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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

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Not a Word 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a life in hiding, away from your father and the world, until a man decides to drag you into the light. (non-verbal reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: 😻.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You hear your father in the garage. It’s a comfort knowing he isn’t in the house. You’ve learned to navigate so that you rarely run into him. The fact of your existence only ever seems to irk him.

That day, there’s a low rumble between the clank and clunk of his tools. You’re not sure it’s the engine or something else. The last time you glimpsed inside the garage, the engine wasn’t even in that old Bronco he’s worked on for seven years.

You rub smooth the lines in your forehead and give a long blink. You’ve been squinting at the diamond art for much too long. You sit up and roll your shoulders. You need a break.

As you emerge from your room, you feel guilty. A break from what? Doing nothing. That’s what your dad always says. Then he laughs and finds something to throw at you.

You take his lunch box from the floor by the shoe mat and bring it to the kitchen. You open it up and clean out all the containers. Those things you do, as small as they are, like cleaning and making his meals, aren’t enough. He doesn’t fail to remind you of that.

You dump the uneaten crust from his ham and cheese sandwich as the door from the garage clatters open and lets in the smell of oil and dirt. You turn your attention to the sink as you put the container with the rest. It’s only as you flip the faucet on that you realise the steps aren’t your dad’s.

“Scuse me,” Sy says. “Don’t mean to bother, but, uh, had a bit of an accident.”

You face him as he holds out the front of his tee shirt. You gulp. There’s a smear of shiny oil across it, ready to drip onto the floor. Your eyes round.

“I can clean it in the bathroom, I see you’re busy.”

He goes to turn away and you put your hands up. The oil won’t come out if he just wipes it into the shirt. You would know since you deal with your dad’s stained jeans.

He nears as you sidle down to grab the baking soda from the cupboard. He looms, his shadow moving in your peripheral, and you shift the faucet to off. You grab a paper towel and turn to him. You hesitate to reach for him, that seems too much but before you can make a move, he peels his shirt off.

You flutter your lashes and point to the counter. He lays the shirt out and you open the box of baking soda. He stands back and watches. Heat trickles down your back as you focus on the task. You sprinkle the powder over his shirt.

You let it soak up as much as it can then blot daintily.

“You’re clever,” he muses. “Helpful.”

You shrug.

“How lucky’s that daddy of yours, huh? You out here cleaning all his mess. You make his lunch?” He peeks over at the sink and you follow his gaze. You nod. “Hm, think he’d be nicer then, wouldn’t ya? Well, I know him, he ain’t a nice fella.”

You return your attention to his shirt. If your daddy isn’t so nice, why does he come around? You wouldn’t ask even if you could. You can barely concentrate with him exposed like that.

Your eyes dart over in a fleeting peek. His chest is hair and his stomach thick, his arms too. You’re always aware of how big he is but at that moment, he seems even larger. You look at his shirt. It’ll need more time to soak and wash.

“Could wash it with the hose, don’t wanna ruin your machine,” he offers as if reading your mind.

You frown and shake your head. You hold up your finger and flit away with his shirt. You put stain remover on it and dump it in the machine. You set the cycle then hesitate. What will he wear now?

Your dad isn’t as big. He’s a pretty small guy. He might have something...

You hurry into the closet of old things and search around. There’s one of those tees he got from a case of Labatts. They always pack the XLs and nothing else. It has some sports team logo on it.

You go back to the kitchen and offer it to Sy. He crosses to you and accepts it with a smile, “thanks, sugar. That’s mighty nice.” His fingertips brush yours.

He unfolds the shirt and shakes it out. He pulls it over his head and your eyes crawl down his torso unintentionally. You back up a step as he tugs down the hem, though it hangs short of his belt. Even that is too small for him.

“You’re not scared of me, are ya?” He asks as he curls his shoulders as if to make himself smaller.

You shake your head. Shy is all. You’re not eager to mingle with anyone. Nor they, you.

“You know, I might have a word with your daddy. He shouldn’t be so nasty to ya. ‘Specially all the work you put in.”

You shake your head frantically and clasp your hands. You know better than that. Even if he’s trying to be nice, it’s the worst thing he can do.

“What’s wrong? Huh? Just wanna tell him what a good girl ya are,” he crosses his arms and seems to double in size.

You pout and press your hands together. You cower and takes another step back. His expression turns dire.

“Sorry, sugar, hope I didn’t upset ya there. I was only... only bein’ nice, ya know? Seems you’re not used to all that.” He drops his hands to his hips. “Fine then, I’ll just have to save them sweet words for you, huh?”

You look down and chew your lip. You’re not used to the attention. Your dad’s other friends, if you can call them that, just ignore you or laugh at his jokes about you. You nod and turn, gesturing to the sink. You walk up to it, clinging to the excuse to get away.

“Yeah, I know, you workin’ hard,” he praises. “I’ll be outta ya way now.”

You bob your head and turn the tap on again. You work at scrubbing the containers, waiting and listening for him to go. When he does, you can breathe again. You’re not so sure why he’s being nice. Not like you can do much but stare.

💘

When your dad’s at work, you’re as close to peace as you’ve ever been. There’s still that constant restlessness that follows you. The gnawing reality that time is passing you by. That you have no purpose. No direction.

You envy others. That they have a reason. That they have everything you don’t. They have other people, ones that care, not those burdened with them; they have important work to do; they have fun things to celebrate; graduations, new jobs, marriages. They have voices and you remain unheard.

You busy yourself with the tidying when he isn’t there. If you try to clean with him around, he only antagonizes you. There’s a roast out for dinner. It will last a few days. Most times, you lose your appetite. You spend all day craving and making the food then lose all desire the moment it’s before you.

The small pleasures you once treasured fade with each day that starts and ends the same. You can’t feel too bad for yourself. Your dad doesn’t have to keep you. You’re an adult now. Maybe he’ll never say so, or even show it, but he must care, right?

You finish mopping and start on chopping up the potatoes. You arrange them in the roasting pan around the slab of beef. Then carrots and celery. You save the onions for last because they make you cry. You’re saved from tears by the rumble of thunder on the horizon.

Curiously, you set the knife down and go to the window. Would your dad be home early? Some days, they shut down the shop when business is slow.

It’s not him but you recognise the grating on the truck’s nose. The large truck sends up dirt and gravel as it cuts across the worn roadway. Your confusion floods to panic and you rush out the front door.

Is your father hurt? Why else would Sy be here?

You hover on the top step as he grinds to a stop and shuts the behemoth truck off. The driver’s door creaks as it opens and Sy jumps down. Instead of his usual camo cargo shorts and sweat-dampened tee, he wears a button-up with short sleeves and a pair of brown slacks. It even looks like he combed his beard.

Your face twists in a grimace. What’s going on? Why is he here?

He reaches back into the truck and brings out something behind his back. You can’t see it as he keeps his arm bent behind him and shuts the door. He grins and walks up to the house as you watch.

“How’s it goin’?” He asks brightly.

You blink. You look at his collar, the top button straining against his thick neck. You lower your gaze to your loose blue tee and barrel jeans. You’re dressed like a laundry line. Your clothes offer no shape, nothing. They just do the job.

“I, uh, I wanted to surprise ya, and uh, I was thinkin’ ya know, this place deserves a bit of colour,” he chuckles then clears his throat, “and you deserve good things, so, uh, here.”

He reveals the flowers from behind his back and you blanch. You stare at the dainty petals, white with violet edges. They are pretty. Too pretty for this place or for you. Besides, why would he do that?

“You don’t like em? Should I have got roses?” He asks.

You flinch. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. You come down the steps and cautiously reach for the paper cone. He hands it over and you stare at him. Then you smell them. You think that’s what you’re supposed to do.

“Smell good?” He asks.

You peer over the petals at him and nod. You’re not sure how to react. What do you do now? You can’t just leave him out in the yard. You raise your thumb and point it over your shoulder and tilt your head.

“Sure, I’ll come in,” he accepts.

He steps forward, a bit too close, and you hop backward up the step. You barely keep from tripping. You get onto the porch and spin around, scurrying to the door. You open the door and step to the side to hold it for him.

He laughs again, “now, I’m a gentleman, sugar.”

He grabs the door and gestures you through. You take his directive without pause. You hurry inside and he follows. As he stops to take off his shoes, you continue on into the kitchen.

You search for an adequate holder for the flowers. You find an old canister and set them in it with some water. His presence lurks behind you. You put the bouquet on the table as he looks around.

“You cookin’ a fine dinner, huh?” He says. “Like I tell your daddy, he’s a lucky man. Any man’d be lucky to have that waitin’.”

You shrug. He shifts.

“I don’t mean to take advantage of your kindness but I was gonna ask ya a favour.”

You look at him blankly. He reaches in his pocket. He pulls a length of silk. A tie.

“Couldn’t figure this out,” he explains. “Thought maybe you might...”

You stare at the tie. You remember tying your daddy’s for your grandma’s funeral. That was a long time ago but you think you could remember.

You swallow down your nerves and approach him. You take the tie and he glances around. He pushes a chair out and sits. He leans his head back.

“Just wanna make sure I look good for ya,” he says.

You flip up his collar and bring the silk around his neck. As you do, your thumb brushes his coarse beard. He hums.

“Don’t worry bout pullin’ my hair,” he scoffs. “Won’t bother me none.”

You line up his tie, knuckles brushing his shirt as you go through the steps in your hand. You pull the tie snug and fix hit collar. You step back and he sets his head straight. You hug yourself and give him a questioning look.

“Ya like your surprise?” He asks.

You look at the flower then nod.

“And what about the other?”

You face him again and your brows draw together.

“Me,” he snorts.

You purse your lips and shrug. What does he mean?

“We’ll wait for your daddy, huh? Then I’ll ask his blessing.” He rests his elbow on the table, “and you’ll have dinner all ready, won’t ya?”

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #not a word #sand castle

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slimybeth69 · 2 days ago

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Girl Dinner

@pedrospookie made the cutest fucking mood board for this fic, she also gave me so much inspiration for this! Let's all thank her for her perfect brain.

Part 1 of 4- Knocked Loose

Rating: explicit -

kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions besides having hair long enough to hold and fall into your face, the reader is actually crazy, talks to herself- hears little voices in her head. You gotta know this going into it)

thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea.

w/c : 9k (whoops)

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

warnings/tags: non-con/dub-con/ altered mental state(?) throughout the entire thing. stockholm syndrome, violence (reader and Joel both get hurt) Joel is an unwilling participant... or is he? cockwarming, unprotected P in V, dirty talk- more to come.

authors note: Hey! I know a lot people get icked out by the idea of non-con or dub con, and that's fine, but I like it, so I'm gonna write this. I don't think any of this should be acted out ITRL. DON'T KIDNAP PEOPLE!! This is your last and final warning just so everyone is aware of what's going on. this is unbeta'd, poorly proofread and probably incoherent. I love you all so, so, so much.

The weather is finally starting to change, it's not as hot as a pigs asshole anymore, and you wake up feeling refreshed, rather than sticky and sour from sleeping in a pool of your own sweat all night long.

The first thought that comes to your head though isn't the changing weather, or how you'll eventually need to break out your warmer clothes soon, nope— you don't give a shit about any of that.

It's just Mister-man that you're thinking about.

He might be the most pretty thing you've ever seen. With his shoulder length, brown and gray curls, and his patchy facial hair that matches so nicely. The thought of how rough and scratchy it would feel against your tongue makes your spine tingle.

Mister-man is a big boy. Hefty, broad, and looked so strong whenever he came into the mall.

You've been watching him for a while. He comes around every three or four days snooping in all the stores for supplies.

It's like he doesn't even know you're here…or if he does, he doesn't care. Rude! You're a pretty girl!

He's just coming to take our stuff, just like the rest of the monster-men out there. If he finds us, he might wanna take-

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" You put your hands over your ears, even though those voices just get louder when you do that.

Mister-man wouldn't hurt'chya…

Yes, he would. He's a man.

"It's too early for this," You grumble, sitting up in your bed.

The mattress store is nice and clean, just how you left it last night before you crawled into bed. You think about how it would be alarming if it wasn't exactly how you left it before you went to bed. You did your nightly walk-through to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and that there weren't any extras hanging about.

As you get dressed, you think about what the dark voice was about to say. You know exactly what Mister-man would try and take from you if he found you. What all the other men in this fucking place want from you.

It's hard to make any of that matter as you skip to your hiding spot in the rafters above the food court. That's where he always enters from, even though the easier entrance with less glass and boards to climb through is on the other side of the mall.

It's a good thing you set up a trap there too, if he comes in through that entrance, at least you'll hear the snare go off and hopefully get to him in time to get his gun and knife.

Mister-man is a creature of habit, he doesn't like to switch things up, Sug. He'll come through this door.

He might. He might not. Mister-man might be playing your game better than you, kid.

"Well then, it's a good thing I thought of everything," you murmur, climbing up the discarded scaffolding to get into the rafters.

It's not scary up here, you like the thrill of knowing if you made one mistake—

Goner!

Splat!

"I've never fallen though!" You giggle, settling in to the perch just above the now blown out glass doors. It's a comfortable little spot, and you've arranged some blankets and pillows from the mattress store up here so you can nap if you want. There are some snacks, and bottles of water in case you have to stay up here for more than just a couple hours, keeping an eye out for Mister-man.

People must have stayed here in the mall during the outbreak, or right after because the doors are boarded up the best they can be, and the tables and chairs from the food court are set up all around like a barricade.

It was perfect, less work for you to have to do, and no one else bothers to come in here anymore— it's either too far, too hard to get too, or not worth the pay out.

Not for our lovely, handsome, soon to be perfect, Mister-man; the reason he comes every week is so sweet.

You wondered why he kept coming back when there really isn't much to scavenge anymore: every single store had been picked through before you got here, and you went and took the last of whatever anyone else didn't want or need and squirreled it away in a nice hiding spot.

Mister-man came every three or four days-- so that he could sit his ass in a comfortable recliner for a couple hours.

Remember that time he took a nap?

"Of course I do! How could I forget?!"

It's the cutest thing, and you love to watch him relax. Rest. Let his guard down for a little while.

"Slept like a lil baby that day," you mumble, feeling the heat spread up your neck and behind your cheeks. It's impossible to not smile at the memory of Mister sleeping in his chair, arms behind his head, snoring loudly.

His hair was real soft...'n he smelled so..

Why does he let us get so close? It's gotta be a trap.

Oh shut up, maybe he wants us to get close!

"I don't think he can hear me too good," you breathe out to the empty mall. The sun is starting to shine directly in your eyes— which means Mister-man will be here soon. "Always lookin' over his left shoulder. He never looks over his right, me thinks he can't hear outta that ear."

Mister has been coming for a couple months. He first started when the snow started to melt. And he kept coming through the spring when everything was wet and soggy, and he'd traipse mud through the mall like this wasn't your house!

That's how you knew he had been there though, so you waited to see if he'd come back-- and he did.

Mister-Man kept coming, even when the summer got so hot it was almost unbearable. Venturing outside was almost dangerous, but Mister always came.

Just to sit in his chair.

The air is filled with the sounds of birds singing, and insects buzzing in the lazy, summer heat. The mornings aren't too bad anymore, but the afternoon is still sweltering.

The late afternoon's are even worse when the heat finally settles, and everything gets sticky, and feeling all wet even though it's not wet outside! It's hot, but the air feels thick and damp somehow.

Awh, looks like he ain't coming today, Sug.

Good-fucking-riddance.

"He'll show up. If not today… tomorrow…or the next day. Or next week! He always comes, sillies. Gettin' me all nervous for nothin—"

Shhhhhh!!!! He's coming.

Mister-man is coming. You can hear him before he even crawls through the hole in one of the boards. He has to slide the table he sets up every time he comes and goes.

Once he's upright, brushing himself clean of any debris that he might have picked up on his crawl into the mall, he starts to walk.

It's not hard to stay quiet, you know exactly where the spots that creak are, and where things might break and fall apart if you were to put too much weight on them.

It's easier to follow him around as he slinks through the abandoned shopping center than you thought, as long as you stay on his right side. You've been watching and learning, and had a long time to figure him out.

Mister is so cute, walking real slow with his back to the wall, his head on a constant swivel. You wanna call out to him and tell him it's just the three of you in the mall.

He continues to sneak very quietly.

Can't hide from us.

"He sure can't," you giggle, almost silently.

Mister-man pauses, and looks over his left shoulder, as if something caught his attention. He looks all around, head twisting in either and all directions. At one point, he looks right up at where you're standing.

It's like he's looking right at you, like he can see you flitting through the rafters right above him.

Mister-man just shakes his head, as if he was hearing things, and continues onward towards the furniture store.

Fuck, he really can't hear for shit.

"He sure can't."

Mister doesn't make it inside the furniture store today, unfortunately for him.

When Joel wakes up, his head is fucking pounding and— he's upside down. Shit.

Not again.

"What the fuck?" Joel croaks, his hands feel like they weigh a thousand pounds as he tries to lift them from where they're dangling over his head. His shoulders hurt, and his back aches. His ankles feel like they're on fire.

There isn't much he can do but hang here, waiting for his vision to un-blur and for the throbbing in his head to go away.

Probably get gutted like a pig.

Finally, after blinking a million times, Joel can see things clearly.

You- a young woman- with a gun in your hand, another strapped to the outside of your thigh, and a fucking machete strapped across your back.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Joel shouts, his hands now easily flying to the holster—It's empty. The pack he had been carrying on his back is gone too.

Joel watches as you look at him like he should already know what you're doing: a half smile plastered onto your pretty lips, the crinkle at the corners of your eyes, your head tilted to the side ever so slightly, couching in front of his pack.

"Lookin' through your stuff," you croon to him.

Joel's blood boils. What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck are you? How did you manage to get him all strung up, hanging from the ceiling?

He says nothing as you stay picking through his backpack, taking out every single thing he has in there. His map, compass, the backup flashlight, the gas-mask— which you're putting on?

Why? There weren't any spores in here— were there?

"This thing is fuckin' cool!" Your voice is muffled, and you stand up straight. Then you hold your hands out at your sides, and spin in a circle.

"Hey!" Joel barks at you, flinching away from the revolving barrel of your pistol with each rotation you make. "Stop swinging that thing around, would ya'!?" Joel shouts as you continue to spin.

You stop suddenly, and stare at him through the big, dark lenses of his gas mask. "You know all about swinging around, don'tchya?" You giggle at him.

Joel literally swings back and forth as you say this, very slowly spinning around as he sways, and the throbbing in his head only makes him more angry.

"Cut me the fuck down, keep what'chya want— I don't got time for all this," Joel grumbles, lifting his head so he can look at the rope tied around his ankles. It's a good knot, and without a knife, Joel isn't going to get down on his own, not without his knife.

He reaches behind him to feel for it on his belt—

"Lookin' for this?" Your still muffled voice questions Joel as his fingers brush across the empty space on his waist where his knife would be.

He tips his head almost all the way back, and then to the side so he can see you— and is greeted by the sight of you, still in the gas mask, and now, holding his knife by the blade with your thumb and index finger. All he can do is sigh, close his eyes and wonder how a trip to sit in his favorite recliner led to this.

"Now, I ain't really wanna hurt'chya— I was hopin' you was gunna say knocked out long enough for me to cut'cya down and—"

Joel doesn't wanna hear anymore. "Just cut me the fuck down— people are gon' come lookin' for me if you—"

You apparently don't wanna hear what Joel has to say anymore either, because you start to talk over him. "—we're just gunna go—"

Joel doesn't care, doesn't want to listen to your muffled voice— he wishes you would take his stupid, fucking gas mask off and talk to him like a normal person. He's gotta be able to barter with you somehow. "—don't let me go. If it's food 'n water ya' want, I can get ya' some—"

The two of you are just talking louder, and louder, until the both of you are shouting over the other, neither one of you actually hearing what the other is saying.

"—let me go!"

"—stay forever!"

The two of you stop and stare at each other in silence for a moment. Joel can't really comprehend what you just said, "Stay forever?"

"Yep!" You exclaim happily.

Did he say that aloud?

"You 'n me, together forever, Mister-man," you sigh dreamily at him.

It's not what you say, it's how you say it— like you really believe what you've just said. Like…it was something you had been thinking about, for a while.

"Huh?" Is all he can say, still slowly swaying and spinning. He has to turn his head almost completely around before he whips it to the other side, he wants to keep his eyes on you at all times. You seem un-fucking-predictable.

"Ain't'chya so excited!?" You squeal, and it makes Joel's head ache.

"Gon' fuckin' strangle you once I get down from here," Joel half grumbles, half chuckles under his breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching you rummage around for something in his bag.

