#Rumble: Tell The Truth

[kmac4him1st]

Tell The Truth

We are anchored in the truth of God and this anchor will hold in these crazy culturally chaotic times. God bless you and yours!

Now it’s time to be made new by every revelation that’s been given to you. And to be transformed as you embrace the glorious Christ-within as your new life and live in union with him! For God has re-created you all over again in his perfect righteousness, and you now belong to him in the realm of true holiness. So discard every form of dishonesty and lying so that you will be known as one who…

[misswynters]

༘⋆♡ Arcane characters reacting to having you be a vs bombshell model

featuring: vi, sevika, mel, cait, ekko, viktor and ambessa

warnings: kissing, heavy touching, implied nsfw themes

inspired by my fic XOXO w/ jinx (which is why she isn’t included)

a/n: might of went overboard with some (let me know if there any mistakes)

Sevika

Sevika leaned against the wall, her eyes sweeping over you as you entered the room, the curves of your body accentuated by the form-fitting outfit you were wearing. She didn't say anything at first, her gaze intense as if she were appraising you, testing you. "You look good," she finally said, her voice husky. "But l've got a better idea.

Want to show me just how good?" She stepped closer, her hand grazing the side of your cheek as her fingers gently trailed down your neck. "I want to see you in that lingerie of yours-the one you always wear when you want to really make an impression. The one that drives me wild," she added, her lips curling into a half-smile.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise between you both. She didn't need to say it twice. The way her eyes burned into you told you everything.

As you slipped out of your clothes and into the requested set, she took a slow, appreciative breath. "Damn... Now that's what I'm talking about." The hunger in her eyes was unmistakable, and you could tell she was ready to claim this moment as hers.

Sevika leaned back in her chair, the low light of her quarters casting sharp shadows across her face as her piercing gaze locked onto you. Her usually composed demeanor faltered slightly as you stepped closer, the lingerie she had insisted on seeing clinging to your figure in all the right ways. She let out a low hum of approval, her scarred lip quirking into a smirk as she rested her elbow on the armrest, her metal fingers tapping rhythmically against her knuckles.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days, y’know that?” she drawled, her voice husky as her eyes roamed over you, lingering on every detail of the delicate lace and silk.

“You said you wanted to see it,” you teased, stepping between her legs, your confidence wavering slightly under her intense scrutiny.

Sevika’s smirk widened as she reached out, her human hand brushing over your hip while the cool metal of her prosthetic traced your thigh, sending shivers down your spine. “Didn’t think you’d actually listen,” she admitted, her tone rough but tinged with amusement. “But damn, you wear it better than I imagined.”

Her grip tightened, and in one swift motion, she pulled you onto her lap, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was all heat and hunger. Her hands roamed boldly, one sliding to your waist to pull you closer while the other cupped the back of your neck, anchoring you to her.

“You’re mine tonight,” she growled against your lips, her voice low and possessive. “Every damn inch of you.”

The tension in the air was electric, her touch igniting a fire under your skin as she kissed down your neck, her sharp teeth grazing your skin playfully. You could feel her smirk against your collarbone as her hands continued their exploration, leaving no part of you untouched.

“Sevika,” you gasped, your voice trembling as her lips and and hands sent your senses into overdrive.

She chuckled, the sound rumbling through her chest as she leaned back slightly to admire the effect she had on you. "Relax," she murmured, her thumb brushing over your cheek as her eyes softened ever so slightly. "We've got all night." And knowing who sevika is with you, you knew that she was telling the truth. It was going to be a rough night.

Vi

Vi was already leaning against the wall when you stepped off the stage, her arms crossed and a cocky grin plastered across her face. The moment she saw you in your intricate wings and delicate lingerie, she couldn't hide her pride-or the heat in her gaze.

"Damn," she drawled as you approached, her eyes shamelessly raking over you. "How am I supposed to share you with the whole world when you look like that?" Your cheeks warmed as you stepped closer, unable to keep the smile off your face. "You like it?" you teased, spinning slowly to give her the full view.

"Like it?" she repeated, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you. Her hands found your waist, pulling you flush against her. "Babe, I love it. But now I can't stop thinking about getting you out of it." She whispered, her breath warm against your ear, the promise of more heat to come in her voice.

Before you could answer, she reached out, pulling you toward her with a strength that made your heart skip a beat. Her lips found yours, firm and passionate, a kiss that left no room for hesitation. Her hands slipped down your back, pressing you flush against her, grinding your hips together for just a moment, enough to send a thrill through both of you. Hands roaming from the soft silk of your waist to the small of your back, where she hooked her fingers over the straps of the wings.

"You're incredible up there," she murmured against your lips, her voice husky. "But I think I prefer this view with just you and me."

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up her chest and locking behind her neck. "So, no complaints about my job, then?"

She smirked, leaning down to nip at your jawline. "None. As long as I'm the only one who gets the private shows."

"Jealous much?" Her grip tightened slightly on your hips as she kissed a trail down your neck.

"Nah," she murmured, her lips brushing against your skin. "Just possessive." Your breath hitched as her hands dipped lower, her voice dropping to a whisper. "What do you say we head home? I wanna see you take this off."

Mel Merdarda

The evening air was heavy with the scent of candles and sweet perfume as you stepped into Mel Medarda’s private quarters. Her golden eyes lifted from the glass of wine in her hand, and the moment they landed on you, the room seemed to still. She was lounging on a chaise, her regal posture radiating authority, but the flicker of surprise and desire in her gaze softened her otherwise impenetrable demeanor.

“You’ve outdone yourself tonight,” she murmured, her voice like velvet, her lips curving into a knowing smile. She set her glass down and stood, her silk gown cascading around her as she crossed the room with an elegance only she could command.

Her hands reached out, brushing against the edges of your robe. Slowly, she pulled it aside to reveal the intricate lingerie beneath. The golden embroidery glimmered in the candlelight, hugging your figure perfectly. Mel’s fingers grazed your bare shoulder, her touch light but electrifying.

“You’re a vision,” she whispered, her voice dropping an octave as her lips found yours in a kiss that was both reverent and insistent. Her hands traced your waist, pulling you closer as her warmth enveloped you.

Breaking the kiss, she looked into your eyes, her smile soft yet mischievous. “Tonight, you’re not just mine to admire,” she said, her voice sultry as she led you toward the chaise. “You’re mine to worship.” And worship you, she did, with all the precision and devotion you’d come to expect from her.

Caitlyn Kiramman

Caitlyn had always been composed, but the moment you entered her bedroom, the shift in her demeanor was undeniable. She stood by the bed, her eyes never leaving you as she slowly approached.

"You're looking stunning, as always," she said softly, but there was something more to her words— something loaded with desire.

Before you could respond, she moved quickly, her hand finding the back of your neck, pulling you into a passionate kiss. Her lips were gentle at first, almost hesitant, but that hesitation faded quickly as she pinned you to the bed, her body pressing you down.

Her hands roamed, tracing the curve of your body as her lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, each kiss leaving you breathless. "You're mine now," Caitlyn murmured, her voice filled with possessiveness and longing, as she kissed you with renewed fervor.

Caitlyn's weight pressed you gently into the soft mattress as her lips moved hungrily against yours, her usually refined and composed demeanor unraveling in the privacy of her dimly lit bedroom. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a silver glow over her tousled hair and sharp features as she kissed you with an intensity that sent heat rushing through your veins.

Her hands roamed your sides, her touch firm but reverent, like she was mapping every inch of your body for the first time. As her lips left yours, you barely had a moment to catch your breath before they found their way to your jaw, then lower, to the delicate skin of your neck.

"You're incredible," Caitlyn murmured against your skin, her voice husky and filled with awe. Her hands slid under the hem of your shirt, her fingers grazing your bare skin as she drew closer, her hips flush against yours. "How did I get so lucky?"

Your breath hitched as she grabbed your wrists harder above your head with one hand. She tilted her head up, her sapphire eyes locking onto yours, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. "Do you want me to continue?" she asked, her tone soft but teasing as her free hand traced lazy patterns down your torso.

You nodded, unable to form words under the weight of her gaze, and she leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Good," she whispered before trailing kisses down your neck, her hand releasing your wrists to cup your cheek.

Her kisses became slower, more deliberate as she moved lower, her touch grounding and unhurried, savoring every reaction she pulled from you. You arched into her, your fingers tangling in her hair as she found the sensitive spot just below your collarbone.

"You're breathtaking," Caitlyn said softly, her voice raw with emotion as she pulled back for a moment to admire you. She leaned in again, her lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss before she smiled, her thumb stroking your cheek. "And you're mine."

It wasn't just the passion in her touches or the hunger in her kisses that left you breathless, it was the way Caitlyn held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. The quiet devotion in her every move.

Ekko

Ekko was nervously tapping his fingers against his leg as he watched you enter, his eyes wide. He'd always admired you from afar, but seeing you now in that revealing outfit-it was too much for him to handle.

"U-uh... can we... can we do a private show? Just for me?" he stammered, his cheeks flushed. His fingers fidgeted as he tried to gather the courage to ask, his voice full of a mix of excitement and nerves. You could tell he was flustered, and a smile crept onto your face. You approached him slowly, giving him a teasing wink.

"Of course," you said softly. "Just for you, Ekko." His eyes lit up, and the look of wonder on his face made your heart flutter. You moved into the center of the room, giving him a slow, sensual dance, letting the rhythm flow through you.

Every movement you made seemed to take his breath away, and when you finished, he was speechless, his eyes wide and full of admiration. "That... was amazing," he whispered. "I-I can't believe you did that for me."

Ekko leaned against the wall of the hideout, his face still flushed from your impromptu “fashion show.” His wide eyes darted between you and the floor, his words stumbling over themselves.

“I-I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“You asked for a private fashion show,” you teased, stepping closer, the soft fabric of your robe brushing against your legs. “I just delivered.”

Ekko swallowed hard, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually…” His voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely toward you, his fingers twitching.

“You didn’t think I’d wear something like this for you?” You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “You really underestimate me, Ekko.”

His gaze flickered to yours, the usual sharp confidence in his eyes softened by his clear awe. “No, it’s not that,” he muttered, his voice dropping. “I just didn’t think I deserved to see you like this.”

That caught you off guard. You stepped closer, reaching out to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his warm skin. “Ekko,” you said softly, “you’ve done so much for me. For everyone here. You deserve a lot more than just this.”

His hand came up to cover yours, his touch steady despite his flustered demeanor. “You don’t have to do anything special for me, you know?” he murmured, his eyes searching yours. “Just… you being you is enough.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. His breath hitched, but he quickly melted into the kiss, his hands hesitantly finding your waist. The tension in the air shifted, the nervous energy giving way to something warmer, more intimate.

As your fingers threaded through his hair, Ekko pulled you closer, his grip firm but gentle. The kiss deepened, and you felt his heart pounding against yours, fast and steady like the rhythm of a drum.

When you finally pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, and his lips were slightly swollen. “You’re really trying to kill me here,” he joked breathlessly, his hands still resting on your waist.

“Not at all,” you teased, trailing a finger along his jawline. “But I do like seeing you flustered. It’s cute.”

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder to hide his embarrassment. “You’re such a tease.”

“And you love it,” you quipped, wrapping your arms around his neck. Ekko chuckled, the sound muffled against your skin. “Yeah,” he admitted softly, his arms tightening around you. “I really do.”

The moment lingered, the hum of the hideout fading into the background as the two of you held each other. For all the chaos and danger in your lives, this was a rare moment of peace. And neither of you wanted to let it go.

Viktor

Viktor's lab was cluttered with papers and equipment, but as soon as you stepped in, the clutter seemed to disappear. All he could focus on was you. You stood before him, your usual elegance replaced by an undeniable confidence, as you slowly peeled back the layers of your clothing. Viktor's breath caught in his throat as you revealed what lay beneath. The way your eyes met his, made his pulse race.

You leaned casually against the counter, but the smirk playing on your lips betrayed how much you enjoyed his reaction.

"Well?" you teased, your voice soft yet challenging. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to say something?"

Viktor blinked, his lips parting as if to form words, but they didn't come. His gaze flickered downward to the lingerie you wore, all delicate lace and sheer fabric, a stark contrast to the sterile and utilitarian environment of his workspace. "You're... truly something," he finally managed, his accent curling around the words.

You tilted your head playfully. “Something good, I hope?"

He took a cautious step closer, his cane clicking softly against the floor. "You know exactly what I mean," he murmured, his voice lower now, tinged with awe. His hand reached out, hesitating for just a moment before his fingers brushed the fabric at your hips. "You've outdone yourself."

Your heart skipped at the reverence in his tone. "I thought l'd surprise you," you said softly, leaning into his touch.

"You've done more than surprise me," Viktor admitted, his golden-brown eyes locking onto yours. "You've... completely distracted me."

You chuckled, looping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. "Is that such a bad thing?"

Before he could answer, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. Viktor stiffened at first, clearly caught off guard, but then his hands found their way to your hips, hesitant yet firm. He kissed you back, slow and deliberate, as though trying to savor every moment. When you deepened the kiss, sliding your fingers into his hair, Viktor groaned softly against your lips. His grip tightened, his fingers brushing against the bare skin beneath the lace. The cool touch of his metal prosthetic sent a shiver down your spine, and he immediately stilled. "Did I hurt you?" he asked quickly, his brows furrowing in concern.

You shook your head, smiling up at him. “No. You could never hurt me."

Relief washed over his face, and his grip on you grew more confident. He leaned in again, this time guiding you backward until the edge of the counter pressed into your lower back. The hard surface contrasted sharply with the warmth of his body as he kissed you again, more fervently now.

His hand roamed upward, tracing the delicate straps on your shoulder before cupping your jaw, tilting your face so he could explore the curve of your neck.

You gasped as his lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

"I have a pretty good idea," you teased, your hands slipping under his shirt to trace the lines of his torso.

He groaned again, his lips finding yours once more. The lab faded away, the hum of the equipment replaced by the sound of your shared breaths and the soft clink of his cane as he shifted to pull you impossibly closer.

For once, Viktor allowed himself to forget his work, his experiments, and the ever-looming weight of his ambition. In this moment, all that mattered was you-and the way you made him feel alive.

Ambessa Merdarda

Ambessa reclined back in her chair, her gaze heavy and consuming as you finished your slow, deliberate movements across the room. The rich velvet curtains framing her private quarters swayed slightly with the night's breeze, though the air felt anything but cold under her watchful eyes. You stood before her in the intricate lingerie she had requested, the delicate pink fabric accentuating every curve of your body in the flickering firelight.

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, the powerful general seemed at a loss for words, a rare vulnerability slipping through her commanding exterior. At nearly twice your height and with shoulders that could carry entire armies, Ambessa always made you feel small in the best way. A stark contrast that clearly did something to her now as her gaze grew darker.

"You've outdone yourself," she finally said, her voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "I knew you'd be breathtaking, but this..." Her words trailed off as her golden eyes roamed over you. Feeling emboldened, you tilted your head with a playful smile. "Is it everything you imagined, General?" you teased, your voice soft yet sultry.

Ambessa smirked, the slight twitch of her lips only emphasizing her predatory demeanor. "More," she admitted, rising from her chair with a deliberate slowness that made her seem even larger. She approached with the precision of a lion stalking prey, her heavy boots clicking against the polished wood floor. When she stood before you, the top of your head barely reached her chest.

Her broad shoulders eclipsed the firelight behind her, casting you in her shadow as she placed her massive hands on your hips. She pulled you forward effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing to her, the size of her hands spanning nearly your entire waist.

"You've got my attention," she murmured, her voice rumbling against your smaller frame as her fingers traced the delicate diamond straps of your lingerie. Looping it around her fingers, letting it fall off your shoulder.

"Now, what will you do with it?" Your breath hitched as her lips brushed the shell of your ear, her warm breath fanning your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. Her hands roamed your body, the stark contrast of her rough, calloused touch against the soft silk of your lingerie making you tremble.

"Ambessa," you whispered, your voice trembling as her kisses moved lower, trailing along your neck and collarbone with an intensity that left you breathless.

She chuckled softly, her hands tightening their grip on your waist, her fingers brushing against your lower back as she pulled you impossibly closer. The difference in your size only seemed to spur her on, her gaze filled with an almost possessive hunger as she loomed over you. "Careful," she teased, her tone a mix of amusement and warning. "I might start thinking you enjoy being at my mercy."

Then ambessa made her way back to her chair, sitting down while manspreading, with her arms laying of the arm rest. Looking at you with a feverish expression. "Come here," she commanded softly, her voice velvet. "Since you're looking even more irresistible than usual."

You hesitated for just a moment, the air thick with unspoken desires, before walking towards her.

"Dance for me, darling," Ambessa purred, eyes darkened with intent. "Let me see you move."

With a small smirk, you began to dance, slow and seductive, your body swaying to an invisible rhythm. Her gaze followed every movement, and you could feel her heat from across the room.

As you moved closer to her, her hands caught your waist, pulling you in for a slow, deliberate kiss. "You going to kill me with the way you move," she murmured against your lips, and you couldn't help but smile at her words, feeling the tension between you both become even more palpable. “How about you use those skills for a different purpose.”

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[monster-disaster]

[wolf-shifter] Rome

wolf-shifter!Rome x human!Reader Good to know: somnophilia, non-con, breeding, rut Summary: Your best friend can't keep himself away from you anymore.

"Did I wake you up?" Your words are slurred when you break the silence of the quiet flat. The only sound is the traffic from the streets, filtering inside through the closed windows. A few cars pass by every now and again. Their engine rumbles through the air, echoing off the buildings.

Your back is against the wall next to the entrance door as your best friend kneels in front of you, trying to take off your shoes with a slight frown between his brows. His thick fingers can barely handle the delicate clasps.

"It's fine," he hums, pushing the shoes aside. "I told you to call me if you need me."

"Thank you," you reply, tilting your head back when he stands up and towers above you. Your makeup is a bit smudged around your eyes as you blink up at him sleepily. "You are a good friend, Rome. I love you."

The man just smirks at your words, tucking you against his side to lead you into his room. He knows the drill by now. You go out with your co-workers, drink more than you can handle, and call him to take you home. He helps you, of course, while listening to you repeat how much you love him until you fall asleep.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he replies, opening the door of his room and leading you inside until you sit on the edge of his bed. Your posture is relaxed and tired. You don't even move a muscle when you feel him starting to take off your clothes.

"Arms up," he says, and when you do, he pulls up your top until it's on a chair nearby. It smells like your perfume, smoke, and alcohol.

"Do you want a shower?" Rome asks even though he already knows your answer.

"'m tired," you hum, letting your eyes close while you are still in a sitting position.

"Of course," the man chuckles.

While he searches for a shirt you can sleep in, he can't help but let his eyes wander on your almost bare body. Your tits fill the bra into a nice cleavage, and your panties match.

"Hold up your arms for a second, sweetheart," he says quietly, feeling a bit annoyed when the thin fabric hides your body from his dark gaze.

"You can lay down now," he adds, helping you onto his bed and tucking you in. By the time he straightens up, you are already asleep.

Rome has known you since he moved into the city. You met at a coffee shop where you worked after college. He knew you were the one him after a glance and a sniff in the air heavy with the scent of coffee and you. It was love at first sight, except you put him into a friend zone, and Rome never figured out how to get out of it without ruining your friendship. So he stayed in that damn zone, hoping that one day you will confess his love for him or he will grow some balls to tell you the truth. Pathetic really.

After making sure the lock of his entrance door is closed and putting a big glass of water next to you on the nightstand, he climbs onto the bed, trying to focus on anything else but your closeness. You are bundled up in the blanket so much he can barely see the top of your head, and your light snores are muffled by the thick fabric.

His brothers would laugh at him for sure. Their little brother can't get the girl, so he has to wake up next to her with blue balls. How funny. They would never let this go. Idiots. All of them.

He glances at you one last time. He is, too.

Sleep takes him after a while, but his dreams are heavy and troubled. When he wakes up, it's almost morning. The sun is still hiding behind the horizon, but it's there. He turns on his back and groans. His gums ache and burns, his mouth open to lift the pressure off his teeth. Sweat glistens on his heated body. His fingers dig into the mattress under him, feeling his claws wanting to grow out. And his cock. He closes his eyes tightly to keep a pained moan in his chest. It's hard and heavy between his thighs. His erection pulses with each breath he takes, and his underwear is already ruined by the precum soaking the black fabric.

"Fuck," he grunts, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He has a hard time making his tense muscles move. The wooden ground feels cold under him. His skin feels too tight and too itchy.

Rome circles his broad shoulders backward a few times before standing up to get to the kitchen for some water. And maybe he should go out for a run. Yes. Some fresh air would definitely do some good.

The man is almost at the door of his room when you turn on your back on the bed, still sleeping. His eyes rake over your body under the covers. He almost forgot you were there. He was so busy with his wolf wanting to come out he didn't even notice you until now. But now, he can't tear his gaze away from you. You are so peaceful and pretty. Your hair is a mess, and your makeup is smeared around your closed eyes even more than last night.

"Fuck," Rome groans again. You shouldn't be here. Not when his rut is approaching and the wolf in him claws on the inside of his mind to get out.

He should force himself to walk away and call an Uber for you. He should wake you up and make you leave. Or at least, he should force himself out of the room. You shouldn't be here so beautiful and soft while his cock throbs with the need to fill you up.

Images of you pliant and warm in his arms flood his mind. How would you feel under his hands? Under his tongue? Around his...

Rome stares at your chest for long seconds, watching you breathe. You are deep asleep. You always black out when you drink too much.

He steps closer.

His large hands curl into fists.

Another step to the bed.

He shouldn't.

"Fuck."

The change of his body comes naturally and quickly. His skeleton transforms into something more primal, with firm muscles and dark fur all over his skin. He grows taller and stronger. The ache in his body lessens, but his cock between his legs still bobs angrily with each step he takes to the bed to get closer to your sleeping form. His claws grip the blanket, pulling it down from the bed slowly and carefully. He drops it to the ground, keeping his eyes on your bare legs. His t-shirt barely hides your panties, and he can see your nipples harden at the sudden change of temperature.

For a second, his attention wanders up to your face. Your eyes are still closed, and your breath is even. The man climbs up on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight. He hovers above your sleeping form, almost frozen. You can wake up at any minute, and there is no way he can explain the situation without you freaking out.

But it's too little and too late.

Taking a deep breath, his hand moves to his aching cock, his long fingers curling around the thick shaft. A groan escapes his open mouth, his long tongue lick over his upper teeth. His eyes wander down on your body, pausing at your soft tits and hard nipples before falling to your covered mound. His grip tightens on his erection, precum leaking from the dark pink tip. He throbs in his own hand, urging him to do something.

He saw you like this several times since you know each other. You are comfortable showing some skin even though it drives him crazy under the surface. The memories almost make him angry. So many times, he imagined you under him, moaning and crying for him while you were totally unaware of his desires and demons.

