand over his eyes—which were momentarily pinched shut—a heavy sigh out through his nostrils.

You watch his chest rise and fall, once, twice, thrice.

Simon says your name, he lowers his hand and stares at you in wounded acquiescence—a decision made, regardless of consequence.

It came out his mouth wooden and stilted; foreign.

“I love you.”

Its instinct, as effortless as breathing or blinking, to say; “I love you, too.”

‘Come here,’ he then said. The naturally deep register of his voice as soft as it could be.

Simon’s hand is cupping your face before you get the chance to fully lean forward. His eyelids are lowered, pale lashes framing dark eyes; the harsh planes of his brow have been smoothed out leaving only a soft, placid expression.

His thumb runs over your cheek. You shiver with the awareness of how small you felt being touched by a man as imposing as Simon, you once again feel cherished.

His rich eyes soak up your features, before they momentarily flick down to your lips and back up again. You feel your heart rabbit-kick between your lungs.

You stammer out, whispering. “I…I—“

“It’s alright.” Simon mumbles, unphased. You weren’t sure what you were even trying to say, but somehow Simon understood. The spell you both were in did not dim nor break from your nervous sputtering, Simon did not cease cradling your face in his calloused palm.

The skin there was rough, especially so against the soft skin of your face—you knew that his hands were ones that have done acts you wouldn’t dare repeat, and yet they held you so gentle.

His other hand comes up slowly, and instead of resting on your other cheek like you were expecting it comes around to cup the back of your head, his thumb brushing tenderly across your earlobe. You couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through you even if you tried.

You hear Simon exhale slowly, almost sounding like a pleased hum.

He whispers, “I’m gonna kiss you now, love.”

Your stomach does backflips just from the term of endearment. You’re nodding almost immediately, you think you would have regardless of what he said.

The his lips twitch, not from a smile, more like the muscles there jolting in anticipation.

His head dips low, then lower.

Your nose bumps against his, you don’t get the chance to mumble out an apology—Simon doesn’t let you, he simply continues.

His kiss is far softer than what you could have ever imagined.

You thought you would feel the scar on his lip, but you don’t—not consciously. It’s there, soft flesh that’s a bit raised; by no means distracting. His lips are only somewhat chapped; just enough that you felt it. You do feel his stubble tickle your face, something within you jumps eagerly at the sensation.

Simon’s mouth was measured in its yearning, whereas you were desperate and longing. He didn’t pull away from your enthusiasm, he simply used the hand cradling the back of your head to pull you closer—deepening the kiss.

Your lips press awkwardly against his, your noses bump together again, the heat of embarrassment is cooled down whenever he just pushes past it and keeps kissing you. He doesn’t pull away when you open your mouth wrong and your teeth clack together, he doesn’t pause to tease you for your increasingly evident inexperience.

What he does is keep kissing you.

You find it impossible to resist melting into him, and even if it wasn’t, you couldn’t fathom wanting to try. Your fingertips buzz with excitement, nervousness intertwining with the feeling, coalescing in the intoxicating yet frantic beat of your heart.

Frantic could also be used to describe how you were returning his kiss; your lips overexcited and eager. Simon matched your enthusiasm calmly, the thumb he had on your cheek drawing languid circles. He remained immovable, stable.

Simon’s mouth pressed sweetly against yours one last time before pulling away just enough to break the kiss, you chased his lips reflexively, only halting when your brain caught up. Your enthusiasm must have been endearing to Simon, because you hear him huff out a single, low chuckle.

You see the corners of his mouth subtly tug upward, the phantom of a smile. It is then that you notice the hazy pink smeared across his face—it extends past down his throat, disappearing under the collar of his jacket—a flush so subtle that it could have been dismissed as a natural reaction from the cold—but the car was warm.

Fondness floods your heart.

You watch his brown eyes shift slowly across your face, as if committing your current state to memory, then he dips his head back down.

His lips press against your forehead, then your temple.

You feel your breath hitch, a frisson going up your spine. The tenderness he was giving you was not something you were familiar with, you almost didn’t know what to do with it, you never expected it from him.

But then again, in hindsight, maybe you should have—

Simon glides down to lay a kiss upon your cheek, then your jaw. He murmurs your name, rough yet sweet. You shiver.

Upon feeling the tremble of your skin he pulls back. His lips were certainly redder than before, you notice a hint of rose on the tips of his ears.

The darks of his eyes are syrupy, there’s a subdued amount of concern on his features; the crease in his brow and the narrowing of his eyes.

“You alright?” It isn’t until he breathlessly asks you that you realize you’re shivering slightly.

Your face is scalding. “I’m fine.” You croak out.

Simon eases.

His gaze lingers on you, and for a moment there is but the sound of your combined, quiet, labored breaths.

His thumb goes across your face, tracing the line of your jaw, brushing past your bottom lip. You want him to hold you.

But Simon’s hands slip off of you, gliding down to your shoulders before cascading off, leaving phantom goosebumps in its wake. It is only then that you remember where you are—in his car, in an empty parking lot. Soon enough he would hold you close while his lips were flush against your own.

You feel a warmth pool in your stomach just from the mere thought of it.

But for now, you were basking in a tranquil sort of joy; a calming euphoria.

You don’t realize the soft smile on your lips until Simon gives you a small one in return. The crease in the corner of his mouth and the wrinkles in his eye. Your heart stutters; you commit it to memory and hope that you see more of it in the near future.

Simon pulls away from you entirely then. You don’t miss how it sluggish he is; like he was reluctant to do so.

He leans back a little in his seat, a hushed sigh escaping his lips.

You find yourself reclining in a similar fashion, your cheek against the headrest of your seat as you looked at him.

Simon gives you a single glance out the corner of his eye before sitting up straighter and starting the car.

“Let’s get you somethin’ to eat.”

The thoughts in your head might as well have been a raging tempest, it would be all too easy to drown in them. With no small amount of determination you manage to push past the most negative of them—what if he falls out of love with you, what if something changes, what if the eccentricities that made him fond of you turn into resentment—

And instead allow your conscience to simply enjoy the moment for now.

The drive is quiet. There isn’t any music—barely audible or otherwise—playing on the speakers, no chatter. Just a shared, gentle silence.

One of Simon’s broad hands is on the wheel while the other rests languidly on his thigh. You can’t help the thought of his hand resting on yours instead.

You’ve been on the road for just little over a minute until Simon speaks; his tone on its own was composed, but the longing look in his eye belied his feelings.

“Don’t remember the last time I did that.”

“Kissing?” Your question is earnest.

“Yeah.” He eventually answers.

He was truthful in his reply, but as soon as he responds you realize that wasn’t specifically what he was talking about.

Like can recognize like. Simon probably doesn’t remember the last time was open in such a way with his emotions. He probably doesn’t remember the last time watched movies with someone, either.

Early on you got the impression that Simon was always a lone wolf; independent. You wonder when his solitude became a prison for him.

You look over to him. His eyes are firmly on the road.

You want to tell him something comforting, but you worry that it could come off as patronizing. Thus, you say nothing.

Instead, your hand slowly snakes over. Your heart is pounding and your instincts are telling you ‘no,’ but you ignore it, for your instincts—while helpful—were forged in desolation and survival. This was different. Simon was different.

And so you choke down your doubts and tentatively brush your fingers against the hand lying on his thigh.

You watch in your peripheral as umber eyes dart from the road to your far smaller hand, then back up.

Simon lifts his hand to place yours on his leg, in the spot where his palm was resting previously, eclipsing your hand with his own when he lays it over yours. He lazily rubs his thumb over the side of your hand.

Your fingers bend, feeling his body heat from the denim of his jeans. You trace slow and indiscernible patterns there. Simon’s following exhale is heavy when it comes out his nostrils, his eyes going half-lidded while remaining fixed on the road.

You relax, leaning back in your seat and watching the world go by.

The silence that follows is soothing. Neither of you say anything else for the rest of the drive because nothing needs to be. Simon holds your smaller hand the entire time.

It’s a pleasant looking restaurant, you can tell it’s spacious just from the outside. Plenty of cars are parked in the lot, you see a family exiting the building while another group goes in—fairly busy.

It’s nice. You could appreciate the bustle of life.

Simon undoes his seatbelt shortly after he parks the car, you do the same. You reach out to open your door, barely getting your fingers into the handle before you hear Simon mumble; “I’ll get it.”

You think about how you’ll have to be getting used to that. Your face becomes pleasantly warm.

He wastes no time at all exiting the vehicle and coming over to open the door for you, moving out the way only just enough for you to get out comfortably. You give him a hushed thank you as always. Your torso brushes past his as you get out, his fingers flex imperceptibly on the door.

He shuts it behind you.

Your hands are tucked in your pockets despite wearing gloves, more out of habit than anything. Simon reaches out his hand to lightly tug at your wrist with two fingers.

You blink up at him, and when you meet his gaze you realize what it is he wants.

Your chest aches. You pull your hand out for him to take. His hand envelops yours.

You feel your hand be tentatively clutched, like he was testing out how your palm felt against his. Afterwards he begins to walk to the restaurant hand-in-hand with you, it’s easy to fall into step next to him.

Simon squeezes your hand at random intervals during the short walk to the building.

You both are seated. Simon sits facing the entrance again.

There are so many questions on the tip of your tongue, curiosity pertaining to what together with Simon would actually entail.

Simon was aware of your lack of hands-on knowledge concerning relationships, any doubt as to otherwise was probably dashed after he kissed you. You realize this with a bit of a mental grimace—you hoped you weren’t terrible at kissing.

He was currently looking at the menu half-heartedly, his eyes skimming indifferently over the black lettering. He notices your prolonged gaze at him in his peripheral.

“What’s on your mind?”

Your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek.

“Just…” His eyes lift from the menu to look at you.

“Us. Being together.” You wave your hand a little, not satisfied with what ended up leaving your mouth, but at a loss of how else to word it.

Simon tilts his head up then, leaning back in his seat. He wordlessly urges you go on with a nod.

Your lips purse momentarily in thought. Try as you might, the words were eluding you. You were happy, elated, and a bit nervous.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Simon wanted the same things as you did, if his idea of years later bore any resemblance to yours. Inexperienced though you were, it didn’t sound like a particularly smart idea to wait only to then realize your wants were at odds with one another.

Simon is patient.

“I guess I was thinking about the future.”

You watch Simon’s eyelids raise for a moment, a spark of genuine curiosity.

“Yeah?”

You nod, shifting in your seat and flitting your eyes around the restaurant in a nervous fidget. You redirect the question back at him. “…Have you thought about it?”

“I have.”

“What does it look like to you?” You ask, perhaps a bit too quickly. “The future, I mean.” You hastily tack on when Simon doesn’t immediately answer.

As soon as the words leave your mouth you promise yourself to remain silent until Simon replied. You bet he understood you just fine—he was just mulling his words over. You feel your face heat just a little.

“Prefer to live in the present.” Before disappointment could creep in, he continues.

You feel relieved that he didn’t just end the discussion there.

“I meant everything I said.” You only nod along as he speaks, not wanting to interrupt.

Then his eyes drift away, you watch his mouth settle into a thin line in consideration.

“A ring on your finger, one day, when we reach that point.” He then says, cautious yet resolute. Your heart pounds.

His eyes return to you then, studying you. “And more if it ends up that way.” He adds with a barely noticeable shrug of his shoulders.

“More?”

“Of you and me.”

It takes you a second, then another, to comprehend his meaning.

“…Oh!” You blurt out, your face scorching.

Simon huffs; amused. Your body temperature only increases from the gruff sound.

A moment of quiet passes before he questions you. “How’s that sound to you?”

“Perfect.” You reply after a pause. You think Simon’s lip twitches upward.

The conversation seemed to reach its natural end. You finally look through the menu yourself. You rest your chin in your palm.

Simon calls your name, quiet yet just loud enough to grab your attention. You blink up at him.

“If somethin’s on your mind, just tell me.” The low monotone of his voice carries the faintest hint of wariness.

“Alright?” He then says.

“Alright.” You promise.

You both had decided on what you wanted. You were busying yourself with people watching, observing the crowded tables, the coming and going of patrons, cars driving by from out the massive restaurant windows. Simon was leaned forward in his seat, his arms folded on the table, his eyes somewhere else.

He looked content, though, wherever his mind was at.

You half-expected a conversation or two to spark while waiting for someone to take your orders, but no such thing occurred.

It wasn’t a bad thing. You were used to silence with Simon at this point.

What you weren’t expecting was for him to stretch his long leg just enough to for his clothed calf to incidentally brush against yours under the table. Your head lifted up from where it rested in your palm, eyelids widening at him curiously. His only response is a knowing tilt of his head.

Your cheeks grow hot, your throat pinched. You make yourself settle back down.

You thought that little touches like that wouldn’t have such an effect on you after you kissed, but it appeared not to just yet.

You nearly jump out your skin when the waiter suddenly announces his presence. You swear you see Simon’s lip twitch in mild amusement.

Your face is alight, your cheeks hot. Simon rattles off both your order and his own.

You end up scoffing at yourself, a smile, small yet bright upon your lips. Simon’s eyes flick down to your mouth, then away again.

“That festival still goin’ on?” You spare a glance over to him, brows raised. His eyes are over your shoulder, staring at the entrance behind you, people exiting and going.

‘Good question.’ You retrieve your phone from your pocket and search for the date. You wonder, briefly, what prompted him to bring it up.

“Looks like tomorrow is the last day of it.” You muse, staring at the promotional photos of vendors and lively crowds. An errant thought about time flickers through your head.

“Still want to go?”

Your eyes go wide. You did. However…

“Do you want to?” You ask. You were perfectly content to spend the rest of his presumably paid time off just lounging on the couch watching movies. You were comfortable with the presumption that he wanted to spend the remainder of his free time with you, all things considered.

You watch Simon’s jaw shift momentarily in thought. “If you’re goin’, so am I.”

You blink at him. You get the impression that Simon couldn’t care less about such an event, but by virtue of you caring about it, so did he to some mild degree.

“I want to.”

“Then we’re goin’.” Simple as that.

A beat passes. “Bike or car?”

You actually consider it for a moment. “Either is okay.”

Simon only nods.

Your mind can’t help but wander as a comfortable silence overtakes the table. Simon would be here for Halloween, he told you as much. Looking at the festival schedule made you realize how soon that would be.

You wondered if he’d be there for Christmas or New Years. You can’t help the barely there frown when you realize, ‘probably not.’

‘Just be grateful that he is here. With you.’ You ridicule yourself.

In your peripheral you see him slowly cock his head at you, his eyes thinning.

“When will you be back?” You end up blurting out.

Simon’s eyes dance across your face for a beat, searching for your meaning.

Your face feels hot. You can’t shake the feeling of guilt rising in the pit of your stomach, like you weren’t appreciating the time spent with him enough, already wanting more—

“Not sure.” You cock your head in mild curiosity. You begin to wonder if he truly doesn’t know, or if that information isn’t meant for you to know.

He leans back in his seat, his arms loosely crossed over his chest, his sights focused solely on you. As the silence stretches on, you begin to believe the latter more and more.

“Okay.” You settle.

A small moment passes before Simon’s rough voice murmurs in a softer tone; “I’ll be back.”

He’ll be back. “I’ll be waiting.”

The food is nice. Delicious, even.

Simon pays for it, when you mumble out your thanks he gives you a look—one that is gentle, mumbles something along the lines of, “It’s what I’m supposed to do, love.”

You’re about to tuck your hands in your pockets on reflex until Simon’s hand darts out to capture yours in his. You nearly trip over your feet as he leads you out the building and back to the car, your stomach fluttering.

After your seatbelts click into place, Simon looks over to you, then says your name.

You hum in acknowledgment.

You glance at him in mild confusion when he doesn’t answer right away. He’s staring off out the windshield, his hand laying loosely on the steering wheel. You watch his fingers flex against it a single time.

He speaks carefully, calculated.

“Could spend the night, if you want.”

You can’t hide the surprise on your face. Your heart leaps up in your throat and your face is ablaze. You swallow thickly, trying to remind yourself how to move your tongue to make words.

“W-well, uh—“ You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the idea. That, combined with the reality that Simon would be away from you for who-knows how long made you desperate to squeeze the most out of what you could with him. Usually, you imagined taking things much slower, but circumstances were different and you were far more lovelorn than you expected—much to your embarrassment.

You wondered if Simon was moving faster than he usually did, too, for similar reasons. Your subconscious pondered Simon’s past relationships—you knew he was experienced, unlike you, it was just so obvious—but you nip the thought in the bud.

“I didn’t…Pack anything.” You mumble lamely.

“Still can.” He answers calmly. Then glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“Don’t feel like you have to.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not that. I want to.”

Simon grunts. “Remember to pack your things tomorrow, then.” And then he’s driving out the parking lot.

You don’t even fully understand what the implication there was, you just know you nodded in agreement.

The car falls into a comfortable silence. For the most part. Music is playing this time, softly, but loud enough for you to hear it without straining your ears. Another song with loud singing and guitar riffs. Simon’s taste in music was so painfully him that it was endearing.

You catch yourself looking at Simon in your peripheral, admiring his profile, the way the sun would occasionally hit his blond hair and make some of the strands go white. You take the chance to admire him for a moment, only ripping your eyes away when you reminded yourself of what you were doing.

“Do you like festivals?” You ask conversationally.

He mulls over your question for a moment. “Won’t go outta my way for ‘em.” He says flatly.

So he was just going for you. You can’t help the affection welling up in your heart.

“I like them.” Simon gives you a single glance that says, ‘I know.’ You smile sheepishly to yourself.

“What do you like?” You then question, a bit of a lilt in your tone.

“Guess.” You sit up a bit in your seat, looking at him with a raised brow and a smile.

He simply nods his head at you, eyes still on the road, silently prompting you to do exactly as he asked; guess.

You lean back in your seat, thinking it over.

“Skulls.”

“Ha.” Simon responds, so utterly deadpan and devoid of emotion that you can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of your throat.

The edges of Simon’s eyes soften and his lids droop as the melodic sound of your laugh fills the car.

The car ride isn’t too long, but it’s long enough to give you time to think.

That first night in the bar felt so far away now. You pick apart the days, the weeks, all of the phone calls.

‘I’m really going to miss him.’

You wonder if it was some kind of generational curse; your endless worry. Maybe this was a way for that curse to spite you even when you finally have something you’d never thought you’d have. You were going to fight to live in the moment, to not allow yourself to taint something so sweet. Despite every nitpick you have about yourself—big and small—he is here.

He said he loved you.

Your heart clenches. You feel your stomach go taut with butterflies and your throat tighten with longing. You angle your head away from Simon to look out the window, just in case the pinch in the corners of your eyes give way and a tear falls.

He is here and he loves you. For now, that’s all that matters.

You’re reluctant to part from him. You get the feeling he is, too, with how he lingers in the car for a moment after arriving at your home.

You wanted to spend the day with him again, but try as you might you couldn’t think of any convincing way to go about doing that—and most importantly, you didn’t want to come off as clingy.

Oh, but how you wanted to cling to him.

Either way, you understood that wasn’t a trait most found appealing, so you choked it down and reminded yourself you would be spending the entire day—and night, apparently—with Simon tomorrow. That thought alone was enough to brighten your spirits.

Simon undoes his seatbelt and that’s your cue to follow suit.

He opens the car door for you like always and this time you hold out your palm expectantly for him to hold it. It was such a short walk from the car to the front door but you didn’t care, you wanted to feel his big hand holding yours one last time before he went home.

Simon casted you a mildly bemused glance, but eagerly took your hand regardless, his other tucked in the pocket of his jacket.

He doesn’t let go even when you reach your front door. He gazes down at you past his pale lashes, almost expectant.