"That's why I gotta do this," your muffled voice sounds sad as you pull something out and whip it behind your back, hiding it, and that makes Joel nervous.

"Do what?" Joel tries to see what you pulled out of his backpack.

"Gotta close your eyes," you shrug your shoulders, and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

Joel blinks at you, just staring at him through the gas mask. He's not completely unsettled by the sight of you in a gas mask, he's seen women wearing them plenty— it's the fact that you have him completely at your mercy and he can barely see your fucking eyes.

He's so fucking stupid for coming out here alone all the time, Tommy and Ellie both warned him- both told him that something would happen to him out here. He'd hurt his back— or worse. And no one would know where to find him- because this was his secret hideaway. A place to escape the responsibilities of being a dad, a grandpa, and a big brother.

Joel loves Ellie, JJ and Tommy more than he ever thought possible— and loves that he got to be around them everyday— it was just starting to be a lot.

If Joel had the means to move that recliner into his house in Jackson, he would have— but it's too big, too heavy and way too fucking far.

Now look at him, upside down!

"Ya' ain't gunna wanna see it comin'." You give Joel a small warning. "Please just close them," you whine, starting to nervously dance on your tip toes.

"No." Joel growls, arms still crossed over his chest.

"'Kay!" You exclaim, running over to Joel. "Warned ya'!" You pull the brick Joel had put in his pack for emergencies.

"Wait! Wait—"

Cripes-all-mighty, Mister-Man is heavy as hell!

It takes everything you have inside of you to drag him to the mattress store. By the time you get there, your shirt is soaked through with sweat, your hair clings to your forehead and the side of your face. Every muscle aches and feels as if it's being torn from the bone it's clinging to.

Huffing and puffing, you drag him through the sea of mattresses until you get to the staircase that leads into the basement office.

"Sorry, Mister-Man," you grunt and push him down the stairs—

He's fine! You lined the stairs, and the bottom where he landed with mattresses a couple days ago-- after you brought his favorite recliner down here. All by yourself. Did it just for Mister-Man, because you want him to be comfortable! You want him to feel nice, and relaxed, and safe here with you.

Once you have him nice and secure to his chair— you wait.

He hit his head pretty hard when you snared him— you didn't think of that part. Then he had to go and wake up! Like a dumb idiot! He could have just stayed asleep, then you wouldn't have had to hit him again!

Thank goodness for that brick he keeps in his backpack, which, what the fuck is that about? It's a good weapon, but it's heavy, and made his backpack harder to carry than you would like to admit.

You were also lugging that giant of a man around, ya' did good, Sugar.

Yeah, ya' did good, kid.

You wrap your arms around yourself and sigh, "Thanks."

You wanna tell the voices in your head that you love them, but you don't really always love them. Sometimes you hate them, and wish they would shut up, and sometimes they don't talk when you need them to— finicky fuckers! And they almost never see eye to eye, and it's exhausting. So you just say thanks.

Mister-man is so pretty up close. Even more pretty than you could have ever thought or dreamed of. He doesn't look like he's shaved or cleaned up his beard in the last couple days, and his hair was combed back away from his face when he got here today— but now it's a mess, matted to his forehead in drying blood, falling into his eyes.

"Shit," you whisper, taking in the sight of him all beat up—

Sug, you gotta clean him up— make him pretty again.

The sweet voice is right!

Mister-man looks so sad all bloody and a mess.

"I'll be right back," you murmur and press a gentle kiss to his forehead through his blood stained hair, and then double check all of the ropes around his wrists and ankles.

He's secure, time to go get him lookin' nice again.

When you come back, your bag is filled to the brim with supplies from the the multiple stores that still have things inside them. You got him a comb, and a spray bottle that you already filled with clean water. You were able to find some clean clothes that look like they'll fit him.

He's also awake.

"Hi, Mist—"

"Let me go."

"—er-man!" You finish through the interruption. "I'm gunna clean you up now, and then we can have dinner. 'Kay?"

Mister-man stares at you.

"Oh!" You rip the gas mask off and place it on his lap. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to steal it. I promise." You cross your heart with one index finger.

"Let. Me. Go."

You wince with each barked word. "I. Don't. Wanna."

"If I ever get outta here, m'gon' fuckin' kill ya'," he growls.

You frown, pinch your eyebrows together and mock his thick, country twang. "M'gon' fuckin' clean ya' up real good, 'n then me 'n ya' can have fuckin' dinner." You growl back at him.

"Shut th'fuck up, untie me—"

"Why!? So you can kill me?" You shake your head at him, giving him a small smirk. "Not gunna happen, Mister."

His eyes go wider than you've ever seen them, as if he might be nervous. "What th'fuck you gon' do to me then, huh?"

"Clean. You. Up. Then. Have. Dinner. Did I say it too fast the first time, or can you really not hear too good?" You cock your head to one side, and look at him quizzically.

"Th'fuck did ya' just ask me?" Joel feels his chest going tight-- this hasn't happened in fucking years. It can't be happening right now.

"I talk real fast sometimes, and I don't realize it, and so sometimes all my words come out real jumbled to--"

"'Bout my hearin'?" Joel's working overtime to suck the air in, to bring precious oxygen to his brain. His head is still pounding, and now he can't fucking breathe, and he can't even imagine what kind of sick, twisted shit you're going to do to him.

Joel watches your eyes drop to the ground by his feet, and it's almost like you pull your body in on itself somehow, retreating into a place where you're trying to hide from him in plain sight. "I been watchin' you when you come in here... just act like you can't hear all that good outta your right ear," you say in a voice so small Joel can barely hear it.

"Watchin' me?" Joel scoffs.

Who the fuck are you? How long have you been watching him? How come he's never seen you before? Never even seen a trace of another person around here, just the stray raccoon or possum.

Joel's blood boils when you nod your head at him, still unable to look him in the eye. "Ya' should be ashamed. Whatever it is ya' wanna do to me is probably fucked--"

"I'm not ashamed," your voice snaps, and finally you lift your head to meet Joel's gaze. "Not even a little."

"Actin' like it," Joel's voice is snappier, and louder, and it makes you flinch.

"Maybe a little embarrassed--"

"Ashamed, fuckin' embarrassed, same fuckin' thing." Joel rolls his eyes at you.

"Not really," you shake your head from side to side and raise both of your eyebrows at him. "Not at all, actually."

"Would you shut th'fuck up?!"

"Would you shut th'fuck up..." You mock Joel. "I'm tryin' to do somethin' nice for you, and you keep telling me to shut the fuck up!"

"Do somethin' nice f'me?!" If this wasn't almost thirty years after the fucking apocalypse happened, Joel would think he was on some hidden camera show.

"Yeah!" You hold out the supplies you had brought back from wherever the fuck you had run off too while Joel was unconscious.

"Doin' somethin' nice would be lettin' me go, sweetheart." Joel switches his tone- does something he wouldn't normally do in a situation like this.

Your eyes light up. They crinkle in the corners a little, like they did the first time he saw you, but you're not upside down this time. The corners of your lips are trying to curl up, but you're actively trying to stop them.

"Don't call me that, 'less you mean it."

With the comb, water bottle and first-aid kit in hand, you take your place behind him and inspect the wound.

It's a surface wound, but dirty from the brick and still very bloody.

It's a painstaking process, because you don't want to be the cause of his pain anymore. Not ever again if you can help it.

Really, that's up to Mister, but he'll find out on his own soon enough! He just has to play nice, be sweet and kind— be the Mister you want him to be, and he'll be perfectly happy here with you. Life here with you in the mall could be perfect! He just needs to be perfect. He's almost there, he just has to keep his mouth shut.

He's not quiet, not at all. He hoots and hollers at you to stop, to let him go, that he's gonna gut you like a fish if he ever gets free from here.

The way he talks, his voice feels like the deepest note on a piano, or the thickest string being plucked on a guitar. It vibrates in the spaces between your ribs, and forces all the air out of your lungs when he talks.

He's taking your breath away... how romantic.

The sweet and airy voice in your head is right, he is taking your breath away. You wish he would stop saying those mean and terrible things to you-- they're making you hurt inside, where your stomach is.

Guilt. You should just kill him right now--

"Hurt him?"

Mister stops shouting, and raises one eyebrow at you.

Look'it those big brown eyes. Like a baby cow. All wet 'n big, kinda scared lookin'.

Ugh, shoot him right between those beautiful brown eyes, kid. You can do it.

He ain't hurt you yet, Sug...

Because she tied him up--

As she should, she's gotta feel him out a little, make sure he's really not gonna hurt her.

How is he ever going to hurt her if he's tied up?

"Okay, enough!" You almost shout-- there they go! Never seeing eye to eye, making things harder than they needed to be!

"I'll yell all I fuckin' want," Joel does holler, loudly. So loud. He's going to draw attention.

"Do I need to get the brick again?"

Joel stops shouting.

He really can't hold back the pained sounds coming from his throat as you attend to his wound.

You're being so, so gentle!

He's acting like a giant baby.

"M'hurtin' you?" You mumble as you drag the damp cloth along his forehead carefully, cleaning the moderately large gash you left there with the brick. It's swollen, and bruised now... you feel so terrible.

He'll forgive you, Sugar.

Mister-man doesn't say anything, he just flinches away from your touch for the millionth time.

"M'sorry, didn't mean t'hurt you this bad." You slowly start to work the comb through his hair, spraying it down with water when you needed to. You're careful to never pull on his hair too hard, and work the tangles out meticulously so you don't bring him any more discomfort.

"Got'chu some medicine." You reach into your pocket and pull out two white pills.

"I ain't takin' nothin' y'give me, fuckin' crazy bitch." He grumbles.

Mister watches you walk around to the front of him, and kneel between his legs.

"S'just regular," you hold your hand up to his face so he can inspect the pill on his own. "Nothin' strong like they had in the QZ's," it's a gentle explanation as he studies the medicine in your palm. "Can find some for ya' if you wanted me to, m'real good at findin' stuff."

"Find it in your heart t'let me outta here," Joel gives you the sweetest, crookedest smile that makes you stomach feel like it grows ten sizes, and your heart feels like it's racing something else inside of you.

There are sweet wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the lines on his forehead deepen, and he has the softest dimple on his left cheek.

Sug, he's so pretty.

Kill. Him. Before. He. Kills. You.

"So pretty," you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, and rest one of your elbows on his knee, propping your head up on the heel of your hand. The pills are still right in front of Joel's face, and his eyes flash between them, and your face.

"Not takin' them" he grumbles, twisting his head away from your hand.

"Suit yourself," you put the pills back into your pocket, dipping your head down to press a soft kiss to his knee. "M'gunna go get us dinner, I'll be back."

Joel stares at the tray of food you set down on the table you dragged over to be directly in front of him.

"Where's the protein?" Joel looks up at you from the plate of crackers with peanut butter, a small bowl of raspberries, two packets of expired pretzels you would get on an airplane, and a full bottle of labelless whiskey.

"S'in the peanut butter," you say through a mouthful of your own cracker.

Begrudgingly, Joel opens his mouth when you hold a cracker up to his lips. "Where's the meat?"

The crackers are dry, and kind of stale somehow? The peanut butter is still nice and creamy, just the way Joel remembered it before the outbreak.

"Where would I find meat?"

Joel pinches his brows together and blinks at you. "Ya' live in the woods, got a gun or two-- fuckin' know how to set a snare--"

You gasp softly, and rest one elbow on the table and point at him with a lazy index finger, "You 'spect me to go out there and kill an innocent lil friend? They ain't ever done nothin' t'me. Why would I go out 'n hurt 'em when I ain't got no reason to?"

Joel continues to blink, trying so hard to keep his eyes on you and not the ropes you have him tied down with so tightly they're starting to dig into the skin on his forearms-- painfully.

"Ya' kiddin', right?" He watches as you place a raspberry directly into the peanut butter on the cracker and hold it out for him.

"Issa good combo, try it." You nod your head at him, urging him to open his mouth.

Joel doesn't want to, doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing he needs you, and is going to keep needing you until you decide to kill him, or set him free.

He opens his mouth though, because Joel hasn't had a raspberry in years and he loves them, and the sight of that plump, juicy berry sitting so comfortably in that pillow of delicious, creamy peanut butter is making his stomach rumble. Loudly.

"Want some?" You hold up the bottle of whiskey, screw off the cap and take a swig. "See, it's safe," you look at him through your lashes, and give him a one-corner-of-your-mouth-smile.

Joel nods his head, because what else was there to do if he was going to be a prisoner here? He tried so hard to free himself of the restraints while you were gone, but you know how to tie a knot, and Joel just ended up giving himself rope burn.

An hour later, Joel feels pretty good, but not good enough to forget the situation he's in, but the booze is making you very chatty, and he might actually be enjoying the conversation.

"'N I get power from the solar things up on the roof, I think."

"Ya' think?" Joel smirks at you, he can't help it.

"I dunno how the solar works," you exclaim, holding one hand towards the ceiling. "It's the sun and black screens," you give the ceiling the middle finger and groan. "Barely works when the sun is out-- I just wanna watch my movies--"

"What kinda movies ya' got?"

He wishes he never asked.

You're sitting between his legs on the floor-- reaching behind you to feed him raspberries, never taking your eyes off the screen.

Joel thing's about biting your fingers off, thinks about taking the tips right off with his front teeth.

What would you do if he did that? Joel is still tied up, and he would just have raspberries and bloodied fingertips in his mouth, and then possibly a crazy, unpredictable, angry woman who would try and kill him.

Joel has seen angry people every day for close to thirty years... he knows what they look like, what they sound and act like--- you don't sound or act angry.

"Love this part," you sigh, leaning back into him, and resting your head on his knee.

Joel looks up to the screen, watching Cinderella transform into her beautiful ball gown.

Joel wishes he could reach out and run his fingers through your hair.

No he fucking doesn't? What the actual fuck? What did you put in the food, or the whiskey to make him feel this way?

Joel clenches his hands to fists on the arms of the recliner, and tenses his jaw-- grinding his teeth in the process.

You continue to drink throughout the movie, and when the credits are rolling-- you stumble to your feet, and then into his lap.

"Get off'a me," Joel gripes as you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face.

"Just wanna cuddle," you murmur, curling yourself up into his chest, yawning sleepily. "F'just a lil bit."

"Get off'a me, ya' fuckin' nut!" Joel shouts, and regretfully, tries to headbutt you.

His cheekbone, the side of his nose and part of his forehead connect with the top of your skull in a dull, aching thud.

You scramble off his lap, and fall to the floor, one hand holding the top of your head where Joel had just whacked you. The right side of his face is throbbing, and he thinks his nose might be bleeding, or he's crying- he doesn't know- he doesn't care. He just wants to go home.

"What the fuck!?" You shout back at him. "Mister, I ain't been mean to you at all, minus the brick- okay? What the hell is your problem!?"

Joel can't help but laugh, it starts off as a chuckle, but quickly matures into full on guffawing. "Y'fuckin' insane, ya' know that?" Joel rumbles through his fit.

Through the tears in his eyes, Joel can see you glaring at him.

Okay, he hurt her, can she kill him now?

Sugar, he ain't mean it... not really... he just needs some time to adjust.

He could have really hurt her, are you serious?

He's just nervous! Give the man a break--

Tired of giving men breaks- tired of letting them get away-

"Both of you, knock it off." It's a stern warning to the voice as you glare at Mister.

He stops laughing and blinks at you. "Huh?" He cocks one eyebrow up high, "Both o' ya?"

His question doesn't register, all you can think about is how disappointed you are in him.

"I was gunna let'chya sleep in the big bed with me," you huff, climbing to your feet. "Ain't gonna do that no more."

"I ain't wanna sleep in the big bed with y'crazy fuckin' ass, anyway!" He screams at you.

"What're ya' bein' so fuckin' mean for? I cleaned ya' up, made ya' pretty again-- fed you dinner 'n shared my drink with you!"

Do not cry! What're you doing!? Don't let him see you cry! Get out of here, right now!

The dark voice is right, the burn in your nose and the sting in your eyes are tell tale signs of tears- and you hate them. Hate the way they make your face wet and sticky, hate how they make your heart hurt, hate how your head feels like it's ten pounds heavier when you get done crying.

He'll come around, Sug. Gotta give him some time. If ya' stay nice-- it'll happen sooner than you think.

"I like bein' nice," you murmur, not taking your eyes off Mister.

"Th'fuck are you talkin' about!?" He exclaims, eyes wide, almost obsidian with rage and confusion.

"G'night, Mister. We'll try again t'morow."

Mister doesn't rest, doesn't relax, doesn't settle down at all.

When you open the door to his room, he's still screaming his head off.

"Hey!" You shout back at him, grabbing his attention. "We got raiders 'round here. We got infected movin' in and outta here all the time-- you know how fuckin' loud you are?"

"Hopefully they all hear 'n come runnin'. I'd love to see you get torn to shred-"

"'Kay, m'real sorry ya' feel that way. Even sorrier that I gotta do this."

Mister doesn't stop fighting you the entire time you shove the bandanna into his mouth. He even bites down on your index and middle finger as you stuff the last corner of fabric between his teeth.

Hit him.

It happens so fast, you don't have time to stop yourself from the back of your hand connecting with his cheek.

"Now, you gunna play that game? I can play, too," you inspect your finger and the deep indentation he left that's already starting to bruise.

The duct tape is hard to rip, and you need to use your teeth to cut a strip to go over his mouth.

Mister is mumbling something around the bandanna, but you can't understand him, and honestly are still mad about your fingers-- they hurt! Really bad!

"Glad I still got that medicine... I'm gunna fuckin' need it!" You dig around in your pockets and look for the two white pills. Your fingers throb while you look, the sensitive skin; tender to the touch as it brushes against the fabric inside your pockets.

Mister glares at you with his almost black eyes.

"I'm sorry!" You find the pills, throw them into your mouth and swallow dry. "I'm sorry for hurtin' you. I do not like doin' it, I mean it." You take a couple steps towards him, and drop to your knees between his legs again.

Mister watches, his whole body still as you rest your head on his knee again.

"Just want ya' 'round. M'sorry," you close your eyes, not wanting him to see them fill with those traitorous tears. "Jus' real lonely out here. Miss havin' someone t'talk with...'n snuggle up to at night."

The fuckin' duct tape makes it impossible for Mister to say anything--which is the worst. You wanted someone to talk with, not at.

"I'll take the tape off in the mornin', and we can try again over breakfast, 'kay?"

Mister doesn't make a single sound for the rest of the night.

Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.

You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.

"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.

Honestly, he barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night.

How can he not like it just a little bit? You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.

"Couple more minutes, Mister. Please?" You fucking whimper,

The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.

Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through the thin fabric of your shorts, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!

And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.

Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.

"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.

You feel it now, too.

"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.

"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.

"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.

Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.

"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-

He's never drinking with you again. Never again.

"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.

He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.

"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.

The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his kiss, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.

Joel groans low in his throat when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.

"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.

"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.

Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."

The sound that leaves you makes Joel throb in your hand, "Ya' want me t'put 'em inside?" You whisper, the silky smoothness of your hands on him, stroking him so slowly is making his head spin.

"Jeeesus, yes-- fuckin' c'mon- do it," Joel lets his head fall back against the recliner, and watches as you pull your shorts to the side, and lift yourself to hover over him. "C'mon..." Joel eggs you on in a whisper. "Y'can do it, crazy girl."

"Don't call--" you pause when you notch the head of him at your entrance. "--me crazy."

Joel groans loudly as you sink down and let every wet, soft part of you engulf him. He throbs again when you whimper and whine, eyes clenched shut, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you inch your way down his length.

"Ow, ow, ow," you whine, leaning forward to rest your head on Joel's.

He could headbutt the shit out of you right now, but fuck, the way you're looking at him, with real tears in your eyes, not just from drinking.

"Hey, ya' doin' real good, sweetheart, keep goin'-- nice 'n slow," Joel encourages you, because he doesn't want it to stop either. "Jus' like that, crazy girl."

God damn, is crazy pussy always this good? He wouldn't fucking know, he wouldn't ever get involved with you if he knew you back in Jackson- but out here, after almost three weeks with you... it's hard to deny the physical needs of a man. And you're so fucking soft and wet.

The two of you groan in unison when you fully seated. The velvet walls of your pussy are fluttering, and clenching around him as you adjust to his length.

"You're so big," you hum, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Didn't think ya'd wanna do this," you whisper into his mouth. "Wasn't gon' take it from ya-- don't like that."

"Take what'chya need from me, whenever ya want it, shit," Joel tries to buck his hips up into yours to give you what you want but you whine in protest.

"Still hurts."

