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taintandviolent · 4 months

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Lime Green Jell-O; Peter Maximoff x Reader

summary: Reader is in a situationship with Peter Maximoff. It's been casual on both ends, or so you thought. You think he's jealous and you decide to tease a little hard. Peter can't take the heat, though.

word count: 2K!

w a r n i n g s: shameless smut, smut with a little plot, unprotected sex, fingering, mentions of jealousy, possible jealousy kink.

a/n: anonymous request! you guys keep asking me to write Peter, and I'm nervous every single time, istg. I hope it delivered, and you enjoyed reading it! ps: dividers are by firefly-graphics!

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don't have a taglist, but please turn on post notifications if you want to be notified of future fics!

Peter sat bolt upright, as if you’d just announced the most horrible thing in the world. Which to him, you had.

"So, you've been seeing other guys?" Peter asked painfully casually, working overtime to control the pitch of his voice. Any hint of his true feelings and he'd be done for.

You scoffed, feigning offense. "Of course I have." You gulped down the last bit of soda, and crawled over on the bed to throw it in the bin. Most of your free days were spent in his room, fooling around, playing video games with him, and watching whatever cheesy movie he’d put on. He seemed to think you had extra free-time that you’d spent with other guys.

Though it was only a nano-second, Peter's brows furrowed, and his lips frowned. You narrowed your eyes, and he immediately shifted in his jacket, returning to his previous state. No way she saw that. No way -- it was too fast. He darted to the bed, standing in front of you.

Getting to your knees, you squared up. Inhaled and closed your mouth, crossing your arms firmly across your chest, underneath your breasts. Your shirt was low-cut enough that he saw the shift in your cleavage. He clenched his jaw, averting his dark eyes elsewhere. This wasn’t the time to start getting a stiffie.

"Peter," you started, a reprimanding tone in your voice. If he was going to pull the loyalty card now… you smirked. "The first time we hooked up you said, and..." You brought your fingers up to make quotes in the air, in front of his face. "I quote: 'Nothin' serious, babe'. So....."

Damn. Peter pushed his lips forward, nodding. "Right, yeah, I did say that. And I so totally meant it."

"Good, so… you shouldn't care if things are getting pretty serious with one of them. Like... really serious. Serious enough that we might have to stop hanging out as much." Bam. Mic drop.

That was a lie; a blatant one. Little did he know, you had been dating casually, but doing so completely uninterested. No one had matched your silver speedster; not in sex, not in personality, not in anything. He had zipped his way into your heart and wasn’t leaving. You weren’t about to let him know that though, and decided to dig a little deeper with the teasing. He was cute when he was jealous… which he was. You knew it.

Instead of confessing everything right then and there, Peter stiffened and mirrored your position; arms crossed over his muscled chest. He shook his head and shrugged. Cool as cucumber. No way were you winning this one.

You smirked again, this time, raising a single brow. "Are you... jealous, Maximoff?"

"Pffffbfbbtbt." Peter blew air through his lips, slicing his hand through the air like he was swatting a fly away. "Totally not jealous."

"Good, because if you were, you'd hate to hear that Tommy and I went on the most adorable date the other night, and he was --"

His hands flew up, waving slightly. "Woah, don't need to hear the deetz, babe. No thanks."

"Oh no? I think you are jealous... I absolutely think you are, because..."

Peter's fingers shushed you, smushing into the fullness of your pout. He didn't want to hear the (probably one-hundred percent correct) explanation that followed the 'because'. Your eyebrows flew up on your forehead, expectantly. You tried to speak through his finger, but he pressed harder. Peter screwed up his expression before rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. He huffed a breath, and looked back at you.

You yanked your face away, narrowing your eyes into knowing slits. You barked out a laugh, unable to control it. He had always been a terrible liar, but this took the cake. “Oh, you totally are. You are lime-green Jell-o, Peter.”

“I am not.”

“Are too.” You jabbed your index finger into his pec. “You so are.”

He huffed and dropped his arms. You weren’t budging, and if he kept up, you’d win. He knew it, you knew it. It was a good old-fashioned standoff. You cocked your hip out to the side.

"Okay, so maybe I am jealous. Fine. Sure. Whatever. Now, c'mere."

Exhaling heavy over his bottom lip, Peter took hold of your face and pulled you into a warm kiss. The tips of his fingers stroked your hairline, urging you closer to him - as close as he could get you without melting into you. Surprised, your eyes widened into the kiss, but after a few seconds, you couldn’t help but melt into him.

"Peter, Peter," you murmured into his lips, pushing away slightly to look over his face with a weighted gaze. "You're really jealous?"

Saying nothing, he nodded heavily and went back to kissing you, his tongue slipping along your bottom lip before breaching. You whimpered into his lips, the vibration tickling slightly. Peter pressed his chin into yours, gently forcing you to scoot backwards on the bed. The kiss deepened for a moment before Peter broke it, his dark orbs scanning your face.

“Yeah,” he whispered over your lips before urging your back against the mattress. “I am super jell-o…” He mocked.

“Want you for myself. All for myself. Okay? Just… lemme’...”

Peter nuzzled your neck, soft lips ghosting the skin and peppering kisses from your ear lobe down to your collarbone. Just above there, he began suckling the skin, pulling it into his mouth. He sucked harder and harder until you finally yelped, jerking your head away slightly. The skin left his mouth with a wet pop.

"Ow! Peter, what are you doing?"

"Markin' my territory.... err.... something." He pulled back to look at his handiwork. The skin where he'd been sucking was scarlet, heading to purple, and by that evening, it would be a wicked bruise. A little gift for whoever you saw next, if it wasn't him.

He grinned as you rubbed at the skin, feeling the tenderness of it. “Did you just give me a hickey?”

“Maaaybe.”

“You dork,” you murmured. Peter crushed his lips against yours again, inhaling your scent. His hands trailed up your waist, gripping it hungrily. This is exactly what you’d thought about earlier; every time he touched you, it felt electric, and nobody had even come close to that sensation. You bucked your hips up into his, grinding against the tent in his sweatpants. Peter pressed back against you, hissing through his teeth at the sudden welcome friction. Beneath the fabric, you felt the heat and pressure of his hardening cock and whined.

“What the heck d’ya want, babe? What am I doin’ wrong here? You want a romantic? You want a casanova?”

“No,” you started, raking your nail along his t-shirt, the fabric catching underneath your nail and exposing his luscious neck just a little bit. “I just want you, Peter. Only you. No other guys matter, and I only… I only said that because you said it was casual, I didn’t want to seem desperate.”

“I dunno, I think I’m actin’ pretty desperate right now.” He rutted his hips against you, his cock bumping into your cloth-covered cunt again. You bit your lip, rolling your eyes back. Every whimper, moan and mewl you made coursed through his veins, straight to his dick. They made it ache, and burn, and he couldn’t help but roll his hips against yours, dry-humping you urgently.

“Fuck me, Peter.”

Just what he wanted to hear. He nodded in response and brought his fingers to the waistband of your pajama pants, slipping inside. He drug his middle finger up along your folds, smearing your precum over the warm flesh. You were already so wet, Peter grit his teeth, slipping a single digit inside. You vocalized at the sensation, and he slipped another finger in, pumping them in and out slowly. You loved when he did that; just felt you, played with you like a little sex toy.

His nimble fingers slipped out, and began toying with your cunt, making tiny, quick circles on your swollen clit. The muscles of your thighs quivered hard and deep with every pass of the pad of his finger. He always knew how to make you writhe around, practically shivering with pleasure. You felt the wetness pooling underneath your ass and whimpered, shyly. You always got so wet around him, almost to the point of embarrassment. Peter never made fun, though; if anything, he was always delighted by it, and loved to feel it soaking through the fabric of your cute, little patterned panties.

As he flicked at your sensitive spots, your lids drooped shut, thinking about how good he was going to feel. It pressed against your hip, hard and demanding, like it was searching for somewhere to go. You couldn’t wait anymore.

“Gimmie that cock,” you whispered against his ear before nipping at his lobe. Higher than he wanted to, he whined and withdrew his fingers, planting them on your hip bone.

“Mm’yeah…. gonna’ give it to you,” he nodded, breathless. “‘Cause you want it bad, right?”

“Yeah, I do. The only one I want.”

Wasting no time, Peter freed his throbbing dick from his sweatpants. It bounced heavily in front of you, the searing hot tip pressing against your tummy. Biting your lip, you took it in your hand, giving it a few generous pumps. You then pushed his cock between your legs, lining it up with your slit and forcing the tip in for him. The action sent a shockwave through his body; he jerked up and groaned. “Fuuuuck…”

Peter threw your legs over his shoulders, angling your body up.

“C’mon, give it to me…”

He clenched his teeth and bottomed out, slamming the lower half of his toned body into yours. It filled you, stretching your walls and pressing against them in the most erotic, tantalizing way. He found a rhythm quickly, and made sure to keep it, his balls slapping against your ass as he thrust into you. You threw your head back and let out a breathy moan, pressing your head into the pillow. You swallowed, wetting your throat and looked back up at him.

Above you, Peter was extra-whiny today. Sweat collected on his forehead, beading up before ribboning down his temples. His silver hair stuck together in clumps, and when he looked from your pussy to your eyes, he smiled weakly. He was fucking you hard, harder than he usually did and you could only assume it was because he was taking out his aggression, his jealousy.

“Oooh, yeah, just like that, baby… Just like that. You’re so… you’re so jealous.” Your words were punctured by lewd moans and breaths, but you finally got out the teasing statement. Then, Peter did something he didn’t usually do. He gripped your shoulders and pulled you onto his cock over and over again, relentlessly, bucking his hips up to meet yours with every thrust. The tip of his cock hammered your cervix, hitting your deepest parts. Your jaw dropped, brows peaking together as he fucked you.

“....oh….oh my fuckin’....”

“....shit-shit-shit, Peter…”

Your pussy clenched around his cock, and you couldn’t control it. She fluttered, coating his dick in warmth. Peter groaned, closer than ever.

“You should… you should be –” You moaned, digging your nails into his shoulders. “...be jealous more often.”

That did it. Peter lost it, spurting his white heat inside of you, pumping it deep. A melody of groans between the both of you filled the room, as the thrusts slowed and the sweat dripped. He collapsed on top of you, kissing every inch of bare skin that he could find.

After a few moments, he snapped up, hands on either side of your head. He looked down at you with a quirked brow, and a mischievous smile. You grinned back at him, lust-blown and giddy. You loved these afternoons, where you just fucked each other like teenagers.

“Wanna’ play some video games? Or did you have another lame-o date planned?”

You sniggered. “The only lame-o I’m dating is you.”

#Peter Maximoff #Quicksilver #Peter Maximoff x reader #Peter Maximoff x you #x men movies #Quicksilver x you #Quicksilver x reader #myfics #evan peters #Peter Maximoff smut

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covetyou · 3 months

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stars and stripes

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: nipple play, novelty underwear, balls, anxiety, democracy, the pledge of allegiance, friendly brotherly contest, alcohol, prelude to oral sex (m! receiving) word count: 5k summary: Roles are reversed this Fourth of July when you surprise Joel with a little festive treat of your own.

