#My Enemies Will Fall - 12” x 18” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Text

title: in a feud with her neighbor

bonus scenes now available

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5621

summary:

Five times you think Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever, and the one time he isn’t.

author’s note: this is so self-indulgent. i hope you guys enjoy it! if you like this work, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment because they make my day 💕

special thanks to the angels who helped with ideas: @dreamingofdaddydin @jksprincess10 @mydailyhyperfixations @funnygirlthatgab

additional warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no use of y/n, story contains visual graphics, everyone pretend the 12 ft skeleton was available in 2003 and you could stream TV shows, no sarah, no outbreak, neighbor feuds, enemies to lovers, oral (explicit f receiving, non-explicit m receiving), semi-public sex, making out in a pool, reader is a menace and arguably the bad neighbor here, unprotected p in v, use of sex toys, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk. let me know if any are missing!

Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever.

Your issues with him started on your first Halloween in the neighborhood. You had moved into your new home a few months prior, thrilled that you finally managed to escape the horrors of apartment living. You were now the proud owner of a little single story two bedroom craftsman style home, complete with fenced in backyard and a pool.

You loved your little house and the neighborhood was ideal, quiet but tight knit. The neighbor to your left, an elderly woman named Betty, had invited you over for tea and cookies and given you the lowdown on the neighborhood gossip.

The neighbor to your right, Joel Miller, she said, was a wonderful man. Polite, kind, and not too hard on the eyes either. You hadn’t met him yet, but with a glowing review like that, you couldn’t wait until you did.

She had also mentioned that the neighborhood goes all out for Halloween. They even hosted a contest for the best decorated house. Your mind already raced with the possibilities.

You loved Halloween. In Texas, the stifling heat finally eased around that time, dropping to a slightly more tolerable range in the 80s with cooler nights. You loved seeing all the displays in the stores and how abandoned storefronts would be overtaken by whole companies dedicated to Halloween. You watched all the horror movies you could and on the weekends you’d seek out local fall festivals because you’re a sucker for candy apples and funnel cake.

No one ever decorated at the apartment complex you previously lived in, so you were extra excited to decorate your house and yard. You bought fake tombstones and plastic skeletons for the yard, spider webs and little ghosts to hang in the trees. You carved two pumpkins to set on either side of the steps leading up to your front door and made little ghost statues out of tomato cages, foam balls, and white fabric. You even strung purple lights through your hedges.

You were totally going to win the decorating contest. You were confident that you would.

Until you woke up Halloween morning and Joel Miller had somehow decorated his entire home in the time that you had been sleeping, blissfully unaware.

The man had somehow managed to set up an entire army of skeletons, including a handmade wooden jail stuffed with ones trying to escape. There were some posed on the house itself, climbing up the sides and the roof. He had some coming out of the ground, red spotlights fixed on them for an eerie glow. But perhaps most impressive of all was the twelve foot skeleton with glowing red eyes that was posed near the makeshift jail, holding the door open like it was releasing the trapped undead soldiers.

Joel Miller had the motherfucking twelve foot skeleton. You wanted one of those so bad but it was always sold out. You checked every nearby Home Depot for months trying to find one and here Joel Miller has one, taunting you.

He won the decorating contest, sweeping the victory from right under your feet.

It may seem silly, but that was the moment you decided Joel Miller was the worst neighbor ever.

When you were buying your first home, you had been meticulous in calculating your finances in order to comfortably afford the purchase. You did not, however, account for having to repair your air conditioning system within less than a year of moving in. This made a significant dent in your savings, which led you to cut your expenses elsewhere.

One such expense was your internet. Why? Because it turns out Joel Miller, asshole neighbor, doesn’t password protect his router and you can just use his.

It’s not like he would notice.

_________________

Joel stares at his internet bill in confusion. This is the third month in a row that he’s been charged for going over his data allowance. That doesn’t even make sense. He’s the only person in his house and he only uses the internet on his phone to check the news and sometimes play Candy Crush. It’s why he got the lowest data plan in the first place.

He tries to think of what he could be doing differently, but comes up short. Hell, he’s not even home most of the day. He works long hours at different contracting jobs, so his free time is spent watching TV (cable, not connected to the internet), and sleeping.

But then it hits him. The overage charges never happened until you moved in.

Joel powers up his ancient laptop and has to Google search what a router is. Turns out, he doesn’t have a password set on his. Which means, if his hunch is correct, you’ve just had free access to his internet this whole time.

He learns how to set a password and, more importantly, he learns how to change the name of his router.

He needs to send a message, after all.

_________________

You’re about to start another episode of Grey’s Anatomy, courtesy of your friend generously sharing her Netflix password, when you receive an error message.

No internet connectivity. Try again?

The little WiFi connection icon is missing from your toolbar. You investigate further, opening the list of options and scanning them for Joel’s, conveniently titled Miller.

But instead you find a new name.

GetYourOwnWiFi. And it’s password protected.

“Son of a bitch,” you hiss.

Joel Miller’s tree is always dropping debris in your yard. The limbs have grown over your shared fence line and on windy days you have to deal with extra pool clean up on top of the usual mess it makes of your yard, twigs and leaves ruining your perfectly manicured backyard oasis.

You’ve asked him to trim the branches. Left him notes on his door and in his mailbox, but he still hasn’t done it.

Today you’re sending a new kind of message.

He’s going to wish he’d listened when you asked nicely.

_________________

“What the fuck,” Joel growls when he gets home just after sunset. There’s piles of leaves and twigs littering his front porch, almost to the point that he can’t see the concrete slab beneath.

There’s no way this just happened through the force of nature. It’s been a perfectly clear day in Austin and besides, there’s no trees at the front of his house for this kind of mess to fall from.

Which can only mean…

His eyes spot the bright pink Post-It note stuck to his door and he curses under his breath as he stomps up the porch steps and rips it down.

Here. Clean your own mess up for once.

xoxo

Joel crumbles the note in his fist, taking deep breaths as he heads for the garage to grab a broom and a trash bag.

He’ll get you back.

He always does.

You love animals, especially cats. Unfortunately, being allergic, you don’t have the option to have one of your own all the time.

When you spot the first neighborhood stray, your heart lights up with excitement. It’s a little black and white cat with bright green eyes that walks right up to you while you’re getting your mail, winding its lithe body between your legs and purring against you. You stoop to pet it, mentally reminding yourself to wash your hands before you touch your face, otherwise your eyes would be itchy for hours.

“Hello, little baby,” you murmur, rubbing a hand down the length of its back. “How are you?” The cat gives a strong meow in response. “Oh, are you hungry? Let’s go see if I have anything I can give you as a treat.”

Back inside your house, you locate a can of tuna and dump it into a small plastic bowl. The cat sits patiently on the porch, tail flicking in anticipation. It hops down and shoves its little face into the bowl as soon as it’s within reach.

“So cute,” you say, giving it one last pat on its back before returning inside.

_________________

There’s a cat sitting on Joel’s porch, watching him as he parks his truck. It’s the second time this week there’s been a cat lurking around his property. The first one he found out in the backyard, tearing up his flower beds.

The neighborhood had never had an issue with cats before, so he has a sneaking suspicion that you’re, once again, the root cause of his suffering.

His suspicions are confirmed when he sees you on the porch one day, laying out a row of plastic bowls filled with what he assumes is cat food. At first he’s annoyed that he’s right, it is you feeding the cats, which is why they’ve been terrorizing his yard, but then you turn around and he’s struck by how utterly gorgeous you are.

This is the first time Joel’s ever actually seen you. He’s usually out of the house before dawn and back after sunset, which must not coincide with your schedule since you’ve never run into each other. He remembers Betty, the older woman who lives to your left, telling him about meeting you.

“Gorgeous girl, that one. You two would probably hit it off,” she said as he hung a picture frame for her.

“Don’t go playin’ matchmaker, Betty,” he replied.

But damn, seeing you now in a pair of little shorts that hug your hips and ass just right and a tight white t-shirt that shows off the tiniest bit of skin above the waist of your shorts is making him think he should have taken Betty up on her word.

Joel’s so distracted that he almost misses the way the cat on his porch hits one of his planters with his paw, knocking the ceramic over and spilling dirt all over the ground.

“Fuck!”

_________________

There’s a note on your door the next morning, a torn piece of paper with a familiar scrawl of messy handwriting that could only belong to one person.

Stop feeding the cats or you owe me new plants.

-Joel

The note actually makes you giggle. Betty sees you on your porch and beckons you over to hers.

“What’s got you gigglin’ like a schoolgirl?” The older woman asks.

“What? Nothing,” you reply too quickly.

“Wouldn’t happen to be a note from a certain tall, strong, and handsome young neighbor of yours?”

“No, definitely not.”

She smirks at you. “You better quit terrorizin’ that poor man, honey.”

“Now, Betty, where would the fun be in that?” You say brightly as you head back to your house, the sound of her laughter following you through the door.

There’s a package on Joel’s porch when he gets home from work. He doesn’t remember ordering anything, but he wouldn’t put it past himself.

He brings it inside without thinking twice or checking the label, chucking it on the counter with the rest of his mail as he searches for a box cutter in his junk drawer.

Joel cuts through the packing tape, lifting the flaps and rifling through the packing paper to pull out the contents.

It’s another box, light pink with the image of a hot pink u-shaped device on the top. The text across the top reads REMOTE VIBRATOR in black script.

He nearly drops the box in surprise, fumbling it in his hands. He’s certain he didn’t order this.

Joel pulls the shipping box back towards him, keeping an eye on the vibrator like it might grow legs and run away. He flips the lid over to inspect the shipping label, his eyebrows rising as he reads your name and home address instead of his.

He looks at the toy again, mind whirling with images of you on your back, remote in hand as you bring yourself pleasure. He coughs, clearing his head and adjusts himself in his jeans.

He searches the junk drawer for a sheet of paper and a pen.

_________________

You’re staring at the delivery confirmation email from Lovelies, panic creeping down your spine. It says that your new toy has been delivered but there’s no package in your mailbox or on your porch. You’ve checked everywhere.

Which means it was either delivered to one of your neighbors or someone stole it.

If you’re being honest, you’d rather someone stole it than to have to go knock on Betty or, god forbid, Joel’s door to ask if they accidentally received your sex toy delivery. Your cheeks heat at even the thought of Joel knowing what you ordered. You head back inside empty handed.

Later, when you open your door to feed the cats, you’re surprised to find a box on your welcome mat. You set the bowls of food down and carry it inside, your excitement mounting.

But when you open the box, you’re mortified to find a torn piece of paper on top of the packing material, Joel Miller’s familiar handwriting on the sheet.

Interesting choice

-Joel

“Fucking asshole,” you mumble, crumbling the note and tossing it to the side. You pull your new toy from its box and turn it on. “Huh. Fully charged.”

Your jerk of a neighbor won’t ruin your night if this little gadget has anything to say about it.

It’s Joel’s one day to sleep in and you’ve been blasting your music all fucking morning. He’s already got his head shoved under his pillow but the sound still filters through, ruining his chances of any extra hours of sleep to make up for his lack of it during the week.

He rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand across his beard. He heads downstairs to make coffee, the heavy beat of your music chasing him through the house. He can feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his eyes.

Joel tries to tune it out. Really. He does. As much as the two of you butt heads, he doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, nor is he trying to be one.

But if you don’t turn your music down soon he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

He gives you another hour. He’s feeling generous. But when the music just keeps playing, he finally snaps.

Joel shoves his feet into the work boots beside the door, paying little mind to the fact that he’s not wearing socks. In fact, he’s still in his sleep pants and ratty old t-shirt but he’s too far gone to care.

Once he’s in front of your door, he bangs on the wood with his fists. He waits for a response and when he doesn’t get one, probably since you can’t fucking hear him, he bangs again. There’s movement from the corner of his eye and he turns his head to find Betty watching him, lips tilted in a smirk.

“You okay with this?” Joel asks, gesturing vaguely to your house to indicate the noise level inside.

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” she replies before shuffling inside. He turns back to the door to pummel it with his fists again but he’s surprised to find it open.

“Howdy, neighbor,” you say, eyebrow raised and arms crossed beneath your breasts.

Which were currently covered by the tiniest bikini top he’s ever seen. His eyes trail lower, over the expanse of your stomach to the matching bikini bottoms that peek out past the folded waist of your denim shorts.

“Uh,” he says, followed by a strained cough. “Hi.”

_________________

Joel Miller is standing on your porch dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms that sit low on his hips, a strip of soft tan belly peeking out from above the waistband when he stretches an arm up to run his fingers through his dark, messy curls.

Christ, you think. The man is prettier than Betty gave him credit for.

“Can I help you?” You ask. His eyes snap from where they’d been lingering on your chest and you straighten your back just the slightest bit at the knowledge he’d been checking you out.

Joel clears his throat. “Your music is way too loud.”

You roll your eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Does…what hurt?”

“Always having a stick up your ass.”

Betty barks a laugh from her porch and Joel’s head turns so fast you have whiplash just watching him. He throws his hands up.

“Who’s side are you on, Betty?!” He shouts.

You’re bent over, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and tears form at the corners of your eyes. When you finally catch your breath and return your attention to Joel, he’s got his hands on his hips and an impressive furrow between his brows.

“Listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m about to go out by the pool and have a drink. Wanna join?” You ask.

“I don’t have my suit with me.”

“Well good thing you’re just right next door, huh? Go get it. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” you tell him before shutting the door in his face.

_________________

Joel returns to your house thirty minutes later, showered and wearing his swim trunks and a new t-shirt. He wipes his sweaty hands against his chest, not entirely sure why he’s nervous. He’s just having a drink with his annoying neighbor to hash out all the issues. No big deal.

Your music is still playing when he enters your house, giving the door a courtesy knock before letting himself in. The front door opens directly into the main living space, a large sectional couch facing a TV mounted between two windows to his right and a dining nook to his left. Your kitchen is nestled in the corner, just past an opening to a hallway that he assumes leads to the bedrooms. Your place is bursting with colors and textures and patterns, from the floral blanket draped over your velvet couch to the leaf patterned wallpaper and natural stone backsplash in your kitchen. You have tea towels hanging from your stove that say “ANOTHER ONE BITES THE CRUST” with a picture of a pizza, and an impressive looking bar cart that houses a variety of liquor bottles and glassware.