Releasing his cock, he reaches out for you. His touch is gentle and warm on your knees, gliding up on the soft flesh of your thigh. When you open your legs, he almost jumps back and out of the bed. Rome snaps his eyes up to your face again. You are still asleep.

It's so wrong on so many levels.

Now, that your legs are open, he can see the slit of your pussy through the thin fabric. Drool drips down from his mouth at the plump sight.

Maybe it's enough, he tries to convince himself. Just jerking off on the view of your cunt is enough until you wake up and go home. You won't know anything about it, and life can go on as usual. It's a lie, and the beast in him knows it.

His hand is on you again, caressing your thigh before sliding up to your panties. It's soft under his touch but does nothing but annoy him. His thumb moves between your legs, feeling the heat of your pussy on his own skin. His heart beats in his throat as he watches. Your clit is under his thumb, drawing small circles on the bud.

Rome doesn't have to wait long to feel your arousal in the air. It's thick and heavy, making him and his cock drool some more.

"Fuck!" He groans. His snout fidgets as he takes deep breaths from your scent. "You smell so good."

He moves closer, slowly, tentatively. He lifts his weight onto his arms at the sides of your body. His eyes are on your face again, watching you sleep while his nose almost bumps against your mound. A low groan rumbles in his chest. You are so close. So delicious. His tongue rolls out of his mouth, licking through your center over the fabric covering it. You are wet. He licks over your slit until your panties are soaked with your juices and his saliva. It sticks to your plump pussy.

"Let's take it down," he hums, hooking his long fingers on the side of your panties to pull it down and reveal your most intimate part. Your cunt glistens under the street lights that filter into his bedroom through the window.

The wolf-shifter's world spins around him once, twice, three times as he leans closer again. His snout rubs against your clit, taking deep breaths of your heavy smell. He lost control over his own body a long time ago.

"So pretty," he murmurs. Saliva drips down onto your wet center as he hovers above you. The sight fills him with satisfaction. You will smell like him. You will be marked by him. "You have such a pretty pussy, sweetheart."

Almost bursting with anticipation, he slides his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juices. When he flicks your clit, you moan into the dark room, making him freeze for long seconds. The sound escaping your mouth is hoarse and oh, so delicious. Your smell gets stronger in the air, but you don't move.

"Just a little bit more," he whispers, almost begging. He slurps on your pussy hurriedly, trying to suffocate himself in your cunt. His tongue finds your entrance, pushing inside your hot channel. He can feel you fluttering around his tongue, sucking him in for more. His whole body trembles as his muscles tense. Every nerve in his body is focused on you. Your smell and taste drive him deeper and deeper to the point he can't back away.

His cock hangs heavy between his thighs, leaking. His balls feel too tight, and his hips start to rock back and forth every now and again to find some friction. The knot at the base of his shaft grows with each second he spends between your thighs, munching on your cunt.

Biting off his own claw, he turns his attention back to your empty hole. His tongue slides into you easily. You are pulsing and fluttering until he adds his finger to stretch you out some more. For a second, you tense up, moaning again before continuing to sleep. He almost laughs. He could fuck you. You wouldn't wake up.

He almost cums when you clench around him. He scoops up your nectar with his tongue, gulping to burn the memory of your taste in his mind. Your breathing gets heavier, and a small, barely noticeable tremble runs through your body as you reach your climax. With his free hand, Rome has to squeeze his cock to stop him from shooting his seed all over you and the bed.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, keeping his fingers in you, feeling your still squeezing walls. "Can you do that again? Could you cum on my cock, hm? Are you ready for it?"

It's madness.

He climbs above you, pushing your legs apart to have enough space for his slim waist between your thighs. His erection rubs against your folds, mixing his pre-cum and your juices together.

"God," he groans. "Fuck! So good, sweetheart. Your cunt is so warm. She wants me, love. She wants my cock inside. You know it, too."

Grabbing his erection, he adjusts the bulbous tip to your entrance before starting to push inside. He growls at the feeling of you enveloping him. You are warm and wet and perfect. His balls jerk and his knot pulses.

"That's it," he groans. "You are doing so good, sweetheart."

"Rome?" Your voice feels like cold water. His name on your lips is thick with sleep and confusion. "What? What are you doing?" Your question ends in a moan when he doesn't stop. He pushes his cock inside you entirely, stretching you out and filling you up.

"Shh, sweetheart," he grunts, panting. "It's okay."

"Rome?" Panic laces your voice. "Rome! Stop!"

"I can't," Rome replies, shaking his head, licking up on the side of your neck. Your palms seem small on his broad chest as you try to push him away while he still rocking back and forth inside you.

"Enough! Rome!"

"Shh," he tries to calm you again. His mind is dizzy with the feeling of you around him. Tight and warm, clenching with every movement you make. Your trashing under him almost breaks his cock off, but damn his whole life if he stops. "It's okay, love. Your pussy wants it."

"What? No! It's wrong!"

"No!" He growls. "It's not! I should have made you mine a long time ago!"

Despite your panic and anger, a moan escapes your lips when he thrusts inside you. Your pussy clenches around his shaft, soaking his erection. Rome reaches every sweet spot in you, driving you higher and higher.

"So good, sweetheart," he coos. His words fan over the side of your neck. "You feel it too, right? My cock stretches your tiny pussy. You squeeze on me so tight, I can barely move."

"Rome!" You moan his name, your fingers dig into the hard muscles of his shoulder. Your legs curl around his waist to keep him close. Pleasure flares through your body even though you know it's wrong.

"And you taste so good, love," he grunst into your neck. Your skin is wet from his drooling. "I ate your pussy while you slept," he admits. "I drank up your juices. You got wet so easily. Your pussy knew it was me."

They shouldn't, but his words fuel you more. Your hips move under him, meeting his thrust as your back arches from the bed.

"Rome! Please! Fuck!"

Seeing you so responsive wakes up something primal inside him. You want him, he thinks, shocked. You want his cock, his warm cum. His mark. He almost shouts with pain when he forces himself to kneel up and leave your warm channel.

"Turn around," he says but doesn't wait for your reaction. Grabbing your hips, he turns you on your stomach, tugging you into a kneeling position. Your ass rubs against his cock while he hovers above you and pushes your head down on the bed.

"Present yourself for me, sweetheart," he groans, rutting against your bottom. "Show me how much you want my cock like a good bitch."

"Rome," you cry his name, screaming when he enters into your pussy again. His hold is firm and hard on your hips as he keeps you in place against his pounding. He fucks your pussy with newfound vigor. Your juices flow down on your thighs, dripping onto the bed.

"Fuck!" Rome groans. "Your pussy is so good to me, sweetheart. She knows what she wants, and it's my cock. She wants me to fill her up and soak her with my seed."

His words clear your mind for a second. Your fingers grip onto the blanket under you. "Wait! Rome! Don't! I don't…!"

"It's okay, love," Rome groans, still fucking you. "You don't have to worry. I will take care of you and our pup. I will fuck your cunt until you are round with my child. I want to see your tits grow with milk and your stomach with our pup. Maybe I will always keep you pregnant and ripe."

Tears run down your cheek from pleasure and fear. Your body and your mind tell different things, and you can do nothing because of the spinning world around you. Your walls flutter around his cock, your stomach tightens into a burning coil.

"Take my knot, love," he demands. "Let me fuck my mate pregnant. Let me have this, love. Just open up your pussy for me, and I will do the rest."

There is no way you can fight against him. His hold on you is too strong and tight, while your limbs feel like jelly. He bullies your cock, filling you up to the brim.

Rome's whole world narrows down on your sweet hole as he forces his knot inside your wet pussy. Every nerve in his body bursts with pleasure when he is inside you fully, and he can't move without tugging and pushing you with the rhythm of his hips pounding your hole.

His growl shakes the walls as he cums inside you. He shoots into your hole several times until, even through the barrier of his knot, some still escapes your pussy.

"Ohgod!" You cry, shaking and jerking. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you reach your climax. You suck Rome for every drop of his cum he can give you. Your pussy aches and burns so deliciously that you can do nothing, but rock back against him for more. His chuckle is hoarse next to your ears when he notices what you are doing.

"It's 'kay, love," he hums, still keeping his weight on his arms. "My rut will keep me going for a while longer before I'm done with you."

"What?" You gasp, breathless. "We are not done?"

"Didn't you hear me?" He hums, pushing inside you more if it's even possible. "I won't stop until you are with my pup."

- Masterlist Meriad Masterlist Patreon

[a-b-riddle]

Part Four

Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.

"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.

"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."

"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.

"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."

You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.

"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.

Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.

It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.

It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.

In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.

"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."

"You think it was a stunt?"

"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."

"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."

"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."

"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."

"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."

You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.

You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.

"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”

For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.

Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?

"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.

You were finally angry.

[the-darklings]

FOR YOUR ARCANE PROMPTS LIST POOKIE: "hands under your lover's clothes" w/Silco??? perhaps?? perchance?? PLS PLS POOKIE, MY GLORIOUS QUEEN, MY EVERYTHING <3

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ silco x gn!reader, complicated relationship, a little angst, no spoilers for s2, cat & mouse dynamic but who is who? wc: 768

“It’s dangerous playing games with a patient man.”

“Are you? Patient?”

Silco’s mouth flutters into what could pass for a fleeting smile. It’s a rare expression on him, an ease that is seldom seen in the years since he left Vander’s side. Nowadays, he is nothing like the fresh-faced youth so desperate to fix the world you first met.

“More so than many, I’d reckon,” he replies placidly, watching you with idle interest. You lean on his oak wood desk, the rough grain of the wood warm beneath your fingers as you skim over his notes and ledgers. His meticulous nature is evident in the way he organised everything about the Shimmer trade. It’s almost irritating. “You are here for a reason.”

The gentle accusation falls on deaf ears.

“I was just saying hello,” you drawl, your voice low, swinging your attention his way. Silco’s scoff is a low, throaty sound, barely audible, but filled with disdain. 

You’re not sure when it started, you and him. If it was survival or a desire for a better life that drove you both from the start. You wanted freedom and independence and then he took the Undercity, and, in a way, you too. Since then, you’ve existed in his sphere, enjoying his favour. Flaunt it without making it obvious, slipping past the cracks of his rules. 

He appears so collected on his chair, a king on his throne in truth, but his immaculate clothes are wrinkled, buttons undone, and his Adam’s apple bobs when you touch his tie. You know better than to go near his throat. The last time you did, fingers eager and teeth nipping at the taut flesh there, he jerked back as if shocked. Terror and rage had overcome him, twisting you on his bed, still tangled in each other, before you could turn back your instincts. When his hands closed around your throat in response, you didn’t fight him off, and maybe it was that above all else that made Silco snap out of his spell.

No, instead, you slip your hand past the unbuttoned shirt, tracing over his sharp collarbone. Silco rests his cheek lightly on his hand, watching you through a narrowed eyed stare. Daring you, yes, but also curious. The heavy scarring on his face never bothered you. You didn’t lack scars of your own, but this… 

You slip forward, knee resting on the chair between his parted legs, hand slipping lower, to rest over his thudding heart. 

“Hello.” Your lips shape the word before you breathe them against his lips again. Your free hand cups his face and the hard beat of his heart echoes against your palm. 

The kiss is gentle, more civilised than either of you are used to, a sweetness that lingers even though it’s not what either of you normally craves, but when he doesn’t pull away, a secret thrill shoots up your spine. His deep inhale fills your ears, the heat of his lips imprinting on yours. A deep, rumbling sound vibrates through his chest when you deepen the kiss, your fingers moving in gentle circles over his skin. 

With a viper’s swiftness, Silco snaps his hand behind your head when you break the kiss, keeping you close. Nose to nose, your breaths mingle. You can’t quite tell what lingers in his burning gaze, one icy blue, another molten gold. 

“Are you hoping to endear yourself to me?” he asks, knowing and throaty. “A foolish play.”

“I won’t say that,” you say, breathless. “And if I was… well, I think you’re holding up just fine.”

Licking your lips, you pull back, grinning at him. He hasn’t moved, his knuckles returning to his cheek. Nonchalant, except for the heavy weight with which he still examines you. Silco won’t indulge you in admitting you do this because you’re the only one he can rely on in this shitty, twisted world of yours. You support his vision, you’ve always believed it, even when you were younger. 

Adjusting your dishevelled clothes, you look over at him once more. Not so crisp and orderly for once. Satisfaction nestles in your gut at the observation that the usually perfectly groomed and dressed man—this infamous crime lord—is a mess in the dim light of his office. Undone. Caught. Even if predatory hunger reflects in that golden hue. 

You wag your fingers in a playful wave. “It’s dangerous playing games with patient people, love, haven’t you heard?”

[kyuujo]

↳ check yes or no

↳ sae itoshi x fem!reader ↳ sfw ↳ influencer!reader, established relationship, hidden(ish) relationship, going public, language, fluff + crack(?), jealous!sae, kissing on livestream, slight possessiveness, shat outta my ass ngl, my writing

↳ 1.3k words

↳ i’m sorry sae has me in a chokehold (i love it harder pls) and this little brain bug just randomly slid into my skull sooooo here it is! thank you all so much for reading and i hope you enjoy dahlings! <3

(y/u/n)fan1998: welcome back lovely!

switterz: good to see you again! hope ur feeling better!

emi44578: i missed you so much!

a smile pulled at your lips and your chest warmed at the multitude of messages flooding your livestream. your throat was still a little sore, but thankfully your stomach had stopped rolling the day prior, and you’d been fever free for twenty-four hours. you didn’t feel completely better, but you felt well enough to at least start a small stream.

“aw, thank you guys so much.” you croaked, voice slightly groggy and thick. “i’m feeling a bit better, but as you can probably hear, i’m not outta the woods yet.”

once more, messages flooded your screen, so fast that you could hardly catch more than a mere glimpse of one before it was pushed up by another. your fans seemed to be extremely pleased by your online appearance, and it made you so happy despite the sickness still weighing down your body.

you hated having to take time off, especially unexpectedly.

the chat slowed to a comfortable trickle as you dived into the events of the past week, starting off with how you even got sick in the first place. you had to tweak the truth a bit — after all, you couldn’t exactly tell your audience that you’d caught a cold by attending your boyfriend’s game alongside a snotty, congested child.

“… this kid was sneezing all over the place, and the mother didn’t even care to wipe his nose or the things he sneezed on. it was so gross.” you complained, receiving a fair share of agreements and sympathies from your viewers.

it was as you were berating the mothering skills of a complete stranger when something familiar caught your eye. a username followed by a simple message, one you’d seen time and time again.

(y/n)husband1: (y/n) will you go out with me? check yes or no

you forced out a small laugh and shook your head as you addressed the message. your skin felt tight suddenly, that username always putting you off just slightly.

“i’m afraid i’m going to have to check ‘no.’ i’m in a very happy relationship.” the same answer you gave every time.

there was a flurry of comments again, some berating the user who had even typed a message like that and others calling out cap on your statement. you were fairly used to that; you’d never even shown sae on camera before, so your relationship was as good as hearsay to your viewers.

“okay, let’s just calm down.” you chipped out, barely suppressing a cough that threatened to rip through your throat. “i’ll need to take some more medicine soon, so i don’t have very long. let’s do some q and a before i go.”

thirty minutes later and over two dozen questions answered, you finally said goodbye to your viewers and clicked off the livestream. your shoulders sagged with relief instantly, and you let out a small sigh.

“how’d it go?”

you startled at the sudden intrusion to your thoughts. sae’s voice was a smooth, seemingly uninterested rumble. you calmed your racing heart and hummed as you stood from your chair, raising your arms up to stretch out your stiff torso.

“not bad at all. they weren’t mad at me, at least.”

sae rolled his eyes as you ambled to his side, his arm immediately sliding around your hip as he guided you to the sitting quarters.

“so what if they were? the feelings and thoughts of insignificant strangers aren’t important.”

you clapped your palm over his chest gently and shushed him. sae was always blunt like this; but his words did remind you of something.

“oh. that reminds me. (y/n)husband1 struck again.”

you know you didn’t imagine the way sae’s fingers tightened on your hip. was it wrong that you took some pleasure in that? maybe.

“what did they say this time?” sae murmured a bit tightly.

you huffed and rolled your eyes. “the same thing they always say. ‘(y/n) will you go out with me? check yes or no.’”

“it’s incredible they don’t already have a girlfriend, what with that irresistible smooth talk.” sae quipped, pulling a giggle from your throat. you shook your head and wrapped your arm around his rib cage, stumbling slightly from the awkward position.

“let’s just go find a movie, baby.” you suggested, your statement quickly garnering sae’s agreement. cuddles late into the night were always your favorite; and you had a feeling they were sae’s too.

three days later, you were completely recovered and back to your usual streaming schedule. your viewers were quite happy with the development, and for the most part, it was smooth sailing.

well, except for the occasional whirlpool conjured by the appearance of (y/n)husband1. they seemed to strike when you least expected it, and always with the same stupid question — the same stupid question that earned the same stern answer.

even your viewers seemed to be becoming irate by it, as they expressed their distaste on multiple occasions.

switterz: why dont u just block them from your streams? they’re annoying!

(y/u/n)fan1998: yea they’re clogging up the chat log all the time! and harassing u!

you wet your lips and said, slightly timidly, “well, technically, they aren’t breaking any rules guys. the best thing to do is simply ignore them, like i do.”

a majority of the chat seemed to disagree, but you weren’t wrong in what you said; though they spammed the same message again and again, they technically weren’t breaking any of the rules you had set in place during your first few streams.

suddenly, as if on the drop of a hat, the chat began to flood with a different topic — one that seemed to have taken over the controversy of (y/n)husband1 entirely.

switterz: SAE FCKIN ITOSHI????

emi44578: why is sae itoshi in ur house?!!?!?????

jackerquack: WTF HELLO SAE

user193949294: DONT TELL ME YOUR BF IS SAE ITOSHI!!!!

usererror404: THIS IS ABSOLUTELY INSANE THERES NO WAY

“what—?”

“i have to agree with the chat. you should block them.”

you swiveled around in your chair only to nearly touch noses with sae. your eyes widened and your lips popped open. what the hell was he doing? wasn’t his pr manager the one that insisted his relationship with you stay underwraps? just what was even happening?

there were hundreds of questions you wanted to ask, but in your pure shock you simply could work any past your lips; sae blinked once, then twice, before turning his eyes to the monitor in front of you.

“for those who have been wondering if she’s in a relationship, she is. with me. so no more harassment, or lying accusations.”

your heart was literally racing in your chest, your entire body frozen. sae was acting completely normal, as if he hadn’t just gone against every wish of his pr manager. you didn’t feel scared, per se, but the only emotion you could liken what you felt to was fear.

“demonking12 says they don’t believe it.” sae observed smoothly, eyes skimming down the chat. “and there’s some others who second that…”

you couldn’t even look at your screen — your eyes were glued to sae. how could he be so calm right now?!

sae turned to meet your stare of disbelief, and your stomach rolled when his lips quirked into the smallest, most mischievous smirk you’d ever seen grace his features.

“should we prove it?”

“um, what—?” you couldn’t even finish your blubbering before sae leaned in quickly and captured your lips with his — right in 4k!

the kiss wasn’t messy, or even sultry in nature, but it had your nerves lighting up and your cheeks flaring. sae’s lips were soft, warm, and almost commanding — it lasted a total of three seconds, but it was long enough to have your legs feeling weak.

sae pulled away but left just enough space between the two of you that you could see the sly swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip — as if he were collecting remnants of your taste.

“i’m pretty sure you’ve met your hour stream goal; time to entertain me, now.”

thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed! likes, comments and reblogs are by no means required but are so greatly appreciated! <33

[sinner-as-saint]

i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader 

Run-through: In dire need of counsel and guidance, you find yourself in Father Charlie’s office each evening working hard to be the perfect daughter your rich and eccentric family wishes you to be. And Father Charlie has a very… hands on approach when it comes to leading one of his astray little lambs back onto the right path. 

Themes: dom!charlie mayhew, smut, impact play (spanking), degrading kink, slight age gap, aftercare, some fluff?

“Did those thoughts bother you again, sweet girl?” 

You tensed up at the sound of his voice, fingers nervously playing with one of the pink flowers on your sweater. You stood right next to his desk, with your back to him. And you heard his steady footsteps getting closer and closer until he stopped right behind you. 

Father Charlie always made your heart race a little faster. Not out of fear, no. It was just that… he was so handsome. And slightly older. And kind. And gentle. And sweet. 

He was stern, and passionate about things. He was like a burning flame. Warm, mildly unpredictable, and it could hurt if you weren’t careful. That’s where the nervousness came from. That unpredictability, that possibility of hurt. That not knowing. 

But most of all, he was crucial in guiding you back onto the right path. You hadn’t committed any major sins, but your thoughts had been troubling you lately. Dark, sinful thoughts. It doesn’t suit a nice girl like you to think like that, he’d said once when you first came to see him, but that’s why I’m here. I’ll help you. 

And so it was decided that a couple of times a week, you’d be in his office in the evenings, waiting for him to be done with his duties so he could give you his undivided attention and get you out of this mess. 

So for the past weeks, his office was where you spent most of your evenings. 

“Um,” Your voice trembled, “A little.” 

“Hmm,” A deep rumble sounded like it came from his chest. “We’ll have to work on that, as we always do.” He spoke, calmly. Priestly. Then his large hands came to rest upon your shoulders. Large, warm, and comforting hands. 

You felt him lean in, nuzzling the shell of your ear. You felt him inhale your scent. 

He exhaled, his hands giving your shoulders a firm but gentle rub. “Is that a new perfume?” 

You nodded and answered sheepishly, “My daddy got it for me from Paris when he went on a work trip.” 

“Ah,” He let out a soft chuckle, his hands massaging your shoulders in a way that had you wanting to let out a soft moan. “You are your daddy’s little girl, aren’t you? Hmm?” He teased, then suddenly switched to sounding stern again when he asked, “But does your father know? Does he know why you come here so often?” 

You sucked in a breath when he pulled you back into his chest. His body pressing into your back, and this time you couldn’t help the moan that escaped, not when you felt his bulge pressing into your lower back. “Father,” You gasped. “Please, you can’t tell him. You promised.” 

Father Charlie had been safekeeping your little secret from your family for weeks. When your parents asked him about your sessions, he told them that you were doing so well. That you were so obedient. So perfect. 

But it was all a lie. Truth was, you were still stuck inside that metaphorical maze – the one that was filled with sinful things, and the way out was not easy. 

His hands moved downward, from your shoulders, down your back, down your sides, and came to rest at your waist. He pressed you even more against him. “But do you see how bad you’re becoming? Sneaky, liar,” He began listing all your wrongdoings, “Deviant.” He scoffed. “Now you see why I’m obliged to punish you each time? Hmm, sweet girl?” He whispered right into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your back. “Do you?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

He sighed, shoving his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent again before he said, “You know what to do, little lamb.” 