A/N: happy 4th of July to folks in the US and happy general election day to my fellow UK pals! If you haven't exercised your right to vote yet, and you're registered, you have until 10pm BST tonight to get to your polling station - as long as you're in line by 10pm, you'll be able to vote. do dress up Joel proud, and go do a democracy.

I make absolutely no apologies for anything in this fic. not a single thing. especially not that thing. tis the season. happy ballidays, pals!

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As it turned out, Joel knew a guy who knew a guy who could fix your AC, and within two days your house was a safe haven from the burgeoning Texas summer.

Easy as that, apparently. Your desperate attempts to call around HVAC companies the week your AC busted seemed stupid now that it was all a matter of simply knowing a guy.

Not that it was all easy. Letting someone else into your house after everything that had gone on suddenly felt scary, and it took Joel promising you he'd dip from his own job for the afternoon to keep an eye on things for you to feel okay with any of it.

But, even that left an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You'd told him to let himself in, though this time you'd given him a key, and that felt like something. For as many times as he'd broken in, and for as long as you'd left your house open and vulnerable - and, by extension, yourself - handing over your spare keys to Joel for the day felt more vulnerable than you'd ever felt with him wandering your house at unknown hours of the day and night.

It felt like something all over again when you handed them over to him the next week too - there was a jammed drawer he wanted to fix, and he said he could get in to see to it before work one day.

Even when you opened the door to him on the nights he didn't have Sarah - his daughter, you'd learned - it felt like something. Especially knowing that that spare key now sat attached to his own, jingling in his pocket each time he walked into your home, invited.

And the more somethings it felt like, the less you felt like figuring it out.

It continued the same way for weeks. Him moving back and forth the short distance between his home and yours, while you stayed safely cocooned in your own, cool, four walls.

Then, barely one month into this officially unofficial something that you were, it was finally time for you to make that short journey down the street to Joel's.

Being honest, the thought of it had terrified you, and you'd almost backed out multiple times.

Not because it was Joel, or Joel's house - at least, that's what you told yourself - but because a "the whole neighborhood is invited, bring snacks or beer" type of Fourth of July party wasn't the kind of way you'd envisioned your first time in Joel's home. You figured maybe it'd be dinner, or a movie, or a quick fuck against the stairs with Joel's balls trussed up in something. Normal things.

Not loud peopley things.

Still, you readjust your top once more, take the briefest of glances in the mirror, and head out the door anyway, nerves be damned. You can totally handle a Fourth of July BBQ at Joel's house.

You think you can all the way up to Joel's driveway, when the nerves come back with a vengeance and you stand there, feeling sick, listening to the sounds of people and music coming from the backyard.

You try to tell yourself it all makes sense. It's a new place, a place that should mean so much because it's his, but try as you might you can't fight back the panic rising as you think of the very many faces that are going to be in this new place too. Familiar faces, faces you'd seen most days as you went about your life down this street you called home, people you'd shared small talk with and said good morning to almost every day as you left for work.

Then there's this stupid outfit you're wearing. The you from weeks ago chose it the very same day you said yes to Joel's invitation, and the you of today didn't have the energy or inclination to think of anything else. Wear whatever, Joel had said, it's just a casual thing. So, you'd gone for casual.

Braless is casual, right?

Not that that was a specific choice, more a necessity. You'd chucked the third bra on the floor in a huff, cursing your shitty outfit choice and lack of bra to fit it, and instead decided to stick on some nipple pasties and be done with it.

All that's done now, and now here you are, still standing like an idiot in the driveway, closer to Joel's home than you have ever been, psyching yourself up to go inside.

With a deep breath of the dry Texas heat, you head for the open back gate, the soft sound of your shoes on the paving stones so loud in your ears as everything wooshes and fizzes in your head.

It's somehow both better and worse than your expectations.

You're immediately greeted by a sea of recognizable faces, the bottle of wine you forgot you were even holding whisked out of your hand and taken inside before you can even get your first round of hello's in. You don't have much of a chance to be nervous, or self conscious, or any of the things you'd worried about being in the days leading up to being here, because there's just so much of everything around you. Noises, smells, people.

Everything, except for Joel. You've not caught a single look at him since you got here - minutes ago - and you wonder if he's even here and not relaxing back at your place on the couch.

Then you see him. At least, you think it's him. His back is to you, locked into conversation so fierce he hasn't noticed the commotion about your entrance.

You think it's him, but you're also certain you don't know of anyone else who would dress head to toe in red, white, and blue candy stripes. The sight of it makes you forget your own outfit worries as a grin forms on your face, and that familiar rumbling of something in the pit of your stomach comes back all over again.

"Not eyein' the very slightly younger model, are you?" comes a gruff voice that has you twisting rapidly on the spot, the smile barely given chance to fall from your face when you spot the actual, real life Joel standing right there next to you, cold beer in hand.

In your own defence, real life Joel isn't dressed much better than the other Joel stood over the other side of the yard. He's probably dressed worse, actually. He's head to toe in stars, all the way from the novelty headband on his head to the flashing star lights clipped to his shoes. It's gaudy, and camp, and so perfectly Joel that the smile that dipped from your face for all of half a second is back, and you're grinning up at him, that feeling in your belly violently boiling away now that he's right there.

"Oh, him?" you say with a wave of your hand. "Nah. He's like a dollar store version of you."

"Really? I'll be sure to tell Tommy he's Dollar Store Joel from now on. He'll love that. Hey, Tommy!" he calls over the yard, before slipping his free hand behind your back. "C'mon. Let me introduce y'all."

He guides you over, hand never leaving the small of your back, touching you out here in front of all these people as if you are actually officially the kind of something that everyone should know about. And maybe you are.

But then, you're looking into familiar friendly eyes, so similar to the ones you've been staring into and dreaming of since Christmas, and watching this familiar strangers face light up so brightly you briefly wonder if his joy is misplaced until he's wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

"Shit, he weren't lying," says Tommy as he rocks on his feet with you in his arms before releasing and looking down at you. "You are real."

Before Joel can land a firm whack to Tommy's shoulder, Tommy's pulling you in for another hug, telling you how nice it is to finally meet you, because he's heard all about you, dropping in a few choice words about his asshole brother here and there as he chatters to you, and Joel, and even himself.

At some point, whether it's during the fourth hug or the eighteenth, you're not sure, Joel slips off to grab you a drink, leaving you with his bizarrely dressed brother.

"Ain't never seen him smile so much without Sarah around," he says, the moment Joel's out of earshot, giving you a nudge and another fond smile. "Y'know, I think he might like you."

"Mm, I think I might like him too."

Small talk with Tommy is easy - the man's a talker, if you ever met one. He's a charmer too, and if you met him in a bar you might think he'd be coming on to you with the way he so attentively talks to you, only directing his attention elsewhere for the briefest of moments.

"What's with the outfits?" you eventually ask, with a flick to his striped top hat. "Joel never said it was a dress up party."

"Oh it ain't, this is just a family tradition. Dad always used to dress up in dumb shit for the holidays, make us laugh, and it just sorta stuck. 'Course, added in some friendly competition over the years too, and then this," he says with a dramatic sweep down his body, "was born."

"Competition?"

"Mhm. Joel'll tell you, won't you brother?" Tommy says with a wink over your head before ducking sideways to raid the snack table.

"What am I s'posed to tell you?" he says, handing you your drink, letting his fingers linger near yours and stroke a trail of burning heat gently up your arm before falling back to his pocket.

"The competition."

"S'easy. Stars or stripes," Joel points to himself, decked out in stars and then to his brother where he stands loudly chatting to yet more guests in his candy stripes. "You gotta pick. Most votes, wins."

"I've got to pick?"

"'s the rules, darlin'."

"So you want me to pick between you, or some costumed guy I don't know - a practical stranger?" you say, with a glint in your eye, watching Joel's face drop in faux offence.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't underestimate me, Joel. I think you know exactly what I'm capable of."

Your eyes meet in a silent stalemate, the glint in your eye never leaving as Joel bites at his cheek to hold back a laugh. Tommy was right - you do like Joel, some days too much, and moments like right now, you think maybe it's reciprocated, and you like him just the right amount.

Poking him in the chest, finger pressed to the middle of one of the sea of stars decorating his body, you let yourself break first. "Stars, Joel. I pick stars."

With a roll of his eyes, and a kiss pressed lightning quick to the side of your head, Joel's hand winds back around your back.

"Thank fuck for that. Let's get you a votin' card so you can make that official."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

As the evening draws on, you think you've talked to just about everyone in your street several times over, and then some. It also turns out that Joel and Tommy take their little competition very seriously, and always have, if your neighbors are to be believed.

By the time the votes have been counted and Joel in his star spangled outfit is declared the winner, Tommy has sunk to his knees, his hat toppled off in his despair as he hangs his head in shame.

You're still listening to them bicker as you sneak off to use the bathroom, their voices only disappearing when you've slid the patio door shut and taken your first official step into Joel's house.

"The headband swung it."

"The headband is Sarah's, and your massive skull is breakin' it..."

Even through the mess of the party, you can see that this place is distinctly Joel, with hints of a 10 year old girl dotted around the place. From the pictures on the wall to the cushions on the sofa - mostly a rich navy, but one soft pink nestled in with the blue - through to small ornamental carvings on a side table and the drawings stuck on the refrigerator.

You're looking at one - not a masterpiece by any means, but very decent attempt at a bluebonnet - when the pressure inside the house changes again with the slide of the door.

It's Joel, arms laden with bottles, and the headband flopping forward pathetically on his head. "You snuck off quick," he says, dumping the bottles onto the counter. "Get lost findin' the bathroom?"

"Distracted. Never had chance to sneak around your house looking at your shit before," you quip with a smile, trying to get comfortable with the very uncomfortable thing that brought you two together in the first place.

"Then shoes off. Lemme take you upstairs, give you a little tour, and you can use the bathroom up there. Probably in a better state than the one down here now anyway."

He holds your hand in his all the way up the stairs. That something rears its head again, igniting your palm where it meets his, your brain not registering a single word he says as he points to various doors before dragging you through one, into his bedroom.

His lips are on yours immediately - or yours are on his. You can't quite work out who started it, you just know that you're a tangle as your hands roam each other, biting and licking kisses into each others mouths. His hand finds your ass, and you're moaning as he presses you forward, into him, and the soft lump in his pants. You want to grind yourself against him, but the angle isn't right, and a nagging forgotten thing is worming through your brain when Joel pushes your bodies together once more.

Oh. Right. You remember now.

"Joel - mmph - Joel," you say with urgency through his kisses. He pulls back, searching your face with panic and a pinched brow. "I really gotta pee."

With a kiss to your forehead he lets you go, pushing you toward his ensuite. When you exit a few minutes later, he's exactly where you left him, stood with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish as he possibly ever could.

"I'm glad you came," he says, looking at you and setting that something off roaring through your body again.