Joel settles his hips and leans into the best he can being tied down, his fingers grip the armrests of the chair tightly, groping it like he would be groping you if he could.

"Untie me," he murmurs while grinding up against you, not pulling out of you at all, just letting you feel him, letting you open up around him so it'll start to feel good.

"No," you nip at his bottom lip now, but you suck it into your mouth and tease him with your tongue as your walls start to rhythmically clench around him.

"Fuck, ya' doin' that on -ur-ose?" Joel groans with his bottom lip still being lapped at, The feeling of your tight, wet sucking him in deeper somehow- like it's fucking bottomless almost makes him come right then.

You pull back, his lip slips from between your with a wet pop "Mhm, ya' like it?" You clench harder around him and then release, and then do that over, and over again.

"Fuckin' untie me, wanna touch you- gotta feel how soft ya' are all over, c'mon," he's begging, he needs to feel the swell of your ass in his palm, or one of your tits spilling between his fingers as he grips you.

"No, you'll just try 'n leave me-"

"No, no, no-- I'll stay 'n... uh.. I'll... um- uh--oh, I'll play nice wit'chya" Joel racks his brain with anything that he could say that would possibly give him a chance at being able to really touch you.

"Lyin' t'me," you moan, and Joel throbs inside of you.

"Not lyin'-"

You pull back from his face at an alarming rate, and you scan his face slowly, as if you were drinking in every feature, savoring the flavor-- Joel watches you swallow hard and imagines that it's his load you just took down--

"Untie me, let me touch ya' a lil bit," Joel whispers, keeping his eyes locked on to yours. "Make ya' feel real good, promise." Joel licks his lips as he watches you struggle internally with the decision. "C'mon... gotta feel how soft ya' are, crazy girl. Just one hand."

"Fine."

You stay seated in his lap, his cock still throbbing inside of you as you work on the knot that will free his right hand. He's trembling in the anticipation of it all.

As soon as the pressure is gone off his wrist, Joel reels his arm back as far as he can, and sends it flying forward with as much force as he can muster after not eating meat for almost an entire month.

You scream as his fist connects with your right eye, and go flying to the floor.

Joel might be completely sober right now, and he knows he needs to move fast before you get up and probably shoot him for lying to you, and then punching you.

Yep. Shoot him. Shoot him right between his perfect, brow, baby-cow eyes. End it.

The dark voice in your head is right, but it's almost impossible to think about anything else but the pain shooting into your brain from your right eye socket.

"You motherfucker," you sob. The pain is electrifying- and you can't even see out of your right eye anymore!

That was your least favorite eye!

Kill. Him.

When you sit up, Joel is working on the knot around his left wrist.

You stumble to your feet, holding your hand over your eye trying to keep the actual ball in, in case it falls out, and walk over to the table with his book bag on it. You rummage around until your fingers wrap around the item you're looking for.

When Joel sees what you're carrying, not even attempting to hide it behind your back, he quickens his efforts on the knot.

Your left hand isn't your dominant one, but your right is busy keeping your eyeball in your head because it most surely got knocked loose or something.

You have to whack Joel twice before he goes unconcious.

"S'what ya' get for almost takin' my eye out!"

While he's still asleep, you take this opportunity to cut the jeans he's wearing off of him. You carefully unbutton the green and red flannel he was wearing and slip that off of him fully intact.

Once he's fully secure, with a new restraint around his chest to keep him fully pinned down to the chair, and the bandanna and tape back around his mouth-- you shut all the lights off, every single one, and leave him down there to think about what he did.

He's gonna learn to play nice, and if he wants to play rough first... so can you.

The air is thick with tension and stench of his sweat and fear.

The big-guy should be kind of scared- you didn't want it to come to this, but he just cannot participate nicely!

You circle your Mister-man slowly, drinking in every detail of him. His broad chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles taut and straining as he fights against the restraints for the thousandth time.

No matter how hard he struggles, he cannot break free. Oh boy. Mister-man has some big feelings about it, and he's trying to let you know.

He is struggling— like, so fucking hard, against his bonds that tether him to the chair, that are cutting deep into the skin on his wrists. It's unfortunate, but he keeps wriggling around! If he just stopped, it'd all be fine!

You lean in close, pointing to your right eye, which is still black and blue, but thankfully not as swollen anymore, and frown at him. "This hurt!" You exclaim. "It hurt so bad, and you said you were gunna play nice. Why'd ya' lie t'me?"

His eyes are blown wide with fury and desperation. But he cannot respond, not really, his voice is saying things, but it's muffled by the duct tape stretched tight across his mouth.

He's still clad in only boxer shorts, a thin gray t-shirt, and socks, he looks vulnerable and exposed.

It really shouldn't be so hot-- but it is. You can't stop thinking about what he said the other night.

"Take what'cya want from me, sweetheart. Whenever you want it."

You wonder if he really meant that, because he punched you in the face right after.

But... he got excited! He wanted it, Mister-man kissed you first.

Oh Sug, he's down bad.

Please kill him. Shoot him right now, then you can just move to a different part of the mall. It's very simple.

He's really mad; which makes no sense! He punched you right in the eye! What is he mad for!?

"I thought after three weeks you'd be begging me to take you upstairs, Mister," you purr seductively, taking a step behind him, out of his line of sight. "Instead you hit me!?" You give Joel a good thwack against the side of his head with your open hand.

Not enough to really hurt him— that's coming soon— but enough to let him know to cut the shit. It's getting old, and now you want a fun, willing participant to play with you… and not someone who is going to act like they don't like… all this.

The perfect basement office of an old mattress store in an abandoned mall about a two hour hike outside of what used to be Jackson, Wyoming?

There's no spores, there's no mildew or stink! It's clean, you make sure to keep everything so clean for him.

Despite his insessant pestering about meat for some reason, he's well fed! He gets to drink whenever he wants!

Why is he so upset!?

Joel grumbles something from behind the duct tape and it's honestly lost of deaf ears because you don't care for what he has to say right now, it's never nice or sweet. It's always mean— that's why he's got the duct tape on.

Soon.

Soon the big-dumb-idiot will be singing your name, happily, and without restraints.

He's just gotta wear something else first.

You slip the shock collar around his thick neck while you're still behind him.

He doesn't like it, at all. He thrashes and writhes, and makes a desperate, pleading groan from behind deep in his throat.

"Well, you wanna act like all them other dogs out there, you're gon' get treated like one," you press a kiss to the top of his skull, and pull back before he can rear his head forward and smash it against your nose.

He's going to try-- he always does.

Slowly, you wind your way around him, trailing a finger along his sweat-slick forehead and crawl into his lap. He struggles at first, until he sees the remote in your hand.

"Gonna zap all the bad outta you… make you perfect for me." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Have an idea...for how you can hug me-- and not hit me."

Joel mumbles something else, muffled through the duct tape. It doesn't really matter what he's saying, all that matters is how warm he is. How he makes you feel so safe and comfortable.

It's easy now, with the threat of being zapped, to rest your forehead against his, and nuzzle the tips of your noses together.

"You gunna be good for me, Mister-man?" It's a purr as you press a kiss to the duct tape covering his mouth. "Or am I gunna have to train you how to be good?"

omg this might be the longest tag list i've ever done let me know if you want me to take you off, add you, if I forgot you-- I'm SORRY!!!

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22

#kidnapped!joel miller #joel miller x reader #crazy!reader #dead dove fic #smut and violence #a little fluff #joel's dirty fucking mouth #joel miller tlou #Jackson!Joel #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #eventual smut #eventual angst

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writing-mlm · 1 day ago

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saw you do familial reqs? damian with an older brother figure reader would be so awesome.. bonus points if he’s also some moody bat and just kinda sees himself in damian. he used to be a sort of outcast himself, so he can empathize with damian when dame feels like he’s sort of ostracized from the other robins or bat fam members.

Annual New Robin Trip

Summary: Damian’s been Robin long enough that it’s his turn to go on the Robin Trip Pairing: Damian Wayne & Brother!reader Wc: 4.5k tags/warnings: sibling bond, both were child assassins, Bruce is bad at parenting

Dick was the bubbly, bumbling Robin. People used to say he was truly a circus kid; flipping from chandeliers and being a little terror. Although everyone is pretty sure he was definitely out for blood whenever he had the chance. He would tell the most awful puns while fighting and Bruce wouldn’t even scold him.

Jason was just happy to be there, he had everything he could ever ask for and he was taken in by Batman! Oh, boy- oh, boy! He would hide under the cape and yell boo to all the petty criminals Bruce let him fight. Until he couldn’t anymore.

Tim had the easiest life prior to donning the R on his chest. After that, he was the worst Robin. Not because he was bad; Tim was arguably the best Robin during his career but because he never got to experience the things Dick or Jason had. He was left picking up the pieces after Jason’s death, holding Bruce together to the best of his abilities. He went out on patrols alone, with no cape to hide under or any grumpy adult to hold in a chuckle.

Stephanie wanted to prove a point, she pushed Bruce in ways Tim didn’t. But in the end, she was pushed to the side. No one even remembers her time as Robin. The girl Robin, the blonde one. It was only what… seventy-five days? Why would anyone remember her? Forgotten in the murky waters of Batman’s timeline. Erased.

Damian wasn’t as fortunate. He didn’t come from Gotham or a traveling circus hiding a cult. He came from the Ra’s Al-Ghul, he came from the demon head. Born a killer, bathed in the pit— his life was cursed from the beginning. Sorrow and rot; that’s what his life was even after he put on the Robin suit. Despite being the only Robin connected to Batman by blood, he was the biggest outside in the bunch.

He couldn’t do anything right. He kept messing up— his father was constantly disappointed by him and he couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. He’s doing what he was taught— the blade. He hadn’t meant to take another life— he was trying to be better. But he doesn’t realize when he’s going too far because, for him, the limit didn’t exist until less than a year ago.

You could relate to that… all too well.

“What do you want?” Damian grits when he spots you on his desk, messing with one of his countless knives. He hides his face, not wanting to show a weakness— his weakness. “I thought father threw you out.” Some time ago, maybe two months ago, you and Bruce had gotten into an explosive argument that ended with a frozen pork chop on your eye and a frozen bag of peas on his chin before he told you never to come back.

“He did,” You hum, unfurling yourself from the desk and standing tall. “I know the security system— and Pennyworth let me back inside.” You smile.

“Pennyworth shows little loyalty to father,” He spits, sitting on the bed.

“He shows plenty, Damian. He knows something that Bruce doesn’t, at the moment.” You tilt your head as you add the last part. Bruce will find out sooner than later anyway, might as well tell him.

“And what’s that?” He asks arms crossed as he glares at you. You look away and huff, rolling your head onto your shoulder.

“I need his opinion on something, something important.”

“And you’re in my room?”

“I also wanted to speak to you,” You admit. “You’ve been here long enough for us to continue the tradition.” He pauses, hand settling on the dagger he keeps in his pocket.

“What sort of tradition?” The only traditions he’s used to are fights or death; neither of which is he in the mood for.

“Nothing like the League, I can assure you. I.. I take all the Robins on a… bonding trip after they’ve settled in.” You explain, now sitting on a chair. “I took Jason to the arcade and a library in Prague, Tim to my family’s annual barbecue and fishing, and Stephanie to this spa retreat for the weekend. It’s your turn.”

“Why would I care for this… bonding trip?” He asks, setting the dagger down. “I’m not like the others— I’m better. I don’t need some stupid trip with a rejected hero,” Shrugging, you look at the mirror on his wardrobe. You see Damian, sitting while glaring at you. You see yourself, staring at the signs of age and tiredness on your, admittedly, not old body.

“Talk to the others about it, just not Richie. He never got one.” Leaving, Damian thinks for a second before he follows after you. As quiet as a mouse, he slips into the cave after you, clinging to the darkness as he’s been trained to do.

“Is it that time already?” Dick asks when you enter with your hands in your pockets. He’d been talking with Bruce about something, but he was too far to hear. Bruce spins around, looking you up and down with a watchful gaze.

“I have news,” You roll your eyes when Dick pulls you into a hug. “About my assignment.”

“No one assigned you to it,” Bruce reminds you, guilt flashing over his eyes. You shrug and lean against your older brother, your head resting on his shoulder. He squeezes your arm, happy to see you again. He’s always been happy to see his first baby brother safe and sound; at home.

“I found their base; took them down, too.” You tell them, fighting the urge to tuck into yourself. “They were hiding out in Australia.”

“Did you kill them?” Bruce asks. Damian pressed against a rock, his small figure hidden perfectly as he watched the three of you. You don’t answer, but your eyes drift to the ground when Bruce sighs through his nose. “I have one rule.”

“I know,” You stress, pulling away from Dick. “I know! But I didn’t mean to! But they wouldn’t give me any other choice; do you think I wanted to kill them? I tried to save them,”

“Clearly not hard enough,” Bruce blinks and Damian falters in the same way you did. Bruce had said the same thing to him not even three hours ago. “You should’ve contacted me. I could’ve saved them.”

“I tried,” You stress. “I called and I sent letters. I- I— You never answered me! I didn’t want to kill them!”

“B,” Dick puts a hand on your shoulder as you sniff and look away. “You know that they wouldn’t go; he had to.”

“We could’ve—“

“God! You’d think after raising one child assassin he'd be better at this.” You spit and wipe your nose. “You’re still shit at helping us.”

“(Y/n),” Bruce sighs. “You know I love you and I love Damian, you’re my sons.” He holds your shoulder and you falter, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Hell of a way of showing it.” He doesn’t apologize, Bruce doesn’t know the word sorry but he hugs you. You don’t hug back, just pat his shoulder until he pulls away.

“I’m glad you’re home safe.” He whispers before he finally pulls away. “It’s a shame you had to kill them.” Nodding, you look at Dick.

“I had to kill my parents,” You admit, trying to keep yourself composed when he frowns and immediately hugs you. “They kept calling me and calling me, begging me to join them again. I couldn’t… I’m tired of killing. I see them when I sleep, their faces. Their blood was so warm.”

Damian looks away, flashes of the people he’s killed plays through his mind and he leaves the cave. He needs to be alone. His eyes are stinging and he’s sure if he breathes any harder he’s going to be spotted.

“Aside from that,” You clear your throat and fix your clothes. “Damian’s been Robin for… some time now. It’s nearing the time where I take the new Robin out for a trip.”

“If he agrees,” Bruce nods.

“I still haven’t been taken out for a trip,” Dick dramatically sighs.

“You’re older than me. You’re supposed to take me.”

“Can I?” He gleams and you shake your head with a smile before walking away. “Please!”

“No, Dickie. You suck at planning,”

—

You don’t spend the night at the manor; it hasn’t felt like home in years. You hate your old room, you hate how Bruce hasn’t touched it since you’ve gone; everything besides that stupid broken picture frame. It’s been swept up, and replaced with a different frame.

And somehow, the picture that was inside sits on your kitchen island.

Your current place is temporary, rented out on a monthly basis with some shady landlord you don’t truly care about. The lease is hardly a day old, so for someone to have known where you lived they must’ve been recently following you. For them to have access to the picture they’ve been in the manor. Because that’s the same picture, you know because there’s an inky, smudged fingerprint on the back.

“You were close to my father?” Damian asks as you enter the living room, still holding the picture in your loose grip.

“Thick as thieves,” You grin, although there’s no happiness or warmth behind it. Setting the table on the side table, you sit next to Damian.

“You mentioned your family's barbecue earlier but they’re assassins. Assassins don’t do family barbecues,” He should know.

“Different family,” You breathe in, staring down at him while he looks around the dingy apartment. “I… My blood family are assassins and yeah; no family barbecues. But eh… I’m sort of married,” You laugh and his head snaps to you. “Yup, I got married at twenty. Love of my life, they’re wonderful. I consider their family my own,” He tuts at the idea of love and you remember yourself doing the same thing when you were his age.

“I assume they know?”

“My spouse does, yes. Their family… do not. It’s not exactly something they’d want to hear about their son-in-law.”

“Does father know you’re married?”

“No— maybe,” You shrug. “If he does he’s never mentioned it. I don’t hide it but I never bring them around him.” He tuts and stands up. You watch with a careful eye as he struts into your kitchen and steps up to the counter, climbing to reach the cabinet and then standing to reach the top shelf to grab a cup. He rinses it out before opening the fridge.

His nose turns up at the options and you hold back a laugh, watching as he picks out the water jug before pouring himself a glass. He sniffs the water, eyeing you wearily before holding the cup to you.

God, you’d done the same exact thing to Bruce when you first arrived.

Taking a sip, he seems content when you don’t have a reaction other than pouring yourself a cup and slowly sipping his drink.

“I assume you’re from the Shadows?” He’s strutting back to the couch while you lean against the counter, holding the cup by the rim with the ends of your fingers.

“Shadow adjacent. Subsection created about fifty years back,”

“So you were born into it?” He sets the now empty cup on the table and picks up the picture, carefully examining it, and then checks the date on the back. “For twelve years before you met Father.”

“I was,” You nod. “Joined Bruce and Dickie.”

“Before you gave up.” He adds. You laugh, shaking your head before finishing your water in one big gulp.

“Damian, I didn’t give up. I was… I couldn’t live up to Bruce’s expectations. It’s hard not killing but I tried. I tried for years. But every time I went out someone died. So, I learned to use computers, I stayed in the cave and watched over everyone. I was the Oracle before Oracle was a thing.”

“You were a coward,” He corrects with a tight voice. “You gave up and hid inside of the cave when you could’ve helped people!”

“Damian. It’s not cowardly to stop trying. Because I did eventually go back, but it was under my rules. I stopped listening to Bruce’s voice, his rules, his insane expectations. Dick mentioned you like Veil?”

“I do,” He gives one curt nod. “They’re effective and father gives them high praise.”

“That’s me, Damian.” You grin and for a moment, his jaw goes slack but he quickly composes himself. “You can call Bruce. I have the suit in my closet… help yourself, I guess,” Watching as he rushes into your bedroom, he shuffles through clothes before he pulls out your suit.

“I suppose you’re not a coward.” He settles in when he neatly puts the suit back in its spot.

—

“Yes, Bruce?” You sigh, phone placed between your ear and shoulder as you’re sorting through laundry. “What do you want from me? My soul? My last piece of self-worth?”

“(Y/n),” He sighs that old man sigh he’s started doing after Jason came back and he realized he had to deal with two homicidal sons. Three now. “Damian has requested you at the manor.”

“Tell him I want to experience the Robin Trip.” You hear Damian say and you smile. “Father, tell him!” He demands and you think you can hear him stomping his foot.

“He wants you to take him on the Robin Trip,” Bruce relays.

“I’ll be there in an hour. Pack enough clothes for about five days. Nothing fancy, either.”

You arrive in your trusty mom van. It’s a lovely seven-seater with plenty of trunk space and a rack on the top. Of course, Alfred wouldn’t let you just stay in the driveway. No, it was late so of course, you had to stay for dinner and you’ll leave in the morning. Pinky promise.

“Reject is back,” Jason grins, giving you a tight hug. You hug him back, swaying him from side to side. You’d missed him when you came over the week prior; something Dick says he simply will not stop complaining about.

“Oh, hey,” Tim looks up from his dinner plate and offers a nod. You never did get too close to him; he never wanted an older brother. He wanted Bruce and you simply weren’t him. You nod back, running your fingers along Jason’s head before he shoves your hand away; chiding that he’s not a kid anymore.

“Hmph!” Damian stands between you and Jason, arms crossed as he looks between the two of you. You smile and ruffle his hair despite his protests and threats.

“Staying for dinner?” Bruce asks from the head of the table, reading the daily newspaper. Even though it’s well into the afternoon, almost night.

“At Pennyworth's insistence,” You nod, detaching yourself from Jason and Damian. “Unless there’s an issue with that.” You add.

“No,” He shakes his head while setting the paper down. “None at all, please, stay. There’s always a room open for you.”

“Aside from the times he kicks us out,” Jason pretends to whisper while Dick barrels down the stairs. You think he did trip at some point but he caught himself.

“I missed you!” He squeezes you just as tightly as you’d squeezed Jason and you cringe, patting his back. Jason snickers while Damian tuts and heads to his seat at the table.

“You saw me last week, Dickie.” You’re put back on your feet and Dick sighs, leaning away from the hug but holds you still.

“After not seeing you for months!” He adds, the smile dropping as he checks you over. This time in proper lighting. “God, leaving me here alone with Bruce. I’ve had to smile every single day with him waiting for you.” He mutters just loud enough that you can hear.

“Not like I had a choice,” You grit, eyes flickering to the table. “Dinner?” You sigh.

“Yes, do take a seat.” Alfred smiles. “I’ve prepared your favorite, Master (Y/n).”