Then he let you go, giving you space to prepare for your ‘punishment’. You had done this many times before, it was necessary for you to learn, he’d said. So you knew the steps to take. You kept your shoes on and got out of your skirt, leggings, and sweater. Then removed your underwear and dropped all your clothes into a little pile at your feet. 

You then turned to face him, to look at him. He looked… tortured. Pouty mouth, lips parted as he breathed heavily. Sleeves of his black shirt rolled up till his elbows after a day’s work, and a hunger in his eyes as he walked over to you. You couldn’t look away from him. 

He stood in front of you and reached out to grab you at the back of your neck, tugging just a little to tilt your head back. He leaned in to rub the tip of his nose along your throat, lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, “Now tell me, what was it this time? Huh? What sinful thoughts did your brain conjure up?” 

You were completely as his mercy. And you had no choice but to be honest with him, “I’ve been having dreams. Last night was…,” You trailed off, your sentence ending in a breathless moan the moment he began nibbling and biting on your skin. “There was… there was a man, Father.” 

“Ah.” He pulled away and stared deep into your eyes with his fiery ones. “And? Did this man try to touch you again? Did you let him?” He asked in a lowered, stern voice, “Did you like it?” 

You blinked then did your best to nod. “I… I woke up, but–,” You cut yourself off. Breathing deeply when you felt his other hand sliding easily in between your legs, teasing your clit. 

“But what?” He demanded. “What happened? What did you do?” He sounded disappointed, but also like he couldn’t wait to hear what you had to say. 

You struggled to even form a coherent thought as you felt him touch you, his fingers sliding along your slit slowly. “I… I touched myself after I woke up from the dream.” You confessed. 

He clicked his tongue, clearly disappointed. “We talked about this, didn’t we? Good girls don’t do that.” He chided. “How did you do it? Hmm? Like this?” He looked down, loosening his grip on your neck so you could follow his movement, both of you now looking down at how his fingers touched and teased you until they were nice and wet. “Is this how you touched yourself?” 

It was downright dirty to just watch his fingers leisurely gliding in and out, stroking your sensitive parts. His fingers weren’t even inside you yet, but you were close to the edge already, feeling warm and tingly all over. You closed your eyes tightly and held back a moan as you answered, “Yes, Father. I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t supposed to.” 

“No,” He said, “You weren’t supposed to do that.” He sounded like he was whispering precious secrets to you. He held your stare, leaning in just so he was all you could see. The rest of the world didn’t exist here. “Because that’s my job. Isn’t it?” He pulled his fingers away and brought them up to your lips, sliding his wet fingers into your open mouth like he owned it. Your lips wrapped around his fingers, gently sucking on them as he spoke, “This little cunt belongs to me. And only I get to touch it. Wasn’t that the deal we made? Hmm?” He brushed his lips across your cheek, still sliding his fingers in and out of your wet mouth, “I keep your filthy little secrets from your family, and in return, you let me touch it, taste it, fuck it, whenever I please.” He added, “To punish you, of course. Wasn’t that our deal?” 

You nodded. 

He sighed, “You see? I try to instill discipline and obedience in you, but you defy me again and again.” He scoffed, “I don’t like having to punish you all the time. But you leave me no choice,” He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pointed at his desk, “Bend over.” 

You turned around immediately and bent over the edge of his large desk. Your cheek pressing against the cold surface of the polished wood as your hands laid palm down on each side of your head. Your ass pressed against the front of his pants and you whimpered, feeling his thick, hard cock beneath the fabric, rubbing against your soft folds. 

You felt his hands on your body. “Look how pretty you are.” He placed his hands on each side of your waist and caressed your body, rubbing up and down along your sides, touching your ass but not touching you right where you needed him to yet. “It’s a shame you’re such a dirty, needy slut.” 

You gasped at his crude words, and bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning too loud as his touch made you feel all tingly and floaty. 

He scoffed before pinching your skin to make you gasp again, “Such an obedient little slut, aren’t you?” He finally trailed his fingers down in between your legs and lazily traced along your slit. “So wet and ready for me.” He chuckled, “Tell me, how many times do you fantasize about me while you touch yourself, hmm?” 

You closed your eyes and frowned in pleasure as he lazily finger-fucked you. “A lot… too many times,” You whined as he touched a sensitive spot inside you, “Please Father. You sounded just as desperate as you were.

“Oh.” He scoffed, as if that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “You filthy little slut.” 

You braced for the painful impact which you were certain was coming. You heard how he lifted his hand up in the air and brought it down to spank your ass. You yelped as his spank left behind pleasant tingles on your skin.

“Count.” He ordered impatiently. 

“One.” 

He did it again, allowing his hand to linger on your skin a little longer this time, caressing your skin where his hand landed. 

“Two.”

Again. 

“Three.” You said, almost moaning at how good it felt, and heard him chuckle.

“This never gets old.” He muttered and slid his hand further down, stroking your folds for a moment. “You’re so fucking wet. This gets you off, huh? Pain, being degraded, being treated like a whore,” He listed, “You like this, don’t you?” He chuckled. “Of course you do, you’re fucking dripping.” He lifted his hand and spanked you again.

“Four.” You sighed, in pleasure and pain. 

Again. “When will you learn, hmm?” 

“Five.” You whimpered as he struck your butt again. 

“See,” He spoke in that deep voice again, “Good girls don’t enjoy being spanked. But you’re far, far from being a good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Six.” It stung a little, but the kind that you wanted more of. “Please, Father,” You barely knew what you were begging for. 

He chuckled, sounding smug. “I know, I know.” 

“Seven.” 

Again. 

“Eight.” You gasped. 

He smacked your dripping core instead of your butt. Your whole body tingled. You were breathless. 

“Nine.” 

He grunted as he spanked you one last time. “There we go.” 

“Ten.” You moaned shamelessly this time. He had you all worked up, hot and bothered with just spanks. 

“What do we say?” 

You whined breathlessly, “Thank you, Father.” 

He let out a satisfied hum, his hands rubbing you all over as you waited again, since you couldn’t see him. You relied on your sense of hearing to determine where he was. “Don’t move.” His deep, steady voice ordered. 

You heard him undoing his pants, the sound of him lowering his zipper made you whimper as you pushed your ass against him even more. You felt his hands on your body again, he grabbed you on either side of your hips before spreading your legs apart and pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. 

But he didn’t slide his cock inside of you yet. 

You waited, your heart racing as he spoke. “Remember, I’m doing this for you.” He sounded wild, his voice strained and raspy. “You know that, don’t you?” 

You tried to push back into him but he moved away, chuckling while you whined in desperation. “Yes, Father.” 

Pleased with your answer, he moaned under his breath as he pushed himself slowly inside of you, feeling your walls tight around him. You whimpered as he filled you up, stretching you as he went. 

“You see? This is how you will always be treated if you don’t mend your ways.” He struggled to talk just a little, gasping as he felt your walls clench around him. “This isn’t how good girls get treated. Bent over a desk like this,” He scoffed, “No, this is how little sluts like you get fucked.” 

He pulled out and thrust deep into you again, making you moan and gasp under him. He reached out and grabbed your wrists, pinning them down at your lower back as he started rocking into you. Using you like a toy. Slowly at first, then gradually building up his pace. 

“But you love this, don’t you? You love it so much you dream about it.” 

You whined as he fucked deep into you, your front bumping against the edge of the desk each time. “Yes,” You admitted, “Yes, Father.” You whimpered as he pounded harder into you at the sound of that confession. His pelvic bone smacking against your ass each time he thrust into you.

“Yeah? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You sick, twisted girl. All you want is for a man to fuck you like the little slut you are,” He growled, tightening his grip on your wrists as he fucked you harder, feeling your walls getting tighter around him. He hissed again, “Like you’re just pussy to be used, huh?” 

You whined, “Please…” 

He slammed his cock harder into you, making your eyes water and your heart race so fast you felt like it might just escape your ribcage. He thrust so deep into you just then that it felt like you would simply come apart right there but then he pulled out and pulled you off the desk, turning you around so you faced him. He grabbed your chin roughly in his grip as he stared into your eyes. 

“Don’t you dare fucking come yet.” He threatened. 

Your lips parted as you gasped for air. He looked like he was trying very hard to maintain his composure. He cupped your face and kissed you savagely. Hard. Lips, teeth, tongue – all of it. And for a moment it felt like you might just come undone from his kiss alone. 

But then he pulled away from your swollen lip and spat into your mouth before he said, “Get on your knees. Now.” 

Your brain was still processing it all but your body obeyed immediately, falling perfectly on your knees in front of him. You watched him with a hunger in your teary eyes. 

You watched how he grabbed his cock at the base and guided his tip over to your already open, wet, warm mouth and said, “Suck.” 

You did. You opened your mouth wider as he slowly pushed himself deeper into your mouth. You took him in slowly until he hit the back of your throat. 

“That’s it, worship this fucking cock like you’ve always dreamt of doing, like the filthy little slut you are,” He hissed in pleasure, “And make it good for me.” 

You looked up and met his piercing eyes. He looked like a god as he looked down at you like you were in your rightful place, kneeling before him with his cock in your mouth. Pink lips parted as he hissed in pleasure. 

You gripped his thighs and worked extra hard on him, feeling his smooth skin along your tongue, tasting yourself and his precum as he groaned. You whimpered when he let out an unrestrained growl as you circle his tip with your tongue before sucking on it gently. 

He let out a carefree chuckle as he looked down at you, “I wonder where you learnt that from?” He asked, knowing damn well you couldn’t respond with his cock filling your mouth. Then he said, “Up.” 

You listened, even though you were a little disappointed you didn’t get to make him come in your mouth but you’d take whatever he’d give you, as usual. So you followed his instructions as he had you sit on the edge of the table this time before he stepped in between your legs, still staring into your eyes. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he leaned in to whisper against your mouth, “Still want more, don’t you? Hmm? You don’t care who gives it to you, you’re a happy girl as long as you’ve got some cock in you, huh?” He aligned his cock to your core again. He slipped inside you with ease, making you gasp at how good he felt as he began fucking you again. “We talked about this, didn’t we?” His calm words didn’t match the way he fucked you like an animal. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them further apart so he could fuck you deeper. “Good girls don’t think about cock and fucking all the time. But that’s all your filthy brain is filled with, isn’t it?” 

“Please…” You whimpered. 

He fucked deeper into you, pounding into you relentlessly as he moaned into the crook of your neck. “Your little cunt feels so good… so fucking tight for me,” He whispered against your skin and you barely heard him over the sound of sex echoing in his spacious office. “Only for me though, right? You don’t spread these legs for other men, do you?” He couldn’t help but laugh, “Of course you don’t. This is mine. You are mine.” He growled. 

“Yes, Father…” You whined as you felt yourself getting so close to the edge again as he pounded into you aggressively. You felt a tear slip out of the corner of your eye as you felt the pressure in between your legs getting too much to contain. 

He felt it too, as your walls clenched violently around him. “Fuck,” He growled into your ear, “Come for me, slut. Come all over this cock…” 

You didn’t hear the rest of what he said because you were long gone, well fucked and lust drunk, you came with a loud cry. He followed shortly after, coming undone while he was buried deep inside you, gripping your thighs so tightly that his fingers would surely leave a bruise behind as memory. 

As always. A little something for you to remember him by until you see him next. 

—

Father Charlie had some paperwork to oversee and some mails to reply to. But he didn’t want you gone just yet, so he helped you clean up, put your clothes back on, then he pulled you onto his lap as he sat on one of the couches in his office to get some work done. 

He did his thing, signed some papers, sorted them into files, replied to some emails, checked his socials, while you straddle his lap, resting your head on his shoulder and sighing each time he petted you or caressed your back, occasionally leaving kisses on your forehead. 

You mindlessly played with the buttons on his shirt, tracing imaginary shapes on his exposed forearm, breathing in his scent, finding comfort in his body heat. After the first ‘session’, he noted that you liked being held, at least until you came down from that high. 

And you were, gradually. Soon he’d drop you home and have a word with your family, and he’d tell them that you did good. He’d also tell them that you’d need some more sessions. And they would happily agree. 

Soon. Not now. 

“What is it?” He asked, after noticing that you’d been whining and rubbing your face against his warm neck like a kitten. “Want me to drop you home?” 

You shook your head quickly, “No.” You mumbled quietly. 

“Don’t just whine like a brat then,” He said, “Make yourself useful.” He pointed down at his crotch. “Keep it warm for me.”

You knew exactly what he wanted you to do. So you reached down and into his pants to pull out his cock. You lifted up just until you had room to align his cock to your entrance, and once done you sank down until he was buried deep inside you again. 

You whimpered as you shoved your face into the crook of his neck again, keeping his cock warm just like how he wanted you to. 

“That’s it,” He said. “Now stay still and do a good job, and maybe I’ll fuck you one more time before I drop you home. Yeah?” 

You whined in response, wanting nothing more than to move and make it feel good again. But you knew he’d reward you later if you behaved. 

He went back to his work, paying little attention to you. Only caressing you here and there, maybe a kiss on your shoulder, or a whispered word about how good you were doing, or he’d hiss and tell you to stop moving your hips. 

And you knew.

There was no getting better. There was no way you’d get back on the right path or whatever he’d promised your family. If there was hell to pay after this, you didn’t care. 

Because you knew. 

You knew you’d keep coming right back to him. Each day. Each time he’d want you to. Over and over again. 

Like a helpless moth to an all-consuming flame. 

—

a/n: yeah I have a problem, save me father charlie– 

[sincerelybubbles]

could you write something where the reader is listening to reid going off on his tangents and when he gets insecure, just straight up saying. "no, go on. i like the sound of your voice." ? ty! 🤍

Don't shut up // no warnings as far as i can tell? lmk if not <3 pure fluff!! ty for the request <333

"They usually called her the Limping Lady but there's really no way to tell how many pseudonyms she used," Spencer is saying, dragging his hand through your hair where you lay on his lap, His other hand is busy grasping at the air while he talks.

"Because of the prosthetic leg?" You ask, urging him to continue talking. You're nearly asleep, eyes heavy and chest loose with the comfort of his proximity.

"Yeah. She actually nicknamed it 'Cuthbert' when she got the wooden prosthetic. It's actually pretty interesting - people have been using prosthetics for a really long time. We don't know exactly when people started using them in modern medicine, but the first evidence we can find of them dates all the way back to ancient Egypt where they found a prosthetic toe."

The documentary Spencer put on over an hour ago about World War II has long since been paused, Netflix's blinking "Are you still watching?" hovering uselessly on his laptop screen. He paused it ages ago to discuss the inaccuracies about Hitler's past, then Italy's involvement in France and the parallels between the almost French famine and the Irish famine, leading him to Virginia Hall.

All in all, you're in heaven. He's been stroking your hair, blunt nails scratching every so often, voice rumbling through his chest and stomach where your ear presses against. He's talking calmly, even, if not slightly rushed, like he can't wait for even a breath to keep telling you about everything he knows.

"I just want you to know all of the things I know, too, you know?" He told you once when you urged him to slow down. He's learned to take his time with you, eventually, realizing that you're not waiting for your opportunity to jump in. You don't spend your time with Spencer figuring out when it'll be your turn to talk next; instead, you lull in the comfortable space of listening while knowing he'll return the favor the moment you have something to say.

"Sorry, are you trying to sleep? I can shut up and turn the movie back on," Spencer says suddenly, hand stilling in your hair.

You open your eyes slightly to find him looking down at you, lip caught between his teeth, a hesitant look in his eyes.

Spencer doesn't often get insecure like this around you - you've spent plenty of time convincing him that there's no need - but moments like this still happen. You suppose it's a natural product of constant teasing and bullying through childhood.

"I don't mean to ramble," he mutters when he catches your eye.

"No," you say, interrupting him and reaching up to brush your fingers across his cheekbone and up to his eyebrows. "No, Spence, I literally love the sound of your voice. Please, keep going."

You watch him melt, afraid for a moment that his liquid brown eyes will start to water. You make a concerned noise, about to sit up and comfort him further, when his hand moves to press down on your collarbones. He holds you in place as he looks at you for a second, heated gaze causing you to feel warm. Slowly, he bends to press a kiss on each of your eyelids, right below your eyebrows. He rests his lips on the bones there for a few moments before moving to the next.

"I love you," he murmurs, the truth of the statement oozing out too sincerely to ignore.

He doesn't give you a moment to breathe before diving right back into his explanation of how ancient prosthetics were integrated into modern medicine, hand resuming its path in your hair and voice slowly bringing you to a calm half-nap.

[gudfornuthin]

All I’ve Ever Wanted

Season 4!Five Hargreeves x fem!reader

! Spoilers ahead !

Summary: six years of travelling to different timelines, and Five isn’t sure how much longer he can go on for. Until he stumbles upon a greenhouse, full of strawberries. And you.

Word count: 4212

A/N: so season 4 was a… thing that happened. This story is basically my own idea of how things should’ve gone in ep 5. Instead of the weird Lila/Five situation, it’s just Five, and his chance of living a normal life with someone new. Hope you all enjoy, and feedback is appreciated :)

Number Five was never one to back down from a challenge. Having been through a series of different apocalyptic events, transporting to a timeline where he spent 40 years alone, and dealing with a misfit group consisting of his exhausting siblings, Five was up for anything. But the current situation he was dealing with? For the first time in his life, he was at breaking point.

After another wasted day spending hour after hour searching for any clues or information on how to get back to the correct timeline, Five returns to the subway, entering one of the compartments and slumping down in the first chair he sees. He rubs his eyes and lets out a visceral sigh, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. He reaches into his pockets, pulling out a small pack of dried fruits. He rips it open and devours every last piece. He can’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He was becoming more desperate, rummaging through trash cans and foraging in bushes, hoping anything he picks isn’t poisonous.

The compartment jolts and begins to move, making its way to the next timeline. Five wipes his hands on his already dirty pants, standing up and walking slowly to the door. He wonders whether his apocalypse counterpart will be waiting for him this time.

After several minutes, and Five almost falling over from his lack of sleep, he finally arrives, the doors opening. He steps out, immediately making his way up the stairs. No time to waste. He cautiously pokes his head out, looking around for any signs of, well, himself. Before he can move out more, something wizzes past his head. A bullet. He ducks, as more shots are fired directly at him.

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” Five mumbles, as he finally takes notices of the other him in the distance.

He sticks up his middle finger, and no soon after closes his fists, blinking as quick as he possibly could.

The Five with a gun disappears along with the destroyed world around him. Five drops his arms to his sides, turning around and admiring the new environment. Luscious, greenery surrounds him, with an array of different flowers sprouting from the ground beneath him. A small pond with fish glimmers in the sunshine, lily pads floating on top. He continues turning, finding himself standing next to a tall greenhouse. The glass was slightly foggy, making it difficult to see what’s inside. Five leans in closer, squinting as if that would help. He can barely make out what appears to be pots of fruit and vegetables, some fully sprouted and others not yet ripe. His stomach rumbles, the feeling of hunger consuming him.

A rustle sounds from behind him. He turns quickly, coming face to face with a pair of shears. Five jumps back slightly. He then spots the person wielding said ‘weapon’. A young woman, probably early twenties, wearing a light yellow dress and a pair of brown sandals. Five can’t help but admire her beauty, if it wasn’t for the fact she had a face like fury and didn’t seem afraid of cutting him in half.

“Can I help you?” Her words are kind, but her harsh tone says otherwise.

Five can’t exactly tell this young woman the truth. Showing up randomly in her back yard, covered in grime, gawking at her crops through the window. He raises his hands up in the air, trying to convey that he meant no harm.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his throat sore having not spoken to anyone in quite some time. “I don’t really know how I got here.” That’s not exactly true. “I’ve been travelling for a few days now.” Try six years. “And I could really do with a hot shower and something to eat.”

The woman doesn’t say anything, just staring, with the shears still held out in front of her.

Five puts his arms down, shrugging in defeat. “I’ll just go. I truly am sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” He looks down. “Or step all over your rose garden.” He gingerly moves away from the destroyed flowers.

He turns and begins to walk away, hoping to find an exit as quick as possible. Blinking in front of this woman probably wouldn’t help his cause. A warm hand grabs hold of his wrist, forcing him to stop and look back. She has the shears loosely hanging by her side, as her eyes pierce into Five’s. She seems hesitant, words forming in her mind. At last, she speaks again.

“You’re telling the truth?”

Five nods incessantly, feeling like a child.

“And if I let you in and make you something to eat, you won’t try and kill me?”

Five holds back a laugh, knowing she’s being deadly serious. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The woman waits a beat, then huffs. “Come on, I was just about to start dinner.”

She moves past Five, walking into three greenhouse. He takes this as a sign to follow after her.

***

The young woman allows Five to use her shower, and he’s thankful for the change of clothes she provides for him too. The home is small and cosy, playing into the stereotypical cottage core of living. The lighting is soft, and the smell of pumpkin seems to waft through into every room. It’s calming, it’s peaceful, it’s something that makes Five feel on edge. He isn’t used to the domestic life, away from the terror and destruction, trying to save the world over and over. He knows he can’t stay here long, but he won’t miss the opportunity of a proper cooked meal.

After putting on the change of clothes, Five makes his way down the hall and into the kitchen, a small buffet waiting for him. He finds it hard not to drool, the potatoes and fresh pie, along with the fruit and vegetables he’d spotted earlier. It looks incredible. He takes a seat, as the woman places down a final plate of tomatoes, sitting down opposite Five.

They dish out the food, filling their plates as high as they can, especially Five. He tries not to look like a slob in front of the pretty girl, but finds it hard not to drop some things down his top. She doesn’t seem to notice, or pretends not to.

The woman takes a sip of her drink, clearing her throat. “So,” her soft voice makes Five look up from his plate. “Do you have a name or is that one of the many mysteries of the man shovelling food down his throat like he hasn’t eaten in several years?”

The woman isn’t afraid of being upfront. Five admires that. Although, it’s not surprising considering he’s a complete stranger she’s trusted in her home. He puts down his knife and fork, grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth.

“No, I have a name. It’s Fi-,” he catches himself, unsure if his ‘name’ would just create more confusion, and unwanted questions. “Jerome. Just, Jerome.”

The woman squints her eyes, but doesn’t push further, seeming to move past his stumble. “Okay. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Jerome.”

Five shrugs, not knowing what else to say.

“My names Y/N.”

Five nods. “Okay. We’re closer already.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N says, a small smile gracing her face. Five can’t help but pull the same expression.

***

After a hearty dinner, and some obvious awkward silences, Five insists on helping Y/N do the washing up. The sun was beginning to set, and Five knows he’ll have to leave soon, but something stops him from doing so. He doesn’t want to admit it, but this was the most relaxed he’d felt in a long time. The fear or worry of something bad happening wasn’t there, and as he stands close to the woman he had barely met 2 hours ago, he realises what he’d been missing in his 60 something years. A place to live, with a person who makes him feel safe.