You stare at your feet, shifting your weight, unsure of what to say.

‘Thank you for loving me’ didn’t seem appropriate and was far too honest.

Simon steps forward, his torso brushing against you, the movement makes you blink up at him. He just holds your gaze, then he slips his hand out of yours to wrap his arm around your waist instead. He didn’t hesitate with pulling you close to him.

His calloused hand cradles your head close. You nestle into him on reflex. You don’t want him to let go.

He leans down, his nose brushing against your hair. “I meant everything I said.” He murmurs.

Your arms come up to clutch at him—he was too broad for you to wrap your arms entirely around him—and you shuffle a bit closer. Which wasn’t much, considering he already had you right against him.

You feel his blunt fingernails flex against you, then you feel his thick arm squeeze your side affectionately. “Everything.” He says so quietly, you barely hear him.

You don’t know what to say, if anything, so you melt in his embrace.

You both stay there for a moment longer. Wrapped up in his solid form and far softer hold. You want to stay like this longer, but the chill on your nose reminds you of the location. Simon is first to pull away, albeit slowly.

The hand that was cradling you was now cupping your cheek. He sweeps his thumb over the skin there.

“You’re gettin’ cold.” He remarks, his voice gruff. You say nothing, lost in brown eyes and blond eyelashes.

A moment passes, then another. And Simon leans down. He must have been moving too languidly for that ancient, desperate part of you, because you stood just a little on the tips of your toes to meet him—he was so tall that he still had to lean the rest of the way, but your blatant enthusiasm would mortify you later.

For now, though, you were melting into his lips, trying to temper your excitement and match his slower movements this time.

His kiss is just as gentle as before.

Your hands grasped desperately at his jacket, and Simon tilted your head with his palm the way he wanted, his other arm shifting to hold your waist in his hand.

You chase his lips when he breaks the kiss, your face igniting when he scoffs warmly at the overt display of eagerness.

“Text me when you get home.” You say suddenly, wanting to brush it off. Simon has a knowing look in his eye, but says nothing. He only nods.

He gives your waist one more affectionate squeeze before lazily backing off. You don’t withdraw your hands right away, your palms laying over the broad expanse of his chest for a second longer than expected.

Obsidian eyes glide down to where your far smaller hands remain, then flick back up to you. And for a fraction of a second you see something new glint in Simon’s eyes, warm like you were getting acquainted with—but also something almost carnal. Then it’s gone.

You feel a frisson go up your spine. Swallowing thickly, you have to manually remove your fingers from his jacket and will yourself to let your arms dangle at your sides. It’s easy to play off the shiver that goes through you as being from the cold.

“Get inside. Warm yourself up.” He tells you, flicking his head in the direction of the front door. You ignore how your heart starts racing just from his voice.

You nod, and hover for just a beat longer before finally walking up to your door to unlock it. Simon remains standing where he is.

When you open the door, and slip inside you look over your shoulder, Simon stares at you expectantly. You give him a weak smile and finally shut it closed.

It is only then that Simon tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket and makes his way back to his car.

You have long since changed into your pajamas—you did so as soon as Simon’s car drove away.

It wasn’t like you’d be sleeping soon, just that it was comfortable to wear around the house. You guessed that you were going to find out how Simon preferred to lounge in his own home tomorrow, and it was that musing that reminded you that you should pack a few things.

You struggled with what exactly to bring other than a toothbrush. You decided to bring a change of clothes and something comfortable to sleep in.

The monotonous task helped you ignore your thoughts, of which there were too many for you to dwell on at the moment. You also had a feeling it wouldn’t be a good idea to let your mind run amok; too much happened today and frankly you were determined to keep this day a happy memory.

It wasn’t too long later that Simon texted you that he was home. You simply replied with a thumbs up.

Day became night, and before long you were tucked into a cocoon of blankets, scrolling on your phone—blue light and all. It became an increasingly arduous task to keep your eyes open, so you decided to text Simon good night and allow yourself to drift off to sleep.

A few moments after you sent the text, your phone began ringing.

“Hi.” You greet.

A beat passes. “Hey.”

“You pack your things?”

He must have been looking forward to tomorrow, considering he was reminding you. Your lips lift in a tired smile.

“I did.”

“Good.” Heat rolls over your body, you shift around in your bed.

“We’ll head out early tomorrow, so get some rest.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Alright.” It comes out with a relaxed sigh. You both linger on the phone, needing to hang up but neither wanting to.

“Good night,” Simon then says, his deep voice quiet.

“Good night, I love you.” You blink rapidly as soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, your face scorching.

‘I love you’ sort of just came out, you were brought up in a family where such a thing was normal to say before bed, it was reflex.

Simon replies without hesitation. “Love you.”

You swallow thickly. “Okay. Bye.” You whisper, your voice barely audible, then you hang up after a moment passes.

You shouldn’t be embarrassed, especially not after you both said such things earlier today in his car, but you are. You’re embarrassed.

But also happy.

‘I love Simon.’

It wasn’t scary to fully acknowledge it now, not after he said it back to you, not after he gave you a kiss so deep the only thing you could think of was it.

‘And he loves me, too.’

You roll onto your stomach, burying your face in your pillow as a smile is wrought from your lips. Your chest is light and your heart is warm.

Tonight, you struggled to sleep much like an overexcited child would on Christmas Eve.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Thank you dearly for the continued interest and heartfelt comments! 🫶❤️ I got thrown out of rhythm while writing this chapter, and it was a struggle, but reading all of your kind words motivated me so much. ;;__;;

This chapter took much longer than I initially planned or wanted…

I felt like with the way the last chapter ended it would be reasonable for a relationship to be realized. Any attempts I made to stretch out the pining/yearning phase felt a bit silly after a moment as intimate as that haha. ;;

Initially I did put a bit of pressure on myself to make the first kiss and confession of feelings be “perfect” or this big spectacle. It was easier to write the scene once i took the pressure off myself. ;;

Thank you so much for any likes or reblogs! And once again I deeply appreciate all of the support on this story!! It means so much to me. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #reader insert #x reader #⤜call of duty #⤜simon ghost riley/reader #⤜stories #⤜suggestive

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totalfreakingloser · 10 months ago

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bro I thought at 24 I’d never have the pad vs tampon debate with someone again and yet at work today my coworker who is almost 50 went on about how she’s always hated pads and even hates buying them for her 14 year old daughter because they’re basically diapers and I was just sitting there because I haven’t had to hear that shit since high school. ma’am some of us have issues and cannot use tampons

#I have nothing against any menstrual product being used #I know what I can use and that’s all that matters #I’m not holding a gun to your head and saying you should use one over the other #I had an old coworker who loved her cup but after talking to me she said she doesn’t think I’d be able to use it #I don’t understand when people try to force their little ideas on to me #my favorite argument back is I’ve never had anything in my vagina because the thought causes me such horrible anxiety #the thought literally makes me gag #’well I guess they wouldn’t be good for you then’#yeah no shit that’s why I don’t fucking use them

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mostly-imagines · 4 months ago

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I Missed My Funeral

jason todd x reader

aka you learn what happened to jason

warnings: detailed discussion of how jason died, this is not so happy but i can promise you my jason angst will always have comfort

You wonder if your nightmares are accurate.

Your brain is probably just conjuring up every worst case scenario it can fathom, but maybe there’s truth to one of them. You hope not.

It’s something you haven’t been able to keep out of your mind these past few weeks, and everything seems to remind you of it. When you see his guns, when you’re using a knife to cut up dinner, when you see a car crash on the news, or even when you walk past a fucking pharmacy. The thoughts are everywhere, all the time.

Even as you lay in bed, head on his chest, your mind keeps on drifting where you wish it wouldn’t.

You know he died. He never said it out loud, but you’d seen his autopsy scar plenty of times. You’d always refrained from asking questions, he seemed nervous enough the first handful of times he was around you with his shirt off. Enough time has passed that he’s comfortable being shirtless around you, even okay when you touch his chest. The decrease in boundaries has granted you more solace in one another, but it’s also caused your mind to go wild with possibilities.

Even now, as you lie against his bare chest, you can’t keep your cat-killing thoughts away.

“You’re being quiet,” He comments, not accusatory, just factual.

You snap out of reverie, “Sorry, I—”

His hand soothes up and down your arm without pause, “Don’t be sorry. What’s going on?”

“I just…” you look down, thinking over your words. “What…what happened to you?” You ask quietly.

He goes still.

You immediately regret bringing it up, sitting up from his chest to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t need to—”

He shakes his head. The slightest response from him shuts you right up. “No, it’s…it’s okay. Probably should’ve said something by now.”

He nudges your head back down to his chest and you oblige, trying to relax your body against him again. It’s a difficult thing to talk yourself into when his isn’t any more relaxed.

“I…you know I used to be Robin?” His voice is low, hesitant.

You nod.

“Well…I made a mistake—a few mistakes. I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been and I walked into a trap.”

You’re sure he’s placing more blame on himself than he should, though you don’t know enough to fight him on it yet. You wrap your hand around his forearm that drapes across your chest, a silent affirmation that you’re here with nothing but support and reassurance.

His breath stutters, “The, uh…the Joker set me up and…well, he killed me.”

You don’t want to ask how. You don’t want to know how. But you feel like you have to and it’s selfish and you know that but you can’t leave just it at that.

It’s a barely audible whisper. You’re not even sure Jason could fully hear the word, but he understands the intent anyway.

His next exhale is shaky, “Yeah, um, that’s the rough part.”

Your head twitches. “That’s the rough part?” You breathe out, scared to hear what’s next.

You can’t see from this angle, but Jason’s eyes are welling over, trying desperately not to let tears fall. It takes him a moment to prepare himself to verbalize the next part.

“He…he be—” he stops himself. “…He hit me with a crowbar. A lot.”

Oh.

You can physically feel your chest sink.

That’s worse than all the horrifying scenarios you’d built up in your head. That’s…he was beaten to death. For trying to help people.

You don’t want to leave him in the silence for too long, so you ask the only thing you can think to.

“How old were you?”

He drops his head to press his mouth against your head, like he’s trying to ground himself. “Fifteen,” He murmurs into your hair.

Oh.

You flip over so you’re chest to chest with him and hold him tight. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say that. The very very few times he’s had anything even remotely relating to this conversation, the revelation is always met by silence. Or worse.

But you’re sorry. No one’s ever said that to him before. About anything, but especially this. What does sorry even mean in this context? You didn’t do anything, are you sorry for asking? Do you…do you feel bad for him?

He swallows hard, “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah,” You say, furrowing your brow. “You’re a good person, Jay. You’re a really good person and…you didn’t deserve any of the shit that happened to you. Especially that. I hate that you’ve been through so much and I’m sorry.”

He refuses to blink but the tears are threatening to win anyways with nowhere else to go.

He shakes his head weakly, “It was my own fault.”

“Jason,” you say seriously. “It was not your fault. You were trying to help someone, weren’t you?”

It takes him a moment to respond to that. “I—yeah. Yes. My mom. My birth mom.” He takes a breath, “He, uh, he was blackmailing her and I tried to help her—I tried. But she gave me up to try and save herself…it didn’t matter in the end.”

While you didn’t know about the history with his birth mom, you’d been sure he’d died helping someone. That’s just who he is—whether he knows it or not.

“There was a bomb and it…” He lets that bit trail off. “I don’t remember the explosion. I think I passed out before it happened.”

He doesn’t remember the explosion. But…

He does remember the other part.

You have to drop your head into his neck so that he doesn’t see the way your eyes well up.

“Please know you’re a good person. Please,” you plead. “You’re the best person I know.”

“But…” his breath comes out shaky, “No one…no one did anything.”

The tears fall now, and in spite of the fact that he hasn’t let himself cry in front of anyone since he was ten, he doesn’t feel the usual burning impulse to hide. Not from you.

His voice breaks as he says, “He killed me and he didn’t…”

You sit up straight again and hold his face in your hands, looking him in the eye. “That’s not your fault. Whatever Bruce did or didn’t do, it has nothing to do with you. It’s all about him.”

You gently wipe his tears with your thumb as the weight of his head drops forward, leaving your touch the only thing holding him up.

You know he has…problems with Bruce. You know his death is a sore subject among them for more reasons than the obvious. You also know the Joker still lives and breathes today and there’s some sort of rule or agreement that Jason isn’t allowed out on patrol when he’s loose.

There’s clear trust issues there, on both sides, but you’ve always had trouble figuring out what exactly Bruce had done to leave Jason so closed off. It pushed him away from his family and caused potentially irreparable scarring to his ability to trust other people. It actually makes a lot of sense that this is what caused the rift between them—you’d been thinking maybe Bruce was the reason Jason died or he couldn’t stop it, but this…this is a different kind of damaging. Fuck, no wonder Jason feels like he doesn’t belong in his family.

You take a heavy breath, “You’re important. You’re important to me and whatever moral roadblocks Bruce couldn’t get over doesn’t change that—it has nothing to do with how good you are.”

You’re definitely crying now but at this point it doesn’t matter. It’s more important for him to hear this than for you to pretend like this isn’t as horrible as it is.

He doesn’t look up at you but you can see his own tears dripping off his face. You don’t see him cry very much at all, and definitely not like this.

You sniffle, “Do you wanna switch?”

He nods against your palms and lets you out of his hold to sit up as he shifts lower on the bed and wraps his arms around your torso. You weave one of your hands in his hair and stroke softly. The other rubs soothing patterns on his back, feeling the heaviness of his breath under it.

You kiss the top of his head, “I love you. So much.”

He holds you tighter, murmuring “I love you,” into your chest.

It’s quiet for several minutes after as you both process the words said.

You’re the first to pipe up again, “How did…”

He exhales, “Ah…it’s a little complicated…”

He wants to talk about it another time. That’s fine by you.

Another silent minute passes before, “Bruce isn’t…he’s not a bad…we had a lot of problems after I came back. Both of us. Took a while to get over ‘em.” There’s a beat before, “Still getting over ‘em.”

You nod, continuing tracing onto his back. His voice is clearer again, stronger.

“Is that why you don’t like being at the batcave?” you ask.

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s ‘cause he keeps the suit on display.”

You look down at him, frowning. “What suit?”

“The robin suit.”

You pause.

“That robin suit?”

He nods.

…what

for clarification bc i think i thought this was canon oh well

🔮🕯️the reblog witch bids you do her bidding 🕯️🔮

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emmyrosee · 6 months ago

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What would boyfriend sukuna do if he accidentally made his beloved cry? 👀🩵

*claps hands together and bites lip* AYO-

You’d been arguing about something minuscule, about whose turn it was to wash the dishes, and he merely rolled his eyes and said he could find someone else who would do it.

Because sukuna doesn’t think. No matter the time, the context, the situation, when he’s on defense, he’s going to bring out the big guns and says things to hurt. To damage, to break, to shatter.

Because sukuna is not a good person. He may smack on this “learning how to love” facade, he may hold doors open for you and cradle you when you cry, he may introduce you to his friends and family, but at the end of the day, he’s a trashy man who just fends for himself and only thinks about himself.

Or. That’s what he thought.

Until he sees the hot, betrayed tears bubbling in your waterline. He sees the way your shoulders are tightened, and the way your bottom lip wobbles. He sees the way you look at him in disgust, in hatred, you hate him you shouldn’t even be looking at him right now, but you’re so in disbelief that he could conjure such a claim to you that, like a car accident, you can’t look away. Your eyes glaze over his body in distain and god, fuck, he would do anything, worship any gods, fight any evil and give up his greatest treasures if it meant you’d never look at him like this again.

“Why would you say that?” You whimper, and he sees your hand twitch as it makes a move to wipe the tear, but you never connect the movement. The tear falls, and so does your clenched hand. “Did that make you feel better? To hurt me like that?”

“No,” he chokes. “No, no, this isn’t right, I didn’t mean that-“

“You sure had a hell of a time hiding it,” you scoff, and your arms come up to hug yourself, an action that he should be doing, but he feels like if he moves he’s going to shatter. “God, fuck, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” he rasps. He cards a big hand through his hair, “fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, not to you, never to you.” His hands ball into fists as he loses himself, “fuck, fuck fuck, god, I swear I didn’t mean that, I would never-“

“But you did, Sukuna,” you wail in anguish. “And you said it so easily, what, do you have someone else on the back burner?”

“I don’t!” He says, mind melting and heart pounding because he ruined this, he ruined one of the few good things in his life, all with one stupid phrase he never should’ve even let cross his mind, let alone his lips. “It’s only you, I’m only ever obsessed with you! I love you!”

Love is not a word Sukuna uses. It’s more well intentioned hugs and kisses, he’s a shower not a teller, and he takes in a big gulp of air as the foreign word tingles his tongue. You blink at him in awe, and he lets out a shaky sigh, “god, fuck, I love you. And… And-And-And I’d never want to make you hurt this. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The room is quiet. The air is heavy as sukuna watches you cautiously, not sure where to go from here.

Then, you sniffle and walk towards him. You slip into his arms, and sukuna thinks you’re made of glass, too fragile to be in his cruel embrace. He gently cradles the back of your head as you cry softly into his chest. “I’m sorry,” he echos. “I mean it. Never going to say that shit again.”

“You fucked up,” you sniffle.

He swallows the thick wad in his throat and blinks up to the sky, begging to be grounded in his heightened state.

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

But he’s got you, for now. That’s all he cares about, and if you ever smarten up and leave him for the dirt he is, he’d never blame you.

But for now…

“I know.”

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wanders-in-wonderland · 22 days ago

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Glocking Out

Friday night should mean a cozy night in with a TV show and a bowl of ice cream. But instead, here I am, working late in the office, trying to finish a project to deliver to my boss by Monday morning. There’s no one else in the office, and when I finally finish up nearing midnight, the entire corporate building is empty, lights long dimmed.

I drag myself out of the building, ready to get home and collapse into bed to sleep for the entire weekend. The click of my heels is the only sound that rings through the night as I exit the elevator into the parking garage and let out a tired sigh into the quiet air.

I click my car fob and open my trunk as I approach the car, tossing my purse into the back and digging around to look for a pair of slippers to change into. I’m absolutely too tired to make the drive home in heels and the idea of fuzzy slippers around my feet is the only thing keeping me sane right now.

While I’m still bent over, buried head-first in my trunk, I suddenly feel a presence behind me. Before I can react, I feel the cold, hard press of metal against my back and the ominous click of a gun’s safety coming off. I freeze in terror and my throat pushes out a pathetic whimper of fear.

I hear a deep laugh echo around me and a man’s voice, “Stay still, princess. I’d hate to paint the inside of your trunk with your blood.” A big, warm hand presses against my spine, pushing me even further into the trunk while the gun digs uncomfortably against me.

I let out a choked gasp, “What do you want? Take my purse! I have cash, take whatever you want, please don’t hurt me!” My voice is shaky and I can feel tremors of fear wrack my body.

He laughs again. “Oh, princess, I don’t want money. But I will be taking whatever I want from you,” he purrs, the innuendo clear in his voice. His hand leaves my back to run down my body and he grips my ass hard before landing a harsh spank against me. I whine out a plea, “No! Please! Please, just let me go!”

“No can do, princess. A pretty little thing like you, all alone, in the middle of the night with no one around. It’s like you’re beckoning to me,” he growls as his hand continues to knead my ass over the skirt I’m wearing. Tears are in my eyes now as I stare blankly into my trunk, my face pressed against the rough car trunk mat.

Moments later, he threads a hand through my hair and grips me hard, pulling me out of the trunk and onto my feet. He spins me around and for the first time, I get a good look at him.