“You shouldn’t have,” You smile at him.

“You really shouldn’t have,” Jason sighs and turns to Damian. “He has the worst taste in food.”

“Jason, not everyone likes burgers dipped in cheese and barbecue sauce.”

“Exactly,” He nods as if you’ve proved his point.

Surprisingly, dinner goes off without a hitch. There were not more than ten snarky remarks, not once did someone awkwardly fake cough to move the conversation along, and everyone’s food remained on their plates.

“Where will we be going?” Damian asks after insisting he walks you to your bedroom.

“You’ll see,” You grin. “I think you’ll like it.”

“I do not like none-answers,” He huffs, crossing his arms. “You could be leading me into a trap.”

“Bruce approved,” Is all you’re willing to give him. It satiates him for now and he stands at your door, waiting for you to go inside. “Be ready by five, we should leave early.”

“Alright,” He nods and walks away before stopping midstep. “Sleep well, (Y/n).”

“Goodnight, Damian.” He nods and continues into his room.

—

At five on the dot, Damian knocks on your door. You open it, already dressed and packed. He’s the same, with a large bag slung over his shoulders and an almost happy expression on his face.

“Head downstairs, I need a couple of things.” He hums and turns on his heel while you look around your room. Grabbing one of the first books you’d fallen in love with, you slip it into your bag and then your first-ever sketchbook.

Once you’re downstairs, Alfred hands you a metal mug with your favorite breakfast drink, then a neatly wrapped breakfast sandwich, and then a light lunch. He knows you won’t stay for breakfast and wishes you farewell. You thank him and load up the minivan, Damian sits in the passenger seat and you have to question if he should be in the back. And in a booster seat.

For some reason, you don’t think he’d take to sitting in a booster seat.

Driving off, you play calm music and sip your drink. He’s quietly eating next to you, careful to not get crumbs in the car. He falls asleep halfway into the drive, his head hanging in an awkward position so you maneuver to lower the seat for him. He stirs awake, grabbing your wrist as you’re moving away but he drops it once he realizes it’s you and slowly falls back asleep.

Eventually, you reach your farm. A lovely place in a lovely town that has flea markets every Friday and everyone keeps their doors unlocked.

Your land is sectioned off by a lovely oak fence, spreading across the eight acres, a dull red mailbox with the hand up greets you and you check the box. There’s a small package and two letters that you toss onto the dashboard.

Damian wakes up as you’re driving up, his eyes finding the cows and chickens you keep lazily chewing on the grass. He sees a wild fox, chasing a wild rabbit through the lawn, scaring a group of pigs inside of their pen in front of a horse stable.

He sniffs the air, confused. It doesn’t smell like livestock and he knows how livestock farms smell.

“Where are we?” He asks, craning his neck to look behind him. There’s nothing but open fields for miles but he can see a house in the distance.

“My house,” He turns back to you. “I have a homestead— it’s just a fancy word for living on a farm, really.”

“You do believe in botulism, correct?” He sneers, stepping out of the van. You bark a laugh and nod.

“I’m not crazy about it— I just raise my animals and tend to my crops when I’m not out being Veil.”

“Why would you decide to live here?” He asks and you notice his tone isn’t as harsh as it once was. His eyes scan over your fields with a look almost similar to contentment. He looks at the cow with a fondness you can share while you collect your bags. “You’re an assassin, not a farmer.”

“I can be many things,” You shrug. “I’m a farmer, a vigilante, a painter, a former assassin. I’m not bound by one thing. Don’t you have hobbies?”

“I have no time for such trivial matters,” He turns his nose up as he pushes inside the house.

“Ra’s is a doctor on the side. Dick is a detective. Jason takes care of the orphaned kids. Tim runs a company. I’ve seen his skateboard collection. I’ve seen Dick teach gymnastics at the local gyms. Bruce has his charities and all of his foundations. Jason has an enormous collection of books.”

“I only read informative books, anything else is a waste of my time.”

“Maybe,” You shrug. “Let me show you to your room, you’ll settle down and then meet me in the kitchen. Take as much time as you need, there’s no rush.” He nods and you show him to the guest room. It’s incredibly plain but nice. You shut the door behind you and text Bruce that you’ve arrived without any hiccups. He doesn’t reply but you see that he’s read the text and you go about your day.

You have a pair of old working boots from your spouse's nephew visiting; they should fit Damian just fine. Setting them on the bench, you slip yours on and wait for him. He doesn’t take long, walking down with careful eyes until he sees you.

“I assume I’m to wear these?” You nod and he tuts, slipping them on. “What type of training is this?”

“You’re going to learn patience and to enjoy life.” You smile, ruffling his hair before tossing him an egg basket.

“That’s ridiculous.”

—

Dick reacts with hearts as you're sending him pictures of Damian collecting duck and chicken eggs. Videos of him milking cows and cleaning out the pig pens. He’s glad that Damian is having fun, each picture and video seems to have Damian in a better mood. You send him pictures of his drawings and he remarks that he’s already talented with a pencil. You don’t tell him that he’s gotten into reading, too. But you do tell Jason, swearing him to secrecy.

You look up at Damian as he sits on your porch, an easel and canvas in front of him as he paints your backyard. It’s only been three days but you’d like to think you’ve made an impression on him. He’s woken up earlier than you to feed the animals, he enjoys talking to them and tells you that your defenses are subpar. So you took him into town to grab items to make your fence stronger.

He hated when the townsfolk would coo at him, remark that he’s such a strong boy for carrying the wood and bags while you carried the metal and other bags. You wonder how he’s going to like the flea market. You hope it won’t be overwhelming for him; you know it was for you the first time you went.

“What happens when they die?” He suddenly asks, still painting one of your cows. Looking up from your phone, you stare at the back of his head and then the painting.

“You know how I’m a metahuman, right?” He nods. “I can… see how much longer anything living has. And I can communicate with animals, so, I tell them. I tell them that they don’t have much longer. Sometimes they ask to be left in peace. To die naturally. Other times they tell me to get it over with; they’re ready. If they ask that, I’ll… take them to the butcher. They agree, of course.”

“So the meat we’ve eaten these past days…”

“That was from my chicken Mile and my cow Dan-Loop.”

“Why? How could you?” You notice that his grip on the paintbrush is tightening and you inch closer to him.

“Because it’s what they wanted. They know they’re farm animals, they know that humans eat their meat. They know. And some of them don’t care. They live happily here. And I give them the option of what they want to do. One time, one of my pigs was dying and SeaSaw told them that he wanted to be released. Travel as far as he could before he returned to the Earth. I watched that pig run and run for a while before he turned and looked at me. He thanked me and went up that hill and stared at the sunset.”

“Isn’t it hard?” He asks. “Raising all these animals knowing you’re going to outlive them.”

“It is. But I also know that I’m giving them an amazing life. It’s better than them being stuck in cruel mills. They’re seen and heard. And trust me, if those ducks and chickens were angry, your hand would be picked at for trying to take their eggs.” Damian nods, looking down at you. You’re looking at your animals, taking in the setting sun.

“Do you think father would let me start a farm?”

“Maybe. Ask him on a good day. If he does, you can take Jerry. He likes you,” Damian beams, knowing exactly which animal you’re talking about.

“Okay, thank you.”

—

“Why did you leave and come here?” Damian asks as you’re driving to the flea market. “You mentioned you couldn’t stand being around father.” The question makes you think about your years with Bruce, all the things he’d taught, and the things you spent years unlearning. Things weren’t all bad with Bruce, though. You still cherish your fond memories like the first time he’d taken you to the ice cream parlor or when he’d taken you to the Monterey Bay Aquarium after he saw you watching Nemo too many times in a row for it to be a simple obsession.

“Bruce and I have a complicated history. And sometimes, to love someone, you need to stay away. I can’t see your father too often; it’s too painful. I care about him; I’m sure he cares about me but it’s too much. We’re too different. And coming here was like…” You purse your lips. “I was finally free from what I'd become. I could live a separate life from my place in the family. I had no obligations here; I made it my own.”

“What’s your place?” He asks, sparing you a glance.

“I wasn’t the best at what I did. I was angry, a lot. I don’t know if you’ve met yet, but Mr. Fox would say I was moodier than Bruce. I was violent; I wasn’t sure of my place in any of this. I kept trying to prove myself to Bruce but I kept failing. I felt like a mistake for a long while.” He looks down at his lap, messing with his jeans before he speaks up again.

“What made that feeling go away?”

“Getting hobbies.” You admit. “I drew a lot. I made friends. I got closer to Dick and Jason. I removed Bruce from that pedestal and saw him for the man he is. Not as the man I wanted him to be.”

“What man is he?”

“He’s like us. He’s flawed and he makes mistakes. He’s not perfect and neither are we. We’re all trying. Now, come on. Your father gave you five thousand so you can buy whatever you want.”

He smiles and grabs the bag from the dashboard, leaving you in the dust while he admires the homemade objects people are selling.

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x you #batfam x reader #damian wayne x brother reader

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justbelievinginmagic · 19 hours ago

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BEWITCHED - part 1: we're not in munchkinland anymore.

pairing(s): witch!seonghwa x witch!reader ft. honjoong & san. mini-series summary: all your life you've had this spark - a touch of magic to your heart. as a munchkinlander, it was both a blessing and a curse. after all, two horrible witches had ruled over the land - all your life you had been asked: would you be a good witch or a bad witch? you wanted to be a good witch. and, finally, you would be! the day arrived; you were going to shiz university, the most-esteemed magical college in oz! you were prepared to work hard and make your dreams come true. but when you stumble upon cold bullies and an even colder sorcerer-in-training named park seonghwa who seemed to captivate you at every turn, will you be able to achieve your magical goals or will you fall under his spell? warnings/tags: inspired by the musical and movie adaptation of wicked, magical college AU, wizard of oz AU, set at shiz university, fem!reader, 3rd person POV, use of YN, set after a divergent-wicked timeline (where the wizard or a wizard still rules), magic, angst, some bullying, oz references and lore, use of ozian vernacular, nervousness, second-hand embarrassment, mentions of panties/corset, name calling. let me know if there are more tags needed. word count: ~4.5k

It had been known throughout Oz, for as long as the Time Dragon Clock tick-tocked, that the only place to become a grand sorcerer was Shiz University. Established, expensive, and exclusivatory, the university was known throughout the land as the cradle to success. Anyone who wanted to be anything went there – or to the Wizard to have their heart’s desire granted. But, of course, a meeting with the Wizard was rare. So, the only other option to success was hard work. Work hard to one day get to Shiz University.

Staring up at the ancient buildings of Shiz, YN couldn’t help but feel a rush of exhilaration. She had made it. Spiraling towers, open-air patios, water canals weaving in and out of the architecture, she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t in Munchkinland anymore.

A shoulder bumped into her, making her huff and stumble over the aged tiles. She righted herself with a small huff, a familiar zing in her chest making her pause and take a deep breath. That was the last thing she needed to happen. The bustling crowds of students surrounded her like a sea. Some in the perfectly-pressed navy-blue jackets and horizontal-striped uniform dresses of Shiz with the silver-stitched emblem proud across their chest. Others were like her, dressed in their best-to-impress as they entered the grand corridors of Shiz as a new student. It reminded her of stories of masquerades in grand ballrooms – their outfits were all so different and extravagant. Pinks of the lightest shades, deep-rubied vermillion, bright yellows, all in the strangest textures and designs. Far different from her own dress fabric but never the less fantasticamagical!

YN felt out of place like a lost air balloon amongst the clouds. Clinging to her luggage case, she took a tentative step away from the open-air waterfront. As she moved ever forward into the college, she realized just how different everything was here. The air was cool and humid; the sound of sea-salt water trickling between the canal-filled paths babbled; there was the smell of fresh-Ozma petals blooming on the large leaf-pads floating across the shimmering water. It was really nothing like Munchkinland, and its sprawling country-sides. There was no smell of Ozwheat-ground bread, of fresh upturned soil, fragrant tulips in every shade of the rainbow, or the towering blossom stalks of sweet-flowers.

It was strange.

Swallowing, she hugged her brown suitcase closer and continued to walk further into Shiz. The honey-soft yellow of the buildings was complimented by a once-royal, now-pastel blue in the awnings and in delicate hand-painted décor across the buildings. Sunshine flickered past the shingled rooftops to cast the center of Shiz in a golden glow. It was beautiful. A different beautiful than what she was used to, but an optimistic jingle in her heart said she could like it here.

Another person pushed past her purposely, and this time it sent her tumbling to the ground. A laughter grumbled from the crowd, surprised but cruel. A mean-looking girl with a pointy nose laughed as she crowed out, “Watch where you are going, little farm girl!”

“She’s used to being that low to the ground I bet,” another encouraged with a sneer.

YN’s face crumbled at the words. Eyes burning before her face flushed. All her things toppled across the bustling court-yard – her books scattered, her dresses tumbled, her keepsakes rolled. Her suitcase had broken open. The clasp was worn and old compared to the new fancy luggage the rich (but mostly their entourage) toted along, but she didn’t think it was that old.

Embarrassment burned more fervently than that spark in her chest. Her focus to split between the pain of in her knees, the hurt from their words, and the panic of needing to grab her things now.

YN didn’t understand their uttertodious rudeness. She wasn’t the first nor the last to attend Shiz as a Munchkinlander. She hadn’t expected the dirty looks, the cruel laughs, the cold whispers, the foul name-calling. How did they even know she was of Munchkinland? She wasn’t of Munckinland holy blood. She was no Eminent, nor of the upper-class. She was just… YN. Was that so offending? Was it her dress? Was that what they were whispering about behind their hands and falling into giggles? Was it hideoteous compared to the swankified fabrics of the upper-class? She didn’t think so. She had put on her prettiest – a dirndl-esque dress of a deep sapphire. Hand-embroidered vibrant poppies, delicate milk-flowers, and candy-chrysanthemums decorated the hem and décolletage. Fresh flowers decorated her pig-tailed hair; some had begun to wilt in the change of temperature, but they still were prettied pastel yellows, blues, and pinks. Some of those petals now rested on the ground from her fall, crumpled.

She felt the burn flare like embers fanned by a wind. Her book pages rattled in a nonexistent wind unnoticed by the snickering students. Behind her, a man’s voice cleared itself, baritone and rumbly.

“Are you alright?” He asked beside her.

Oh, his voice so melodic it reminded her of the Lullaby League singers that would pass through Munchkinland during the holidays. It reminded her of honey being poured over fresh-bread, of warm summer nights in the fields, of a bed waiting for her to curl up in.

Looking up at him, her breath was stolen. YN swore for a moment she saw a star, a wizard, a sorcerer, an otherworldly being. There, haloed in the light of the afternoon sun, was a man with hair as light as milk-flowers and a nose carved by an artist. His shapely lips pursed in a thoughtful yet neutral pout; his eyes were a dark shade of fresh-soil. And somehow, they twinkled with stars.

Or maybe her eyes were filled with hearts. She blinked. YN had never seen someone so beautiful. The burning spark in her chest faded with awe.

His hand outstretched to her after a moment.

“Are you okay?” he repeated, bleached brow raising faintly.

There was another blink of her pretty eyes before she was shaken from her stupor.

“Oh, yes, yes,” she insisted as she took his hand.

With ease, she was tugged to her feet. “Thank you,” she whispered, pink cheeked.

The figure was tall especially so with his heeled boots. His presence was one she imagined only the Wizard to embody. Peace, stoniness, wisdom. He struck her with wonder. His gaze flickered from her, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips disappearing at the sight of her dresses tumbling away, her books’ pages fluttering in the wind, and, mortifyingly, her panties tumbling from her luggage.

“Um,” he cleared his throat, chin nodding in their direction.

Red cheeked and mortified, she went to grab the frilly underthings before sliding to her knees once more to catch all of her belongings from blowing away. Laughter rang out as students rushed around her things. Someone stepped on her leatherbound book of the History of Shiz.

Her savior, her star, hadn’t bent at the knee to help. He simply watched on, glancing at the student who was cackling at the Munchkinlander’s humiliation.

“Seonghwa!” A cry from the side caught her attention as a red-haired man, shorter than the white-haired star that had helped her, rushed forward. His arm slung over the taller’s shoulders - despite their size differences. Seonghwa bent at the knee for him, letting the red-head adjust him ‘til he was comfortable half leaning on his counterpart.

“Your Highness,” Seonghwa replied.

Highness! Her face only seemed to grow hotter and hotter. She knew Shiz had the rich and royal but she didn’t expect to a royal highness to be watching her gather her intimates and shove them into her luggage today. If her face could burn any hotter, she’d be a furnace.

“Here.” A stray hand held out a blue nightgown her way, and she grabbed it with only the quickest glance.

Sweet Oz, was this entire school flooded with beauty? A strong-shouldered man in decorated regalia was kneeling down to offer more of her items her way. He had collected a handful in his arms - a book, another nightgown, her corset! Grabbing it quick, she thanked him under her breath as she pushed everything into her bag messily.

“Making the ladies swoon and lose their panties already?” the red-haired man teased.

The burn in her chest returned almost as if it could incinerate her away ‘til she was nothing but dust. She wished she could disappear. She didn’t even notice her fingertips fading away, disappearing as she accepted another book from the handsome knight. They sparkled a ghastly transparent shape, almost like she was part ghost. San’s eyes lingered on her hands for a moment, eyes widening. She didn’t even notice that as she shoved a balled-up sweater into the bag.

“She stumbled and fell on her own,” Seonghwa commented. His tone felt cooler than before, almost defensive.

“I was tripped,” she muttered under her breath as she placed the last of her things in her bag.

With the last thing safely tucked away and her bag firmly shut, the broad-shouldered man gave her a soft smile, charmingly so, before he rose and returned to the Star named Seonghwa and his Highness.

“No harm in swooning anyone; stop acting like it’s some scandalacious thing,” the red-head chuckled as he peered down at the Munchkinland woman. His hand rose to tilt his rose-tinted glasses down the fine bridge of his nose.

He winked at her, and her face nearly matched his crimson locks.

“We aren’t here to swoon, Prince Hongjoong. We are here to—”

“Study, yeah, yeah. You okay, miss?” This Prince Hongjoong’s smile, or well, smirk was deadly. Playful, seductive, charming, all wrapped up in one.

“She’s from Munchkinland; I’m sure she’s familiar with being in the dirt,” someone said from the crowd.

Snorts and giggles erupted around. It made her ears burn as she finally stood back on her own two feet, with no help from the strange trio in front of her. The only reassurance was that they didn’t laugh, well, much. Hongjoong giggled out a high-pitched thing as San whispered in his ear. It didn’t feel cruel, more jovial, but still her ego was bruised.

They were laughing at her.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly, trying to cling to her words’ truth as tightly as she clung to her luggage.

Water-chimes rang out; hummingbirds playing them to the tune of the Shiz University alma mater. Everyone’s heads turned; some exclamations of excitement rang out.

“Orientation time,” she heard a girl from behind her say. “We have to get a good seat, c’mon.” A trio of girls pushed past and soon everyone was heading in the direction of the quad.

Orientation… so that’s what those bells were all about. It felt so utterly strange to not know. Everything was so different here, no bell towers here. Everyone seemed to know what things were – even something as simple as orientation’s starting call. But with that, her disturberanceand bullies left in a herd of Ozians scrambling to the main courtyard of Shiz.

She sighed out watching their attentions shift. Like she was nothing but an ant. Momentary entertainment before they casted her aside. She didn’t know it was going to be like this when she left home. Humiliating. Teasing. They weren’t children – why did they act so childish?

After working hard in her classes, after studying day-in-day-out, after facing endless scribing of papers, and even after facing nay-sayers who would taunt her with the words, “are you a good witch or a bad witch?,” she made it here. And she wasn’t going to let some rich-snobs make her feel lesser. So, what she didn’t have money or status? So what she came from Munchkinland? She was going to make it for herself – live an Ozian dream.

Munchkins were simple-folk – small-minded some would say, but not her. No, she believed they were clever. Innovative. They were responsible for feeding Oz; they were the Ozwheat Bread Basket of the lands; their rainbow-tulips techni-colored Oz! That had to stand for something. She was something.

She deserved to be here. She made it. She did it. She was equal.

The burning flame in her chest eased as she reminded herself this, sighing out as color flooded back to her fingertips.

Following after the crowd, she noticed that the trio stayed near her. Hongjoong’s stance was lazy, half leaning on Seonghwa who stood tall as ever, towering over both him and the strong-shouldered man who had helped her.