“Jerome,” the voice breaks through his thoughts, as Five almost forgets the name he’d given to this woman. “I feel like we’ve skirted around the topic enough. Is there any reason you were in the state you were in, taking refuge behind my greenhouse?”

Five places down the plate he was cleaning, turning to face her fully. Her expression is calm, and her voice shows no sign of interrogation. It’s a first for Five, as he’s become accustomed to people prodding him for information only for their own benefit. No one’s ever shown true interest in him.

He shrugs. “It’s been a tough couple of years. More than that I guess.” Fives eyes glaze over. “I haven’t seen my family in a long time, and I don’t know if I ever will. And if I do, I’m terrified of the state that I’ll find them in.”

Y/N stops what she’s doing, also turning to look at Five, a look of worry taking over her face. He knows he’s said more than he should have, but he couldn’t help it. He’s not good at sharing his feelings, and when he does, he’s scared of what will happen once the flood gates are opened. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to close them.

“What d’you mean? Are they in some kind of trouble?” She asks, a slight shake in her voice. “Are you in trouble?”

Five shakes his head, not wanting to stress out this poor woman who’s been nothing but doting to him. “No! No, I just,” he sighs, knowing he’s really put his foot in it. “I just care about them, a lot. Too much. And I don’t even want to think about not seeing them again.”

A soft hand brushes against Five’s cheek, as he glances at Y/N wiping a tear away from his face. He didn’t even realise he’d started crying. He sniffles, moving away and rubbing at his eyes, fearing how red they may look. He sucks in a deep breath, calming his beating heart. Whether it’s from talking about his family, or the touch from the woman next to him, he isn’t sure. But he fears he’s overstayed his welcome.

Five moves away from the kitchen counter. “I guess I should probably go. Don’t wanna miss my train.” Although he knows they’ll always be one there waiting for him.

He heads for the door, remembering to go upstairs and collect his dirty clothes before he leaves. Footsteps are heard from behind him.

“Uh,” Five swivels back around, as Y/N hesitates over her words. “This may seem kinda forward, and a dangerous move on my part, but, I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight knowing you were out there in the middle of the night, traveling by yourself.”

Five holds his breath, not wanting to jump the gun, but already anticipating the next sentence out of her mouth.

“I have extra pillows, and blankets.” Y/N shrugs. “It’s not the most comfortable couch but I’d say it’s more comfortable than the chairs on the train.”

Neither of them speak for a while. Five ponders her offer over and over, wondering if this is something he wants to decline. He needs to get back to his family. He needs to get back to help them. But so far, every option has been a bust. He’s not sure how much longer he can go on for. It could be the apocalypse all over again. Stuck for 40 years, traveling none stop, unsure if he’ll ever see his loved ones again. Could a good nights sleep really be such a bad thing?

He thinks the risk is worth it. “As long as it’s not too much trouble for you.”

***

That one good nights sleep turned into three months, staying at Y/N’s home, crashing on her couch. It didn’t stop Five from going out, back to the subway, trying to find the possible solution to his six year problem. But the more time he spent with the woman, the less time he wanted to spend away from her. They grew closer, making meals together, gardening together, watching silly romcoms together. While Y/N taught Five how to bake, Five taught her how to fight. A young woman living by herself? It didn’t hurt knowing some basic defence skills.

Five didn’t want to admit it, but his family hadn’t crossed his mind as often as it usually did before he met Y/N. He’d become soft, wanting to be around her all the time, not wanting to visit the subway as often as he should be. He’s lucky enough to call her a friend. He hopes she calls him that too.

***

It’s late, and Y/N is sat on the couch, crocheting a few pairs of gloves and a long overdue jumper. People used to make fun of her for it, calling her an old lady, but she finds it soothing. And making your own clothes is a big bonus too. Five, or Jerome as she knew him, had been out most of the day. She never questioned what he was up to, only that he returned safe, ready for whatever she’d cooked up for him during the day. She wasn’t completely naive in thinking ‘Jerome’ has involved himself in shady business. But unless he plans on telling her, then she won’t bother pushing him on the matter.

A bang echos from the back of the house, specifically inside the geeenhouse. It makes Y/N jump up from her seated position, quickly rushing out to the source of the noise. It can only be one person, or that’s what she hopes. Either way, she grabs for her shears before entering the warm glass room.

“Jerome?” She whispers, watching her step, the only light in the room coming from the moon through the windows.

A muffled groaning reaches her ears, as Y/N blindly moves her hands over the walls, trying to find the light switch. She finally does, and flicks it on. A sharp gasp comes out of her mouth, as the brightness finally reveals her new friend curled in a ball on the floor, rolling in pain.

“Shit.”

She quickly makes her way over to him, delicately wrapping her arms around his waist and slowly helping him off the floor. He stumbles, knocking into a few pots, almost making them fall off the table.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, the word slurring under his breath.

“Don’t apologise,” she says, making sure he’s steady on his feet. “Let’s just get you inside and onto the couch.”

They make their way through into the living room, Five dropping haphazardly onto the soft cushions, while Y/N finally gets a proper look at him. His clothes are ripped, the once pristine suit (one she bought for him as a gift) now in tatters. His hair is sticking up in all different directions, and he’s clutching to his side like his life depends on it. She reaches for his arm, prying it away to reveal an array of bullet wounds, still bleeding.

“You should see the other guy,” Five jokes, tilting his head back and trying to forget about the burning pain running across his body. Funnily enough, if Y/N saw the other guy, he’d look exactly like him, considering this all happened due to an unfortunate run in with apocalypse Five.

Y/N stares at him with wide eyes. “Really? Look, I don’t bother asking where you go or what you’re up to when you leave this house, but I think now’s the time you tell me the truth.”

Five moves his head back down, looking her in the eyes. She’s terrified. And he hates that. He breathes in deep, taking her hand in his.

“If you can help me patch this shit up,” he briefly motions to his wounds, “then I’ll tell you who I really am.”

So that’s what they do. Y/N retrieves the first aid kit from her bathroom, while Five opens up about his life before he met her, and how he’s not from this timeline. He isn’t sure if she’s believing what he says, as she remains quiet the entire time, only occasionally looking up at him and quickly returning to removing the bullets lodged in his side. But she listens. And allows him to pour his heart out to her.

“The past six years were torture. Somehow worse than the forty I spent in the apocalypse.” Five turns his head and stares at the woman next to him, as she finishes up her work. “But these last few months with you. I could finally be normal. I could live a life most guys would kill to have. And I’m so sorry I lied to you this long.”

They fall into silence, the pair somehow closer together than they were a few minutes ago. Both emotionally, and physically. Y/N moves her hand and takes his, squeezing tightly. Five’s heartbeat picks up speed, only now noticing their close proximity.

“So your real name is ‘Five’?” He nods at her words. She nods back. “Hmm. It suits you a lot better than Jerome.”

They both laugh half heartedly, as they stare deeply into each other’s eyes. She moves her hand up to his hair, moving it out of his face, trying to calm it down slightly.

She carries on talking. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through.” Five rolls his eyes. She doesn’t even know the half of it. “But if I can be the person to keep you grounded, for however long you’re here for, then I’m happy to do just that.”

Five smiles, glancing quickly at her lips.

She does the same. “And I hope you’re here for a long time.”

They both lean in, softly pressing their lips against each other’s. Five cups her face, deepening the kiss as Y/N rests her arms atop his shoulders. They move in sync, careful not to cause any more damage to Five’s wounds, as she somehow moves closer, one of her legs wrapping itself around his waist.

They don’t stop, clothes discarded, bodies intertwined, as their growing tension is finally broken. Five isn’t sure if he’ll ever get back to his timeline, but for now, he’s happy to call this place home.

***

Another four months, and still no sign of a way back. Although, Five can’t deny he hasn’t been trying as hard as usual. The peace and tranquillity has consumed him whole, falling into a proper routine with the woman he…

Is it love? Could he truly fall for someone like this? Someone who isn’t involved in the shit show he’s grown accustomed to? Someone who wants that quiet life, watering flowers and baking pies, with him? Maybe it’s what he needs.

Five stands in the greenhouse, picking some fresh strawberries, and trying a few to see if they were ripe. He’s already found the perfect recipe to use them in. Something he knows she’ll love.

As if reading his thoughts, a pair of arms slip around his waist. Y/N rests her chin on his shoulder, peaking over to see the basket full of fresh fruit. She picks one up, moving away and popping it in her mouth. Five turns and looks at her, smiling wide.

“They taste perfect,” she says.

Five takes her wrists, pulling her towards him and kissing her lightly. “So do you.”

She laughs, holding him close and breathing him in. “The cheesy lines don’t work on me, bub.”

“I think they do.” He mumbles, bringing her in for another kiss, sliding his hands up and down her back.

They stay like this for a while, holding each other in the warm glass room. The sun starts to set, as Five looks out and realises what time it is.

“Damn.”

She looks at him, confusion on her face. “What’s up?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, I just need to do a double check of the subway before dinner.”

Y/N tries not to show her anxiousness, but some of it seeps through. After Five explained to her what the subway is and why he goes there every day, she’s terrified at the thought of him leaving and never coming back. But she knows he wouldn’t do that to her. Not without saying goodbye.

She steps back. “Right. Promise you’ll be safe?”

He kisses her on the cheek. “I promise.”

***

Five spends some time looking around the platform in the subway, checking the lights, checking the maps, even poking his head into the tunnels to see if anything has changed. But nothing. It all remains the same. No sign of his past life waiting for him. Was that such a bad thing?

Holding a small flashlight, he shines it up and down, left and right, hoping his eyes will catch something new. A sudden pop from above startles him, the grip he had on the flashlight loosening. It falls and rolls onto the tracks. Five looks up, noticing one of the bulbs now flickering. He huffs, moving to the edge of the platform and jumping down. He retrieves the flashlight, hitting it a few times to try and get it to work again. It comes to life, flashing in front of him. That’s when he spots something.

“That’s new.”

Five walks over, grabbing the mystery object and holding it up. It’s a plain notepad. He flips it open, scanning over the messy handwriting inside. His messy handwriting. He can’t help but let out a tiny gasp, as he figures out what it all means.

“This is it.” Tears form in his eyes. “This is my way back home.”

He’s shocked. He’s elated. He’s emotionally drained. This is his chance to rejoin his timeline. To see his family after so long. To fix the mess they’ve created. But all he can think about in this moment is Y/N. How the hell is he supposed to break the news to her?

***

After another hour spent pondering this new found information, Five slowly makes his way back home. His home. Where the life he’d built was waiting for him.

He enters the house and walks into the kitchen, where Y/N stands by the stove, boiling something sweet and caramelly. Five just stares at her; humming a random tune, wiping her messy hands on the apron he bought for her when her old one accidentally caught fire. That was the most stress he’d felt since coming here. And if that was the only stress he had to deal with, he’d take it every single day.

She finally turns and spots him, smiling wide. “Oh hey! I was worried for a sec, you were taking longer than expected.”

She moves closer to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He holds her, not wanting to let go. Y/N can tell something isn’t right.

She leans back. “You okay?”

Five doesn’t reply, only holding the notepad out for her to take. She does so, flipping through the pages just like he did, her expression perplexed.

“I don’t understand-”

“It’s the way back to my timeline.”

She looks up at him, mouth slightly open, as her words fall short. Five can swear he hears her heartbeat speed up, as her breathing becomes erratic. Five isn’t sure what to do, waiting for an explosion of emotions to rain down on him. But nothing comes. Neither of them do or say anything.

Five chooses to break the silence. “I don’t wanna lose you. I can’t. I don’t think I could live the way I used to live. Not after living this life with you.”

Y/N bites her lip, suppressing a sob. “You have to go.”

Five furrows his brow, hoping he heard her wrong. He tilts her head up to stare into her eyes, seeing the tears forming.

“No,” he whispers. “You’ve become the most important thing in my life. The thought of never seeing you again, I can’t do that.”

A tear falls down her cheek, as Five reaches out to wipe it away.

“I’d love nothing more than to stay in this little bubble we’ve created,” she replies, finding it hard to keep her voice steady. “But your family, your timeline, all those people? They need you more than I do. And I know deep down, you can’t bear the thought of letting them die, knowing you could’ve helped.”

Five wants to ask her to come with him. Become apart of his family. He knows she’d get on with them all. And they’d all love her, possibly more than they love him. But he knows it’s cruel to ask her to leave her life behind. The house, the garden, the home that she’s worked so hard on. And the thought of throwing her into the thick of it all. Putting her at danger? No chance.

He pulls her into his embrace, kissing her hard. They hold each other tight, their lips bruising as neither of them can stop the tears from falling.

Y/N is the first to pull away. “If you ever get the chance to come back to this timeline, you know where to find me.”

Five smiles, not wanting to let her go. He kisses her once more. “In the greenhouse, tasting just as sweet as the strawberries.”

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ "𝐰-𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭!? " | childe, kaeya, heizou, lyney x gn!reader

ㅤ⤷ art cr

— it's time for revenge : teasing the teasing boys back.

󠀠󠀠ㅤ⤷ DARLINNGGG, GUESS WHOS BACK FROM JAILLLLL ... gn reader, but use of adj "pretty", est. relationship childe + heizou , alcohol 󠀠󠀠and suggestive mentions in kaeya's, fluff

— ...aka , flirting back makes them malfunction. ♥

"Darling, you're so pretty today~!"

There he is — that sly little shit you call so fondly by name. Childe snakes his arms firmly around your torso, snuggling into you from behind.

It doesn't take a genius to guess he's grinning like an idiot.

(Your idiot.)

"Hm? I don't think I heard you right, say it one more time?" Glancing back at him with a cheeky smile, you hear the rumble of his laughter.

The harbinger presses a sneaky, little sideways kiss against the base of your neck, tufts of his hair tickling your jaw. "You're seriously too kissable today. Totally unfair."

He's so stupidly in love that you can't help but tease him, just a little. Changing positions, you turn around to cup the man's face. "Well, if I'm that kissable today, I guess I'll just have to keep that look going, won't I? Shall we test how fair it really is?"

There's a beat of silence. You count six seconds before he even begins to utter a choked little: "...H-huh...?"

He's so red-faced you almost feel bad. His skin is growing warmer to the touch, and he shifts his eyes, suddenly becoming a whole lot less bold than usual. Trembling slightly, he brings up a hand to hide behind, his now-meek voice reaching you.

"H-hey, who taught you that...?"

"Ah? Speak up, I can't hear you~"

"...You- You know exactly what you're doing to my heart, don't you?" He looks at you accusingly, guiding one of your hands to his chest, burying it in the fabric of his clothes. "Archons, it's beating so fast-"

"This can't be healthy, so hurry up and cure me."

"Cure?"

"..1000 kisses should fix me right up."

"To meet you once more, isn't this fate?"

Eyes that contain galaxies — and you, raise to meet yours. Kaeya smiles in a smile that's all mirth, raising a glass to let it briefly shine in the light. He stands as you enter Angel's Share, pulling back a stool at the counter.

...He wasn't a stalker, was he? This hadn't been the first time you'd met, nor the second, nor third — you'd seen this archon-forsaken man a total of seven times. Each time, the two of you had shared a drink, which always started with "ah, just one today" to you, face flushed, leaning onto the counter and spilling whatever was on your mind that day in its entirety to the man who sat beside you, listening with the occasional chuckle.

Well, it wasn't as if you found the idea of "fate" and "Kaeya" unappealing.

"I suppose that wouldn't be unbelievable." You shrug as you take your seat. "Since I've been fortunate enough to encounter you again, drinks are on me."

"My, how generous." Kaeya gestures toward his empty glass shamelessly, resting his chin on his hand leisurely. "I think I'll take you up on that offer."

You beckon Charles closer, briefly whispering something in the man's ear. The bartender nods, walking off.

"How interesting, Charles seems to be mixing two drinks. A classic choice of wine, and your favorite..." A foxy grin stretches across the man's lips. "To think you've memorized my order. Should I write you off as someone staring at me nonstop or merely attentive?"

That smooth talker, with that insufferably charming smile — surely it was time for a little revenge?

"I'd prefer the former, but think what you want."

"Oh? I'm that handsome?" (Is it the dim lighting that makes Kaeya's face seem a little more red than usual? )

"You are."

You state it blatantly, as it is. As if Kaeya weren't expecting such a blunt answer, he suddenly clams up, coughing into his fist in a terribly not nonchalant manner. "You... don't tell me, have you already been drinking? What's with you today?"

"What, is speaking the truth suddenly such a surprise?"

"...You said all drinks were on you, yeah?"

Changing the topic? "Mhm, whatever you want."

It's hard to miss the way Kaeya's gaze burns.

"Then, round two at my place?"

"You're way too distracting, how am I supposed to get any work done when all I want to do is kiss you?"

And there it is, Heizou's twenty-second kiss of the day, this time pressed lightly on the bridge of your nose. Here you were, expecting the cool-headed man to be able to hold himself back during detective work.

You'd expected far too much.

"Heizou, you're the one who agreed to me accompanying you. No use in complaining now."

"Ah, that's where you're mistaken, love! Complaints are perfect excuses for kisses, you know." The twenty-third, on your left cheek, and the twenty-fourth, on the other.

"Heizou."

He tilts his head upwards, staring at you cheekily. "Hm?"

"Revenge." You cup his face. His pink cheeks are squishy, and you resist the urge to pinch them.

"...Pardo-"

You kiss him on the lips.

Heizou makes a noise of surprise, slightly jumping under your touch. He quivers for a moment, then goes stock still.

Seems like you've stumped the detective.

One kiss is all it took.

As you pull away, you're able to witness the absolute mess you've created. The Shikanoin Heizou's at an utter loss for words, his lips parted but words long gone. His cheeks, the tips of his ears, the back of his neck; he's so red-faced you can't help but laugh.

"My, that's all it took to render you speechless?"

There's a twinkle in his spring-green eyes as he gazes at you, shaking his head slyly. "Nope-! Not rendered speechless just yet- although..."

"...One hundred more kisses might do the trick?"

"A pretty flower for the prettiest of them all, mon chéri~"

A rainbow rose drawn from a sleeve, a pair of sly amethyst eyes, a cattish smile, and a smooth voice: Lyney greets you — or more so catches and stops you on the road. Something of a highway robbery, except this "thief" is more skilled in capturing hearts than valuables.

His hand snags onto your forearm, making no move to let go. "You player, don't tell me you say this to any pretty face that passes by?"

At the raise of your brow, Lyney feigns hurt. "You wound me, to assume such a thing... just how little trust you have for me?"

"Admittedly not a lot, Sir..." You scan him up and down with a scrutinizing gaze; You were sure you had seen the guy somewhere before. "...Magician?"

"Lyney."

"...Lyney, considering you've stopped me on the side of the road, it'd be daring to even call us acquaintances, no?"

"Acquaintances..." Lyney ponders the thought like it's enjoyable. "I can work with that~ Since we've been acquainted, won't you take the rose already?"

Partly due to his insistence, and partly due to pity, you accept the flower from his hold, not failing to notice the way his eyes twinkle. "Say," he begins, moving his hands back to his sides. "Do you happen to know what roses mean in the language of the flowers?"

You blink at him, rather unamused. "Sorry to disappoint, but I can't speak to plants."

Lyney, unexpectedly, grows silent. You see his cheeks puff outward, attempting to suppress a laugh. "I see," he speaks, breathily, like he is midway between a laugh and a word. "Love, beauty, perfection, wouldn't you say it fits you wonderfully?"

"...You have my thanks?"

Lyney's eyes are the shape of almonds, and when he smiles, the edges of them crinkle. "Not much of a charmer, are you?"

Is that a challenge?

"Then," you drop your voice a pitch lower, straightening your shoulders. "You have my thanks, mon beau." Combo attack: winking and blowing a kiss, you depart the scene as soon as possible for added mystery.

(You had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time you saw him.)

Now standing alone on the side of the street, eyes wide, finger playing with his side-swept bangs, utterly speechless and red-faced, Lyney's heart raced like it was to leap out of his chest.

"...Haha, what sort of magic is this?"

(a/n) this has been in drafts since like,, janurary. SOBBING.

look out for an announcement in a lil bit ^^

tags :

@manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @ceneid, @avensuersa, @solxima

[ichorai]

snow spider ; miguel o'hara.

pairing ; miguel o'hara x spider!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; you were the ice to his fire—and miguel was burning for you.

words ; 4.4k

themes ; fluff, slight angst

warnings / includes ; set before the events of atsv, descriptions of injury/violence, cursing, a bit suggestive, mentions/appearances of other spidey characters, ben being a dramatic idiot, peter & may being adorable, cameos of magneto and doc ock, miguel is down so bad, can you guys tell i'm also in an asoiaf phase ? (winter is coming !!)

a/n ; there will be a part two set during the events of atsv !!

main masterlist.

You were Miguel’s seventeenth recruit. The first of your name. The first that wasn’t a Peter Parker, or a Jessica Drew, or a Ben Reilly. 

When Miguel dropped into your universe, one rife with crime and tragedy, stricken by a never-ending winter, he fell into a large pile of snow. 

“Damn it,” he whispered through chattering teeth, brushing off the frigid frost clinging to his suit and glancing around the iced-over city. There were sparse few people littering the streets, hovering over trash-fires and clutching rumbling stomachs. This was certainly a stark contrast to Nueva York—the universe looked dead, almost. A ghost town, frozen over into nothing but a glacial artifact.

Before Miguel could start forward to look for the Spider of the universe, a sticky web shot out from seemingly nowhere, binding his hands together. Ah. It seemed that you’d found him before he could find you.

“You’re not from here. I can’t smell the winter on you,” a voice echoed, saturated with curiosity, edged with caution. A second later, you materialized in front of him, clad in a white suit, sharp silver lines running over your form. On your chest was a spider, a pale snowflake engraved into its abdomen. Miguel stared at you with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

A beat of silence. 

“Your universe is cold,” was all he could think of saying, still caught off-guard. 

You took a step back. “My universe…?”

After clearing his throat, he shook himself out of his reverie. “My name is Miguel O’Hara. I’m from a different universe. I’m here to recruit you into my team to help keep the multiverse from collapsing.”

You shifted, muscles still tense. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Lifting his wrists, Miguel twisted a hand and used his sharp claws to cut himself free of the sticky bonds. “Let me show you.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Miguel wasn’t supposed to like you this much. You were just meant to be another recruit for the Spider Society… maybe a close work companion, or a trusted friend at best. 

But as he watched you dart in and out of visibility, your suit only but flashes of white and silver, he couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to work with you. How much he genuinely enjoyed working with you, spending time with you, listening to you laugh at his stiff quips. And he really thought he was being subtle about it, but Jessica had already picked up on Miguel’s keen interest in you, always teasing him about having a crush on another Spider.

