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yandere-daydreams · 2 months ago

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exhibit #1 - dacryphilia

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!alhaitham x reader (genshin).

length: 2.0k.

warnings: non/con, student + teacher, rough oral sex, wildly unbalanced power dynamics, academic stress, degradation, mild infantalization, and forced helplessness.

The worst part was – it really wasn’t that easy to make you cry.

Before enrolling in Alhaitham’s class, you could only remember it happening twice. Once in adolescence, when hearing that your adoptive guardian had lost his life during an encounter with a group of thieves, and later on, after you failed your first attempt at the Akademiya’s entrance exam with a score so low, it could be expressed in single digits. It wasn’t that you were the stoic type – no, you and Alhaitham had nothing in common, let alone your dispositions. You just preferred to express yourself in more productive ways. Something so irrational, so hysterical, didn’t come naturally to you, and it never had before. You just didn’t cry.

Hence why it was all the more frustrating to be seated in front of Alhaitham’s desk for the fifth time in as many classes, fighting back tears. Your latest paper, an analysis of mythological tropes shared between the ancient folklore of Sumeru’s desert and forest regions, sat in front of you, drowned in red ink and creased from careless handling. You were sure his notes were thoroughly scathing, but so much as thinking about trying to read over them left tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, a fresh sob rising into your throat. It was humiliating. It was pathetic. Children cried over bad grades, not adults. Not you.

If Alhaitham noticed your distress, he kept his concerns to himself. His narrowed gaze remained centered loosely on the book in his right hand, the pointer finger of his left tapping idly against the tabletop. “I’m sure you understand why I can’t accept this,” he started, disinterest thick in his tone. You might’ve found some amount of comfort in his boredom, if it hadn’t been so degrading. “The Akademiya holds certain standards of quality for its students, and the work you’ve submitted is—” A measured beat, a shift to his inclination. “—less than. The orthodox course of action would be supervised revisions, but given the severity of the corrections needed, starting from scratch seems more advisable.”

You tried to control your breathing – five seconds in, five seconds out. The tactic was mildly effective until Alhaitham glanced up from his book and, rather jarringly, you processed he expected you to answer. “…I understand,” you managed, keeping the tremors in your voice down to a slight, nearly imperceptible shake. “But—”

Alhaitham cut in. “But?”

Your chest started to ache, and you realized you’d stopped breathing entirely. “It’s just—I do have other courses this semester, and the amount of time I’ve dedicated to your rewrites—It’s starting to affect my other classwork.” And your social life, and your psyche, and your physical health. You couldn’t remember you’d fallen asleep without a quill in your hand. “I’m sorry, but if there’s any way I could get any amount of credit for what I’ve already done, that would—”

“That would be letting personal circumstance circumvent academic merit.” The knot lodged in the base of your throat tightened. You balled your fists in your lap and counted to ten. “To give you any amount of credit, the work you’ve submitted would have to be worth any amount of credit. Unfortunately, it isn’t.” His gaze shifted to you. “Is that clear?”

You opened your mouth, but it was too late. The dam was busted, the pillar split, and despite your best efforts, the totality of your despair came crashing down around you. You tried to set your jaw, to shut your eyes, but the sobs escaped regardless – tiny and whimpered, fractured by unsteady breathing and your own failure to choke them back. The tears were almost worse, more pathetic, more childish – staining your cheeks and dripping down your chin, spotting the collar of your uniform. You pawed at your face with your sleeves, but that only drew more attention to your instability. If you’d had any less pride, you might’ve fled his office entirely, but the only thing worse than breaking down in front of your professor would’ve been breaking down in front of your peers. You couldn’t take their coddling attempts at kindness, their cooed assurances that Alhaitham really wasn’t that demanding, not after you knew what he was expecting. You couldn’t make yourself seem anymore hopeless than you already were.

Alhaitham, at least, had the decency to keep his mouth shut. He watched on in silence before sighing, setting his book down, and pushing himself to his feet.

He rounded the desk with no great sense of urgency. You were sobbing into your hands when he came to a stop next to your seat, and for one brief, horrifying moment, you thought he might actually attempt to comfort you. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, though, his voice remaining painfully neutral as he spoke. “You need to pass my class, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.” It was a required credit, and you’d missed the unenrollment period. Trying to back out now would be nearly, if not flatly, impossible. “I’d do—”

“Anything, I know. Save put the bare minimum amount of thought into your assignments, apparently.” You felt him reach down, raking his fingers through your hair. “And you mean that? Anything I’d ask of you?”

Had you been a little more lucid, a little less sleep deprived, you might’ve noticed the cloying note to his last question, the uncharacteristic warmth to his touch as his hand slipped from your scalp to your check, a thumb idly brushing away your tears. But, you were distraught beyond the point of reason, and the last of your energy had been spent on a paper he hadn’t deemed worth his time, and it was all you could do to nod into his hand.

Alhaitham, practical as always, wasted no time. “Get on your knees.”

…

Where there might’ve been shock, there was only dull dread. You’d heard about things like this before – tutors holding study materials over the heads of desperate lower-classmen, department head leveraging funding against the morals of insecure young scholars. Of course, you’d always assumed you would never fall into something so obviously depraved, and of course, you sniffled pathetically as you lowered yourself to the floor, collapsing onto your knees in front of Alhaitham. He let his hand drift to the back of your head, its weight settling against your scalp. You tried not to think about why he might want to hold onto you.

He took the initiative, mercifully. You were still biting back pitchy little cries as he shrugged his pants low on his hips, taking his cock in his free hand. Horrifyingly, he was already stiff. You couldn’t tell which had gotten him hard – the idea of the act itself, or the opportunity to exploit a student.

Alhaitham pumped his fist over his length, tightening his grip as he reached the flushed head. His eyes never left you. “Do you know what you’re doing, or will you need remedial courses in this subject, too?”

You pursed your lips. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

You weren’t looking forward to this, but having to keep talking to him suddenly seemed like the worse of two evils. You managed to swallow back the last of your tears as you leaned forward, awkwardly replacing his hand with your own. He carded his fingers through your hair as you took his tip past your lips, letting it sit on your tongue. The taste was earthy and bitter, with something more acidic playing just underneath. In another context, it might not have been entirely unpleasant, but right now, it only made you want to wretch.

Shutting your eyes, you soldiered on. Guiding him into the hollow of your cheek would’ve been easier, but Alhaitham was quick to correct you – jerking your head upright as soon as it started to lull to the side. He held you in place as he bucked his hips, the head of his cock bumping against the back of your throat as the girth of his shaft forced your jaw open. You gagged around him, but if Alhaitham cared, it would’ve been impossible to know. There was an airy grunt, then a click of his tongue – a teacher correcting their pupil’s latest mistake. “Breathe through your nose. If you pass out, we’ll only have to start over.”

The bastard. The heartless, sadistic bastard. Your hands shot to his legs as he thrust himself deeper into you; manually nodding your head in time with his languid strokes. You would’ve been better off going limp, letting him do what he needed to and ending this that much sooner, but something primal and contrarian in the darkest depths of your mind spurred you to try and keep up, to bob, to dig your nails into his thighs and stop your throat from seizing around him. The pressure was the worst part – all force, no relief, the gnawing awareness that you were losing air paired with the alien weight of something occupying a part of you that was meant to be vacant. The tears were back in an instant, leaking from the corners of your eyes, joining your spit where it was starting to spill out at the corners of your lips, and Alhaitham groaned, twitching against the inside of your throat.

“This doesn’t mean you won’t need regular tutoring sessions.” His grip tightened, blunt nails biting into your scalp. You whined in pain as he pressed your nose to his stomach, holding you there for a second, then another before jerking your back. “Home visits should prove to be the most effective. You’ll come to me, of course. The student accommodations are too public – it’ll distract you.”

You started to shake your head, but Alhaitham held you still, keeping you concentrated on his cock. By now, his pace was steady, his face flushed, his cock battering its shape into your throat. Tasting him wasn’t an option, anymore. It seemed to coat your tongue, drip down your throat, slather itself over every part of you it could infect. You cried out around his cock, and Alhaitham cursed, his hips stuttering against your mouth. “You’ll come to me, every day, and I’ll—fuck, I’ll—”

Suddenly, violently, he pushed you away and pulled out of your mouth. His hand made it to his cock in time to pump once, twice before your black-rimmed vision was spotted with white, before thick ropes of something hot and terrible were being painted over your face. It was all you could do to blink, to stare, to wonder why he was still looking at you with that awful, frigid intensity. You wished he would look away. You wished you’d never taken his fucking class at all.

You opened your mouth to say as much, but something thick dripped off of your upper lip and onto your tongue. Numbly, you let the bitter, corrosive taste wash over you, and then, you broke down.

What little pride you had left wasn’t worth salvaging, anymore. You sobbed and shook unabashedly, wailing like a child as his cum cooled on your skin. Alhaitham made a passing effort to hush you before kneeling to your height and taking you in his arms. With no strain whatsoever, he carried you back to his seat and fell into it, keeping you bundled against his chest. “You’ll come to me, every day, and I’ll make sure you’re not thinking about anything beyond you and I,” he finished. “That way, you’ll only have to remember what I tell you to.”

Alhaitham paused, sighed. “That is, if the General Mahamatra doesn’t decide to expel you from the Akademiya altogether. Trying to seduce an instructor is a very serious offense. You won’t need to worry about studying after word spreads.”

Rather than draw back, you melted into him, burying your face in his shoulder. For the first time that you could recall, Alhaitham let out a breath of a laugh, holding you that much closer. His lips pressed into your temple – the imitation of a kiss. “But that’s not surprising, is it?”

If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought you felt him smile.

“You were always going to need someone more capable to take of you.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin #yandere alhaitham #alhaitham x reader

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viktorarcanedeservesbetter · 6 months ago

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some jayvik headcanons to pass the time and ignore the pain

There is a Viktor fan club at the academy. He is unaware. They discuss his projects, his accent, his looks. Meetings are the last Thursday of every month.

Jayce accidentally stumbled into one of the meetings. They barely played off they were talking about his partner. (He still can't find any info on the "book" they were talking about, thinking Caitlyn would be interested.) (He forgets that Victorian-looking men with accents aren't on her radar.)