There’s a splash from outside and Joel sees that the sliding glass door to your patio is open. He steps onto the concrete deck, surveying the backyard oasis you’ve created for yourself. The pool is on the smaller side but still, it’s a pool, and Joel’s a little jealous of it. You’ve got chaise loungers lined near the edge and matching chairs that surround a little fire pit further out in the yard. There’s string lights hung from the shade canopy that extends from your house.

You pop up from beneath the surface, your hair slicked back from your face and little droplets of water clinging to your skin. Joel stands there, unsure of what to do, until you swim to the ledge closest to him and drape your arms over it, regarding him with keen eyes.

“Hi,” you say. He swallows, the nerves returning as he tries desperately to not let his gaze fall below your neck.

“Hey,” he replies.

“There’s beer in the cooler. Grab me one?” You ask before ducking back beneath the surface. He can see you swim towards the edge of the pool that the loungers face. He grabs two beers as instructed, popping the tops with the bottle opener fixed to the lid of the cooler. You break the surface once more, swimming over to where he sits on the end of one loungers.

Joel passes you the beer and you tip it towards him in thanks before taking a deep pull, your lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle and distracting him monumentally.

“So, you’re the Joel Miller, huh?” You ask. “Tell me about yourself.”

The two of you talk for what feels like ages. He learns that you’re a software engineer and you work a typical 9-5 schedule, which is why he’s never caught you around the neighborhood before. You don’t like to be outdoors much, preferring reading and catching up on your Netflix shows. You have two brothers, both of whom are older than you and live on the opposite side of the country, but you visit them around Christmas. You love animals, but have major allergies so you settle for fleeting moments with the neighborhood strays and occasionally watching your best friend’s dog when she goes out of town.

He tells you about his work as a contractor, which he’s been doing since he was fresh out of high school and had no idea what to do with his life. He talks about his brother Tommy, how they work together on most projects and they want to start their own contracting business, but that’s a dream for another day. He mentions he’s more of a dog person than a cat person, especially because he has a grudge against the orange neighborhood cat that is still tearing up his flowerbeds.

Joel loves the way you laugh, bright and full bodied as you toss your head back and bring a hand to your chest each time. You talk with your hands a lot, which is funny because you keep letting go of the pool ledge and scrambling to grab it again when gravity pulls you down in the water. If he doesn’t give enough detail in an answer, you’re not shy about asking him for more information, like when he said his favorite color was blue.

“Okay, but what shade of blue?” You asked.

“Just…blue?” Joel asked, clearly not understanding your question.

You rolled your eyes. “Men. I like lavender. Not just purple. Purple is a range of shades.”

“I guess…navy?”

“Now you’re getting somewhere, big guy!”

The conversation lulls as you share your drinks in companionable silence. The Texas sun bears down on his back, his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his sweat slick skin. He bites the bullet and reaches behind his head to tug the damp fabric off, leaving him in just his swim trunks. He doesn’t miss the appreciative once-over you give him.

You extend a hand to him. “Help me out?””

Joel grasps your hand in his, marveling for a moment how small it is in his broad palm. He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the michievous look on your face, or the way you plant your feet to the pool wall for leverage.

You give a sharp tug with both hands and he goes toppling into the pool with a surprised shout.

_________________

You’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The look on Joel’s face as you tugged him into the pool will be burned into your memory for years to come. You’d been waiting all afternoon for the man to take his shirt off, not only because you were admittedly dying to see what was hiding beneath the fabric, but also because you wanted exact a little neighborly revenge for stomping over to your house to tell you your music was too loud.

You’re feeling mighty accomplished, right up until you feel a hand wrap around your ankle and you get pulled beneath the surface with no warning.

You open your eyes, chlorine stinging them as you see Joel torpedo towards the shallow end of the pool. You give chase, breaking the surface with a gasp.

“You asshole–”

Joel cuts you off by wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you close and tipping his head down to capture your lips with his. He kisses like a man starved and he tastes like sunshine and chlorine and the beer he’d been drinking as his tongue slides hungrily against yours. He uses his arm to press your body to his, but it’s not close enough.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your legs to circle his waist, your center grinding against his rapidly hardening length. Joel trails his hands up and down your back, stopping to grab rough handfuls of your ass as he groans against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he curses. “This little fuckin’ bikini has been torturin’ me all day.”

“Why don’t you just take it off then?” You offer. He pulls back to watch your face as his fingers find the strings of your bottoms beneath the water, giving both sides a quick tug until you feel the material fall away. His hand creeps up your back, pulling at the strings holding your top together around your back and neck until they, too, fall away.

Joel walks the two of you forward until your back collides with the rough stone of the pool wall. He presses a muscular thigh between your legs, boxing you in with his body. Your hips jerk at the sudden pressure and friction against your bare pussy, a moan slipping from your lips as Joel presses kisses to your jaw and neck, nipping the delicate skin with his teeth.

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver dance down your spine despite the Texas heat. “Those sounds are just for me, isn’t that right?”

You nod your head quickly and he rewards you with another toe curling kiss. Your hips rock against his thigh and he swallows every little whimper as his hands explore your body.

“Joel,” you whine. His fingers pinch and pull your nipples before he soothes them with sweet circles of his calloused thumb.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks. One of his hands slides across your thigh and your breath hitches as he brings it dangerously close to your pussy before trailing it back down. “You need somethin’?”

“Need you to touch me.”

“That right? You want me to take care of that pretty little pussy?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Please.”

“So polite. Where’s all that attitude from earlier, hm?” Joel asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. You narrow your eyes at him.

“I can be rude, Miller. You want that instead?”

“Trust me, I know, but I think I like you better when you’re beggin’ for me,” he replies with a grin.

Joel’s hands grab onto your waist and he hoists you up onto the ledge. His broad shoulders press against the back of your thighs and his arms drape across your hips. He smiles at you, mouth tauntingly close to where you’re desperate for relief. You lean back on your elbows, the concrete warm against your bare skin and the sun washing over you.

“How about you show me those nice manners one more time?” He asks.

You grit your teeth. “Joel, I swear to god I will go inside and lock you out–”

Your threats are cut off by your startled moan as he licks through your folds, broad swipes of his tongue from your fluttering entrance to your aching clit. His sweet brown eyes are sinful as he looks up at you from between your thighs, devouring your pussy like his last meal. His nose rubs against your clit each time his tongue dips inside of you and you’re quickly reduced to a writhing mess.

You shift your weight to one arm and reach down with the other to tangle your fingers into his hair. He moans appreciatively against your cunt, the vibrations making you keen. When your hips start to fight against his hold, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking and rolling it with his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that,” you babble, trying to keep your voice down as you balance right on the edge of your orgasm. He hums again, tongue swirling over your clit until that final thread snaps and you free fall into oblivion, fingers curling tightly against his scalp and making him groan as he works you through your release.

Your limbs go boneless in the aftermath and you collapse against the ground, an arm over your eyes to block out the sun. You hear the sound of water sloshing before Joel lays beside you on his back, arms beneath his head. He turns to look at you, his bright smile making your heart flutter in your chest.

And when he extends an arm out for you to snuggle up against him, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller isn’t such a bad neighbor after all.

“What do you mean you thought I was the asshole?!” Joel asks indignantly as he leaves your bathroom. He’s got a towel held up around his waist and you’re finding it hard to concentrate on his words at this exact moment.

You’ve just finished showering together after your outdoor activities, where you returned his poolside favor with some attention of your own. Now, you’re laying on the bed in your own towel, tired from the sun and the sex.

You’ve also just admitted that you thought he was the worst neighbor. An asshole even. And now he’s looking at you like you’re insane.

“You stole my internet!” He exclaims.

“You can’t prove that,” you reply, maybe a bit too quickly. He raises an eyebrow at you, but you refuse to back down.

“Fine, but you put all those twigs and shit on my porch.”

“They were from your tree, I was simply…returning your property.”

“And the cats?” He crosses his arms. “Because of you, my flowerbeds look like shit and I’ve lost two planters.”

“Not my fault they can sense you’re the weak link. They’re asserting their dominance. Hiss at them or something,” you say with a shrug.

Joel gapes at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look, it’s water under the bridge now, right? What can I do to make it up to you?”

He’s silent for a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“Where’s that toy you bought, sweetheart?”

_________________

Joel’s got you on your back, your wireless vibrator placed snugly inside of your and against your clit. You’re glaring at him because he’s stopped you from another orgasm. He’s quickly becoming obsessed with that fire in your eyes and the curl of your lip when you’re mad at him.

He presses a trail of kisses from your ankle to the inside of your thighs, nipping the sensitive skin close to your pussy just to hear you gasp. He continues across your abdomen and your breasts, stopping to lavish attention to each sensitive nipple, your back arching against him for more.

“Joel,” you whine, squirming beneath him. He stretches up to capture your lips in a kiss, your lips dragging across his in the most addicting way. His cock slides against the smooth skin of your hip, making him groan. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the toy back on. “Oh, fuck!”

“Want you to come for me this time, baby,” Joel tells you. “Then I want you to come all over my cock, okay?”

You nod, back bowing and muscles straining as your writhe against the vibrations. Joel sits back on his heels to watch you, the way your mouth is dropped open in a silent shout and how your eyes find his at the exact moment you start to come undone.

“Oh my god,” you pant as Joel swiftly removes the toy, the pink silicone shiny with your release. He tosses it to the side and presses his cock to your fluttering hole, sinking inside of you with a deep groan. Your walls are still clenching with the aftershocks of your orgasm as he begins to thrust, slow and deep.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he growls. He uses a hand to press one of your knees closer to your chest, his fingers wrapped tightly beneath your knee.

The change in angle gets him deeper and his pace grows faster in response to your moans. He can feel you start to pulse around him, each drag of his cock out of your cunt getting harder as your walls squeeze, desperately trying to keep him inside.

“Touch yourself,” Joel commands. “Wanna see you come for me again, pretty girl, come on.”

Your fingers find your clit, swirling through the mess of slick coating your folds. Your eyes are glued to him as you work yourself to the same rhythm of his thrusts. He knows you’re close when your eyes start to flutter, your head dropping back against the mattress and your thighs going tight against his hips.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, just like that,” he growls as you come with a shout of his name. “Christ, you look so damn good.”

You blink at him, your eyes hazy and your smile languid as he chases his own release, using your sensitive cunt for his pleasure. When it gets to be too much, too close, he withdraws, fisting his cock with rough strokes until he comes in thick splashes against your belly.

He collapses on the bed beside you, both of your chests heaving with deep breaths. After a moment, he uses one of the towels to wipe you clean, tossing it to the floor. You glare at him.

“You better put that in the hamper later,” you admonish. He pulls you into his side.

“So, why exactly did you think I was an asshole neighbor?” He asks. To his surprise, you blush, mumbling something he can’t make out. “What?”

“I said because you beat me at the Halloween decorating contest.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. You have the twelve foot skeleton and I’m jealous.”

“I’ll get you as many skeletons as you want,” Joel laughs. You smile at him.

“Sounds good to me, big guy.”

_________________

The following Halloween, there are two twelve foot skeletons in the neighborhood, and they live right next door to each other.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-cat @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @dreamingofdaddydin

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #pre outbreak!joel #enemies to lovers #hot neighbor

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minnielvr · 1 year ago

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DIE FOR YOU ; a hwang hyunjin smau

synopsis : jyp uni's resident "bad boy" hwang hyunjin decides to swoon y/n l/n, not too popular but also well known, as a dare from his friends. what happens when he actually falls for her? genre : college smau!! with written parts. lots of drama but there will also be plenty of fluffy moments! enemies to lovers woohoo!!! pairing : hwang hyunjin x fem! reader featuring : stray kids, yunjin from le sserafim, minji (faceclaim), hanni, & haerin from newjeans, keeho and intak from p1harmony, wonyoung from ive. others may be added as the story continues. warnings : cursing, kys jokes, bullying as a joke, alcohol usage, suggestive jokes, lots of angst tbh. status + updates : this smau is ongoing and updates will be slow af bc im in college and busy! TAGLIST : the taglist is OPEN!! pls comment on this post or send an ask if u wld like to be added!!! playlist : music that reminds me of this series & its characters!! its a mix of like almost every genre so it wont be everyones cup of tea🤷��♀️ also play it on shuffle!! notes : guys i cant stop LOLLLL😛 like i said updates will be hella slow but like this idea has been in my head for saurrr long and i need to get it out NEOW. also guys PLEASE do NOT spam like. you can js comment or reblog instead thank you!!! ────────────────────────────── profiles gangy😜 | FBGM💰 ────────── chapters 1. super shy🙈 2. right guy 3. no y/n stop comeback🥺🥺 4. shes crazy frfr 5. fym EYE happened 6. next time 7. welcome home cheater 8. party 9. plot twist 10. #pussypower 11. y/n asf 12. hehe😈 13. school girl 14. miserable & pretty 15. ilyt ig 16. oh. 17. old ass 18. thinking caps! 19. dont call my girl sweet 20. y/n pls cum 21. iykykykyk

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eddiesghxst · 1 year ago

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PRICE OF FAME (PART 3/12)

ALRIGHTY HERE WE GO !!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie and gareth don't get along and eddie thinks you look cute when you're sleeping

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, alcohol use, maybe gareth's a bitch lol, scary feelings, a sprinkle of fluff, and eddie being down bad in every way, shape, and form <3

word count: 5.3k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Breakfast has been your favorite part of joining Corroded Coffin on tour. Aside from the fluffy, soft, sweet pancakes, grease-dripping bacon, and toe-curling orgasmic coffee, breakfast has always been lighthearted and fun. Richie makes everybody sit at the table together like a family so there can be some sense of normalcy throughout the busy days; it’s nice.

You alternate with your seating, wanting to get to know all of the crew members as best as you can while you have the time, and you’ve had decent conversations amongst some awkward ones. On the first day, you sat next to Mitch, the light coordinator, and listened to his story about how he met his husband. They’re expecting a baby this fall, and you two bounced a few names off each other for him to consider. On the second day, you sat beside Kaylee, the tour stylist, and talked about your college horror stories. On the third day, you sat next to Brandon, a stage manager, and spoke about… well, you don’t really remember because he talked the entire time, and you kind of blanked out. Slowly, you’ve made your way around the table each day, learning little things about the group.

Today, however, there is not the usual lighthearted and familial atmosphere at the table.

You came down to the breakfast hall a bit late from your shower, and the second you stepped into the room, you could sense the tension still hanging from yesterday. You haven’t spoken to or seen Eddie since he confronted Gareth at the studio, and you’re not sure if he’d even want to see you, but you have no choice but to take the only open seat next to him.