It wasn’t a crush, though. No, Miguel just really liked your work ethic.

Right?

“Heads up!” you yelled, swinging forward and using the momentum to kick an incoming car barreling right in his direction. The metal doors caved in beneath the power of your strike, veering to the left just in time to miss him. 

The two of you were taking down another anomaly that’d cropped up, one of the several dozens in only the past week. This anomaly, however, wasn’t the regular neighborhood villain they’d usually get, but instead an omega-level mutant: Magneto. 

Shards of metal rained down around you, but you were quick to deflect by thwipping out large, sticky webs to catch them before they could impale you. 

“This guy manipulates metal, Miguel!” you yelled. “Cuffs won’t work on him!” 

Another large metal pole rocketed straight for you, but Miguel dove towards you, yanking you out of the way.

“Thanks!” you told him, a bit too wound up to notice his large hands tightly wound around your midriff. “Can you distract him for me?”

Nodding wordlessly, Miguel shot out several glowing, synthetic webs in quick succession to momentarily blind Magneto. You used his shoulder to launch yourself upward, turning invisible in mid-air. 

Before the man could realize what was happening, you yanked his protective helmet off, landing a calculated strike to the back of his head. Immediately, all the bits of metal floating in the air came plummeting to the ground, and Magneto went limp in your hold. You swung down to the ground, coming back into view. 

“You’re gonna have to alert one of the Spiders that we need a metal-free cage for him,” you told Miguel, a bit breathless. 

Okay, a lot breathless. There was a sharp sting on your side—a broken piece of metal must have grazed you during the fight.

Miguel wound an arm around you to help you walk, concern festering within his chest at the sight of crimson staining your once-pristine white suit, his other hand dragging an unconscious Magneto by the scruff of his collar. With a tap of the watch, a portal opened up, flashing a multitude of bright oranges and purples. 

Back in his universe, Miguel was quick to hand Magneto over to a few Peters, telling them to be careful not to get any metal near him. You pulled off your mask and squeezed Miguel’s bicep in gratitude when he shifted his hold on you, ensuring that you wouldn’t put any weight on your injured side. Even exhausted, you were beautiful. Miguel remembered the first time he saw you without your mask: the entirety of his linguistic vernacular went flying out the window and he was left embarrassingly spluttering out a long string of incoherent sentences. You were patient with him, beaming wide and nodding emphatically, even though none of what he said had made sense. 

Yeah, alright, fine. Miguel had a crush. It really wasn’t a big deal (it was a very big deal). He’d be damned if he’d ever admit it to Jessica, though—that woman would never let him live it down.

Several Spiders waved hello to the two of you as you hobbled by, and you could only give them a winded half-smile in return. Some of them asked if you were alright, noticing the blood on your suit, but you reassured their worries away, “I’m fine. Miguel’s got me.”

A rush of protectiveness fell over him, and he clutched onto you all the tighter, hurrying to make his way back to the base. There were a few Spiders hanging around the control panels, chattering amongst themselves, and Miguel gave them a quick scan to make sure things were going smoothly since his departure. Once everything seemed to be in order, he finally tugged you into a more secluded room, helping you sit on a table as he grabbed the first aid kit. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, ripping off his mask as well. His dark hair was disheveled, sharp brown eyes softening with guilt. “I got distracted during the fight.”

“Hey, it happens,” you replied warmly, fingers lifting to pat his cheek. The feeling of your cold skin pressed up against the blistering heat emanating from his cheeks made a shiver dance up his spine. “We’re alive, and we got the anomaly. Everything’s fine.” 

“But you’re hurt.”

“I’ll heal.”

With careful, fleeting touches, Miguel drew back the ripped fabric of your suit to inspect the gash in your side. He cleaned away as much blood as he could, murmuring gruff apologies every time you flinched. The guilt worsened when he began deftly stitching up your wound—it didn’t go past his notice when your face twisted with the pain, and you bit your lip in a fruitless attempt to keep the sharp agony at bay.

“You did good out there, Y/N,” he said, desperate to distract you. “What was it like being the Spider in your universe?”

You spared him a loose grin, appreciating his attempts to keep you entertained. 

“Tiring,” you admitted, fingers digging into his shoulders when he began another stitch. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard the same story a million times by now. I was a scientist, trying to find a way to reverse the never-ending winter. I was bitten by a radioactive winter-spider… the only kind of spider left after our world iced over. I, uhm… I lost my uncle. My mom, shortly after. She was captain of the police force.” 

There was a long pause. It was obvious that you weren’t too keen on divulging all the details just yet. Your eyes watered with the memory, a glimmering film of tears warbling over your lower lashes, and Miguel gently patted your knee in understanding, silently reassuring you that you didn’t have to tell him everything.

You drew in a deep breath. “I realized I had powers—I had all the abilities of a spider, and I could turn invisible, and withstand the cold much more than before. I was known as the Snow Spider. A lot of people died from the frost. I couldn’t save them. I tried to help as much as I could, but it was just never enough. And then… I met you.” A smile graced your expression, one that sparked life into Miguel’s heart. “I moved from just helping my city, to helping the entire multiverse.”

Before you knew it, Miguel was tying off the last stitch, biting the thread short with his sharp fangs once he was done. You murmured a sincere thanks, placing your palm flat against his chest, feeling the quick thrum of his heart slamming against his ribcage.

If you noticed how his pulse seemed to kick up a notch with your ministrations, you didn’t say anything. For that, Miguel was grateful.

“There you go. That’s a brief summary of my life story. It’s only fair if you tell me yours.”

The man met your gaze, irises dark and warring with conflict.

“What’s there to say? I got powers, just like you. I lost people, just like you. I built the Spider Society… and then I met you.” The last bit was said as he nudged you gently, and he offered you a tentative smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hesitant, you lifted your hand, softly grazing your knuckles against his cheek. Icy was your touch, but it felt nice—almost addicting. He found himself leaning against your hand, shutting his eyes as he exhaled.

“You’re a mystery, Miguel,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek as thanks for patching you up, before sliding off the table to stride away. Miguel watched you go with a lump in his throat. “Luckily for you, I like mysteries.”

“How long has that been a thing? I haven’t noticed because I’ve been too busy thinking about my… miserable past,” sighed Ben, coming to stand beside Jessica, the two of them watching Miguel follow after you like a lost puppy, face uncharacteristically mellowed with an undeniable lovesick expression. 

“It’s not a thing,” she replied with an amused scoff. “Not yet, at least.”

You halted what you were doing and turned around to grin at Miguel. “Look, I stitched my suit back together. It’s good as new!” 

His dark, molten eyes gleamed with affection. “It looks great.” He caught sight of your web-shooters, fixed against the base of your hand. “I still can’t believe you need those.”

“Well, I can’t believe you have spinnerets embedded into your skin. I can’t tell if I’m more grossed out or curious to know more,” you shot back, taking his hand to inspect his wrist with narrowed eyes. “What other kind of powers do you have?”

With a roguish grin, he bared his teeth, sharp fangs drawing out. 

“I can never get over those. They’re kinda intimidating, but in a cool way.” Before you could stop yourself, you tacked on, “And really fucking hot.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He stared blankly at you. “They’re poisonous.”

Still, you smiled at him, all sweet and flustered. “Hm. It’s a shame, really. I definitely would’ve asked you to bite me if not for the venom.” Neither of you were quite sure if you were joking or not.

Miguel was certain he was going to combust into flames. “I can still bite you without injecting the poison into your system. It’s a voluntary response.”

To his surprise, you burst into a fit of laughter. Gods, he was absolutely smitten with that sound. The way your nose wrinkled, the side of your eyes creased, the shaking of your shoulders as you chuckled… it was all too much for Miguel.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” you warned.

“Oh, I can do much more than just tempt,” said the man in front of you, making your laughter taper away into silence. 

You studied him for a moment longer. Before you could say anything, both of your watches beeped simultaneously. With one more amused huff, you patted his shoulder, brushing past him and pulling your mask over your face. “Come on, mister. Anomalies to catch, universes to save… we can continue this conversation later.”

The months pass by in a blur. 

You were wrangling back another Doc Ock anomaly, having webbed up all his metal tentacles, easily tossing him into a temporary laser cage with a sweet smile. The villain was spitting obscenities, going on and on about the power of the sun in his grasp, how you’d ruined everything for him. 

“You’ll pay for this!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the glowing barrier. 

“Sorry, Doc,” you said with a mild grin. “I’ve met around a dozen of you, and so far, you were the most compliant. That makes you my favorite!”

You saluted him with a wink, before turning on your heel and striding away. It wasn’t long before Miguel found you, falling into step with your stride.

“Look at you, taking on anomalies all on your own,” he murmured lowly, nudging your side with his elbow. “Good job.”

With a scoff, you pulled off your mask, regarding him with an expectant gaze as you leaned forward, so close that your nose nearly brushed against his. He could feel the cold frost of your breath blow over the heated planes of his cheeks. “Well, then, Mr. O’Hara, wouldn’t I deserve a reward?”

The vampire-spider only flushed at your words, mouth falling open and shut as he struggled with a rebuttal. 

Your laugh, soft and tinkering, made his heart nearly seize within his chest. Still chuckling, you shoved away from him, saying that you had to get back to your universe to make sure everything was still in order there.

As you made your way out of the room, using your watch to portal through to your wintry hellscape, Jessica appeared out of nowhere beside him, one hand on her heavily pregnant belly, and the other cocked upon her hip. 

“God, you really can’t be more obvious, can you?” she asked.

Miguel spared her a glance, snapping out of his reverie and standing up straighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Everyone knows you’re in love with the Snow Spider. And don’t you deny it—I know a liar when I see one.” She watched Miguel frown, but didn’t bother protesting her claim. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Tell them, you big grump. Y/N deserves to know.”

Before he could reply, Jessica was already hastening away, yelling over her shoulder that she had to go to the bathroom because the damn baby was kicking against her bladder again.

Jealousy was not an emotion Miguel was well acquainted with. Ever since he witnessed an entire universe crumbling away in front of him, he was careful not to get too attached to anything. To anyone.

But he did. He grew attached to Jessica, who was his most trusted friend, always giving him the best advice and always available to lend him a helping hand. Though he’d never admit it, Miguel was also rather fond of Ben and his obnoxious penchant for his dramatic tragedies. And, most obvious of all, he was undoubtedly very close to his best soldier, Lego Peter.

Then there was you.

It infuriated him—the way you’d smile around him, give him the most fleeting of touches, always pleasantly cold, leaving prickly goosebumps in your wake. You would offer him an affectionate nudge and a myriad of teasing compliments that made his stomach want to fold in upon itself. But Miguel tried not to think too much of it: you were a generally kind person, with many of the Spiders in the society taking a certain liking to you. It didn’t go past his notice that you’d caught more than a few romantic eyes. Every time a Peter or a Ben would openly flirt with you, he could feel himself bristling, bile rising within his throat.

Again, Miguel wasn’t used to feeling jealous. He wanted to be the one cooking dinner for you, holding you in his arms, kissing you, touching you—

To his relief, you never paid them much mind, often politely declining with a poorly-forged excuse of having to return to your universe.

It was nearly a year since you’d first met Miguel when you were at Headquarters, holding a babbling Mayday as she crawled all over you. You laughed when she climbed up onto your shoulders, slipping down into your hands with a gleeful coo, blue eyes bright and wide. With gentle hands, you brushed her messy ginger hair away from her face. 

“She doesn’t look like you, huh?” you asked Peter B. Parker. “She must be a carbon copy of her momma.”

“A good thing,” admitted the man beside you, muffling a yawn as he dug the heels of his palms into his sleep-deprived eyes, adorned with dark bags. “Wouldn’t want her taking after her old man, now would I?”

“Why not?” you asked, amusedly watching when May shot out a web from her tiny shooters, swinging away to clumsily scale a nearby wall. “I think you’re very handsome. Trust me, the sleep-deprived look is very trendy right now. In my universe, at least. Nobody can really sleep well with the never-ending cold we got going there.”

Peter gave you a loose smile. “You know what, you’re right. Dad bods are making a comeback. By the way, did I tell you about my coin collection—”

Before Peter could finish what he was saying, your watch beeped noisily, and Ben’s slumped hologram appeared over your wrist. “Y/N, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. You had to hold your tongue not to retort that he was the one that’d called you. “I need you to come comfort me and hold onto my strong, muscular arms as I tell you about my gruesome past.” The pale image of Ben flickered as he flexed his biceps. 

You rolled your eyes to the side. Ben had become a close friend during your time with the Spider Society, nearly inseparable after you’d saved his life from an Electro anomaly once. That man was quite the emotional one, he was.

“I’ll be there, just give me a minute.” 

“Bring me one of those Spider-burgers, will you? Extra ketchup and no p—”

You tapped at your watch and his hologram disappeared before he could finish his request. With a mild wince, you glanced at Peter. “You wanna come with me and listen to Ben dramatically mope for an hour? I’ll treat you and May to Spider-burgers, because it looks like I’ll have to stop by there, anyway.”

“I would, I really would, but I gotta put May down for a nap,” he said with a sympathetic slant of his lips. As if on cue, the baby fell back into Peter’s arms, yawning widely. Bouncing her up and down, Peter absent-mindedly remarked, “Make sure Miguel doesn’t catch you being all sweet with Ben. That guy is crazy about you. Hah, he’d lose his marbles!” 

You blinked.

“What?”

Peter froze, realizing what he’d just said.

“What?” he parroted.

“No, uh, what did you say, about Miguel being…”

“Nothing! Huh? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. I heard you. Peter, what are you saying? Miguel is—?” 

Sheepish, Peter scratched the back of his head. “Oh, wow, would you look at the time!” Peter pulled down the sleeve of his pink bathrobe to mimic looking at the watch. He hastily stepped away. “I have to go. I didn’t say anything. Bye! I’d love a Spider-burger with you another time! Bye! See you later!”

You watched in bewilderment when the older man swung away with his baby in his hands, muttering out a long string of panicked curses under his breath.

Miguel was crazy about you?

After a few seconds of deliberating your next move, you shot out a web and swung away, heading to Miguel’s private office, where you knew he would be buried in figuring out a solution to the influx of new anomalies. Surely Ben would be alright with you showing up a bit late (he wouldn’t, but you had more pressing matters at hand).

“Hey, Miguel,” you greeted with a soft voice, slipping inside after knocking twice. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

The man offered you a warm grin. “Never a bad time with you. What’s going on?”

“Well, I just… I had a rather interesting talk with Peter B,” you started, striding across the office until you stood just in front of his desk, with Miguel on the other side.

He tilted his head. “Was it about that collection of coins he lost to an anomaly? He needs to get over that.”

“I—what? The poor guy lost his coin collection? He’d been working on that for years!” Shaking your head, you mindfully got back on track. “Well, no, that’s not what we talked about.”

Dark eyes narrowing, Miguel crossed his arms, deadpanning, “What did he tell you?”

There was a rather mischievous hue to your expression that Miguel misliked. Slow and deliberate, you stepped around the desk, fingers dragging along the smooth top. You stood so close to him that your chest was only a hair’s breadth from his—if he were to take too deep a breath, the two of you would be touching by now.

“Hm… Peter accidentally let slip that you have feelings for me. Is that true, Miguel?” The way his name rolled off your tongue nearly made him choke as his brain short-circuited. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, echoing the exact thing he had said to Jess a month ago. 

You studied him, gaze dragging from his stiff face, to his tense stature, and back up again. It may have been a trick of light, but Miguel could swear he saw your eyes linger on his lips. 

With a hum, you leaned even closer. He could hear your heart thrumming now, a steady, strong beat—which completely juxtaposed against his own rapid pulse, drumming loud within his ears. Up this close, he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of color within your pretty eyes, notice the way your lips quirked up with a sweet smile. Even whilst teasing him, you made sure that you weren’t overstepping any bounds, giving him ample time to step away if need be.

“Oh,” you said, feigning confusion. Your hand rested upon his clavicle, nails lightly dragging down his neck. A sharp thrill struck down Miguel’s spine at the sensation. You were barely touching him, for God’s sake! “So you wouldn’t mind if I… go ask Ben out for dinner?”

A beat of silence. Miguel’s brows knitted together.

The next words were susurrated as you dipped forward to nudge your nose along his neck, pressing a cold whisper of a kiss along the underside of his jaw. “Or if I… I don’t know… if I invite him to stay at my place for the night?” 

Of course, there was no real weight to your words. Ben was simply a good friend, but damn if you didn’t enjoy the way Miguel’s eyes twitched.

Finally snapping, a low growl rumbled within his chest, his hands shooting out to grab your waist. You were cold to the touch, the ice to his fire, as his fingers curled over your back, shoving you up against the wall behind his desk. As if on instinct, your hands came to clutch at his broad shoulders.

You smiled, wide and triumphant. You’d finally broke him. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he gruffed, staring deep into your eyes to make sure you were alright with this. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. From your gleeful expression, Miguel could see that you were just the opposite. 

“Oka—mmph!” 

His lips slanted over yours, warm and rough, yet cold and soft at the same time. It was a kiss of starkly juxtaposing contrasts, heavy with months and months of unspoken yearning. His large nose brushed against your cheek, angling his face to kiss you harder—deeper. 

When one of your hands slithered up the back of his neck to tug at the roots of his dark hair, he sighed against your mouth, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead over yours.

“He was right,” said Miguel.

“Who was?”

“Peter. I do have feelings for you.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, nudging your nose against his sharp cheekbone. “Really? I would’ve never guessed.” He surged forward to kiss you again, relishing in the way you just about melted into his touch. “If it wasn’t obvious already, I really like you, too.”

At your admission, Miguel beamed, loose and hesitant. “You still planning on asking Ben out to dinner and having him stay over at your place, then?”

You tapped a finger onto your chin, pretending to have a good, long think about it. “Give me a good reason to stay, and I won’t.” At Miguel’s slightly crestfallen expression, you patted his cheek, quick to say, “God, Miguel, I was just kidding. Ben and I are good friends. You and I, however… I wouldn’t exactly call you a friend—”

His lips met yours again, stealing the rest of your words from you. 

When you smiled into the kiss, he smiled back. It was a bit too early for love, sure, but Miguel already knew he was in too deep to back out.

He was falling in love with you. 

The thought terrified him to no end, but he merely kissed you harder, and clutched you all the closer to him.

[prythianpages]

But the Worms | Azriel

Azriel x Green Witch | Azriel is woken up by your daughter in the middle of the night to answer some of her questions.

warnings: fluff, dad Az

word count: 943

a/n: Just a short little fic that can be read as a stand alone. This was inspired by a scene from Bob's Burgers lol.

Rain pattered against the window steadily, accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder. Every so often, the sky would flare with a jagged streak of lightning, briefly illuminating the room with a cold, blue light before plunging it back into shadow. The storm was a familiar, comforting backdrop to Azriel’s slumber.

But his shadows, ever vigilant, stirred with a whisper of unease.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open, drawn by the shift in his shadows. That’s when he heard them. The faint, hurried sound of small footsteps. His shadows fluttered toward the door as they sensed the hesitant shuffle against the wooden floor.

He didn't need his shadows to tell him who was on the other side. Had it been his first born, he'd never hear the steps as she loved to sneak up on him,. The door would've been open abruptly with no hesitation whatsoever but it's been years since she last had a nightmare. A nightmare she didn't welcome, at least.

That was not the case tonight. It was his second-born. Sweet little Alora, who, true to her name, should be dreaming of unicorns and rainbows as she loved to recount to him every morning, rather than being awake.

His gaze flickered to you. While Azriel was a light sleeper, you were a heavy sleeper and truth be told, you were sound asleep, back turned toward him. A shadow tenderly caressed your back before he shifted his attention back to the door. He was already sitting up in the bed, blinking away the sleep or at least trying when the door opened quietly, muted with the help of his shadows.

Alora stood at the door. Her hair, the exact shade of yours, was disheveled, the bangs she cut herself last week splayed over her forehead awkwardly. A rite of passage, you had called it, reminding him that your first born had done the same.

Her eyes, the exact shade of his, were wide and glistening, and there was a pout on her face.

Azriel’s chest tightened at the sight, wanting nothing more than to soothe whatever troubled her, despite his fatigue. He extended his arms out, and Alora ran right into them, her small frame immediately enveloped by his.

Cradling her to his chest, he pushed her bangs back and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

“No. I haven’t slept at all,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Azriel frowned, glancing at the clock. It was well past midnight, and his eyes were begging for sleep, lulled by the rain falling outside. “Is it the storm?”

Alora placed her hands on his chest, pushing herself up slightly. She spared a glance to your sleeping form before leaning in closer to her father, careful not to wake you with her voice. Though, Azriel doubted you'd wake at all.

Her hazel eyes, so innocent and pure, stared into his own. “Do you think worms have dreams too?”

Azriel's heart softened further. Her worries were so small, so wonderfully trivial compared to the burdens he had carried as a child.

“I’m sure they dream,” he murmured, gently pulling his daughter's head back to his chest, wishing for her to always have such simple worries. He also hoped she’d be content with his answer and finally drift off to sleep herself.

“But what do they dream?”

“The same things you do.” He replied, trying to stifle a yawn. He snuck a glance at you, still oblivious to your daughter’s insatiable curiosity.

“Do they get nightmares too?” 

Azriel fought back his groan. He loved his daughters deeply and strongly. He would go through all ends of the world for them. Any other time, he would entertain this conversation fully, but it was late, and Alora should be fast asleep like her sister. 

“Mel says worms come out when it storms so that we don’t hear their cries.”

Speak of the little devil herself. Mel was sure to get an earful from him. Tomorrow morning, or rather, in a couple of hours. Azriel took a deep breath, trying to muster the energy to explain, his body aching for rest.

Azriel could hear the thoughts swirling through her mind as she continued. “Why would they cry? Is it because of the bad dreams?”

“Don’t listen to your sister,” he said gently, running a hand through Alora’s tousled hair.

“But you told me to listen to her yesterday morning.”

“I did,” Azriel replied with a slight grimace, regretting that decision immensely at this very moment. Granted, he had said that after Mel told Lor to stop riling up Sprinkles, her pet scorpion. “But that’s different.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain tomorrow,” he said, his voice a mix of patience and weariness.

“But the worms–”

“The worms don’t have nightmares and they come out during storms because they love the rain. Now, go to sleep. Please.”

Alora let out a small gasp, her hand losing its tension against his chest. “You promise?”

“Yes.” Azriel replied quickly, not certain what exactly he was promising. He'd deal with it later.

“Okay.”

When he finally felt her body relax in his arms, he let out a breath of relief. He held her tighter in his arms, shifting them to face in your direction before settling Alora between you both. He didn’t have the energy to take her back to her bed.