He’s huge, in both size and height, his massive frame towering over me. Even without the gun, he could probably break me easily, and that thought sends more fear slithering down my spine. His eyes are filled with a sadistic gleam that makes me want to curl up and hide. A harsh yank from his hand in my hair makes me cry out in pain and he leads me to the passenger side of the car.

“Get in the car and don’t do anything stupid. I’d hate to have to kill you before we have any real fun,” he says menacingly. I slide into the car on shaky legs and he slams the door shut. He makes his way to the driver side and without another word, he peels out of the parking garage.

A little while later, he pulls the car off the main road onto a tiny trail that I’d never even noticed before. Several minutes of random turns and paths in the pitch black forest that I would never be able to remember or identify bring us to a tiny little cabin. It would be quaint if it weren’t inhabited by the psychopath holding me at gunpoint.

He drags me out of the car, the gun never leaving my side and we step into the cabin. He herds me into the bedroom and the door clicks shut behind us. The room is awash in a soft yellow light and decorated in soft fall tones that, in any other circumstance, would be incredibly romantic.

He smiles with a sparkle in his terrifyingly sadistic eyes and a shiver runs down my spine. “Strip for me,” he says as he steps back to sit at the edge of the bed, gun still leveled at me.

I shake my head desperately, “No, please! Please, anything but that, please!”

He laughs at me, “Come on, pretty princess, I’m not a patient man. Either you strip for me or it gets ugly.”

Tears well up in my eyes and I blink them back. I glance towards the door, I’m closer to it than he is, maybe if I can surprise him, I can get out of the room before he gets a chance to stop me.

He sees my line of thinking and chuckles again. “You might outrun me but you can’t outrun a bullet, princess.”

His words land like a punch to my stomach and I look back at him with defeat. My shaky hands move to the buttons of my blouse as I comply with his initial request. He smiles.

I pull off my top and slide it off my shoulders before going to unzip my skirt and stand before him in my bra, panties, and stockings.

“Bra off, leave the rest on,” he says, his voice deep with desire. “Come here,” he commands, gesturing towards the floor between his legs with the gun.

I unclasp the bra and let it drop to the floor, where I fix my gaze. I pad towards him and stand in front of him for a moment before I lower myself down to my knees, my form fitting into his spread legs.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, princess. Such a good girl,” his deep voice sends shivers down my spine. I keep my gaze on the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with him. He doesn’t like that.

I feel the cold metal of the gun slide beneath my chin and I gasp as he raises my head with his gun. My wide eyes meet his and I see the satisfaction in his gaze as it locks onto mine. He leaves the gun against me as he jerks his chin downwards. “Take my cock out, princess.”

I glance down and see the outline of his hardness pressing against his pants. He looks huge. He sucks his teeth at me, “Come on, don’t keep me waiting now.”

My fingers shake as I undo his belt and the fastening on his pants before I reach in and pull his hard cock out. I let out a quiet whine when I see it. He is huge, tip already leaking precum and an angry shade of red that looks so mean. I shouldn’t be turned on by my attacker’s cock but I absentmindedly lick my lips and I catch the leer on his face that makes my thighs clench.

“You know what to do, princess,” he purrs, tangling his free hand into my hair. I give in and lean down to run my tongue gently along the vein that runs through his cock. He tastes divine, the clean smell of his skin combined with the warmth and weight of his cock in my mouth making my brain go fuzzy. I hear him groan above me, “That’s it, suck my cock, princess.”

I give him a few more kitten licks before I wrap my lips fully around the crown of his cock and suck. “Fuck,” his groan is guttural and his grip tightens on my hair. I moan softly around his cock and I feel him twitch in my mouth. I breathe in through my nose as I swallow more of his cock down my throat.

“Fuck, that’s it, good girl. Take my cock down your throat,” he groans and his fingers dig harshly into my scalp. I slowly work my way back up his cock and set a smooth rhythm, bobbing my head up and down and wrapping my hand around what doesn’t fit into my mouth. There’s a pleasant haze that surrounds me right now, his cock in my mouth and his fingers in my hair. I squirm a little on my knees, my pussy clenching as warmth settles into my core.

Suddenly, he yanks me off his cock without warning. I gasp and look up at him. “I want you to ride me,” he says, smirking at me and gesturing toward the bed with his gun. The gun that I’d almost forgotten about. Seeing it now sends another shock of fear through my body, pushing away some of the arousal from earlier.

He lays back onto the bed, sprawled out like a king, hard cock jutting out from between his legs. I absentmindedly clench my thighs together and I know he noticed because he laughs. “Come on, princess. I know you want to.”

I stand and slide my panties off before slipping onto the bed, slinging a leg over him to get situated. He stays still, watching me with a predatory look in his eye, gun now retrained on me. “That’s it, princess,” he purrs as I settle myself over him.

“Is your pretty pussy wet for me?” He asks. I want to lie and say no but it’s no use, I’m so wet I’m dripping all over him. I whimper and nod and he laughs again. “Better put that pussy to use then, come on, ride me, princess.”

I brace my hands against his chest and lower myself onto his cock. The delicious stretch of him filling me makes me whine and I dig my fingers into his chest. He moans at the feeling of my wet heat surrounding him and his hips come up to meet mine, forcing the last bit of his cock into me.

He feels so fucking good inside of me and every single cell of my body wants more. I let out a low moan as my hips start to move, every single movement making his cock rub up against my g-spot. “That’s it, ride my cock, princess.”

I let out a broken moan as my hips keep up their movements. My back arches and I let my eyes flutter closed as I lose myself in the sensations. Suddenly, I feel cold, hard metal brush against my clit and my eyes fly open with a cry.

I look down and my blood freezes when I see him, running the tip of the gun against my clit. He grins up at him, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. “Don’t stop now, princess. You’re doing so well, I’m gonna help you and play with this little clitty.”

I whimper as he pushes the gun harder against my sensitive, swollen nub, the friction making delicious shivers run up and down my spine.

“Come on, princess. You’re going to cum all over my cock while I rub your clit with my gun,” he says, each pass of the gun over my clit pushing me closer and closer to an orgasm.

The fear and pleasure mix into a dark combination that forces my body higher and higher. I can feel the cold metal of the gun warming against the burning heat of my cunt and every nerve in my body seems to be coiled tight as a spring. My hips are jerkily moving on top of him as I chase my own release.

Suddenly, he moves underneath me and slams him cock deeper into me while holding me down. I shatter with a wail as my pussy clenches around him. I hear his curse as his release quickly follows, his hips never stopping their relentless assault on me and the gun never moving off my clit as he fucks me through my orgasm.

Eventually, he pulls the gun away and I collapse down onto his chest, boneless and limp. I feel his fingers thread through my hair gently and his arm comes up to wrap around my body, keeping me pressed against his chest.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs into my hair as he presses soft kisses into the crown of my head. I make a soft noise back at him and I hear him laugh softly and affectionately.

I stay in his arms a little longer before I raise my head to look at him. “Thank you, honey,” I say before pressing a sweet kiss onto his chest.

He hugs me tighter, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I will say, you were in the office for so long, I was soooo bored waiting for you.”

I giggle at him, “If I’d known you were waiting, I would’ve finished faster.” He huffs and rolls his eyes, “Well I think I did a pretty good job helping you “glock” out.” He waggles his eyebrows at me and I choke out a laugh.

“Shut up and sleep.”

—

pls appreciate the title because i thought of it and just had to write something to fit it teehee

#nsft concept #overstim kink #dark fantasy #cnc overstim #cl1t torture #cnc k!nk #rap3 fantasy #gun k!nk #gun k1nk #gun kink #tw rap3 #rap3fetish #rapekink

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too-much-tma-stuff · 10 months ago

Text

Finally Getting Help (prt 8)

Masterpost

The next day was less chaotic but not by much. They had to go through everything they’d taken from the Fenton’s lab, and reluctantly accepted Danny and Jazz’s help with the task because they were familiar with the tech. That was surprisingly needed since all of their gadgets were extremely obtuse and looked like household appliances. It was honestly surprising how good Danny was with all of this stuff, he knew what everything was, how to take it apart and how to put it back together to show the heroes how it worked.

“They don’t all work for humans. Some have to be fueled with ectoplasm so they need to be constantly refueled. Dad used to wear a backpack full of the stuff ghost busters style but that’s really not practical so this one isn’t very useful to you. I can use it though,” Danny said as he screwed the last part back on the.. Whatever it was.

“Okay, but why does it look like a blender?” Tim asked, baffled and impressed.

“Oh that’s because that’s what it was built out of,” Danny said with a crooked smile. “We repurposed a lot of household items into tech. Give me a couple toasters and a microwave and I’ll have three specter deflectors ready for you before dinner time.” He said as he pressed his hand against one of the gins and it started glowing intently green.

“Here don’t drop it,” He said tossing it to Batman, who did manage to catch it. “I fueled it with three shots, just in case Vlad shows up or another ghosts threatens you. And actually even with your charms I would feel a lot better if you all had specter deflectors since you’re all involved with me now,” He sighed and rubbed his face.

“Well… we can get you toasters and a microwave but we can also get you more advanced parts if those will work better,” Bruce told Danny, gingerly holding the odd gun away from himself. It wasn’t a traditional gun so it wasn’t upsetting but he still didn’t like it.

Danny looked very tempted but he shook his head. “No I’d better do it with what I know, I can get it done faster that way and they work. I’d love to play with some of those more advanced parts though. I’m sure I can come with some fun stuff.”

Uh oh, Bruce didn’t like that look on Tim’s face, the last thing he needed was more encouragement! But Danny was the child of mad scientists, he would get along perfectly with Tim, Bruce was going to have to keep a close eye on them to make sure they didn’t accidentally make a death ray.

“You can join me in my lab later,” Tim offered hopefully and Danny glanced up at him with a borderline feral grin.

“That sounds great, I’m sure you have much better lab safety than my parents. Love engineering, would hate to die a second time.” He said it like a joke, just the way Jason tended to. Jazz laughed, but only to encourage her brother’s coping method, no one else did.

“Alright, we’ll go to the nearest home appliance store and get you some toasters and microwaves,” Bruce said.

“Hell ya, I should have been adopted by a rich family years ago,” Danny cackled. Oh dear, he’d been so traumatized yesterday Bruce hadn’t realized he was Feral. Why did this keep happening.

He informed Alfred of Danny’s request and by the time they finished going over the more confusing inventions and left for lunch the appliances were waiting for Danny in the lab that he and Tim would apparently now be sharing. Danny immediately dove on the machinery starting to take them apart with practiced hands. He seemed calm and in his element but Tim stayed to supervise, both just in case something went wrong, and because it was His lab and they hadn’t talked about rules of cohabitation yet.

Bruce left them to it. Alfred had informed him that Jason had arrived and headed straight to the kitchen without saying hello to anyone else. It wasn’t a surprise, he was closest to Alfred, he’s want to help with making dinner, and get the basic scoop from his most trusted family member before having to face anyone else. Bruce knew better than to intrude on that, but God did he want to.

Regardless of what his children thought Bruce cared deeply for all of them, and he hated that sometimes they doubted it. He wished he was better at telling and showing them, but he’d managed to convince himself it was too late for him to change so he didn’t have to face the years of mistakes and trauma he had endured and inflicted. No matter what what image he tried to project, he was still only human.

He went to his office, but he couldn’t settle to anything, he did a little bit of this, and little bit of that, and just ended up pacing the carpeted floor. He left them alone as long as he could before he gave in and went down to the kitchen.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just needed a cup of coffee,” He said as casually as he could. The looks Alfred and Jason gave him said neither of them actually believed his excuse, which was fair. “It’s good to see you Jaylad, thanks for coming.”

“Well I’m not going to miss out on a new brother am I? You gonna have this one running around in spandex too B?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, it made Bruce wince but it Was progress because he was acknowledging their familial ties.

“I’m almost two years too late to stop him,” Bruce said regretfully. “It’s been… a lot has happened. I’m sure Alfred caught you up on most of it, but I’d like to talk to you before you meet either of the siblings.”

“Trying to make sure I won’t be a bad influence?” Jason asked and Bruce couldn’t tell if he was joking or accusing.

“No, nothing like that,” Bruce said, holding up his hands. “I just want to talk.”

Jason hummed skeptically, scrutinizing Bruce before turning back towards Alfred. “What do you think Alfie, can you spare me?”

“I always appreciate your help master Jason, but I can manage on my own,” Alfred assured, sounding amused.

“Alright, to your office then?” Jason asked, turning back towards Bruce.

“Or the sitting room, whichever would be more comfortable.”

“Office,” Jason said firmly, this was the distance that he was keeping between them. They worked together now, and Jason cared for his siblings, but he kept them all at arms length. For everyone’s safety really, if they set him off he didn’t want to hurt them, and he didn’t want to be set off either. It always felt like shit. Jason followed Bruce to the office and sprawled in the soft chair across the desk from Bruce’s. He remembered being a kid, sitting properly and nervously in this chair across from Bruce hoping desperately for his approval. How times change.

“I just wanted to talk to you about the new kids” Bruce started and Jason waved him away.

“I’m really not going to corrupt them or anything, I Probably won’t be around enough to make a difference anyway.” Jason said dismissively.

Bruce took a deep breath, controlling his expression and folding his hands on the table. “That’s not it Jaylad, Alfred must have told you that the boy died and came back?”

Jason tensed and green swirled in his vision, it was the same thing that Bruce had seen in Danny when Zatana asked about Phantom. “Ya he did.” Defensive and insecure.

“It seems like he, and his sister who was sort of a caretaker to him, know a lot more than we do about the effect that that has on a person. To help us take care of Danny she gave us a presentation about it, it… makes a lot of sense. You should probably talk to her and Danny about it really but I just wanted to apologize.

“I’ve been trying to fix this, fix… you for a long time and I know I’ve been going about it wrong and I’ve been hurting you.”

“You got a new treatment plan in mind, old man?” Jason asked, his arms crossed and Bruce wished that mistrust wasn’t earned.

“No,” Bruce sighed looking down. “Really Jason I don’t, I know I was wrong. This is something I just didn’t know I didn’t know about,” He hated his own ignorance, he hated to admit it! He was Batman! The way he kept up with other superheroes was always being prepared for everything and knowing more than everyone around him, but he hadn’t even known there was something there to know!

“This isn’t about that, and it’s not about you staying away from the new kids. Exactly the opposite actually, since they know more about this, and Danny might be one of the few people who really understands what it’s like to die and come back like that, I was hoping you’d spend more time here, around them. I think it might help you both.”

“Huh,” Jason sounded, blinking rapidly because that was the most sincere apology he’d gotten from Bruce and he didn’t quite know how to react to it. “Maybe… maybe.” He hadn’t met the new siblings yet after all, maybe they’d hate each other.

“Can I meet them now?” He asked looking back up at Bruce curiously.

“Of course, the girl's name is Jasmine Fenton, called Jazz, the boy goes by Danny. Jazz is turning 18 soon, Danny is 16.”

Right Tim had mentioned that, so Danny was about 3 years younger than him then. That shouldn’t matter too much, and maybe Tim will be right about the sister and can tease Jason about it. He’d been single for a while and wouldn’t mind changing that.

“Of course, I think you should meet Jazz first, she’s protective of Danny and she hasn’t been very involved in all of this. I think she’d feel better being allowed to… vet you first for lack of a better word. Are you okay with that?” Bruce asked Jason politely.

“Sure, I don’t really care what order I meet them in and… Look Bruce I know I’m mad at you, and I was really hard on Timmy when everything was still raw. But I’m never going to knowingly hurt a kid, or make life harder for them. If I can help them I will,” Jason said sincerely.

“Jason, the girl is less than a year younger than you. You’re a kid too,” Bruce said sadly. Jason froze for a moment, Yes he was 19, his mind wasn’t fully developed yet or whatever the hell, but he hadn’t felt like a kid since his death. Even before that, the responsibility for his mother, and then the work as a hero. Bruce wanted soldiers, Jason had never gotten a chance to be a kid really.

“Whatever,” Jason scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets and standing up, closing himself off from that sincerity. “Do you know where she is?”

“She’s in the library,” Bruce said, his lips twitching up in a smile. “She loves books almost as much as you did, though she seems to be more drawn to non-fiction.”

Jason hummed and nodded, heading towards the door since he knew his own damn way to the library, Bruce didn’t have to lead! He did follow through, he was clearly protective of these kids so of course he would want to be there when Jason met them.

When he entered the library he saw a young woman sitting at one of the tables with some sort of text book. Her back was straight and her legs tucked under the chair with her ankles crossed. It looked like she was self consciously trying to look put together. She looked up at them, blue green eyes looking him over critically, he could practically see her picking him apart in her mind and he tried not to fidget.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Jason Todd,” He said, walking over and offering her his hand to shake. She was very pretty, but he was surprised by his own complete lack of attraction, she just didn’t register that way, she seemed more… maternal almost.

“Ah, the dead son,” She chuckled, getting up from the table and reaching out to shake his hand, her grip was strong and her hands were soft and cool. “It’s nice to meet you, they mentioned you. Nothing bad,” She added when she saw her face. “And I don’t mean to be rude, I know some people are sensitive about their deaths being mentioned. Danny jokes about it all the time so… I just wanted to let you know that I know, and I accept you.” Jazz said with a warm smile.

Her easy acceptance caught him off guard and before he could help it he was baring his teeth at her in a snarl, defensive and probing, did she mean it? She grinned sharper bearing sharp fangs at him in a matching sign of… friendly aggression, something inside him settled. He chuckled and took a step back. “Well thanks, nice to meet someone who doesn’t look like they bit a lemon every time I make a death joke.”

“It’s your death, as long as it’s healthy you can own that however comes naturally to you,” Jazz promised, sitting back down at the desk. “I’d love to talk more and get to know you, but we can do that later. You really should meet Danny.”

“You don’t want to come with us,” Bruce broke in, sounding worried. Jason had almost forgotten he was there, he hadn’t realized how… all encompassing the short interaction had been.

“I’ll probably follow,” Jazz said with a shrug, her gaze turning stern as she looked at Bruce. “Remember what I said about never breaking up a fight,” She told him firmly.

Well if that didn’t make Jason nervous he didn’t know what did. Why would he fight with Danny? Would Danny fight with him? Why? “You really think it’s a good idea for us to meet? Why would we fight?” Jason asked her sharply.

“Of course,” she agreed, her eyes softening as she looked back at him, though her expression remained a little mischievous. “It’ll be good for both of you.”

#danny phantom #dc x dp #fanfiction #dc stands for disregard cannon #bruce wayne #jason todd #jazz fenton #alfred pennyworth #eventual dead on main #finally getting help au #trans!danny #Danny is pregnant #tim drake #Danny is feral #unedited #if you find errors let me know #comments welcome #long post #multi part fic

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fluoneia · 2 months ago

Text

vi knew going back to piltover after another recent robbery was bad. yet, powder was sick and was in need of more nutrition and possibly some medicines. so, she made the tough, and, probably bad choice, to go back up into piltover to steal.

so here she was, scouting out nothing other then a mansion, much different to her usual small houses that she deemed safe, far away from piltover’s harsh security.

and she swore she saw the family leave for some fancy, to what she presumed to be a ball based on their crisp suits, and extravagant dresses.

so, she carefully picks the lock from the balcony, the dark room barely lit by the moonlight. she slides the door open, taking a soft step inside.

using the light from the flickering flashlight in her hand, she scoffed and smacked it against her hand, before facing it toward the room and peering around it.

her eyes widened. valuables, gold plated decorations all around the room. the gold enough, which she assumed to be real, would be enough to last her a lifetime.

she should really try robbing mansions more often.

vi quickly opens her bag, finding every valuable she could that was worth fortunes in zaun, and stuffed them inside the bag.

when she walked into the bathroom attached to the extravagant room, she takes a second to look around.

soaps, one’s that smelled of fancy perfumes and scents, and random glass jars on the counter filled with products that smelled equally as good.

she picked up a glass, opening the lid, and taking her finger through the white product. she sniffed it, before rubbing her thumb through the product in her hand.

she shrugged, closing the lid and popping it into her bag.

vi hummed, turning around, before freezing, blood running cold when she saw you, standing with a gun pointed toward her chest.