Jayce also has a fan club. He is aware of it. (They have invited him to meetings). They talk about his projects, his hair, his face, his line of mugs. Their banner is one of his shirts. (He is unaware of this part.)

Viktor is also aware of the club. (He gave them the shirt.)

Jayce and Viktor both hate the cold (Jayce for the snowstorm, Viktor for his leg) so whenever it was winter they were bundled up like the kid from A Christmas Story.

Viktor mixes up metaphors. He constantly uses malaphors (unintentionally) and Jayce doesn't have it in his heart to correct him. "All the ducks are aligning" is his favorite by far.

Jayce tried learning Viktor's native language to surprise him one day. (I imagine it as a mix of Czech and Polish). He ended up saying a mix of a whole bunch of nonsense, so confidently) which made Viktor laugh himself into a coughing fit.

more under cut cause this is getting long

(Viktor couldn't look at Jayce for two days after without laughing.)

Viktor has a sweet tooth, Jayce has a savory one.

Their third year as lab partners, a section of the library caught on fire. The culprit was never found. (It was them, and they both blame the other.) (It was Viktor)

Jayce enjoys suspenseful novels. Viktor, when he can be persuaded, enjoys historical fiction.

Their mortal enemy is the student who's lab is across from theirs. Viktor hates him because he's egotistical with no real skill. Jayce hates him because he always complains they're making too much noise. Their mortal enemy is unaware he is their mortal enemy.

They have a "days without incident" chart in their lab. Incidents no longer include cuts, scrapes, bruises, small explosions, broken prototypes, because if they did it would always be at 0.

Their fifth year, the auditorium stage caught on fire. A group of first years were blamed. (It was Jayce, though Viktor thought it wasn't a big deal.)

Jayce is organized, Viktor is not. Jayce puts things in organized shelves, Viktor puts things where he knows he'll need them next. This is a point of tension for the longest time, until Mel stepped in and told them to either compromise or get two of everything.

They got two of everything.

Jayce designed Viktor's cane (after the first one broke) and his leg brace.

Viktor can play the harp. Jayce can play the piano.

Everyone believes Viktor is the one keeping Jayce under control in experiments. (as referenced in this post) No one knows besides Heimerdinger that Viktor learned lab safety in a drug den. The counsel refers to Viktor as the "sane, calm one" but only Mel and Cassandra know the truth. Both think it's funnier to not deny it.

Viktor stays at Jayce's place most often. Jayce secretly moved most of Viktor's things to his place, until officially asking him to move in.

Jayce also helped design a new back brace for Viktor. It was more comfortable, made of thick cloth, and relieved so much back pain he started crying when he tried it on. This is what got them together, because Viktor kissed him in thanks, and Jayce was like "finally!!" and started kissing him back.

Money was exchanged after the Academy/Counsel found out they became official. Shoola, Mel and Cassandra got a big payout. Heimerdinger had no idea about the bet, mostly because he thought they were already together.

This led to the fanclub war. Jayce fans vs Viktor fans, until a hero came around (Sky) and was like, why not both? (And thus, the Jayvik fan-club was born)

#arcane #arcane headcanons #jayvik #jayce talis #viktor arcane #jayvik headcanons

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lvmimis · 6 months ago

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“I just think you’d be happy with us,” Luffy insists for the fifth time that week, and exhausted, you reach over your shoulder, where he’s leaned over, practically resting his chin on your shoulder, and you grip his face, squishing his cheeks.

He pouts, but doesn’t break free, and you turn to look at him, giving him a frown. Your eyes lock for a few moments as you challenge him to keep speaking, and he, never intimidated by you even for a moment, even when you are trying, continues talking.

“Just think about it more?”

You’ve thought about it, many times in fact, and every time he returns to this neck of the woods since you met just several months ago, a similar conversation arises. The naivete in the idea of you leaving behind everything you’ve built for this pirate you knew nothing about a year ago amazes you, but Luffy has always had such a confidence and almost innocent directness to the way he communicates his desires that you find it harder and harder to not question your own resistance each time.

This time he’s particularly persistent, possibly to the point of being annoying. You apply a little bit more pressure to the grip you have on his face until his lips jut out and he whines.

“Hey, that hurts you know!”

You let go, even if you know you could never truly hurt him, and sigh.

“You know, asking more times won’t change my answer,” you remind him as he makes a show of stretching his face back to normal, then watches you stack a pile of books together and store them away into a cabinet. He’s keeping you company in your workroom as you finish up the last of your notes before leaving the clinic for the day. These days he no longer uses your friendship with Nami as a pretense to come and see you, and no one is sick - instead he strides in like he’s important to you in his own right, and you hate that he’s right about that.

You wonder who even lets him in these days.

“What would it take aside from asking?”

You look at him again, tilting your head slightly.

“To change my mind?” you clarify.

Luffy nods. You’ve started walking, and he follows closely behind, your sweet shadow as you lock up the room and place the key in your pocket, hands behind his head as he accompanies you down the street to your favorite restaurant.

Since the last time Luffy came to your city, a month has passed, and for the first time, you have admitted to yourself that you genuinely missed him - seeing his smile in an almost empty cup of coffee, or hearing his hearty laugh in a group of friends huddled at a bar, thoughts drifting to what it must be like for him on the sea whenever you have an idle moment.

Always joyous and free, sea salt and sunshine sinking deep into his skin.

Being by his side sounds more enticing every time he brings it up, but he doesn’t need to know that. In fact, perhaps he should think the opposite, you decide.

You stop suddenly in your tracks, and he stops too, watching you carefully as you make your first demand of him.

“Bring me a pearl and I’ll think about it,” you start. Luffy looks confused for a second, eyebrows furrowed, and crosses one arm over his chest, his other hand tapping his chin.

“I mean we could go to a jewelry shop right now but I don’t see why-”

Your look into his own eyes is fiery, interrupting him firmly. “As big as my head. The kind you’d only find hundreds of kilometers deep in the Calm Belt.”

The words are meant to be delivered neutrally, but their content is laden with irrationality.

You pause, waiting for his protest, but Luffy doesn’t complain. Instead he’s listening intently, dark eyes just as focused on yours, on the drivel coming from your lips and perhaps on deciphering the unspoken code beneath it.

Code that isn’t I don’t want to go with you, but Why would you go through the trouble for someone as bothersome like me?

Perhaps he picks up on the subtext a bit, too smoothly. “Is that all you want?” he asks, finally.

You inhale sharply, and resume your walk.

“Yes. Unless you bring me one of those, I don’t want to talk about ever leaving with you again, Luffy. Don’t even come back to see me.”

Unfazed, Luffy smiles even though you’ve given him a nigh impossible task - in fact, you’re not sure these giant clams exist at all, and it would be a fool’s errand to search for one, but he laughs.

“Deal.”

Leaving the matter as it is, you resume your walk, and at some point Luffy must have taken your hand, because by the time you’ve made it to where you’ll have dinner together (and invariably he’ll clean out your wages for the entire week just in meat), your fingers are interlocked as though they’ve belonged linked the entire time.

—

Luffy leaves the next day, leaving a note that is short and sweet on your kitchen table.

Be back soon.

You figure you’ve possibly seen the last of him in a while and your stomach turns gently at the thought.

—

Three days pass and because your friend Nami hasn’t yelled your ear off by transponder snail, you figure Luffy has dropped the entire ordeal and not wasted his crew’s time by going off track to do something absolutely stupid at your request.

Another three pass and you worry he is stupid enough to try to do it despite being hated by the sea, and you resist the urge to call it off yourself.

But you have to trust that he could understand how you felt.

As impossible as it is for him to do this for you, it’s impossible for you to leave your earthbound life.

—

But ‘impossible’ sits on your nightstand that night.

A perfectly round pearl, as big as your head (bigger even if you were to hold it up and compare the object in a mirror)and polished to an impeccable shine, waits for you, with another note.

You ran out of food. Be back in a moment.

When Luffy comes back, large bags of groceries in hand to restock your empty fridge (even though he’d end up cleaning it out himself that night), he finds you in quiet tears.

Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground, allowing his arms to wrap carefully and gently around your body until you’ve leaned into him fully, your sniffles muffled as you let your face hide pressed against his forearms.

You don’t ask how he did it because the act itself is enough, and he doesn’t speak until you open your mouth first -

- to say “Hi, I missed you,” even if you’re overwhelmed.

Luffy hums in assent, and lets his face nuzzle into your hair further, the simple act asking you again, please come with me without him needing to say it out loud, even if the pearl he’s moved heaven and earth to bring to your doorstep allows him to.

To which your heart, as though you were being proposed to with this very act, finally says yes.

#luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader #mimi's notes #daydreams: op #lumimi

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thinkinonsense · 8 months ago

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old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

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nekomuse · 2 months ago

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Amity Park got turned into an island in a fantasy universe (Fantasy AU)

When Amity Park left the Infinite Realms it didn’t reappear where it had been before, instead it seemed to land in the ocean. Water all around them, a landmass barely on the horizon. Phantom flew to take a look and when he came back told the people of Amity Park that they were not in their universe. He had seen dragons and other creatures that definitely didn’t exist on earth.

Amity Park was now an island. Sandy beaches surrounded the once land-locked city and a row of problems arose faster than solutions could be found. They had food in the supermarkets, the mall and some smaller stores, but the fridges and freezers needed electricity. It took the Fentons and a few electricians to find a solution.

That was the start of the Fenton Ecto Battery, while the Fentons themselves had already used ecto to power their inventions they now had to find a way to build a battery big enough to power the whole city and then somehow find a way to connect it to the existing lines under the city.

There was also the problem of money, while people had money, the bank itself didn’t store all of the money in cash. There was no internet or phone service, they were transported into a time before in their minds.

“Well, the portal still works, can’t we just go back?”

Phantom had to explain that he couldn’t transport the whole city, he was already busy using his ice until they had power again. Not to mention that the whole city now knew that Phantom was Fenton. And Danny also helped with the F.E.B.

Tucker and Technus were the ones who took on the problem, they had already been working on multiverse phones, so Tucker and Sam could reach Danny no matter where he was, in the Realms or not.

People who had worked outside of Amity Park were forced to find new work inside the city, retirees came back to work to help as well with knowledge how to do jobs without the modern comforts.

They were lucky an old man had retired and moved to live with his daughter after a lifetime of building ships. Thanks to him the Amity Parkers actually had a chance at fresh food. Phantom was eventually send out to look for cows, chickens, whatever he would find that could be taken care of for food later on.