You quietly say good morning to everyone, and Richie is the only one who gives you a warm response. “How’d you sleep, birdie?” He questions around a mouthful of eggs. You nod and settle in, “Good, I almost slept through my alarm.” You jokingly admit. Richie chuckles, “1500 thread count sheets will do that to you.” He says, causing the table to erupt in a soft symphony of laughter.

It falls awkwardly silent, and you try your best to avoid glancing at Gareth, but there’s no doubt everybody notices the shiner he’s sporting on his eye. The room is filled with sounds of forks clanking against plates and the quiet mumble of short, faint snippets of conversation until Richie clears his throat, “We’ve got an interview with the press at twelve and rehearsals at three, like always, so do what you need to do before then. We can’t be late for this interview, got it?” He reminds the crew, and everybody’s head nods in understanding, all but one.

“I’m not going.”

All eyes turn to Gareth, a full plate sitting untouched before him as he slumps back in his seat. Beside you, Eddie lights a cigarette, and you opt to busy yourself with taking a bite of your French toast, practically feeling the anger radiating from Eddie as he takes a drag. Richie clears his throat once again, scooting closer to the table and tilting his head with a look of confusion, “Um… why not?” He questions.

Gareth glances at him as best as he can with his black eye, “Because I’ve got an eye the size of a tennis ball on my face, Richie.” Everyone at the table seems to uncomfortably shift now that the elephant in the room has been addressed. Eddie doesn’t waste a second to speak up from beside you, “Nothing you didn’t deserve.” For the first time since yesterday, Eddie looks at Gareth and sees the swollen eye he left from yesterday. Eddie doesn’t show a single hint of regret.

The table returns to quietly eating as Gareth ignores Eddie’s comment, “I’m not going.” He reiterates. Richie sighs and rubs the coarse mustache on his face, “You have to go, Gareth. Just put some shades on.” He suggests, returning to his food as if the conversation finished, but Gareth holds up. “I’m not gonna sit there in shades like a fucking idiot, man.”

“Well, you don’t have a choice, son,” Richie snaps, dropping the fork in his plate to look at Gareth. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole, and you’re sure you’re not the only person with that wish when you look at the other crew members at the table. “This band has an album coming soon,” he reminds the group, “We don’t have time for rumors and gossip to start circulating; you need to show up as a unit. This isn’t up for debate.”

The conversation could’ve ended there because, quite frankly, it seemed like Gareth was willing to go with it, but Eddie couldn’t let the moment to say something slip, “Just let him go, Rich.” He shrugs. You glance at Eddie, watching as he taps his cigarette ash into his plate, “It’s not like he brings much to the table anyway.”

Across the table, from the corner of your eye, you see Gareth lean forward to glare at Eddie, “The fuck does that mean?” He snaps.

Eddie looks at Gareth for the second time and shrugs, “Means you’re a shit band member, man. Fuckin’ Mitch has done more for this band than you ever have or could’ve done.” He gestures towards Mitch, ignoring when the man slightly cowers in his seat. Gareth looks at Eddie with a stone-cold glare, saying nothing momentarily and letting the thick blanket of silence curl around everyone's neck. He leans forward and points a finger at Eddie, who’s not even looking at him anymore, “Fuck you. You wonder why Chrissy left you for Jason Carver, it’s because you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, guys–” Jeff tries to interject, but Gareth continues speaking, “At least Jason acknowledges her. That’s more than you ever did.” He jabs. Eddie chuckles, shaking his head before speaking around a cloud of smoke, “You don’t know shit about me and Chrissy.”

Gareth tauntingly laughs, “Nah, she filled me in quite a fuckin’ bit.”

The invisible ticking time bomb seems to have gone off in Eddie’s mind. He stands up from his chair, a loud screeching noise grating everyone's ears as he flicks his cigarette into his plate, “The fuck did you just say?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Richie interjects, standing up and raising his hands as a gesture to stop. “Enough. Fucking enough,” he glances between the two heated men in annoyance, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you boys, but you need to figure your shit out on your own time.” He snaps. Your hands rest in your lap, anxiously picking at the seam of your jeans, wanting to shrink into your seat because you can’t help but feel as if this is your fault. It was your journal he read anyway; you play some part in the issue, right?

Richie sits back down with an exhaustive huff, picking up his fork to resume eating, but before he picks up a piece of his food, he gestures at the table, “Either sit down and finish your goddamn meal, or fuck off somewhere. Both of you.”

Eddie stands for a moment before deciding to leave without another word.

By the time the press interview rolls around, you’re more anxious than you thought you’d be. Between the time frame of breakfast and now, you had more than enough time to ponder over the messy situation you’ve accidentally created between Gareth and Eddie.

Truthfully, you had no idea that the Chrissy Gareth had mentioned during your conversation was Eddie’s ex-girlfriend Chrissy; hell, you didn’t even know Eddie had an ex-girlfriend named Chrissy until yesterday!

On one of your few sit-downs with Gareth, you ended up discussing his love life, and you took the leap of faith to ask him if he’d ever been in love.

“…There was one girl. Her name was Chrissy; we went to high school together.”

“You dated?” “No,” Gareth shakes his head, “No, we never dated. But I always had this weird connection with her… like we understood each other in a deeper way.”

You smile in awe of the sweetness behind his words, jotting down little notes in your journal as he speaks. “I always admired her to an extent, but she, uh,” he clears his throat and scratches at his jaw, “she was in another relationship for most of the time I knew her.”

Gareth silently watches as you continue to write. You look up at him when you realize he’s been silent for a while, and you open your mouth to ask what is wrong, but he speaks before you, “Is this um,” he gestures towards your journal, “this bit isn’t going in the final publish, right?” He asks. You tilt your head, a few questions running through your mind, but you brush them off, “Um… well, I suppose I can leave some of it out, yes.”

Gareth nods, shifting in his chair and clearing his throat. “Okay, good. Um… well, anyways,” he begins, “Me and Chrissy didn’t hook up until I went back to Hawkins during our break off from last year's tour.”

Ultimately, Gareth had explained that Chrissy had recently left a three-year relationship when they’d hooked up. He explained that they crossed paths at a bar, and things took off from there, but he cut it off with her the following morning. He never told you why he cut it off, but you now understand the guilt of betraying his best friend had forced him to do so.

You had no idea that the entire conversation was pertaining to Eddie’s ex; if you had known, you would’ve never written it down. You wouldn’t have even finished the conversation if Gareth had told the whole truth because, quite honestly, you would rather not be in the mix of this disaster.

You’re disappointed. Upset that Gareth practically used you to get the guilt off his chest. And the truth is, that conversation did little to nothing for Gareth in the long run; he still felt guilty for never telling Eddie, and it’s only gotten worse with the added tension between them now that the secret is out.

Eddie was cold toward you before, but now he’s thicker than the ice in Antarctica. He’s avoiding you at all costs— and maybe he’s just avoiding everybody. Still, you can’t help but take his avoidance personally, especially when you’d thought you were finally reaching some sort of middle ground with him.

You sit off to the side of the stage with the rest of the band’s crew as you watch them take their seats for the press interview. Eddie sits on one end of the table while Gareth sits at the other end, the other two members filling the two seats in between. Gareth had no choice but to cover his black eye with a dark shade of glasses, and it seemed like nobody paid mind to it— typical rockstar wardrobe and all.

The interview was off to a good start, with reporters asking questions about the upcoming album, life on the road, and relatively anything about the music. Near the end, however, is when things seemed to get rocky. The questions became more of a filler than anything important, and boys were evidently tired of answering. It wasn’t until a journalist asked a specific question that things seemed to reach a tipping point.

“There’s been rumors that this album has more love songs than usual. Could you confirm or deny that?”

The boys look at each other, and Gareth leans forward to respond, but Eddie beats him to it. “There were a few, yeah, but um… They didn’t make the final cut, so maybe next time.”

The energy vividly shifts amongst the boys; Gareth looks at Eddie and scoffs before leaning back into his chair, clearly throwing in the towel for the rest of the interview. You don’t understand the apparent dispute just now, but you find out when the boys finish the interview and walk into the green room.

“What the fuck, man?” Gareth spits, walking a few paces behind Eddie. “We’re not cutting the song.” His loud voice booms through the room, not caring if anybody will overhear their dispute.

“I’m not putting a song out that you wrote about my fucking ex-girlfriend, Gareth. Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eddie snaps.

Richie turns to the band and crew members and motions for them to leave the room, which nobody even bothers to protest, eager to escape any more awkward conversations for the day. Everybody else makes a beeline for the tour bus, planning to fill in the few hours before rehearsal.

You glance back at the room where Eddie and Gareth are bickering, and you bravely choose to sit in the chair outside the doorway. You try not to stick your nose in their business, but they’re arguing loud enough for you to hear snippets either way. The conversation doesn’t last long before Gareth storms out of the room and down the hall, bursting through the doors and out of sight.

You glance back into the room where Eddie stands, fishing out his pack of cigarettes and sparking up. You figure now is better than ever, so you clench your bag strap and stand up, hesitantly stepping into the room. Clearing your throat once you’re a few steps away from Eddie, you watch as he exhales a cloud of smoke. He glances at you and turns away, “What do you want?”

You take one step closer, “I um… I wanted to apologize.” You begin. He looks at you again, brown eyes tired and riddled with pain— and you can’t imagine how much of a whirlwind the past twenty-four hours have been for him. “For what?” He asks, confusion and annoyance laced within his tone.

He’s turned to face you, shiny chains glistening on his hips beneath the building lights. You shake your head, struggling to find the words, because, was this really even your fault?

You obviously can’t apologize for Gareth fucking his ex-girlfriend— you had no part in that— and it’d seem silly to apologize for accidentally dropping your journal. So, what exactly do you apologize for? How do you let him know that you’re sorry this was how he found out, even if it isn’t entirely your fault?

You decide to try and redirect your wording, “I want you to know that I was never going to put that in the final article.” You say.

Eddie scoffs, taking a drag of his cigarette before responding, “And why would I believe that?” He questions.

He’s gazing at you like the first night you’d met when he was watching you from across the green room and commanding you to leave. You think he has the same intentions now, but Eddie has yet to learn that you’re stubborn.

“Well, for starters, Gareth asked me not to put it in,” you admit. Eddie’s jaw tenses and part of you feels as if you’ve tossed Gareth under the bus, but you had no choice. This was Gareth’s doing, and if you have to tell the ugly truth to save your image, then so be it. “He didn’t tell me why, but I know now. And now that I know the full truth behind that story, I definitely won’t write it in.”

Eddie watches you momentarily, intense eyes burning holes through you before he turns away. He scratches his jaw for a moment, taking a breath before returning to you. Eddie points to you, the burning cigarette hanging between his fingers as he speaks, “You know,” he begins, “somehow, you’ve managed to persuade everyone that you’re some sweet, innocent small-town journalist that just wants to ‘appreciate the artists,’ but that,” he gestures to your bag where he knows your journal is resting, ashes fluttering to the ground with each wave of his hand.

“That proved everything I believed about you.” He says. “People like you are fucking vampires. You suck the life out of people to keep you alive, and it’s fucked up.” He snaps.

Your face twists in anger, subtly shaking your head as you subconsciously step closer, “Eddie, I didn’t… I didn’t even know she was your ex, and if I did, I would’ve never written about it.” You exclaim, tossing your hands in exasperation. “And I’m sorry you found out the way you did, but you can’t hate me for something someone else did!”

Eddie frustratedly rubs his face, “That’s not the point!” He exclaims. “I read your journal. I saw everything I needed to see to confirm that I was right about everything with you and this fucking article.” He stresses, his loud voice echoing throughout the empty room.

“I'm not here to destroy your life, Eddie!” You snap, voice raising to match the level of his own. Eddie steps closer, towering over you and glaring so intensely into your eyes that you almost cower, “I don’t fucking believe that for a second.” He snaps back.

His chest rises and sinks like a rocky boat beneath his angry breaths, and he’s so close you can smell the cigarettes and mint on his breath. The scent of his cologne wrapping around you and choking you like a snake.

You don’t know how much more patient you can be with Eddie. You don’t know how much more of this back-and-forth you can take before it drives you insane. You want it to end. You want him to understand that you’re not his enemy; you never were.

You can only think of doing one thing: unzipping your bag and reaching in to grab your journal. Eddie watches with a hint of confusion in his eyes as you crack open the journal and start flipping through the pages. “What are you doing?” He asks in annoyance, patience running thin at your silence.

You flip through nearly half of the book before finding the pages you sought. You don’t think twice before ripping them out, not even caring if it destroys the binds of your precious journal. “The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks again.

You tear each page out and drop the book to the floor, ignoring Eddie’s questions as you shred each torn-out page to pieces. Eddie watches in silent and hidden shock as each pen-soaked strip flutters to the ground, creating a heap of trash between where you both stand.

You tear the last piece and let it fall before looking at Eddie, watching as he gazes at the torn pages. Nearly five pages worth of writing, gone.

“There. It’s gone. Do you believe me now?”

Eddie says nothing when he drags his gaze up to look at you, shock-ridden across his face. “I’m not who you say I am, Eddie. I’m not here to ruin your life; that was never my intention.”

Eddie stays silent, seemingly lost for words, and even if you want him to say something, your braveness has begun to falter, and you itch to leave the room. You’re strong-willed, but you’re no fucking superwoman, and Eddie has pulled every exhausting breath out of you, and you can’t seem to get a grip because every time you breathe in, all you smell and feel is Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

You grab your destroyed journal from the floor, not bothering to try and fix the binding before you shove it back into your bag, and you don’t say another word as you leave the room.

You’ve been writing for hours when you check the clock— twelve thirty-two. The band played a show tonight, but you decided to stay in your hotel to let your ankle rest— you haven’t been taking all the precautions the medic advised you to, so by the time lunch rolled around, you were in an uncomfortable fit of pain. You used your free time by tweaking the draft of your article— adding in new pieces of information and taking out unnecessary notes. You’re about twenty pages in, but by the end of the month, you’ll have compiled it all into ten; but for now, it seems your brain has become a muddled mess of words and ideas.

You suppose drinking three glasses of wine didn’t help fix that, either. You’re tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, and that’s a dangerous place to be when you’re practically working. You don’t even want to think of the past drunken works you’ve made; they’re worse than you’d like to admit.