He gladly gave in to the heaviness of his eyelids, his eyes closing shut and ready to embrace sleep under the comfort of the rain once more--

"Daddy?"

He didn't bother opening his eyes. "Yes?"

"I love you."

His lips tugged up into a smile. "I love you too, my sweets."

Alora snuggled closer to him, tiny hands grasping onto his larger one and placing it over her face. She always found comfort in his touch, despite the scars that marred his hands. It was something that never failed to make his chest swell with warmth. Along with the way both his daughters always looked up to him, eyes full of affection and admiration.

His thumb caressed her cheek, soothing her as his shadows settled back into their corner of the room, curling into the bed Alora had gotten them for Solstice this year.

For centuries, his shadows had slept among other shadows, usually underneath the bed or in the corners of rooms. But Alora had felt bad for them one night, and when shopping for Solstice this year, she had asked you to take her to the pet store and picked out the softest bed for Azriel’s shadows.

Though his shadows had never complained or shown any interest in comfier sleeping habits, they had vibrated with excitement at the sight of the gift. Now, they slept there every night, happy and content, snuggling amongst one another and curling into a ball.

As his thoughts began to blur and drift, the world around him softened, the edges of his awareness becoming fuzzy and indistinct. Now that he knew your daughter was okay and her curiosity satiated, he could go back to sleep.

His breathing slowed, deep and even, matching the gentle rise and fall of your own breath. Just as he was about to give in to the sweet embrace of sleep–

“Daddy?”

He could barely manage a grunt in response.

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?”

Oh, this was definitely your daughter.

series tag list:@fxckmiup, @aria-chikage

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna

[skywalkerslvt]

Truth Serum—Logan Howlett

❥Pairing: Logan Howlett x AFAB!Reader (no pronouns other than 'you' mentioned)

❥Summary: You and Logan, drugged with truth serum, get trapped in separate cells during a mission. Things ensue...

❥CW: 18+, smut, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, minor use of pet names (Logan says 'baby' once or twice), 1.8k words

❥a/n: Need his big mutant cock rearranging my insides right now. Wrote this really fast to satiate the new hyperfixation lmao. Not proofread, might edit later if I have time! hope u enjoy!!

The mission was a mess from the start. What was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance turned into a disaster when you and Logan got ambushed by a group of well-armed mercenaries. Despite your best efforts, you were overpowered, captured, and dragged into a hidden underground facility.

Now, after being relentlessly questioned with truth serum, you found yourself in a cold, dimly lit cell, the metal bars mocking your current predicament. By the time they threw you back into your cells, your head was spinning. The serum had forced out every truth, every hidden thought, and you were left feeling raw and exposed. Worse, the lingering effects made it hard to think straight, amplifying every emotion. The worst part wasn't the isolation or the confinement—it was knowing Logan was just a few feet away, locked up in a cell next to yours. You couldn't see him, but you could hear his frustrated growls and the occasional clang as he tested the strength of his restraints.

"Logan?" you called out, your voice echoing slightly in the narrow space.

"I'm here," he replied, his voice a low, rough rumble. "You okay?"

“I'm cold,” you answered truthfully, the effects of the truth serum lingering in your veins, rendering you incapable of telling even a white lie. “Are you okay?” 

Logan huffed a laugh at your response. “I'm fine,” he replied, voice deep and gravelly sending shivers down your spine. 

"We need to figure out how to get out of here," you said, trying to focus on the mission. "Any ideas?"

"I’m working on it," Logan grunted, and you could hear the strain in his voice as he tested his restraints again. "These bars are tough, but they won't hold me forever."

Silence fell between you, broken only by the sounds of Logan's efforts to free himself. Each grunt, each frustrated growl sent your mind wandering to places it shouldn't, especially given your current situation. You tried to shake off the thoughts, but the truth serum was making it hard to keep control. 

You had always been drawn to Logan—his rugged exterior and intense demeanor had always sparked something deep inside you, but you'd managed to keep those feelings under wraps, focusing instead on the mission. Now, confined and vulnerable under the effects of the truth serum, those suppressed desires came roaring to the forefront. Every grunt, every restrained growl from his cell fueled your imagination, making it impossible to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. The harsh reality of your situation only seemed to intensify the electric charge between you two, turning the once manageable attraction into an uncontrollable blaze. A shuddering sigh passed your lips as you closed your eyes, trying to think of something, anything other than Logan fucking you, those low grunts a hot breath in your ear as he pounds his thick cock into your aching cunt. 

"What's on your mind?" Logan's voice cut through the silence, startling you. Your sigh didn’t pass Logan’s ears, his enhanced hearing picking up every little sound you made. You were lucky the wall between you was blocking the scent of your arousal from him. 

You hesitated, biting your lip, knowing the serum would force out whatever you were thinking. "N-nothing" you grunted, voice straining from the effort it took to tell that small lie, but your voice betrayed you.

"Come on," he pressed, his tone softer now. "Talk to me. What are you thinking right now?"

The words slipped out before you could stop them. "You," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’m thinking about you."

Logan went quiet for a moment, and you could almost feel the intensity of his gaze even through the walls between you. "What about me?" he asked, his voice rough with curiosity.

You took a shaky breath, unable to lie. "The sounds you're making... they’re making me think of... things. Things we shouldn't be thinking about right now." You cursed yourself for admitting this so easily, for getting caught in the first place. 

A low growl rumbled from Logan's cell. "Tell me," he urged, his voice darkening with desire. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Your face flushed deeper, the truth serum forcing out your most private thoughts. “I was thinking about how you might sound if we were in the same cell,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “What noises you’d make if you were inside me, taking me on the floor.”

The cell fell into an expectant silence, Logan’s breathing becoming more laboured. After a moment, he let out a low, appreciative growl. “Oh yeah? That’s quite the thought,” he rumbled, voice thick with a mixture of satisfaction and dark amusement. “You’d be surprised how much I can imagine what it’d be like, too. The way you’d moan, how you’d squirm and gasp on my cock. Bet you’d be so fucking responsive.”

You shivered at his words, the combination of the truth serum and his filthy words making your thoughts spin wildly. “You think so?” you asked, voice breathy and eager.

Logan’s response was rough, laden with desire. “Hell yeah. I’d make sure you felt every inch of me. And you’d be begging for more before long, that’s for damn sure. Just imagine it—bet you’d take me so well.”

The vivid imagery of his words sent a shudder down your spine, your mind swirling with the possibilities. Despite the dire situation, the raw honesty between you both was creating a new kind of tension, one that was both thrilling and unnervingly intimate.

You couldn’t help it–your arousal was too much. You slowly trailed your hand up your thigh, fingers circling over your clit through your pants. “I–I’d be…so good for you, Logan,” you panted out between moans. “Need you so bad.”

Logan's breathing hitched at your admission, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Yeah? You’d be good for me, huh? Tell me what you’d want me to do if I was in there with you.”

You could hear the raw need in his voice, and it only spurred your own desire. You let out a shaky breath as you slipped your fingers under your waistband, teasing your already sensitive clit. “I–I’d want you to kiss me, touch me.”

The muffled sound of his zipper being yanked down could be heard through the wall, the thought of him fisting his cock to your voice now spurring you on, quickening your strokes. “Yeah? Touch you where, baby? How do you want me to touch you?” he responded, the smirk evident in his voice. 

The rough edge in Logan's voice sent a jolt through you, mixing with your own mounting arousal. You could hear the slight rustling from his side, the thought of him responding to you in such a primal way adding to the intensity of your desire. You whimpered, fingers working in slow, deliberate circles around your clit as you imagined his touch.

“I’d want you to start with my neck,” you gasped, voice strained. “Kiss and bite me there, tease me until I’m begging for more. Then move down, touch me everywhere. I want to feel your hands on me, everywhere.”

Logan's breath quickened, his voice rougher with need as he now stroked his cock. “Fuck, keep going.”

You could almost feel his touch, the way he’d explore your body with that intense focus. Your breaths grew quicker, each one a mix of gasps and moans as you continued to pleasure yourself. “And then I’d want you to put your cock inside me,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need. “Feel every inch of you inside me, make me come with you buried deep in me.”

Logan's voice was thick with desire, mixed with a hint of smugness. “I love the way you sound when you touch yourself thinking about me. Fuck, it drives me crazy.”

You could feel the heat building inside you, each stroke of your fingers sending waves of pleasure through your body. The images of Logan’s rough hands and his powerful presence were fueling your arousal, driving you closer to the edge.

“Logan…” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with anticipation. “I’m so close. I need you… so bad.”

Logan’s voice came through, rough and filled with raw desire. “I’m right here, baby. Just thinking about you coming while you touch yourself, it’s driving me wild.”

The pressure inside you intensified, each moan and gasp escaping your lips growing more desperate. You quickened your movements, your fingers pressing harder against your clit, teasing and stroking with the intensity you craved. The thought of Logan’s deep voice, his body pressed against yours, only heightened the pleasure.

“Logan, I’m gonna…” you whimpered, your orgasm building like a tidal wave, ready to crash over you.

With a final, shuddering moan, you came. Your body convulsed with the intense release, your fingers still moving in frantic circles as you rode the waves of pleasure. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as the last echoes of your climax slowly faded.

On the other side of the wall, Logan was experiencing his own tormenting pleasure. The sounds of your moans and gasps mixed with his own grunts as he fisted his cock, imagining the way you’d feel around him. The fantasy of your touch and the way you’d sound as you came was too much for him to bear.

“Fuck, yes,” Logan growled, his voice thick with need. “I’m right there with you.”

His hand moved quickly, driven by the intense images and sounds filling his mind. With a deep, guttural groan, he came, his release spilling out with a force that matched the intensity of his arousal. The sensation of climax wracked his body, his grip on his cock tightening as he rode the wave of pleasure. His breaths were heavy and uneven, each one coming in harsh, satisfied gasps.

Both of you lay there, spent and breathless, the aftermath of your climaxes leaving you in a state of both physical and emotional exhaustion. 

As the echoes of your climaxes settled into the heavy silence of the cells, you and Logan were left breathless and spent. The raw, electric tension between you had transformed into a shared, unspoken promise, even amidst your grim circumstances.

Logan’s voice cut through the quiet, rough and filled with a heated intensity that made your pulse quicken all over again. “When we get out of here,” he growled, each word dripping with desire, “I’m gonna show you just how good it can be. I’m gonna make sure you feel every bit of me.”

The thought of his words sent a shiver through you, the anticipation mingling with the lingering effects of the truth serum. Even as you lay there, exhausted and vulnerable, the promise of what was to come fueled a deep, burning desire that only added to the intensity of your situation.

[nottsangel]

I want brothers bsf! Theo to catch me sneaking out of the house to go to a party, slutty outfit on and all that jazz, and he just blackmails me into having sex so he won't tell my brother the truth

“where do you think you’re going in that outfit?” a low, menacing voice suddenly coming from behind startles you, your heart racing wildly in your chest as your muscles tense up. dickhead. you let out a frustrated sigh at the familiar voice, not in the mood for yet another pointless argument. as you slowly turn around on your heel, you find him leaning casually against the wall, a sly grin plastered on his smug face, evidently overjoyed to have caught you trying to sneak out of the house.

“none of your fucking business.” you hiss through gritted teeth, glaring at him with a exasperated look on your face as you cross your arms, chin held high. he gazes back at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly impressed by your boldness, his brows raised and a sly grin spreads across his face.

unexpectedly, he slowly begins to strut towards you, each step he takes making your heart pound faster as you feel your entire body tense at his tall, imposing figure. when he stands merely inches away from you, he leans in slightly, his face right next to yours and his hot breath grazing your goosebump covered-skin and sending shivers down your spine as you unconsciously fidget with your clammy hands.

“yeah? i don’t think your brother is gonna like seeing you dressed like a fucking hooker, huh?” he taunts, whispering right into your ear, causing your breath to hitch as your eyes widen in shock— knowing him, he will snitch and relish every second of it. anger surges through you as your fists clench into tight balls and your jaw clenches, “don’t you fucking dare tell him, theo. can you just not be such a fucking asshole for once and let me go?” he lets out a condescending chuckle seeing you get all worked up, clearly enjoying getting under your skin and never growing tired of it.

he doesn’t even bother to respond as he licks his lips and he hungrily scans you from head to toe, his piercing eyes lingering on your barely covered tits spilling out of your tiny tube top. his head tilts slightly as he stares hungrily at you with a lopsided grin. you uncomfortably pull your top up at his burning eyes, casting him a disgusted glance before your own eyes are irresistibly drawn to his crotch, your frowned eyes turning wide instantly and your jaw gradually dropping.

“do you— do you have a fucking boner right now, nott?” you feel your cheeks heat up the instant you blurt out the words, unable to meet his gaze out of sheer embarrassment. to your surprise, he simply shrugs nonchalantly, the cocky smirk never wavering from his face as he’s so fucking close to you— one step and his lips are pressed against yours. “can you blame me? you’re just so… so… fucking hot when you’re angry, bella.”

you shake your head and roll your eyes disapprovingly as you let out a chuckle in disbelief, lips pressed tightly together, trying to ignore the obvious boner in his tight pants but almost unable to as feel your core throb at the sight. you laugh awkwardly, feeling tense as you uncomfortably scratch the back of your head. “look. just, please don’t tell my brother okay? i’ll do anything you want, i promise” theo’s ears perk up at the last sentence, one brow raised and an evil grin spreading across his face. his eyes look away briefly, as if deep in thoughts, before they land on your lips while biting his own.

“anything, you say?” you nod eagerly, only caring about your brother not finding out, willing to go to great lengths at this point. “yes, anything.” he nods approvingly before his firm hand drifts to your exposed waist, making you shiver at his sudden touch. “so… how about you help me out, huh?” he growls in a deep, rumbling voice, gesturing to his painfully hard boner. you to gulp at the thought when realising what he’s hinting at, yet you nod hesitantly, gazing up at him with knitted brows as you remain frozen in place, his warm touch on your cold, bare skin making it difficult to think clearly.

“uhm— yeah, alright... okay… yeah, let’s do it then. but, uh— we gotta be quick, okay?” his other hand finds its way to the back of your head, forcefully pulling you as close to him as possible as you can feel his hard erection pressing against your bare stomach— just from the touch you can tell he’s huge. “mmm. that’s a good girl. i promise i’ll make it worth it, piccola. you’re not gonna want anyone else ever again, yeah? gonna fuck you so good.”

ੈ♡˳

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 2

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4705

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you so much for the response to part 1! And thank you to everyone who was so patient and understanding for this part taking a while to write. I hope you all like it.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Wanda seems to be in a better mood lately, Natasha notices, probably because the two of you rekindled whatever complicated romance you had going on. And as sad and lonely as it had made Natasha feel, at least Wanda was being less rude to her, and that would always be a win in her book.

The grocery trips and errands she sends Natasha on are less demanding, although Natasha’s unsure if she’s becoming more comfortable or Wanda’s gotten less picky. Wanda still requests Natasha’s help for her weekly meetings, and Natasha cannot understand why someone who is unemployed goes so out of her way to find the most mundane, meaningless things to participate in. But it keeps Natasha paid and busy, and she still gets to see you a few times a week.

“What are you doing this weekend, Natasha?” Wanda asks while the two of them are in the kitchen. Wanda is on her laptop while Natasha stands at the counter, cutting vegetables for dinner.

“Um…” Natasha knows better than to tell Wanda the truth, which is that she’ll be sitting alone in her apartment for the next two days and eating ice cream on her couch. “Some friends invited me to go shopping with them at the mall,” she lies. She doesn’t have friends and she certainly doesn’t have the budget to shop at a mall after all the debt she still owes.

“I’ll be gone all weekend with some girlfriends,” Wanda says, not even acknowledging Natasha’s plans, which makes her wonder why she had even bothered to ask in the first place. “I’m not into wine tasting much, but the girls go nuts for it. I’m just going for the spa at the resort, between you and me.”

Natasha has no idea what to do with this information. But she’s spared from answering when the garage door rumbles open.

Wanda slams her laptop shut. “Oh, Y/N is home early.” She gets up to greet you. Natasha can hear your voices carry through the hall.

“You’re early tonight,” Wanda says. “I was just telling Natasha about my weekend plans to Vermont with the girls–”

“Your weekend plans?” you interrupt. “Since when did you have plans to go to Vermont?” Natasha has never heard you sound genuinely angry before. She stops cutting the carrots to focus on eavesdropping.

“Carol wanted to go for her birthday!” your wife says.

“Wanda,” you say, your voice lowering. “Our anniversary is this weekend. I booked us a stay at the Ritz and got us tickets to see Wicked–”

“Well, just ask for a refund!” Wanda hisses. Natasha is stunned that this is her first response to forgetting about her entire anniversary with you. “And we can celebrate when I get back–”

“‘Get back?’” you repeat. “That’s not the point, Wanda. Why don’t you ask for a refund for your trip–”

“I can’t do that to the girls,” Wanda says. “Carol’s been looking forward to this for months!”

You mumble something that Natasha can’t hear. She feels awful for you. Clearly, you had spent a lot of money and time planning a nice outing, and your wife didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, she tried to put the blame on you for intruding on her plans. Natasha felt herself shaking with rage for you. You deserved so much better.

The two of you trudge into the kitchen and Natasha hastily goes back to cutting the carrots. Wanda is hanging onto your arm, tiptoeing to whisper into your ear but you shake her off and walk through the kitchen to the staircase. Natasha knows that Wanda is glaring at the back of her head, probably upset that she had overheard, but for once she doesn’t say anything and disappears after you.

The mood is particularly subdued when Natasha serves up roasted salmon with a colorful vegetable medley and mashed potatoes. 

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say as she hands you a loaded plate. 

Wanda doesn’t say anything when Natasha gives her a plate.

While the two of you eat in awkward silence, Natasha cleans up the kitchen, her final task of the day. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.

It’s you.

“Can I walk you out to your car?” you ask. “I know it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t want you walking out in the dark by yourself.”

Natasha is so flattered by your offer she doesn’t stop to consider how Wanda might feel about this.

“Sure, I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She leads the way out of your house.

“Sorry you always have to park around the corner,” you add, maintaining a respectful distance from her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told Wanda the whole neighborhood knows you work for us. But she’s…” you trail off, clearly not wanting to speak ill of your wife.

“I’m sorry she forgot your anniversary,” Natasha blurts out. 

You seem startled that Natasha had been eavesdropping, but quickly recover. “Well, it’s…it’s not the first time she’s done it,” you admit in a soft voice. “I don’t know why I bother trying to do anything special anymore. It’s just another day to her. And it seems like she’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”

“She’s missing out,” Natasha says, surprised by her own confidence. “You’re a wonderful person and you deserve someone who will appreciate the efforts you go to celebrate important milestones like that.” She stops before she can offer herself up.

“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” 

The two of you stop at Natasha’s beat-up Nissan. 

“Thanks for walking me to my car–” she starts.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you ask suddenly, in a rushed whisper as if Wanda is around the corner listening. “If you’re not, would you like to see Wicked with me at the Gershwin Theater? I told Wanda I could probably get a credit with the Ritz, but I don’t want to deal with the hassle of exchanging the tickets, too. You can come over Saturday night and I’ll drive us?”

Natasha is so shocked by your proposal she doesn’t even have the words to agree at first. Growing up, she had loved watching musical movies until the VHS tapes wore out, but she had never had the opportunity to see a live performance. Even now as an adult, she still didn’t have the time nor the budget to see a show. To hear you ask that you wanted her to join you, when you had bought the tickets for you and your wife to enjoy on your anniversary she had forgotten, sounded almost too good to be true.

But if Wanda found out you had taken Natasha instead of her…Natasha shuddered at the thought. Maybe this was stepping over the line of professionalism. Natasha wanted to keep her job (and her head), and as much as the opportunity was a dream come true for her, she didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness or weakness.

“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping at the mall with some friends on Saturday,” Natasha says, cringing at the patheticness of her life. “But really–thank you for inviting me. I’m sure you have friends you’d rather take over your maid.”

“I don’t have any friends,” you say, so deadpan that Natasha almost laughs but quickly turns it into a cough when she realizes you’re being serious. While you seemed more reserved than your wife, Natasha refused to believe you didn’t have a strong social network. You were in charge of your own company and clearly doing well if you lived in this neighborhood and could afford a personal housemaid like her.

“Good evening!” The two of you startle when a cheery voice comes out of nowhere.

“Hello, Mr. Vision,” Natasha says, spotting the eccentric man first as he walks by at a rapid pace.

“Late night walk, Vis?” you call out, and he nods with a wave, pumping his arms faster and milling away. The only thing Natasha knew about Vision was that he lived by himself at the end of the street. He had no wife or kids that she knew of, not even a job as he was constantly seen walking around the neighborhood at odd hours. But he never approached Natasha or made her feel uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for most of the people living here, so she was happy to ignore him.

When Vision moves out of sight, you say, “Well, if your plans happen to change…” You fumble in your pockets awkwardly, pulling out a bent business card and handing it to Natasha. “My cell number is on there. Text me before Saturday if you’re still interested.”  

“Okay.” Natasha doesn’t want to get your hopes (or hers) up, but she still isn’t convinced this is a good idea. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Natasha.”

She loves the way her name sounds coming out of your mouth.

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

Natasha is still unsure she made the right decision to turn down your offer to see Wicked. She even called her only friend, Clint, to ask if she should’ve said yes.

“Well, you’re just seeing a show together. Think of it like a work bonus or something. Bosses give their employees nice stuff like that all the time,” Clint says as Natasha picks at a box of takeout in front of the television. Cooking at home was not her favorite chore after doing it all day for her clients.

“Yes, but it’s just the two of us,” Natasha stresses. “Y/N got the tickets to celebrate an anniversary and Wanda already hates me as it is–”

“Nah, she doesn’t hate you,” Clint says.

“You haven’t met her! You don’t see the way she treats me.”

“Exactly. Maybe this is Y/N’s way of apologizing for her behavior,” Clint says.

“I don’t know…” It was already Friday night. Natasha didn’t have much time now to change her mind if she was going to.

“Be nice to yourself, Nat. Let someone do something for you,” Clint goes on. “You work so hard for these people all the time. And I know how much you’ve always wanted to see a live performance.” Natasha feels tears well up in her eyes. She wishes Clint was here in person so she could give him a hug. “Nothing bad will happen. Just tell Y/N you want to go before someone else takes your spot.”

Natasha takes a steely breath. Clint is right. It wasn’t a date. It just was her nice boss treating her out to a Broadway show. Never mind the fact that you had intended to take your wife initially. Wanda would never have to know, right?

“Okay. Thanks, Clint.”

“Enjoy!”

As soon as she hangs up, Natasha goes into her texts. She already created a contact for you the night you gave her your business card. Her anxiety is through the roof as she types out a message to you, then deletes it and starts over. She gets more and more frustrated trying to find the right words, before she finally throws in the towel and clicks “Send.”