“what the hell are you doing in my house?” you sneer.

she inhaled a sharp breath, hands carefully raising above her head. “sightseeing?” she prompts.

you stare her up and down, before cocking your head behind you. you slowly take steps backward, still holding the gun toward her.

she takes the hint, stepping toward you, until you were both in the open room.

“i’m going to ask you again,” you say, head cocking backward with a frown on your face, “why are you in my house?”

“you asked what i was doing in your house last time.” she sneers.

you scoff. “you should really be more careful talking to the girl holding a gun.”

“you’re not gonna do anything with it. pilties don’t like viole—“

she is cut off as your finger clicks the trigger, shooting just to her right, with precise aim not to hit her.

“i’m not just a piltie. i’m training to be an enforcer. do you know what that means, zaunite?”

she gulped. “enlighten me.”

she stills as you take steps toward her, each soft pad against the floor making her heart thump.

“it means i’m not above killing people like some of these other soft-hearted morons are.”

“why don’t you just get this over with and turn me in?” vi says, head tilting down toward you. “or just shoot me.”

you stay silent.

“go ahead. call for your friends and turn me in to stillwater.”

“i’m not gonna do that.”

“heh?” her brows furrow, “why the hell not?”

“i don’t want to.”

“why?” vi instigates, “come on, you were just going on about how you’re gonna become a big-shot enforcer. so, turn me in.”

“you’re talking like you want me to turn you in.”

“well, why don’t you want to?”

“just shut up!” you jeer, holding the gun with a firmer grip. “what if i.. just don’t want to?”

“then.. i guess, you’re one of those soft-hearted morons.”

your face tightens. yoh stare, before sighing and lowering your gun. you toss it onto your bed, tightening your lips.

“i’m not actually training to be an enforcer.” you sigh. “i’m.. a librarian.”

“hah!” vi snorts, “so you’re just a nerd, then.”

“hey, you’re still in my house. and you’re a thief. you’re not above me.”

she tuts her lips, shrugging.

you purse your lips. “you must be hungry.”

“do you just assume all zaunites are on the brink of starvation?”

“well, aren’t you?” you contest.

she purses her lips.

“what’s your name, thief?” you jest.

“alright, lay off the thief part, cupcake.”

“you’re a thief. are you not?” you decide to ignore the nickname.

“yeah, but..” she runs a hand over her face, “it’s degrading.”

“and cupcake isn’t?” you raise a brow. “are you hungry, or not?”

“.. i could eat.” she shrugs. truth be told, she hadn’t eaten properly in weeks. majority of her food was given to powder, considering she was sick.

“let’s go then.”

you leave no room for argument as you turn on your heel, opening the door to your bedroom, and walking down the hall.

vi followed, peering at the portraits on the wall. you weren’t in any of them. why?

“why aren’t you in these portraits?” vi asked, looking at the family of four with two boys, a mother and a father.

“uh..” you hesitate. “i’m adopted. they don’t really like me in their portraits.”

“oh.”

you stop walking, before turning back around.

“right. kitchens that way.”

“you don’t know the layout to your own house?” vi’s brow furrowed, tucking her hands in her pockets.

“i only moved in last year. it’s a big house, alright?” you roll your eyes, turning around, and walking.

vi hesitates, before letting it go, and following you again.

you step into the kitchen, walking inside and grabbing something out of the fridge.

she pops it into what vi presumed to be a microwave, having seen it in the houses she robbed before. you lean against the counter, and look to vi, before looking around.

“there’s some chocolates on the counter if you want some.” you offer, gesturing toward the island in the middle of the room.

“chocolate?” she questions.

“yeah.. chocolate. have you never had chocolate before?”

vi picks up one of the gold wrappers. “we don’t have candy down in the lanes. i caught powder almost trading something i was going to sell for food for a piece of candy.”

“who’s powder?”

“my little sister.” vi turns around, ears peeking at the beeping of the microwave. you take the plate out of the microwave, plopping it on the counter beside vi. you jump up, sitting on the island while vi inspects the plate.

“you can take some. i’m sure she’d love it.”

“wont your parents care?”

“nah, they won’t mind.” you shake your head, looking around the kitchen once more.

vi picks up the metal fork, stabbing it into the piece of meat on the plate, and taking a bite. her eyes light up at the taste of chicken that she hasn’t had in years, much less this tasty and rich.

she peers to you, looking at you stifle a laugh, and returns her face back to its solemn state.

“it’s alright.”

“alright? you wound me.” you place a hand on your chest, right over your heart.

“you made this?”

“yeah. i cook dinner most of the time since my brothers have extra-curricular stuff.”

vi nods.

“so.. you said your sister, powder, was sick?” you ask, tilting your head toward her.

“yeah.” vi nods, “you know the lanes.. lots of chemicals, and stuff. and it’s not so clean down there. her and little man like to run around, and i guess she caught something while they were out.”

“little man?”

“ekko. he’s with benzo. him and powder became friends, since there’s not a lot of people their age down there who still value their innocence.”

you hum.

“i think i have some medicine that could help her.” you say.

“no.” vi rejects, “no, i don’t need your medicine.”

“well, it could help—“

“why do you want to help me so much?” she drops the fork, “i’m a thief. i was robbing your bedroom.”

you purse your lips.

“you know, most pilties would turn in a criminal like me. not.. treat them to dinner, and offer to help their sick relatives.”

you jump off the counter. “yeah. im feeding you dinner, and im offering medicine for your sick sister. and, im letting you keep the stuff you stole from me.”

“like you said, you’re a thief. just be grateful im offering this to you, and stop asking questions.” you exhale.

vi gnaws at the inside of her lip. “fine. but i don’t owe you anything.”

“that’s fine with me.” you snap back. “give me your bag.”

hesitantly, vi hands her the bag off her shoulders. you thank her, walking toward the door.

and then, you sprint off.

vi’s brows furrow. “the hell?” she whispers, walking toward the door and peering around. that’s when she hears the crash of a window, and she internally cursed herself.

“hey!” she yells, racing toward the now broken window. she leans over, to see you climbing the roof and jumping through the rooftops.

of fucking course.

you weren’t a librarian. you weren’t some prissy piltover. no piltover has that sympathy.

you were a zaunite. just like her.

and you just stole her loot.

vi should be chasing after you. demanding her stuff back. but.. she just.. laughs.

a few weeks later.

vi told no one of the girl she encountered in piltover. she told no one she left for piltover that night in the first place.

you held a spot in her mind, both filled with anger and.. adoration.

vi had to admit, it was kind of funny how quickly she was to trust that girl. she didn’t live in that house, make that food. she was robbing the same house, and took advantage of the fact vi had already taken majority of the valuables.

she kind of admired you.

vi took a sip of her water, not paying attention to the conversation mylo and claggor were having.

and that’s when she saw you. delivering pieces of metal to vander.

vi abruptly stands.

“hey!” she calls out across the bar, “you!”

she races over to you. as soon as you see her, your eyes widen, instantly racing out the bar. she chases after you.

“cupcake, get back here!”

“cupcake?” mylo and claggor say in unison.

“oh, you little—“ vi races out the bar.

“better luck next time!” you laugh, racing down the street.

“i’m gonna find you! you can’t run forever!”

but you were long gone.

vi would find you. because you intrigued her more then anyone ever had, and..

she couldn’t lie and say you weren’t all that bad looking. what can she say?

vi likes the chase.

#fanfiction #writing #vi arcane #arcane #arcane league of legends #vi x reader #arcane season 2

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queenariesofnarnia · 10 months ago

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never underestimate the bunny

gif not mine!

wc: 642ish

Alastor x f!bunny!reader

warnings: tiny amount of violence, some verbal harassment( not from alastor), a wee bit of blood, and a mildly suggestive ending

🦌❤️ You were a sweetheart no doubt about it and none of your friend s doing out what landed you in hell. Especially as a bunny demon, everyone believed they had to protect you. Until one day you and Angel were out shopping.

“Toots you should get the red dress! it made ya smile sparkle” Angel told you as you tried on a new article of clothing. “Only if you get the matching black skirt with me!” you tell him laughing and he joins in. As you finished up shopping and began to stroll back to the hotel a group of sinners started pestering you. “Come here little bunny” one creep said “I bet you’d make a pretty little fuck toy” another yelled out. You grip your bags continuing on your way. Angel ignoring the thirst thrown his way since he was used to it. Until another one of them yelled at you. “Don’t be a bitch and let us breed you little bunny” the third one yelled. Huffing you place your bags in Angel’s hands. Your ear twitching in annoyance. “Angel be a doll and just head back. I’ll catch up” you instruct your friend. He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind but you gave him a nod of reassurance. You turn around facing the men before pulling a gun out your small purse shooting each man in their dick before pouncing on them ripping into them. Once you were through you placed your gun back in your purse turning away from the bodies to make your way back to the hotel. Angel witnessed it all, once you pulled your gun out he didn’t want to miss a chance to see you fight. “You got some blood on you toots” he gestures to your dress that was now stained. You shrug and laugh it off together. Making jokes about it until you walk through the doors. You receive a normal greeting from everyone until charlie screams. “You’re covered in blood!” she’s pointing at your dress. you just nod at her reaction. “Are you hurt?” Vaggie asked looking you over. “It’s not my blood” you tell them calmly. “Ya should’ve seen it.Cottontail here knows how to hold her own” Angel praises setting the bags by the couch before heading to the bar to bother Husk. He begins telling Husk the story as you head upstairs, you notice a shadow following you and don’t mind it until you get to your room. “You can come in but no telling Alastor if you see more than you should” you joke with the shadow. “Don’t tell me what cher?” the beautiful static voice reaches your ears as he appears in your room. “Well Alastor I was telling your shadows they may not inform you if they see more of me than they should.” you tell him with a smile. “Now my dear bunny, what is the fun in that hmmm?” he asks you stepping closer taking your appearance in. “Might I say you look like quite the dish covered in blood” he compliments his smile not leaving his face. “They probably would’ve tasted awful” you tell him jokingly. it made him genuinely laugh, it’s a rare sound you had the pleasure of hearing. “I’m sure you’re absolutely right my dear. I overheard our lovely spider friend telling dear ol’ Husker how you handled the scum who accosted you.” he steps closer to you caging you in between the dresser and his body. you are place your hands on his chest smiling up at him. “Your’e looking at me like I’m your next meal darling” your voice soft, the term of endearment slipping past your lips with ease. “With the way you look cher. You might be” he places a light kiss on your shoulder before giving you space. “Just say the word”

a/n: here’s pt 2 that no one asked for but i felt like doing :)

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #angel dust x reader #the radio demon

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aurorawritestoescape · 5 months ago

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IN HIS ARMS || QZ!Joel Miller x f!reader || 5,2k

Summary: You meet a smuggler in the QZ and can't resist your attraction to him.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, a bit of fluff, unspecified age gap, Fedra soldier!reader, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, mirror sex, degradation, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, reader really loves Joel’s arms (who doesn’t), manhandling, alcohol consumption, use of a morning after pill, mention of guns, mention of canon-typical violence. Reader has hair. Joel can pick her up. Pics are only for the mood, reader has no other specific physical descriptions.

A/n: this is written for PPCU Body Worship writing challenge, created by talented, sweet and beautiful @joelmillerisapunk 💖 I got ‘Arms’ and immediately thought of meaty, beefy QZ Joel. Smooches to my lovely beta @milla-frenchy 😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 Love y’all! Hope you will like the story!❤️

MASTERLIST

“Let’s go.”

“Sure you need me there? It’s your deal, Ronnie. And you know you’re armed, right? Why do I always have to hold your hand?” you complain, while your eyes are scanning the crowd at a public hanging for any sign of disturbance. It’s not your favorite task but Fedra sends enough soldiers here to keep things under control so it usually goes smoothly. That’s probably why your friend Ronnie arranged a deal right in the middle of your shift.

“I’m nervous, ok,” he admits, glancing at you, “The dude’s fucking scary. Never worked with him before. But I’ve heard stuff. You’re just gonna stand there, that’s all. Don’t need to talk.”

You’ve known Ronnie since you were teens in a Fedra camp. Now both officers, you are still inseparable, though at this moment you’d prefer to be as far away from him as you could because in case you two get caught, you both will be a spectacle of the next hanging. Ronnie’s pleading eyes always work on you and the little weasel knows it well so you curse and follow him to the place of the meetup.

As soon as you see the smuggler, standing in a secluded spot far away from the prying eye, your heart starts beating faster. And not because he scares you. Yes, he’s huge and looks very unfriendly, thanks to his furrowed brows and the closed off stance which actually happens to be the culprit of your unexpected reaction. His pose accentuates the beauty of his arms as he’s crossing them in front of his chest. It’s a threatening sight, same as his gaze, but like a moth to a flame, you’re pulled to the man immediately. All thoughts in your head are replaced with only one - he’s fucking hot.

Ronnie slowly comes up to the man, feigning confidence.

“Who the fuck is this?” the smuggler asks, nodding at you with his chin.

“Just a friend. Don’t worry, Joel.”

“I ain’t the one to worry here, kid,” he gruffs, uncrossing his arms as his fists clench in a threatening gesture and you can sense the waves of panic, coming from your friend. “I prefer to do these things one on one. Don’t need an audience. Ya got me?”

“Yeah, ‘k. Next time I’ll be alone.”

“Hope so.”

Joel looks you up and down and you suddenly feel too hot. Standing a step further from him than Ronnie and not saying anything, you’re ogling the man with hungry eyes. Joel seems to relax and the men finally exchange the goods— pills for your friend and ration cards for the smuggler. They’re talking about the product, scheduling the next deal, and you should be on the lookout, should be attentive to the surroundings, like you always are, but your mind, as well as other parts, is fully focused on the stranger.

Joel’s hairy forearms are thick and strong and every little move makes his muscles flex and bulge out of his rolled up sleeves of the denim shirt. His shoulders are broad and the fabric, containing them, is strained to the limit. You’ve never been a biter in bed but suddenly you want to sink your teeth into his arms, lick them all over, glide your hands over the vast expense of his skin, grab them and feel them tighten around your body, encompassing you fully, while his cock stretches…

“Hey!” Ronnie exclaims, interrupting your horny daydreams, pulling on your sleeve and you blink at him, trying to shake away the visions of the man, doing filthy things to you.

“Let’s go!” he says for what appears not the first time, and you smile awkwardly, noticing Joel’s smirk. His arms are crossed again, but now he’s looking at you with a twinkle of curiosity in his piercing eyes, his heavy gaze lightened up.

You take a step away, following your friend, but Joel stops you.

“Sweetheart, wait!”

The pet name hits you right in the pussy and you pause and turn back, confused by why he’s calling you.

“C’mere,” the man motions for you to return to him with a shake of his head, his bear hands shoved in the jeans pockets.

“We’re in a hurry, man,” Ronnie frowns, thinking he’s coming to your rescue, but you turn to him and say,

“It’s ok. Wait for me over there.”

You have no idea what Joel wants from you, but you’re eager to find out. Not hiding his anxiety, your friend takes a few steps away from you and stands at the gate, glancing in your direction from time to time while his hand is resting on his gun.

“Yes? Joel, right?” You ask, coming up to the smuggler and using every last drop of your will not to leer at his mighty arms again.

“Yeah. What’s your name?”

You reply with a little smile and see a smirk tug at his plush lips when he asks, “Like what you see?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been starin' at me like at a piece of meat. No use denyin' it."

You avert your eyes, chewing on your lip. You probably should be embarrassed to be caught ogling the man, but life in this miserable world taught you to take what you want whenever you can. Especially if it's being handed to you.

"I'm not." You look back at Joel with defiance in your gaze. "I think you're hot."

Joel’s chest expands when he takes a deep breath, the shirt’s buttons hanging for dear life. His piercing eyes turn a shade darker as he asks,

"Wanna do somethin' about it?"

Your heart rate increases and the warmth of arousal between your thighs makes you shift on your feet.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Come over to my place tonight. Around 8. Ask your friend for the address. He knows."

You don't reply for a few seconds, making it seem like you're thinking about your answer, although your pussy has been aching since the moment you saw the smuggler so there's no way you're going to reject his invitation.

"'K", you reply, feigning nonchalance, while excitement is twisting your stomach.

“What?! Are you out of your mind? You're gonna see him?” Ronnie hisses at you, as you two are walking back to the square. “He’s dangerous! Do you realize that? He’s huge! Have you seen his arms?”

“Oh, I’ve seen his arms alright,” you reply with a dreamy smile, sensing butterflies in your belly.

“Fuck, you’re so stupid when you’re horny. If I find you tomorrow dead in a ditch, I’ll tell your lifeless face ‘I told you so!’”

“Jesus, man,” You giggle, playfully punching Ronnie’s shoulder. “I’ll be ok. I promise.”

The night can’t come soon enough. Still wearing your uniform, you rush to meet the man who's been occupying your mind all day. When Joel opens the door to you, you swallow loudly seeing him in the same denim shirt and dark blue jeans. You’ve been dreaming of his huge arms around your body, so your panties are completely soaked, and having had no time to change after your shift, you hope to slide them off as fast as possible.

“Hi,” you greet the man, stepping into his apartment.

“Howdy.”Joel closes the door and stands next to you, while his gaze is sliding up and down your body. You look around the apartment, getting a whiff of his scent— sweat with a subtle trace of whiskey.

“Are you from Texas originally?” You ask, glancing up at him, slightly intoxicated by his closeness.

“Yeah. Want a drink?”

He walks to the living area and you follow before leaving your guns at the door.

“What do you have?”

“Whiskey, vodka…water.”

“Vodka’s fine,” you reply, stepping up to a worn out couch and sitting down.

“Oh, are you a vodka girl?”

“I’m a ‘whatever burns’ girl, but vodka works faster on me,” you smile and Joel smirks, crossing his arms again. You swallow loudly, seeing his sexy tan forearms in the golden light of the setting sun. Fuck, you wanna touch them.

“Why d’ya need it to work fast? Doesn’t seem like you need any liquid courage.”

“Really?”

Joel goes to the kitchen and in a few seconds returns with a half empty Smirnoff bottle and two shot glasses. He plops next to you on the couch with a grunt and pours out the alcohol.

You drink yours in one go and Joel follows. The vodka burns and calms you down a little. Joel clears his throat before he speaks,

“This morning your friend was shaking like a leaf. And you… You were practically undressing me with your eyes, sweetheart.”

You smile and drop your gaze down to your lap.

“Well, Ronnie is a nervous guy and I’m …”

“A needy little slut?”

You shoot your eyes up at him and see a smug smile, tugging at his lips, as he awaits your reaction. You should probably feel offended or angry, but instead your core burns brighter at his degrading comment and your pussy flutters, as if proving him right.

He reads your reaction immediately.

“Oh you like that, huh?”

“What?”

“When I call you a slut.”

“I don’t mind,” you mumble while your mind is shutting down with every dirty word he throws at you.

“Yeah, you looked like a thirsty whore this morning. And I see that nothing’s changed.”

You’re barely breathing at this point, as waves of arousal ripple through your body, making you squirm in your seat.

“I…I just really like your arms.” Your gaze shamelessly slides over his body, so big and powerful.