"Me too. I... I've had a nice time."

"Just wanted you to know I didn't invite you here just for, y'know," he says, with a gesture to his bed. "Didn't bring you in here for it either. Just, sorta missed you. Not used to not bein' alone with you. It's weird sharin' you."

You don't want to remind him you've barely left each others sides all night. You don't want to draw too much attention to the something, just in case you scare it away.

"Damn. Got nothing for me? Nothing at all?" you joke instead.

"Got nothin'. Nothin' planned anyway," he says with a look around the room, his eyes focussing briefly on a drawer before flicking back to you.

Really, you should be leaving space between you and Joel. Space for the something to flourish, space that is just enough to not magnetize your body to his, smashing yourselves together and turning the nothing into something. What you should do doesn't have the power to stop your feet from slowly pulling you toward him again though. And it doesn't stop you from putting both your hands on his chest when you finally reach him.

"No? Got no magic tricks up your sleeve? I was hoping for a wand or a rabbit or somethin', you do look like you ran away from the circus."

"I'll have you know this shirt is the finest polyester you can find at Party City."

"Mm, sounds sweaty."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"So you're sweaty and gross, and you have nothing to wow me with? I'm starting to wonder why you invited me." Which is a lie. You know why, and so does he, and you're glad for it, even if it still frightens you to think about it too much. You suspect he knows an awful lot more about you than you've told him. He's perceptive like that.

"Maybe I'm retractin' your invite."

"You wouldn't."

"No?"

"What if I've got a little something for you instead, am I still invited now?"

Joel's eyes light up and soften all at once, turning so bright and sparkling you think he might cry. It's not exactly that you've never done anything for him in the ways he has for you. When he mentioned his favorite snack, you got some in the house for nights you spend watching a movie before devolving into fucking on the floor. You bought new lingerie, which only ever stayed on if it was too difficult to get out of, and once or twice he'd caught you wearing the heart shaped butt plug before leaping on you and pounding you into whatever surface was nearest, thumb pressing down on the base and making you see stars.

Still, for all you had done, you never swapped positions in the little game you'd been playing with each other for over seven months. Each time, he was the one who came to you with some silly thing or trick or toy to tease you with, and each time you loved it. You hoped he would love this too.

"You do?"

"Mhm," you say as you put some distance between the two of you again. Space to breath, space to move, space to let the something calm back down into the pit of your stomach and curl in on itself like a cat settling down to sleep.

Your let your fingers glide up your body, gently pulling your skirt for a moment before they coast up your belly and reach your shirt, flirting with the hem before curling around it and tugging, letting your tits jiggle behind the fabric.

With a final soft tug, you peel the fabric up your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out the bottom of your top.

"Holy shit, baby," he says, a whisper of a moan on his lips. His eyes have been glued to you, wide and curious, ever since you suggested you may have something for him. And now, they're darting from your chest to your face then back down, taking in the sight of your covered nipples.

You had made some choices earlier today, in your nervous state. Going braless was only one of them. The pasties too, were another. And then, there was the shape. You has flowers, hearts, circles, straight tape and, finally, stars. It was a no brainer when you'd rifled through the packet for two that matched that white stars were the perfect choice for today. It'd only really occured to you when Joel had worn his own stars, that you were perhaps better matched today than you thought, that maybe you could have your own little game with him for once.

"Told you I was all in on the stars."

"Damn right you are," he says as he approaches, his hands finding their place on your waist, itching to move upward. "They don't hurt?"

"They're just pasties, Joel. They're soft. Feel."

And fuck, does he feel. His hands cup you, gently squeezing the softest part of your breast before letting his thumbs dance across where the pucker of your nipple should be. The sensation is muted, infuriatingly muffled by the feel of the pasties covering you.

"S'good?"

"Imagine I stroked your dick over your pants. It's good but it's not the same."

"Damn," he curses, thumbs still gently rubbing over your nipples, watching them slowly come to life and prickling beneath the coverings. "They come off easy?"

"Like a bandaid."

"Shit."

And you just know what he's thinking, because you're thinking it too. There's no real way you can take them off right now and let Joel have his way with your nipples like you're both desperate for, even if time and the swathe of people downstairs wasn't an issue. You have nothing else to cover up with and the soft breeze combined with the cold drinks and the age of some of the guests here means it's probably not a good idea to go without them.

That doesn't stop Joel from kissing you again though, more restrained than he has any right to be with your tits in his hands. You know from his frustrated groan when you bite at his bottom lip that he's two seconds away from telling everyone the parties over, only to come back up here and continue with a party for just two.

To your surprises, he pulls your top back down. Not before kissing one breast, then the other, then back to the first. You know he wants to sink his face into them, but he doesn't let himself, and he rises from his crouch with a groan and pulls you out of the room.

"Don't show Tommy," Joel whispers to you as you make your way back down the stairs. "He'll say the contest was rigged."

"Damn, I was so hoping to show your brother my nipples."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Joel's eyes keep flicking to your chest for the rest of the night. More than once he drags you away inside, either upstairs or into the garage, just to ask you to show him one more time. If you weren't covered, your nipples would have been rubbed and pinched raw by his eager fingers by now, just as your lips were swollen by his eager mouth.

By the time it's all over, you're positively exhausted, propping yourself up on the arm of a chair and talking to Tommy as Joel waves off the last of the guests and closes the back gate.

You had barely left his side all night, and if anyone had anything to say about it, you hadn't heard it. Neither had Joel. And Tommy, a clever man when he wanted to be, hadn't made a single joke about it either. All in all, it was as much of a successful day than you could hope for, initial nerves aside.

Tommy, continuing to be a clever man, doesn't put up much of a fight when you offer to be the one to stay behind and help clear up. Of course, he's already gone around and collected most of the trash, and put the leftover food inside, but he relents at your insistence he head home - you do only live down the street after all.

Neither you or Joel get much further with the cleaning. Once trash bags are dumped in the garage and you've both washed up, his hands are back under your top, damp fingers cupping your breasts and pulling you back into him.

"Stay?" he asks, as if there was any other ending to this night, as if Tommy hadn't left precisely for this reason.

You barely agree by the time his mouth is latched onto your neck, drawing unrestrained moans out of you right there in the kitchen now that you're finally alone.

His hands, of course, find their way back up to your top, stroking over the edge of the pasties once more.

"You really like 'em, huh?" you ask as his thumb brushes the edge of one, starting to curl and pull the point of one of the stars.

"Like that we match. Feel like you picked 'em for me," he mumbles into your neck, releasing one breast and tucking his hand into the waistband of your skirt. "Like that I've had somethin' to think about, somethin' to play with, even with all these people here."

Fuck, if you haven't liked that too. Letting him play had been one of the highlights of your night so far. Being manhandled into the garage, giggling and pushing Joel as he clasped his hands together in a plea to please see your tits. The souvenir love bite you'd let him suck into your left breast after dragging you back upstairs for a second time. You'd spent half the night flipping between Joels hands and mouth on your tits, to being dragged back out to socialize. Your pussy had given up trying to regulate itself after the third session of Joel's teasing, and you'd spent the rest of the evening wet and waiting.

This is a fact he finds out now, as he slides his hand down over your mound to cup you over your panties. You both let out the same curse as he presses and wiggles his fingers back and forth over you, rubbing your clit over your underwear. You had hoped to peel the pasties off before you fucked him, giving him full access to your nipples for the first time tonight, but you don't think you're going to make it that far, not now his hand is pulling your panties aside, feeling for the slick wetness between your lips and dragging it up, up, up to swirl around your clit.

Not a second later you're scaling the stairs for what you know will be the final time that day, this time you dragging Joel as you both kick of your shoes and stumble up the steps. You already ache from all the standing, and if you have it your way, your legs are going to be shaking and trembling too much for the rest of the night to possibly be of use to you.

With his door pushed open, left wide now the house is empty, you pull yourself back into him, only for him to slip his still wet finger between your lips, letting you taste yourself before he captures your mouth, licking your taste from your own tongue.

Then, your hands find his chest, that ridiculous shirt, and pull at it, tugging the fabric taught to his body, eager to get it off and tumble into his sheets with him.

You were right about how sweaty he'd be under the shirt when you finally get your fingers on the buttons, working your way down until you can pull it off. He's shining underneath it, the dark hair of his body slicked down as you drag your hands up over his chest, to his shoulders and then down to his belt.

He suddenly stops you, pulling your hands away, pressing kiss after kiss to your mouth as he fumbles with the buckle. In a huff, after a few failed, distracted, attempts, he pushes you away and pulls off his belt before unzipping his pants.

Joel has barely tugged them down his legs when you're staring wide eyed, howling with laughter, staring directly at his cock. Only, this time, it stares back.

At least, the bald eagle on the front of his boxers does.

"What are those?"

"Nothin'," Joel says, covering himself and trying to tug his boxers over his erection with one hand still trying to pull off his pants. Grabbing his hands, you stop him, pleading as you tug them away from his crotch.

"Show me."

"Look, s'nothin. Just another stupid thing Tommy got me and I thought it'd be funny but..."

"Sure looks like you got somethin' there for me. All this time you were sayin nothin'. Don't tell me you're getting shy on me now. C'mon. Please."

You pout, trying desperately to get him to give in when you have an idea and you're tugging your top off over your head and throwing it to the side, brandishing your star covered nipples to him once more.

"Pretty please," you say with a small shimmy, and Joel's hand immediately falls away, coming up instead to cover his eyes with a sigh.

It's a sight to behold. Really, it is. The eagle is staring back at you once again, still bolstered by Joel's solid length and the heft of his balls behind it. What you hadn't noticed before is it's sitting on a canvas of United States flag, stars and stripes covering his thighs, his hips, his ass.

"Oh wow. Joel those are -" you cough out a laugh "- those are amazing."

He's rolling his eyes. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his posture. "Yeah, real funny, I know."

"No, I like them. Very festive. And y'know what," you say, cupping his cock right over the eagle print of his boxers as you clear your throat. "I pledge allegiance -"

"No, don't you d-"

"- to these balls -"

"Stop."

"- and the cock they sit under -"

"Oh my god," he says, fighting through a laugh, your fingers squeezing and massaging as you pledge yourself, whole heartedly, to the appendage in your hand.

" - one - uh, cock and balls? Is there even a collective word for cock and balls? - under Joel -"

"It's just gettin' worse."

"- definitely indivisible, no divisible balls here - "

"You're killin' me."

"- say it with me now - with liberty and justice for balls."

You try to keep a straight face as you finish. Really you do. But as Joel's whole body shakes and ripples, his balls jiggling in your hand as laughter wracks through him, you can't help but fall into him, letting yourself be propped up by him as you crumple in on yourself in delight.

"You callin' my balls Liberty and Justice now?" Joel finally says through a laugh.

You slide a finger up the leg of his boxers, pulling gently on them as you stare down at the flag adorning his ass and balls.

"Yep. You're Star Spangled Joel with your side kicks, Liberty and Justice."

You give his balls a little squeeze again as you name them.