Less than a minute later, you respond.

Happiness explodes inside of Natasha. She can hardly believe her luck. Not only does she get to see her first Broadway show, but she gets to see it with you, and have dinner on top of it. She darts over to her closet, looking for the nicest dress she owns.

Wanda be damned. Natasha was going to have a great night with you. 

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

“Table for two, please.”

“Did you have a reservation?” the blonde woman at the podium asks.

“No,” you respond.

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked out for the evening,” she apologizes. 

Natasha stands behind you meekly. She can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant and doesn’t know what kind of food they serve, but it’s probably far beyond anything she could ever afford. She’s wearing a dark green dress that almost reaches her ankles and is conservative in protecting her assets, and spent over an hour doing her makeup, and she wonders if strangers will look at the two of you and assume you’re a couple. She wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them.   

“That’s okay. This was a last-minute plan for us,” you explain. “If Tony is working tonight, can you please tell him Y/N stopped by to say hello?”

“Wait, you know Mr. Stark?” the woman pales. “Don’t go anywhere. You said your name is Y/N?”

You smile and nod. The woman steps down from her podium and dashes into the back. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Natasha boldly teases. 

You turn and wink at her. 

“Tony and I went to college together,” you explain, although this implies you shared a friendship of some kind. “And clearly, his business is doing better than mine–”

The woman quickly returns with a short bearded man wearing a gray suit with red-tinted glasses that match his tie. 

“Y/N!” Tony shouts, embracing you in a dramatic hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming tonight! I could’ve put together a private booth in the back–”

“It was last-minute,” you say. “This is Natasha, by the way. She’s a friend.” Natasha is thrilled at the way you associate her with you.

“Hello, Natasha, I’m Tony.” He takes her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. He doesn’t seem surprised you haven’t brought Wanda along instead. “I take it you haven’t been here before, Miss Natasha? You won’t need a menu, I’ll have the chef bring out the best dishes we have tonight.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you say. 

“Follow me! You can have a table in our east wing. Where’s Wanda?” Tony says rapid-fire, turning around and leading them deeper into the restaurant. You step out of the way and motion to let Natasha go first, and she feels your hand graze her back as she walks past you. 

“She’s out with her girlfriends for the weekend,” you answer from behind Natasha. 

“Your anniversary is coming up, right?” Tony asks.

“Yes,” you respond, your voice suddenly tense.

The restaurant is packed, every visible table filled with customers, until they turn around a corner to a quiet, completely empty area.

“Pick any table. I’ll have a waiter come out with some drinks shortly,” Tony says.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha echoes, unsure if she likes this special treatment. You pick a table near the corner and pull her chair out for her. As soon as the two of you are seated, a waiter in a vested suit appears with a few bottles of wine, making suggestions and pouring samples into the glasses. Natasha doesn’t have enough knowledge to understand what he’s saying or differentiate the tastes, but she enjoys the experience. It feels strange to have someone serve her, when she’s normally the one waiting on people’s every demand. 

The two of you share several appetizers together. Natasha feels like she’s floating in a dream. You have been nothing but generous and respectful to her, but every time your left hand reaches across the table for the caviar, the wedding ring on your finger taunts her. 

The dinner itself is a four-course affair, including a rich chocolate cake that Natasha devours faster than she can fully enjoy. When the bill arrives (which Tony has already chopped in half), Natasha still asks if she can chip in (despite knowing full well she doesn’t have the money to cover even her portion), but you push her card away and give the waiter your black card.

The theater is three blocks from Tony’s restaurant, so you leave your car in valet parking and ask Natasha if she’s okay walking. She had not planned ahead very well, so she only has a thin cardigan to cover her shoulders. You notice her shivering and offer her your heavy black jacket that completely engulfs her frame. Your scent completely surrounds her now and Natasha swears she won’t wash this dress ever again.

The line into the theater moves quickly and Natasha follows you all the way down to the front, where your seats are perfectly center to the stage. She crawls over a few people, feeling a little smug about getting some of the best seats in the house. You had truly spoiled her tonight and she was never going to forget this. 

She leans over to whisper to you before the show begins. “Thank you for everything tonight. I’ve already had so much fun and the dinner was amazing.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for joining me, and thank you for all the hard work you do for my family,” you say and Natasha beams. “Me and Wanda really appreciate it.” Natasha deflates a little at the mention of your wife, but she pushes her out of her mind to focus on her time with you. 

As they wait, Natasha props her arm up on the armrest between you two so she can hold the playbill at a comfortable angle to read. Suddenly, your arm drops heavily on hers and she looks at you in confusion. You’re reading your own playbill and don’t seem to notice that your massive arm is practically crushing hers.

“Um, Y/N?” she prompts, clearing her throat.

“Hmm? Oh!” You quickly move your arm off hers. “I’m so sorry, I thought that was Wanda’s arm,” you explain with a nervous chuckle. Natasha laughs too, although she isn’t sure if she should be happy or worried that she reminds you of your wife. She’d be happy to take Wanda’s place any day, though. 

The musical is amazing, impressive beyond anything Natasha had ever expected. She cries when Elphaba defies gravity, and after the whirlwind of the second act, she is among the first to give a standing ovation. She’s floating on cloud nine as she walks with you out of the theater back to the car.

The drive back to your home is quick at the late hour. Just as you're about to pull into the driveway, you slam hard on the brakes, jolting everyone forward. Vision power walks past the beams of your headlights, only breaking the pump of his arms to wave in thanks.

“What is he doing out so late?” you ask, and Natasha is relieved to know she’s not the only one who thinks his habits are a bit odd.

“No idea,” she mumbles, watching you pull onto the driveway and stop.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Natasha says, still giddy with excitement.“This was the best night of my life. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show, ever since I was a little girl. I never thought I’d get the chance, even after I moved here–”

“You’re very welcome,” you interrupt, seeming almost shy with the praise.

“I’m sorry Wanda wasn’t able to join you for your own anniversary,” she adds, although she’s not sure why.

You shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Besides, I’m glad you were able to join me and had such a fun night. I don’t think this would have been nearly as fun by myself.”

There is a pause and Natasha has to force herself to stop looking at your lips. If she had no self-restraint, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lean over the center console and kiss you.

“Have a good night, Natasha. Drive home safely,” you say as the two of you get out of the car.

“Thank you again!” Natasha doesn’t even listen to music on her way home, riding out the high of what was easily one of the most memorable nights of her life in over a decade.

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

A few weeks later, Natasha is working a double shift: the first one at Steve’s house, and the second at yours. You’re away at work, as usual, but she knows you’ll be home before she leaves for the day, and she never takes any glimpse of you for granted. Wanda is also back to being demanding and cranky, and Natasha has no idea if you told her about the night the two of you had together. She had felt the silent instruction from you not to blab about her taking Wanda’s place and was happy to keep the memories to herself.

She’s in the front hall, mopping while quietly humming “Defying Gravity” to herself, when Wanda clacks by in high-heels.

“Natasha!” she hisses. “Didn’t I tell you to start in the kitchen? If I slip out here because the floor is wet–”

“So sorry!” Natasha apologizes, hoping that she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll put a fan on.” She rests her mop against the wall and darts off for the $300 Dyson fan in the closet. After pointing it towards the gleaming floor, she pushes her cart into the kitchen and continues mopping. She makes sure to open the window to air out the smell, and notices Steve across the street mowing his lawn. 

She stares at him, wondering if he can see her, and her question is quickly answered when Steve waves to her. She returns his wave with a smile, then goes back to her task before Wanda can complain she isn’t working hard enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him back away from his lawn mower and answer his phone; he disappears into his house hurriedly. 

“Natasha! Always make sure you open a window when you mop!” Wanda’s screech comes out of nowhere. “The chemicals you use give me a headache!”

“Oh, but the window is open–” Natasha tries to explain, but Wanda silences her with a wave of her hand.

“I’m on the phone!” she says, pointing to the cell phone held up to her ear. Natasha bites her lip, but holds her tongue. “Sorry, honey, what was that? No, I was talking to the maid,” she says. Natasha perks up despite the way Wanda titles her. You’re clearly on the other line, and maybe you’ll be home sooner than expected.

But Wanda disappears into a guest room (your house had so many of those), and Natasha can no longer hear her conversation. She dutifully continues to mop the floor, careful to fan the mop in a semi-circle pattern so as not to trap herself in a corner. She moves the chairs to the hallway one at a time, cursing their awkward shape that makes them difficult to carry and taking special care not to scrape the feet along the floor. 

Wanda’s shrill voice carries through the house again, this time covering a topic that makes Natasha’s cheeks heat up.

“Oh my God, yes, I’m still thinking about last night,” Wanda says. “When you had my legs behind my head–”

Natasha tries not to picture Wanda folded up like a pretzel while you plow into her. But she can imagine herself in a similar position (she’s not so confident in her own flexibility, but she’d make it work for you). Your hands could probably fit around her whole thighs as you push her legs apart wider, thrusting your hips in long strokes to fit your big dick into her. Natasha is embarrassed to admit that the last time she had masturbated, she had thought of you the whole time.

How much more you’d fill her compared to the flimsy toy she was using. How you would feel throbbing inside her, your body pressed hot and heavy against hers as you beg for her permission to finish. Imagining having you like that, with that kind of control, brought Natasha to the most amazing orgasm of her life. If only you had been there to share it with her. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be able to go another round, but you proved me wrong,” Wanda continues, and Natasha picks up on how breathless she sounds. She wonders if she’s touching herself right now, with Natasha mopping in the kitchen. Somehow, that wouldn’t be shocking to her. “You were still so hard when I put you down my throat.”

A lightning bolt of arousal strikes Natasha’s core. She can’t focus on mopping anymore, staring blankly out the kitchen window, lost in the new filthy fantasy playing in her head, guided by Wanda’s narration. 

Natasha lies between your legs, her lips barely brushing your hips as she takes your cock down her throat. She prays her gag reflex doesn’t protest at the obstruction in her airway, but despite the slight discomfort, she wants to do this all day. Your pants and moans are like music in her ears, urging her on to suck harder and take you deeper.

“Please Nat,” your voice wavers. The muscle fibers in your thighs are visibly tensed and your back arches off the bed when Natasha pushes your hips down, trying to maintain some kind of control over you. But your body seems to have a mind of its own, with only one goal in mind. 

“It’s almost like I can still taste you.”

You poke at the back of her throat and Natasha can feel the hot throbbing of your cock in her mouth. She’s so eager to swallow anything you’ll give her, she’s almost embarrassed in her desperation, but when your hands cup the back of her head, pushing her down so she can fit the last inch down her throat, she knows the two of you are on equal planes of passion.

Your entire body flexes and the anticipation for Natasha is overwhelming. You finally inhale sharply as the first hot spurt lands on her tongue. 

“Being on your knees for me is a good look for you.”

Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her fingers tangling in your hair. One of her legs rests on your shoulder while the other is spread far apart so you can kneel between them, your mouth pressed against her heat. Your tongue swirls around her clit and Natasha fears she won’t be able to stay standing much longer. 

“Y/N,” she pants, clutching your head tighter and rocking her hips forward. “I need you.”

Your fingernails dig harder into her thigh to still her. You look up into her eyes and Natasha thinks she’s going to finish right there. “You have me, baby. I’m all yours.”

“But there’s really only one place you belong.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you grunt, almost sending Natasha headfirst into the headboard with every one of your thrusts. “I could stay inside you forever.”

Natasha hums at the praise. She’s holding on the bedsheets for life, spasming and clenching around you, trying to pull you in deeper. You fill her so perfectly, she’s convinced her body was made for yours. 

“Tell me I’m better than her,” Natasha gasps, fighting to delay her own release.

“Fuck Wanda,” you grunt, pulling back on Natasha’s hips at the same time you thrust forward, burying your entire length into her. “I love you, Natasha. You’re the only one I ever want to be with.”

A noisy car engine pulls Natasha out of her head. Her face feels flushed with arousal, and she knows what she’s doing the second she goes home. Your green car suddenly pulls into the driveway but stops. You get out and walk to the street, grabbing one of the trash bins and pulling it towards the house.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” Wanda says in the background.

The realization crashes down on Natasha’s head like a cold shower. She watches you grab the second bin with both hands, carefully walking backwards with it.

You’re not on the phone and you’re standing 30 feet away from Natasha. If Wanda’s not on the phone with you, then who is she talking to?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Who do you think Wanda was talking to? 👀

Read the next part here!

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 | Jackson!Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Your postcards become a personal journal during patrols with Joel.

author's note | a little late, but this is my entry for @jolapeno's dear-uary! i had very little idea what i was going to do initially, but this kinda turned into its own thing. i hope the postcards are a nice addition to the fic, they were quite fun to make.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson era joel, patrol partners, quiet!reader, enemies to lovers, one instance of choking, mentions of violence, angst, mean!joel, voyeurism, forced orgasm, thigh riding

word count — 7k

“It’s the fifth time I’ve came back and she’s been sleepin’,” Joel gripes a handful of feet below as you feign resting, trying to relax the sneer that threatened to cross your face, annoyed with the exhaustion that never left but loathing the man who couldn’t seem to give you a break, “or writing in that damn book, ignoring us.”

“I’ll talk—” Joel interrupts Tommy once more, with emphasis on the amount, but Tommy reels him in, squeezing down on his shoulder as you peek through one eye over the railing, scoffing under your breath, “I’ll talk to her, alright? S’awonder what a simple conversation can fix, Joel.”

His approach comes later during shift change as the night slowly melted into dawn, the sun rising on the horizon in waves of orange and purple, creating a cotton candy sky, hearing Tommy’s voice carry as he greeted people along the way before the scuff of his boots stopped behind you, you turn to peer up at him sheepishly.

“Not a good look, y’know?” Tommy says redundantly, “I’m not tryin’ to gripe you out, but Joel—”

You nod knowingly, waving him off as you toss your pencil and notebook aside, adjusting your jacket over your shoulders as you sit upright, rubbing the sleep out of tired eyes.

“You can always put me on kitchen duty, hell I’ll take—”

“No—no, I’m not moving you. You havin’ trouble sleeping in the singles?”

The apartments, the singles—it varied, depending on who you asked. A place for the younger, single survivors in Jackson. With the constant sound and rumble of life within the walls, you should feel safe, a subtle semblance of home, but sleeping alone was hard. Trapped within four walls, drowned out by the eventual silence as night fell, it left room for the nightmares.

It was easier here, surrounded by others, sounds to help keep you grounded, the fresh air despite the stale smells and faint fumes of rotting corpses. You couldn’t explain it, but it was easier. Besides, it wasn’t like you were being completely negligent—even Tommy knew that.

“I have trouble sleeping in general,” You feed him a half-truth, “I’ll keep it together, though. As long as it keeps Joel off your ass and mine, I wouldn’t be thrilled to be on the receiving end of one of Joel’s outbursts.”

“Tantrums, more like.” He jokes with a smirk, his teeth peeking out under his thick mustache. “I really don’t mind if you’re dozing off a bit, s’long as there’s others keepin’ watch. Maybe–just maybe, try and keep up the act when Joel’s coming and going.”

“Can do,” You agree with ease and Tommy smiles, pointing lazily toward your notebook.

“I’m curious, though—whatcha got goin’ on in there?”

Your brow furrows until you look over your shoulder and surmise what he’s referencing, picking up the notebook carelessly and flipping through to show him–it was a mix of random doodles and sketches, some vulgar words scribbled in by a mix of immature men who you’ve come to befriend with reluctance on the job, a detailed log of everyone’s schedule as they leave and return, random details of weather patterns, things you’ve noticed along the skyline toward the inner city, several months worth of information that Tommy nods at, thoughtful as he looks over the pages.

“Don’t let ‘em give you a hard time,” Tommy tells you, folding the cover closed.

“Yes, sir,” You say endearingly, mostly as a jest at Tommy’s expense, knowing he despised the word, making a face as he turned on his heels to leave.

“Shit makes me feel old,” He gripes, shaking his head in a mix of disdain and amusement, “stop it.”

You smile at his annoyance as you tuck your belongings away into your pack and trade your rifle off to Jesse, who seemed more than eager to take your shift with bright, well-rested eyes and a grin of his face as greeted you both.

As you expect, there is little sleep to be had as you hit your bed, tossing and turning as you fiddle with the ripped hole in your bed sheet or spend time counting the stains on your ceilings—mold spots and holes, signs of a building that was on the way out, but hanging by a thread.

Tommy wouldn’t condemn the place unless it was in shambles, finding use of just about anything if it still had enough life in it. 

And you follow Tommy’s instructional plea—even if it killed you to appease Joel, who seemed just as critical if not more as he rode up on his horse every few nights.

Their shifts weren’t always regular and Joel often picked up extra patrols when someone else couldn’t, complaining entirely too much for someone who seemed like they couldn’t stand living within the sanctuary of Jackson, like he’d rather tough it out on his own.

Ellie blamed it on his inability to let himself settle—Jackson was home, his family was here, and physically he could exist, but he never seemed quite present.

You catch Ellie on a shift change as Tommy and Joel approach, trading out your jerky for her sandwich as she hurriedly tucked it away like she was going to get caught doing something she shouldn’t, snorting softly at her actions as Joel scowled, pulling at the reigns of his horse as he drew near.

The call of your name has you perking up, peering around Ellie’s head at Tommy with a less than enthusiastic look on his face, rifles held between both of the brothers grips.

“I’m askin’ for a huge favor,” Instantly you knew, posture slumping slightly as your boots sunk into the snow, “Cindy’s sick—caught the same bug that’s been goin’ around. Can you cover another shift? I’ll owe ya.”

“Seems more like you’re telling me,” You retort, stretching the beanie down over the back of your head to cover your ears, the cold biting at your skin, “—it’s fine, I’ll do it.”

“Thank—“

“But I want the weekend off.”

“Done.” Tommy agrees without problem.

The patrol box wasn’t all that bad anyways, insulated enough that you weren’t freezing your ass off, enough room for two people, it could be worse. It was better than walking the strip of the barricade, shivering until you couldn’t even feel your toes.

Wyoming winters were brutal, but it seemed like the end of the world had found a vengeance to fight back with, giving you the harshest versions of every season. A blizzard was expected within the next few weeks and those were never ideal—extra patrols, doubling watchmen, curfews. It sucked.

You find yourself sketching out the same tree line you’ve drawn a hundred times, wispy tendrils and thick trunks that wove together like a web, time drifting by with ease as the night swallowed up the day, the thick blanket of snow reducing both the noise and allowing a soft illumination as you peered off into the distance, almost mesmerized at the glowing orb that seemed to grow closer and closer. 

Tommy and Joel were the last ones out, everyone else having returned back hours prior, keeping in mind that they had taken the furthest patrol out north, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

But, it doesn’t take long for you to realize that Joel and Tommy are not alone, horses trotting quickly toward the gates as a small group of raiders followed closely behind and shot of rifle rounds with no exact target, whizzing by your head as you opened the door and ran to your own rifle, sliding to the wall for cover as you quickly loaded your gun and swung it over the ledge.

It wasn’t often that you had to use it outside of training and target practice, finding that Jackson had always been relatively quiet—except for now, as the brothers tumbled to cover as shots fired from your left and right, a few of the attackers succumbed to their flurry of wounds.

You watch as one raider attacks the brothers head on, short-lived as Joel attacks him with his fists, a hand bunching into the front of the attackers shirt before he’s crushing his skull in with pure rage and strength, eventually ending up with his hands around the other man's neck while he choked on the blood that spilled from his mouth, the light in his eyes slowly fading.

There’s a straggler on the outskirts, though, blending in as he slid through the tree line and attempted to attack Joel from behind, you quickly aim down your sight through the scope of the gun, following a straight and calm line as the man approached, stepping a few feet away from Joel before the bullet slices through his head, falling to the ground in an instant. 

Joel’s head whips toward you, your head peeking over the scope as you examine the body before looking over at him, seemingly stunned but the expression was subdued, quietly mouthing something to his brother who wasn’t as good at hiding his shock. 

Either you had made the right choice in saving Joel’s life or he was going to twist this on you, somehow proving that you could’ve killed him with your carelessness, letting a shot ring out so close to his head.

The dread you were feeling does come to fruition as Tommy knocks on your door that weekend, your soft voice welcoming him inside as you perched against the alcove in your room, a small ledge tucked against the windowsill. 

“I ain’t here to lecture you,” Tommy begins, cutting through your doubt, “feel like I’m constantly askin’ so much of you but Joel and I can agree on one thing. You’re a damn good shot.”

You scoff at that, almost a laugh. 

He leaned against the wall near the small kitchen tucked into the corner of the apartment, arms crossed over his chest.

“We lost James,” from what you recalled, he was a young kind, inexperienced, reckless too, “poor kid never fuckin’ listened, got shot before he could even get his gun out.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask bluntly, looking up at him through a downturned gaze, picking at the chipped paint by your feet.

“We’re down a person. I want you to take over.”

“I thought this was a council decision. Some prestigious thing, putting people through tests before they could—“

“It’s the least of my worries. Maria’s close to her due date too, that storm is creepin’ in. We ain’t got time to waste, we’ll be doubling patrols soon. Are you in or out, kid?”

Tommy’s face screamed desperation, sunken eyes were a telltale sign of lacking sleep, stress rifling his features. He had a lot on his plate, the weight of Jackson on his shoulders, his burgeoning new family growing within a few weeks. You had a soft spot for him unfortunately and it was always your downfall.

“I’m in.”

—

“You listen to every word I say,” Joel tells you, snaking by the others loading up their saddle bags, side stepping the horse’s head as he crowds you into the small space of the stall, “Every single word, got it?”

He’s never been friendly—cordial, maybe. But, Joel wasn’t the type to ask or suggest. It was always order and demand, his harsh tone constricting the words to instill an edge that had your brows furrowing down into your lids, face scrunching up in annoyance.

You agree regardless, nodding your head as you clip the saddlebag closed.

“I need to hear it.”

“Got it,” You retort, sarcasm laced around your tongue, “Every single word. You say run, I run. Jump, I jump. Good enough?”

Joel shakes his head slightly at your tone, looking off toward the entrance of the barn at his brother who was deep into a conversation, displeased with the idea of being paired with you.

But, he was the only one Tommy trusted to train you properly, even if it meant several hours together with a good chance you both might kill each other. 

With Joel, you were safe from everything else but him.

“Yeah, thas’ good.” He relents, turning on his heels before he finishes his sentence.

The weather was only just beginning to pick up, the winds whipping your loose hair over your face, pulling them from the tie you had pulling the majority of it back, hood snug over your head. You hear the distinct sound of leather rubbing against itself as Joel tightens his grips on the reins of his horse, settling beside you quietly as Tommy called off everyone’s posting.