You sigh, dropping your pen onto the hotel desk, leaning back in your chair, and rubbing your hand down your face in exhaustion. You glance over to the chair you’ve propped up to rest your injured leg, deciding that you should probably ice it since you’ve neglected to do so all day.

You figure you’re done writing for the day anyway, so you put your things in order before grabbing the ice bucket and making your way out of the room to find the ice machine.

What you don’t expect to find on your journey is a sleepy Eddie sitting in the hallway just a few doors down from yours. Maybe you drank four glasses of wine.

Out of common, drunk courtesy, you redirect your path and limp over to where he sits, arms folded across his chest and head leaned back against the wall with shut eyes.

You gently say his name to grab his attention, but he doesn’t budge. You shuffle closer, calling his name out again, and when that doesn’t work, you gently nudge him with your non-injured foot. His eyes flutter open, blinking away the light sleep from his eyes as he looks at you.

You tilt your head in question and ask, “What are you doing sleeping in the hallway?”

Eddie shifts in his spot, grunting and glancing at the bucket in your hands. From the looks of it, Eddie is as sober as can be, so you guess he decided to skip out on the after-show festivities they usually partake in. “I um… I lost the key card to my room.” He explains, gesturing to the door across from where he’s seated.

“The band is out for the night, and the lobby’s closed, so…”

You nod in understanding, glancing around the empty hallway, catching sight of a cleaning lady entering a room down the corridor. And technically, you don’t owe Eddie anything.

You could leave him here in the hallway to spend the night sleeping on the hard ground, and it probably wouldn’t bother him either way because Eddie clearly doesn’t like you, but fuck you feel bad.

You’re not a terrible person. You wouldn’t kick somebody when they’re already down, and Eddie… Eddie is clearly down.

Before you can thoroughly think it over, your liquor-weighted mouth speaks before you can stop yourself, “You could crash in my room for the night.”

Eddie looks at you with the blankest expression he could ever muster and blinks, “Why would I do that?”

God, he’s such a fucking asshole.

You shrug, gently swinging the bucket in your hand and glancing around again, “I don’t know, unless you'd like to sit here all night like a moron, then be my guest.”

Your ankle hurts as you stand and wait for Eddie to make up his mind, and just when you almost decide to throw in the towel and let him fend for himself, Eddie grumbles a short “Fine,” and gets up.

You watch as he reaches down to grab his leather jacket and turns to you, “You can go ahead; I have to get ice for my foot.” You tell him, pointing to your door so he knows where to go.

Eddie glances down at your injured leg and says nothing before he reaches forward and gently takes the bucket from your hands— cold, jewelry-covered fingers brushing up against your warm knuckles and sending shivers up your spine.

He hands you his jacket, and you stand silently, confused by the exchange. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he answers your question, “I’ll get the ice.” And he doesn’t even bother looking at you before turning around and leaving to find the ice machine.

You’re too drunk to figure out what that was about, and your ankle is starting to throb under the pressure of standing, so you walk back to your room clutching his jacket and trying your hardest not to let the familiar scent of Eddie knock you dead.

You leave the door slightly propped open for Eddie and place his jacket on the chair near the desk. In the meantime, you busy yourself with removing your suitcase and clothes you’d haphazardly tossed around from the extra bed where Eddie will be sleeping. You figure you’ll just head to bed once Eddie gets here, so you exchange your jeans and fitted top for shorts and a ratty old He-Man shirt from high school.

You’re setting your previous clothes aside when Eddie steps into the room, a bucket full of ice in one hand with a Coke and chips in the other. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the extra items, and he shrugs as he shuts the door with his foot, “What? The vending machine was right next to the ice, and I was hungry.” He explains as he places the bucket on the desk, making sure to avoid placing it on your work pages. He tries his best not to look at what you’ve written, and you don’t point it out when he clears his throat and diverts his attention to something else. He grabs the wine bottle and shakes it, raising an eyebrow when he realizes it’s less than halfway full, “I take it someone had a good time?”

You roll your eyes, walking over to take the bottle and put it back on the desk. “Not that it’s any of your business.” You respond, turning to grab a ziplock to fill with ice. Eddie takes the bag from you and shoos you away, “Go sit down, I’ll do it.”

Your face twists in confusion, “You’re starting to scare me. Are you gonna kill me?”

Eddie laughs and busies himself with scooping large chunks of ice and dropping them into the open ziplock. “I will if you don’t sit down.” He responds.

You relent and walk over to your bed, sitting at the head of the mattress to lean against the pillows near the headboard, doing your best to shove a pillow beneath your foot lazily. You sit silently, hands folded against your stomach, watching Eddie work.

He’s wearing his usual black jeans, decorated with hanging chains from his waist, and a plain white shirt, hidden muscles flexing beneath the soft cotton. His shoulders are broad yet hidden beneath the thick, curly mane of hair he has. Tattoos litter his arms, a few trickling down to his fingers, and you catch glimpses of his knuckles dripping with drops of water from the ice and— fuck.

There’s no way you’re checking out Eddie Munson, the asshole who’s made your life a living hell these past few weeks. You really can’t handle your liquor.

You panic and grab the TV remote, quickly turning it on to fill the silence. You distract yourself by watching the random sitcom playing until Eddie steps into your view. You must’ve been focused on the show because Eddie seems to have traveled to the restroom to get a towel to wrap around your makeshift ice pack. Your sheets are pulled back, leaving your bare legs on display, and you can’t help but squirm when Eddie stands at the foot of the bed and takes in the sight of you.

He says nothing as he gently lowers the ice onto your ankle. His inked fingers sink into the plush cotton of the towel, and if Eddie weren’t an artist, you bet he could land a job as a hand model. Or maybe you’ve really lost it.

His gaze flickers to catch your wide eyes, and you hold your breath when he speaks, “Is it too cold? Do you need another towel?” He asks. You stutter to answer him, so you shake your head no, eventually sputtering out a response of, “N-no, it’s fine. Thank you.”

Eddie turns to grab his snacks and falls into the other bed with a sigh, cracking open the bag of chips and popping a few into his mouth. You grimace and pull the sheets over your body as you comment, “If you bring ants to my room, I swear to god, Munson, I’ll hunt you down.”

Eddie chuckles, glancing at you as you shift around and get comfortable in bed, “Not with that broken foot, you won’t.”

You glare at him over the heap of expensive duvets and pillows, “I wonder whose fault that is?” You respond, falling back into bed when you see him roll his eyes.

Eddie clears his throat after a moment, “Speaking of that,” he begins; you peek over at him once again to watch as he puts the chips aside and grabs the remote to start flicking through channels. “Since we’re off these next four days, you should keep it light on your feet.”

You sarcastically laugh, “Don’t tell me you’re actually concerned for my well-being. This night keeps getting weirder and weirder.” You joke. Eddie pauses his task to glance at you, “No, I just…” You raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue. He rolls his eyes, “I’m not a complete asshole, you know?” He grumbles, turning back to the TV.

You’re snuggled into your sheets now as you watch Eddie flip through the channels, admiring how different features of his face light up under the different colors from the screen. He’s… pretty.

“What do you have planned for your days off?” You question behind a drawn-out yawn. You think you catch a glimpse of a smile on Eddie’s lips, but you can’t see very well in the dim lighting. “My Uncle Wayne is flying in, so… I’m spending time with him,” Eddie explains. You smile, “Your uncle?”

Eddie nods, and you hum, “That’s nice… Can I meet him?”

You’re never drinking wine again.

Eddie looks at you as if you’ve asked him the dumbest question on earth, “Why would… why?”

You shrug, “Maybe he’ll help me figure out why you’re such a grump.” You half-heartedly tease. Eddie scoffs, returning to watch the movie he’s landed on, “If you think I’m grumpy, you’re not equipped to meet Wayne.” He comments. And then something remarkable happens.

Eddie smiles to himself.

It’s small and obviously not meant for your eyes, but you see it either way, and it… fuck, it makes you feel things you would’ve never imagined you could for such an asshole of a man. What is going on?

“He can’t be any worse than you.” You joke. Eddie scoffs, “Nah, Wayne takes the cake for grumpiest man alive,” he bids.

Eddie tells you about Wayne, little memories he remembers that bleed into more memories until, eventually, he’s practically taking a walk down memory road. You go back and forth with him, commenting when you had a similar situation or when Eddie mentioned the same show you loved in high school.

At some point, Eddie’s stories and the low hum of the TV lull you to sleep, and you find yourself lying in cotton candy clouds, sinking into the softness and letting it surround you.

Eddie’s not sure when you checked out on him, but he figures he’d been talking to himself for a while because you're fast asleep when he looks over at you.

He watches you for a moment and appreciates the way the blue and white hues of the TV dance across your face. Your skin looks soft under the fluorescent lights, and he thinks the steady rise and fall of your breaths is more entertaining than any movie he could’ve landed on. And you’re so pretty— soft and molded to perfection, and Eddie thinks he might like you more like this; when you’re not talking and being the most obnoxious person he’s ever met. Eddie hates the feeling he gets in his chest from just looking at you.

You’re cute, he thinks.

He shakes his head to free himself from whatever weird feelings are spiraling through his mind, and he turns off the TV, letting the darkness swallow the room.

He’ll just have to worry about his feelings another time, he thinks.

��———

part four

————

a/n: HII U MADE IT TO THE END, U CAN ALL THANK MY STINK @mmunson86 FOR THE TINY PIECE OF FLUFF, THIS WAS FOR U BAE <3 ANYWAYS, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2 @mvnsonslvt @s-u-t

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jjungkookislife · 3 months ago

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Call Out My Name

pairing: hero!joon x villain!reader

genre: angst, hero au, 18+

summary: Local hero, RM, calls out your name, not your alias.

wc: 1k

warnings: crimes (mostly theft), fighting, violence, reader has fireballs that shoot from her hands, mention of death

date: September 12, 2024

Three years you’d been fighting the irksome RM, in his black hero costume that showed off his amazing pecs.

Three long years of fighting over your crimes, your desire for more, your desire to win.

Time after time RM had come to stop you. It seemed he’d find you at the drop of a dime, always there even before the cops were called or the alarms blared in annoyance to ruin your scheme.

You paid it no mind. Your eyes were set on sparkling jewels, loaded bank vaults, and the jets of the rich and famous. Stacks and stacks of cash fill one of your homes by the sea, a secret destination only you knew about.

RM arrives at the rooftop as the blades from your acquired helicopter make it hard to hear anything except the blaring of the alarms from the bank store ten floors below. You’re so close to your escape, your sidekick sitting in the helicopter waiting for you before he takes off. Time is ticking, he won’t wait forever.

You toss the money bags toward him, ignoring RM’s shouts for you to cease.

“That doesn’t belong to you!” He shouts and you barely make out the words over the helicopter blades.

“Everything can belong to me if I take it, sweetheart,” you grin as you prepare to step into the helicopter to your escape.

RM throws his rope with the grappling hook at the end and catches your villain suit, tugging you toward him.

What a fool.

You knew better than to turn your back on an enemy.

What a rookie mistake.

Your body soars through the air but you spin and catch yourself on your fingertips, much like a cat landing on its feet. You’re agile, able to slink unnoticed most of the time but RM is always at the right place at the wrong time.

Something about him has always struck a chord inside you. That’s possibly why you did your best not to harm him too roughly. He had a strong physique but his heart seemed tender, especially when it came to you. He always softened his punches when it came to a fistfight.

“You always have to ruin my plans, RM! This is the last time you do,” you announce as you rip the hook and toss it over the edge of the building. Your heels click as they cross the distance between you, your eyes locked on his.

RM huffs, his arm blocking the punch you try to land. You curse, immediately going for another punch before the two of you fight and land blows against his concrete chest.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” RM goads as he dodges a punch and then a kick to the shin. You growl, ducking and diving to avoid his hits.

You flip back twice and then forward once. You need to distract him long enough to get into the air.

RM approached you but you flipped forward as he took steps backward to avoid your kicks and the fireballs aimed at him.

He teeters on the edge of the building, losing his balance and falling off the roof.

You watch in horror, frozen in your spot. You never meant to kill him.

Your name fills the air in a terrified shout. Not your villain alias, your real name. Your heart thunders in your ears as your name is called out once more.

You approach the edge of the building. RM grips the edge, his body dangling as he looks up at you with a pleading look. His grip loosens, he looks down, his fingers slipping off the edge as he meets your gaze one last time.

His hand lets go.

You catch him by the hand before he can plummet.

“You know my name,” You state as you pull him over the edge and onto the roof. The helicopter blades grow louder as your sidekick takes off leaving you behind, but you don’t give a damn as you stare at those deep brown eyes that make your heart flip.

“I’ve always known your name,” Namjoon responds as he removes his mask. “How could I not?”

Your childhood friend stands before you, his dark hair falling over his eyes. Those familiar dragon eyes that make your heart skip a beat.

“You knew,” you whisper as you fall to your knees. Your hands tremble as you place them on your lap. Your crimes had almost led to your best friend's death.

Namjoon watches you intently, approaching you. He throws his mask as far away as possible. You can’t face him. You won’t.

You rise to your feet, running away from him.

Namjoon calls out your name, but you don’t stop running. You jump from one building to the next with him hot on your tail.

“Please,” he grips your arms when he finally catches you. “Don’t run from me.”

“You could have died!” you screech, tears rolling down your cheeks. “You almost died! I almost lost you, Joon!”

“But you didn’t! Okay?! You didn’t. I’m right here,” Namjoon holds you tighter, pulling you into his broad chest as you sob. Your arms wrap around him as he rubs your back. “I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so, sorry.”

“Shh,” Namjoon hushes you as he holds you.

“How long did you know?” you ask in between hiccups as you wipe your eyes.

“Since you first ran out of the house with your mask in your hand. You stole that black diamond from the museum downtown.” Namjoon shakes his head.

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because I love you,” Namjoon answers honestly. “I’ve always loved you.”

You’re left speechless.

Namjoon doesn’t expect an answer from you as he takes a step back.

“You can’t have your life of crime and me. It’s one or the other,” Namjoon states firmly as he heads to the edge of the building.

“Namjoon!” you shout, chasing after him.

Namjoon smiles, “Just call out my name when you’ve decided.”

“Don’t go!” You yell, new tears pooling in your eyes.

He doesn’t stop, instead he throws himself over the building. You scream his name as you race to the edge, your heart dropping to your feet before you see Namjoon land on his feet and take off down the road.