"Now that you pledged your allegiance, you gonna keep yappin' or you gonna prove it?"

But it's too late, because you're already sinking to your knees, right there in his bedroom, a place you both know you're going to wake up in the morning, wrapped in each other as the sunlight peeks through the curtains.

"Just try to stop me."

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

@youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123

@valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather

@stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @joelsdagger

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics #big bawl jawl #never forget the balls #fic: dress up joel

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missmonsters2 · 1 year

Text

—Lips Over Your Nightmares

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: You've been having trouble sleeping. Nightmares haunt you every time you close your eyes, and Wednesday offers a solution in the form of comfort only she is capable of.

Warnings: Soft!Wednesday. Possessive!Wednesday. Intimate. Wednesday ran out of patience. Emotionally charged confessions. Kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.

Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: I said wednesday is soft for her girl and I will take no arguments about it. The act of kissing in this fic is peak wlw. I'm sleeping on the highway tonight and taking you all with me.

Count: 2.6k

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Nighttime could be hellish.

It was probably why Wednesday adored it so much.

You loved it too. There was something divine about the nighttime. People feared the dark, but you saw it as an opportunity to rest your weary eyes and bones. The night gave way to being invisible, and there were some days when that was all you could bear to be.

But to Wednesday Addams, who loved the dark, you could never be invisible to her.

It was a blessing and a curse.

To be seen by Wednesday—it was something more than many people could ever hope for.

But to be seen when you wanted to be invisible? It was like being dragged without anything to hold onto.

Nighttime was hellish, and you wanted to disappear into the dark as your nightmares plagued you until you couldn't even tell what was the dream and what was the reality.

But Wednesday Addams saw you.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You've missed Enid's late-night studying session again. It's the second week in a row that Enid's gotten a text from you two minutes before the session started.

"I guess we can start," Enid told the group with a disappointed smile. "She's not coming today either."

"Fuck," Xavier sighed. "She's the only one who's good at art restoration. I was hoping she'd help me with my assignment."

Wednesday's face scrunched together mildly, and Xavier rolled his eyes. "Except for you, Wednesday. But you hate teaching me and I hate learning from you."

"I can't help it if you're stupid," Wednesday dully replied.

"Not all of us can do it perfectly after being told what to do—told only once might I add," Xavier raised his brow at her.

Wednesday shrugged, which only seemed to irk Xavier more and to prevent them from bickering further, Yoko turned to Enid and asked, "Why isn't she coming?"

Enid shrugged, her lips quirked to the side as they pressed together. "She texted to say she wasn't feeling well and couldn't make it."

"She does seem tired lately," Bianca commented, her expression in deep thought as she recalled the last two weeks when she saw you. "Also, really quiet. Well, quieter than she normally is."

There were murmurs of agreement around while Wednesday sat silently. Of course, she also noticed, but she was waiting for you to say something to her. You always told her whatever was plaguing you, even when Wednesday told you she didn't ask. Wednesday was used to hearing your mundane thoughts or solving your problems.

But there was nothing this time, and Wednesday couldn't figure it out. She tried to think back to see if anything had changed—if something had happened, but there was nothing.

Two weeks of leaving you be was enough, though, Wednesday decided as she packed her things into her bag.

"What! Wednesday, are you leaving too?" Enid groaned. "But I need help with botanical sciences!"

"Ask Bianca," Wednesday didn't even look up.

Enid looked at the siren, who had a deceitful, happy smile.

"I'd be happy to help you, Sinclair. Let's talk The Poe Cup negotiations first."

"Absolutely not!" Enid scoffed before turning back to Wednesday with pleading eyes. "Wednesday..." she whined.

"Ask Xavier," Wednesday didn't budge.

"But all he does is draw in class. There's no way he's doing well."

"I'll have you know I'm getting a C," Xavier looked affronted.

Enid merely stared at the sullen boy for a long moment before she turned back to Wednesday. "I'll just wait for you tomorrow after school."

Xavier was about to say something else when Wednesday briskly nodded, standing up and leaving the group behind without another word.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was completely silent on the other side of your door, and from its looks, it was dark as no lights were shining underneath it.

Wednesday knocked in three successions.

There was no answer.

If it were anyone else, they would've believed you weren't there and left, but not Wednesday.

No, she knew you far too well.

This was a place where you could truly be invisible with no roommate.

Wednesday knocked insistently until she heard shuffling, an agitated huff, and footsteps approaching the door.

The door only opened marginally. You looked mildly surprised to see her, but Wednesday supposed you had too little energy to manage anything more.

There were dark circles under your eyes, and they looked puffy and slightly red around the edges from lack of sleep. Your skin was pallor, which suited someone like Wednesday, but she decided it was not on you. Your hair lacked its usual shine, and Wednesday's eyes narrowed as she finished scrutinizing you.

"What are you doing here?" You asked quietly.

"Are you going to just let me stand out here?"

"I'm not in the mood for company, Wednesday," you blinked slowly.

It was new.

You were usually happy for Wednesday's company whenever she stopped by, and you often visited her dorm.

"I have had enough of this," Wednesday glared at you through the gap in the door. "You will let me in."

"And if I don't?" You challenged back, and Wednesday almost wanted to applaud the snippy attitude you've mustered through the tiredness.

"Then I will wait out here and ensure you don't get a. Single. Wink. Of. Sleep." It was a threat that tugged at your nerves. You looked at Wednesday, and for a brief moment, she thought she won before you shut the door in her face.

Disbelief clouded over Wednesday's eyes.

Then, Wednesday began to knock incessantly over and over on your door. Her knuckles knock with a vengeance, and she'll be damned if you think she doesn't take absolute joy in torturing you.

It worked because you open the door wider this time, as you stare at Wednesday with a glare.

"What part of 'I'm not in the mood for company' was unclear, Wednesday?" Your voice was gruff, and Wednesday could tell that you were still trying to not snap at her despite how tired you were.

And that in itself was everything. It was like that all the time.

You were always trying to be considerate of whatever feelings you thought Wednesday might have while gently pushing her to admit which ones she was truly feeling.

Maybe that was why Wednesday could never leave you alone now.

You were a gateway to things Wednesday never wanted, and she genuinely thought you should pay for making her desire things she swore she'd never want.

"Say you don't want my company then," Wednesday said haughtily.

Wednesday knew you wouldn't—couldn't, even. You never would.

Just as you were her exception, she was yours.

You pursed your lip at her, starting to close the door swiftly, and Wednesday stuck her foot partially into your room, preventing you from shutting the door in her face again.

"Wednesday!" You called her name, concerned you might've hurt her when the door hit her foot, but the macabre girl used the opportunity to press her palm flat against your door and pushed it wide open.

She took a step forward menacingly, forcing you to take a step back. She took another step, and you took another one back. When she was inside your room fully, she used the back of her heel to shut your door.

The resounding click of it made you swallow.

"Wednesday," you clenched your jaw, fighting against something you weren't even really sure why. But you were terrified—of her, you don't think, but rather what she was capable of doing to your heart.

"I have been patient," Wednesday's voice is quiet, but her tone is sharp, expressing every bit of her lost tolerance. "I have waited for you silently."

Wednesday kept walking towards you, backing you up until your back bumped into your desk. She looked positively irritated. "I have even refrained from saying a single unkind thing despite them running through my mind at the sight of you moping at whatever has been keeping you up at night."

"How did you know—"

"Do you take me for an idiot?" Wednesday's eyes flashed dangerously at your insinuation. You shook your head.

"Then you must take me for a fool with endless patience," Wednesday glared at you. "I don't take kindly to the kind of games you're playing."

"I'm not playing anything—"

Wednesday cut you off again. "Then explain concisely what has been keeping you up and why you've been keeping it to yourself."

Silence filled the room as you didn't speak, but Wednesday had already waited this long. She could wait a little more.

Wednesday watched how you gripped the edge of your desk, your finger tapping underneath in rapid succession before you closed your arms over her chest.

The stance was defensive, but you looked more reluctant than wary.

"I'm having nightmares about you."

The admittance stunned Wednesday, and she didn't know how to take it. Initially, it felt like a compliment because nightmares were so fascinating and exhilarating to experience, and Wednesday hoped to have nightmares every night she slept based on that logic.

But you were not her.

Nightmares, illogically, were typically not desirable.

"Wednesday, I—" You swallowed. "I have feelings for you. You're the best and worst part of my days because I actually feel clinically insane everytime I see you, spend time with you and then have to face the fact that you're not mine and I'm not yours."

Wednesday's jaw clenched, and it was noticeable. She wanted to open her mouth and demand how you could feel the exact same way she did, but she kept her mouth shut, waiting for you to continue on.

"And I have nightmares about losing you," you confessed. "I have nightmares about losing you to Tyler or another deranged supernatural being. I have nightmares about losing you to Xavier or Enid or somebody like Tyler, minus the whole mass genocide. I have nightmares about losing you in every single imaginable way, only to wake up and realize you're not mine, and you can't lose what you don't have."

"I can't tell if the nightmare is when I'm asleep or when I'm awake." You put your hands to your face, laughing hollowly. Tears well up in the back of your eyes, burning as they were so dry from lack of sleep. "I think I'm going crazy."

Wednesday wanted to tell you that going crazy was supposed to be wonderful. But she, herself, has been experiencing the whirlwind of elation and torment you put her through and believed that going crazy wasn't as wonderful as she thought.

But Wednesday decided then and there that there was no way up from crazy. And while it's unfortunate that she's not the brand of crazy like Uncle Fester, she's been driven mad nonetheless. It's the only thing that could explain all of this and everything that's about to come.

Wednesday grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from her face. No visions plague her, and all she knows is that this meant her decision wouldn't end in misfortune and it wouldn't drive her down a lonely path.

"Enid's not expecting me back tonight," Wednesday told you as she dragged you over to your bed. Her succinct tone leaves no room for you to ask any questions.

"Um, okay?" You said anyway, thrown off by her response and feeling exhaustion saw at your bones, dragging the invisible knife back and forth.

Wednesday guided you to get into bed, and you complied. Resignation settled over you as you rested your head on your pillow. It was cold again with you being away from it, but it brought no comfort.

You lay facing the wall, about to pull the blanket up to your chin, when you heard something drop against the floor. You turned your head and saw that Wednesday had set her backpack down, and now she was zipping off her sweater, hanging it on the pole of your bed frame, leaving her in her black long-sleeve.

Wednesday took her shoes off before using every bit of her vulnerability to steadily and carefully climb into bed with you. It was dark, with only a little light from the moonlight shining just barely into the room, and you could make out the barest hint of her features and knew she was staring intently at you, trying to ascertain if this was a boundary both of you could bear to cross.

Her touch was slow and hesitant, revealing this was something she's never done before, but the moment you were in her arms, you clicked into place like a puzzle piece.

Wednesday was cool against your body, but she was warming from your touch and shared heat trapped under the blanket. She smelt like rain and dry leaves, and you felt like you were going insane. You buried your face into her neck.