The first year was plagued by problems the people had to slowly work out, as well as the struggle of the entire town being heavily liminal due to their three-day-exposure in the Realms. Getting used to people floating suddenly, or phasing into the ground from one step to the next as well as suddenly being a lot stronger and faster were a lot.

The second year slowly worked better, people were used to their new abilities, their new way of life, the ghosts that had attacked them before were now helping them out. Ghostwriter had taken over a big chunk of teaching after he found books about the world’s history and different cultures.

It wasn’t until their fifth year, now rather used to this life, that they saw a ship coming their way for the first time. The ship carried with it a diplomatic party. In the years Danny had flown over to the continent again and again, learning about animals, seeing the land that was nearest to theirs and thus had been chosen to talk to the newcomers.

When the diplomatic party had been led through the town they were in awe as well as scared. These people lived not far from the most dangerous forest and yet they had incredible technology. Carriages with now animals to draw them, silently rolling or some even flying through the streets. Streets made from one big stone it seemed while living in equally big stone houses. It was this expedition's quest to visit the land behind the forest. They couldn’t go through the forest, so they had taken a ship, only to be surprised that an island was on the horizon.

It was risky to change their route to the island instead of around the forest, but it would be best. Either they found new lands, or they found new people to trade with. The king was in a desperate situation while trying to build up a poor kingdom he inherited from his father who had run the country into the ground.

The island was big, and on it was a city bigger and taller than anything they had ever seen, the people living on it were not humans, they had glowing eyes, fangs, long ears. Identifiers from elves and demons, yet they didn’t own the same coloring of the demons or the lithe statue of the elves.

Nothing about this city had prepared them for the person they met to talk to. The people living here could talk in their language in a broken and heavily accented way, but it was made clear that whoever they were to meet was important. So they stared at the big house and strange contraption on top of it, pressing a button and a sound came from inside the house. The door was opened by a tall woman, she invited them in, inside was more colorful than they had ever seen aside from palaces.

The house was not big enough for a palace, yet the inside would not lose out in it’s fancy design new to them. The woman told them to wait as she got someone to talk to them, when she reentered the room she was followed by a man even taller than her. Long dark hair braided back, even in the dirty clothes he was wearing and with dirt smeared on him he gave an imposing aura.

“Ah, hello.” Of the group of outsiders a man at the front took a step forward and bowed before answering.

“Greetings, we are the delegation of the kingdom of Root. In the name of his majesty king Jovic the first of his name we would like to open trade with your kingdom.” Danny scratched his cheek, making eye contact with Jazz for a moment. She nodded.

“Welcome to Amity Park then, we aren’t really a kin-” Jazz smiled as she stepped on his foot.

“I mean… I’m Phantom, High King of the Infinite Realms.”

“I’m Jasmine, his sister.” She turned towards what the group now knew as this island’s king and started to talk to him in another language they had heard spoken by the people of the island. They seemed to discuss something before Jasmine took out a small device and proceeded to tap her finger on it, before putting it away.

“You must be tired from the long journey, please follow the guard to your resting quarters. We will talk again tomorrow.” They were led out by the same people who had taken them to their king. When they entered the even taller building they were led to and brought up to a floor filled with doors and given keys with strange symbols on them they were confused.

“The number on the key belongs to the number on the door.” A young woman said and showed them that the key would only work on the door with the same numbers on them. “Someone will come and bring you food, they will knock on the door. Rest for today, tomorrow Phantom will send somebody to lead you to the town hall for talks.”

The food they were served later in the day was incredible, spices were used freely as well as meat and a meat-free option. The rooms themselves were fit for a palace and came each with their own bathroom. There was flowing water coming from a pipe above a basin and the tub! Each room had it! They talked together until late in the night, they would need to ask for the technology tomorrow.

#dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #dcxdp #danny fenton #fantasy au #amity park didn't go back #they landed in a new universe #and just settled in #ghost king danny #everybody knows danny fenton is danny phantom #tim will come later #he's still in his og universe

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itneverendshere · 5 days ago

Text

it's my right to be hellish - r.c +18

pairing: : kelce's!sister x hockey!rafe warnings: angst; smut.

Empty cans and half-finished drinks were littering the space around you, the night felt perfect. You were tucked comfortably between Rafe's legs, his jacket draped over your shoulders, your head resting against his chest, while the latest round of Never Have I Ever brought loud laughter.

The drinking game had started out of the living room and spilled onto the wide wooden porch. Someone had dragged out an old speaker, and now a half-decent playlist played.

It was fun, being back home. Loud, tipsy fun, buzzing in your chest and making your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

Rafe kept tracing patterns on your thigh that made it hard to focus on anything except him, Every once in a while, he’d lean down and kiss your temple, absent-minded like he couldn’t help it.

He’d say something under his breath, usually about JJ or Toppeer being the worst at these games, and you’d laugh while his nose brushed your cheek. His fingers would kept tapping on your knee in rhythm with whatever song was playing.

Your brother was sitting on the steps with Topper, both of them halfway into their fifth drink, arguing about who should’ve been MVP.

They weren’t paying much attention to the game, which was honestly a relief. You loved Kelce, but you didn’t need him locked in on the way Rafe kept touching you, for his own sake.

Cleo was leaned up against Pope’s side, Kie was teasing JJ, who’d already spilled half his drink and was slurring his way through a story about falling off his board.

Everything felt warm and dumb and happy.

Rafe had just whispered something in your ear—about stealing you away later, after everyone passed out—and you were blushing, smiling into your drink, when the next “Never Have I Ever” was called out.

"Never have I ever..." someone called out—Sam. You didn’t know the guy, he was a junior who tagged along after games and Topper dragged him to Kildare this weekend.

"...slept with two people here."

It was stupid, a throwaway, someone laughed. Your brother made a dumb “ooOOoooh” noise.

You didn’t drink.

You didn’t notice at first—your head still leaned against Rafe’s chest, your cup balanced against your leg.

And then—quietly.

“Wait.”

JJ’s voice.

His eyes were wide, cheeks flushed with cheap tequila. “Wait,” he slurred again, blinking hard. “Why didn’t you two drink?”

The way he said it—the emphasis. You two.

Your eyes snapped to him, and that’s when you saw it—his head moving between you and Pope. Turning back and forth, exaggerated like it was clicking for him.

The implication wasn’t subtle and Rafe’s hand stilled completely.

JJ kept going, oblivious.

“Didn’t you guys, like... back in the day? That summer? When we were sixteen?”

Each word felt like a bomb dropping into your stomach.

Kelce’s head jerked up. “Wait—what?”

Pope’s posture went rigid, not looking at anyone, staring at the ground, hoping it might disappear and take him with it.

“I thought everyone knew,” JJ was confused now, trying to figure out what made the mood turn.

Nobody knew. Only Kie, JJ, you and Pope. Not even Sarah.

You were sixteen, younger, unsure of everything but how safe you felt around Pope. It hadn’t been serious or a thing. You liked him a little, sure, but never the way you liked Rafe. He made you laugh, and you used to sit with him in the library, pretending to work on some dumb english project neither of you cared about. You both just wanted a reason to stay longer.

You remembered how close you sat at that table, your knees would brush and neither of you would move, you’d share earbuds and lowkey forget about the book you were supposed to be reading.

It was innocent, sweet. One night, he came over to finish your final paper—Kelce was at a party, your parents were out, it was late, you were both tired and laughing at nothing—and it just... happened.

You didn’t plan it.

You just looked at him too long, and he looked back, and then you kissed him and he kissed you and—it wasn't anything more than what it was. You lost your virginity to him that night.

The next day, you both kind of... moved on, it hadn’t changed anything. You stayed friends.

The memory shattered against the present moment, and you blinked back into reality with everybody’s eyes on you.

Your brother was staring, sitting up straighter, confusion creasing his brow. Topper looked like he was waiting for the drama to explode. Kie wouldn’t meet your eyes. Cleo was watching Pope. Sam left.

Rafe hadn’t moved.

You turned toward him, cautious and that’s when he stood up.

No drama or yelling, only tugging his arm as your fingers instinctively reached for him.

“Gonna get a drink.”

He was gone, walking back into the house without another word.

The porch was silent, all you could hear was the music playing low through the speaker, something stupidly out of place.

JJ, finally realizing what he’d dropped, sank lower into his seat, whispering, “Shit… I’m sorry…”

Kelce was still gawking at you—not angry, only trying to process the last five minutes. Topper, for once in his life, was smart enough not to say anything.

Pope hadn’t moved. His hands clasped together between his knees, eyes focused on the floorboards, bracing for Cleo to say something.

“Alrigh’,” Cleo said with a little laugh, voice extremely calm for how tense the porch was, “that was a messy one. Let’s call that a warm-up and move it along, yeah?”

You looked at her and there was no anger on her face.

“Y’all actin’ like they confessed to murder,” she added, head tilted, eyes briefly flicking to Pope—long enough to tell him we good.

“I mean,” she continued, sipping her drink and leaning back against the railing, “y’all were sixteen.”

Kie let out a breath she’d been holding. “Yeah. Seriously. Prehistoric.”

Cleo waved her cup. “Next question. Something less nuclear. Who’s got one?”

You could’ve cried right there.

She was giving everyone a way out. Even Pope seemed to uncoil, his shoulders relaxing as he risked a glance her way. She met his eyes and gave the smallest imperceptible nod.

You on the other hand couldn’t relax, Rafe was still inside. And no matter how cool Cleo was, how well she was patching the mood back together, you needed to find him.

You turned to Kie, “I should go check on him.”

She nodded immediately. “Yeah. Go.”

Behind you, the game limped forward again—someone throwing out a weak “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” and a few forced chuckles followed.

Cleo leaned back into the railing, her drink raised just enough to signal a toast to no one in particular. “See?”

You moved down the hall, past the kitchen, past the half-empty counters stacked with liquor bottles and someone’s abandoned vape, past where Kelce had tossed his hoodie earlier—and still, no Rafe.

Your heart was in your throat now, fists tight at your sides.

Eventually, you found him inside one of the rooms—door cracked, lights off. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in front of his mouth.

You stayed in the doorway. “Rafe?”

He didn’t look up, and that’s when the real panic started. The messy kind that starts in your stomach and climbs up your spine.