“My arms?” Joel’s brows shoot up and he turns his head to look at his arm, resting on the back of the couch, as if trying to understand your attraction.

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, ogling the muscles straining his sleeve.

“Wanna touch ‘em, baby?”

“Yes, please”.

“So polite. Wanna call you a good girl but we already know that you prefer ‘a slut’.”

Joel chuckles and narrows his eyes, watching you for a few seconds, while you’re melting under his lustful gaze, sinking in the sticky pit of desire. Through the fog in your head you hear his voice, low but still powerful.

“How about we skip the pleasantries then and get to the thing you came for.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m gonna fuck you. And let you touch my arms.”

Your breath hitches and your body tingles all over. You can’t agree fast enough.

“Yeah, ok.”

“Do you always say ‘yes’ to everything, little slut?” he smirks, playing with you like a cat with a mouse.

You try to come up with a witty response but your mind is clouded with lust so you just shake your head with probably the dumbest look ever.

“Can I use your bathroom?” You mumble and when he points you in its direction, swiftly walk there.

You close the door in the little room and check your face in the mirror. It’s the same as every day except for your glossy eyes. You rinse your face, trying to come to your senses, look a little less horny but it’s all in vain. The desire overtook your body completely so you dry yourself and leave the room.

When you return to Joel, you find him on the couch in the same spot and in the same position. Only now he’s completely naked.

A shiver goes down your spine from a new surge of arousal, tightening your core.

You barely hear him, your mind is fully occupied by the image of this gorgeous, huge man, waiting to fuck you. Everything about him makes your pussy beat with the rhythm of your heart - his soft belly, his long, girthy, slightly curved semi hard cock, resting on his thick thigh, his broad hairy chest and muscular arms. Seeing them without the confines of the clothes completely shuts off your brain and you take a step towards him, mesmerized by his muscles, wishing to feel them already.

“Take your clothes off, baby.”

You hardly hear him, taking in every inch of his body.

“Girl! Undress. Fuckin’ hell,” Joel groans and you shake your head, waking up from a horny trance, and start discarding your clothes hastily, piece by piece while his dark gaze is set on you. You should be more graceful and seductive taking them off, but your aching pussy makes your movements rushed and determined. When you’re completely naked, except for your panties, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of the last piece of clothing, but Joel stops you.

He gets up and walks to you, his big cock in his veiny hand.

“Wanna do it myself,” he mumbles and stands next to you, at your side, so close that you feel his warm breath on your cheek and breasts, his naked chest brushing against your shoulder, his manhood poking your thigh.

“Pretty little thing,” he whispers, taking in your body, while his hand slides down your back, leaving chills in its wake. You raise your big eyes at him, your lips parted. “Pity you get so dumb though,” he chuckles and lightly squeezes your asscheek. His hand stays there while the other one cups your breast and grazes your nipple with his calloused thumb, making it stiff. You moan and he groans.

Joel’s palm on your ass moves lower, and reaches your pussy, covered by the wet panties. He slips his finger between your asscheeks and rubs your drippping hole over the gusset. You softly whimper and he plants a light kiss on your cheek, stroking your folds over the fabric.

“She’s been crying for me all day, huh?” he mumbles, placing his large warm hand on your belly, the other one still caressing your cunt. “Pussy so needy she shut down your whole little brain. Yeah, baby?”

All you can do is nod, your senses fully focused on the way his thick fingers are rubbing your aching cunt over the underwear.

“She must be cold, sweetheart, being in a pair of wet panties all day like that?” He coos at you.

“Yeah”, you reply, barely breathing, already feeling your orgasm build because of his light touches. “Didn’t have time to change. I have a sexy pair at home.”

Joel breathes out a chuckle, “I bet you do, little slut. Would love to see ‘em too one day.”

The only response you can give is a mewl.

He steps in front of you, his hand leaving your pussy, and you whine. Joel tsks at you and pinches your chin with his fingers to lift your face to his.

“Oh, my pretty bimbo, already cock drunk,” he laughs, locking eyes with you.

Joel’s so huge, you should probably be scared, but all you feel is a pathetic need to be completely destroyed by him.

“Lights are on but…fuck, you’re gone,” he mocks you, looking into your hazy blown out eyes.

“Listen to me,” he commands, as his fingers slightly shake your head, getting your attention. “How do you want it? Gentle or rough, sweetheart?”

“Rough,” you croak back without any hesitation.

“Good. Then do what I say and we gonna have a great time, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good little slut.”

Your breaths are short and fast as you’re blinking, starting at him like a mindless fuck doll. Suddenly, you gasp when he grabs the back of your thighs with his massive hands and lifts you, throwing your legs around his waist. You grab onto his broad shoulders and he carries you away from the couch and to the bedroom.

He drops you on the bed, old and stiff, but you don’t care. You have no time or ability to think about anything, because as soon as you’re on your back, Joel pins you to the lumpy mattress with his heavy torso and kisses you. He’s not asking for a kiss, he’s taking it but you willingly open your mouth, welcoming his hot tongue. A happy moan escapes your mouth, when you finally glide your palms over his huge arms. He slides your panties off and cups your pussy with his huge warm palm.

“Messy whore,” he mumbles against your mouth.

Joel’s assertive, passionate and as horny as you are, and you smile against his lips, enjoying his desire for you.

He begins peppering kisses along your jaw, your neck, leaving hickeys on his way to your breasts.

You whimper when his mouth finds your nipple and gasp when he nips at it. He licks the pain away and starts sucking on it while his hands are roaming your heated body.

You grab onto his shoulders and shift your hips under his arm. Joel’s slurping and growling, caressing your breast with his lips and tongue, but you crave more so you start grinding your wet pulsating pussy against his arm. Your movements immediately send you to the precipice of your climax. His muscles flex as you rub your clit against them, smearing your slick over his tan skin, and Joel parts from your tit for a few seconds to watch you use his arm to get yourself off.

“Look at this sloppy little pussy. Gonna need a shower after this. Or…,” he smirks and gets back to suckling your other breast.

Each motion of his muscles is helping you to come as you’re dragging your pussy up and down his heavy limb. Soon you throw your head back, dipping it into the pillow when a hard climax hits you and your cunt contracts around nothing, as euphoria is coursing through your veins, taking away the last of your clear thinking.

“That’s it— take it, slut— come for me — jus’ like that,” Joel mumbles against your trembling chest but you hardly hear him, so deep in the ocean of desire, all sounds around you are muffled.

The next thing you feel is his hands grabbing your shoulders and lifting you. Joel makes you sit up and wraps his heavy hand around the back of your neck.

“Look what you’ve done, messy girl.”

He nods at his arm, glistening with your cum and slick and then growls, “Lick it clean.”

With a hazy smile you sit on your heels, getting comfortable. Then you take his arm between your hands and reach for it. Your tongue slides over his hot wet skin and you flutter your eyes shut, reveling in the sensations of his firm muscles under your tongue and the earthy taste of your juices.

“Attagirl,” Joel praises you and slightly squeezes the back of your neck to make you move your head lower and lap up all the mess you’ve left on his skin.

When you finish, Joel lifts your head and sees you staring at his throbbing cock with empty but hungry eyes. It’s leaking precum generously and you almost drool looking at it. You should probably be nervous to take his huge length but all you feel is feral lust.

Placing his palm under your jaw, Joel tilts your head up and searches for your eyes.

“Damn, lookin’ so dumb right now. Lucky you remember how to breathe, little whore.”

He laughs at you and grabs your face, as his fingers dig into your cheeks, making your lips pout.

You whine and he pulls you into his chest. You hug him as if afraid to float away and he gives you a few moments of rest while you are panting, snuggling into his embrace after the shuddering orgasm.

Then he lifts your chin and locks eyes with you. Your breath hitches as you’re struck by his handsome face, which leans down and he kisses you again, gently and slowly, wrapping you tighter in his embrace. Then he asks,

“Why do you like my arms so much?”

You blink a few times, trying really hard to understand the question, drunk on his taste and the way he’s holding you, but when the meaning finally reaches your brain, you stumble over your words.

“I… they… jus’ so big. And … fuck, very hot.”

You feel his broad chest shake with a quiet laugh. “Ready for my cock, baby?” You nod your head with a soft mewl.

“Wanna watch my arms when I’m railing you?”

“Yeah, yes, please.”

Joel hums and gets up before manhandling you off the bed and leading you to a wardrobe. He’s holding you under your arms, noticing that your weak legs are barely able to move, still tingling after your orgasm. He places you like a fuck doll in front the wardrobe door with a mirror and stands behind you. He’s so big and broad that you can see his shoulders and arms perfectly in the reflection. Your gaze glides over your own naked body, and you notice a path of hickeys along your neck and breasts and your core ignites again at the sight of his passion. Then you look at Joel, his eyes are obsidian, the expression is carnal and hungry, and you moan, feeling his cock slap your lower back.

His gaze drops down before he pushes your legs aside with his knee, his thick fingers dig into your hips and he pulls your ass, making you stick it out. Trying to steady yourself, you brace your hands on the mirror in front of you, but he grumbles,

“Not the mirror, stupid. You’ll break it, cut yourself.”

You swiftly move your hands further apart onto the wooden surface.

“Sexy but so dumb,” he mumbles as his eyes return to your ass and his cock. You watch his face, serious and concentrated, and sense his tip prod your sopping hole.

“Fuck,” he curses and pushes his cock deeper, slightly bending his knees to insert it into your tight pussy easier.

You push your ass out more for him, already whimpering like a whore, as you feel your walls slowly part to accommodate his stiff cock. It stings but you welcome the sensation of his manhood spreading your pussy until he bottoms out and you both moan at the sensation.

“Ahh— she feels amazing, baby,” he grunts and you smile dumbly at his reflection in the mirror.

“Such a sloppy cunt,” he murmurs, starting to plunge his length in and out of you with a fast rhythm, “oh, yeah — yeah — yeah—.”

His fat cock is massaging your walls deliciously, kissing your cervix with every deep thrust and you mewl with pleasure and scratch the wooden surface of the wardrobe with your nails.

“Naughty kitten. Tess will kill you if you leave marks on her furniture,” Joel chuckles through heavy panting, squeezing your hips and watching your cunt swallow his glistening cock.

“Who’s Tess?” You ask, not really giving a fuck and he doesn’t reply.

Instead he grants you your biggest wish - he pulls you flush to his chest and wraps his arms around your torso from behind. Your hands immediately fly to grab onto his strong limbs. Joel’s right arm is under your breasts, slightly pushing them up. The other one is keeping you in place, pressed to your chest, between your tits, his giant hand on your throat. His thick fingers curl around your neck but he doesn’t squeeze it, just holds you close against his broad torso.

The sensation and the vision of his powerful muscular arms bonding you to him like that, make your pussy contract and Joel growls in your ear, his breath hot and wet,

“Squeezing me already? Fuck, you’re easy.”

You whine and Joel nibbles on your ear lobe and rasps,

“Hold tight, baby, it’s gonna be a wild ride.”

As soon as the words reach your ear, he begins rolling his hips and dragging his cock in and out of your tight pussy, hard and fast.

You grab onto his bulging muscles better, and as he’s increasing the pace, you’re scratching him with your nails, leaving white marks on his golden skin and whimpering.

“Yeah, take it, dumb little whore. Gonna fuck the last of your brain out of your pretty head.”

Your breasts bounce while he’s fucking you and you bite your puffy lips, trying to muffle your moans, but Joel commands against yout ear,

“Want you to be loud, baby. C’mon. Let them all hear how good im fuckin’ ya.”

You would do anything he told you this moment so your lips part and you let your pleasured noises out, as they mix with the sound of skin rhythmically slapping against skin and his animalistic groans.

Reveling in the sensation of Joel, pounding your crying cunt, you let your hands wander all over his forearms and shoulders, squeezing and scratching them slightly, wishing to memorize the feeling of their strength under your hungry touch. Your vision is shaking with every mighty thrust of his hips but you’re watching the reflection of you two closely, drowning in the image of this tall broad man using you like a mindless fuck doll, caging you in his powerful arms and tears well up in your eyes at how amazing it feels. Your mind and body are focused on this pleasure, suffering and worries of the reality are gone and the drops of pure happiness spill and fall on his arms.

Joel notices you crying and stops fucking you, swiftly pulling out and turning you around.

“What is it, baby? Did I hurt ya?”

His dark eyes, a second ago filled with carnal desire now worried and concerned, dart all over your face and body, searching for the reason of your tears.

You grab onto him and shake your head,

“No, no, i’m fine — feels so good - you feel so good, Joel.”

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he breathes out, pulling you into his bear hug and rubbing your back with his warm hands.

“Please keep fucking me,” you mumble against his hairy chest and he barks a laugh before throwing you back on the bed, making you squeal with excitement.

Joel lies down and manhandles you to straddle him.

“Sit on my cock, little slut,” he commands, eyes darting between yours, reading your reaction.

“Yes, yes,” you mumble, wrapping your hand around his hot hard cock and lifting your hips, hovering over it. You don’t make him wait and immediately sink down on his weeping manhood, as your mouth falls open and your head tilts back.

Joel’s hands are holding your hips when you start riding him, and then snake up to your breasts to knead them, pinch and twist your pebbled nipples.

You run your fingers over his forearms from the elbows to his wrists and grab his hand, intertwining your fingers. Not pausing your lustful dance on his cock, you gently kiss his palm, his hand, then your lips glide down, leaving open mouth kisses over his wrist, the underside of his forearm and his elbow, darting your tongue out and tasting his salty skin. You lean forward, your nipples brushing his chest, and kiss his biceps, using your tongue, and Joel moans, watching you practically make out with his arm.

“Fuck, you’re hot, baby,” he groans while you’re lapping at his skin with your eyes shut. You’re softly whimpering at the sensation of his body, big and strong under you, his cock caressing your walls, making your pussy flutter around it, pushing you closer and closer to your second climax.

“Shit,” Joel curses, pulls your head off his arm and kisses you, while hugging your torso with his python-like grip. He’s holding you tight and you whine, not being able to move your hips and chase your orgasm. Sensing your impatience, Joel plants his feet on the bed and begins jackhammering his fat cock into your slicked up pussy, giving it to you rough and fast, not sparing your little hole.

You’re moaning against his scruffy cheek, your body shaking with his feral thrusts but Joel’s iron hold is keeping you in place.

“Usin’ you like a fuck doll you’re, yeah? Brainless little slut. Made just to make my cock happy. Perfect for me.”

His filthy words, leaving his mouth through gritted teeth, are barely audible because of the loud slapping of his body against yours and the squeaking of the old bed.

“Joellll…,” you moan, and after a few more thrusts explode on his thumping cock, caged by his strong arms, sobbing with heavenly pleasure flooding every inch of your body.

“Hnggg—shit—can I come inside?” You hear a gruff roar in your ear and with Joel fucking your brains out right this moment, you breathe out, “yeah, oh, yeah.” You crave to be full of him, drip him for days after, getting turned on just from the memory of him. As soon as you agree, Joel starts spurting his hot cum into your pulsating cunt, filling you up, emptying his balls into you.

You’re lying still, nuzzling his neck and taking everything he’s giving you, milking his cock to the last drop with your contracting walls.

Gradually intense ecstasy morphs into a pleasant satisfaction and you both bask in the afterglow of your orgasms. You feel almost high on endorphins, not used to such an amount of happiness in your veins, in your life.

Joel softens his embrace but still holds you, letting you rest and you almost doze off, lulled by his warm chest rocking you up and down like a giant wave.

“Don’t sleep yet, ya need to take a pill,” he gently shakes you, sleep heavy in his own voice.

“Oh, yeah…fuck, you came inside,” you murmur, blinking at him, as your mind fog slowly clears up.

“I have a Plan B, don’t worry.”

He moves you off him and lays you down on the bed, then gets up, making the bed squeak.

You can’t move your limbs even if you tried to so you’re lying there, feeling his warmth between your legs, kisses of the afterglow all over your heated skin and smile lazily when he returns to the bed with a glass of water.

“Look at you, as cock dumb as they get, huh?”

He plops down next to you and hands you the pill.

You sit up with a tired smile, swallow the pill and chase it with a few sips of water.

“Good girl,” Joel takes the glass from you and shakes his head when you murmur that you need to go.

“No way. Sleep here. They'll hang your ass if they catch you out and about at this hour.”

You turn your head to the window, just noticing that it’s completely dark outside, only the street lamps illuminate the room with a yellow light.

“Aww, you care about me, Joel? Don’t fall in love,” you giggle but your heart flutters as you look up at the man, so handsome and huge, looming over you.

“I’ll try,” he deadpans and shakes his hand, motioning you to scooch.

You shift to the other side of the bed and he lies down on his back with a grunt. You’re still sitting up, shamelessly admiring his naked body.

“Quit starin’,” he mumbles with eyes closed and pulls you down onto his chest.

You’re lying on his shoulder for a few moments and then whisper,

“Can you big spoon me?”

“Jesus…,” he sighs but turns on his side, scooping you in his embrace and you smile, closing your eyes as your hands gravitate to his arms, heavy and secure around you. You press your back into his warm chest and fall into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!💖🌸

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piedinthepiper · 1 year ago

Text

You owe me ☆

Mafia!Jungkook x psychologist!reader

Summary: It’s your job to help people, but is he really suffering? At least it’s a case of the crazy and obsessive syndrome.

Warnings: yandere!Jungkook, dub con, guilt tripping, description of murder and crime, mention of stalking, cursing, weapons (one singular gun), mention of male masturbation, descriptive smut, probably wrong use of psychological terms (oopsie)

Wc: 6.9k

A/n: This is my first post on my bts fic blog! If you like it please show your support! Don’t be a silent reader! My requests are open, share your ideas!

Disclaimer: This is 100% fiction. I am in no way saying that this is how any member of bts would act. Nor do I condone the actions detailed in the story. This is purely for entertainment purposes only. If any of the warnings trigger you, or you’re under 18 ¡do not read! I’m not your mother, and I don’t take any accountability for what you decide to read online!

Another disclaimer: I am not a licensed psychologist! Everything related to psychology in this fic is off Google, do not use this to diagnose yourself or anyone else!

Parts: | 1 | 2 |

He clutched the gun close to his chest. Hiding it under his pyjamas. His fathers words ringing in the back of his mind. “Your brother is too soft for this industry, but you son, you’re my perfect descendant.”

He walked into his family’s suite. It was dark, except for one light in the living room. His mother sat there head propped up on her hand reading a book.

“What are you doing up so late, baby?”

She asked, putting the book down in her lap and taking off her reading glasses. He looked over at the white sofa placed next to the large windows. His brother was sleeping there peacefully. Not aware of his presence.

“I let your brother sleep in the living room tonight. His nightmares have returned.”

She continued when he didn’t answer her. He slowly turned his eyes towards his mother again.

“Weak.”

He answered lowly. Her look turned concerned.

“Is something wrong, baby?

His eyes continued to stare at her. He didn’t move a muscle, not yet.

“You know I don’t like it when you look at me like that.”

She continued when he yet again didn’t answer. There was a sturdiness to her voice now. The kind of sturdiness mothers have before scolding you. He started smiling. Not in a sweet innocent way. Not in the way 11 year olds should. But in a sinister and dark way. His hand moved out of his pyjamas top. She looked at the object in his hand.

“Drop that gun right now, Jungkook!”

A scream. Three shots. And silence.

15 years later

“Your patient is here.”

Your assistant, Erin, said through the slightly ajar door to your office. You looked up from your lunch. Quickly glancing over at the stationary computer to check the time.

“I don’t have an appointment. Not in another thirty minutes.”

Erin looked back to the waiting room before slowly stepping inside the office. Closing the door quietly behind her. She walked closer to you.