None were in the standard uniform – did that mean they were freshman like her? The Prince’s attire wasn’t exactly sloppy but mismatched. Dark velveteen pants hugged his legs tight. Laced up black boots with far too many laces climbed up his calves. He wore an ivory-white button up with far too many buttons, far too unbuttoned to be appropriate. A cream suit-jacket-esque sweater rested overtop that. The pattern on it held delicate handstitched purple-flowers… maybe gillyflowers? Was he from Gillikin Country? Regardless, he wore a strand of pearls around his throat, haphazardly. His rose-tinted glasses perched on the tip of his nose and a large oversized blue suede fedora hat hid most of his vermillion hair.

Meanwhile, the two accompanying him wore more uniformed outfits. The broad-shouldered one wore a black-suited ensemble with golden embellishments. A cape draped over his shoulder in deep purple. The one who she thought came from a Star had all white linens on, sharp shouldered and corseted tight around his already lean waist. They looked more royal than the so-called prince.

“You’re staring,” Seonghwa stated, blankly.

His gaze caught hers solidly. His gaze was all-consuming. Like he could see right through her. Read her thoughts. Great Oz… she was both intimidated and intrigued by him. He felt magnetic. Her stomach clenched. He tilted his head.

“Sorry,” she blushed.

“Again.” he added, brow twitching into a sharp raise.

His expression made her feel little, like he was throwing her back to the floor metaphorically. Because, he just had to point out that he noticed her staring earlier. He probably thought she was a creep or some dumb farmgirl like the students cajoled.

“Sorry… again.” she said, finally glancing away from him and walking towards an empty spot on a bench instead. She shifted to hold her suitcase in her arms, hugging it close to her chest. The spark twinkled and she didn’t notice aura she put off. A physical manifestation of her magic. It was a gentle aura; something that was more felt and less seen. It felt like dark clouds were hovering around her. A bubble to keep her safe and hidden, subconsciously.

He didn’t stop looking at her still. She knew because she snuck a quick glance and, when their eyes met in that flash, her cheeks matched the red poppies on her dress. The one with the cape chuckled; his eyes flashing to meet hers once more with a playful gleam. He was laughing at her. Sitting down in an empty spot on a bench, she turned her face away to look down the row of students seated next to her. She offered a soft smile about to introduce herself to the one beside her before one after one they scooted away. Glancing at her like she was the plague. “She’s the Munchkin girl; no, no, she’s not of any royal blood – shes just a charity case – maybe she—” Gossip trickled out as the other students sitting there shifted and moved until she was the only one sitting there. An outcast.

What in Oz was this place?! She knew it was exclusivatory but not like this. So hateful. She wrapped her arms around her suitcase. Her chin rested on top of it as she looked around, making sure not to look at Seonghwa… A third scolding? From him? She’d rather melt into a puddle.

Once everyone had been seated, there was a great hum of a tune – the same alma mater that had twinkled out in chimes to summon them. Some students sang out with pride, knowing every word despite it being their first day. She knew it too; she had read it in her history book. But she refused to embarrass herself anymore today. If she could get through orientation without drawing anymore attention to herself, YN would be content.

Her spark kept a small bubble around her as if telling the world to not disturb her. She heard someone murmur something about, “do you see that odd shimmer around the new girl?”

As if not everyone was new… she pressed her chin into her arms firmer. Orientation and then she can get settled and try to start tomorrow on a better foot.

“Welcome students!” cried out a fancy-looking woman approaching the podium. Her dress was swirling with ancient blue magic; her hat a sharp point upon her head. A sorceress, no, a Witch! YN’s eyes perked up and she gazed up at the Witch in wonder. A real-life witch… a Good Witch of the North! How oztastic.

“Welcome, welcome to Shiz University. I am Madame Ozma, Headmistress here. Whether you are here to study logic, literature, or linguification, I know I speak for my fellow faculty members when I say we have nothing but the highest hopes for… some of you,” it was said in jest and a chuckle waved through the crowd.

“While all subjects are valued here at Shiz, I do want to bring some attention to two very lucky, very talented students that will be joining my sorcery seminar this semester. As you all know – sorcery is the life blood of Oz, and it’s a blessing and duty to cultivate any magic talent that shows itself. As rare as it is. It’s been decades since there have been two students studying sorcery concurrently. Their powers brought into a new age – as we all know.”

There was a murmur of agreement. Everyone knew of the Wicked Witch and Glinda the Good.

“Such a gift should be celebrated.” Ozma exclaimed out. “Uplifted. Guided towards the Light”

There was a scattering of applause. Her cheeks were burning red once more. Her head tilted downwards. The letter hadn’t mentioned this. Good Oz, she wanted to hide.

“Please rise, Miss YN of Munchkinland.”

A silence washed over the crowd in shock. All eyes snapped to her. Hongjoong let out a laugh in the silence, the sound bursting forth from his chest without a care. Blink, blink, blink; she felt like she was an art display of exhibition. Could she just ignore it? What would happen if she didn’t stand? No one really knew if she was YN after all?

“Don’t be shy.” The Headmistress encouraged.

Oh, Great Oz… With poppy-tinted ears, she slowly stood, ruby-cheeked and tight-smiled. That feeling of magic tingled in her chest, fluttering as her anxiety grew. It wanted to burst out – protect her from the murmur that rose through the students. Gossip rolled in wave as they leaned into one another. Whispering what? She didn’t want to know.

“Thank you, dearie. And, rise Sir Seonghwa of Gillikin Country.” She beamed out, encouraging a round of applause once more.

YN’s gaze flashed to where Seonghwa rose as well, waving polite and light. Unlike her, he held such an elegance she didn’t have. Of course, he had magic! Of course, he was a Knight! She was sure he could control it better than she could ever control her wild thing of a magic spark. And now they were going to have private lessons together? After his friends made fun of her? After school-wide ridicule? After he reprimanded her for staring! She wanted to crawl into a corn field and rot.

“Our two sorcerers-in-training,” she declared over polite clapping. “We will be seeing lots and lots of each other.” Madame Ozma promised her and Seonghwa before nodding and allowing them to sit. The Headmistress beamed at the students before shifting her attention to another professor who began to prattle about dormitories, their roommates, and where the halls were located.

Sitting down quick, she wished she could just sink into the ground. How was she going to stand being around him? She blushed if he even so looked at her. How would she focus?

Once orientation ended, it was like a stampede. The students shuffled and hustled around her, rushing towards the many faculty who were handing out keys to their dormitories and pointing on grand scrolls and proclaiming, “Yes, yes, Ms. Gale, you are in the North Dormitory. No, you can’t trade roommates. Yes, its permanent.” Overlapping and overwhelming, the world of Shiz was back in swing – the orientation a flurry of too many moments and moving bodies.

YN stayed on the outskirts of the chaos, peering through a navy sea of uniforms to peer up at the many scrolls, listing out name after name. She’s already embarrassed herself enough for today; she’ll wait ‘til the crowd dispersed she decided.

“There must have been a miscommunication,” she heard Seonghwa’s smooth voice like a siren’s call. She couldn’t help but have her eyes flicker towards him. How could she hear him so well? It was like her body was already in tune with him – he was so far away and yet she could pick him out of a crowd. He was a beautiful flower surrounded by weeds.

Seonghwa’s face was crinkled, divine confusion making his upturned brows

“This isn’t right,” he continued, raising a polite hand towards a faculty member. “The Gillikin Prince requested a private apartment – for himself, Sir Choi San, and myself. But I only see his Highness and San listed.”

“Name?” the bunny-faculty member chirped out.

“Park Seonghwa,” he told him.

There was a shuffling of papers, the rabbit-professor humming and bumbling.

“Ah, yes, yes,” the rabbit nodded, his mouth chittering a bit as he chewed on the edge of his pen. “I see – no, no mix up, Sir Seonghwa. Thank you.”

“Where is my dormitory then?” Seonghwa snapped, his tone sharp and authoritarian before he swallowed and followed it up with a soft ‘please’.

“With Miss YN, of course,” It wasn’t the rabbit-professor who spoke but the nearby Headmistress. She walked forward; the rabbit-professor bowed in her direction and Seonghwa followed suit, bowing his head politely.

“YN, dear,” Madame Ozma called, “Join us.”

Seonghwa’s gaze turned and met hers – because, of course, like two magnets their eyes found one another immediately. It felt like she was caught staring for the third time. Bumbling, YN nodded and stood with her suitcase, walking forward.

“Yes, Madame,” she called, curtsying and bowing and rushing forward to the Headmistress. “Honor to meet you.”

“What do you mean I am rooming with Miss YN?” Seonghwa redirected.

Nearby, she heard Hongjoong giggled out manically. “This is perfect,” the red-head commented.

“Hush, your Highness,” Seonghwa scolded over his shoulder with ease, not even glancing at the Prince. Too natural, too routine, like he knew where the Prince was at all times without even looking his way. The Prince still giggled, and surprisingly San joined him in his mischievousness.

“Yes, Seonghwa, you will be sharing an apartment with YN,” the Headmistress confirmed, her head nodding towards the Munchkinlander. “I thought that was made clear to you through our letters?”

Seonghwa’s head turned, almost like an owl, to stare down the chortling Royal and the smirking San.

“I must’ve missed that letter,” he replied slowly.

“As did I,” YN piped up. “I never received anything besides – well, besides entry into the school and your approval of joining the seminar.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” the Madame apologized, squeezing the arm of YN. “I will inquire my office about correspondence throughout Oz and where there were any mishaps.”

She nodded lightly before glancing towards Seonghwa who seemed so indifferent to her as he turned back to face the Headmistress. Like a statue, his facial features had settled into a calm, neutral glaze.

“However, I must apologize; there are not two room available for you both. There is only one apartment closest to my offices – I want to have myself available to you both as often as possible. Magical growth doesn’t happen overnight nor does it follow any class schedule,” she chuckled lightly. “The apartment is up to standards, one of the best if I do say so myself.”

The two sorcerers-in-training spoke over one another next.

“I don’t doubt that,” YN replied.

“It’s not about that!” Seonghwa exclaimed.

They locked gazes once more. The man swallowed, his Adam's apple jittering, before looking away forcibly.

Her face fell visibly. Was he so… disgustified by her that he couldn't even share a space with her? She was an adult. She wouldn’t be dirty or disrespectful as a roommate. She'd leave him be but with how he was acting - it was as if she was some lowly creature. He didnt even care if the apartment was the nicest ones on campus! She could only imagine its history and beauty and yet... he was acting so adamant.

“I am here as protection for his Highness,” Seonghwa stated whole-heartedly. “First-and-foremost.”

“I understand,” the Headmistress asserted. “His Highness, Prince Kim Hongjoong has written me most ardently over the summer requesting for his apartment to be furnished only for two – him and Sir Choi. He expressed his full support to your studies.”

At the new information, there was a flicker of dust whirling off of the sorcerer's bare skin; his honey skin glimmering as magic oozed from him. He rolled his tongue over his teeth before Seonghwa finally let out a huff of frustration. His perfect mask fell as he gritted his teeth.

“And I do,” Hongjoong drawled from behind them. He took a step forward, red glasses pushed into his hair as he looked at his friend earnestly. “Hwa, you’ve protected me your entire life – its time for your talent to grow.” It was said genuinely but Seonghwa’s anger, no matter how small buzzed and bubbled in the air. She could see his hair rise with static electricity just faintly. His magic was so reactive… just like hers.

She had never met another wizard or witch; only read about them. And to see his magic surging in a near invisible dust-like ember around him, the little tells of its reactions on his body, it felt like for once she had someone who would understand her.

If only he didn't despise her.

“There are no curfews,” the Headmistress reminded. “If you wish to stay at his Highness’ suite, no one will stop you. But I’m sorry; there are no other official accommodations I can provide.”

Seonghwa took in a deep breath through his nose before offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Headmistress. Thank you for the clarification. I’m sure me and YN will – we'll be fine. We will find a solution.” He stumbled over the right word.

She felt like he was already planning to sneak out of their dorm or distance himself from her as soon as the Headmistress floated away. He hadnt looked at her since she joined them.

“Very good. That's what I like to hear - my two sorcerers working together” The Headmistress beamed. Her magic blared out in a whirl of golden light with her happiness, looking like a living candle for a moment. “I do look forward to our lessons, but for now… welcome to Shiz.”

Yeah, what a welcome.

#park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #atz x reader #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa angst #ateez fantasy au #ateez witch au #hongjoong x reader #san x reader #written by haley

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creepycranberry · 2 days ago

Text

Big Black Car- 3

Rafe Cameron x Maybank reader

Warnings: slow burn, L*ke, topper is very much noncanon compliant (he’s like a mix of topper and Austin’s character in IDDI), alcohol, abuse, parental death, not proofread, kook/pogue bullshit, swearing, w*rd, let me know about anything else.

•••••••••

“Just let me get you a new one.” Topper insists and you groan.

“I don’t even swim, why do I need a swimsuit?” You argue, Tired of this conversation. Topper dragged you to a mall on the mainland after going through your wardrobe and determining that you have nothing suitable to wear to his parents wedding anniversary party.

“Because one day you might want to.” Topper says.

“I’ve gone this long without swimming, I’m sure I can make it through however long I’m staying with you.”

“Come on, I’ll teach you how to swim-“

“Topper.” You warn.

“No- no, come on. You can learn how, just for-for emergency purposes.”

“Emergency purposes.” You scoff, skimming through racks of clothing, “this one?”

“Hate the color.” He responds and you look at the dress once more and nod, “just let me get you the swimsuit and if you use it, you use it. No harm no foul, right?””

You exhale through your nose and give him a pointed look. He gives you an exaggerated pout and you concede.

“Fine.”

He pumps his fist in the air like his team just won a football game. You hold up another dress, it’s dark blue with ribbony straps, it was classic, simple.

“That one.” Topper basically decides for you, snatching it out of your hands when you go to look at the price tag.

He pays and drags you into a swimwear store, forcing you to go through the selection of bathing suits until you find a simple black two piece with enough coverage that you were confident your tits wouldn’t fall out of it.

Topper again took it from you and once again paid before you could even look at the price tag.

You liked being around him more. You haven’t really ever had an older sibling or anyone to protect you like one. JJ tried for a while but you both when to different schools and therefore your social problems felt separate. You didn’t want him to ever see you as weak. Topper was the closest thing you had to a true protector since your father died. He was your closest relationship aside from the one you had with your brother. You and JJ didn’t need to be around each other all of the time, you liked different things and people and so your lives were very separate but that didn’t make you any less close.

Topper just happened to be able to be there when you needed him and that resulted in this relationship that was very close and comfortable.

Topper had always had Rafe though. Rafe was his best friend. They knew each other in the way boys knew each other and that was that, they had an unspoken love for each other even though you would never hear them say that they loved each other.

For years Topper tried to tell you that Rafe wasn’t as bad or as rude as he came off, you obviously never believed him because why would you. Rafe had never given you any reason to believe he was anything more than he seemed.

He was an entitled prick who couldn’t care less about anyone else. He was the picture of first world problems and the apathy of the upper class.

But you found yourself second guessing that depiction of him more and more.

A few days after going shopping with Topper he’s finally managed to convince you to get into the pool so he can at least attempt to teach you how to swim. He had just managed to get you to step off of the stairs when Rafe walks through the garden gate into the backyard.

“No. I’m done, did enough for the day.” You say, moving back towards the stairs. Topper lunges after you, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you as you hit his arm repeatedly.

“You’re doing this.” Topper says, setting you down in the water so your feet touch the ground. The water is to your shoulders and you stare at Topper with a look that can only be described as pitiful wet kitten after a bath.

“No. Not with him here.” You argue, finally acknowledging Rafes presence.

“What is she not doing with me here?” Rafe asks and Topper sighs deeply, his hands holding onto the sides of your arms in case you attempt to escape again.

“She doesn’t-“

“Topper!” You exclaim but he puts a hand over your mouth.

“She doesn’t know how to swim so I’m trying to teach her.” Topper tells him. He shrieks when you bite down hard on his hand and dart away from him, aiming for the stairs.

You’re able to get up onto dry ground for one glorious second before strong arms are effortlessly catching you.

“Rafe! Put me down!”

He goes down the steps in the pool and sets you down in the shallow end, guarding the stairs. You expect him to make some smart remark about you not being able to swim when you live on in island, but instead he looks at you in total seriousness, his face solemn, “you need to know how to swim.”

“I’ve gotten this far-“

“Yeah, and you’re lucky you have.” He snaps, his voice raising and you flinch. You can feel your pulse quicken.

“I don’t need to hear anything about luck from you.” You shoot back and he rolls his eyes.

“Walk to Topper.” Rafe commands and you scoff.

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Walk to Topper and do things his way, or stay over here and we’ll do things my way.” He shrugs and you frown at him.

“I don’t need to do either, I can float just fine.”

“Yeah well, you live on an island, one bad storm and floating just fine will end up with you literally dead in the water.” Rafe retorts, his face morphing into surprise when your frown grows deeper and your hands start to shake.

You’re either about to punch him in the face or cry, and either outcome makes him incredibly wary. He automatically feels guilty when your eyes well up with tears and you fold your arms in front of yourself. You suddenly look so much smaller to him.

Topper stands still, watching your interaction unfold, prepared to either get the first aid kit or make Rafe go home.

“I don’t mean to be extreme or anything, I just don’t want you to end up hurt or worse because no one taught you how to swim.” Rafe says, surprising both you and Topper with his softness. It’s limited to his voice, his eyes are unreadable and his body language is stiff.

“Someone did teach me to swim.” You say resentfully, your voice sounds like you’re going to cry and for some reason that makes something in Rafes chest go tight, “I think I’m done for the day actually, I uh, I’m pretty tired.”

You walk past Rafe to get to the pool steps and this time he doesn’t stop you. Topper tries to grab your hand and you move at the last second. When he looks back to Rafe, he has his eyes trained on the pool in front of him, like you’re still standing there.

“You didn’t know, man-”

Before he can finish his sentence Rafe is halfway to the garden gate.

•••

Topper showers loudly. He hums in the shower, opens and closes the door loudly, he knocks over shampoo bottles like a bumbling idiot. You wake up most mornings to him humming repetitively or slamming the shower door.

You turn over in bed and face your door. The dress you had gotten for the anniversary party is hung up on it, still in its garment bag. It hadn’t been there when you went to sleep. Topper probably put it there to remind you it was today and that you had to get out of bed at some point.

You left the house for work and that was it. You didn’t want to speak to topper, and you definitely didn’t want to run into Rafe.

You were embarrassed by how you reacted. You hated that it happened so long ago and it could still affect you like this. You felt weak and in front of Topper is one thing but in front of Rafe?

You felt like seeing him again could kill you.

For the first time in days Topper dared to enter your room, he had something on his hands and ignored the face you made at him as he got closer.

“I know I fucked up, I get it, but your skin looks like a croissant.” He starts, kneeling onto the bed and holding his hands in front of your face as you tried to push him away, you couldn’t help but laugh a little, “I washed my hands, I promise.”

He’s laughing as he tries to wrestle the moisturizer onto your skin, “this is supposed to be relaxing!” He gasps and you lightly kick him in the side and he makes an odd sound before tumbling off the bed. You sit up to check on him and you can’t help but have a smile on your face, “I’m sorry. I mean it. I shouldn’t have pushed you, especially once Rafe got there I just- I want you to be safe.”

You know he’s being sincere. You don’t want to let him off the hook so easily but you can’t help it, he’s your best friend.

“Just- just no more pushing. Especially not around Rafe. I never want him seeing me cry ever again.”

“If I have to blind him I will.” Topper says, completely straight faced. You smile at him and reach to grab his wrists, pushing them into his face and rubbing your moisturizer into his skin, “okay, that’s fair.” He says before sticking his tongue out, “ith on my tongue”

He gags for a few minutes and you laugh as he runs to the bathroom to rinse his mouth out.

A few hours later you're in the passenger seat of this jeep, fiddling with the pleats on the fabric of your dress and staring out the window.

You had never really gone to the country club, you didn’t really have any reason to. Your dad used to take you when you were smaller, he would be there to see friends of his or do a business thing and you would be attached to his hip, listening quietly.

It didn’t look much different than you remembered.

Almost immediately upon arrival you and Topper are greeted by at least fifty people who know Topper's parents. When asked for your name you panic and Topper swoops in, he introduces you to various different people. But he tells them your fathers last name. Not yours.

Eventually you make it away from the crowd and find your names sat next to each other on place cards on the table. You both sit there and talk, pointedly avoiding making eye contact with anyone else so you don’t end up having to make any more small talk.

Topper looks at his phone periodically, deflecting when you ask what he’s doing. Eventually he gets up to go get drinks and you look at your phone for the first time since arriving.

JJ: have you seen Luke lately?