Because he didn’t look mad.

“Can you just—say something?” you asked, “Please.”

Nothing.

And your brain was spiraling now.

He hates me. He thinks I lied. He thinks I’m disgusting. He’s probably rethinking everything. I wouldn’t blame him. He’s gonna walk away. This is it. This is how I lose him and I didn’t even do anything wrong but I still should’ve known, I should’ve said it, I should’ve—

“Rafe,” you said again, louder now. “We weren’t serious. We weren’t—”

His jaw flexed and it shut you up.

What the fuck?

Okay, fine. It was a surprise, but it wasn’t like you cheated. It wasn’t even during, it was years ago. And more than that—Rafe wan’t a saint before you.

God, the night you two became official, literally that night, you heard a cheerleader gossiping in the bathroom about how she fucked him for two hours in a jacuzzi sophomore year. She’d laughed about it like it was a badge of honor. Said she tried again this year, too—while you and Rafe were already hooking up—but he turned her down.

What was the difference? You weren’t virgins. None of you were pure and untouched, saving yourselves for the perfect person.

Why did it suddenly feel wrong—something you should’ve hidden, something shameful? You weren’t ashamed when it happened, you were sixteen. You didn’t even know who you were yet, but you knew Pope was kind, he made you laugh, feel safe and it wasn’t a life-changing romantic tragedy.

You wanted to ask him how the fuck it’s any different than the girl in the bathroom or the other stories you’ve had to hear secondhand over the years before you got together. But your heart was also twisting and telling you it was your job to fix this.

You shut the guest room door behind you harder than you meant to, not slammed, but loud enough that it made Rafe flinch.

“Are you seriously gonna sit there and say nothing?”

Your voice already sounded wrong.

He chose to keep staring straight ahead, hoping the moment would dissolve if he didn’t engage.

“Say something,” you snapped.

Silence.

That did it.

“Rafe—grow up.

His head jerked toward you then, “Grow up?"

"That's not what I m—"

"You’re the one who kept it a secret.”

“There was nothing to tell.

“You slept with Pope.”

You reeled back like he just spat in your face. “So fucking what?”

His hands were fisted, elbows braced on his knees. “You don’t think that’s something I deserved to know? T-that you fucked a mutual friend? Lost your virginity to him?”

“Excuse me?” He must’ve been out of his fucking mind. “No,” you laughed, disbelieving, “Absolutely not. You do not get to throw that at me like I fucking owe you that confessional.”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying what, Rafe?” you barked, stepping forward. “That because I didn’t sit you down and cry about who I lost it to, that I’m what—dishonest? A fucking liar?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said!” You were yelling, it scraped your throat and left your lungs raw. “Who the fuck did you lose your virginity to? Huh?” You jabbed a finger at his chest. “Was it that girl from Figure Eight who used to sneak out of church to meet you behind the dunes? Was it the lifeguard? That barista you ‘don’t even remember the name of’?”

His mouth opened, but no answer came out.

“Exactly,” you scoffed. “You never told me. I never asked, it doesn’t fucking matter. I know—I trust—that what we have now is real.”

“It’s different,” Rafe growled, “You’re still close with him! You had a project together —last month, for fuck’s sake—”

You blinked at him, stunned. “So what?!”

“So it’s not ancient history!” he shouted. “You see him every other day, you talk to him—”

“And? And what?” you demanded. “I’m—secretly in love with him? I’m gonna leave you for Pope because we had sex one time when we were sixteen? Grow the fuck up!”

You knew this wasn’t about Pope. It was Rafe, how he’d never had to feel small in someone’s eyes before, never talked about his parents divorce, and now he didn’t know how to sit with it.

He didn’t answer, and it wrecked you.

You threw your hands out, helpless.

“What do you want me to say? That I wish it never happened? You want me to rewrite my whole fucking life to make you feel better?”

His eyes snapped up at that, wild, the blue in them flickering like flame.

“I want to not fucking picture it every time I see you standing next to him from now on,” he exploded, the first honest thing he said since you walked in.

Your jaw dropped open, breath punched out of you. “You are so—wrong. Jesus, Rafe. You are so fucking wrong.”

He looked like he might break in half from hearing you say it.

“I don’t know. I don’t know, okay? I’ve never done this before. I’ve never—fuck—I’ve never loved someone like this before. It’s making me lose my mind.”

“It wasn’t serious. You and me—this is the most serious thing I’ve ever had.” You pressed your hand flat against your chest, hoping it held your heart together. “I have never, not once, made you feel like you weren’t everything to me. And you’re sitting here, making me feel like some dirty little secret because of something that happened when I was a fucking kid.”

He ran a hand down his face, eyes closed. You saw the tremble in his shoulders that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with fear.

“Why did it have to be him?”

“What?”

His voice was strained. “Why did it have to be Pope?”

Not the fact that it happened, but who it happened with. What does that mean now?

“We were kids. It wasn’t planned.”

Rafe laughed bitterly. “Yeah. He’s still around, still in your life. Still—"

The way he spat that word out.

You stepped toward him, “Do you think I want him?”

“Was it good?” he asked suddenly, sharply, it leaped out of him before he could stop it. “With him?”

You stared at him, gut twisting. “Don’t do that.”

“I want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice cracked. “Because if it was... if it meant something—"

“You’re asking because you want to hurt.”

You folded your arms across your chest, as if it could somehow shield you from this version of him—this paranoid, desperate, spiraling version you didn’t recognize.

“It meant nothing. You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t know.” His laugh was hollow, “You didn’t tell me before.”

“It wasn’t a secret—”

“I never even asked you about your exes,” he spat, turning on you suddenly. “I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to think about you with anyone else. But now—fuck—it’s in my head and I can’t unsee it. I had to hear it from JJ, of all people, at a fuckin’ party. Like it was a joke.”

You flinched, because yeah—you hadn’t thought about it like that.

Rafe’s voice dipped, gutted: “He said you two. Like it’s still happening.”

“It’s not, baby. You know it’s not.”

“You hang out. You text. You sit in his passenger seat and you laugh at his jokes and—”

“And what? What do you think that means?”

His face was twisted, stuck somewhere between heartbreak and humiliation. You saw the insecurity chewing him up from the inside out. You understood what was happening. Rafe had always been the one who knew more, the one with stories you had to smile through, girls you never named but always noticed. But one old hidden memory of yours—one ancient, dusty, barely-relevant chapter—was enough to make him unravel.

“I know what it sounded like, when JJ said it.” Your voice wavered, “It sounded wrong, like it was more than that, but it wasn’t and it isn’t. You know JJ—he doesn’t think before he speaks. He doesn’t get that it would land like that.”

Even if you understood why he was acting this way, it didn’t make it hurt less that he doubted you.

“I’m with you,” you reminded him through your teeth. "You don’t get to sit there and make me feel like I’m ruining this.”

“You’re not,” he added quietly.

“Then what the fuck is this, Rafe? What are we doing right now?”

He looked at you like you slapped him—but you were past coddling him through this, you were beeling for him and it sill didn’t look like it was enough.

“I didn’t come here to beg for your forgiveness for something that happened when I was sixteen. You want to be mad? Fine. Be mad.”

“You two make sense. Anyone but me."

“What?” It hit you like ice water. “You think I settled for you?”

“No,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “I think you picked me even though you shouldn’t have. And one day, you’re gonna realize that. And when you do—”

You're gonna leave him like his mom left Ward.

You didn’t let him finish. “Don’t.”

“You’re gonna leave. And I won’t be mad. I’ll understand, I always knew I didn’t deserve this.”

You went still, heart dropping so fast, you swore it made a sound

“You think that little of yourself?” you asked, “I don’t want anyone else. That chapter’s over, it’s been over.”

He looked at you then, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

“I love you in a way I never did anyone else—and I never will. Do you hear me?” you say, stepping closer. “I love you.”

He swallowed.

“And if you can’t trust that—then maybe we don’t work. But don’t you dare reduce me to a choice I made when I was sixteen because you’re scared.”

“I didn’t mean to—” he choked out. “I didn’t want to…”

“You love me?” you asked.

His eyes shot to you, almost panicked.

“I love you so much it makes me fucking sick,” he said, voice ragged. “And I hate that it makes me like this.”

You flinched because you felt that too. You took a breath that hurt on the way in, looking at the boy you loved—the boy who was spiraling through self-hate and fear.

“I’m so fucking scared of losing you,” he confessed.

You were torn between screaming at him or dropping to your knees and holding him until the shaking stopped. Rafe rubbed at his eyes, hoping to wipe the shame off, and when he glanced back at you, his eyes were desperate.

You crossed the space between you in three steps.

He had no time to react before your hands were on his face, cupping his cheeks, your thumbs sweeping over the edge of his cheekbones, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t at first, so you tried harder.

“Rafe. Look at me.”

When he finally did, there was that ache in your chest again.

“I’m not gonna pretend I know what it’s like in your head. But I do know you. You’d rip yourself to pieces before you ever hurt me on purpose.”

“But I did hurt you.”

You nodded. “Yeah. You did.”

His bottom lip quivered.

“I still love you,” you added, “Even when it hurts when you push and say shit you don’t mean.”

Rafe exhaled a sound that was almost a sob, pulling you into his chest, unable to stand the space between you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, again and again, mouth pressed to your temple, “I’m so sorry.”

You held him, fingers threading through the back of his hair, knowing it always soothed him.

“I didn’t mean to—I just—fuck, I got scared. It’s ugly. I know it’s ugly.”

You shook your head, brushing his hair back, lips trembling as you leaned in and kissed him. His mouth opened against yours, a muffled groan catching in the back of his throat as you deepened it, tasting every ounce of his devastation.

You pushed him back onto the bed and followed, knees straddling his thighs, never breaking the kiss. His fingers dug into your waist and then up your thighs as you pulled back, noses brushing, your breaths mingling in the dark.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reminded him, forehead resting against his.

Rafe exhaled shakily, trying not to cry.

“I’m not gonna leave when shit gets hard.”

His eyes squeezed shut. “I know. I know, I—I get this voice in my head and it says, this is where she leaves you. And I believe it. Every time.”

“Believe me harder.” You kissed him again, “You’re it for me. You’ve always been it.”