Wednesday wrapped her arms around you, holding you close, allowing the things she's been desiring for a while to come to fruition. She couldn't tell if this was making her saner or driving her closer to insanity.

It was deliriously pleasant.

"Who said you're not mine?" Wednesday muttered into the shell of your ear.

It's suddenly not enough, and Wednesday now knew the answer was that it was driving her closer to insanity.

Wednesday pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes that were so tired just moments ago. The dark circles remained, but you were wide awake, speckles of oblivion in your eyes.

Despite how everything else changed as you became sleep deprived, your lips still remained full and soft.

Wednesday moved to close the gap, sighing softly as her lips slanted against yours.

How could she feel like jagged glass, splintered and sharp, while you felt so soft, practically melting around her serrated edges?

Wednesday only pulled back marginally, cupping your jaw and the back of your neck. "Who told you that you don't already have me? I want names."

You couldn't even think straight with how her breath felt on your lips. You pushed forward again, pressing your lips against Wednesday's insistently.

Was it possible for reality to be better than a dream?

Your lips slotted over Wednesday's over and over and over. Wednesday tugged at your bottom lip, smoothing over it with her tongue before it dipped at the edge of your mouth where your tongue met hers.

It was dizzying, something that frequently happened to Wednesday when it was too warm. She usually hated the sensation of it, but, of course, as many things were exceptions when it came to you, this was one of them too.

"Your nightmares are inane."

You couldn't help but laugh against Wednesday's lip.

"I think I am actually insane," you grinned, and you saw a ghost of something similar on Wednesday's lips.

"Sleep," Wednesday ordered you, kissing you chastely initially but ending up biting your bottom lip tenderly. Her hands pull you closer, her lips resting on your forehead. "I'm here, so nothing will plague you."

The softness of Wednesday is unimaginable, and you're nearly skeptical.

"But—"

"No." Wednesday countered bluntly. "I'm telling you that I'm here and yours. You may come to regret it, knowing how...difficult I am. But you're stuck with me. Congratulations," Wednesday tilts her head slightly, brushing against yours, "or condolences."

But you could hear Wednesday's heartbeat, and it was dark, and you were so tired, but you were close enough to hear Wednesday's heartbeat.

Your lips tingle from Wednesday's kisses. You felt your eyelids grow heavy along with your body, and the way Wednesday shifted told you she was satisfied.

Nighttime could be hellish, but Wednesday Addams saw you—she always would. And all she had to do was put her lips over your nightmares.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x ofc #wednesday x ofc #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #mm: my fics

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trinidaddy888 · 10 months

Text

Fridge Mission

Lucifer needs your help. Beelzebub has been eating everything from the fridge and Lucifer trusts that you can stop him. You try and give Beel something else he can eat. >;)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Characters: Beelzebub, Reader, MC

Ship: Reader x Beelzebub

Genre: Smut

Tags: Smut, gender-neutral reader (but reader wears a bra lol), race-neutral reader, oral sex, vaginal fingering.

A/n: This idea started as a joke months ago every time I get the Obey Me notification. This is the first smut I've ever written and published, so please be nice. This took months only because I kept getting embarrassed by this and didn't think it was being written well. I decided that I no longer cared if it would be good or not and wanted to have fun writing this and test the deep waters of smut. Check it out on AO3.

Masterlist

“I need your help,” says Lucifer.

You and he are in his den, one afternoon. Earlier, he texted you and asked you to meet him to discuss something important. He did not clarify and you hoped he would now that he’s right in front of you.

“Help with what?” you ask, curious as to what he could possibly need help with. He is one of the greatest, most powerful demons in Devildom. What could he not handle himself?

“Well,” he starts, “Beelzebub has been eating all the food in the fridge. Every day at 12 pm or 6 pm he is in front of the fridge, eating everything he can get his hands on. It’s taxing on our food budget and some days we are left without dinner.”

You remember the days when Lucifer opted to order take-out meals for you and the brothers rather than welcome a home-cooked meal from whoever was on cooking duty for the day.

“Are you sure, I can convince him to stop?” you ask, “Once he gets to eating, it’s hard to stop him.”

“Beelzebub has grown attached to you and I feel that you can be his voice of reason. He has certainly failed at listening to my requests to stop. I believe that a more trusted friend, one that he has a pact with, can finally stop him. Please prevent Beelzebub from eating everything.”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, “I’ll try my best. I doubt I’ll do anything useful to stop him, but I’ll try my best.

------------------

You stand by the fridge, checking your watch. It’s 5:57 pm. Beelzebub would be in the kitchen soon and you’ll have to stop him. You have no plan. You figure that the best way to stop him would be to find the cause of the problem. But is there a reason behind him devouring the whole fridge at the times Lucifer mentioned? Beel is the Avatar of Gluttony so there could just be no discernible reason for his cravings.

“Hey,” say Beel, interrupting your thoughts.

“Hey,” you say back to him, “How’s it going?”

He towers over you. Most of the brothers do but his height even outmatches Lucifer’s.

“Uh… Fine,” he says, seeming confused by the conversation, “Do you mind moving out of the way?”

“Why?” you ask, feigning innocence, “Do you need something?”

“I’m hungry,” he says. He wasn’t being pushy, he just stated it as if it was a fact. “I just want a snack.”

“A snack or the whole fridge? Lucifer told me what you have been doing.”

“A whole fridge’s worth of food is a snack,” he says with a shrug.

“Don’t you think you should leave some food for me and your brothers?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, “Satan has to cook dinner and needs the ingredients.”

He moves closer, placing his hand against the fridge, arm stretching over you.

“I can make you move,” he says, something dark in his voice.

You realize that he's trying to seem threatening, but you know him well enough and trust that he will not hurt you. Still, there was something sexy about the way he said it.

“Then make me,” you challenge.

He stares you down, quietly and you stare right back up at him, crossing your arms.

He sighs, backing off. You can swear you see him blush but you’re not sure.

“Fine,” he says, defeatedly, “you win.”

You smile.

“Hey, I have snacks in my room,” you offer, “Human world snacks and I’ve been meaning to repaint my nails. Why don’t you join me?”

His face remains neutral but you see something light up in his eyes.

“Okay,” he gives in.

In your room, you sit him down at your desk and bring over a side chair to sit next to him. You already have the tools, nail polish and nail polish remover for the manicure set on the table. You grab his hand and start to remove his nail polish with a cotton ball soaked in nail polish remover.

With his hands in yours, you notice how big his hands are. The first time you realized how big they were was on your waist when you and he cuddled once. That was the night you shared your room during a Devil Dish Bake-off binge with some snacks.

That night made you see him less like one of the youngest brothers with a hefty, destructive appetite and more like a soft, tender demon. After you both shared so much over the months since the Belphie incident, you also became closer as friends. Friends. Which is why you can not think of what it would feel like for those large hands to explore you.

“So,” you begin, waving away the intrusion of curious thoughts, “As the Avatar of Gluttony I know you can’t resist eating a lot, but Lucifer told me that your urge to eat everything out of the fridge was fairly recent. Do you know why?”

“I get extra hungry when I’m trying to distract myself from something,” he says, avoiding your gaze.

“What are you trying to distract yourself from?” you ask, switching to filing his nails, “And are you still hungry?”

He’s silent. He gazes at you and then looks down at the hand that you were manicuring.

“I can’t say,” he finally says, “It’s a secret. And, yeah, I’m still hungry.”

“Yeah, and it’s a secret that affects the whole House of Lamentation,” you say pointing the nail file at him, “Now spill it.”

“It’s a secret about someone… I want.”

“Oh, that’s juicy!” you exclaim with delight, “Who? Someone I know? Come on, tell me.”

He looks up at you, eyes smoldering

“It’s you… That I want.”

“Me?” You are perplexed. You stop filing and are now gawking at him. “What about me could possibly drive you to eat an entire fridge’s worth of food.”

“It’s something you would not like the answer to, trust me,” he says looking down at his hand again. And you noticed that his cheeks and ears were red.

You think for a moment. Lucifer’s plea to stop Beel from eating everything swims in your mind. Maybe you don’t want to know but you have a mission.

“Whatever it is,” you say, “I can handle it.”

“Fine. It’s… Well, you’re human and you smell good, so it makes me… Well, this is hard to say out loud…”

“I make you hungry?! I know you all threatened to eat me at first when I got here, but damn! If cleaning out a fridge is what it takes to stop...”

“No,” he cut you off, now looking right at you, “You make me horny.”

Silence fell between the two of you. You were in shock. You?! But you’re human. Surely there are many hot demons out there that he wants to fuck, instead.

“Are you sure? You feel that way?” you ask slowly, “When did this start?”

He moves closer to you, staring with intensity.

“I think it started when we shared your room that one time,” he says, “We cuddled and the smell of you drove me crazy. I thought I wanted to eat you but...” He trailed off. The rouge shade of his cheeks deepen

“You thought so, but what?” you ask, urging him to continue.

“I got a boner,” he croaks.

“Oh…okay,” you say, voice high pitched, “I guess this is context for why you avoided me for a week after we cuddled. I thought I made you uncomfortable.”

And it is context for what you felt when you both spooned. You thought it was a candy bar in his pocket.

“No!” he exclaims, “I just didn’t know what I would have said to you if we were left alone. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship with… my needs.”

He looks embarrassed. It’s kind of…cute.

“Nothing you say will ruin our friendship,” you reassure him.

“Really?”

“Yes, I promise. Besides, I can’t say I’ve never thought of you that way, either. I mean, look at you. You’re so ripped.”

“I do work out a lot.”

You laugh. “It shows.”

“I think it’s my turn to file your nails,” he says, grabbing your hand.

He starts filing your nails.

“I wonder about you guys here in the House of Lamentation. Besides Asmo, do you guys get laid? Because if so, I’m not aware of it.

“I can’t speak for everyone else, but for me, it’s been a while. Lucifer made a curfew for us ever since he caught Mammon gambling at casinos late at night.”

“That sucks,” you say, and you really did feel bad for him and his brothers.

“What about you?” he asks, voice lowering a couple of octaves.

“Honestly, not since I left the Human World. And everyone besides the angels and Solomon has been a threat to even consider getting with them. It’s sad because I thought demons would be good at things like that. Maybe I have those expectations because I’ve never had good head from a human before.”

“Want to change that?” he asks. He is staring at you, his gaze longing and lustful.

Your heart thumps. Did you hear that right? His expression is serious and deep with longing.

“W…What?” you sputter.

“I said, do you want me to change that?” he repeats, voice husky and moving even closer.

Shit. You have been dreaming about this since coming to Devildom and the offer comes so easily from one of the hottest demons in Devildom? You can’t possibly pass up the opportunity.

“Yes,” you say breathlessly.

He gazes at you, with deep passion and pulls your hand to his mouth and kisses it. He traces his tongue from your wrist, to your fingers, stopping to lick them. His tongue is gentle but firm. His mouth felt so good. You bite your lower lip and close your eyes, imagining if it would feel just as good if he did the same to your cunt.