You furrow your eyebrows and you’re about to respond and tell him that you didn’t know where Luke was and that you didn’t really give a shit if he was dead or alive but Topper comes back and sits down.

“That was qui- Rafe.” Sitting in front of you is not Topper, Rafe sets a glass down in front of you and you eye it warily.

“It’s ginger ale, peaches.” Rafe assures you and you nod, taking a sip, “how are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” You respond and Rafe stares into the space between the two of you.

“I didn’t me-“

“Don’t. I’m not mad at you, don’t apologize cause we’ll both hate it.”

Rafe presses his lips together and takes a sip of his drink, “if you aren’t mad then why won’t you talk to me? Or look me in the eye?”

You make eye contact with him for the first time since he sat down. It’s almost a challenge, “keep looking me in the eyes and I won’t ask you any questions you don’t want to answer” And the strange thing is that you don’t want to look away. You want to sink into his eyes and never have to hear another voice again.

“You’re pretty.” He smiles, breaking eye contact so fast it almost startles you, “I like your dress.”

You blink at him for a moment, the words taking a minute to find their way to your brain, “oh uh, thank you, I like it too. You look…”

“Handsome?” He deadpans and you roll your eyes.

“Like less of an asshole than you are.” You smile and he returns it. You like how his eyes crinkle when he smiles. It makes them look shinier.

“I’ll take what I can get.” He shrugs, downing the last of his drink, “I understand why you reacted that way.”

The abrupt change from easy going conversation has you avoiding eye contact with him again, “do you?”

“Uh, yeah. I uh, we’re in similar boats in the parent department.” He clarifies, giving you a knowing look that gives way to more than you thought to know.

“Oh.” You mutter, thumb sliding across the condensation on the side of your glass, “it really is okay, I was mad I was just-“

“Embarrassed?”

“I guess. Um, I mean crying in front of Topper is one thing but I don’t think I’ll ever know you well enough t-“

“I understand. I just um, I didn’t mean to upset you or anything I don’t uh, I don’t tend to think before I do… anything.” He tells you, eyes squinting like he’s having to put in work to admit he was in the wrong.

“Really? You seem pretty purposeful to me.” You retort and he rolls his eyes, meeting yours for more than just a fleeting moment and suddenly you’re sinking into them again.

“You think so?” He smirks.

Before you can come up with some smart come back a hand is on your shoulder and you look up to see Toppers mother smiling at you, “honey, i need you to come out front we’ve got a-“

“I said I wanna see my daughter!” A slurred voice cuts through the music and chatter of the party.

You stand so quickly that your chair falls over as you try and locate the voice. You find him outside of the door yelling at the person in charge of the guest list.

“Luke.” Your stern voice cuts through his drunken tirade and he looks up.

“Hey, sweet pea! I was just trying to explain to this-” he’s interrupted by your hand gripping his arm and dragging him away from the party

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t find you, and I heard this was going on and that boy you’re always hanging out with was gonna be here, I connected the dots.” He shrugs.

“Leave.” You order.

“Oh, come on. You don’t mean that.”

“I do, get the hell away from here and away from me or so help me god I will-”

“You’ll what?” He laughs and his drunken affection turns right back to loathing, “what’s your prissy ass gonna do to me? I ain’t scared of you. Sitting up there in that fancy club in your fancy dress with the handsome boys in well tailored suits? Give me a break. You’ve gone full fucking kook. You didn’t even scare me before you started traipsing around with those boys. You think you scare me now?” He laughs.

“Those boys have nothing to do with any of this.”

“You think I should warn them?” He starts, stumbling slightly and leaning on a tree for support, “think I should warn those boys that you’re a whore just like your mother? That they shouldn’t hope for any long term anything with you cause you’re not worth th-”

You punch him in the face with speed you didn’t know you were capable of. He holds his nose as blood slowly starts to seep through the cracks of his fingers.

“You’re no better than her Luke. In fact you’re worse. You’re an abusive alcoholic hick who never amounted to anything and who couldn’t even care for his own children. I’m not scared of you either.”

He slaps you across the face and you can feel the blood on your cheek as the wind hits it and makes it feel cool. You barely have time to respond before Luke tries for another but the hit never lands. Instead Topper is stood in front of you, holding Luke’s wrist.

“Mr. Maybank, I think it’s time for you to go home.” Toppers mothers voice rings out behind you.

“And why should I listen to you?” Luke steps forward, wobbling slightly.

“Hey kids, how about the two of you go inside and grab something to eat, they should start serving the cake soon.”

Topper guides you back up the hill. Rafe is standing behind Mrs. Thornton, he stands beside two security guards, his gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment before you’re quickly whisked in the direction of the country club restrooms by Topper.

He doesn’t seem to care that he’s in the ladies room as you sit on the counter. He’s gently wipes the blood off your cheek, his voice quiet as he tells you to move your head to the side so he can see it better.

“That was one hell of a hit.” He says and you shake your head.

“Stung like a bitch.”

“No I meant the punch you threw at him.” Topper clarifies and you nod.

“I hope I broke his nose.” You sigh.

“Me too, kid.”

#rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader fluff #rafe cameron x reader series #obx

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concretejunglefm · 3 days ago

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Poltergeists: Chapter 14.

Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 6, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 9, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Bonus Chapter

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader, Nicholas Ruffilo x Reader, possibly more BO members.

CW: Missing person, elements of supernatural horror, mentions of blood and possibly violence, unreliable narrator, implied smut. will update as it goes on. Heavy trigger warning for mentions of alcohol use, ptsd and panic attacks.

WC: 1.5k.

AN: This series will be told throughout a variety of flashbacks and present day, all which will be marked.

Divider: Silent-stories.

Tagged: @enemiestolovershoe, @fadingangelwisp, @littlepeachwhispers, @concreteangel92, @deathblacksmoke, @1toreyouapart, @lacy1986, @chaoticwineaunt, @ichoosetenderomens, @baddestomens, @blade-dressed-in-red, @halfalgorithmhafdeity, @geminigirlfromfinland, @fuck1ng-queen, @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard (if anyone else wishes to be tagged lmk)

PRESENT DAY

“Will you just let me pass so I can go with her!” Detective Green, or Detective Douche as I like to now call him, is keeping me back as the paramedics wheel her out from the house on a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance.

She wasn't pronounced dead on their arrival, which was a good sign, but the bruising around her neck raised some questions, not only from the paramedics but myself.

Nick is barely saying anything, keeping himself back, even as I continue to argue with Detective Douche about me going with them.

“I’ll take you down to the hospital myself but right now you need to be checked over.” He explains, but I refuse the help which comes my way from a small blonde yet hesitant paramedic, who's hand I swat at the moment she tries to reach for me to check me over.

“Can’t we do this down at the hospital?” I argue and Kit relents, stepping back as he allows me to move forward and toward the open back doors of the second ambulance. I climb up and in, with Nick following silently. He can barely look me in the eye at the moment but my concerns aren't with him, they’re with the ambulance which already has a head start on us.

There were a lot of questions which came with apparently being missing for a year.

Missing. That was what they called it. Missing or dead. The latter somehow didn't scare me as much as it should've, perhaps because where I was felt enough like heaven that being dead was the last of my worries.

Detective Green was the one who questioned me, though even he seemed to have no understanding as to how I'd appeared out from the closet in our own home and unharmed at that.

All that blood and there was not a mark on me.

I shudder at the memory of that night. I remember everything, as much as I wish not to. Sometimes it would play as a loop during the dull moments of the limbo I resided in.

Other times it would plague me as a literal repeat of events, taunting me as I yelled and called for bubs, only for my fate to always be the same.

My favorite moments were always those by the lake. Our spot.

I knew it was never her, but when the creature came to visit me disguised as her, wearing her skin as close to her image as possible, I could convince myself that I was happy here.

Because it told me I should be.

“You’re free to go Mr. Seb—”

“Where’s Bubs?” I cut Kit off the minute he lets me go free from being observed, from being questioned, from everything, jumping up from the hospital bed as Nick reaches out as if to hold on and steady me.

“A room down the hall, but be warned Noah. It's not… she’s not in the best state.”

The warning is one I ignore, already half way through the door before heading down the hallway, questioning a nurse I pass on the way and following her direction.

I come to a stop as I reach the door, peering in at her through the glass before taking a step inside. I don't know what I'd anticipated seeing; perhaps the sight of her hooked up to a monitor and a machine or two, but there were tubes and wires everywhere.

Steadily approaching the bed, my fingers ghost along the blanket which lays over her before meeting her fingers. They’re warm but there’s no movement. There’s nothing. She looks as if she's sleeping and peaceful enough that I could be convinced she’s an angel.

From behind me I hear footsteps and when I turn my head I catch Nick standing in the doorway, his lip between his teeth as his brow furrows in worry.

There's a tightness in my throat as I go to speak and I attempt to hold back the emotion wishing to push free.

“What happened?”

FLASHBACK

DAY OF NOAH'S DISAPPEARANCE

You've been down at the station all day answering question after question. They didn't hold you. You don't think you're a suspect, though they treat you like one.

You can't remember the things you were asked, or what you said, all you know of that you kept repeating yourself with the same four things; you weren't awake when he was yelling, it was too dark for you to even see anything, you don't know where the blood came from, you don't know anything.

You don't know anything.

Except you do, but don't know if what you know is even real. Your mind has been playing so many tricks on you these last few months that even now, nothing feels real. You feel as if you're living in a daze, everything around you is hazy except there's no lightness, only a heaviness in your body and a thickness to the air which makes it difficult to breathe.

"Are you sure you want to go back in there?" Nicholas asks you from the drivers seat.

"Yeah, bubba. We can grab some stuff for you if you want?" Folio chimes in from the back.

Everyone had taken shifts throughout the day to wait for you to be released from questioning after making their own statements. Nicholas had been there all day waiting for you, while Folio had been the last to come out and told Matt and Jolly to head home.

You haven't answered. You sit silent, looking out the passengers side window up at the house. It feels daunting to enter, but you know that have to.

"You can stay at mine." The feel of Nicholas' hand on your knee pulls you back from the drain of thoughts you'd been circling, your head snapping in his direction.

"No." You finally answer, your voice is horse from all the crying you've been doing. You're out of tears now, you think. "I... I'll be fine." Your voice isn't assuring, not even to yourself. "I just really want to be alone right now."

From the corner of your eye you can see Folio attempting to reach for you and stop you as you open the passengers side door, before he retreats. You know he's just worried about you, but he doesn't protest your wish to go back to the house or to even be alone.

Nicholas doesn't even voice his own concerns about you being left to your own devices when in such a clear vulnerable state but you realize why when you hear another door opening and as you step out, you turn to see Nicholas has followed your lead in climbing from the car, offering the keys to Folio who's climbing into the driver's seat from the back.

"Nick."

"No. Noah wouldn't want you to be alone right now and I definitely don't want to leave you on your own."

Tears prickle at the corners of your sore eyes once more. You believed the well to have run dry, only to be proven wrong. You don't have it in you to argue and you nod, turning and allowing Nicholas to lead you up the pathway to your home.

Yours and Noah's home.

When you enter you almost expect him to be sat in the couch playing a video game, or over by his desk working on something new, or to come bounding out from the kitchen and greet you, but the house is empty.

It feels as empty as it looks. It feels cold and menacing, like a beast which has now gone to lay dormant after a feast. Because that's what happened, wasn't it?

You sound stupid to believe the house took Noah from you, but it did. You know what you saw. At least you think you do.

Nick's voice doesn't reach your ears as you walk towards the couch, picking up Noah's hoodie which lays over the back of it. You slip it on and it feels like a warm embrace from him. It still smells enough like him that it provides a slight comfort, as if he'd worn it earlier that day.

Exhaustion is quick to hit you the minute you crawl onto the couch and you curl yourself up as small as you can, cocooning yourself in the safety of Noah's hoodie.

You can't bear the thought of going upstairs, of going to your room and where it happened. You know that the police have no hand in cleaning up the aftermath of any incident. Not even one where there's a pool of blood staining the floor and splashes of it coating the walls.

You want to pretend that none of this is happening, that it isn't real and that you haven't just lost your best friend, your boyfriend, in the most inexplicable way.

You hear Nick in the kitchen, cooking or tidying up, you have no idea, but you choose to ignore his presence and close your eyes, until you realise that having him here is perhaps a slight comfort after all. With your eyes closed you can almost convince yourself that it's Noah and that he's not gone at all.

#poltergeists fic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfic #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo x reader #nicholas ruffilo fanfic

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uceyliyahh · 9 hours ago

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NOVACANE

Summary: After dealing with a traumatic event in Desiree's past life she decided to keep her heart closed off and didn't have any desire to love again until she met him.

smut warning; it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE, PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I’m improving at the moment.

word count: 5380

Jey Uso x Desiree

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

But I’ll be writing along the way since this story is in my drafts on Wattpad right now so yuh. 💁🏽‍♀️

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️@pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic

@hunnidmilly @celesteheartsjey @charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @luvrsluxe @4milly @xbriexx @trippinsorrows @yyaktayak

Ø2

youtube

"You're mine and only mine"

"Let me in mamas I won't hurt you like he did, I am nothing like him,"

"The heart knows what it wants and so do you,"

"Let me take care of you,"

DESIREE I found myself at the club early in the morning, a time when the place was completely empty. It was the perfect opportunity to practice some new moves I had picked up from Zasmine. She was the only one who welcomed me when I first arrived, and her support has made all the difference.

People around me would often shoot me disapproving looks, making it clear they were judging me. At first, it was frustrating to overhear their whispers and gossip about my life.

Zasmine was the sole individual who truly respected me and supported me through everything; the others were merely driven by greed and self-interest. As I focused on perfecting my new move, I hardly noticed who entered the room.

While I was spinning on the pole in the Jade pose, I had my wireless headphones on, enjoying some music to keep myself entertained. Suddenly, I noticed him leaning against the wall, watching me with admiration, and it sent a wave of nerves through me.

I paused just before stepping off the pole, shifting my headphones aside as I noticed him approaching. Taking a sip of water, I watched Jey stroll up to the stage, hands tucked into his pockets, a smile lighting up his face as he looked at me.

He kept his promise

I returned his smile and stepped closer to him on the stage, settling down just as I had the day before, shattering the quiet that hung between us. "Hey there, Joshua," I said.

"Hey, pretty girl, I see you have a lot of skill up on that pole there," he said as I looked back at the pole then at him.

"I mean I have been doing this since I was nineteen so it's nothing new to me," He nodded his head while coming between my legs how he did yesterday and 'god I could feel his dick brushing up between my legs.'

Joshua is undeniably attractive, and it's no surprise that girls are drawn to him. Just take a moment to appreciate his charming smile, stylish mullet, and eye-catching Cuban link chain. With those fresh kicks, he clearly has a passion for sneakers that adds to his appeal.

What really stood out to me was the way he was dressed in a complete Nike tech fit, all in blue—my favorite color. It was clear he had a sense of style and confidence that made an impression.

"You're wearing my favorite color you know," he looked down at his fit then back up at me.

"I didn't know actually," all I could do was smile at him I couldn't let him get through me.

I was taken by surprise as he drew me nearer, his hands resting on my hips and gently caressing my sides. This unexpected display of affection stirred a mix of emotions within me, almost compelling me to create some distance between us.

Joshua placed as soft kiss on my neck and cheek, "I wanna get to know you more princess," oh no Desiree you have to push him away.

I raised an eyebrow at him, "As a friend or more?" I asked him.

"Both actually, it's something about you is different mama,"

I shook my head, "Joshua I'm not a good person to love on, I'll just bring you down," it was true that's how Jayden felt all the time when we were together.

His gaze at me was something that I couldn't read but I couldn't let him in it's not right, it'll make me look like an idiot if I do. "Lay it out on me baby doll,"

"You wouldn't know how to deal with a woman like me you'll get tired of me soon," he needs to understand we can't be doing this I am not ready.

Jey arched an eyebrow at me, his fingers gently tracing circles on my inner thighs. With a confident tone, he said, "I can definitely take care of you, sweetheart; all you need to do is let me in."

Let him in I couldn't I am to much of a broken person.

As we locked eyes, I found myself questioning his intentions. 'What could a striking man like him possibly see in someone like me?' Just then, I felt his hands glide around my hips, giving a gentle squeeze that sent a delightful shiver through me.

I had to end this before things between us get really heavy.

"Look, Joshua I know you mean well but I just can't I'm sorry I've been through a lot," I said getting up from the stage grabbing my things so that I could avoid being a dummy for a man I just met yesterday.

I turned and made my way toward the door beside the stage, but I could feel his footsteps trailing behind me. Suddenly, he reached out, wrapping his arms around my waist and drawing me in closer to him.

Jey gazed into my eyes, his expression earnest. "Open up to me, sweetheart. I'll look after you, I swear. You don't need to put on a brave face with me. Just reveal your true self," he urged, and I searched his eyes for any hint of jest, hoping to discern the truth behind his words.

His gaze revealed everything; it was as if he could see right through the facade I wore daily. My lips parted, ready to speak, yet no words escaped. The way he touched me, caressing me with a tenderness that felt both thrilling and perilous, left me breathless.

Jey's gaze flickered from my lips to my eyes, and I could almost hear him think, 'Why does he have to be so stunning?' I felt an overwhelming urge to distance myself in that moment, yet I found myself unable to do so.

"J-Josh...I-I," before I could finish my sentence I felt him place his lips upon mine as our lips were moving in sync.

His hand gently stroked my cheek as his tongue danced within my mouth. I found myself pulling him closer, my fingers entwined in his mullet, deepening the kiss even further.

While doing so, I felt his hardened manhood brush against me; it was as if something inside of me had been ignited. He held me close as he ran his tongue down my throat despite my attempts to push him away.

"Lemme' prove to you tonight before I leave..." he muttered.

'He was a good kisser better than Jayden I'll give him that.'

His lips were soft and delicate

But why is he making me feel this way?

"J-Josh.." I muttered between the kiss.

"Let me mama," he was begging at this point we pulled away from each other as we made eye contact.

He pressed his lips against mine again, and I couldn't help but think, 'Wow, he's an incredible kisser.' As I playfully tugged at his hair, he lifted me by the thighs and set me down on the stage. It felt as if I was craving even more of this electrifying connection.

"You don't know what you're asking for Joshua...you'll get tired of me especially while you're on the road," he smiled at me before placing another soft kiss on my lips.

"You're just assuming mama...imma show you tonight when I see you aight?" he said softly as I nodded my head.

'Maybe he's right maybe I am just assuming things right now but was I ready to be open and vulnerable for him?'

'Would I be enough for him?'

Jey pressed his lips gently against my cheek and then my palm before stepping out the door, leaving me in a surprising state of arousal that I hadn't even realized until that moment. Questions flooded my mind: 'Am I really drawn to him?' 'Did he just ignite this unexpected desire within me?'

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

JEY As I left the club, I found myself behind the wheel, heading to my twin brother's house. I needed to talk about what had just happened with Desiree. She seemed so distant and guarded, and I couldn't shake the feeling that her behavior was tied to something from her past that I was unaware of.

Her voice echoed in my mind, saying, 'I'm not good enough for you, Joshua,' 'You'll grow weary of me, especially when you're away,' 'I'm a damaged person.' What did she really mean by that? Was there something significant that I should be aware of?

As I arrived at their house, I noticed their car sitting in the driveway. I switched off my engine and made my way to the front door, knocking and eagerly anticipating Trin's arrival to greet me.

As I waited for Trin to arrive at the door, I found myself scrolling through my social media. That's when I noticed Desiree had shared something on her story, and I couldn't help but think how absolutely stunning she looked.

I felt my dick harden at the sight of her, and the way she was practicing on that pole in her small attire really turned me on. I took a time to acclimate, and when I looked up to see the door opening, I saw Trin smiling.

"Brother! Welcome in," Trinity said.

"What's good sis," I said as me and her gave each other a hug, I saw Tank and Marley running up towards me wanting some love as well.

As I gently petted both of them, I made my way into the house, carefully removing my shoes and placing them on the shoe rack. I then headed to the refrigerator to grab a drink, all while hearing Jon's footsteps approaching.

"Yo! Uce! What's Hannin dawg!"

Me and Jon dapped up each other while sitting on the couch together, "so you ready for this upcoming match on Raw?" he asked as I nodded my head.

"Yeah, fasho but I have something to tell yall if that's cool," I said.

"What's up brother?"

I let out a deep sigh as thoughts of Desiree filled my mind. "You remember how Bianca is always raving about her best friend? Well, it turns out she actually lives here with her while she's on tour and works at a strip club," I shared.

I shared a stunning photo of her from her Instagram, knowing they would be captivated by her beauty and the grace with which she danced on the pole.