Rafe pulled you in, holding you against his chest, kissing you over and over—mouth, cheeks, jaw,—whispering apologies into your skin like prayers, voice shaking on every one.

“Don’t push me away again. I need you to try. You can’t shut down when something scares you.”

He nodded, absorbing each word one at a time. “Never,” he swore, “I’d rather die.”

“We’re okay?”

“We are,” Rafe promised instantly, “We are, baby. I’m sorry.”

You nodded, your arms curling around his neck as he sat up, kissed you hard, deeper than before—a vow. His hands were on your back, sliding down, pressing into the dip of your spine, then lower.

You felt his teeth graze your bottom lip, a quiet hum escaping him when you tugged his hair the way he liked, your name leaving his lips as a sigh, a prayer.

Your hips rolled against his without thinking and he moaned, hands tightening on your skin, grinding you against him as he turned his attention to your neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, sucking bruises because he needed to leave marks.

Those pretty deep plum echoes he yearned to see, indigo and aubergine proof that you were his, that he could still have you after everything, that you wanted him still.

Rafe rasped your name, forehead dropping to your shoulder, full body jerking up to meet yours. You pawed at the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head within seconds, fingers immediately splaying across his bare chest. His skin was flushed as you dragged your long nails down his torso only to feel the way he shuddered.

He pulled at your shirt just as desperately, tongue only abandoning yours for a second, enough to strip it off and toss it somewhere behind you both. His hands cupped your breasts through your bra, brushing over your nipples until you gasped into his mouth, arching into him, begging without words.

“I need you,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, pleading. “Please—need to feel you. That you still want me.”

You crushed your lips against his as an answer, letting him taste the promise in it.

“I am yours,” you muttered against his mouth. “Always been yours.”

Rafe wasted no time licking your chest as he unclasped your bra, every second of waiting pure agony. He mouthed at your skin, worshipful, leaving wet kisses along the tops of your breasts before taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make your hips jump against him.

God, the way he looked at you—you were squirming, moving shamelessly, your body begging for him. He grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing, lifting you to rock your soaked core harder against the perfect line of his cock.

“You have no idea what you do to me…”

You did. You felt it every single day.

The lamplight washed over you both, casting shadows on your rich, warm skin—deep brown with undertones that reminded him of sunset light, the same shade he remembered from that first party last semester, when he saw you laughing under string lights, glowing, and thought, God, she's gonna be mine.

Rafe’s pupils were blown wide, lips swollen while his hands were under your thighs, lifting you enough to stand and shove your jeans and underwear down your legs in a desperate motion. His eyes dropped, breath hitching at the sight of you bare.

His rough hands ran up the backs of your legs, spreading over the curve of your ass. “You’re perfect. You’re—fuck, baby, I—”

You cut him off because if he kept talking you were going to lose it before he touched you properly. You climbed back into his lap, scorching skin meeting denim, the thick ridge of his cock caught the way you needed. The groan he let out went straight to your pussy.

“Off,” you begged against his mouth, tugging at his belt, the button of his jeans. “Now.”

He didn’t hesitate, pants and boxers gone in seconds, and then he was there, painfully hard against your thigh. Your body clenched at the sheer size of him as you looked down between you, pink flushed tip leaking.

You dragged your hand over him and his head fell back, jaw going slack, eyes fluttering shut. His hips bucked helplessly into your palm, breath stuttering as you teased the tip, spreading his precum with your thumb.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, “Only yours.”

He opened his eyes then, grabbing your wrist, pulling away, guiding you to straddle him again. Lining himself up with shaky hands and whispering, "Please... I need to feel you. Need you to take me, baby, please—"

You slid down onto him in one slow, wet glide.

The stretch made your whole body shudder—He was deep, every inch claimed by you, and the sounds he made—guttural, painful—made your eyes roll back.

Rafe’s forehead dropped to your chest while he gripped you hard enough to hurt. “I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t—”

You rocked your hips, teasing, and he cursed again, trying so hard not to lose it. His hands ran up your back, fingertips pressing into your spine.

“Get on your knees for me, baby.”

You obeyed without a word, legs embarrassingly shaky as you turned in his lap and leaned forward onto your hands, ass arched high, heart pounding. Before you settled fully, he yanked you back, keeping your spine curved but tugging your upper body to rest against his chest.

He knelt behind you, your back pressed tight to his torso, thick muscular thighs bracketing yours. One arm wrapped around your middle, the other spreading your legs wider.

He pushed back inside, and you whined—again—because no matter how many times he took you, it always felt like the first. The drag of his cock along your folds made your hips stutter back against him in plea.

Rafe’s mouth was at your ear in a flash.

“Gonna fuck you just like this. Keep you open for me.”

That hand around your stomach slid lower, holding you firm as he rocked his hips—sinking back inside you with a groan like it was killing him. Your hands scrambled for purchase, gripping the edge of the bed, the sheets—anything—as he filled you over and over, the angle so intense it stole your breath.

His chest was pressed to your back, skin on skin, drooling over your shoulder. Slow at first, torturously slow. His hips rocking into you, dragging his cock along every sensitive inch, hitting that spot deep deep inside that makes you clench like an animal in heat.

You shuddered, back arching harder as he twitched inside you again in the span of seconds. He pressed you harder to him, his nose buried in your curls, mouth dragging lazy kisses along your neck.

Rafe's hand roamed your body eagerly—over your belly, your ribs, up between your breasts where he cupped one roughly.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he hissed, rutting up into you, the slap of skin on skin getting louder, “Say it.”

“You—fuck—Rafe, I’m yours,” You gasped when he ground even deeper. “I’m yours, a-always yours.”

You were being used, held open, filled—but loved, too. Worshiped

His hand dropped teased lower, down your stomach but he didn’t rush it. His palm cupped your mound, simply resting there for a moment while he fucked up into you with punishing thrusts.

“Rafe, I need—”

“I know what you need,” he breathed. “…I’ve got you."

His fingers found your clit, slicking through the mess between your thighs before circling it enough to make your eyes roll back. The tease of it made your whole body clamp down around him, and he swore, pace faltering as your walls gripped him like a vice.

Your mouth fell open as he only circled your clit harder.

“Can’t stop touching you,” he murmured, licking your jaw between words. “You’re so fucking perfect. Look at you.”

You could hardly offer a whimper, your head falling against his shoulder again, trying to ride his hand too.

Rafe chuckled low, breath warm on your skin.

“Greedy girl,” he tsked.

You shook your head desperately. “More."

He grunted into your neck, thrusting up harder, chasing the feeling of you milking him. Your thighs started to tremble like leafs again, muscles burning, as his touch worked you closer, closer, closer.

You came with a strangled cry, body bucking in his arms, your inner walls pulsing hard. Without a single warning, Rafe shifted positions, guiding you down onto your side, still behind you, still inside you.

His arm hooked under your leg, lifting it, opening you wider as he started to fuck into you again—a mean pounding that had your eyes rolling back in your head, into another galaxy.

The new angle hit even deeper, every movement drawing a wrecked moan from your lips. Your body was sensitive, but especially needy.

Rafe kissed your shoulder, “Gimme more, baby. I need it.”

His hand trailed to the inside of your thigh, gripping behind your knee as he pressed it up and back, opening you fully to him. Your cries came out sweeter, tinged with the overstimulation and the love that dug under your ribs.

“I don’t d-deserve you,” he said again, voice broken, forehead pressed to the back of your neck, hips rolling forward.

You turned your head, lips finding his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears.

“You’re not losing me” you kissed the corner of his mouth, and he turned, catching you in a desperate kiss.

“Gimme another one,” he murmured, dragging his cock deeper with slow, relentless thrusts. “You’ve got more for me. I know you do.”

You whimpered, leg still hooked over his arm, the angle hitting that spot that had you seeing stars. “T-too much."

“I know,” he rasped, “But you can take it. Lemme give it to you.”

“Rafe—fuck—” you gasped, squirming in his arms, nails digging into the sheets as you writhed.

“That’s it,” he praised, hips grinding forward against your swollen, aching walls. “Look at you, so fucking wet, so f-fucking tight—begging for it even when you say you can’t take more.”

Your body was already clenching down, your noises dissolving into sobs. Rafe could feel it, your body giving in, could hear the desperation in your gasps, how you kept pushing into him chasing that last drop of control.

You sobbed, thighs quivering uncontrollably. “Rafe—fuck—I’m coming—”

Your whole body snapped tight, stealing your words. You cried out, body locked tight as your seconds orgasm tore through you without any proper warning.

Rafe didn’t slow down. You didn't have time to recover before his hand was sliding down again, his mouth hot on your neck.

If he kept that shit up, he was gonna fuck you into your next life.

“One more,” he whispered, “Please—give me one more. Wanna feel you fall apart on my cock again.”

You gasped, overstimulated but burning for it anyway. Your pussy gushed around him, your body was already saying yes, even if your mind couldn’t form the words. He moved, pulling your hips back, laying you flat on your stomach now as he climbed over you, bracketing your body with his. His cock pushed back into you, still so hard.

“I’ll make it good,” he promised, “Lemme make it good for you.”

You sobbed into the mattress, tears slipping down your nose and onto the cotton as your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed and woozy, but your hips rolled to meet him anyway—because fuck, you needed him.

He was shaking too — from the effort, from the need — but his focus was singular. Your pleasure.

Rafe slowed only to press a kiss to your shoulder.

“Just one more, pretty girl.”

You whimpered, body too sensitive to move but too addicted to stop, back bowed to take him deeper.

“I can’t,” you drew in a sharp breath. “Baby, I can’t—”

“Yeahhh, you can.” His hand slid beneath your hips again, guiding your body where he wanted it — needed it. “Know you can. You’re fuckin’ made for this. F'me.”

He rolled his hips slow, hitting where you needed him to with surgical precision. He did it again, and again — each thrust dragging a pitful cries from you.

“S'fuckin' sweet, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Your walls fluttered around him, and Rafe whined like it killed him

“Right there,” he muttered like a man possessed. “Yeah, fuck, there she is.” He pressed yet another peck to your back, “Feel that, baby? T-that’s me. That’s allll me.”

You were moaning higher, it was so much —him inside you, the sound of his voice by your ear, coaxing you, commanding you—

He breathed a sinful: “C’mon, baby. Let go f’me.”

You shook your head, but your body betrayed you.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he rasped, “So wet, even now—fuck. I feel it. I f-feel you.”