He rolls his chair over to you and his mouth is covering yours, tongue brushing over your lips until your mouth falls open. He kisses you, mouth hungry to taste all of you. And you let him, running your fingers through his honey-orange hair. His lips are surprisingly soft for someone as strong as him.

“Can we take this to my bed?” you ask, pulling away.

Wordlessly, he does as he’s asked, promptly lifting you to his chest and carrying you to your bed. He puts you down, your back resting against your bed frame, and climbs over you.

He kisses you again, tongue exploring your mouth even further. His kiss is powerful but gentle. You’ve never been kissed like this by a human or anyone before this. You lean into him, your tongue, following his lead, allowing yourself to taste him. His tongue brushes over your bottom lip before he bites it. It stings a little but in exactly the way you liked. His kisses travel to your neck, tasting the salty-sweet flavour of your sweat, licking, sucking and biting to his heart’s content, enjoying the taste. You can feel your pussy revel at the feel of his touch, wanting and wishing for more.

He pulls away for a moment, to undo your button-down shirt which you shrug out of throw onto the floor. His large hands grace your back and unhook your bra band. Your bra slides off to your waist, revealing your bare chest, much to his delight. He takes in the sight, smiling devilishly. You wonder what he was thinking.

He takes one breast to his mouth and fondles the other with a free hand. He fondles them, gently.

“Rougher,” you demand. He grabs them, kneading them with his hand and squeezes your nipples between his index finger and thumb. You whimper at the sensation and push your chest harder into his hands. He squeezes harder, testing which pressure gathers a moan from you.

You moan and with the other breast, he traces his tongue over the edge of your areola before flicking over your nipple. He bites and tugs your nipple and then sucks. His mouth is warm and wet. You haven’t had your tits sucked since being in the Human World and experiencing it now after the long absence of touch was nearly enough to make you unravel. You feel your body shudder from pleasure and you realize that you’re panting.

Your clit aches to be touched, too. You move your hand to your pussy and start rubbing your clit with your fingers, trying to please the parts of your body that ached for attention.

He notices your attempt to please yourself, says, “Here, let me,” and he frees his hand from your breast.

He licks his fingers and slides his hand under your pants, finding your clit. There was no clumsy fumbling to find its exact position. He just knew. You wonder if it was that your previous partners were just that bad. Or did Beel’s thousands of years being alive give him an edge?

“Oh,” he smirks, “You’re wet, that fast?”

You cover your face, feeling embarrassed.

“Yes,” you say, “It’s been a while. And you’re doing… a good job.”

He grins up at you and moves his face down to your breast again to suck.

He uses his index and middle fingers to play with your clit. His hands are rough and your body invited the texture. It was a simple motion and it did the job, eliciting breathy gasps from you.

His lips move south, kissing your solar plexus, down to your navel. You ravel in his kisses, feeling like your body was born for his mouth.

He stops kissing your body to look up at you and says, “I want to taste more of you. Can I?”

You nod, wordlessly.

He smiles and moves to pull your pants down. You adjust to make it easier for him to do this and watch him throw your pants to the floor. He kisses your tummy and then stops to tug at the waistband of your panties with his teeth and pulls them off.

He kisses your thigh and moves one of his thumbs to your clit and rubs. You gasp and press your body into his touch. His kisses lead up to your upper inner thigh and he pauses to take in the sight of your cunt, captivated by what he sees.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, desire in his voice.

You blush and say, “Thank you.”

He leans in and puts his mouth on your throbbing clit and starts to flick his tongue on it. His tongue is firm and wet. He starts slow, circling the outside of the apex, teasing you. You breathe deeply.

With being wet, his index and middle fingers slide into you easily. You take them in for a few inches, noticing how large his fingers are.

He passes his tongue over your clit and curls his fingers inside you. You feel the pressure on the front of your vagina, on your g-spot.

He licks and pumps his fingers inside you slowly. You figure that he was testing the motion that you would like

“Faster,” you command.

He does as he asks and starts sucking, too. With that addition, you feel yourself unravel. You grip the sheets, moaning. Uncontrollably, you grind into his fingers and face, yearning for more.

You look down and realize that he’s looking right up at you, eyes lustful. It was as if he was enjoying looking at you respond to him. You’re so lost in his eyes that you don’t realize that you are approaching a climax.

You cum, feeling your body flooded with pleasure. You scream through the pleasure. You feel a dampness on your cunt and see your wetness on his face.

You see him start to remove his face from you.

You put your hand on his head, fingers entangled in honey-orange hair and pull him closer to you.

“No!” you exclaim, voice breathless, “Don’t stop!”

He does as he is told. He licks, sucks, licks, sucks and fingers you until you cum again. You scream, voice starting to feel hoarse. You lay back, panting. He comes up and sits next to you. He stares at you, eyes focused.

“Are you okay?” Beelzebub asks.

You catch your breath and finally are able to speak.

“Yes,” you say grinning, “I’m excellent. Thank you.”

He grins back at you.

He leans in and kisses you. You can taste yourself on his mouth.

“We should do this again,” he says when he pulls away.

“We should…” you start and then come to a realization. “Wait! I didn’t get you off! I think we can start on your turn.”

“Well,” he says with an amused grin, “We can take a shot at it, if you want.”

You grab him by the collar of his tshirt and pull him closer in for another kiss.

And then suddenly there is a knock at the door.

“Dinner is ready!” you hear Satan shout.

You look down. You realize that you are completely naked and your thighs are covered in your own slick and thank the heavens that Satan is one of the few brothers in the House of Lamentation that actually knocks.

Beelzebub frowns. “Damn.”

“Hold on, Beel,” you say, surprised at his dismay, “Are you actually disappointed that food is ready? Weren’t you very hungry half an hour ago? What about the fridge you wanted to eat all of?”

“Well,” he says smiling, “I found something else to eat.”

#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me fandom #obey me fanfiction #obey me reader #obey me!#obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel x reader #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me mc #Fridge Mission #obey me beel x mc #obey me beel smut #obey me beelzebub x mc #obey me beel x you #obey me beelzebub x you #obey me smut

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vvenus-child · 11 months

Text

❀ an: hi! this is my first fic published on tumblr! fluffly all the way. My AO3 where you can leave kudos. I write from multi fandoms such as ACOTAR, Dramione and Original works ❀ Tags: Carmen Berzatto; Carmen Berzatto x Female Reader

She had ladybugs earrings. It wasn't the first thing Carmen noticed about her, no. But it was something he came to associate with her.

At a random Thursday, Sugar and Syd had ripped him a new one about not updating the restaurant's Instagram from all things. So when he had a moment of quiet where he couldn't sleep because his head was so full, he thought it would be a nice idea to use social media for work. He opened the app, unfamiliar with all the options and the immense number of notifications. The latest one was a tagged picture from a dish they had served for some customer. She had tagged the account with a simple caption "best meal I had in this city. My compliments to the chef - however they are!" with a string of emojis he sure did not even fathom to understand.

So Carmen did what he thought was the greatest management of social media ever: he commented "tks :)" under it.

A few hours later a still insomniac Carmen heard a ping from his cellphone. A direct message from Instagram made him frown and scowl a bit. It said "hi!!!! I love your place! do you guys work with delivery or take out?". Minutes passed and he did not answer. He was tired and confused to why someone would be asking this at 03am via a social media profile.

Another ping rang.

"Sorry, it's just I work late nights and your place is my fav in the city. I'm new here, don't know many places yet. Thank you xx"

He fumbled a bit in his bed before answering. A touch of nostalgia for Mike's old way of dealing with The Beef tried to take a hold of his heart. He made sure to snuff it out before typing it quickly.

"No we don't work like that anymore"

And he swore in a low voice.

"Look for Richie tmw say Carmen told u so"

The next day Carmen wanted nothing more than to hide in the fridge and die freezing. The night was so exhausting, someone had burned their food, plates were dropped, Syd had a bad case of allergies, Tina was in a fucking bad mood. The texts were the last thing on his mind when Richie came screaming from the front.

"Yo, cous, some chick looking for you. Said you were the social media manager. Didn't know we were using instagram to hook up now", he laughed and slapped Carm in the back.

"Fuck off, Richie"

Carm walked to see a round face looking back at him. She had dark, long curls around her face. Although her skin was darker than his, he still could manage to see the dark circles under her eyes. She had an apologetic smile and a few Tupperware containers that were not that hidden on her tote bag.

"Sorry! Hey! We spoke on Instagram last night? You said I could look for you? Sorry I'm late, had to extend my shift a bit and some more" she babbled for a few seconds, hands flying off while she talked. He could see the dark pink stain on her cheeks. "It's okay if you guys are closed! I didn't even look at the time when I got out of home,I’m so sorry."

Carm wanted to laugh at how much this girl apologized - he didn't of course, because then he would be the one blushing. She managed to look even more embarrassed than he was in social situations. He decided to take her out of her misery and told her that it was okay. He was the chef and no, it was okay, truly. It was not a problem to help her with a take out. Yes, he understood late nights very well.

Carmen didn't actually know what made him make this one exception to this customer. They still didn't do take outs, but something like kinship rouse in him when she said that it was her favorite place and she worked crazy hours. Maybe he felt he could build a place with as much heart and tradition as Mike, on his own way. So everyday she would come by, sometimes a bit after they had closed, sometimes on the rush hours - then she would wait on one of the tables or eat there. Richie started to yell at the back "Cous, your girl is here" one day, much to Carm dismay.

"She is not my girl, fucker"

"Then why does she ask for you everyday, huh?" he would say with his comically raised eyebrows, "can I ask for her number then?"

For some reason Carmen wanted to punch him in the throat. It did need a lot of reason most days.

"No, you can't. She is a customer and you don't ask customers for their numbers".

Richie left him with a knowing smile.

They never chatted much about deep subjects, if it was a slow day here, if she was dying of a heartburn because of work related stress there. She was also not an adventurous eater. The same order most days. Carm noticed that day she would wear the same ladybug earrings everyday too. They also shared cigarettes breaks on the regular. I'm a reluctant chainsmoker since 16, she told him once with a shy smile. Only watermelon one's thought, Marlboro's light too.

He had laughed at her for that. Flavored shit, really? What's next? Smoking the stupid pens?

Then they bonded over their disgust over electronic cigarettes that day.

Once he caught her helping out customers choose their meal when the staff was too busy with a problem. One day when she bought a group of friends someone had to call Carm from the kitchen. He was smelling of grease, hair dirty and his apron had stains of food in it. He didn't know it was her, it was lunchtime and one of the cooks had not shown up. His cheeks grew hot when he saw her, lips red and eyes lined with dark colors, a brown coat over the chair. She didn't have her earrings this time. A golden chain with a cross dangled from her neck to her cleavage. He was caught staring by one of her friends, who asked "so you are the chef friend?". Her make up did little to hide her blushing.

The time she did not pick up her dinner, Carm got anxious. He asked Richie for her number, because of course he had it. He debated if he should text.

"u ok?", he did.

When he didn't receive an answer, he showed up at her door with dinner in his hands. It was only a few blocks away, right? He got her address from the receipt, it wasn't creepy, right?