"Her best friend is really pretty honestly I would love to meet her," Trinity said.

"What's that got to do with you, Uce? Are you into her or what?" I glanced up at them, a slight grin on my face. Yes, I had a crush on her; her beauty had me completely enchanted, and I couldn't resist the thought of making her mine before long.

I could feel my brother jostling me as we both burst into laughter, watching Trinity roll her eyes in exasperation. "She's unique, unlike any girl I've ever dated, but I can't shake the feeling that my clueless cousin might try to make a move tonight," I remarked.

"Zilla? Oh no baby he's a player and we all know it so you better make a move," she said.

"That's the problem she seems scared and closed off from everyone and just keeps to herself," I said.

"Well you gotta prove it to her when you see her before we hit the road," I agreed with her I had to make a move before Zilla could knowing how he is.

I was in love with this girl

I chose to send her a thoughtful message to express my sincerity about our conversation. My goal was to encourage her to be open and vulnerable with me tonight, fostering a deeper connection between us. I believe that by sharing our true selves, we can strengthen our bond and ensure that we stay in touch when I return to see her.

IMESSAGE 💬 Joshua💵: Mamas? Desiree🦋: hm? Joshua💵: you know can trust me Desiree🦋: Josh I'm not good person Joshua💵: how so? Tell me how are you not a good person? Desiree🦋: I've been through a lot Josh that I don't wanna get into I'll see you tonight Joshua💵: don't shut me out mama Desiree🦋: I gotta go Josh

I let out a deep breath, sensing that she's holding back something important. But tonight, I'm determined to uncover it. I genuinely care for her, and I want her to be by my side, completely.

"You really like Bianca's best friend huh Uce?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah I do, I guess love at first sight does exist," I said.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

After staying at Trin and Jon's house for bit longer I was sitting in their living room watching some television until it was time for me to see Desiree at the strip club, I couldn't stop thinking about her especially while watching TV my dick got hard just wanting to be near her I had to adjust myself again.

I felt my phone buzz, and as I glanced at the screen, I noticed a message from Zilla. With a sigh, I rolled my eyes while reading what she had to say.

IMESSAGE 💬 Zilla🩸: Uce! We heading to the club tonight I call dibs on that one shawty Jey🩸: Desiree? Nah she all mines for tonight why don't you have Ke'Liyah Zilla🩸: C'mon Uce let me at least have a little good time with her Jey🩸: nah dawg she's mine Zilla🩸: fine whatever but next time imma get with her Jey🩸: whatever I'll see yall there then Zilla🩸: aight then

I wasn't about to let him just come in and leave with Desiree; she was my focus for the night. I made a promise to her that I would demonstrate just how serious I am about our connection. I wanted her to feel comfortable and open with me, but I also longed to make love to her and deepen our bond.

I started browsing through my social media, catching up on everyone's Instagram stories. That's when I came across Desiree's post, showcasing the adorable outfit she planned to wear tonight. I couldn't resist and decided to slide into her DMs.

IG MESSAGES 💬 uceyjucey: damn mama you look good in that 😩😩 desifromtheblock: thank you papa 🫶🏽 uceyjucey: papa? girl you better stop playing with me Desiree desifromtheblock: are you still coming tonight like you promised me uceyjucey: yes mama imma be there be patient desifromtheblock: I just don't wanna get my hopes up that's all uceyjucey: well imma be there aight? desifromtheblock: okay... uceyjucey: what's up mama I can feel your energy is off right now desifromtheblock: it's nothing I'm okay uceyjucey: un-un don't do that what I say about shutting me out? I'm tryna get to know you Desiree desifromtheblock: why tho Joshua? I'm not special I'm not important I'm not the prettiest girl either there are a bunch of girls in here that you could've choose from but why me?

'There it is her feelings are starting to come out,'

uceyjucey: Desiree I choose you because you caught my eye when I walked in there especially after having that session with Ke'Liyah it was you always been you

desifromtheblock: I am a broken person Josh it's going to drain you uceyjucey: Idc mama idc let me take care of you baby I don't need you to be pushing me away desifromtheblock: I gotta go Josh uceyjucey: nah stop running from me Desiree I'm not here to have fun, use you, play you like a dummy I'm fr mama desifromtheblock: I-I...I'll talk to you when you get here

I let out a deep sigh, running my fingers through my beard. I realize I need to demonstrate my feelings rather than just explain them. From what I gather, it appears she has endured a difficult relationship prior to our time together.

I need to show her that she has nothing to fear. It's important to me that she feels safe and secure when she's with a good man like me.

I informed Jon and Trin that I was getting ready to go to the club and promised to update them tomorrow. As I started the car and cranked up the music, I also let Zilla know I was in route to the club.

I took a blunt from my glove department lighting it up while heading towards the strip club to see Desiree I took a puff out of the blunt feeling my body getting heavy listening to some Kendrick Lamar in the car.

I had no idea I would end up falling for someone like her. Honestly, she was truly one of a kind.

I put out the blunt as I turned off the car after finally arriving at the strip club and observing how crowded it is for tonight—likely some horny bastards merely looking to get some pussy and dick sucked.

As I glanced back at my car to confirm my parking spot, I stepped into the building and was immediately struck by the lively atmosphere. The place was buzzing with people, and among them was Ke'Liyah, captivating the crowd as she danced on the pole, with guys eagerly tossing their cash in her direction.

As I approached the table, I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the sight of Zilla and the others gathered there. We exchanged friendly greetings before diving into conversation.

"Look at all of these girls Uce, they is sexy as fuck you feel me," Zilla said.

"Yeah, I agree with you dawg," I said averting my attention trying to find Desiree.

My gaze drifted in search of her, completely oblivious to the girls approaching us. They held no interest for me; my heart was set on Desiree. Just as I continued my search, my cousin nudged me, pulling me back to the moment. "Ain't that yo' girl right there Uce?" he said.

She stood there, looking stunning in that outfit, dancing on the pole across the room, and it was driving me wild. I couldn't resist getting up from my seat and making my way toward her, but just as I was about to reach her, an arm blocked my path. I turned to find Ke'Liyah standing right there.

"Why don't you come play with me instead of the newbie daddy?" she said as I yanked my arm away from her.

"Nah, I'm good finna go see what she's about," I said.

"She's not even that good in the bed like I am, or even at the pole she just wants to be a pick me," I couldn't believe what I was hearing right now.

Desiree's guarded demeanor made perfect sense to me; the girls here were genuinely bullies. I couldn't help but roll my eyes as I made my way toward her. Leaning against the wall, I watched her gracefully navigate the pole, executing the same mesmerizing move she had performed earlier that morning. 'My heart raced—she looked absolutely divine.' When our eyes met, she flashed a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment that I had kept my word.

I ran my tongue along my lips, then tucked them in as I gazed at her with an intense hunger, a silent promise that she would be mine by the end of the night.

I had fantasies about her bouncing on my dick in that exact same manner because of the way she was tossing her ass back up and down on the floor. 'She's making me incredibly lustful right now; I need her, I want her, I want her in every way.' Her attractive face simply captivates me.

I have to confess that I wasn't comfortable with the way those men were all over her, but I understood it was part of her job. As I made my way across the floor toward the stage, I couldn't help but notice the way her body moved.

Desiree approached me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. I playfully smacked her backside before adding some bands, knowing she truly deserved it. As she leaned in, her soft hands cradled my face, and she pressed a sweet kiss on my lips. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming urge to pull her close and show my affection right there, but I managed to hold back, keeping my composure in front of everyone.

"You didn't break your promise, that makes me happy." She whispered.

I caressed her cheek, "I told you mama, you can't always assume," I whisper softly before placing some more money in her chest.

She stepped off the stage, grasping my hand and leading me to the couch. With a gentle push, she lowered me down and positioned herself on top, moving against me in a captivating rhythm.

My hands rested firmly on her hips, steering her movements to the beat of the music. I pushed my hips up, letting her feel the intensity of my desire for her in this moment. 'What am I going to do with her?' I wondered, as I playfully smacked her backside, reveling in the connection between us. It was clear she was relishing this experience just as much as I was.

She moved in closer, her lips brushing against my neck, prompting me to tilt my head to the side. I couldn't resist the urge to grasp her curves, playfully squeezing as I did.

Desiree's gentle kisses danced along my neck, her hands exploring my chest and legs, igniting a fire within me. I was as hard as a rock, overwhelmed by the moment. With a surge of passion, I lifted her by her thighs and carried her to one of the private rooms, eager to embrace the intimacy that awaited us.

I closed the door softly, gently placing her on the bed as I positioned myself between her legs, her gaze fixed on me. With a confident motion, I removed my shirt, revealing my tribal tattoos, before sliding her panties aside.

As our lips met in a tender embrace, the intensity of our kiss ignited a fire between us. This moment was a stark contrast to the gentle peck I had given her earlier that morning; it was a kiss fueled by desire and longing, a hungry connection that spoke volumes about our passion for one another.

My tongue was exploring her mouth as she tugged onto my mullet yearning for more as I began to rub her wet folds I could feel her flinch at my sudden touch.

She felt super wet as I continued to rub her slick folds moving her straps to the side massaging her breast while she moaned between the kiss.

We pulled away from each other as I grabbed her breast sucking on her nipple while giving her pussy a slap.

"Show me Joshua...prove to me...that you're different...prove to me that I'm the only one you want in this club right now," she begged.

I proceeded to sticked two fingers two fingers inside of her warm cunt gentle thrusting my fingers in and out of her hearing nothing my sticky sounds as she began moaning my name.

We kept that eye contact with each other while I placed a soft kiss on her lips watching her take my fingers so well I brushed up against her g-spot with my fingers causing her to squirm.

She held her legs up as I put my face into her wet pussy flicking my tongue on her slick folds feeling Desiree jolt.

I was making out with her pussy while picking up the pace with my fingers deep inside of her while she was tugging on my hair.

"O-oh...F-fuckk..." Desiree moaned.

She gazed down at me while I was focusing on her and only her as she threw her head back in pleasure something she hadn't experienced before, keeping her legs up for me like a good girl that she is.

I rolled my tongue on her clit gazing up at her seeing her fold and gripping onto her legs for dear life, "you can handle it right baby?" I muttered.

"Yes Josh yes...fuck..." she breathed out.

I was eating her wet cunt like it was a lunch she tasted so sweet and savory I wanted to eat her out every single day if I wanted too, slurping her up like some jello working my tongue on her.

I knew that she was about to come I pulled my fingers from her wetness as she whined which made me chuckle at her seeing her face all pouty.

I proceeded to pull down my sweats along with my boxers seeing my dick spring up hitting my stomach as her eyes went wide at the sight of it.

"It's big...I don't know if it'll fit me..." Desiree said.

I leaned in forward giving her a kiss on the lips stroking my dick before aligning myself. "I'll make it fit mama don't worry just lay back and let me take care of you," I said as she did what she was told.

I aligned myself into her entrance as I slowly pushed myself inside of her warmth, I could see her eyes rolling in the back of her head while I gave her slow and steady strokes.

She felt so good wrapped around me while I proceeded to kiss her all over her body and neck placing marks on it claiming her to be mine.

Her body was so gorgeous

I pushed her legs back pushing my dick deeper into her wet cunt feeling her clenching around me causing me curse underneath my breath.

"you gotta let me in mama, fuck you feel so good," I grunted as I gripped her hips tightly.

"You're so deep Josh...fuck..." she moaned while feeling up on my chest.

She was so perfect feeling all up on me like this feeling my dick harden inside of her, all you could hear was her gushy insides in the background while the music was muffled.

I was pounding her pussy so good had her ass seeing stars making me throw my head back in pleasure, I leaned in closer to her face placing my forehead on hers tonguing her down as she wrapped her arms around my body.

I was giving her every single inch of me while her nails were digging inside on my back causing me to hiss but I didn't mind it at all, I sped up my pace beating up her mushy insides hearing her beautiful moans in my ear.

"Ouuu, fuckkkk Joshuaaaa, you fucking me so good,"

"yeah, let daddy have his way with you mama, this my pussy you hear me?" I growled giving her thigh a slap while she nodded her head.

I thrusted harder inside of her taking her to the oblivion as she screamed loudly, trying to push me away which caused me to wrap my hand around her throat fucking the brains out of her pussy.

"I-I...F-fuck..."

"Take this shit, don't run from me baby," I tucked the bottom of my lip in gazing down at her with my dark gaze. 'She's so fucking pretty fuck,'

My dick was gliding through her g-spot circling my hips hitting her spot so good I felt her legs tightening up signaling that she was going to come.

It felt like I was inside of her stomach as she began choking me too which caught me off guard but I like that type of shit, "C'mon baby doll give it to me, cum all over me mama I want it," I whispered in her ear.

I could feel her body twitching while I was talking her through it in her ear seeing her eyes roll, I pressed my other hand against her stomach encouraging her to make a mess on me.

She let out a loud moan feeling her body twitching as I continued to pound her pussy in like no other feeling all of her cream on my dick sounding gushy and sticky.

Something I love to hear

"Look at you mama, taking me so well baby,"

My movement began sloppier and sloppier by every single thrust I was giving her feeling my dick twitch inside of her, her pussy was so good I was about to bust real quick.

Speeding up my pace while she was throwing her head back in the sheets tucking her bottom lip in with her teeth gazing up at me with her innocent eyes that just turned me on a lot.

She was tugging on the sheets, "oh my god...joshuaaaa...fuck..." Desiree moaned.

I cursed underneath my breath, "I'm finna nut mama, I'm finna nut," I warned her while continuing to fuck her silly.

After a few more strokes I pulled out from her seeing her cream coated on my dick as my warm seeds began shooting out from my peep hole like a volcano onto her stomach.

I rose from the bed and made my way to the bathroom to grab some tissue, ready to help her as she lay there, feeling utterly defeated. When I returned, I found her still waiting for me, needing my assistance to clean her up.

I tidied up her stomach gently before planting a soft kiss on her neck. Then, I settled beside her, drawing her closer, showering her with the affection she truly deserved.

"Talk to me mama, you okay?" I asked as she opened her eyes looking at me.

"I never felt this way about somebody before, it's been a whole three years to be honest," she confessed.

I sat up straight, absorbing her frustrations as she expressed, 'All I wanted was for her to talk to me instead of shutting me out.' I arched an eyebrow in curiosity and asked, "What do you mean by that?"

She began to express her frustrations about being trapped in an abusive relationship with someone who failed to appreciate her as a person, treating her more like a worn-out doll. Desiree went on to share the reasons behind her emotional walls and the defenses she built, all stemming from the pain of her previous relationship.

No wonder why she said all of that to me only to push me away but I'm still here I wasn't going anywhere

I noticed a tear rolling down her cheek and gently brushed it away with my thumb before pressing my lips to hers. Then, I rested my forehead against hers, tenderly cradling her chin in my hand.

"Hey, look at me baby, I will never do anything like that to you I can't imagine you going through that," I said.

"How can I believe you? How can I trust you, I told you I am no good I will constantly overthink and accuse you of things," she said.

"That's fine mama, I'm not leaving you I am here to reassure you and love you correctly if you let me,"

I meant every word I said: I want to be her source of tranquility, her sole refuge. It doesn't matter to me if she doubts my intentions or overanalyzes my actions; I have confidence in who I am.

"I have to think on it Josh, it's been so long since I've been in a relationship,"

I empathized with her perspective and felt it was important to allow her the time she needed. My goal was to continuously demonstrate that I was nothing like him.

"I'll give you time mama, but I want to prove it to you too that I'm not playing around," I said she nodded her head.

I could feel her feeling on my tattoos admiring my ink on my body and arms, "when are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning gotta catch a flight, I'll text you, hell might fly yo' cute ass out there whenever," I could see a smile appearing on her face as she pulled me in for a kiss.

As we rose from the bed, slipping into our clothes and making our way out of the room, the music thumped loudly in the background. I noticed Ke'Liyah giving us a fierce look, but it didn't faze me. I was determined to show everyone that Desiree was mine.

I faced Desiree grabbing her cheeks caressing them with my thumbs placing my lips on hers, "I'll let you get back to work mama I'll text you aight?" I said.

She flashed me a smile before making her way to the locker rooms, and that's when I felt a slight shove. Turning around, I found Ke'Liyah right in my face.

"Why were you with her? Don't tell me you fucked her," Ke'Liyah said while I scoffed in disbelief.

"I did and it was the best sex I ever had with her than you so if you excuse me I gotta go," I said as I left her standing there.

I knew it was going to be some shit when I messed with Ke'Liyah but I hope nothing happens to Desiree while I'm gone on the road hopefully everything will be okay

NOVACANE

A/n: man oh man Desiree girl you better let him in fr fr but I understand that she needs time to think things over before just jumping into another relationship.

But I hope yall enjoy this chapter lmk in the comments below.

STAY UCEY.

#jey uso #black oc #black writers #black fanfic writer #jey x oc black #wwelove #jey uso fanfiction #black reader #jey uso smut #wwe fanfiction #Youtube

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michaelmilligan · 1 day ago

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The Jonmartin manifesto no one asked for but needed to get out

So, I've not been in the tma fandom for long yet, having only listened to it for the first time a few months ago. But from browsing the Jonmartin (and teaholding and jmart) tag regularly, it seems to me like most jonmartin shippers fall into one of these two categories:

They would find each other in every universe; or

It's a miracle they even got together in this universe

(Obviously, that's an oversimplification, and people who express one view in one post can easily hold a different view at another time - these are fictional characters we're talking about after all, and headcanons don't need to be consistent and can even contradict each other. This is just the general vibe I got so far.)

Anyway, I wanted to add my own two cents on the topic, because while I understand where both of these views are coming from, I think neither of them is ultimately correct.

(Putting the rest under a read more - be warned that this is NOT a spoiler-free post, so if you haven't finished listening to TMA yet and you want a spoiler-free experience, you probably shouldn't read this.)

So, before we get to my own opinion, let's first look at where the two options I mentioned above come from, shall we?

"They would find each other in every universe"

Obviously, this view is highly romantic - star-crossed lovers, finding each other again and again. It is both a good foundational basis for AUs, and a ray of hope in the face of the tragedy that is the tma finale.

Of course, concerning the finale, this is a rather different take than concerning AUs (since it would mean the very same characters finding each other again in a different world, not fundamentally different characters, shaped by said other world, also finding each other). And maybe when people express this view, they mean more the finale fix-its than AUs, though I suspect that plenty of people mean both.

It's a nice, comforting thought. And don't we all need some comfort after the finale? Yes, we certainly do. (Except for the people who read only hurt without comfort and angst, I guess. You do you, and I'm glad you're having fun, but personally I do desperately need some comfort, lmao.)

Is this view supported by canon though?

Cynical minds would say no, and personally I'm more inclined to agree with them, though as I've said, for me the truth lies outside of those two rigid stances (somewhere in between, I suppose).

I don't see much in canon which points to Jon and Martin falling in love under any circumstances/in any universe, especially considering their... let's say difficult relationships at the start of the show. But of course we must also take into account the specific circumstances in canon (more on that below) and interpretations vary, and I do very much enjoy AUs, so I'm certainly not trying to throw shade if you're on this side of the 'divide'.

Mostly, I think there CAN be other circumstances in which those two get together, outside the canon ones. (I'm writing a canon-divergent jonmartin fic myself, lol.) Let's get into that while we look at the other view, shall we.

"It's a miracle they even got together in this one"

Ah, the Martin-approved stance. One could say 'well, they literally said it in canon' and be done with it. However, that would require us to believe that the opinions of the characters are always true and correct, which. Lmao. We only have to listen to season 2 of tma to know that this is very much not the case.

And even if S5 Martin is not S2 Jon at the height of his paranoia, he's still very much a man shaped by his own life and experiences. I'm sure he would call himself a realist, but he honestly seems more like a pessimist to me. Which is understandable, given his life, and his association with the Lonely, which has often been (in my opinion accurately) compared to depression.

The thing is, Jon did treat Martin horribly in S1, and then he admittedly treated everyone horribly in S2. It was only in the course of S3 that their relationship got more, let's say, equal, with Jon no longer thinking Martin would be 'contributing nothing but delays'. (And then of course we have S4, which I LOVE even though it hurts me deeply. Then again, that's the whole show. And, obviously, S5 my beloved.)

So. Jon seemed to hate Martin in S1, while Martin was arguably already in love with the man. (Arguably. We do know that he acted catty to Basira in S2, so it's reasonable to assume that he started liking him at some point in S1, or even before the show started.) Then a lot of traumatic things happened, and they got together.

This means it must be the traumatic things that made them compatible, right? Just like Martin says in S5?