“Namjoon,” you whisper. “I choose you. I’ll always choose you.”

#namjoon fanfic #namjoon angst #joon fanfic #namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader insert #namjoon x you #hero!namjoon

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newwritergirl · 9 months ago

Text

Masterlist

Top Gun: Maverick

Starting over (ongoing)

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |

Y/n once lived in hell, until she gets to know that there’s another life for her, far away from pain and tears.

Jake and Bradley living their bachelor life in a cozy house in Miramar, until a young woman and her baggage falls into their life.

TW: past abusive relationship, hurt/sick reader, angst, protective Jake and Bradley, maybe polyrelationship in the future

Chicago PD

On the brink (ongoing, not abadoned, I'm just in the flow with my Topgun fic right now)

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

When a case hits too close to home, is Jay able to keep it together or is he going to lose everything.

TW: best friend Jay, OC Lilian Grace Harper, asthma, protective Kevin, Adam and Antonio, Jay being and asshole at some time, friends to enemies to lovers, idiots in love, canon divergence!

The Rookie

The mistakes we make |one shot|

Tim Bradford x OC

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silantryoo · 2 years ago

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PR STUNT ; kim minji

idol! kim minji x fem! le sserafim! reader

SYNOPSIS ; y/n didn’t hate kim minji, but because of some idiot decided to out their ‘relationship’ and the need to cover up their senior's scandal, she gets caught in a not-so-ideal situation. she just hopes that she can get through it without any problems.

TAGS ; idol x idol! reader, reader is related to kim jennie (doesn’t appear here), daddy issues, wlw, angst, fluff, idol au, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, crack, smau, happy ending

WARNINGS ; strong language, drama, cyberbullying, death threats, mentions of iz*one disbandment, overworking, mentions of emotional abuse, underlying mental illness

FEATURING ; newjeans, le sserafim, ahn yujin, mentions of ex-iz*one members, ive, bts, txt’s soobin, nmixx’s jang kyujin

STATUS ; COMPLETED!

PLAYLIST!!

PROFILES. LE SARAH FIN. NEW SKIRTS.

CHAPTERS.

00. assert my dominance

01. fuck dispatch

02. kkura-unnie can pull?

03. what a whore

04. problem??

05. KIM JENNIE?

06. it begins

07. feral hyein

bonus: the publicity date

08. no dating (y/n vers.) pt.1

09. no dating (y/n vers.) pt.2

10. not a date (minji vers.)

11. pr the airbender

12. bridgit mendler-sunbaenim

13. baby’s first scandal

14. #goinginsane

15. pre-(not)date checkup

16. not date dos + new cast member?

17. ahn yujin, emotional support dog

18. wrong acc mb

19. bestie zone

20. the public knows (TW)

bonus: iz*one’s ahn yujin?

21. ahn yujin appreciator

22. best unnie, yunjin-unnie

23. good luck y/n

24. coupling

25. blind much?

26. wait why are they cute?

27. phoning w/ minji + y/n

28. privileges obtained

29. third wheel

30. r u stupid?

bonus: minji the simp

31. dreams are (not) a girls best friend

32. i’ll break your knees

33. #nongfproblems

34. y/n’s kazuha era

35. ily

36. fruity

37. food poisoning(?)

38. realizations

bonus: brain cells at work

39. #notpooingjustspilling

bonus: siri, how do you deal with daddy issues? (TW)

40. best unnie, yunjin-unnie (pt.2)

41. honey, you’ve got a storm coming

42. Ioml <3

43. best (non)girlfriend

44. feral… y/n?

45. *MY GIRL

46. hanni pham, the homophobe

47. running in circles

48. WHY DO YOU HATE ME??

49. the start of the end

50. confessions of an idiot (pt.1)

51. confessions of an idiot (pt.2)

52. confessions of an idiot (pt. 3)

bonus: confessions of an idiot (irl)

53. WE DID IT

54. Y/N-SUNBAE ILY

55. death to jang kyujin

56. break up era

57. it was fun while it lasted

epilogue, after three months

epilogue bonus: after three months (pt. 2)

XTRA: happy new year, unnie

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@fav9yu @gojosrug @lizseos @captivq @invusblog @writingficsblog @wonyoluvr @limbforalimb @lethalvenus @archerheejin @bibrinastan @ahnneyong @theeyoon @phamminji @chaersly @misumiausworld @afiaaaa19 @yumtooki @oshyci @txtbrainrot @falling-intoo-deep @0310lvr @yizhoutv @rinpopz @serenitygrace24 @noiacha @marimo-anura @sserajeans @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @rd0265667 @li0ilthecxnt @dmndtears @rosiehrs @yeridaenggi @spritin @cecedrake2217 @meltingbluess @jeonsy98 @haerinstolemyhrt @ssambf @awkwardtoafault @babycubchae @perfectsunlight @forever-in-the-sky2

#kim minji x reader #minji x reader #newjeans x reader #new jeans x reader #le sserafim x reader #newjeans smau #smau #idol x reader #silantryo

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macbethsymphony · 6 months ago

Text

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 25

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 5.6k

Chapter rating: NSFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, SMUT

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3

Chapter 25: Harmony

You’d both been awake for a while, the soft patter of rain against the windows providing a comforting backdrop to the tranquil morning. Neither of you spoke. Lost in your thoughts, the silence was warm. Your head rested on his chest, the gentle thud of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby that threatened to lull you back to sleep as his hand traced delicate patterns on your back.

You nestled closer, melting into him somehow more than before. His fingers traveled down along your spine before roaming back up, settling at your nape, tangling in your hair. The sensation was both grounding and comforting, a silent communication. You shifted, legs intertwining with his as you looked up at him, your eyes finding his.

He tilted his head, lips meeting your forehead in a tender kiss. The warmth of the gesture sent a ripple of contentment through you.

“You know,” you started, your voice still thick with sleep. “About Yokubari, I’m not opposed to letting you try again once you feel you’re ready... And about Wado Ichimonji,“ you trailed off for an instant looking for the right words. He quirked an eyebrow, evidently amused at the thought that you were already thoroughly thinking about swords the moment you woke up. “If you’re not ready to let me study it, I can wait.” You felt the low rumble of his chuckles beneath your palm as you carried on. “I know it’s special to you, our deal doesn’t really matter.”

He smiled down at you. Your breath caught at the sight. He was pretty like that. You could see the almost imperceptible freckles on his cheeks, the warmth in his gaze, the satisfaction on his lips.

“You don’t have to wait.” His hands roamed down against the curves of your body, stopping at the back of your thighs, right before the slope of your rear. His fingers dug into the softness of your skin as he pulled you closer, shifting you so you settled perfectly on him. His lips almost caressed yours as he spoke on, “My swords are yours.”

You frowned at his words. “I’m serious, Roronoa Zoro.” You pushed yourself up, palm firm against his chest as your gaze locked with his.

He snorted and your frown deepened.

He lifted himself to his elbow, lips meeting yours gently. “So am I,” he murmured, words not far from lost against the backdrop of rain and shuffling sheets.

“No, really,” you protested in a small whine as his hand tangled in your locks once again, as his teeth sank into your lower lip, begging for more. “This is a serious matter.”

He sighed when he realized you weren’t backing down, his breath hot against yours. He slowly sat up, dragging you along so you straddled him. He considered you for an instant, back leaning on the headboard. A chill passed you as you felt the covers fall away from your shoulders, soft cotton caressing bare skin.

For a moment you thought of pulling them back up but the heat in his gaze as he took in the sight unashamedly stopped you, warmth flushing your skin instead. He reached for his swords at the side of the bed. You hadn’t noticed he’d moved them there in the exhaustion of the previous night’s activities. His grip instinctively found Wado Ichimonji, stare never leaving you in the movement.

“Here.” He presented the sheathed sword to you. “As I said, my swords are yours. You can study it.”

Your fingers traced almost reverently the lacquered wood, your eyes sparkling in anticipation at the thought of delving into the intricacies of the steel. Your attention flickered back to him. “Are you sure? You said it’s special.”

He looked distant for a moment but neither his smile nor the resolve in his gaze shifted. “It belonged to a childhood friend,” he started to explain as his fingers wrapped against yours. “We made a promise.” He glided both your hands along the scabbard, stopping close to the guard. “That one of us was going to become the world’s greatest swordsman.” His smile faltered, sorrow flickering on his features. “But she died when we were still young.”

“I see.” You didn’t offer sympathies for you knew he wasn’t looking for pity nor consolation, you all had ghosts in your past.

His hand dragged yours to the hilt. “You can study it.” He slowly started to unsheathe the blade.

“Now?” You asked in bewilderment, although unable to hide the hint of excitement in your voice. The metal gleamed in the diffused morning light, your eyes glued to it. You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to suppress the giddiness steadily rising at the thought of studying the sword. Your gaze flickered back to his. “But I don’t have my notebook or anything to write down my observations.”

He chuckled, hands leaving yours, settling on your thighs as he leaned further against the headboard. “You can study it again later,” he said with a cock of his head, amusement clear in his tone. “I want you to tell me what you see.”

You quirked a skeptical eyebrow at his words. “You better not be lying, swordsman,” you mumbled with a squint to your eyes. “I swear if you keep this sword away from me later…”

You expertly sheathed the blade, a clean slate to start your observations. With a deep breath, you centered yourself as you held Wado Ichimonji with a reverence born of admiration. You distantly felt Zoro’s hands drift along your outer thighs, thumb drawing soothing circles, but the sword demanded all your attention.

Your eyes trailed alongst the pure white of the scabbard. “It’s an elegant sword,” you muttered as the tips of your fingers examined the brass fittings. “Beautiful in its simplicity.”

He hummed as your hand glided to the hilt. You traced the guard, it was thicker than you would usually go for, heavy against your palm but flawlessly flowing with the balance. “Does the weight of the tsuba impact how you handle the sword?” You asked him, attention flickering back and forth between the sword and the swordsman.

“Not really,” he answered, touch traveling to your waist, coming back down.

You smiled as you noticed the teeth marks in the silk wrappings of the handle. “Fair, I haven’t even unsheathed the blade and I can already tell the balance is flawless.” Your fingers traced the tight knots, nails catching in the dips and dents left behind by the countless battles he’d fought. “You know I can rewrap the handle for you, the cords are hanging on by a thread in some places.”

Zoro’s low laughter rumbled through his chest. “You think I’d let anyone rewrap my sword’s handle, witch?” he teased, amusement twinkling in his gaze

You couldn’t help the smirk breaking on your lips. “Not just anyone, swordsman.” You rolled your eyes. “I’ll have you know I have every qualification to do so. But I understand if you want to keep it as it is. Every mark tells a story, right?”

His fingers continued their soothing pattern on your waist, skin against skin. “Exactly,” he agreed. “But you’re right. It is hanging by a thread, and if anyone’s to rewrap it, it might as well be you.”

You gave a satisfied nod, unable to deny the warmth that coursed through you at his words. Your attention returned to the sword. In a slow motion you unsheathed it, gently dropping the saya at your side.

Your breath stopped at the sight of steel, heartbeat quickening. “Wado Ichimonji,” you whispered, tips of your fingers tracing the groove separating the deep black and pure white steel in perfect balance. “Straight line through the path of harmony.” You gave it a twirl, eyes moving to the sharpness of the edge. “Magnificent. It holds its name well.”

You balanced it on the tip of your finger a marveled smile gracing your lips as you took in the perfection of its balance.

Your thumb caught on the edge, a bead of blood forming from the small cut momentarily diverting away your attention from the sword. As you brought it to your lips you noticed how his hands roamed across your stomach, your ribs, stopping short of the curve of your breast. Noticed the lust in his gaze, the growing stiffness against your ass.

“Now, now, swordsman.” You smirked against your finger, tone teasing. “Does seeing a naked woman handle your sword turn you on?”

His smirk matched yours. “Maybe it does,” he admitted, his voice holding something primal in its depths.

It sent a burgeoning heat between your legs. You moved to set aside Wado Ichimonji, not wanting to risk any damage to the blade but his hand stopped you.

“Don’t.” He brought the sword back between the two of you. His hands slid down your sides, gesture deliberate and possessive as he pressed you more firmly against him, pinning your hips in place. “I want to hear you continue.” One of his hands shifted lower, thumb tracing your slit. His smirk widened as he felt slick against his fingers, felt you twitch as he found your clit in soft circles.

”I won’t sully Wado Ichimonji’s reputation this way,” you protested.

He simply continued to look upon you, his gaze not leaving yours.

”This blade was forged by the great Shimotsuki Kozaburo, swordsman,” you carried on, voice faltering slightly. “It is a legendary blade, just as much as Shusui is.”

Still nothing, obstinacy evident on his features.

You stifled a whine as you considered it. He pressed a little harder, touch begging for more sounds of pleasure. “You’re impossible,” you complained in a mewl. Your hips almost bucked in answer to his teasing but his grip was firm, grounding you in place. He continued and your eyes fluttered close. Only when he was satisfied by the shameless moan leaving your lips did the intensity of the pressure he exerted on your bundle of nerves relent.

“Go on,” he demanded, the circles against your clit barely perceptible.

“Shit swordsman.” You opened your eyes, drinking in the hunger in his. You swallowed hard at the lust painted on his features, the allure of curiosity mixed with the pulse of desire. “Fuck, fine.” It took all your efforts for your attention to settle back on the blade, low waves of pleasure threatening to divert your focus at any moment. “Its simplicity is deceiving,” you started once again with a determined nod, voice shaky. “It’s the perfect blend between form and function.”

He hummed in encouragement, prompting you on.

“You see how the blade is perfectly separated between the bright white of the sharp edge and the dark black of the shinogi-ji, the dull edge, by the bo-hi, the blood groove.” Your fingers traced the delimitation with reveration. “It tells us a great deal about the steel contents. Mild steel can be made into a bright white like this by cold rolling it. That means the steel was rolled below its recrystallization temperature.” You were overly aware of the heat of his gaze on your lips as you carried on. “This process produces steel that is much harder and of higher strength than steel that is hot rolled.”

You felt his nails dig in the plushness of your flesh, the pressure of his thumb against your clit slowly increasing.

“T-the black half of the blade,” you stuttered, your train of thoughts lost to you for a moment. “The black half of the blade is more of a mystery. At first, I thought it might have been heat treating or a chemical finish. But—” he lifted your hips, fingers sliding inside you with ease. “— fuck swordsman.”