His rhythm never broke — grinding thrusts, pulsing inside you, fingers stroking your clit with maddening perfection. You sobbed, already floating away, face pressed into the mattress.

“Don’t fight it,” he said. “Lemme fuckin’ feel it.”

“Rafe—oh my god—babyyy—”

“That’s it,” he growled.

Your body arched off the bed, hands clawing around the sheets, vision going white as your third orgasm ripped through you like lightning. You screamed his name, sobbing, pulsing, dripping, shaking from the force of it.

“Fuuuck—” Rafe gasped, gripping your hips like he’d fall apart without them. “That’s my girl. That’s my fucking girl. You’re gonna make me—fuck, not gonna last.”

He tried to pull out, give you a second to breathe, be a gentleman — but the moment his cock started to slide free, your body clenched one more time around him while you let out a desperate sound that made him bite his tongue.

“Shit—don’t do that,” He hissed, “You want it that bad?”

You nodded weakly, unable to spit out words, but your body said everything —still hungry for him even after everything he’d given you.

“Shittt,” he cursed, and then he lost it.

Rafe grabbed onto you like you weighed nothing, driving back with a brutal thrust, and another, frantic, his control unraveling completely. His chest was plastered to your back, his teeth pulling at your skin, and the filthy sounds filled the room— skin slapping, breath hitching, your name falling from his lips.

He choked out: “So fuckin’ tight, baby, I can’t—oh my god—fuck.”

You felt it before he said it — his whole body locked up, pushing so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

He cried out — long and wrecked — as he spilled inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding you, until it leaked down your thights, so much. His whole body shuddered with it, one arm squeezing the shit out of you, the other fisting the sheets.

“Mine,” he breathed into your skin, voice trembling, “You’re mine. Mine, mine, mine.”

Each word came with a desperate thrust, the final one hitting so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs, your body locking down around him, trying to keep him there forever.

Rafe stayed there, panting, breath coming in broken bursts as the aftershocks ran through him. His heart was hammering against your back, his grip softening but not letting go. You could feel his cum dripping out around where he was still plugged inside.

He mouthed at your shoulder, less feral than before, coming down from his high, but not ready to let you go.

“Baby,” he rasped, “I didn’t mean to—did I hurt you?”

Your lashes fluttered, you couldn’t speak yet, instead you held his hand where it wrapped under your stomach and slid your fingers between his.

“You okay?” he brushed your sweaty curls off your neck, voice worn from how he’d been growling your name into the air minutes ago. “Still with me?”

You turned your head to catch his blue eyes —swollen lips parted. “It was perfect.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded weakly, but even that small movement sent a pulse of overstimulation through your core. Rafe shifted inside you, and a helpless sound slipped from your lips.

“Fuck—sorry. I know, baby, I know.”

You hummed, with no strength to move —and honestly, you didn’t want to.

“You’re still squeezin’ me,” He muttered in disbelief. “God, you feel so good—don’t wanna leave you yet.”

He rolled over slowly, pulling you with him so you were sprawled across his chest, the sticky heat still between your thighs as he slipped out of you, groaning at the overstimulation.

“Shh, I got you. I got you,” He was already pulling the blanket up to cover your bare body, brow furrowed in that serious way he only got when he was taking care of you.

One of his hands trailed up your back, the other rested low, thumb lazily brushing where his cum was starting to leak out. He looked down, eyes fixed on that mess he made, and something satisfied curled in his expression.

You, all of you— rich dark skin glowing with sweat and cum, curls wild against the pillow, beautiful lips swollen from his kiss — made him curse under his breath. You hid your face in his chest, groaning, but Rafe laughed, still breathless.

His hand came up to your face, tilting it so you’d look at him. That sweet, almost boyish look flickered over the lust now — the Rafe that wanted to be loved back.

“I don’t deserve you."

You shook your head, turning to kiss him, coaxing him back into calm. He swallowed hard, a shaky hum escaping him while he held your face in both hands like you were something he had to earn.

Precious. “Still mine?”

You nodded, exhausted, ruined, filled. “Still yours.”

From outside the door, a very familiar voice cracked through the silence — unapologetic, and directed at the two of you.

“Shit,” you both hissed at the same time.

“I KNEW Y’ALL WERE GONNA DO THIS IN MY ROOM!” JJ’s voice rang through the house again. “You couldn’t wait—two seconds? Goddamn, y’all had a whole audience before you started ripping each other’s clothes off!”

You groaned into Rafe’s chest, laughing, half-mortified.

“I’m gonna die.”

Rafe didn’t pretend to be sorry.

He dragged the blanket higher, wrapped his arms tighter around you, and muttered into your hair, “Should’ve kept his mouth shut earlier.”

“Y’all traumatized everyone,” JJ hollered again.

You were shaking from trying not to laugh, face hidden against Rafe’s chest, while he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

“It's his fault. If he didn’t start shit, I wouldn’t’ve had to fuck you like that.”

“YOU’RE STILL IN THERE TALKING!” JJ screeched. “What the fuck are y’all doing, cuddling?!”

Rafe shouted back lazily, “Cuddling the fuck out of her, bro.”

“IN MY BED?!”

“Shouldn’t’ve run your mouth.”

“I’M BURNING THE SHEETS, MAN!” echoed down the hall.

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mercy-burning · 2 months ago

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R & R

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: A week away from work has you and Spencer trying new things... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, cockwarming, piss kink. unprotected p in v sex, pure filth with a little domestic fluff sprinkled in Word Count: 1.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Don't know what came over me this afternoon... Not proofread, probably not my best work, but I had a vision and I needed to put it to words. Enjoy :)

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A day off—a true day off—from working at the BAU is extremely rare, especially considering all the little things that pop up in between cases, like requests from other departments and endless piles of paperwork. Even when you technically have a day or even a weekend off, there's always someone calling to ask for a second opinion on something or for a confirmation that you sent in a report of some kind. Bottom line: There's always something.

So, when the only 'something' is an official request from the Bureau to do 'nothing' for a week, you take it, albeit warily.

The first two days, it was hard not to keep anxiously waiting for the phone to ring, but now that there's been four of uninterrupted FBI-mandated rest & relaxation, you're starting to consider yourself spoiled.

The mornings are slow and lazy, but then you and Spencer are out of bed and rummaging through the apartment by noon, making food and making each other laugh and tidying things as they come along. And then the afternoon creeps in before you know it, and the natural thing to do is settle down with a book or a movie or a couple episodes of some mindless television.

The undercurrent of worry that your job might call you in is still there, hiding in wait under blankets and wandering hands and in the low hum of the box-fan in the corner of the living room, but it remains unspoken between you.

By the time nightfall rolls around, it's a sort of relief; To know that another day has really gone by without having to answer the call of responsibility.

You celebrate by wrapping yourselves up in each other. Whether it's in the shower or on the couch or back in bed, or sometimes all three in one night, this little part of your routine feels the most like a luxury. It's uninterrupted, thorough, and utterly indulgent.

Currently it's the morning of the fifth day, and something about Spencer's touch and the way you're leaning into him feels less indulgent and more hedonistic. The phone could ring and you would simply silence it, your pleasure preserving importance over literally anything else—even your job. You're convinced a hurricane could swoop on through the city and you still wouldn't give up your spot in this bed unless you were forcibly removed.

A spark lights up in your chest as you feel Spencer wake beside you, his hand sliding and draping itself over your hip to pull you impossibly closer. Memories of the night prior dance around in the air between you, until you feel yourself becoming squirmy. Needy.

You can sense his need too, in the way his fingers grip your body and in the beating of his heart against your back. His breath is hot on your neck, and then his dick is hardening against you.

"I want you inside me, but I think I'm still too lazy to do anything about it," you admit cheekily, warming at the way he laughs in response.

"Well, good morning to you, too..."

Still, he doesn't protest. His hands are lazy but gentle, guiding you around so you're straddling him, chest to chest. You take a moment to look down at him, grinning as he takes your face in his hands and grins back.

"Hi."

"Hi," you giggle back through a kiss, laughter dissolving into a soft whimper as he expertly slips a hand between you and helps himself slide right into you.

"Fuck, you're wet already," he sighs against your lips.

You slump your weight forward and rest your forehead to his, welcoming the fullness below you. "Always wet for you..."

He hums, low and guttural, and you feel like you're sinking further down. You snuggle close, burying your face into his neck. He lays there under you, unmoving aside from his hands as they trace the dips and swells of your body. Your back, your hips, your thighs—anywhere he can reach.

Your breathing becomes one, and it's the most intimate form of indulgence you could possibly dream of.

You never want it to end.

Occasionally you'll squeeze or shift your hips, and Spencer will whine, and after the fourth time, you can't help but laugh.

"What's the problem, pretty boy? I've never known you to be impatient in the morning..."

"It's not that," he chokes out quickly. You lift your head to meet his eyes, and the movement of your bodies together causes him to make another sound. You raise an eyebrow and he knows he's caught. He surrenders, sighing out with an incredulous laugh to the ceiling. "I've really gotta pee."

The sentence coming from him makes you laugh again, and your body moving on top of him is enough to make him hiss out as he grips your hips to keep you still.

Something about it, the desperation in his face as he squints, chin jutted up to the air as he tries so hard to refrain, sends a jolt of a thrill through you.

"Well, I don't wanna get up..."

It's his turn to laugh now. You can see the sensation is making it harder on him, but still he doesn't make any quick efforts to move. You use that to your advantage, dropping your voice and leaning down to gently lap at his throat with the tip your tongue.

"And you don't seem like you want to get up, either..."

You punctuate your words with a tight squeeze around his cock, and he actually moans, his grip on your hips tightening enough to leave marks from his nails.

"Fuck, you're killing me," he whines, the sound of his desperate voice lighting you up from the inside out.

You can't take it anymore, unable to keep your hips from rolling into his. Despite your protests to get up, you manage to sit upright, putting in the work to slowly ride him.

Spencer cries out, throwing an arm over his forehead. You can tell by his expression and the sweat forming over his bare chest, that he's trying not to let go yet.

"It's okay," you tell him, gently pressing your hands just below his hips, using his body as an anchor instead of the mattress while you ride him. "You don't have to fight it, baby..."

He cries out again, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan. Your name and a string of curses are next, the syllables a beautiful, desperate warning.