“He’s been sitting here for an hour already. I told him his appointment wasn’t until 1 pm. He just said ‘I know’ and sat down.”

She hurriedly whispered afraid of whoever was sitting out there.

“Please, Erin. Don’t act like he’s crazy. Send him in, I’ll eat later.”

She gave you a look before holding up two fingers. The signal that the two of you created. Working as a psychologist you meet with all sorts of people. Even criminals. The signal signalised that she would call the police if you hit the button that called directly to the front desk.

“Stop it, there will be no need to call the police. He’s harmless.”

“If you say so.”

She shrugged and walked out the door. The next time it opened a familiar figure entered.

“Good afternoon, Doctor.”

“You’re early Mr. Jeon.”

You had been treating Jungkook Jeon for a little over a month now. And you had come to the conclusion that he had PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. After he had witnessed a series of murders and crimes during his childhood. He was vague about the past, but a few things came out here and there. You only knew about his absent father and that his brother and mother had both been killed. No description of how or when. Which is common at first. It’s hard to re-live your trauma.

“I’m sorry I disturbed your lunch. Just eat, I don’t mind.”

He said as he sat down in the white sofa across your desk. You gave him a small smile as you reached into your drawer.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll eat after our session.”

You said as you fished his file up and opened it on you desk. You quickly read your notes from the last session as you continued talking.

“How are you doing? Still having nightmares?”

You looked up from the file maintaining eye contact as he answered your question.

“Sometimes, but not as often as before. I dream of you instead now.”

His eyes never left yours as he bit his lip, playing with his piercing he had there. You nodded.

“How often do you dream about me? And what are the dreams about?”

You asked as you scribbled it down in your notes.

“Every now and then they occur. Especially after our sessions. Or after I read your books. You’re a good writer Dr. y/l/n.”

He started smiling. His smile wasn’t sweet, it was different from how he had smiled at you before.

“As for what they’re about, I don’t think you’d want to know, Doctor.”

You tried concealing your confusion at his last statement. Curiosity taking over you.

“Dreaming about people you frequently surround yourself with is not uncommon. If you don’t like to talk about it we don’t have to. I would just like to know if they’re good or bad dreams.”

He nodded, still not breaking his smile nor the eye contact.

“Oh they’re good, Doctor. Don’t worry.”

You smiled back at him.

“That’s good to know. I’m glad to hear your nightmares are slowly being changed with good dreams.”

It went silent for a moment as you wrote down the good news. When you looked up again he wasn’t looking at you anymore, and for some reason you felt relived. His eyes were big and doe like, and when they focused on you for too long you would sometimes feel uneasy. You wondered so what those eyes had experiences in the past.

“What about your sudden outbreaks, are you able to control your anger better?”

He focused on you again the second he heard your voice. His smile returned.

“Sort of, I’ve been letting out the aggression in the gym, after you adviced me to try to stay active. I’ve started boxing.”

You smiled and nodded, writing down boxing in your notes.

“That’s good to hear. It seems that you’re getting better Mr. Jeon, much b-“

“Jungkook, call me Jungkook.”

He interrupted. You stopped and looked at him for a second.

“And no, I’m not cured. I still need you.”

You slowly nodded.

“Well there is no cure for your diagnosis, it’s a matter of being at peace with living with it. But I can understand that you still have things you would want to talk about. Maybe you would like to open up to me about your past?”

The room grew quiet. His eyes now focused on his hands in his lap. His demeanour changed completely.

“I have told you about my past. If I didn’t you wouldn’t have been able to diagnose me in the first place.”

He answered with a bit of underlaying annoyance. You sighed. Something felt off, but you couldn’t figure out what.

“You have told me some parts yes. If you want to go more in detail you can, I’m not forcing you. As your psychologist I would advise talking about it with me. It could be nice to have an outsiders perspective.”

You said in a soft tone. Trying to get your point across at the same time as being gentle. You didn’t want him to feel pressured or as if he had to say anything. When he didn’t open his mouth you understood you crossed his personal line of what he feels fit for you to know. You spoke after almost a minute with silence.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to. You can think about-“

“You’re a smart one.”

He interrupted you again. His eyes raised to meet yours.

“That’s why I like you. You know to some extent what is going on inside my head. I could never do that. I never know what is going on inside your head. If you think I’m weak or even crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy nor weak. It’s not your job to know what is going on inside my head. But it is my job to know what’s going on inside yours.”

He nodded before patting the sofa seat beside him.

“Come here.”

He simply said. You don’t know why, but you had a bad feeling in your stomach. He was acting differently today, compared to other sessions. Either way you got up from your chair, knowing that doing what he said would get you an insight of what you wanted to know. You slowly walked around your desk and sat down in the small sofa next to him. You crossed your legs trying your best not to get too close to him, but he seemed to man spread even more. Making your thighs touch. You placed your notebook in your lap, ready to write down exactly what he told you. He took a hold of your wrist.

“You’re not writing this down, Doctor. I need your full attention.”

It was the first time he had touched you, beside the first time you met when you shook hands. It made you think that you usually never have any sort of physical contact with your patients. Maybe that’s exactly what they need. What he needs to open up to you. You put your notebook down, and continued holding his hand. He looked down at your hands intertwining. Your smooth small hand was a sharp contrast to his bigger tattooed one.

“Tell me whatever you feel comfortable with telling me.”

You said to get his attention back to reality. He went quiet for a few seconds.

“I grew up in a hotel. It was a nice hotel, four stars, good breakfast. My father was almost never home, I didn’t mind though. I had my mother and my brother there. It was perfect in the beginning.”

He stopped. You looked down at his hand, it was shaking. You started drawing small circles at the back of his hand. Trying to calm him down. He looked down at your hands again.

“One night when I was sleeping I was woken up by a loud bang. The door to our home was broken down. A man entered and started shooting. My brother was still sleeping on the sofa and died instantly. My mother reached her gun and shot the man in the shoulder.”

He looked into your eyes.

“But he shot her in the head.”

You nodded, looking down at the floor. You knew he was looking at you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes in that moment.

“Did you find out who that man was? Why he would do such a thing.”

He went quiet again at your question. His grip on your hand tightened, as if what he was going to say would make you pull away.

“He was a mobster. Like my father. After the incident he trained me as the next leader of his group. I was 11.”

You looked at him. His childhood was worse than you thought, but he wasn’t saying all this as if it was a traumatic experience. It seemed like he was bragging about it. You would have to go through your notes and his file after work to see if there was something you were missing about him. You couldn’t jump to conclusions just yet.

“Thank you for telling me.”

You smiled at him. He looked back at you with those big eyes. You looked at the watch on your wrist. The session was over.

“Look at the time.”

You were about to let go of his hand to get up from the sofa. But he grabbed you harder. Forcing you to sit still.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon. But our session is over-“

“I’ve told you to call me Jungkook.”

“Jungkook, I have other patients today as well. We can continue this next week.”

You tried to assure him. He still didn’t let go.

“I’ve never told anyone about this, and you decide to end the session this quickly?”

You grabbed his hand with your other hand as well.

“You know I usually don’t end sessions like this. But I can’t let my other patients wait. You’re free to sit in the waiting room for as long as you want to.”

He frowned at your comment, but relaxed his hand nonetheless. You got off the sofa and walked to your desk again. Before you could say anything else he got up from the sofa and hastily walked out the door. Slamming it shut behind him.

You had two more patients that day. You waved goodbye to your last patient of the day, a young girl named Olive Thomson who was suffering from severe anxiety, as she walked through the door. You got up from your chair and collected your things. You turned off the computer and the light. You made sure to lock the door as you always do. The only thing you had to do now was say goodbye to Erin by the front desk, and you could go home. You walked into the waiting room.

“Finally.”

You turned to find the owner of the voice, as it was clearly not Erin’s.

“Mr. Jeon what are you doing here?”

You asked as you looked at the man seated in one of the waiting chairs.

“I told him he had to leave, I promise.”

You heard Erin whisper behind you.

“You said I could sit here for as long as I wanted to, Doctor. And please, just call me Jungkook.”

He was clearly upset. You remembered your words from earlier, but you didn’t think he would spend almost four hours just sitting there.

“I did, you’re right. I’m leaving now, Erin will be here for another two hours. But after that we’re closed.”

He got up from the chair.

“I was waiting for you.”

He simply said.

“I’m sorry our session ended so brutally, but I promise we’ll talk about it next week.”

You said and patted his shoulder as you walked past him towards the exit.

“Goodbye, Erin!”

You said as you made your way outside. The wind was cold and you clutched your coat closer to you as you walked towards your car.

“The least you can do is eat with me.”

He had followed you outside. You turned to look at him.

“I’m not that hungry, I just want to go home.”

You was going to open your car door, but his hand suddenly blocked the door. You were about to cuss him out. Tired of his antics.

“You haven’t eaten all day, I hardly doubt that one bite you had for lunch filled you up.”

He sounded threatening, something he had started to do recently.

“I just want to hear your thoughts on what I said. Don’t you think you owe me that? Or do I have to wait a week and dread finding out your opinion of me?”

He was desperate, you could see it. What he was saying was true. He would walk around overthinking for the next week and his health could worsen. You had to take action according to your diagnosis.

“Ok, I’ll eat with you.”

The two of you were sitting at some restaurant. The lights were low and to everyone around you, the two of you looked like a couple on a date. This was obviously not something you would do with your patients, you like to keep things professional. Something about this whole situation felt anything but professional.

“Get whatever you want, my treat.”

He said deeply focused on the menu. You shook your head.

“No thank you, I can pay for my own food.”

You answered.

“I’m the one responsible for you not being able to eat your lunch right? You owe me this meeting and I owe you food. Two birds with one stone.”

You sighed when you didn’t have a rebuttal. The two of you ordered, and the silence grew more and more awkward.

“I’m sorry again, Mr. Jeon I’m-“

“Jungkook. Please y/n! Just call me Jungkook!”

He was clearly upset now. You were a bit taken aback from the sudden use of your first name. He had never called you by your first name before. And the feeling of the professionalism fading away became more apparent.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember your request.”

“Say it. Say my name.”

For some reason you didn’t feel like you had it in you. It felt so strange to call a patient by their name, the same way it felt weird to be called your name by a patient.

“Jungkook.”

You managed to get it out, but you couldn’t look him in the eye saying it. The food luckily came quickly, you were starving. Plus it saved you from whatever he was going to answer. You decided to take the lead. Wanting to stay on track for the actual reason you said yes to join him.

“You said your father was a mobster. Do you know if he’s still living that lifestyle? Do you have any contact with him?”

You asked after taking a big bite of your pasta. Jungkook swallowed before answering your question.

“My father is dead. He’s been dead for 7 years now.”

A question came to mind, but you didn’t know if you dared ask him. You remember he said his father trained him to the life of crime at a young age. For him to take over his fathers legacy. With his father gone he would be next in line to whatever group his father had built. He got the image. Tattoos, piercings, the black clothes. But you couldn’t imagine him being a mafia boss. Maybe it was some sort of stereotype that strong, tough men don’t go to the psychologist. But you were starting to rethink his intentions.

“You’re thinking about something.”

You looked up from your food. He was staring at you.

“Look at you, you do have the ability to understand my mind.”

You said lightheartedly. He chuckled.

“I think you’re brave. Not many people survive the kind of neglect and trauma you’ve experienced in your childhood.”

You said, trying to give him an answer for his entire life story. He nodded and suddenly reached for your hand across the table. You jumped, but didn’t remove your hand. You didn’t want to make a scene with this many people around.

“I’m fine, y/n. I think the only cure I need is you.”

His statement combined with his eyes staring into your soul, gave you chills down your back. Something was off about him. You had to ask. You just had to.

“When your father died, did you…?”

He smiled. The same sinister smile he smiled at you earlier that day.

“I did. I took over his legacy. Me and my father were actually great friends the years before he died. Not that I cared for him. I don’t think I’ve ever cared for anyone in my entire life.”

Another shot of chills froze your body at his statement. You had overlooked it this entire time. His calm demeanour, his tendency to physically violence, his intelligence and charisma and now his lack of empathy. He didn’t suffer from PTSD, he had been lying this entire time.

“At least not until I met you.”

He interrupted your thoughts. You pulled your hand out of his quickly. You took a deep breath trying to compose yourself.

“That’s nonsense. You must’ve cared for your mother.”

He shrugged.

“Not really, she wasn’t exactly the best mother.”

“You don’t really have those nightmares do you?”

You asked, looking at him. It took him a few seconds to answer. Probably contemplating if he should continue his lies or tell the truth.

“I don’t.”

“You didn’t really have a problem with your mother or brother dying either right?”

He let out a small laugh.

“I just told you.”

“Just answer me.”

He poked his tongue into his cheek and leaned forward onto the table.

“What is this? Are you trying to diagnose me, Doctor?”

He said mockingly.

“Answer me.”

You commanded. He sighed and started smiling at you again.

“Everyone has to die at some point. Doesn’t matter when or how.”

You nodded. Your instinct was true.

“You don’t have PTSD, you have ASPD.”

He licked his lips and cocked his head.

“And what does that mean, Doctor?”

“You’re a sociopath.”

He looked taken aback from your bluntness for a second. He probably wasn’t expecting you to crack his code.

“You’ve lied this entire time for your own personal gain. I must admit your acting was really good. But my question is, what do you want?”

He was quiet for a second. You knew he was fighting a war on the inside.

“I really underestimated you y/n. I knew you were smart, but personally I don’t think PhDs make a person smart by default. You’ve really proven yourself to me.”

“My efforts were not made to impress you. You think too highly of yourself Mr. Jeon.”

His gaze switched, you had aggravated him. Not only by calling him by his last name, but by attacking his self image.

“Why don’t you come home with me, we can continue our conversation there.”

You shook your head, and arranged the cutlery neatly by the side of your half empty plate.

“I do not go home with patients, and I definitely do not go home with mobsters. You have already challenged my professionalism by taking me out to eat.”

He smirked.

“What if I stop being your patient? In all honesty I don’t really need your advice, Doctor.”

You grabbed your bag and got up from your seat.

“In all honesty I think you do. We will continue this conversation in my office next week. Good night Mr. Jeon.”

With that you walked away from the table. Not looking back.

The next few days you were on edge. Constantly overthinking everything that had happened that day with Jungkook. You almost wanted to call in sick. Terrified of what would happen next. But regardless of that you had to continue working. You couldn’t let your other patients get affected by whatever was going on with you. You said goodbye to Mrs. Humphrey. An elderly woman that had fallen into depression after her husband had passed. Once the door closed you fetched your lunch out of your bag. You didn’t feel like eating, but you knew you had to. If not your energy would be drained at the end of the day. After the first bite you started hearing noises outside. Erin was almost yelling outside your door. You stood up, wanting to investigate what the commotion was. Before you could take one step the door swung open. And there he stood, your nightmare for the last couple of days.

“I told him you were busy, Dr. y/l/n! I told him he couldn’t enter!”

Erin said hopelessly behind him. He was soaking wet from the rain. His hair plastered itself to his forehead. And his black shirt did the same to his abdomen. He didn’t move, he was just staring at you with a furious look in his eyes.

“It’s fine, Erin. I’ll handle this.”

Erin looked at Jungkook worriedly before looking back to you. She held up two fingers. You nodded, and she left.

“Sit.”

You said, as you yourself sat down behind your desk. He closed the door behind him, but didn’t sit down. He continued to lure near the door.

“You interrupt my lunch again, I don’t want this to become a habit.”

“Please, spear me the bullshit.”

He said, and you went quiet. Wanting him to say whatever he came here for.

“How did you do it?”

He said after some time. You looked confused at him. Not understanding what he was referring to.

“Did what?”

You asked in almost a sharp tone. You were annoyed. He let out a small laugh, it almost sounded like a sneer.

“You’re cute when you’re angry with me.”

He started slowly walking towards you.

“But I need to know how you did it, y/n.”

He stopped once he reached the end of your desk. You looked up at him.

“What did I do?”

You ask again. He puts his palms on the table and lean closer to you. You don’t move, trying to prove to him and yourself that you’re not scared.

“You figured out a side of me I never understood I had. If I, the person that’s bearing this disease didn’t know. How come you knew?”

You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms. He was clearly distressed. Maybe even more than what you had been for the last days. And for some reason it pleased you.

“I told you, this is what I do. This is my job.”

You could tell he was conflicted in what to do next. You could practically see the way the wheels were turning inside his head. But eventually he sat down.

“I studied the human mind for six years to be able to understand things not even you are aware of.”

He scowled at you as you talked to him in a harsh tone.

“I’ve done research, and I’ve written books about this, that you have read may I add. What made you think that I wasn’t capable?”

He didn’t answer. The two of you just stared at each other.

“This is not a session, I demand answers, Jungkook.”

His eyes lit up when he heard his name fall off your tongue.

“Like I said, I underestimated you.”

He answered short.

“You didn’t answer my other question.”

You stated. He looked confused at you.

“The question from the other night. What do you want?”

He started laughing. You did not find it funny, and watched him as his fit of laughter died down.

“Y/n, you can’t be serious! You’re telling me that you were able to diagnose me with some bullshit, while I was pretending to be something else. But you’re not able to see the fact that I want you.”

The room got quiet. For the first time in a long time you felt completely speechless. He moved to get up from the sofa, but stopped the second he saw you roll your chair further away from him. He could tell you were afraid now, there was no point in acting tough.

“Come here.”

He said with a smirk and patted his thigh this time. There was still fight in you though.

“You’re disgusting.”

You uttered. He sneered at your comment.

“You’ve exploited me for your own satisfaction this entire time.”

You looked strictly at him, as he sighed.

“What was I supposed to do? You’re constantly on my mind. Day and night. And it’s awful!”

“That’s called an obsession.”

“I know what it’s called!”

He bit back. You went quiet, waiting for him to give you more information.

“The only way I can get a break is after i come to the thought of you. It usually takes around three times until I’m too tired to think of you.”

You couldn’t hide your disgust from your facial expression anymore. Looking at him as if he was a rat on the street.

“And then I thought if that helps, the real deal would help even more.”

He got up from the sofa now. You stayed seated, your hand slowly moving across your desk towards the telephone.

“I need you, y/n.”

You broke eye contact and looked down to hit the right number for the front desk. Jungkook quickly understood what happened and pushed the stationary phone off the desk. It fell to the floor with a bang, breaking it on impact. You got up quickly, wanting to distance yourself from him.

“How did you know? About the phone, about me. We never met before our sessions. Why? I don’t understand.”

You blurted out in pure stress of the situation. He smiled as he started walking towards the side of the desk. You walked the other way, wanting to keep the desk between the two of you. He chuckled.

“You’re cute when you’re confused too.”

You continued walking backwards. Trying to keep as much distance from him, while he tries to close it.

“I’ve followed you for a long time, baby. A very long time.”

The two of you had walked an entire round around the desk now. He jumped down onto the sofa again. His hand gracing the sofa cushions beside him.

“Do you want to know the full story?”

You knew what he was hinting at. Your entire body was screaming not to get anywhere near him. But you needed to know. He didn’t have anything to hold back now, you were certain he would tell you the truth. So you walked towards the sofa, carefully sitting down beside him. You took a second to compose yourself before looking at him. Signalising that’s you were ready. He smiled.

“I have known you since we both were children. Your father was my brothers shrink. He´s the one that had PTSD. I saw you for the first time in the hotel lobby after your father had finished his session with my brother. You were maybe 6 and sat there for so long, waiting for your father to return. When I saw you, I knew we were meant to be. We were soulmates. And for the first time in my life I felt something for someone.”