Your hips rolled and your head lulled back for an instant, a needy whine escaping your parted lips.

“Continue,” his voice dripped with satisfaction as he compelled your attention back to the blade.

He curled his fingers, the squelch loud in the silence and you let out a string of profanities, mind going blank. Still you carried on.

“But the separation between the two is too sharp for it to simply be a treatment applied to the steel.” The sword shook in your hands as you twirled it around, bringing it closer to your gaze, attempting to observe further. “Then I thought, maybe it had already started becoming a black blade.”

You let out your haki, probing at the dark steel almost tenderly. It took all your efforts to keep your concentration steady, to allow the black tendrils to flow along the intricate layers, the carefully crafted blend of ores. “Stunning,” you breathed out as you delved deeper.

“What is?” He asked. His voice caught in his throat as the words left his lips, worship thick in its gruffness as he continued to look upon you.

“While there are residual traces of haki, the difference in color comes from a truly brilliant mix of metals.” You let go of your haki, the world suddenly fading into insignificance as pleasure slowly threatened to take over the edge of your mind.

“The amount of skills to achieve such beauty.” Your voice rose an octave as you struggled to continue. “An outstanding display of mastery.”

He rolled his hips against yours and your nails dug into the silk cords of the handle, undoubtedly leaving small crescents alongside the teeth marks etched into it. “S-shit, Zoro. I-I can’t,” you whimpered, as he lined the tip of his cock to your entrance.

His touch trailed up, igniting embers in its path. His slick fingers caressed your cheek lightly before brushing against your lips, moving the malleable flesh to his desire. You could faintly taste your arousal as his hand traveled back down.

The hand at your hips slowly started guiding you down along his length. Your moans mixed together in damp air as he sheathed himself fully inside you.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he murmured, touch sliding along your arm, joining your trembling hand which barely held onto Wado Ichimonji. “The things I wanted to do as you studied Shusui.”

Your gaze locked with his, your mouth opening in protest. But the raw desire painted on his face stopped you.

“Please,” he whispered, the plea uttered so low it was lost in the rhythm of the rain.

“The Hamon is a suguha, a straight temper line. Fitting of the balance and harmony the blade demands.” The string of words left you quickly, your lips moving instinctually as your mind bordered on the edge of ecstasy.

“Good,” he praised, his tone filled with pride and desire. “What else?”

Your hand started trembling almost violently, the katana waving in the air dangerously before his grip settled it once again.

“A straight Hamon usually has some amount of irregularities due to the natural properties of the clay. But if you look closely, you’ll notice that the line is almost perfect. It indicates that the clay used was strained repeatedly in order to reduce the number of impurities.”

His fingers dug into your flesh painfully as his hips stuttered against yours. He moved you slowly, your walls fluttering around him and a low moan on his lips.

Your eyes closed and your mind went dizzy as you struggled to keep your breath under control. “The mastery needed to create such a perfectly straight temper line is baffling. When attempting to create a suguha, the thickness of the layered clay needs to be perfectly uniform in order to achieve harmony between strength and resilience. It must have taken hours if not days to achieve this level of perfection, all the while juggling the dampness of the clay.”

His hand shifted from your hip, his thumb meeting your clit once again.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cried out. “Fuck.” Your mind felt blank and fuzzy, and the tightness at your core was delightful. “The edge is sharp, immovable, ready to cut through any obstacle in its path.” You were struggling to put words in the right order. “Strong, determined, unyielding.”

Your grip left the blade, fingers instinctually finding purchase on his chest, nails digging as your back arched and your thighs trembled as you teetered on the blissful edge. You dimly registered Zoro carelessly setting aside Wado Ichimonji, his hand quickly tangling in your hair, bringing you close, your breaths mixing, your noses touching.

”I want to feel you come around me.” His tone was low, primal.

“Zoro,” you gasped his name, a prayer on your lips as the world faded into oblivion, your toes curling as rapture took you over.

He swore under his breath as he felt you twitch around him, deep moan intertwining with your high-pitched cry, your trembling lips barely brushing together.

“Make me a sword,” he demanded as you came down from your high. His hands went to your sides, caressed the curves of your breast, dropped to your hips once more. He moved you with more purpose this time around chasing his own pleasure, drawing out a soft gasp from you at the sensitivity of the sensations.

“You already have three perfectly good swords, swordsman,” you mewled, your fingers exploring the ripples of his chest before threading along his neck, tangling in his short locks, nails digging in his scalp.

“Make me a sword,” he demanded again.

He slowly dragged you up and down along his cock and you rolled your hips, matching his flow.

”I don’t make swords that won't be used.”

He smirked at your stubbornness, peppering kisses along your jaw, unto your throat. “I’ll use it.”

You frowned at that. “You already have three swords,” you reiterated with a huff, your tone clipped with annoyance. “And you only have two hands.”

In a flurry he switched your positions. You felt the softness of the mattress against your back as he kneeled between your thighs, the roughness of his fingers upon the plush flesh of your ass as he lifted your hips to meet his. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist as he pushed back into you in a languid motion, the entirety of your weight on your shoulder blades.

”I’ll find a way to use it,” he said as he slid back out to the tip. “Make me a sword.” He punctuated the statement with a snap of his hips.

The angle made you see stars, your breath catching and your moans sticking to the back of your throat. “I-I-“ you started to object once more, but he didn’t waste time into setting a ruthless rhythm, hard, fast, rough, just the way he liked it. The sentence on your lips died, instead staggery gasps and pleas flowed in the silence.

”Make me a sword.” His eye traced your features, drank in the pleasure painted on them, roamed to your breast and the captivating way they bounced with each of his thrusts.

You smiled at the entranced look in his gaze, rolling your hips and meeting his, one of your hands going to your nipple, pinching and rolling, your back arching even more than before. You let out a deliberate moan and his movements stuttered for an instant, a desperate grunt disappearing too quickly in the air.

He smirked at your brazenness. ”Make me a sword.” His demand was now almost a chant. He somehow picked up the pace, his fingers finding your clit once more.

Your breath stopped and you stiffened as the world seemed to turn around you, your eyes shutting tight and rolling at the back of your head, the promise of orgasm in your reach once more.

”Breathe,” he reminded you, the movements on your clit softening.

And you let out an unsteady sob, your body both seeking his touch and wanting to back off as your lidded gaze met his again. You frantically twitched around him, your shaking thighs trying to close further against his hips. You were so close.

He stopped.

His smirk was almost maniacal as his stare took in the myriad of expression that crossed your face. You opened your mouth to say something but he cut you to it.

”Make me a sword, witch.” His fingers dug in, inevitably leaving fresh bruises as he himself struggled with restraint.

”You can’t be for real,” you barely managed to utter. “You already have three incredible swords. There’s no way I can make you a better sword than those.”

He let out an annoyed click of the tongue at your words.

“I want you to make me a sword.” His gaze was intense as he spoke, making sure you understood what he said before his thumb started moving against your clit again.

”Fuck,” you cried, toes curling, head rolling from side to side, hands tangling in the sheets until your knuckles became white.

For a moment you marveled at the mastery he held over your body, the way he held effortless control over you, the raw strength that allowed him to shift and dominate you in any way he desired. But your thoughts faded into nonexistence as he started pounding back into you, and tears of pleasure threatened to stain your cheeks.

“Make me a sword,” he punctuated each of the words with a sharp snap of his hips.

But even in rapture and even as your mind struggled to cling to reality, your stubbornness remained intact.

”You don’t need another sword.” Your voice was unsteady, shaky and drawled out. You were close, the ruthlessness of his fingers on your bundle of nerves making you see double.

”For fuck’s sake, witch,” he let out an annoyed growl, stopping again. “Can you stop being stubborn for once in your life?” His brows were furrowed in concentration, beads of sweat threatening to ripple down his skin. He was close too but just as obstinate as you to get what he desired.

You cried out in a staggered sob as your pleasure was denied once again. You could feel your slick drip down your thighs, your ass. Your walls twitched desperately against nothing. “You’re being an asshole, swordsman.” You twisted and writhed in search of any sliver of friction.

He smiled, cocking his head cheekily. “Then stop being stubborn and agree to it, witch.” His earrings glinted in the movement.

He easily slid back inside, his pace deliberately torturously slow.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you couldn’t help the swears flowing out of your lips, his hold on your waist was firm, keeping you locked in place, at his mercy. ”Fuck, fine.”

His smile turned triumphant as you relented. “You’ll make me a sword, witch?” He asked for confirmation, as he softly pinched your clit, shifted the pattern.

You contorted in his grip, your body searching to contract at the slightly too harsh stimulation. The sheets around you twisted, coming undone at the corners of the bed. “Yes, fuck, yes I’ll make you a damn sword, you bastard.”

“Good,” he huffed, almost relieved and relenting the pressure on your clit faintly, allowing the tightness at your core to build more steadily. “So fucking good for me.”

His pace picked up, unsteady now that he’d achieved his goal, his own breaths ragged and heavy. Your name passed his lips again and again, deprived and demanding of your attention.

“Come for me,” he urged, his voice holding a desperation that sent you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your body shuddering in his grasp. Your back arched on the verge of the unnatural, your legs yielding their hold around his waist, shaking uncontrollably, your thighs seeking to close themselves. He followed moments later, a deep guttural groan as he found his own release.

He dropped down next to you, satisfied smile on his exhausted features, the bed bouncing in the carelessness of his movement. His hand caressed the dampened skin of your abdomen mindlessly as both of your breathing slowly stabilized.

”So.” You turned your head to face him. His eyes were closed and the happiness on his face made your heart skip a beat. “What kind of sword do you want?”

“Dunno,” he mumbled sleepily. “I trust you.”

”You can’t ask me to make you a sword like that and not give me an inkling of what you want, swordsman,” your tone was tinged with a growing frustration.

Zoro opened his eye lazily, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I just want something that feels right," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Something that feels like an extension of me. Just like Wado Ichimonji… or Shusui. Whatever you deem best for me."

You sighed, rolling onto your side to better face him. "That's a lot of pressure, you know. Creating a sword that perfect."

He shrugged, eye closing again. "You'll figure it out. Your swords are near perfection."

His unwavering confidence in you sent a feeling unknown through your chest. You reached out, tracing the line of his jaw, the scar on his eye with your fingers. "You have too much faith in me, Roronoa Zoro."

He caught your hand, pressing a kiss on a healed scar marring your palm. "Not enough," he countered, his voice soft but firm. "You're an amazing swordsmith, you know that?"

Your heart fluttered at his words. "You're just saying that because you're half-asleep. I still have a lot to learn."

He chuckled, pulling you closer. "Maybe," he conceded. "We’re all forever learning. But I mean it."

“At least give me something to work with, swordsman.” You shifted up to your elbows, your tone serious. “A blade style, the length, fuck even the color of the handle’s wrapping is fine.”

He sighed, your annoyance somehow starting to rub on him. “Told you a trust you.” He leaned up catching your lips, attempting to shut you up, his teeth biting and his tongue lapping, demanding entry.

There was a knock on the door. The sound startling you both.

“Open up,” Nami shouted. “I know you’re in there.”

You felt the rhythm of your heart quicken as you tried to scramble out of bed. His hand grabbed your wrist stopping you.

“Just ignore her,” he said gruffly, not bothering to move.

Nami knocked again, louder than before.

You wrenched your wrist out of his hand with a scoff. “You can’t be for real.”

“(Y/n)” The navigator’s tone held a warning. “I’ll get the innkeeper to open it if you don’t.”

You blanched, knowing the threat was not empty coming from her. Your eyes went wide as you took in the state of the room, the clothing strung all over the place, your ruined underwear on display. Fuck, it reeked of sex.

“Nami,” you shouted getting up and falling down with a thud to the floor as your legs gave in. “Shit, give me a sec.”

Zoro laughed softly observing you struggle to gather yourself. “Need some help?”

You glared at him, picking up the skirt at your knees and rose back up unsteadily. “Get fucking dressed, swordsman,” you barked at him as you watched him stretch comfortably into the cushiness of the mattress.

You pulled on the short garment, fingers trembling against the zipper tab and your back straightening and your thighs clenching as you felt hot seed drip down between your legs. He chuckled, contemplating you for a moment longer before he decided to comply.

You scanned the room in search of the rest of your clothing. “Have you seen my shirt?” You asked him as he zipped up his pants.

A wicked look passed his gaze, but he seemingly abandoned the idea. “Here.” He threw you his overcoat.

You looked at him with a bewildered expression. “This isn’t my shirt, swordsman,” you stated.

He snorted. “It’ll do a better job at covering you up than that skirt or your shirt.” He gave your thighs a pointed look.

Heat rose on your cheeks as you slowly caught on. “Fuck.” You hastily wrapped yourself in it.

He moved to open the door, not bothering with covering himself up more than the bare minimum.

“Just fucking wait a minute,” you shouted at him, opening the window in a hopeless attempt to air out the room.

He ignored you. The creak of the hinge was loud in your panicked ears. You quickly gave the comforter a fluff, hoping to hide the blaring wet spot on the sheets.

”What is it?” He asked unceremoniously, not veiling his annoyance at the interruption one bit.

“Nami, sor-” you stumbled behind him, the words dying on your tongue as you took in the sight. Nami, Luffy, Robin, Franky, Usopp, Chopper. They were all standing before your door.

“So you did make up,” The navigator spoke first, her tone dripping with amusement.

Luffy grinned, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Why didn’t you guys come back earlier if you already made up?”

Robin’s knowing smile widened as she took in the scene. “We thought you two might still be fighting.”

Chopper looked the both of you over, his eyes lingering on the bruises and marks peppered all over your skin. “Did you guys fight a wild animal or something?” He asked with genuine curiosity, already reaching in his bag for bandages.

Franky audibly snorted.

”We’re fine, doc,” you quickly reassured the little reindeer. “We didn’t fight anything.” You uttered the words at the same time a Zoro cheekily said, “You could say something like that.”

Usopp’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the state of disarray. “Uh, maybe we should give them some privacy,” he suggested nervously, blush slowly rising on his cheeks as he tugged at Chopper’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Franky let out a hearty laugh. “Nah, nah. We should at least get to have SOME fun too.”

You felt your face burning with embarrassment. “What do you all need?” you asked, trying to sound composed despite the circumstances.

Nami crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “We just wanted to make sure you two were okay. And maybe give you a hard time.”

Robin chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “It seems like you’ve both been quite… productive.”

“Seems like you guys had a SUPER night,” Franky added.