"It's okay," you whisper, and you sit down hard, staying there and grinding your hips in small, slow circles as he stutters his final warning—an, "Oh God..." to the morning air.

He still tries to hold back at first, small bursts of warmth filling you deep from within. But you smile and lift up slightly just to fall back down, encouraging him with a gentle pleasureful flutter of your eyes to the back of your head. "Yes, yes, yes," you whisper, sucking in your breath and circling your clit with your fingers. "That feels so good..."

The pressure builds inside you, between your muscles clenching and your orgasm impending... And of course, there's the warmth that literally fills you to the brim and cascades down your thighs. Spencer's warmth.

You feel him physically relaxing as he continues to release, his hands finally coming up to caress your skin once more, roaming your thighs and your hips, and then what he can reach of your breasts.

He manages to sit up once the flood has subsided, his new prime focus on getting you to fall over the edge. You shift, losing momentum for just a moment before you finally settle into a new rhythm, his body rocking up to meet yours and keep you from falling over. You're riding him with frenzy now, fully awake and alert and so damn close to Heaven, you can practically taste it.

The sounds your bodies are making are wet and lewd, and as Spencer pulls away slightly to reach down and massage your clit, you manage to catch a tiny glimpse of the mess he's made, the visual of dark spots in the navy sheets—a vivid manifestation of his pleasure and desperation—sending you over the edge.

You kiss him through it, swallowing every groan and every breath until you feel him still and come inside you soon after—a different, more familiar warmth, and still just as exciting.

You could never not feel anything but excitement when being with him in any capacity.

The two of you are collapsing not long after, and while you're content, you're also a little worried that you might have pushed him a little too far out of his comfort zone; He's usually quiet after sex, but not this quiet. He hasn't said a word.

Spencer seems to sense this worry, his arms holding you close in a reassuring hug. "You learn something new every day," he muses, not judging but embracing as he kisses your temple.

You can't help but smile, especially when he continues with that occasional irresistible sass in his tone that suggests you've inconvenienced him, but not enough to be entirely pissed. With incompetent law enforcement it's serious and incredibly sexy, and he knows how you feel about it. So, with you, he makes it playful. Loving, even.

The thought is enough to make you shed any sort of worry and settle yourself deeper into his embrace. You let the words light you up and make you laugh, reveling in them even though you know it's a not-so-subtle nudge in the direction of actually getting out of bed and starting the day.

"Guess it's a good thing we were gonna do laundry today, huh?"

#spencer reid x reader #mercy after hours #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you

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aur0ral1ghts · 29 days ago

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ᴄʟᴜᴇʟᴇss

ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʜᴀs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ʏ/ɴ, ʙᴜᴛ sʜᴇ ʜᴀs ɴᴏ ɪᴅᴇᴀ. ʜᴇ's ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ sɪɴᴄᴇ 3ʀᴅ ʏᴇᴀʀ. ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ. ʜᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅs ʜᴇʀ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs; ᴋɪssɪɴɢ. ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜɪɴɢ. ғʟᴜғғ!!

ʙᴀsᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ.

Mattheo has been in love with Y/n ever since their 3rd year, and pretty much the second they met, Mattheo fell. Hard. But he couldn't help it, i mean, the way her dimples show whenever she giggles or the way her eyebrows furrow when she's confused. He noticed pretty much every single detail of you. Your favorite subjects, favorite candy, favorite color. He didn't mean to be creepy. He was just an observing person.

FLASH BACK...

"Give me my books book!" You had muttered, trying your best to stand up to the two 5th year students who had just taken your books, holding them up, over your head. "Not a chance." One of them smiled viciously, taunting you even more by swinging the books. Then, a flash of white light came, along with someone yelling a hex at them both, instantly knocking them down like dominoes. Your books had been knocked out of their hands, landing directly infront of your feet. You gasped as someone stepped out from behind them.

Mattheo Riddle.

You knew about Mattheo but never actually spoke to him. You knew he had a bad reputation. You knew better than to speak to him.

"Uh.. thank you.." You quickly muttered, picking up your books in a rush. "You're welcome." He says smiling like he's your knight in shining amor. "I'm Mattheo." He says, extending his hand. He didn't bother mentioning his last name in front of you. He didn't want to scare you off like he scared many other kids away. "I'm Y/n." You exclaim, hesitating for a second before shaking his hand. You always believed that there's good in everyone. "Uh, so, how did you manage to knock two fifth years off their feet!?" You question, genuinely curious. "I have my ways." He smirks, leaning against a wall, flashing a cheesy charming smile to you.

Throughout the week, you would constantly bump into Mattheo, leading him to start a conversation and follow you around. You genuinely enjoyed his company. He followed you, kinda like a lost puppy.

It was Friday, and you were minding your business, studying in the libary when Mattheo suddenly popped up, sitting down next to you. "You'll never guess what just happened today!" He says. "Mattheo." You pause. "If you really want to be friends, just ask instead of following me around." You exclaim, looking at him. "Uh, okay." He pauses, clearing his throat. "Would you want to be friends, Y/n?" He asks. You nodded. "Now it's official." You smile. "Anyways, what happened?" You asked him.

Ever since the 6th year, his crush on you began to grow every time you guys hung out. He tried to give you hints, like not paying attention to any girl but you, showing hints of jealously whenever someone would ask you out in front of him. He even asked you out on valentines Day! But you mistoke it for a friends-valentines day! "Oh, thank you, Mattheo!" You smile, taking the flower bouquet from him. "This is why you're my best friend!" You exclaim, patting his back. His smile turned quickly into a frown. "Yeah.. friends." He quietly muttered.

His stomach always dropped whenever you referred to you guys as simply friends. Mattheo always yearned for you. He didn't want to be just friends. He wanted to be more. He wanted you all to himself. His fists would clenched, his knuckles turning white as he thought back to urge to slam you into the nearest wall and kiss you every time you dared to utter the word "friend."

It was Saturday, and previously Mattheo had asked you to go to Hogsmeade with me. You agreed.

So you sat at your vanity applying some blush to your cheeks, then you heard a knock at your door. You quickly jolted up to answer it.

"Hi Mattheo!" You smile. Mattheo quickly muttered a quick hello. He felt his cheeks heating up, and it hadn't even been 10 seconds. He smelt your familiar scent lingering in the air. "I'm almost ready. I just need to do my hair. Sit on my bed." You exclaim, going back to your vanity, Mattheo walked over to your bed, sitting down on the edge of it. He watched as you pulled out a hairbrush and a hairtie. He saw your reflection in the mirror holding the hair tie in your mouth as you tied up your hair. His breath hitched as you finally tied up your hair and grabbed your purse. "Okay, I'm ready." You say, heading for the door.

He nodded as you followed you out. "Your awfully quiet." You state, your hands behind your back as he walked beside you. "Oh, sorry. Just a lot on my mind." He forced an apologic smile. "It's fine. I get it." You replied back.

But you don't.

Mattheo wanted to say back. You certainly did not get how hard it was for him. "And before you ask - I'll buy you a ton of chocolate frogs." He chuckled. Every time you guys would go together, you will always beg him to buy you chocolate frogs. "Thank you." You smile, angling your head to look up at him. Mattheo was at least a foot taller than you. "You're welcome." He grinned.

You two arrived at Hogsmeade, the scent of butterbeer, and freshly baked pastries flooded your nostrils.

"Where should we go?" You asked. "Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop?" He suggested. You nodded, grinning. It was one of your favorite places in all of Hogsmeade. You two made your way to the shop, opening the door, a bell jingled as the worker greeted you. You looked at all the food, unsure of what to pick. "Mattheo, I need help. Should I get a pumpkin pastry or sticky toffee pudding?"

"Pumpkin pastry." He replied. You walked up to the counter. "Two pumpkin pastries, please." You said, handing the lady the coins. She quickly took the pastrys from the display and then handed them to you."

"Here." You said, giving Mattheo one. "Thank you, I'm starving!" He sighed in relief, taking a huge bite, devouring the whole thing in a single bite. "You're such an idiot." You chuckled as you took a much smaller bite of the treat. "Three broomsticks next?" You questioned. He nodded, mouth still full of the pumpkin pastry.

You walk in the three broomsticks, seeing some familiar faces from school. "Hi Luna and Neville!" You greet. "Wanna see the socks i bought?" Luna asks you, holding up a pair of fluffy socks with a ladybug pattern on them. "They're so cute!" You exclaim. "Thank you!" She thanks, as she takes a sip of her butterbeer, a mustache of whipped cream appearing on her cheeks. "See you around!" You wave, sitting down at a booth next to Mattheo. Your knees practically touching. The candle in the middle of the table lit up the stone bricks around it. You looked out the window next to you, just simply admiring the scenery. The many students coming out of honeydukes with a variety of sweets in their hands.

Mattheo took this time to his advantage. He sat there, a hand placed under his chin, just staring at you, his eyes burning into you. He saw a loose strand of hair. He extended his hand and placed it behind your ear, making you snap of your trance. You gave him a quick smile. Mattheo felt his heart beating. It was beating so loud he thought you would hear it. Suddenly, the waiter came up to you guys, smiling, her hair slightly greying. "What can I get for you?" She said, gesturing to Mattheo. Mattheo placed his order of a single butterbeer. "And what can I get for your girlfriend?" She smiled. Mattheo quickly slient. His pulse rushing. "Oh, uh." You butted in. "We're actually just friends. And I'll have a butterbeer aswell, thanks." You smiled back like it was the most normal thing ever. "Oh, I'm so sorry! And sure thing." She awkwardly said, writing frantically in her notepad. "No worries." You laughed. Mattheo stared dumbstruck at you. He just wanted to slam you against the table and kiss you. But due to your cluelessness, you would miskate it as a friendly act.

"Mattheo?" You snapped him out of his thoughts. "Oh, erm. Yeah?" He said. "Are you gonna try out for Quidditch this year?" You asked him, and your knee was awfully close to his. "Probably, as long as Blaise tries out." He shurgged. "If you do, I'll make sure to come watch with one of my friends." You exclaimed, fidgeting with your bracelet on your hand. He had previously given you the golden bracelet for your birthday. It was detailed with small gems.