"You didn't show up, I brought you dinner", he said breathlessly.

It was definitely creepy, Richie laughed when he told him.

After that he would sometimes bring her dinner. She would bake him something, make him taste it - and everyone else too, no, he truly wasn't special, Carm tried to tell himself.

One day she asked him if he wanted to come in. He didn't, at least not a first. No, he had to get back to the restaurant, really. No, it wasn't because of her. Sorry, no- yeah- I- Uh, I-I got to go.

They would text each other. He was terrible at it, as always, but he initiated after feeling bad for not tasting the cake she had made him.

The first time Carm kissed her it had been over a year from the instagram message. They were in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor and she was cleaning some dishes. He had said something under his breath that made her laugh so loud the sound had echoed the whole room. He felt his heart squeeze inside his chest like a vise. Mike's words played over and over in his head "let it rip".

Carmen had not planned to kiss her that night. When she asked him to help close, so Tina could leave early, he accepted. Having her around wasn't a bother. When cleaning a particularly sharp knife she had cut her finger. His first instinct was to help and not curse her for the carelessness. Still, he didn't kiss her at that moment.

When they had finished, almost out the door, he pulled her by the neck pushing her back against the counter.

Her mouth felt like water after a long trip to the desert.

She was using her ladybug earrings.

She tasted like vanilla and chocolate.

#text post #carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you

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dangerousduckcloud · 2 months

Text

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“Don’t scream, bitch.” Your breath caught in your throat, the night wind cold in your face, a single lit blinking streetlight on top of you lighting up the street, the rest covered in darkness. “The boss will be happy to see you again.”

Chapter 11 < > Chapter 13

Masterlist

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog @katrina0-0 @readingfictionnothingelse @lookingforsyd

If anyone else would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

This chapter took me a bit later to update than usual because a lot of changes (nothing bad) happened on my life, so I didn't have much time to be on my computer, but things are settling down now!

You couldn’t continue with the conversation, what else could you say? The boldness you’d felt disappeared as suddenly as it appeared, being replaced by shame that soon overcame your body, taking its rightful place in the part of your brain that fed of the worst possible outcomes your mind could think of at his lack of reply.

Because he didn’t even try to reply, to try and say something only to come out empty and leave it like that. No. He never even tried it, as the writing status never showed up (Not like you had spent half an hour looking at the screen in hopes of a response…).

He was certainly content with leaving it like that.

With a disappointed sigh, your gaze moved from the empty notification box on the phone to the droning voice in the background of the room, the weather cast of yet another raining week in Gotham. Why did they even bother? It rained every week in Gotham.

Letting your hand drop to the bed, you left the phone somewhere around the sheets, searching for the tv remote, surfing channels until you could find something mildly interesting.

“—llionaire Bruce Wayne, it sure is a wonder how he’s managed to keep his company afloat.” The host said, the show was one of those evenings gossip programs that only helped to spread rumors about famous people. “Must be from all the air in his head.” Fake, canned laughs accompanied the lame joke. “Seriously, who in their right mind hands seventy percent of responsibilities of their multi-billionaire company to their seventeen-year-old son? It’s only a matter of time before he drives it to bankruptcy.”

Your lip curled at hearing the presenter talk trash about Tim, if only they knew he was as smart —if not maybe even smarter— than Batman, they wouldn’t be talking shit. Tim could physically and mentally outsmart everyone watching the program right now. Hell, even the leader of the League of Assassins was so impressed by his smarts he wanted to work with him.

Huh, did Tim still had his spleen? You should make a note of asking him later.

A muffled ding from your phone had your heart beating fast, looking under the covers to find the device and check if he’d finally replied. You did have a message, but the sender, as well as the content, made you frown.

| Come down to the cave.

It read. A second text popping up a few seconds later.

| Please.

It was unusual of him to say his ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s, so you assumed it must be something important to him to say it. You stood up, not wanting to leave the kid waiting, switching your sandals for sneakers, as the cave tended to be quite cold, especially late in the evenings.

When you got down there, you couldn’t see anyone, specially since patrol wasn’t going to start until a couple of hours later, when the family would come down here to warm up before going out. Was he simply pranking you? You scoffed at being forced to get up from your comfy bed for nothing, turning around to go back to your room.

“Hiya!” A voice said from behind, hitting you on your arm with a cheap, plastic sword.

“Damian!” you groaned, rubbing your arm with the tip of your fingers. It didn’t really hurt; it was mostly the anger at being hit. “What the hell?”

“I gave away my location with a cry of war, you should have been able to block it.”

“Yeah, well, ‘s not like I was expecting to get jumped at here.”

“And that was your mistake.” He said, walking towards the training area, leaving the toy on the floor. “I shall rectify that for our next outing to the city in our civilian identities, shall we get confronted with an unfortunate situation once again.”

He took off his shoes, his socked feet bouncing slightly on the training mats, waiting for you to do the same. Your head tilt lightly to the left, the meaning behind his words dawned on you.

“You want to teach me self-defense?” The tip of his ears’ turning pink was enough answer for you, walking up to hug him. “Aww, Damian! I knew you cared!”

“Let go of me, dolt. I am only doing this to avoid another hostage situation that impedes the imprisonment of criminals.” You let him go, the kid dusting his clothes of any visible dust, with you feeling guilty at being reminded that Two-Face escaped because of you. “Now, remove your shoes so that we can begin.”

“But I’m not wearing gym clothes.” Your loose, red t-shirt, and black, cargo pants were probably the worst thing to train with.

“It is preferable to be wearing something you are most likely to wear if another incident were to happen, that way it doesn’t impede you from fighting back.” You hummed, using the tip of your foot to remove your shoes, not bothering to untie them.

The blue mat underneath you was firm. If you were to fall with even the least of force, it will most likely hurt for a second, but nothing that’ll do any kind of damage.

“Alright, what now?”

“You have been held at gunpoint already, but trying to disarm an armed man is the least thing you should do unless you are highly trained in martial arts like us.”

You frowned, kicking your right foot on the mat.

“So, what am I gonna learn, then?”

“Tt. I thought you were smarter. I just told you. Martial arts.”

You stood rooted in your spot. Damian Al-Ghul Wayne, grandson of the Demon’s Head, son of Batman, was going to teach you to fight?

“You want to teach me crime fighting?”

“No. Todd would endlessly hunt me if I did that— I am simply teaching you self-defense, whatever you decide to do with that knowledge is up to you.”

“What’s got Jason to do with— Umph!” Damian didn’t give you the opportunity to finish, instead, his foot swiftly knocking you on your back, the air leaving your lungs. You were right, the fall did hurt even on the padded mat. “Why?” You groaned, accepting his had to help you back up.

“You need to improve your surroundings awareness, but we can work on that during the day. Now, copy my movements.”

You did regular warming up exercises first, until he began to swiftly swing his arms as if to punch someone, going all the way out and then snapping them back in, going slow and then gradually upping the pace. While doing so, Damian thoroughly explained the exercise —the hook punch— would help you build muscle and getting your shoulders strong.

Once Damian was satisfied with your punches, he moved on to teaching you an uppercut, a right kick, side kick and a front back kick, first doing them in the air, moving to the training dummies, to a kick pad he was holding to teach you precision.

You were spent. Your shoulders hurt with the tiniest of movements, you were sure your knuckles were slightly bleeding from under the bandages, your legs were pulsating, tiny needles pricking you everywhere.

You felt like you wanted to nap for a thousand years, while Damian was barely sweating, taking a sip of his water, another bottle left on the floor next to your head, a straw pointed at you.

Lolling your head, you took the straw into your mouth, moaning once the refreshing water touched the desert it was your lips, an oasis for your broken body.

Damian sat down next to you, legs outstretched and his arms supporting him behind him. “He likes you too.”

“Who?” You asked, unsure if the two of you had been talking about someone and your brain didn’t register it.

“Todd. I had never seen him so upset when a civilian was in danger.”

Then why hadn’t he responded to your last message? It’s not like he didn’t know where you were all day, every day, to come and talk. And as much as you would like to believe love at first sight was real, it simply wasn’t. You two hadn’t spent that much time together for him to develop any kind of feelings, you wanted to believe there’s a possibility he might consider you attractive, but that was it.

“It’s simply because he knows me. I’m sure he would’ve been the same had it been you, or Cass, or Steph.”

“It has been us already, in our line of work it is not uncommon to be held at gunpoint; he worries, of course, but not like he did with you.”

Do not listen to Damian your mind screamed. But why not? your heart begged.

“It’s… different, Dami. He knows you’re capable of taking care of yourselves, I’m just a normal person, not a vigilante. I don’t know what to do in that situation.”

“Tt. What will it be? He would’ve been the same if it was us, or he does not worry as he is aware of our capabilities? Cloud your judgment with poor reasoning as much as you want. That is not the truth.”

Why were you so hellbent on not considering the possibility that maybe, just maybe he did like you? Every time the idea crossed your mind, your pulse quickened, and you felt empty. You always thought it was nervousness, excitement, maybe even hope.

But it was quite obvious if you thought about it for more than one second; it was fear.

Fear of having your feelings reciprocated, fear of having something real and having it taking away in an instant. You don’t belong here, you’ll leave and you can’t take that love home with you; they’re going to forget you, move on like they do from every single weird plight they’re drag to every month or so, while you’ll be left hollowed out with the longing of a life you’ll never be able to have.

“Ready for tomorrow?” You changed topics, heavily lifting your body until you were sitting, legs crossed, it pained you to do the simplest of movements, slowly closing and opening your hand to try and get rid of the pain. Damian had grabbed the plastic sword again, swinging it around as if it were a real one, his strikes to the dummy getting harsher at the mention of school.

“It is just a waste of my time, time I could be spending patrolling. Father does not allow me to go out during the week. Do you know how many cases I could be helping with?”

His last strike to the dummy broke the sword, the clattering of the plastic muffled by the training mat.

“Come on, school’s not that bad. I’m sure there’s some interesting clubs you can join, why don’t you check them out tomorrow?”

“Whatever…”

He picked up the broken part of the sword, checking to see if he could probably glue it back together. He walked past you, to where you’d seen some crates positioned to the far end wall. You’d finished your water already, but with doing more exercise this night than your whole life, you wanted to drink a whole river, however, that meant getting up and walking all the way to—

No, no, no, no. That voice, that cold, metallic barrel on the back of your head couldn’t be real, they’re gone, behind bars and with several broken bones, courtesy of Red Hood.

Where was Jason?

Jason, Jason.

JASON.

You were back on the dingy basement, blood curling screams shattering the heavy atmosphere, steps were getting closer and closer from everywhere, echoing around the dilapidating walls.

“You thought you could escape?” A voice said, warping into a raspy, warbled voice reverberating all around you, eerie and screeching. “You can’t escape from the Scarecrow.”

The disembodied voice took form, a burlap mask with black, empty eyes that never stopped looking at you, even when he had his back to you, neck twisting like an owl’s.