You were assigned to the ski lodge far north, the furthest they patrolled but for good reason. It kept the raiders at bay, staking claim so far out and keeping them away, for the most part. Plus, it gave them an early jump on any of the migrating groups of infected, finding that they often moved in hoards during the colder months, picking off the stragglers that wandered in.

The trip is cold, lips dry and cracking by the time you reach the lodge, but relatively easy. 

“Tie ‘em up,” Joel instructs coarsely, waiting to latch the door closed as you tie the horses up to the makeshift post in the foyer, his foot holding the door open as you step past him, shoulder brushing his elbow as his eyes track the touch silently, clicking the lock into place.

“Beds are up there,” Joel pointed toward the right corner, couches lined with sheets and pillows, “s’better to sleep down here with this weather, place don’t keep out the cold that well unless we got a fire going and even then…”

“I’ll be fine,” You assure him tensely, stripping your jacket off your shoulders and slinging it over the back of a nearby chair, pack falling slack against the floor, leaving you free to wander around.

“Sign us in,” He points vaguely in the direction of the bar, an old leather booklet resting against the wall with a pin tucked around a page, his voice carrying as you walk further away, “I’ll start up a fire.”

Joel was like a ghost, almost forgetting he was there until he’s approaching behind you, that familiar grimace on his face as he finds you scouring through the book, curiosity getting the best of you—it was harmless, but Joel thought otherwise.

“Is this gonna be an issue?” He asks, eyes widened slightly in an expectant manner, waiting for your response.

You wrestle with the urge to roll your eyes, neatly writing your names down into the book, checking quickly at your watch before you snap the book closed and shove it aside.

You move to walk around him, but his palm flattens out against your collarbone, shoving you back into place—he wasn’t letting you move without an answer.

“No,” You answer casually, pushing his hand away gently, “Are you gonna explain how any of this works?”

“We take turns,” Joel says, mirroring your early actions as he strips off his couch, the warmth of the fire already spreading throughout the room, “I’ll take first shift ‘til morning, then we swap.”

“And if we see something?”

“You wake me up,” He tells you, “otherwise, don’t.”

It was a simple but lethal instruction, a warning.

This was going to be absolute hell.

Luckily, the conversation dies out and you wander toward the small gift shop attached to the bar. It was mostly picked through besides the small plush bear sitting alone on the shelf and a revolving carousel of postcards, aged from both weather and time. You spin them around careful, mindlessly plucking a few that still seemed in good enough condition before you’re shoving them away in your bag, ignoring the creak of a chair as Joel sat with his rifle in his lap, leaned back as he stared out the long expansive window that covered the wall, just on the edge of cliff with a substantial drop.

It had a beautiful view, breathtaking, really. But, looking in his direction only made you feel more and more unsettled, taking your seat beside the fire quietly.

“Should get some sleep,” He suggest without turning his head over his shoulder, your eyes glancing in his direction, “don’t need you fallin’ asleep on patrol here.”

And normally, you could find yourself falling asleep easily given the situation. But, you were on edge, fearful, something twisting in your gut that kept you from relaxing. You’ve heard the stories about Joel, how ruthlessly he killed and maimed. A man of action rather than peace.

You pull a single postcard from your back to distract yourself, hoping that it might help lull you to sleep eventually.

And you wished it had gotten easier, but the more you were paired with Joel, the more tension it seemed to cause, always unspoken—Joel never reacted, barely skirting the idea that this was becoming a problem, the lack thereof with communication, speaking only when you absolutely needed to.

His questions were always odd, like a robot attempting to make small talk—and often, it was observations, one-off statements that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as they did.

But, they did.

“Sleepin’ with that knife ain’t safe.” Joel told you on a crisp, stormy night at the end of January, the tail end of it peeking out from under your pillow, one eye peeling open to look at him with disdain.

“Says the man who sleeps with a rifle on his chest.”

Joel chews at his bottom lip, looking down at the bulky weapon in his lap before he ignores your retort, focusing his gaze on the book in his grip, something he’s read through about a hundred times, attempting to give himself a different view, flipping through the pages mindlessly.

“Where’d you learn to use a gun like that?” He asks suddenly, cutting through the silence again.

Another question, one you could leave unanswered. 

“We’re not put in the watchtower without gun training,” You tell him, “seems kinda self explanatory, Tommy trained me himself.”

“That kinda shootin’ isn’t taught.” Is all he replies with—almost like an accusation. 

“I think you’ve forgotten that QZ kids were born with a gun in their hand.”

It was an asinine exaggeration, but still wholeheartedly the truth. You knew every part of a gun before you could even confidently tie your shoes, it was unfortunately second nature when you had a gun in your hand, similar to a knife. Your grip tightened around the handle as you closed your eyes, succumbing to sleep eventually.

You wade in and out, peeking through bleary eyes and always find Joel’s eyes on you, whether purposeful or not, he was always watching. Even as you wandered, no matter where you were—maybe it was his own strange way of hoping that it provided you comfort, that he was always watching out. But, it never made you feel safe. Not really. And, in turn, you find yourself doing the same thing.

He’s more relaxed when he’s sleeping, the familiar scowl non-existent as he snores alongside the crackling fire or roar of wind, his boots untied and loosened but never off, never too comfortable. Joel always slept with his arms crossed, sitting up or lying down, occasionally mumbling in his sleep as he whimpered, his face contorting in the only sign of emotion you see from him outside of anger and annoyance.

You scribble out your thoughts on a postcard to pass the time.

He never asks about the stack of postcards in your bag, remaining blissfully ignorant. It was an unspoken agreement, that prying wasn’t something either of you were going to make an attempt at—you could simply exist around each other, no baggage or stories to be traded.

For now, at least.

–

It was nearly four months of patrols when Tommy lays his plans out and surprisingly, Joel doesn’t seem displeased and truthfully, things had become easier with him than anyone else.

You didn’t have to put on an act for him.

He could tell when you were exhausted or irritated, giving you space with a silent pass of the sandwiches he had picked up before leaving, retreating to his own corner, though his eyes still lingered.

It had taken a few months, but you did feel that safety with him that Ellie often talked to you about—his steadfast personality, knowing that if something were to happen, he’d handle it. 

But, he’s still a mystery.

“Ellie told me ‘bout that time you killed a group of raiders tryin’ to attack her,” You start the conversation bluntly, biting into the steak sandwich, “You like knives more than guns?”

Bold, he thinks. That’s fuckin’ bold.

“Guns are loud,” He replies, “Knives aren’t.”

You think back to the incident at Jackson with another set of raiders, witnessing Joel kill a man with his bare hands and think - maybe he preferred neither, if given another choice.

The prospect shouldn’t excite you or even entertain you, the brute power he holds.

But, it does.

You make a soft nose of acknowledgement as you nod your head, noticing the subtle glint in his eyes as he revisits the memory with Ellie, his face twitching at the sight of the broken glass slicing through a poor kid’s neck, right along the jugular as he choked on his own blood.

“You kill anyone?”

“A few—just…for survival.” You weren’t sure why you lied.

Joel wasn’t threatened by you in the slightest and lying wasn’t going to change that.

You’ve been lucky enough to avoid it until recently, bouncing from place to place until you landed in Jackson. It had been your home for a while now, so long that you didn’t like to think about it, staying in one place for such a long period of time. 

Joel sat a few feet away in the small house nestled on the mountain, a cool breeze stretching through the open window as Spring had taken hold, flowers blooming over the edge of the windowsill where they threatened to creep in.

His feet were near your head, resting against the ledge of the window as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his knife against the wooden leg of the chair as you pretend to sleep, shifting slightly as the blanket drifted down your body, layers shedded and crumpled by your feet, leaving you in a thin top and and jeans as you turned to your stomach, moaning softly, content.

He’s been less shy about his stares, or oblivious, his gaze lingering when you would catch him in the act—but you count the second in your mind from the moment you catch him through your squinted gaze, his eyes drifting along your body curiously.

Ninety-five seconds.

It was a new record.

And you dream of him that night, it wasn't the first time.

But, this time felt different. Usually the dreams drift away the moment you wake, like a distant and distorted memory, but this one is vivid and lingering as you watch Joel, who had caught you in the midst of your wake but he'd fallen asleep shortly after.

Some fucked up and empty part of you wishes it was reality.

-

You end up at the same patrol a month later, the heat of summer creeping in.

You hadn’t been paired together in a couple weeks and Joel seemed lighter as he stepped beyond the threshold of the house and stripped off his pack, busying himself with a quick sweep 

Wiping your hand over your forehead, skin damp and sweaty as your pack falls to the floor, you sigh, fanning yourself with your hand as Joel catches a subtle glimpse of your obvious discomfort.

“Did Tommy ever fix the water?” You ask with a slight hint of annoyance, more than willing to douse yourself in a bucket of cold water to get some relief, “Please say yes.”

Joel chuckles at that, a small sound that you would have missed had you not been paying direct attention to his response.

“Yes, a couple weeks ago,” Joel answers simply, sinking lazily into the couch, allowing himself a moment of well-earned rest after the long ride here, “go on—I’ll cover the first watch.”

It was all the encouragement you needed. 

And the shower is marvelous, leveled at the perfect temperature to let the cool water wash over your skin, cleaning off the thin layer of dirt that had accumulated from Jackson to here, listening to the faint footsteps as Joel traversed the house, assuming he was setting things up in the bedroom—doors opening, floorboards creaking, the sounds were like a comfort. 

Joel doesn’t talk unless he absolutely has to, more settled in the idea of just existing around you—he knew it brought you a semblance of feeling safe, but he was forcing himself to keep that distance, remaining vigilant to the eyes that constantly watched him, occasionally catching himself doing the same.

Even now, it was like a trance, his head bowed as he passed the bathroom, noticing the small crack in the door as he heard your melodic hum filter over the sound of water, singing a song that reminded him of before, his favorite.

Was it your favorite too?

He doesn’t mean to, not really, but then you’re turning your body away from the shower-head, eyes closed and head tossed back as you washed your hair, the gap in the curtain from this angle giving Joel a perfect view of your body, the pristine slope of your breasts down to your stomach, a few faint scars he followed before his eyes landed on your pelvis, the trimmed patch of hair nestled above your cunt, feeling his throat swell as he swallowed.

The faint creek of his footsteps gives him away, he knows, but you don’t react.

It wasn’t until the midnight hour rolled around, falling asleep on your shift, that Joel sneaks out of the house—sometimes he just needed the silence in nature, no birds chirping overhead, the faint distant growl from traversing hoards that didn’t carry out this far, if he closed his eyes, it was almost as if everything were normal, like he was back at his house in Austin, enjoying a moment out on his back porch.

Unfortunately, Joel was a paranoid man; your quiet footsteps catch him off guard, only feeling your presence as you arrive at his back, turning on his heels in an instant as his hand latches around your throat, tackling you against the ground with his knee digging into your stomach, your face pinched in pain as you throw weak punches at his chest, gasping for air.

He seems trance-like, eyes glossed over as you struggle to breathe, vision blurring around the edges as it begins to tunnel, you muster as much strength as you can to wheeze his name.

“J-oel. Joel, s’me.”

Your voice, broken and strained, seems to break him out of his deadlock grip on your throat, dark eyes snapping back into a soft chestnut, his face softening as much as it could while still remaining hardened, scrambling away from you without a word. Like you had attacked him.

You let out a flurry of coughs as you roll to your side, massaging your throat as your sounds come out raspy and weak, feeling slight pain as you swallow and attempt to rise to your feet, seeing Joel hesitate from your periphery for a moment, considering helping you.

“Coulda fuckin’ killed you,” Is the only thing he offers.

“Yeah,” You respond bitterly, “Almost fucking did.”

“You got a habit of sneakin’ up on people like that? The hell were you thinking?”

He rubbed a hand over his graying beard, the other hand cocked against his hip as he kept a safe distance, watching you pick the clumps of dirt and grass from your hair. 

He’s angry. Angry?

Why the fuck was he angry?

“I was worried—you like to leave at night,” You explain through a strained tone, a tic in your jaw as you clench down, eyes sinking into a scowl as you challenge his expression, “the last thing I need is finding you dead and having to explain that to Tommy.”

A tense silence stretches over, a slow and powerful breath through his nose before he relents and stomps past you, leaving you in a similar position to his earlier, watching his figure trail toward the house as your head turns back toward the sky, covered in stars and picturesque.

The kind of sight you wouldn’t believe if you weren’t seeing it in person.

Joel liked simple pleasures, a moment of silence and a place to sit with himself, and you had disrupted it - the only true moment he had alone all day, to sit, to think. The guilt settles in quickly, lingering for a moment before you decide to make the walk back toward the house.

–

What you aren’t expecting to find is Joel, sifting through your bag, items sprawled out on the floor and the thick cards fitted between his calloused fingers, covered in filth as he read over the notes you had left over the past few months, internal thoughts that you wouldn’t dare let slip.

He'd broken the one unspoken rule you both had kept with each other.

Some of them were slightly more embarrassing than others, forbidden to see the light of day until now, meticulous notes about the details of his face as he slept, how you found the rhythmic sound of his breathing comforting or even more damning, how the more aggressive side of him did the exact opposite of what it should.

It excited you. Turned you on, though the cards held more flourishing details about why and how. Because even then, moments prior as his hands pressed against your throat, there was a brief moment of exhilaration, excitement. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you scramble, stumbling toward him and reaching for the cards he holds easily out of reach, a hand pressing against your shoulder and squeezing tight enough to hold you back.

“You wanna explain this?” Joel asks, the type of tone that made you want to shrink.

Your mouth parts for a moment before you find your voice, brow knitting in frustration as you reach for the postcards once more, failing, “Those are private—why are you snooping?”

“You left a mess,” Joel explains away, the items of your bag spilled on the hardwood floor, chuckling as he continues, “Huh, private? Ain’t much privacy to be had when you’re writing about me.”

You can feel your heart racing, knowing if Joel moved his hand an inch further down he would feel it too.

The stack had to be at least twenty postcards thick, some innocently tame and just a means to let your thoughts and feelings flow, most of them answering questions Joel had asked you earlier in the night that you had refused to answer, giving him nothing to work with.

The ones he does recite are damning, tossing them to the floor as he flips through the stack before reading off a particularly recent one from earlier that night, his confidence slowly flagging as the words leave his mouth.

Shower. Watching me.

It felt good.

“Goes both ways,” You sneer, pushing his hand away and making one final reach for the cards as you successfully pry them from his grip, stuffing them away in your bag along with your other spilled belongings.

Joel’s expression shifts slightly, staring down at your kneeling figure as you avoid his gaze. His boots scuff against the floor as he crowds you against the wall, nowhere to run when you rise to your feet. Attempting to scare, to provoke.

Daringly, you challenge him, “I’m not the only one watching, Joel.”

His eyes narrow, searching your face for any sign of a bluff. For a brief moment, you almost expect him to deny the obvious—lie, lie, lie.

But, even he couldn’t deny the strange connection; or, affliction, that had riddled you both.

You could blame it on the close proximity built over months of isolation, often paired together over your willingness to work efficiently and without issue as time went on—Tommy was used to people butting heads, arguing, favoring one person over the other.

With you two, he could send you off for a patrol and not have to worry about things being left behind or forgotten.

You were innately quiet, even in Jackson, never wanting to ruffle anyone’s feathers or stir up trouble—that was left for the rowdy teens and few and far between drunks. Joel almost suspected you as mole for a brief time upon your arrival in Jackson, a worry soothed by Tommy over time.

But now, he doesn’t know what to think. He can’t figure you out and he’s not really sure he wants to, but you’ve got the kind of look in your eyes that calls out to Joel, silently.

He’s never met someone so controlled, knowing when to keep to themselves and when to bite back; it strings, that bite. He feels it in the way your jaw tightens, attempting to shove past him.

He glances down, noticing the knife tucked away in your left hand. A low, threatening chuckle releases from his lips as his hand grips your wrist, holding it up between your bodies.

“What’re you plannin’ to do with this? Stab me?”

“M’not against it,” You try to keep the strength in your voice, but it wavers slightly.

“I know that look,” Joel challenges, “You ain’t ever killed like this—s’too close, too personal.”

He knocks the knife away with a quick jerk of your wrist as you stumble back against the wall, praying he didn’t hear the small gasp slip from your throat as his chest presses against yours.

“So, you like watchin’ me sleep?” Joel asks in a taunting tone, “Enjoy jottin’ down all those dirty little thoughts thinkin’ I wouldn’t see ‘em?”

“They weren’t meant to be seen. They were private,” You retort, feeling the weight of his body as you exhale, lashes fluttering at his hot breath as it ghosts your face, reiterating, “Private, like my shower? Or, how about all the times I’ve caught you watching me? You know, we could go back and forth about this all night but frankly, I don’t mphh—”

Joel’s hand claps tight over your mouth, effectively silencing you as your face contorts in frustration, hands curling around his thick forearms and fingers, attempting to pry his hand away.

“Look at me,” He goads, repeating it more menacing as you fight against his hold, nodding in satisfaction when you finally relent, “Yeah—now and don’t you fuckin’ lie to me, you left that door open because you hoped I would, right? Stop tryin’ to act so innocent, girl.”

It ignites a fire in you, the demeaning monaker that transforms into enough strength to fist your hands into his shirt and shove him into the reclining chair positioned behind him, a heavy grunt releasing from his chest as you stumble over his boots and into his lap.

“Don’t call me that,” You seethe, not amiss to the immediate instinct of Joel’s to catch you, thighs bracketing his right leg as his hands squeeze your waist, keeping you upright.

Joel speaks your name, almost taunting, “S’that better? Or is that little crush your harboring hopin’ I’ll call you somethin’ a little sweeter?”

You feel the weight of his thumbs as they curl into your belt loops, body swaying with the motion as you take a seat on his lap, ass pressed against his knee and you watch as his chin gradually moves to rest against his chest, his eyeline following your movement.

“Don’t call me anything,” You retorted, his eyes flicking up under a heavy gaze.

Joel was simmering with a controlled rage, his hands squeezing at your hips as he jerked you forward suddenly, your hands grasping onto the back of the chair over his head, the friction at the seam of your denim as it rubbed against your clit, nestled between slick folds that couldn’t hide the arousal you were feeling, how the heat that radiated off of Joel made you sick with want.

“Alright,” He agrees, “then go on ‘head, get off me.”

Something tells you it is definitely a trap.

A moment later, you can feel his fingers gripping around your backside, digging into your ass as he pushes your hips backwards once before slowly guiding them forward, your sneakers scuffing against the hardwood as your lips parted, a silent breath slipping out.

“Go on—get off,” He taunts, the double-entendre making your brain go fuzzy.

“Joel,” It was a weak attempt to tell yourself and him this was a bad idea, but with the pleasure swelling in your core, it comes out more relaxed - you moan his name and Joel hears it.

“You ain’t good with words, but you can show me,” He remedies, the subtle movement as you grind against his leg, denim on denim but you’re almost positive he can feel how wet you are through the fabric, or how the shared heat was almost sweltering, “rub that pretty pussy on me.”

You have half the mind to snark at him, but think back to his eyes on you on the other side of the bathroom door, how he had admired without guilt, no truer words having left his mouth.

Guiltily, you lean against him, forearms resting where your hands were previously gripping, aiding in the quickening pace of your hips as you breathed softly into his ear, one of his hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt, palm spread wide over your back as the chair creaked with the shifting weight.

Your breath hitches, a sharp gasp as Joel’s calloused fingers rub against your spine. The friction against your clit is overwhelming, intensifying with every roll of your hips under his guise, the desperate need for release building in your core, quietly aware of the weight of Joel’s cock through his jeans, hard and neglected.

Your hand slowly moves toward the button on his jeans, ghosting over the swell of his cock before his fingers grip your wrist and return them to their original spot, “This ain’t for me,” He reminds you, “Keep goin’—show me how bad you need it.”

His words spur you toward the ledge you were teetering on, movements increasingly more wild and frantic, soft noises gradually becoming louder as his hands roam your body, the one on your back remaining as a constant while the other roams toward your front, squeezing gently at your breasts through the flimsy bralette, his thumb brushing pointedly over your nipple as you moan.

“Fuck, I’m c—close,” You warn him, blindly finding his hair with your right hand, squeezing at the strands as he grunts, head tilting back against the chair as you moan brokenly, a sob escaping your mouth.

His voice carries you through, his voice enveloping every point of your existence as your orgasm starts and crescendos, “That’s it,” He coos, “s’alright, let it out.”

You obey, weak whimpers cry into his neck as you hide away, hips grinding lazily through the aftershocks as his arms wrap around you silently, holding you steady as the sound of your ragged breath fills the room alongside the quiet chirping of nocturnal animals.

“Gonna write about this later?” Joel teases, whatever hostility he was holding earlier now non-existent, clearing his throat as you lean back, ignoring the obvious thick and permeating tension that was blanketing you both, still unaddressed.

“S’not funny,” You respond, climbing off him unsteadily before you turn your back to him and gather your belongings into a pile and shove them back inside your pack, “You weren’t supposed to see ‘em.”

“We’re partners—you think keepin’ secrets is smart?”

“It’s harmless—and what about you?” You begin, suddenly settling back into your own quiet rage, “Sneaking around, watching me? I notice shit too, Joel.”

Joel sits in quiet contemplation, his permanent scowl growing deeper as his knuckles rub at the spot where your cunt previously was, “Alright—new rule.”

Your eyebrows raise in anticipation, never really prepared for what Joel ever had to say.

“I ask questions, you answer ‘em. For every one you answer, I’ll answer one too.” Fair enough, you think, but then he continues, “It stays between us, alright? And if you want something—ask for it. No sense in bein’ shy ‘round me anymore.”

Not after that.

Baby steps, you say to yourself. 

The thick air between you seems to open, like a weight off your chest.

“Alright,” You reply softly, “I can do that.”

Joel leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes intense as they lock onto yours. "So, those notes. How long you been writin' 'em?"

You smile with a newfound giddiness, though still mostly subdued, biting at your cheek to stop the spread of your grin, shaking your head as you lock down at the stack of postcards stuffed into your bag.

“Only since we got paired up,” You admit, “every other night or so. When I can’t sleep.”

Which was often.

He grunts, processing the information as you fiddle with the strap of your pack.

“Is it my turn?” Joel nods quietly, shifting back in the chair, ignoring the slowly waning bulge in his jeans that he would surely deal with later, “Well—how long have you been watching me? Or, well–why?”

“That’s two,” Joel chastises, but there was no real bite behind it, “Since you came to Jackson, figured you weren’t good—”

You know what he means—mistrusting, suspicious. 

“Does it bother you—that I do? You scared of me?”

You shake your head shyly, avoiding his gaze.

It was the darkest, most sinister parts of Joel that drew you in.

“I think you’d be terrified of the things I like about you, Joel.”

Joel doesn't respond outright, but his subtle grin is enough confirmation for you. He knew exactly what you meant.