The same lady came back shortly with two butterbeers in her hand. She placed them in front of both of you. "Enjoy!" She murmured, walking away. You reached out for the mug in front of you, and the mug was still chilly. "Wanna go back to Hogwarts after?" He asked. "Sure, besides, I need time to finish an assignment anyway." You replied back, taking a sip of butterbeer. "Maybe we can study together?" He said, also taking a sip, his hands wrapped around the mug. "Yeahhh, like you're not just gonna copy off mine." You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. "I won't!" He promised, holding his hands up in the air.

After 20 minutes, you finally finished your butterbeer, Mattheo finished his long before you did. He carefully sipped his drink while listening to your crazy stories. Mattheo was pretty patient when it came to listening to your stories. Even if they were a little silly, he found that time to stare at you without question, but he was paying attention, he would eventually respond, and you would take that time to take a chug at your drink.

"You ready to go?" Mattheo said, getting up from his seat. "Yup." You nodded, following him out. He held the door open for you. When you walked outside, a gust of wind blowed in your face, causing the two to lose strands of hair infront of your face to blow frantically. "Shit, its cold." You said hugging yourself. You only had a thin knit sweater on. "Here, take my jacket." He said, offering you his jacket. "Thank you!" You sighed in relief, standing in front of the three broomsticks. He put the jacket over you, his smell of his colange filled your nostrils as he stood behind you.

You noticed a rather cute boy walking past you. His charming smile caught your attention as he walked with a group of his friends. "Whos that?" You asked casually, as if it didn’t matter, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "Oh, he's in Slytherin like me. I think he's a 7th year." He shurgged, but it felt like his heart had been stepped on. He hated that you were eyeing another boy when he was right there. Waiting and yearning for you, he hated how you didn't realize it.

His eyes glared into the guys head, his stupid blonde curls framing his face. He was obviously jealous of him but didn't dare utter a word. "Do you reckon he has a girlfriend?" You asked absentmindedly while he walked into honeyduked with his mates. "Probably." Was all he could say.

"Stay put, im going to ask." You quickly said before dashing off to the store entrance. "Y/n, wait!" Mattheo mumbled, grabbing onto your hand and pulling you into the nearest alleyway. His breath is hot and heavy. "Mattheo, what?" you mumbled. "I can't keep this in anymore. Look y/n, i think you're the most stunning girl I've ever laid eyes on. I've been trying to signal to you ever since 3rd year- and my heart drops to my stomach every time you call us "just friends." I even tried to ask you out on valentines Day, and you just thought I was asking as friends!" He pauses. "Y/n..my heart yearns for you. It always has, please just understand..." he then leans in and gently kisses you. You don't respond or react. You just stand there, completely dumbstruck. Then he pulled away, his hand still on your waist. "Mattheo.." you stuttered out, reaching a finger to touch your lips. "I'm... sorry." He muttered, looking down, his cheeks red. "No, I'm sorry, and I'm sorry for being so blind-" You pause. "And I'm sorry for what I'm about to do.." you confess, kissing him again, both for your hands on his cheeks.

"Fucking hell, Y/n. You have no damn idea how long I've been thinking about doing this." He mutters in-between kisses.

A/n: I'm so sorry if this sucks, my metal health hasn't been the best. I think I might take a small break; but if you have any requests, I will do them, but I won't write any of my own ideas for a while.

This idea was really fun to write.

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namelessgakusei · 1 month ago

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Continuation of this... But can be read as a standalone fic!

It started with dreams. Vivid visions of him in your sleep. The first time it happened, you thought it's because you consumed too much of the media he's in, comics, shows, movies, games, it's only natural that you see him here too. As a fan, you're ecstatic that he's in front of you, but he seems to feel more strongly about that.

The first time it happened, you two stood in a white void, with him looking haggard, panting to catch his breath and looking at you with wide blown eyes. He tried to reach out with shaky hands but the moment he touched you, you woke up.

The second time has him calmer than the earlier encounter. You two are still in that white void, but instead of immediately going to your side, you two sat in front of each other, fidgeting to pass time. He didn't spoke, just stared at you. You wonder if your brain can't conjure a voice due to how many actors that played him before.

If you much tried to move a muscle, his eyes snaps at you, ready to act at the slightest movement. Why is he so... jittery? He looks like he's close to a breakdown whenever he looks at you.

"___?"

He broke at the sound of his name from your lips.

You woke up after that.

Your weird dreams came frequently after, unlike the occasional, once-a-month appearance. Your silent and awkward exchanges continued for a few more nights, but he gradually got better at communicating, for better or for worse, and you two finally had a decent conversation on the fifth night. You wonder why he was so nervous back then? If there's someone who's supposed to be tweaking, it's you. He's... HIM! HE'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU—!

Your brain seem to have him as the main reference for what to show you every night. You thank yourself for that, being able to see him even when you're asleep is a plus points in your book, no matter how weird he acts when you meet. Besides, you get to actually know him beyond the media he's in, even if you're debating that whatever he said are just headcanons conjured in your head.

But looking back, it feeds in the pain of your heart. You'd long accepted that he doesn't exist, that his fate is already written and that he'll continue to live even after you're gone. For every issue, for every author, you've seen how his life unfold, his partners and families. You're just a reader, a fan, who observes everything from the sidelines, forever unknown to the person you admire.

Every time you read a new issue or watch another episode, you can't help that your eyes follows him. Was this how he felt when you meet in your dreams? You remember how your comics seems to show you strange panels, does that apply to the shows too? That sounds ridiculous, there's only one show that everyone's watching right now, he can't possibly—

Your breath hitched when he looked at the audience. Was that supposed to happen? Why is he looking like he's in pain? Why is he smiling like that?

A tear falls from your eye.

Tonight, you decided to talk to him. Even if it's a dream, at least you'll be able to have closure in this tragic love of yours. Again, you found yourself opening your eyes in that strange void you first met him with.

He looks excited, rushing to hug you the moment you appeared, with a big smile on his face. He's talking about something about a way over? A bridge, or a connection, you don't hear much over your own thoughts. You need to end this, this isn't healthy.

With a tired sigh, you slowly pull him into a hug, cutting his rambling off, which he happily reciprocated, nuzzling to your hair as he whispers how happy he is now that he can go meet you.

You need to put a stop to this.

Pulling away, you look up at him and with a sad smile, thanked him for all those times he made you happy. He was one of the driving forces for you to continue and be where you are now. You're happy that he appears in your dreams but you tell him that these dreams should stop. With trembling lips, you say that you love him and will always do, even if you two live in different worlds, even if you two can never be. You're happy just being able to watch him from afar.

...He doesn't know what to do. You're crying while smiling up at him. You want this rendezvous to end? Weren't you also happy to see him? This way of meeting was just a temporary solution, he just told you that he's now got a way over your world!

This won't do, you don't believe that he's real. You think that this is just a figment of your imagination. ...Alright. He knows how to fix this. You want these dreams to end? It will.

He gently grabbed your shoulders, snapping you out of your tears and leaning in to press a kiss on your lips.

Ah.

This is a nice way to end a dream, you think.

This is your closure.

You woke up that day with tear stains on your face.

Reaching out for your phone, your fingers instinctively moved to look up fanmade media of him before you stopped short, maybe you should take a break from him. You basically just broke up with him in your dream, hadn't you? Even if you two weren't really in a relationship.

Chuckling over your sad state, you tried acting like everything is normal. It's time to move on! You shouldn't cling on someone who doesn't exist and probably doesn't even know you! Though, despite everything, you see him everywhere, through the whispers of you friends about the new chapters, his name called through the crowd, which ended up being someone else's name, the ads you see whenever you're watching something else, it's relentless!

It's impossible to be free from him, huh...

You came back after a while, opening your laptop to catch up with the episodes you missed, the memories of those nights slowly fading into obscurity, you felt silly that you missed all these releases over some dreams. They were nothing but figments of your imagination, yet you made a pretty big deal out of them.

There's an extra episode after the season finale. A video with no thumbnail but has your first name as its title. Upon inspection, you found out that it's a private video only visible to you.

He smiles from the other side of the camera, it's a recording, a sloppy one at that. He looks disheveled, eyes puffy like he cried, but he looks at the recorder with so much love that it makes your heart ache. To whom is this video for? A tribute to someone? A special episode for a character? But all thought goes down the drain when he utters your name.

Suddenly, you're find yourself back to the white void, but being in his shoes. His voice sounds unsure, but his eyes didn't wavered. Hearing him say your name made the dam break. This time, you listened as you cried silently, tears flowing uncontrollably while your eyes never leaving the screen. He needed a catalyst, he said. Something in your world that will activate the spell from over his place to open the bridge.

He apologizes for scaring you, for not explaining everything properly and for being selfish. He really wants to be with you, and that made him reckless. So, he gave you space. Time for you to mull it over and decide for yourself if he's real or not. Whatever your decision will be, he'll accept it. If you refuse, he'll leave you alone and you can forget everything happened. But if you agree... He just smiled.

The video ends with him declaring that he loves you, with a pop up application with two choices, a yes and a no. That nerd, since when did he hacked in your laptop? Laughing at the absurdity of the situation and at the revelation that he's real after all, you pressed yes.

Droplets of your tears flew to the air when you whipped your head behind you, a portal opening with a crack. On the other side, there he stood, equally surprised at the sight.

Quickly, you stood up from your chair, running up to him. You haven't even taken a few steps when he ran to the portal and to your room, hugging your form and burying his face on the crook of your neck. Ah, so this is how he feels like.

Tangible, in your arms. You can smell a faint scent of perfume. He's in his civilian clothes, was he at home? He clearly wasn't expecting this with the way he clung to you, voice shaky as he confesses that he thought you gave up. That he still clung to the small hope that you'll see his message. That you'll say yes and accept him.

A kiss was shared when you two pulled away, tearful smiles and words of affection spilled as the two of you clung to the person you loved. For him, you're the consistent guiding light in his life.

For you, he's the guy who crossed realms just to be with you.

#this was long #the first one is from his perspective and this one's ours #invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #dc x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #I was planning on making a part two after the first one #but I didn't expected the influx of reception #I'm gonna cry waaahhh thank youu #self aware mark grayson #self aware invincible #self aware dc #i gotchu girlies #gaku's works!

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pedgito · 3 months ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 | Jackson!Joel Miller x reader

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.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #pedro pascal #tlou fic #the last of us fic #my writing #jolapenosdearuary

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