Well, one could see it that way. Jon certainly changed over the seasons, coming off his high horse and such. (In S5, he arguably gets back on it quite a bit, but then he IS the Eye's specialest little princess in a world that's literally ruled by it. And also he is slowly losing his grip on his own humanity. But I digress.)

And I do think that the trauma channeled a lot of those changes - the first time we see Jon being actually emotionally open (something he still struggles with over all seasons, because people don't just change fundamentally that quickly) is during Prentiss' attack on the Institute. They're in a situation where they might reasonably die (they even expect it, because they don't know that Elias is just rubbing his greedy little paws as he waits for things to get worse before he saves them with the gas).

I do think that moment could have been a big turning point for Jon and Martin, if it hadn't been immediately followed with the discovery of Gertrude's body, and Jon's subsequent descent into paranoia. Jon opened up, and also saw that Martin was rather competent during the attack, which could have led to them becoming closer, respectively having at least something like a normal work relationship.

But then Jon got paranoid and interpreted everything he saw negatively, including Martin's competence, which was twisted in his mind to 'What if he's just been pretending to be incompetent and is actually an evil agent out to kill the archivist'.

(Big sigh.)

Anyway, before I lose myself in the red string as well: Yes, Jon seems to 'mellow' over the seasons, especially with regard to Martin, at the same time that he's going through terribly traumatic events.

But does that mean that it's actually the trauma that's changing him and his relationships? Partly, certainly, but I would argue that trauma doesn't make you nicer or kinder. It might make you realise some things, but that doesn't mean that you can't realise those things in other ways.

And does it means that they couldn't have come together if they had met under different circumstances? Also not necessarily! I would even argue that the specific circumstances they met under were detrimental to Jon's first impression of Martin. And yes, this goes beyond the dog story.

So let's try and dissect their relationship from the start.

A theory of... something like nuance, or whatever

The starting situation

(Yes, I did have to use a Supernatural gif, thank you for asking. No, I will not apologise. <3)

Alright. So let's start with what we actually know about Jon and Martin's first meeting. Obviously, there's the dog story, though as far as I know that's not 'canon' because it wasn't actually in the podcast. I still like it, and think it adds another reason to Jon's behaviour, though I don't necessarily think it's necessary, because Jon already had lots of other reasons to tell himself that Martin wasn't worth his time.

1.1. Jon has issues. More at 11.

First of all, we learn throughout the podcast that Jon doesn't actually have any qualifications to lead an archive. He's probably 29 when the show starts (in 2016, going by the fandom wiki stating that he was born in 1987, which is reasonable given everything we learn about his age).

So, he's 29 and suddenly appointed, after four years of working in one department, to become the head of a completely different department. He does not have a degree that would give him credentials for leading an archive, nor are we told that he has ever even worked in an archive. For all we know, and that he knows, he is woefully underqualified. (This is also, I think, highlighted in S2 when Jon threatens to resign, only to then be baffled by Elias saying that he would be difficult to replace. Elias means something completely different than his skill set as an archivist with a lower case 'a', presumably, but then Jon doesn't know that.)

This means that Jon is in a highly stressful position, because he's trying to do a job he doesn't actually know how to do, while also trying not to let on that he doesn't know how to do it!

It doesn't help that Jon is also terribly scared of what all might be lurking in the shadows (or even in the light), as he himself admits during the Prentiss attack. He is extremely high-strung from day one, basically a wet chihuahua shaking in a slight breeze, while trying to seem like a strong bulldog.

We also know that Jon asked for two people to be his assistants: Tim and Sasha. They both worked in research, and Sasha also briefly worked in artefact storage, making them both qualified to help Jon with following up on statements. But I think more than their qualifications, Jon probably requested them because he knew and got along with them.

Imagine: Your boss tells you that he's promoting you into a position you're not qualified for and which you have no real clue how to do. Wouldn't you rather have people around you who you're already friendly with, and who are likely to cut you some slack if you're not perfect on day one? I know I would!

1.2. Elias is a little shit and I want to kill him with hammers (affectionately)

And then Elias transfers Martin.

I'm going off the dog story again, because again, I like it, and I think it does fit neatly into canon. If this story is to be believed, Elias neither asked nor did he tell Jon that he was giving him another assistant. He apparently simply told Martin 'you work at the archives now, congratulations' and then went back to his office to smile smugly to himself.

This is a VERY bad start for a working relationship, because not only does Martin come in unannounced, this also comes off as Elias not respecting Jon, or potentially even sending someone to report back to Elias (because Martin is the only one who doesn't have an established rapport with Jon).

Jon never verbalises this suspicion, so maybe this is too much interpretation on my part, but in any case it's cause for a lot of resentment on Jon's part, and since he can't exactly let it out on Elias (who is rarely there, anyway), he simply lets it out on Martin.

He finds reasons to do so, of course, insulting his work and all that. It's probably easy, especially in the beginning, because not unlike Jon, Martin doesn't have any qualifications to work in an archive! He worked at the library before, and we know that his degree is made up (which we can only assume Elias knows, considering he can know almost anything).

(I actually find the question on why Elias transferred Martin in the first place extremely interesting, and might get into that in another post. But this one is already too long, lmao.)

1.3. Martin is too nice, aka Jon has even more issues

This is mostly my personal headcanon, though I do feel it fits Jon's character - which is that he doesn't know how to deal with nice people.

Not kind people. Not friendly people. But nice people.

People who do things seemingly out of the mere goodness of their heart. Like bringing their mean boss tea when he never asked them to do that. Like being friendly even in the face of insults. Someone who constantly takes himself back in favour of other people and their opinions.

People like Martin is appearing to be. Appearing, because Martin isn't actually like that. He does have his opinions, and he could probably grumble up a storm in S1 about Jon, but Jon is his BOSS, and so he plays.

Martin also IS genuinely a nice person most of the time (when he's not on a revenge rampage, making his boyfriend murder people). He doesn't have to do nice things for Jon like bring him tea in S2. But he does. Because that's Martin's way of trying to reach out, to show other people that he means no harm (and that he can be useful).

(I also think that Jon's snappish behaviour, where Martin never quite knows what will set the man off, might remind him off his mum, but again I digress. :))

But I think Jon doesn't know how to deal with that, because even when he's not in the height of paranoia, he still suspects that people who are THAT nice (especially when they have no reason to be nice because he's being an arsehole to them) have a secret agenda. This is playing into what I said under 2 (the part that might be too much interpretation on my side lol), because if Jon suspects that Martin is reporting back to Elias, or is at least someone who would not be friendly if he found out that Jon doesn't know what he's doing, then he can't allow himself to relax around him, and he certainly can't allow himself to be lulled into false security (as Jon would think) around him.

Tl;dr on this point: I think Jon is wary of Martin's niceness because he thinks he might be fishing for gossip/anything he can use against Jon. And even if he isn't, Jon thinks he would be likely to use anything he learns against Jon, because they weren't friends to begin with, and Jon's behaviour has made them anything but that.

(We have to remember that this is the guy who says in S2 that he knows what it's like to 'lack the respect of one's peers', aka the kid who got bullied by at least one older kid, and likely had no or very few friends - plus he believes in the supernatural, which doesn't exactly lend itself well to getting academic respect.)

1.4. They were fucked from the start, your honour

Basically what the meme says, but yeah. The they were put in practically guaranteed that Jon would be wary of Martin, and that Martin would be trying extra hard to make friends with him, which in turn would make Jon even more wary/hostile.

And Elias made it worse, either knowingly or by negligence (not telling Jon about transferring Martin).

If we add the whole dog story to it... they were fucked. I do actually wonder if, assuming we take the dog story as canon, Elias actually somehow managed to set that up. Or whether he was at least cackling (sorry, smiling ever so silently, but smugly) in his office as it happened, or whenever he ended up knowing that it happened.

2. Yes, we've had one starting point, but what about second starting point?

As we have established above, the starting situation for Jon and Martin was... not ideal. So, would they have gotten together easily given a different starting point, like in a cute coffee shop AU?

Eh.

It's true that the specific situation they were in made it a lot harder for them to actually communicate and see each other as they are than it had to be. That doesn't mean that a different situation would have made it easy, though.

Their personalities still make it hard, though, as even without the added stress of a new job, Jon is still a little chihuahua shaking in the corner, who tries to make up for it by barking at everyone, and Martin is still the guy trying to approach him with treats and getting his hand bitten.

There are certainly specific situation that could make it easier, especially if Jon isn't scared as hell, and has maybe already learned that not everyone who does something nice for him wants to just pull on his strings. (Yes, I do think that the thing that makes Martin, according to Annabelle, suited for the Web, is the thing that put Jon on edge at the beginning. I don't know if this was intended at all, but it makes me cackle.)

The beauty of fanfic is that we can do whatever the hell we want. But I think the most fun thing an AU author can do is think 'What would have to happen, in this specific scenario, for these two to get over themselves and get together?'

Excursion: Martin, my beloved depressed blorbo who I am certainly not projecting on, haha

Because it IS both of them who need to get over themselves. Of course Jon's issues are the most obvious, and I've certainly expanded on them enough. But Martin also has a problem, and it's that he's constantly hiding his true feelings and opinions, especially anger and fear.

That makes sense, perhaps, in a workplace, though considering he's dealing with a walking, talking worm hive and a stalker boss... Let's just say it probably would have helped Tim, too, if Martin hadn't been so desperate to make everyone be friends again.

Because Martin is always TRYING to make everything better for everyone, but he's actually not helping anyone. Being nice to Jon and bringing him tea doesn't help battle his paranoia. And trying to tell Tim not to be so angry at Jon, and can't they all be friends, doesn't actually help Tim with his anger.

All Martin is essentially doing is making himself small and saying 'let's get along, pretty please' every now and then. I don't know if it would have helped if he had expressed his own fears and anger, and maybe Jon would have misconstrued that as well, too deep in his paranoia already. But at least Tim might have realised that he was not alone in all this. (His biggest problem, as he says in S2, is that he feels that no one has his back, which I think at least partly results from no one expressing the same anger, aka no one validating his feelings.)

Anyway! (Jon voice) Excursion ends.

3. (To the melody of 'What shall we do with the drunken sailor') What shall we do with these total idiots?

So, how ARE these two going to get together, if they're so woefully unequipped to deal with each other?

Well, first we need to give Martin a good helping of self-confidence. Then we need to kind of give Jon the same, since his problem ALSO is that he's unsure of himself, he just tries to make other people small to cover it up, instead of making himself small. (And isn't that a funny thing to do for someone who we know was bullied. To become a bully himself. Oh, the snake, biting its own tail...)

The easy answer is, of course: You can come up with your own version, get creative. <3

The more complex answer is: A lot of stuff, probably. Jon and Martin will certainly need time to get to know each other, and of course it depends on what situation you put them in to start. But there will be misunderstandings, and there will be hurt feelings, and I am going to soak it up all like a particularly slowburn-greedy sponge.

I feel like there are probably five million ways to get them together, and some might be cute and fluffy (if they go to therapy first, I guess, lol) and many will be full of tears. <3 (Jon voice) And I want to see them all on my desk by Friday! So get to it!

In all seriousness though, yeah, I think there's not one right way for them to get together (though canon did it well imo). But it's also a little more complex than we might give it credit to (very much including me).

4. So what now?

I don't know. I'm not your dad. Write a fic. Draw a picture. Put down your own thoughts on the matter. Or take a shower and clean up your room, young Padawan!

(Though actually, if you've read this post from start to finish in one session, what you should probably do is get up and stretch and get some water.)

And above all! And this is imperative.

Have a good day. <3

#Jonmartin #teaholding #jmart #Idk just go forth and do whatever you were going to do #These are my thoughts and maybe yours are totally different #Or maybe I inspired something! Who knows. Live long and prosper in any case.#I mostly needed to get my thoughts in order lmao

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mrprettywhenhecries · 2 days ago

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gift wrap [g.t]

Part Three of 𝑨 𝑻𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒏–𝑳𝒆𝒘𝒊𝒔 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠

Gator Tillman ✗ Win Lewis

➼ w.c. 1.7k ➼ warnings/tags. fluff, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, breeding kink (if you squint?), just some sweet sultry lovemaking ➼ a/n. Woo, this is a little later than I had planned, but hopefully you're still in the holiday mood. This series takes place about a year after the events of Don’t Waste Your Time (on Me), and while technically the main series is still being written, I wanted to take a small break to write some fluff for Win and Gator for Christmas. ➼ divider credits. @/strangergraphics

Appalled by his lack of wrapping skills, Win helps Gator wrap his gifts to the Lyons before deciding to let him unwrap an early Christmas gift.

“Oh who am I kidding? These are gunna look like shit anyway,” Gator muttered under his breath as he fumbled with the wrapping paper, his missing finger making the task more difficult than it already was. He’d never been very good at it in the first place, but now it was practically an exercise in futility, the package he was attempting to wrap looking more like a crumpled bundle of wrapping paper.

“Waited long enough to do your wrapping,” Win commented, drawn to the room by Gator’s frustrated grumbles. “It’s almost midnight,” she pointed out before offering to help and Gator’s head snapped up in surprise as she rounded the couch.

“I don’t need any help!” he huffed brusquely, trying to hide the half wrapped gift. “I mean, I got it—“ insisted, his voice dropping.

Win gave him a knowing look before sitting down next to him, crossing her legs as she settled on the floor. “That looks like shit,” she said and Gator let out a snort as he looked down at his work.

“Yeah, it kinda does,” he admitted, his lips twitching slightly. “Fine, maybe I might need some help,” he relented reluctantly.

Win grinned and pulled the box closer. “Hand me a piece of tape,” she said, smoothing the wrapping paper beneath it before folding the sides up and over the box, pulling it snug against the sides.

“How the fuck are you so good at this?” Gator asked, handing her the tape as he watched in awe.

“I like wrapping stuff,” she said, shrugging. “I used to wrap everyone’s gifts for everyone else, so eventually I got good at it,” she explained, finishing up the other sides and taping them in place.

“Who was this one for?” she asked, putting a little tag on it and grabbing the pen Gator had on the floor next to him.

“That one’s for Scotty,” he answered and Win wrote his niece’s name on the tag.

“Want me to do the others? Or do you wanna try?” she asked, turning to Gator expectantly.

He seemed to think for a moment before pushing the next box toward her. “You do Wayne’s and I’ll try doing Dot’s,” he decided and the two of them got to work.

It didn’t take long for Win to finish wrapping Wayne’s gift and she glanced over to see Gator trying to emulate what she’d done. The paper was a little crooked, but the paper was much less wrinkled this time.

“Looks good,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile, which he returned, pride shining through.

“Wasn’t that hard,” he quipped, as if he hadn’t needed help in the first place and Win rolled her eyes.

“Now that we’re finished, I was thinking I’d let you open one of your gifts early,” she said, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I won’t say no to that,” Gator exclaimed, glancing toward the gifts already sitting beneath their tree. “Does it matter which one?” he asked, clueless to her meaning.

“I was thinkin’… this one,” Win purred, crawling closer to straddle his hips and Gator’s brows rose, his hands going to her waist, fingers dipping just under the hem of her oversized sweater.

“Good choice,” he drawled, a grin playing at his lips. “Can’t wait to tear this one open,” he breathed, pushing her sweater higher, his palms skimming her warm skin. Win lifted her arms so he could pull her shirt over her head, shaking her hair out once she was free and Gator’s dark eyes fell to her chest, taking in the sight of her lacy bralette.

“This new?” he asked, his hands ghosting over the delicate lace to cover her tits, coaxing her nipples to stiffen with his thumbs.

“Mhmm,” Win hummed, peering at him through her lashes. “You like?”

Gator let out a soft chuckle. “Course I do. But now I’m curious if your panties match,” he mused, his palms trailing back down her body to circle her hips, giving them a brief squeeze as he lifted her, helping her to her feet so he could work her leggings down, dragging the elastic fabric down her legs, and she held onto his shoulders to steady herself as she stepped out of the garment.

“Well shit, guess they do,” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to hers after admiring the matching bit of lace that hugged her hips and stretched between her legs.

“Don’t you look good enough to eat,” Gator drawled, pulling her closer to press a feather light kiss to her navel, his lips trailing downward till they skimmed over the lace and he nosed at her clit, his tongue swiping over her clothed folds, drawing a hitched moan to Win’s lips, and her body gave a jerk, her hips involuntarily shuddering, rolling against his face.

“Y’like that, huh?” he breathed, holding her close, not done teasing her yet. “You smell so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, burying his face deeper into her cunt, kissing her through the lace, the scent of her arousal making his cock stir beneath his jeans.

Pulling back just long enough to tug her panties down, Gator smirked at the whine that caught in her throat at the loss of his mouth on her sex, the sound hitching to a sharp gasp as he lapped at her bare clit, drawing it between his lips to suck at as he worked the damp lace down her legs. Her head fell back as her hips canted forward, and she buried her fingers in Gator’s hair, glad he wore it loose more often now, and he moaned as her nails grazed his scalp.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, his cock throbbing almost painfully against the thick denim of his jeans and he paused to palm himself, shuddering at the friction.

Win bit her lip as she watched him, relishing how needy she could make him so quickly—he was still like such a horny teenager sometimes, barely needing much to leave him desperate and wanting. Stepping out of her discarded panties, Win took Gator’s hands, helping him to his feet and hastily pushing his shirt over his head.

“You’re far too dressed for what comes next,” she teased, her husky voice turning syrupy as her hands trailed back down his chest, her fingers running through his soft thatch of dark chest hair, and she leaned in to press a kiss to one of the moles that stood out against his light skin before her lips moved to his nipple, circling it with her tongue as her hand deftly moved to undo his jeans, giving him a soft squeeze through his tented briefs.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Gator breathed in relief, his eyelids fluttering shut as she peeled his underwear down with his jeans to free him, his cock flopping out heavily, already leaking precum. When she wrapped her hand around him, giving his length a slow stroke, her thumb brushing over his sensitive tip, Gator drew a shuddering breath.

“C’mere,” he grunted, hefting her easily into his arms, and she obediently wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her the short distance to the couch, the heavy weight of his cock pressed between them.

Laying her back onto the couch, he nearly tumbled atop her, catching himself against the sofa arm with a soft chuckle, hovering over her, his cock teasing her folds.

“I fuckin’ love you,” he breathed, the words tumbling out in a rush and Win smiled, holding his face between her hands.

“I fuckin’ love you,” she repeated, a soft moan leaving her lips as he pressed into her, the sweet stretch of him nearly leaving her breathless, only for Gator to steal the rest of her breath with a searing kiss as his next thrust filled her deeper, his cock dragging deliciously against her g-spot, causing her to tighten around him, feeling each ridge and vein of his length as it moved inside her.

“You’re the best thing in my fuckin’ life,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear and Win’s arms wound round his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer as her chest tightened with emotion.

“Oh Gate—“

Win’s words melted into a whine as he snapped into her and she began rolling her hips to meet his thrusts, urging him deeper, her breath hot against the crook of his neck where she buried her face.

“Fuck babe, you’re so tight, so fuckin’ good—“ Gator groaned, babbling praises as the hot coil of pleasure in his gut constricted with each thrust.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he mumbled, grabbing her thigh to push her leg higher, adjusting his angle, and her body reacted almost instantly, her walls fluttering and tightening around him.

“Oh fuck— Yes, right there—!” Win gasped breathlessly, her hips rolling desperately as heat filled her, slowly spreading outward.

“Gator, please—don’t stop!” she begged, her lips dragging across his flushed skin as she rocked beneath him.

“I ain’t stoppin’, baby, trust me,” Gator grunted. “Gunna fill this sweet ‘tang, leave you drippin’, honey,” he growled, dropping his chin as if to kiss her, seeking her lips only to find them parted wide, leaving him sharing her breath, panting heavily into her mouth as they hovered together on the precipice.

“Fuckin’ cum for me, Win,” he breathed, almost a plea, and her breath hitched as the earth gave way, her stomach dropping in the familiar rush before the plummet.

“Oh God—Gator!” she cried, tensing as she was swept away and Gator let go, cumming with a shudder, his thrusts slowing as he filled her, and he dropped his face to the crook of her neck as he fought to catch his breath, breathing in her scent.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped, lifting his head to meet Win’s blissed out gaze, grey eyes lidded and face flushed.

“You can say that again,” she huffed lightly, pushing Gator’s hair from his forehead, stuck to the sheen of sweat that glistened on his skin.

“Don’t think I gotta tell you how much I loved my present,” he chuckled breathlessly, settling atop her, careful not to crush her and she smiled as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him close. “Good,” she laughed, letting her eyes slip shut. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll give you another one before Santa comes.”