He grabbed your hand. You quickly out of reflex tried to wiggle yourself out of his grip. He tugged your hand harshly towards him and your entire upper body followed. Without your hand to catch you, you fell straight into his chest. His other hand sneaked around your waist as you composed yourself.

“Let me go.”

You said annoyed, placing your hand on his chest to keep a distance.

“If you want to hear the rest, you have to play by my rules, baby.”

His eyes focused on your lips as he whispered to you. You shook your head.

“I don’t need to know the rest. I can make out the sob story on my own. Boy falls in love, boy doesn’t get girl.”

He shook his head and let go of your waist. You quickly sat back up, brushing off imaginary dust from your lap.

“You should show me some respect.”

He said with a serious tone. You rolled your eyes and crossed your eyebrows.

“I’m not scared of you.”

He chuckled at your comment, placing his hand around the back of the sofa.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me either. I just think that you should show the man you owe your life to some respect.”

He touched your shoulder, drawing small circles on your jumper.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

He smirked.

“Oh, but you do. I made you the person you are today. Without me you wouldn’t be here.”

You sighed tiredly at him.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You got up from your seat and walked back to your desk. Starting to pack up your stuff. You were so done with him. He needed help, but you would no longer treat him. You decided as much.

“I need to get out of here, if you’re not gone when I’m back I’ll call the police.”

You put your bag over your shoulder, ready to walk away.

“How did you get into Yale, Doctor?”

He asked out of the blue. You stopped in your tracks.

“What? Why?”

He shrugged.

“Just seems so weird that someone with your grades would be able to attend any Ivy League school. Don’t you agree?”

You went quiet. Not knowing where he wanted this conversation to go.

“And don’t you think it’s weird how you always got A’s even when you were out partying instead of studying?”

You thought back to the years when you were studying. You originally did only apply to Yale just because your father went there. You didn’t think you actually was going to make it, because your grades were mediocre.

“What are you saying?”

“You have no idea how many people I had to blackmail to get you there. How many men I had follow you constantly. How many professors I had to bribe to make them give you a good grade. I’ve spent millions on you, y/n!”

Your mind was racing. You didn’t understand anything. Was your entire life a lie?

“I have to give it to you. Your first book made it without my help. But when you came out with your second book, and it wasn’t a success right away. I bought almost half the copies and payed a hefty amount of money to make it a New York Times best seller.”

You dropped your bag in awe. What he was saying made a lot of sense. You started rethinking every significant moment in your life. Wondering if he was behind it all. He got up from his seat and started moving towards you. But this time you didn’t step back. You let him come close to you.

“I’ve done so much for you, baby. Why are you so ungrateful?”

You looked up at him. He was now standing right in front of you. So close that you could almost feel his breath on your skin.

“I didn’t ask you to do any of this. You can’t keep me in debt for something I-“

You struggled with continuing the sentence. The reality of his words hit you, and your tears threatened to spill.

“It’s ok, baby. I’m not asking for much, considering what I’ve given you.”

He whispered calmly. His hands found your waist. He took one step closer to you and placed his forehead against yours.

“All I want is you, right here on this sofa, showing me how grateful you are.”

You couldn’t hold your tears in anymore, letting them slowly drip down your cheeks. One of his hands abandoned your waist to wipe away the hot tears on your cheek. You looked into his eyes as he continued to hold your face.

“If I do it, will you leave me alone?”

His eyes focus on your lips and how close you were. He had never been this close to you.

“I can never leave you. You’re my soulmate.”

He simply answered. You looked down at the floor.

“Jungkook, you’re delusional. You have to stop.”

“How can I stop? Huh? You’re the only one that matters in my life!”

You continued looking at the floor, even when he pushed himself off you in his fit of rage.

“I fucking love you!”

You shook your head, looking up at him this time.

“You don’t love me! You don’t even know me! You’ve created this illusion in your head that we are meant to be, but we’re not!”

You yelled back at him angrily.

“You’ve interfered in my life when I didn’t ask you to! You don’t have the right to do that!”

“And where would you be without me?”

He argued back.

“You act like you don’t care! But you know that without my help you wouldn’t be anything. You would’ve been a nobody.”

His words stung. What he was saying was the truth. The hard truth. You would have never made it to college. Never gotten this job. Never been a successful author. Never followed in your fathers footsteps and made him proud. You heard Jungkook sigh.

“I’m sorry baby, but it’s the truth.”

He said dejectedly. You took a deep breath. Realising what you had to do.

“I’ll do it.”

You simply said and met his eyes.

“I’ll have sex with you once, but after this I need you to stop.”

“Baby-“

“Listen to me! I’ll find you another psychologist. I want you to go to there and get help. When your treatment is over-“

You stopped for a second. Contemplating if you wanted to commit to the promise you were about to make.

“I’ll meet you again. To talk. I can’t promise you more than that.”

His eyes lit up and he swiftly lifted you in a hug. Letting out small sounds of excitement and shaking you around a little. You couldn’t help but smile at his boyish action. After a moment he put you down again, but continued to hold your waist.

“I’ll do whatever you say, baby. I’ll do anything for you.”

Your hands found his strong chest. You kept the eye contact, but your eyes couldn’t help but flick down to his lips for a split second. And that’s all he needed to kiss you. It started slow, but quickly got hotter. Your hands slid around his neck, unconsciously pulling him deeper into the kiss. He stepped backwards. You were taken aback by the sudden movement, but followed his lead. He guided the two of you to the sofa. The same sofa he had sat in every time he came to your sessions. He broke the kiss to jump down on the sofa. He looked up at you with nothing but lust in his eyes. He had been waiting for this for many years, and finally he had you. He reached out for you as you straddled his lap, feeling his already hard cock between the fabric of your trousers. His hands moved down to your ass. Grabbing it the second he had a chance, and letting out a satisfied groan. You reached down to the hem of your top and pulled it off.

“You’re so fucking hot.”

He said with half lidded eyes as he watched your bare skin. You smirked at his comment and reached for his shirt as well. He lifted his back off the sofa to help you get it off. Once it was off you started examining his tattoos. Tracing his arm with your finger all the way up to his shoulder. You stopped once you saw the little circular scar. Your entire body froze as you remembered his words from your last session. “My mother reached her gun and shot the man in the shoulder. But he shot her in the head.”. He looked at you confused for a second, before he looked at his shoulder where your eyes were glued. He understood what you were thinking.

“You killed your family.”

You said and looked back at him. He was already shaking his head.

“The man was you. You killed them.”

You tried to get up from his lap, suddenly scared of the killer you were straddling. But he held you down with a strong grip.

“Baby calm down, let me explain.”

You continued to struggle. Not listening to his words.

“Y/n!”

He suddenly screamed. Getting your attention. He sighed.

“I didn’t kill them.”

“I don’t fucking believe you.”

You started struggling again, now hitting his chest as well. He quickly flipped the two of you. Pushing you down onto the sofa with his own body weight. Holding your wrists harshly.

“So what if I killed them? It doesn’t take away from the fact that you still owe me this!”

He looked dangerous on top of you like that. A single tear fell down the side of your cheek. He was right yet again. He kissed you tenderly. It was a sharp contrast to the tone in his voice.

“You still owe me your body.”

He started kissing down your neck. Eagerly taking one of your boobs in his hand. His crotch grinded against you for a second before you heard him curse under his breath.

“I’ll have to taste you another time. I can’t fucking wait any longer to be inside you.”

He started working on your jeans. Ripping them off in a hasty speed together with your panties. He quickly loosened his belt and repeated the action on himself. His cock sprung free, but you weren’t able to look at it for more than a second before he lifted your legs over his shoulders and pushed into you. The two of you moaned in unison. He was big, but he took little to no time for you to adjust, as he started thrusting into you with brutal force.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

He moaned, stopping his motion to spit on your pussy. Using it as lubricant. He continued quickly after. Moans and heavy breathing filled your office as the two of you strived to reach your orgasms. He reached down and started rubbing your clit. Almost overstimulating you.

“I’ve waited for this for so long, baby. You feel better than I ever imagined.”

You felt a familiar knot building in your lower stomach. The rapid speed of his hands and the stretching of his cock making you come closer to release quicker than ever.

“I need to come inside you. I need to fill you up, baby.”

You nodded. Not knowing or caring what you said yes to. You were already on cloud nine and needed him to continue whatever he was doing.

“Say my name.”

You understood he was close, and you were too.

“Jungkook!”

You moaned as your orgasm washed over you. You legs clenched around him, and your hands found his arms. Digging your nails into his skin. He came the second he heard his name escape your mouth. He let you ride out your orgasm, before he fell on top of you. You felt his breath go back to normal as he nuzzled into your neck. The two of you laid there in serenity for a while. Just feeling each others heartbeats and listening to each others breathing.

He would do as you told him. He would go see someone. He would do whatever it took to have you like that again. He would never let you go. You owed him this after all.

Thank you for reading! Do you want to read more?

Masterlist

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started. Joel clears his throat.

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!”

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult."

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips.

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person.

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it.

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs.

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!"

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees.

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?"

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree.

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover.

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses.

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire.

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground.

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says.

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize. You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks.

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off.

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway.

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark.

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window.

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop.

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.”

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary.

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half.

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating.

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head.

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?”

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave.

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.”

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you.

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest.

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space.

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves.

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin.

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says.

“From what?”

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him.

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap.

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel.

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask.

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says.

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room.

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back.

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands.

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel.

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully.

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm.

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael.

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night.

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down.

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips.

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish.

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses.

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #dark content #cult leader!joel miller #cw age gap #cw dubcon #cw age difference #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #dark joel miller

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Death Wish 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

You sense movement, you hear scuffing, and feel the air shift. Yet all you can focus on is each breath. Your chest throbs with the effort it takes to just keep going. To just keep living.

The smell of gunpowder clogs your nose and the taste of bile stains your tongue. The adrenaline seeps from you, leaving you weak and wilting. Your arms tremble as you barely keep yourself from crumpling into a heap.

Your legs are bent to one side and your head hangs under an invisible veil. He’s dead. Your father is dead. You killed him. But why aren’t you sad?

You’re afraid. Anxious. Addled. But you’re not sad. You have no remorse for the life lost. That is what hurts. Your own callousness stabs you in the heart.

You shudder and heave again. Barnes’ shadow looms over you and slowly, he bends his knees to come to level with you. He has his gun in his hand. He holds it without intent.

“You got what you asked for. My end is done,” he says.

You raise your head slowly and look at him. You blink. His end... what about yours?

“It’s late. You’re tired,” he reaches to slide the gun into his holster. “You’re gonna go home and you’re going to sleep. And in the morning, when my man comes to hand you that black envelope, you’re going to cry and act shocked.”

You push your lip out and shake your head. You search his expression. He is stoic and unbothered.

“That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it, doll?” He prompts.

You swallow, “what do you want--”

“I just told you what I want you to do,” he interjects. “Don’t you worry, I always collect my debts.”

He stands and tugs on his cuffs. He faces the chair and you slowly follow his gaze to the corpse. Your father’s face is slack and lifeless. You’re horrified at the sight of death, that it’s his, doesn’t affect you as much.

You sit and stare and try to feel. That’s your father. That’s the man who is responsible for your very being. You share blood. He has been there every moment of your life. His is a constant.

Not anymore and that just doesn’t matter to you. It should. Shouldn’t it?

Well, what is there to miss about him?

“Stand up and walk out of here. There’s a light pole by the gate. Wait there.” Barnes instructs without looking back.

He pushes his arms back and slides off his jacket. He folds it and places it on the bare metal table by the wall. He turns back and unbuttons his sleeves. He rolls them as he nears your father’s body.

“I’m being patient because I know you’re in shock, so I’ll tell you one my time to go,” he says, focus on the dead man. “You and your sisters are under my protection. Go and be with them.”

You take a breath and steady yourself as best you can. You stand and hug yourself. You look at your father one last time and turn away. You walk out stiffly. Now that you’re on your feet, you don’t ever want to stop.

You pass through the door and trod across the tarmac. You come into the yellow cone of light cast beneath the tall pole and stop. You wait. Not long before Rogers appears in his black cadillac.

That woman is gone. You don’t wonder who she is. If she’s with him, she must be one of them. You are too. You were born into that life, but now, you really do belong.

Neither of you say a word as he drives you home. You don’t look back as you get out of the car and go inside. Your sisters aren’t home yet. You don’t expect them to be. You can never go to The Reel without stopping at the milkshake place after and they stay open late for the movie goers.

Those little details are so meaningless now. Nothing really makes a difference. Life is a fraying thread and it will snap. You just don’t know which tug will be the one that breaks it.

You go upstairs and undress. You pull on a pajama set and take your clothes downstairs to the bin. You lay down on the couch and wait for your sisters.

When they get home, you quietly listen to them jabber. They talk about the movie. Kitty loves how good it looked. It must have been remastered and Adrienne got the last bag of caramel corn. You force a smile but it doesn’t feel believable. It must be. They give you your box of chocolate-covered raisins and wish you a good night.

You follow them upstairs. As you get to your door, Adrienne says your name. Both you and Kitty stop and look at her.

“I wish every day could be like this,” she says.

Kitty nods, “yeah, I hope he never comes home.”

Your heart feels like it’s stopped. You don’t know how you’re doing it. You don’t know how you’re not shrieking and pulling your hair out. Any sane person would be a puddle. He's not coming back. Your father is dead and you killed him.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” You say at last. “Good night.”

“Night,” Adrienne chimes back and Kitty echoes her.

You all go into your rooms and shut the doors. You put the raisins on the dresser and ignore your bed. You go to the closet where you used to hide and listen to your father yell. You sit on the floor and lean into the wall. You hug your legs and stare into the static darkness.

The night is long and sleepless. Your head dips now and again but you start as the echo of a gunshot brings you back before you can succumb to the depths. The morning light peers in from the other side of the slatted door.

You climb out of the closet and listen to the house. You stay in your room. You hear Kitty’s door first, then Adrienne’s a few minutes later. You stand by your door and argue with yourself. Just go. Go out and act like everything is normal. Go and enjoy your new life free of that tyrant.

It’s only the doorbell that makes you go out. You hear footsteps below and you open your door. You come to the top of the stairs as Kitty stands at the door. Adrienne appears just behind her.

“Courtesy of the boss,” Rogers deep voice is crisp in the early hours.

Kitty thanks him in a whisper. She shuts the door as he goes. She doesn’t move until you hear his car engine.

“What is it?” Adrienne asks.

Kitty turns. You sit on the top stair as she holds the black envelope. Her eyes are stuck to it. Adrienne stumbles and catches herself on the wall. You languish in the silence. All three of you.

Kitty looks up at you and you look between her and Adrienne. Your eyes search each other, taking turns, frozen, frightened. Now that your father is gone, what happens to you?

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #au #mob au #death wish #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers #winter soldier

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cherryredstars · 9 months ago

Note

Hey I wanted to say how are you and I love your blog, keep it up its amazing ✨️

Anyways I have a request for a fic about miguel in a different multiverse being like the hot shot cop and all and he's like the head detective and whatever and the reader if his partner or whatever and they come across a case where he had feelings for her for awhile and I'm this case it made him confess to her how he feels and it goes from there, but like he ends up putting her in handcuffs to have his way with her ikykwimya? anything of that stature just a big Rookie fan and that's what gave me the idea. Anyways have a lovely day 💙

Pairing: Cop!Miguel O’Hara x Partner fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Confession, Handcuffs, Gag, Fingering, Penetrative Sex

Summary: Well, that’s one way to wind down from the job…

A/N: I’m doing great, love!! Thank you for supporting my work <3

Word Count: 1.9K (Not Edited)

The hotel door rattles as he slams it shut.

“Really?” You scoff, arms crossing as you stare at him storming across the room. “You’re acting like a child.”

Miguel ignores you, aggressively ripping off his jacket and throwing his car keys on the dresser. He starts working on his tie, undoing it as he glares into the mirror. You roll your eyes, walking over to the bed and sitting down. You’re just in view in the mirror, the displeased look on your face obvious.

“I was just doing my job. I don’t know why yo-”

You’re cut off when Miguel whips around and slaps his hand over your mouth. A dark glare covers his eyes. It would scare anyone, but you’ve grown used to it from years of working by his side. You glare back, silently challenging him. Miguel scoffs down at you, not approving of your defiant nature.

“Your job is to catch criminals. Not to push their fucking buttons to the point you have a fucking gun pointed at your head.” He seethes, removing his hand from your mouth.

“A simple miscalculation,” you shrug, crossing your arms. “Happens from time to time.”

“I- a miscalculation?!” Miguel rages. “You could have fucking died!”

You throw your hands up, an exasperated look on your face. “That’s part of the job, Miguel!”

You stand up, stepping towards him. Your head is tilted up while his is tilted down, the high difference forcing the two of you to oppose.

“We have been waiting for this for ages,” you stress. Your finger jabs into Miguel’s chest, “You’ve been waiting on this lead for ages. We should be prepared to sacrifice anything to put this asshole behind bars.”

Miguel grits his teeth, swatting your finger away and forcefully pressing his own into your chest, “Yeah, but not your fucking life!”

“To hell with my life!” You shout, not understanding why he’s making such a big deal out of this. “I am perfectly at peace with sacrificing my life if-”

“DON’T YOU GET IT?!” Miguel yells, cutting you off. “I don’t want you to sacrifice your life for this!”

Your head pounds, mouth dropping open before shutting it and rubbing your hands down your face as you groan in frustration.

“NO!” You yell back, your hands leaving your face. “I don’t get it! Why the fuck would you not want me to sacrifice my life-”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, DAMNIT!”

Miguel’s chest moves rapidly, brushing against yours with each breath. His face is red and his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you. Silence consumes the both of you, your mind trying to process what he just said. Miguel waits a moment, his breath calming down before he takes a deep breath. His hands come to rub at his face as he turns away from you.

“Because I love you,” he repeats, calmer this time.

“Miguel-” You start, but he holds a hand up to you, shaking his head.

“No, forget it. I-” He gulps as he grabs his jacket again. “I just need to take a walk. Get some fresh air.”

He makes a move to walk away, going towards the door, but he’s stopped when you grab his arm. He turns around quickly, freezing when your hands cup his face, forcing it down as your lips crash with his. He moans, brows furrowing as he drops his jacket. His hands go to your hips, squeezing as he kisses you back desperately. His teeth scrape at your bottom lip, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you gasp. You moan when his tongue battles with yours. Your hands move to the back of his head and to his chest, tangling with the hair at the nape of his neck. Miguel’s hands copy, both of his hands moving to cradle your head and keep you close. He begins to walk you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the hotel bed and you fall on your back.

You and Miguel pull away, taking deep breaths as you search each other's eyes. Miguel leans down slightly, silently asking to reconnect your lips. You close your eyes as you lean forward, Miguel descending the rest of the way until your lips are locked again. Your hands come in between the two of you to quickly unbutton his shirt, and Miguel does the same with yours. You both pull away momentarily to take them off, your bra being thrown to the floor with the rest of your clothes. The room is filled with heavy breathing, both of you frantic as you reconnect. Miguel growls against your lips, his teeth sharp as he pulls at your bottom lip. You can’t help but smile, a moan falling from you when he attacks your neck next.

He sucks at the skin, leaving open mouthed kisses along the delicate skin like he’s trying to eat you alive. You pull your upper body up slightly, Miguel following as his hands are spread out over your upper back and waist. Your eyes fall to his pants, your hands shaky as you reach out for his buckle. It clinks as you undo it, the clasp getting caught in a few holes as you unloop it. Miguel’s head pulls away from your neck, resting it against your forehead as he reaches his own hands down.