Nami’s smirk widened. “We need to leave soon. The repairs are done, the weather’s clearing up, and we’re moving out.”

Zoro nodded, seemingly unperturbed by the intrusion. “We’ll be there.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Can we please just get ready and go?”

With a satisfied nod from Nami, the crew started to disperse, but not before she gave you a sly wink. “Don’t take too long,” she warned. “If you’re not there by tomorrow morning, we’re leaving you behind.”

As the door closed, you turned to Zoro, who was watching you with a lazy grin. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile.

He shrugged, pulling you close again. He kissed your jaw, down your throat. Pinning you against the door. You dimly heard Franky’s booming voice from down the corridor. Something about everyone owing him a thousand berries.

His hands shifted the fabric of his overcoat, fingers gathering the mix of his cum and your slick as he held you more firmly. His gaze was blown with lust as he brought them to his mouth, licking them clean.

“You love it,” he said leaning forward, capturing your lips, the taste of your arousals heavy on your tongue as he deepened the kiss.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t argue with that.

You smirked against his lips, playfully switching the both of you, pinning him to the door instead. He quirked an eyebrow but he indulged you in whatever you planned on doing.

”Nami said to be there before tomorrow morning.” You glanced at the window, the soft glow of the afternoon sun shining through the light rain clouds. Your fingers skillfully undid the button of his pants, pulled down the zipper before diving in and meeting his hardening cock. He let out a shaky groan, his head slamming back against the wood of the door as he gazed down at you amusedly. Your thumb passed his tip and the moan that escaped his lips was downright addictive. “I think we have plenty of time, swordsman.”

When you finally made your way to the Thousand Sunny it was with Zoro carrying you on his back and Wado Ichimonji in your grasp as you pointed the sword in an attempt to direct the swordsman to the ship. The sun was low on the horizon, slowly rising for the new day. His overcoat was wrapped around your shoulders and he strode unbothered by the light rain and droplets rippling on his skin.

Your voices were loud as you approached, clearly stuck in a habitual standstill.

“You can’t just tell me to make you a sword and not give me a single guideline,” you almost yelled at him, pointing the katana left.

“And I already told you I trust you,” he retorted turning right.

“For fuck’s sake, wrong side, swordsman,” you sighed, hitting his shoulder lightly. “The ship’s in fucking view.”

He turned.

”Now do you want a chokuto style blade or a tachi or a wakizashi or something else entirely,” you huffed and punctuated each of your suggestions by flailing the sword around.

“Whatever you deem best,” he answered noncommittally.

He passed the gangplank of the Sunny.

“You can’t be for real,” you complained, gesturing him to go back. “What about the handle, do you want silk? Leather? A specific color?”

“I like silk,” he mumbled under his breath, the loud thuds of his footsteps against the wood plank almost eclipsing his words.

“Fucking finally,” you shouted in victory, somehow excited now that you had a detail down, even though it was an extremely minor decision. “What about the color? Hm?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, readjusting his grip on you with a small hoist. “I don’t know, green?”

“Green, huh?” You pondered, the image of a sword already starting to form in your mind. “I like green.”

“You guys!” Luffy beckoned you to him. He was excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looked at the log pose. “You’re finally back.” The pirate captain pointed at the violently flickering needle.

Nami sighed in defeat.

“Look how fast it’s going,” he mused. “I wonder what’s there!”

His infectious laughter made you smile, a wave of happiness and contentment washing over you. You supposed it was the start of a new adventure.

-The end

a/n: Thank you for reading to the end! I hope you have enjoyed this silly little story of mine as much as I have enjoyed writing it! I’m not going to lie, I will miss these two idiots so much! Ahhhhhh I’m getting teary eyed thinking about it. I can imagine them bickering in punk hazard, their bodies switching! And I can imagine the sweet fluffy downtime these two would get on the polar tang, interacting with the heart pirates as they head to Wano. And oh the whole learning about new smithing processes in Wano, maybe even learn how to smith seastone! Anyways I find it bittersweet to have to let them carry on in my imagination but I think this is a good place to stop. I may or may not write a few bonus chapters for this story, explore some events in different arcs. So keep an eye out for that if it’s something you’d like to read (you can even request some and I’ll happily indulge you!) Thank you again for reading 💕

← Previous chapter |

Masterlist

#the swordsman and the blacksmith #Roronoa Zoro #one piece x reader #Roronoa Zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro x reader #charlou writes

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mermaidgirl30 · 1 year ago

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✨Look for the Light Masterlist✨

Outbreak! Joel Miller x OFC

Decided to do a mood board for my fic “Look for the Light” 🩵 It’s on A03 as well and has a playlist. This one is a slow burn, action packed, twisty ride. I hope you enjoy! Their relationship is absolutely canon 😍 This is my very first fic, and I put my entire heart and soul into it and have been working on it for six months. I am so over the moon with how well this story came out and am just so proud of it 🥰 This is forever my baby, and I cannot wait to continue my writing and more Joel fics! I hope you enjoy this beautiful work of art I have put together. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 😊

Rating: Explicit (18+ only MDNI)

Word Count: 187,394

Summary: Aly finds herself trying to escape the Boston QZ. What Aly doesn’t know is Tess is pairing her up with Joel to go on a dangerous mission to find Tommy. Will Aly survive the brooding, moody Joel or will she find herself falling hard for him? (This fic is in both Aly and Joel’s POV)

Tags: Angst, fluff, smut, slow burn, attempted sexual assault, kidnapping, enemies to lovers, unprotected p in v, gratuitous smut, original character, protective Joel, anxiety, ptsd, sexual tension, mutual pining, eventual smut, younger female/older man, grumpy Joel, death, violence

This is me trying is so Joel coded, and I got a lot of inspiration in this story from this song 🩵

Chapter 1: Introductions

Chapter 2: Escaping

Chapter 3: Knife Practice

Chapter 4: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame

Chapter 5: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Chapter 6: Panic Attacks and Blue Eyes

Chapter 7: What You Say Goes

Chapter 8: Thunderstorms and Heartbreak

Chapter 9: Safe, In My Arms

Chapter 10: Bow and Arrow Lessons

Chapter 11: Vacancy in a Cabin

Chapter 12: Taken

Chapter 13: David’s Territory

Chapter 14: What Town!

Chapter 15: Held Hostage

Chapter 16: Stay With Me

Chapter 17: Your Hand In Mine

Chapter 18: Slow Dancing In a Burning Room

Chapter 19: Back to the Lodge

Chapter 20: Taking David Down

Chapter 21: Burn It Down, Burn It All Down

Chapter 22: Liars

Chapter 23: Finding Ellie

Chapter 24: Welcome to Jackson

Chapter 25: Slow Hands

Chapter 26: You Are In Love

Chapter 27: Bubble Baths and Sweet Affections

Chapter 28: Guitar Lessons and Heart Strings

Chapter 29: Complications

Chapter 30: Protecting What’s Yours

Chapter 31: This Love

Epilogue : Proposal

Epilogue Pt II: Wedding Day

Soft - Extra little piece I wrote about Joel being in love

Trailer for my series 🥰

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ladyduellist · 11 months ago

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Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Ao3 Link

Summary:

“I believe we’ve come too far in this pitiful game of ours to stop now—ask it.”

Tav placed her chin on top of her knees, folding her arms underneath her legs. “Have you ever been in love?”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

A retelling with a lot of flourish! Exploring the moments in between. Told from both Astarion and bard Tav's POV.

* marked chapters have smut

WARNING: I use religious imagery/symbolism for storytelling purposes only and it’s not a reflection on my thoughts or feelings towards them.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

Tags:

Soulmates, Soul-Identifying Marks, Enemies to Lovers, Falling in Love, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Tension, PTSD, CPTSD, Trauma, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Blood & Violence, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Angst, Fluff, Retelling, Healing, Spoilers for all Acts, Vampire Bites, Smut, Tav with a Backstory, He Falls First, Slowest of Scalding Burns

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapters:

✤ Chapter 1: Song

✤ Chapter 2: Book

✤ Chapter 3: Thirst

✤ Chapter 4: Outliers

✤ Chapter 5: Devils

✤ Chapter 6: Ribbon*

✤ Chapter 7: Beholden

✤ Chapter 8: Questions & Commands

✤ Chapter 9: Known*

✤ Chapter 10: After

✤ Chapter 11: Prey

✤ Chapter 12: Hunt*

✤ Chapter 13: End

✤ Chapter 14: Tension

✤ Chapter 15: Boundaries

✤ Chapter 16: Dream

✤ Chapter 17: Poison

✤ Chapter 18: Embryonic

✤ Chapter 19: Gods

✤ Chapter 20: WIP

Taglist: @beewilko

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yeonboy · 2 years ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥 ♡ choi yeonjun // mlist.

After facing disappointment with love for years upon years, you have chosen to replace romance with dance in your life, dedicating your entire time to this dance academy you’re employed at. It’s not that you hate men now, you just don’t expect to fall for them anymore because all they do is break your heart. And then Choi Yeonjun enters your life as a new recruit at the academy – sweet, adorable, soft spoken, kind and younger than you. He is everything you have never found attractive in a guy before. But somehow, you're helplessly spiraling for him.

❧ choi yeonjun x f. reader | 16+ | smau ♡ comedy ♡ angst ♡ strangers to friends to lovers!au ♡ dance academy!au ♡ 98-liner!reader ♡ dancer!reader ♡ dancer!yeonjun ♡ slow burn.

❧ warnings! profanity, an ABUNDANCE of suggestive jokes, mentions of people's sex lives (or lack thereof), death & murder threats as jokes, some of the characters being assholes for no reason, reader being a commitment phobe, a lot of pining, a ton of miscommunication (hehe ofc <3), misunderstandings, unnecessary heartbreaks + more will be added as the series progresses!

❧ playlist! trampoline - zayn & shaed ║ easy - camila cabello ║ lavender haze - taylor swift ♪

❧ status! 23.04.23 ⇢ tba. | on-going | bi-weekly updates

notes! heyyy, guys! yes, rya smau era 2k23 hehe! i had this idea for a very angsty fic where an older reader has feelings for a younger yeonjun but can't accept it bec he's not her "type"... but when i tried to write it, it got soooo sad and heavy soooo fast that i had to give up 😭 SO! i reckoned why not attempt to do an smau w a lighter version of this concept??? let's hope this turns out okay (:

pls be kind! the last time i wrote an smau was in 2018 so my creativity's got rust in every crevice (': but constructive criticism + suggestions are more than welcome! 🫶

❧ main masterlist | inbox ⁘

profiles: [1] [2] [3]

00. intro ║ 01. more nepotism hires ║ 02. grandpa and grandma ║ 03. break a leg (but not yours) [written: 1k] ║ 04. do you like flowers ║ 05. ✨aRtTtT✨ ║ 06. let the boy feel a woman's touch ║ 07. support system ║ 08. liking people we can't have ║ 09. it IS weird ║ 10. ‼ trouble ‼ ║ 11. connecting some big ass dots ║ 12. it's a work in progress ║ 13. dance crush ║ 14. enemies to lovers ║ 15. ohhh my god i'm so stupid ║ 16. at least that’s how it began ║ 17. we're no sidehoe material ❌ ║ 18. jealousy wasn't on my bingo card ║ 19. pesky little feelings ║ 20. why do i know so much ║ 21. it should've been me ║ 22. an overthinker AND a dumbass ║ 23. everything is a mess [written: 500] ║ 24. sum chamgo love dive it is [written: 1k] || 25. feels like a funeral in here ║ 26. let's all act surprised || 27. must start breathing into a bag ║ 28. IDK DUDE IM NERVOUS ║ 29. i wasn't jumping I SLIPPED ║ 30. wdym denial ║ [tba]

taglist: @bailies-me @samisubi @forever-in-the-sky2 @captivq @jiawji @hyuneyeon @wanlore @softcabur @emohazuzworld @yjusei @marifujioka @taekwondoes @suzirumas @ohmahgods @ye0nvibezzn @mrsyawnzzn @rionah

let me know if you'd like to be added!

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sadceline · 5 months ago

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THE ENHYPEN HOST || 4

|| Reverse harem || ft. TXT, Mingyu (Seventeen) & BTS

WARNINGS: foul language, explicit content, group sex, humiliation, sex in public, threesome, foursoome, rough sex, red flags, immoral acts, unprotected sex, morbid jealousy, comedy, parody, possessiveness, violent quarrels, arguments, betrayals, lies, femdom sometimes. GENTRE: +18, reverse harem, comedy, enemy to lovers, friends to lovers

PREVIOUS CHAPTER:

FIRST CHAPTER:

When I returned to the room (and it is still strange to me) I found Jay sleeping blissfully. I didn't wake him up, but watching his absorbed expression I had my doubts he would have noticed me anyway if I had tried.

I didn't manage to get to sleep until six o'clock I think, when I heard him get up and make some noise, especially after he left the room, and I heard the others as well. Of course I could never sleep, despite I was so tired, I didn't even think about the fact that they will see me with my face caked with sleep, the repulsive me, from now on.

However, when I no longer hear them, I fall asleep in a second.

I wake up at 12 regenerated, the house is empty and silent. As I get myself settled, I call out to Ester.

"Oh god, oh god, who did you fuck?" She shouts.

I burst out laughing; it's the first thing she says to me. "Jay."

She screams even louder, I have to plug the phone speakers. "Bitch, him?!"

"Yes…. and is gigantic. Mastodontic."

She doesn't stop screaming, I wonder if she is in public or at home, considering she works in a korean advertising office. "Please, you have to invite me."

"Of course, I just have to find the right time. For now I think everyone hates me, those who don't hate me are scared or disgusted."

"Those who despise buy."

"You think so?" I giggle nervously.

"What envy… Jay, you damn bitch."

That's right, I hadn't thought of that. Since she's so crazy about Bangtan and hopelessly, sincerely, madly in love with Jongkook, I didn't calculate that she has bias in Enhypen anyway, and between the two is Jay. She shares a preference with a more obvious Jake, but she likes them both very much.

"What are they like?"

"I I don't know, they seem arrogant, more or less."

"Even Jay?"

"He … he's peculiar, I guess."

"In what way?!" He shouts again.

"I can't describe them to you yet…" I stall, undecided sincerely about what to say.

"Arrogant, huh? I didn't imagine anything different, but… like how did they take it? What did they say to you?"

"They were kind, more or less, except for Sunghoon. Oh, and I think Heeseung. I don't really understand him. Anyway, they could all be facades, I have that impression."

"You have to investigate."

"I must, you're right."

We laugh in unison, but in the meantime I think I should start with the cleaning today. I'll do four rooms, as planned, anyway I haven't even received warnings about what to touch or not to touch, but at least the bed I can do.

"So… exactly what do you do?"

"I guess scullery maid, however, the pay is worth the candle."

We laugh again.

Ester, however, has the 1 p.m. shift and still has to settle in, so we hang up with a promise to catch up soon. She tells me to contact her if anything happens, and it's like a warm breath her thoughtfulness makes me feel much less alone.

I'll start at Jay's, so I can get my things in better order as well, but mostly because I don't know whose other rooms are whose, I'll have to go blind, I wasn't sober enough to observe who was coming back where, yesterday.

Not that it changes anything, since I have to do them all, however having used the first round for acquaintances, three of them will be behind for the first five days, so maybe I should do them all.

It would make sense, I could gain some confidence, although I shouldn't yearn for anything like that.

Whatever, let's get on with it. I tie up my hair, put on a low-cut top, baggy shorts and socks to slide better on the hardwood floor, I have to be comfortable, the summer period has just begun and although it's not really hot, yet, the house is so hot.

Jongseong's room is strange, I can't say it's tidy but his closet is a hell swarming with expensive stuff. There is a kind of chaotic orderliness to it all, except for the closet, which was more harmonious before I made room, though.

I didn't bring a lot of things, so I manage to make good use of the generous space he offered to me. Now, the room looks a lot cooler, I moved the curtains and a lot of light comes in.

Let's go with the next one, let's see, I'll pick at random.

Hmm, it's a…normal room. There doesn't seem to be anything to do, everything is already in order. I don't indulge my curiosity in wanting to find out who it belongs to, partly because I also tried not to go through Jay's things, that would be inconsistent.

It is strange, though, why is it so anonymous? It is said that the environment where one lives reflects the soul, but the soul in question is not just neat, it is just ordinary, just looking around I can see that there is the bare minimum, not a photo, not a memento. Jay has several fan gifts, in the room, and he also has photos of his family, there is nothing here.

I go outside, that's okay, I won't go any further. I don't care, anyway. Seriously. I really mean it.

The room next door I recognize instead, and it's quite nice. Nicely furnished, even tidy all things considered, to the point where I just give it a quick tidy up to finish.

Around me are a few, not too many, but several Lego models. As I get closer to look at them I realize that these are some very rare pieces, not because I understand any of them, I knew someone who liked them very much, he showed them to me, something remained.

His order is pleasant, because is real. His various gadgets are arranged randomly, but there is something extremely elegant about the composition.

When I'm done with the third one which is Jake's room as I suspected but mostly because he has several, many photos of himself (not alone, but the ones in which he looked very good), one more to go, I realize it's already 3 p.m. (I took my time), maybe they won't be back for lunch? I don't even have their numbers yet, I guess, because I'm not sure I'll ever get them anyway.

Whatever, since I'm almost done, why not give myself a break? I'll untie my hair, turn on the TV, listen to some music - not theirs…right? Yes, that would be pathetic, so I'll put on someone I like musically almost as much as I do: TXT.

How cool, I find out they have all the subscriptions they can get, must be great to be rich, huh? Curious that I think that because of the amount of streaming services accessible and not because of the huge penthouse I'm in.

All right, the music is there, I've had the juice, I'll re-bind my hair. I'll also do the cooking, I'm feeling generous, since it's all new and strange I'll try to show myself useful so they won't break my balls!

No, maybe I'm not in the right position? I don't get it, what a mess. Whatever, let's dance and not think about it.

I go into the fourth room, oh, this one is nicer, but it's actually messy. There's a keyboard, I have an idea who the owner might be, should I set it on fire? No, we're not really enemies yet, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

One of my favorite songs, Fawerell Neverland, has started, I can't help but sing it with them. Meanwhile I pick up some empty ramen packs, some clothes left haphazardly on the floor, some cans, until I notice something I should have expected?

There are boxers. If they are at the foot of the bed, it means they are used. Honestly, Jay didn't leave anything like that lying around, what manners are they when you already know I'm probably going to come over and clean up at your place?

So, what do I do? Do I pick them up or do I leave them in protest? And why am I curious? But then curious about what? All right, I leave them where they are and resume singing.

Heeseung, are you my second enemy? At least you should have the decency to declare it.

"NEVERLAND MY LOVE!" I shout at the top of my lungs, noticing soon after that the bedside drawer is slightly open and I can make out a girl's face, in a picture.

"Do you listen to other people's songs? Weren't you an engene?"

I swear, I jump in the air. I completely failed to notice that he was standing in the doorway, at this point who knows how long.

Who is that girl? It shouldn't concern me, much less interest me.

"Can't I listen to anyone else?" I answer, trying to maintain a calm tone of voice, but I literally defecated on myself.

"Of course not."

"Of course you're strange - I sigh - and anyway, don't leave your dirty underwear lying around. At least you take that off."

"I was hoping you'd steal it from me. It would be in theme with your character, wouldn't it?"

"You're disgusting in person." I say that, though, why don't I think it? He almost snatched a laugh from me, lucky I remembered in time that I have dignity.

I continue to make his stupid bed, so I will have finished my ordinary duties anyway. Does that mean everyone is back? Why do I feel like seeing Jay? It's Heeseung's fault, it's like he's the cheerful version of Sunghoon, isn't it?

He's a jerk but he does it in a nice way? Cute? Charming? Laughing like that? Damn.

I see him turn to the other side of his twin bed, looking at me but I just can't hold eye contact. I lower my eyes and see he's clutching the other end of the sheet, helping me make the bed, I guess he wants me to leave his room.

"I'm not disgusting, am I? You don't mean that." He chuckles, adjusting the pillows for me.

"Yes I do, the biggest disappointment."

He looks at me again, why did he become serious for a second? Did I imagine that? "Disappointment? Is that a hint?"

I blush, a lot, feeling my cheeks flaming. "A hint about what? When I talk to you, I feel like I'm talking to a mentally ill."

"How is your korean so good?" Change the subject again, is that a peculiarity or something?

"I had a very good teacher."

"Oh yeah? And was this person born in Korea?"

"No, she is italian like me."

"Interesting."

I'm curious. We talk a lot fast, it's a constant back-and-forth, we sound like two old friends bickering, but something is different, it's clear. Even though I can talk to him, I feel discombobulated like I'm inside a shaker in action.

"Ah, you were here." I feel like I'm being called by someone.

Turning around, in the doorway of Heeseung's room, this time it's Jake. Was he looking for me? "Me?"

"Yes, you have to be with me today, right?"

in the romance untold album i found this card and the one from heeseung…. i'm so glad

Ah, so that's how it works? I laugh.

He's so handsome, my eye retinas burned during that measly second when I dared to lift my eyelids to him - mine, it was a nervous laugh.

"And how would you prefer me to welcome you? In the traditional korean way? Or something more affectionate?" I drawl, dying inside, my eyes wandering lost across the floor.

"Why not both while wearing a maid's dress?"

"Is that a good idea, I order it?" Heeseung asks.

"Think for yourself about how you want to be greeted, that's my idea."

"What if I had exactly the same idea?"

"Simple, you would be the second."

Heeseung utters a dramatic verse, touching his heart and fingers tighten on his…chest…his chest wrapped in the white t-shirt he wears, which is not exactly loose.

I cough, I think they have forgotten my presence. "I'm not a cosplayer. Apply to the agency next time."

Then the ace of the band, so called not only by the fans, and not for trivial reasons but on the contrary for his undeserved enormous talent in practically anything he does, singing, dancing, being stupidly handsome, bursts out laughing.

He's… I just don't know how to describe it. If there's anything I really have a soft spot for it's his laughter, his smile, of any kind, and seeing him up close, taking advantage of the moments when I'm sure he's looking away to watch, offers me an indescribable feeling.

"Good thing she's nice." He says, turning to Jake.

He is confused, I can see it, sense it. He looks at us tenderly, I feel like biting his face off, I quickly look away terrified by my intrusive thoughts, if I look at him, I really want to.

Then he walks over, grabs my wrist and smiles. "Let's go now."

"Where are we going?"

"I have a lot of things to ask you." He explains, pulling me gently.

Him? He is the one who should ask me?

Forgive me Ester, you've always had excellent taste. I can't deny it.

I follow him, asking no questions. As I pass through the hallway I realize that everyone, or almost everyone, has returned, certainly Jay, Jungwon and Niki. The first looks at me, while Jake drags me by the wrist, says nothing, and I get a strange feeling.

It's strange, isn't it? He didn't even say hello to me.

No, maybe I should be the one to do that? And isn't it that I might annoy Jake? He referred to spending time together as something exclusive, so should I pretend that others don't exist? There is something paradoxical about this situation.

"Did you find disorder? I'm sorry." He says, looking around and turning his warm, sensual smile on me. I'm afraid he's playing it off with Heeseung at this point that I see him live.

He's not really embarrassed, but he wants to look embarrassed.

"No, your room is the best so far." I reply under my breath.

"Which ones have you done so far? There's one neater than mine."

"Ah, so I found it! Whose is it?"

"Sunghoon's."

Ah.

Jaeyun, his korean name, sits on the bed, looks at me and smiles like a fool. I don't know, does he want to do it right away? Is that what he wants to ask me? I am uncomfortable, but not with the assumption of such a proposal, so much as because I am not yet used to handling all these hormones.

Jake is wearing a sweater with a wide neckline, I can see his gorgeous collarbones, moreover, he has his tongue stuck between his lips as he watches me.

Come on, I'm not that beautiful, he's blatantly faking it, but I'm not, I'm devastated by this sight.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I don't like Sunghoon, I'm glad he's doing it alone for his room."

"Just as well, he's not a good person." She accentuates his beautiful smile for some reason, then lays down emitting a tired breath.

"I've noticed … but do we think so for the same reason?"

"Of course not." He answers quickly, getting back up.

How strange, he became energetic all of a sudden. I've already sensed strange vibes between Jake and Riki, now with Sunghoon too? Jay's argument is becoming more and more credible, but why is Jake always in the middle?

"Aren't you going to ask me why?"

"Would you tell me?"

He allows himself a sexy laugh, to say the least, because any other adjective would be unheard-of vulgarity. "You're also smart then."

"I try."

While Jake takes a moment to respond to messages, I start walking around looking at his legos again, honestly not sure what to do.

"What is it you want to ask me?"

"Who's your bias?"

What? Him too? Egocentric these Enhypen.

"I don't have it."

"Liar!" He playfully accuses me, pointing at me.

How can such a sweet guy also be so damn erotic? I can't even breathe properly in his presence.

"I really don't."

"So…who do you think is the most handsome?"

Damn! He's too cute! I cover my mouth to avoid showing him my perverted smirk, then cough. "You're all equally handsome."

"It's just not me, is it? That's why you don't tell me."

It's exactly the opposite thesis from Heeseung's, convinced that it's him. Does this tell me anything? Possibly, but I am too enamored with my interlocutor to reason.

"What do you need to know, then…" I giggle, softly, almost hoping he doesn't hear me.

"Has anyone else asked you?"

I laugh again, more nervously. "Never mind, is that what you wanted to ask me?"

"I like to have confirmation of things I'm curious about."

I think that's the basis, Jake, but I don't want to contradict you because you're too handsome, honestly.

"I'm the most handsome, aren't I?"

Aha, identified: narcissistic, maybe pathological?

"You have millions of fans who are crazy about you, what do you care if you are to me?"

"Then it's not really me!"

Was he testing me in his own way? I have no idea but it's cute. Even the pouty, offended expression he gives me now is to bite, tear up, devour.

Thoughts too intrusive, fantasies too lucid.

"Even if I thought that, I wouldn't tell you." I admit, covering my mouth again before laughing this time for real.

"What? - He asks, his vowels are open, his tone childlike but teasing. - And why?"

"It's…quite a sight, seeing you like this."

He smiles, his gaze thinned, and why? "Like what?"

What's wrong with me? I feel like… make him mine, in a way.

"So desperate."

"Me? - He asks theatrically outraged. - Me desperate?"

"Don't you desperately want to be the most beautiful, for me?"

What am I saying? And with what courage? Who is this person? I usually go unnoticed, and not because I'm unattractive so much as because I can't sell myself very well, which is why I'm surprised to see myself in this state.

It's called the Jake effect, I don't think there is a cure.

"Do you want to see me even more desperate?" His voice is no longer innocent, neither is his gaze. A shiver runs through every single inch of my body, so strong it leaves me shaken.

Suddently someone open the door, it seems a habit to appear in this house.

"What are you doing?"

Jake glares at him, I couldn't even think of doing that. "What?"

"Let's decide what to eat." Riki replies, annoyed by his sour tone.

"Have you eaten?" Jaeyun then asks, I think to me, no yes, of course to me!

I nod nervously. I don't even know if I'm breathing right now.

"What did you eat? Everything looks the same in the kitchen. Look you don't have to order-"

"You ordered?!" Jake takes it personally.

"I didn't actually eat, I don't know why I said yes." I explain, guessing that instead of my face they are seeing a big bell pepper.

"Why didn't you eat?"

"Is it because of what Heeseung said?" Niki asks, and I don't understand.

He has been quiet and reserved from the first moment, but he wants me to believe that he is worried about me? Come on, I'm a woman of a certain age compared to him, right? I'm not naive, I keep saying that, right?

"No, no." I belittle it with a ridiculous noise coming from my nose.

"Come on, you've been cleaning all day! I'm hungry too."

Jake can't talk anymore, what's wrong with him? Why does he keep staring at Niki? Am I like the third wheel or…?

I don't know how many seconds pass before, in the tomb-like silence that has set in, the major gets up, looks at Niki again, mumbles in an absolutely adorable way, then lightly and amicably nudges him so that he can get out of his room.

"Come on, get out, get out. Let's go eat." He tells me in a way that is much more serious than his expression.

Man, I'm curious now. Very curious indeed.

NEXT CHAPTER:

hello, this is the first time i've left a note…i just wanted to apologize for this bad english and for the mistakes you've surely found - i hope you can continue reading the story because i had a lot of fun writing it (ten chapters are ready but i have to translate them ç_ç)

#enha smut #enhypen #enhypen smut #jake smut #heeseung smut #kpop smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jake #enhypen niki

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