His finger skims over the handcuffs resting at your side, pulling the cold metal away and to the side. His hands continue down to your pants, unbuttoning them and hooking his fingers under the band as he pulls them down. You huff, and he smiles at how much easier it was for him to get you completely naked as you throw his belt behind him. You roll your eyes, your own small smile on your lips as you lift up your hips. Miguel slips your pants and underwear down, his knuckles sliding against your smooth skin. Once your pants are on the floor, he sits up, helping you take off his pants until they join yours.

His body slides between your legs, and you wrap them around his waist. His hands slide back to their positions on your waist and back, keeping you pressed to him as he moves the two of you higher up on the bed. His lips connect with yours again, and you sigh out as he gently lowers you to the bed. His hands slide up your arms, his hands warm and soft until his hands interlock with yours. He drags them up, one of his hands shifting to hold your wrists together. He hear the sound of metal clinking before a sharp hold encompasses one of your wrists. You open your eyes, tilting your head back as Miguel goes to your neck. You watch as he wraps the second handcuff around your free hand, bounding your hands in place against the headboard. He slid the handcuffs around one of the wooden pegs, trapping you. You try to press against it, but they only slide against the pole. You look back towards Miguel, your eyebrow raised at his cocky smile

“Kinky,” you tease, pulling on the cuffs again.

Miguel chuckles, sitting up as his hands slide against your body. They slide down your neck, his thumb rubbing against your pulse point before slipping further down. His hands travel to your chest, softly kneading and palming at your breasts, his fingers flicking at your nipples. You moan, your back arching into his touch. He leans down, quickly kissing each pebbled bud before continuing his journey down. He kisses between the valley of your breasts, tongue licking at your smooth skin as he moves down your stomach. His mouth stops at your navel, his hands rubbing your thighs as he pulls away. When he looks at you, your chin is pressed to your chest as you watch him, labored breathing making it move up and down exaggeratedly. He presses a kiss into both of your inner thighs, his hot breath just teasing your cunt.

His thumbs rub the area he just kissed, one moving lower until he holds your heat in his hands. You gasp, mouth dropping open as his thick fingers explore your folds. He spreads them apart, circling your entrance and rubbing on either side of your labia. It makes your hips buck, and you whine. He coos gently at you, dragging your slick to your clit. He rubs soothing circles against your neglected bud, basking in the way you melt into the bed. Your breaths are shaky as he plays with you, humming as more of your arousal drips from you. Your pussy weeping for him.

His fingers plug you up, two thick fingers stretching your hole. You cry out, trying to push yourself further into him. His fingers curl, thumb taking over the slow circles to your clit. Your hips move, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he plays with you. His fingers pump slowly into you as he crawls up your body. Your eyes track his movement, tilting your head towards him. He hums as he captures you into a kiss again. You both moan into it, pleasure spiking your body.

Right as it's on its precipice, he takes it away, his hand leaving your cunt. You whine into his mouth, pulling away from the kiss. You open your mouth in protest, but his hand hikes up your leg, your juices streaking your outer thigh as he moves it to wrap around his hip. You gasp as his tip nudges at your entrance, sinking into your warmth slowly. He groans as he bottoms out, your walls wrapping tightly around him. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over the skin ass he moans and grunts. Each pump of his cock into your cunt is precise and measured, making your eyes roll back and pull against the cuffs. Miguel presses reassuring kisses to the junction of your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin as he spills inside of you. You cry out in both pain and pleasure, your body shaking as your own orgasm hits.

Both of your breath heavily, your eyes shutting in exhaustion from the sex and long day of working. You focus on your breathing, not caring for the shuffling in the room until you hear Miguel's belt. You open your eyes, watching as Miguel begins redressing. You raise your brow at him as he picks up his shirt and starts buttoning it.

“Hey, hot shot,” you call out teasingly, “Forgetting something?”

You rattle the cuffs as a hint, but Miguel doesn’t look at you. Your smile slowly diminishes as he pics up his jacket, dusting it off before shrugging it on.

“Miguel?” You call out, rattling the handcuffs in a poor attempt to loosen them. “Miguel, this isn’t funny. Uncuff me.”

Miguel finally looks at you, a sorry look on his face. “I’m sorry, this is for the best.”

Your brows furrow, the cuffs biting into your wrists as you tug on them in despair, “What? Stop fucking around asshole and uncuff me!”

Miguel checks his pockets from his things, grabbing his keys off of the drawer. He picks up your pants, throwing them on your body in a sorry attempt to cover you up. He throws one last sorry look at you before heading to the hotel door, slipping the do not disturb sign on the handle.

As the door shuts, you continue to pull on the cuffs.

“Miguel! Come back here you son of a bitch!”

Tried to make it like a dramatic scene in a bajillion season long series LMAO.

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lowkeyerror · 9 months ago

Text

The Family Business Ch.5

WandaNat x Reader

Work Count: 1.2k

Chapter Notes: Angst, Violence

Summary: The guilt Wanda feels for missing your important milestones boils over and you're left trying to comfort her.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Dinner was over, but the chatter continued. Wanda had snuck off to the restroom somewhere amidst the conversation. Once she had finished up, she couldn’t fight the urge to go into her old room.

It was exactly the same as she left it. The light blue walls were littered with her old posters. Her bed still had a few old stuffed animals on it. Her desk was covered with post it notes, she used for keeping track of her important things.

Had she grown more than she had realized in the last five years? Was it selfish to assume that you wouldn't have?

“Something’s bothering you.”

Wanda startles at the sound of your voice. You stand in her doorway.

“Nothing, Y/n.”

You don't believe her.

You close the door behind you and fully step into her room. “You were quiet the entire dinner.”

“I was thinking,” she replied shortly.

“About what?”

She takes a seat on her bed and exhales, “A lot has changed since I’ve been away.”

You take a seat next to her, “You were gone for awhile.”

Her eyes meet yours, “I didn’t want to be. I didn't want to miss everything.”

She began to tear up. You hadn’t seen Wanda like this before. Wanda never let anyone see her be vulnerable. Her head rests on your shoulder, and she grabs one of your hands, seeking some comfort.

“Wanda it’s alright,” you try but she cuts you off.

“It’s not, I missed your graduation,” she began to sob.

You begin to internally panic, but you have enough sense to know that this is about more than your graduation. Your arms wrap around her, pulling her closer to you. She ends up straddling your lap. Her forehead lays against yours. You do your best to wipe her tears away.

“Forgive me, Y/n. Forgive me,” her cries grow louder.

Hesitantly you grab her face in your hands. Through the tears she sees the look of worry on your face. Wanda starts wiping at the tears with her sleeves.

You stop her, “There’s nothing that you missed that I can’t tell you about now. No one blames you for missing anything. I don’t blame you. I’m just happy you’re back.”

Wanda stops crying. She sniffles a bit with a sad smile on her face, “I remember that night when you came to the door.”

Your breath hitches. Her thumb follows the path on your check where the glass had cut you.

“You were so-”

“Helpless,” you finish.

Wanda shakes her head, “You are so strong. Anyone else wouldn’t have made it to the door. I was going to say you were so pure. The world was so cruel even though you were nothing but a light.”

“Wanda-”

“Now, I’m hearing from everyone how you’re not like that anymore, that you’ve changed. I hate having to find out about you because I should know. My wife knows about how many people you’ve killed, and I didn’t even know you had fired a gun. I hate that it feels like I don’t know you anymore.”

You were taken aback by her words. Even with her being away for 5 years, you felt like she knew you better than anyone; even Pietro. Wanda had such a deep understanding of your inner workings that it scared you a lot of the time.

It took little effort to interlock your fingers with hers. You wait for her to look at you and when she does you speak, “You know me better than anyone ever has.”

“I used to,” she tries to drop your hands.

You don’t let her, “I can’t say that I haven’t changed at all, but I’m still me Wanda. I still watch reality tv as a guilty pleasure, I still eat my cheese puffs with a fork, and I still get a little antsy in the dark.”

She laughs a bit, and the sound brings a smile to your lips. Your nerves ease as she seems to relax.

“You’re still my little krolik then?”

You blush a little but move her off your lap. You stand and hold out your hand. She doesn’t grab it, instead turning her back towards you.

You roll your eyes, “I’ll always be your little krolik. Now can we go back downstairs.”

Wanda hesitates, “Would you tell me what you told Natasha?”

“About my first kill?”

She nods lightly, “If it’s alright with you.”

You nod and sit at the desk chair across from the bed. It’s not much easier telling Wanda than it was telling Natasha. If anything, it was harder knowing how the woman had reacted in the past when you had been hurt.

“I should’ve known about this,” she’s seething, as she speaks.

“You had just lef-”

“I don’t care if the plane was mid fucking flight! I would’ve turned that bitch around!”

Before you could try to de-escalate the situation Pietro came into the room. “Is everything alright in here, you’ve been up here for a long time?”

Wanda jumps out of the bed and grabs the man by his collar. She nearly lifts him in the air, then beats on his chest. She’s moved him from the room to the hallway., You’re too stunned to intervene.

“WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME? NO ONE THOUGHT TO CALL ME? SOME JERK FELT HER UP AND SHE SNAPPED HIS FUCKING NECK AND NO ONE THOUGHT TO CALL ME?”

Pietro remains calm, his hands rest on top of hers “Wanda it was nearly 5 years ago.”

“So why is this the first time I'm hearing of it?” The drop in her voice snaps you out of your trance.

“Wanda put him down,” Dragos voice booms in the hallway.

She let Pietro go and instead redirects her glare to her father, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I knew you'd react like this. You’ve always been able to handle your emotions unless Y/n was involved,” his words only seem to anger her more.

“I’m the one that can't handle my emotions when it comes to Y/n? Are we sure about that? Because if you want to play ball I will swing for the fucking fences,” she combats quickly.

You watch as the color drains from Pietro’s face and even Dragos seems to stand down a bit.

“Wanda.” Natasha’s voice is strong as she speaks, “Let’s go, ok? I think everyone just needs a little space right now.”

Wanda doesn't seem like she’s done with the conversation.

“Y/n, sweetheart I think they're staying in your building. Why don't you take them there,” Flora suggests.

You nod, unable to speak at the moment. You can see Wanda about to argue again so you slip your hand in hers. You don’t waste time pulling her towards the stairs. Natasha holds her other hand, clearing some of the tension from her system.

You get in the drivers seat while Natasha sits in the back with Wanda. Your brain was slightly clouded as her words sat with you. Wanda knew something that made Pietro and Dragos cower in regard to you. You wanted to press on, but you knew she was in no shape to answer.

Glancing at her in the rearview mirror, you could see that Natasha was whispering to her, trying to calm her. You’d never known Wanda to have a temper, but apparently, when it came to you her rage seemed unrelenting.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst

#lowkeyerror #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wandanat x reader #wandanat

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skulla-rxcks · 3 months ago

Text

Fuck or die

Paring: idol!Chan x fan!afab reader

Rating: explicit

Genre: smut

Warnings: smut, forced to fuck (not by chan or reader), could be dddne, shock content with one thing.

Ktober 5

Being trapped with someone you idolise and getting forced to fuck isn’t something you’d expect from waking up one morning. Partly inspired by the hentai/visual novel euphoria.

Taglist: @f3lix00 @channiesgoodgirl @mal-lunar-28 @bangchans-gf5 @fun-fanfics @iwannabangchan @linosluver

Please dm me or use my inbox if you’d like to be added to the taglist ^^

!THIS IS PURE FICTION, NOTHING IN THIS IS REAL ITS JUST A STORY!

I wake up in a white room, my head and ears ringing. I don’t know where I am nor how I got here. I look around and take in what’s around me, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well accept one thing there’s a man lying in the corner he looks strangely familiar to me. I walk closer to him and see who he is; Chan, Bang Chan, an idol from one of the groups I love. I almost freak out in happiness but I need to keep my cool. I should wake him up then maybe we can figure out together what’s going in, it’s weird that it’s us and not some other duo. He doesn’t even know who I am.

I decide to tap him on the shoulder. “Chan..? Wake up, please.” I whisper, he lets out a sleepy groan in response and opens his eyes slowly, rubbing them to make him more awake. “Hmm,..? Who are you and where are we?” He asks me, clearly confused about the situation.

“I’m.. y/n, if you’re wondering how I know your name I’m a stay..and for where we are I have no idea. I woke up here too.. like a few minutes ago.” I sigh and explain about myself and what I know so far.

“Right, we may have gotten kidnapped by someone which explains this room. There doesn’t seem to be any windows or doors only cameras..” Chan says while looking around.

Suddenly we hear the sound of a microphone being turned on, and a voice starts talking to us. “I see you both have woken up now. Welcome! I’ve set up a few games for you guys! Do as I say, or you die.” As the voice says ‘die’ guns come out from little compartments in the wall and point at us before going back into the wall. “What do you want us to do?” Chan says, putting his arm around me protectively even though I’m a stranger.

“Fuck or die. It’s simple.”

“I guess we could do that i.. I’m okay with that..” i mumble looking at him, he gives me a sigh and a nod with a concerned expression on his face.

The voice continues on “but there’s a catch. Each challenge gets harder and breaks your comfort zones. I’ve been studying both of you through cameras in your apartments.” It says.

“What are the challenges? Tell us. Now.” Chan demands, holding me close, acting as a protective shield.

“Well they’re simple really. I’ll drop a note down from the ceiling”. The ceiling opens up slightly, dropping a piece of paper before closing again. I pick up the note and hold it so it’s in both of our views

‘Challenge 1: cumming inside, hole: pussy

Challenge 2: pissing inside, hole(s): mouth and pussy

Challenge 3: taking advantage of her while she’s sleeping’

“the fuck is this? Is this some kind of sick joke?!” Chan yells, looking in the direction of the camera. “No way in hell I’m pissing in and raping a fucking stranger!” His grip on me gets tighter, his brows furrowed as he yells at the strange voice. “Then die-“

“Okay okay we’ll do it just please, don’t hurt us!” I start tearing up, knowing that if we don’t do this we’ll get killed.

“Are you sure?” Chan asks me, I nod. “Then it’s agreed! Start the challenges and remember I’m always watching. Bye bye now!” The voice says his final sentence before turning off its microphone. Leaving us alone in the white room with cameras pointed at us, they’re too high up to reach even if we tried to turn them off. “I’m ready.. let’s just get this over with.” I sob, stripping down until I’m fully nude before helping him out of his clothes.

“Lay down and open your legs..I’ll help stretch you out with my fingers otherwise it’s gonna hurt.” Chan says. I open my legs for him, he gently puts two fingers inside of me, using them to scissor me open. I bite my lip and try to hold in my moans. After a few minutes he pulls them out and positions himself at my entrance. “Deep breaths, y/n. Deep breaths.” He groans as he pushes himself inside of me. He’s surprisingly big it hurts. “It’s okay..it’s okay. You’re doing great. Keep breathing.” He encourages as he thrusts into me faster. He’s grunting as he thrusts into me deeper than ever. It feels good, but I know it won’t last long, he’s going to have to cum inside me. there’s a high chance I’ll get pregnant from it but anything to not die, especially in a place where no one would find our bodies. He cums inside of me and collapses next to me as we rest, panting heavily. He looks like he’s about to pass out.

I put my arms around him, holding him closely for support. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” He whispers, nuzzling my neck and holding me tight. “let’s do the next one in the morning I can’t take this anymore.” I start crying, horrified for the 2 challenges we have left. “Yea..yeah I agree. Let’s do what we can.” He whispers as he holds my body against his. We lay there, hugging each other in the dark, neither one speaking. I feel safe here, in his arms. it’s comforting and reminds me that at least we have each other right now; even if we’re complete strangers.

the next day, we wake up, we fell asleep on the ground last night, still fully naked since theres nothing else in this room that we could sleep on. “are you ready for the next challenge or do you need some time?” he asks me, stroking my hair.

“let’s just do it.” I pick up the note and read the next challenge. ‘pissing in mouth and pussy’ I gag a little, grossed out by the idea of being pissed in the two of my most important holes. I hand the note to Chan and he reads it as well, cringing at every word he reads. “okay.” he sighs. “mouth first or..” “mouth.” I say, I feel my face heat up. I get down on my knees, mentally preparing myself for what’s about to happen. He gently thrusts his dick into my mouth and begins uritating. I whince as I force myself to swallow every drop. He grabs my head with his hands so he wouldn't spill it everywhere. Once he’s finished, he pulls his cock out of my mouth and stands up, grabbing my hand.

“I’m sorry y/n.. god I feel awful after doing that.” He says as he rubs my hand. “it’s fine.” I say stubbornly. “you still have to do it to the other end of me anyways.” I give him a weak smile, sitting down with my legs open. “you’re probably gonna have to get tested for so many things once we get out of here. I’ll take you and pay though.” Chan growls, pushing himself inside my vagina once again. This is the worst feeling I have ever felt, he was pushing all the way in so hard it was almost painful. I start shaking. I don’t think I can handle this. not long after he releases his bladder and balls inside of me, emptying them both.

He stops once he’s done, pulling out of my body quickly.

“ew..” I tear up as I think about what the voice just made us do. My eyes start hurting because of how hard I'm crying.. “don’t cry, baby. I didn’t like it either. I never thought I’d be forced to.. relieve myself inside of a person, especially a stranger.” he hugs me, I blush at the sudden contact and as he calls me ‘baby’. He doesn’t know it means a lot to me, but he does. I hug him tightly, wanting to keep him close. “i think I.. I think I love you.” he says, pulling away from the hug and placing his head against mine. “me too.” I reply bringing him back into my arms.

After that he sits down with me and lets me sit comfortably in between his legs, wrapping his arm around me while he pets my hair, trying to calm me down. I sniffle and look at him, he smiles softly as I stare at him. “What happens when the challenges end?” I ask him quietly. “we get out.” he says as he holds me close, kissing my head. “We stay together until then. and maybe after if you’d like.” He says smiling at me. i fall asleep in his arms.

while I’m asleep. Chan takes this time to do the final challenge, raping me in my sleep. he doesn’t want to do this, but he has to, to get both of us out alive. He slowly pulls down my panties and shoves himself inside of me, tears streaming down his face as commits the assault on me.

“fuck.. fuck this situation, fuck whoever made me do these stupid challenges.” He gasps as he goes deeper inside me, his tears dripping onto my body. “Channie.., please stop..I don’t like this,..I.. I want you to stop.” I whisper in my sleep, trying to push away the fear.

“Fuck, y/n...please.. I’m sorry, I really am... I wish you were awake so I could make it easier on you, but I can’t.. this was the final challenge. just shut up and take it.” he cusses, kissing me deeply to shut me up and to stop me from screaming. I whimper and shake my head no, I hate this, I don’t want to take it.. he keeps shoving himself inside of me. “stop fighting me..” he mumbles, moving his hips faster to cause more pain for me. I finally snap awake, tears pouring down my cheeks as I try to pull myself out of his grip but I can’t, he’s fully pinning me down as he rapes me. “this is the last challenge y/n, just fucking take it so we don’t die.” I stop complaining, knowing there’s no way out of this. I fall asleep being tired from my attempts to stop him, I just let him do it, soon enough we will be out of here.

I wake up to feel Chan’s warmth lying beside me. I snuggle closer towards him, wrapping my arms around his torso and resting my head on his chest. “Good Morning…” he whispers, running his fingers through my hair. “morning..” I reply as I snuggle even closer. “I’m so sorry about last night. I had to, to keep us alive.” he kisses my forehead. “it’s fine.” I sigh, “let’s just get out of here, a door appeared so let’s just go through that.” we get dressed and walk up to the door, hand in hand we push open the door, met with the smell of fresh air. “we should probably get you a pregnancy test from the amount of times I came inside of you.” he chuckles, leading me into town. “food after?” I ask. “food after” Chan smiles

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