“This will hurt, Jane.” He grabbed your arms, screaming in your face, the hold fickle until the palms were barely touching you, your name being called over and over again, but the voice wasn’t gnarled anymore, it was distant, raspy but childish-like.

“Jane!” It called again. Your vision was blurry, unfocused, bright blue lights enveloping you, the screams fading until they turned into a constant hum you’d learned to tune out. Through your tears, blurry green eyes met yours, but those were not the ones you wanted to see, these ones were harsh, cognizant, and hopeful, hiding his panic behind a green ocean. “Jane, you are safe. You are in the Batcave. I am Damian Wayne, not the Scarecrow.”

“Damian?” He nodded. “I—What happened? I wanted more water and then… Then I was there.”

“I am not sure. You had a panic attack, but I do not know what caused it.”

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to remember what the cause could’ve been. “I felt something, on the back of my head.” With a shaking hand, you prodded behind your head, feeling nothing but your hair and sweaty neck. “That’s when I heard the voices.”

Damian’s eyes widened, biting his bottom lip, looking at something behind you, following his gaze to see the taped-up sword discarded on the floor.

“I did not know.” His voice wavered the slightest bit. “I simply wished to annoy you, but when I put the sword to your head… You froze up, trembling and begging. I did not mean to cause such a reaction.”

You took a deep breath, calming your racing heart. Damian wasn’t here when you tried to escape, and knowing how great this family was at communicating, it was safe to assume no one had informed him of the kidnapping.

It was hard to be mad at him for something it wasn’t his fault (although you wanted to, for bringing you back to that moment), hell, you didn’t even know something like this could’ve happen, and with him looking so lost, out of the loop and believing it was his fault, you could barely hold the sentiment of anger. He looked so miserable, almost as much as you did. “I did not know that could happen.” Damian whispered, more to convince himself that this was an accident than anything else, and sat down away from you, afraid he would do something else to cause another panic attack.

With your heavy arms, you opened them, inviting him to hug you. The kid was wary, getting up a couple of centimeters. “Would you please hug me?” You knew you had to make him believe he was only doing it because you were distressed —which you were, a lot—, knowing he wouldn’t do it out of his own volition for not wanting to be seen as weak. Only when you said please did he stood up, sitting next to you, his arms encircling you in a way it showed he wasn’t used to hugging people and thus didn’t know how.

You hugged him tightly, resting your head on his hair, his head burrowing on your shoulder. You needed this as much as he did.

“Where… Did you go?” His voice was soft and doubtful in a way you��d never heard him speak. “You said that you were ‘there’.”

Taking a deep breath, you began explaining to him how unsafe you felt at the begging of all this, thinking you’d been kidnapped, and how you escaped only to actually be kidnapped.

“I am not surprised Drake did not bother to explain the situation. His incompetence is not surprising.” He scoffed, a light chuckle coming out of you. Midway during the explanation, you both laid down on the floor, some bats flying on the roof from time to time. “Are you… Will you inform Grayson of what happened?”

“Hm?” You were looking at a bat perched on the ceiling, cleaning its wings.

“I will understand if you do, and I will take any punishment you deem fit for my blunder.”

“What?” You turned to look at him. “Damian, I—Yeah, I will tell him, but not to accuse you or anything, just to let him know that things like that can provoke bad flashbacks for me, but you won’t be reproved for an accident.”

He nodded, turning his gaze back to the bats. What did he had to endure to believe that he had to be punished for a mistake? For something he had no control over and had no way of knowing it would happen? From what you’d gathered, he’d been here for at least a year, maybe a bit more. It wasn’t easy to understand the way you’d been brought up wasn’t the right one, to forget everything you’d been taught to in the span of a year, but his reaction made you think that not much had changed since he moved in to the manor.

You would have to pay more attention to the way he was treated around with everyone.

The silence that came upon was disturbed the sound of a motorcycle’s engine, only one person who could belong to. You both stood up, with Damian running to the parking pad.

“Akhi.” Damian greeted him. Jason got off the bike, taking off his helmet, his soft curls were all over the place, the tips wet with sweat. Did they have a heater in here or why were you feeling warmer?

“Hey, Demon Spawn.” Despite being a harsh nickname —and one would think it was because Jason didn’t like him—, it was the opposite, a warm smirk on his face, messing up Damian’s hair. “Oh, hey, Jane, what are you two doing down here?”

“Dami’s teaching me to defend myself.”

“Mmh.” Damian agreed. “I taught her five moves; she is a quick learner. I could have taught her more, but her brittle body had to take a break. Of course, I can still go on.”

It couldn’t be a compliment from Damian if it wasn’t also veiled as an insult.

“Really? You plannin’ on joining us on patrol now?”

Despite de carefree attitude, he was slightly tense.

“Not in a million years.” You chuckled, and the deep sigh leaving his lungs did not go unnoticed. “Just in case I get taken hostage again. The universe travelling agency didn’t mention anything about high crime rates.”

“That’s Gotham for you. Hey, is Dickhead here? Got some intel about the trafficking case.”

“He’s off planet with the League.” You replied nonchalantly, when had that become a normalcy in your life? “I’ll go find Tim; Dick left him in charge.”

“I will go.” Damian quickly piped up. “He should have been here already preparing for patrol.”

Without waiting for a response, he ran towards the stairs, and up to Bruce’s office.

The little shit left you and Jason alone on purpose.

44 notes · View notes

clubdionysus · 5 months

Text

[BAD DECISION #9] White

warnings: birdie time he he. honestly just very wholesome all round, but the embers are burningggg, they’re very wet! fantastic! (1) mention of Hang Sơn Đoòng (worlds biggest cave).

soundtrack: lemon - loco, hwasa; safety zone - j-hope

wc: 6k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist

It's mid-morning the following Monday when Jeongguk's message lands in your inbox. The sky is free of clouds, sun beating down on the windows of the subway carriage you're in. It's above ground, crossing the river.

Summer is reaching the end of its peak, but monsoons are still a looming threat. There have been weather warnings all month, but today seems okay. You've an umbrella tucked into your tote just in case, legs crossed as you flick through your notifications on the subway.

Three unread messages sit pretty at the top of your inbox.

Jeongguk: Still on for today?

Danbi: u, me, ryan reynolds in lycra, tonight. game?

Seokjin: such a tease, you know i love those shorts on you - if memory serves me correctly they were off far more than they were on whenever you wore them ;) you around tonight?

Jeongguk is probably the only one who needs a reply, and yet you can't help but stare at Seokjin's message for a little longer than you should.

If Danbi knew you were texting him, she'd probably confiscate your phone, like your parents used to do during your teen years. Jeongguk would probably throw all your stupid little origami birds at you. Would hope you'd get a paper cut.

It'd be deserved, you think.

Jeongguk had wasted his entire Sunday on you as a result of Seokjin's carelessness. You didn't leave until Jimin had taken a nap on the couch at just gone six, your day full of mindless chatter and harmless distractions from Seokjin. It had been nice. Comforting.

And yet when you'd arrived home, a text had been waiting from Seokjin:

heyyy, sorry I had to rush off. didn't wanna wake you. you looked toooo cute. was so nice to see you again.

It's kind of embarrassing, the way your heart seemed to settle at the sight of it; like things were as they should be once more.

You told yourself that Seokjin hadn't meant to upset you. That it was all a big misunderstanding.

He said everything you wanted him to in that message. Said sorry. Maybe he didn't give you an excuse nor an explanation, but he did give you a compliment, and that had you giggling.

Had you thinking that maybe you'd been reactive, and were too highly strung. Perhaps he was never the issue. What if it was you?

Still, it's Jeongguk's message thread you tap through to instead - yeah, just on the subway now! we're still meeting there?

You contemplate whether or not you want to tell him that you've spoken to Seokjin later. He'll no doubt ask about him, with a sneer on his lips, nose upturned at the mere thought of him.

And so naturally, you know you'll lie. "No. Not heard from him."

It's not that you want to be dishonest. Not in the slightest.

You're no stranger to a white lie or two, but Jeongguk had scooped up all of your broken pieces in the early hours of yesterday morning, and tried to washi tape them back together - only for you to run straight back to the person holding a sledgehammer.

You don't want to be reckless with the care Jeongguk's afforded to you; it's just that while Jin's got a sledgehammer in one hand, it also looks like he's got super glue in the other. It's a little bit stronger than washi tape.

Especially Jeongguk's rolls of washi tape; which are the entire reason why you're spending your day off on the subway, and not tucked up in bed, instead.

Jeongguk had devised a plan following the fall of your origami bird, but had neglected to tell you exactly what that plan was.

Had said "look, I won't lie - I can't help you with this. Gimmie the evening to think of a plan, though? I'll text you later."

He'd texted you an address by the time you'd arrived home. Told you not to search it up; said he'd meet you there at midday. Kind of felt like a challenge, and you don't like losing - so you'd done as he'd said. Other than putting the address into Naver maps to find the route, you were none the wiser as to where you were headed.

The subway leads you to the outskirts of town. Down by the river, just a little further up from the arboretum you always tell yourself you should visit more often. You're local to the city, but it's so vast that there are still areas you aren't too familiar with. This is one of them. You know what's in the general area - the arboretum, an old water park, and some museums, but you've no idea what the exact address could be.

As you climb the stairs, you're regretful of the fact you actually listened to Jeongguk. Should have looked up the address beforehand. Seen what was about; what dress code would have been appropriate.

Denim shorts hug your curves, and a little white blouse sits prettily on your shoulders. You're making the most of the summer while it lasts; skin exposed, despite the judgement thrown your way by the ajummas you pass on the street.

A mirror selfie had been sent to Seokjin before you'd left the house, in reply to his collarbone-wielding, broad shoulder-baring bed selfie. His hair had been messy, and there was a little pink mark on his neck. You're pretty sure you left it there. Didn't wanna focus on it for too long just in case you realised that you... didn't.

There had been a little tactful positioning of your phone in front of your face when you took your photo. Had been covering your eyes. Hiding the glitter.

And it's funny, 'cause it's the first thing that Jeongguk notices when he spots you.

You're looking around, realising exactly where you are, a frown slowly forming. He'd expected nothing less. You always arrive with a small frown whenever he's around - but he also always manages to get you beaming, too. It's part of the charm that comes with being around Jeongguk. Bad moods dissolve into nothingness.

He smiles, just like he always does. Waves. Throws you not one, but two peace signs. His thin lips plumpen into a pout as he wiggles his shoulders, the ease of acting childishly coming naturally when he's around you.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He glows as if he hadn't seen you less than twenty-four hours ago.

Strolling towards you, he ignores the slight scowl that's resting on your neat brows. Just continues smiling. All doe-eyed and dainty. Hopes you won't be able to resist breaking into a smile, too.

He likes your glitter today. It's just in the corners of your eyes. Thinks you look like a fairy.

"I'm wearing white!" is all you can say, a little exasperation clouding your words, before laughter begins to tumble from your lips whether you want it to or not. "You asshole! You should have warned me!"

Jeongguk's wearing all black. A pair of shorts, a long sleeve swimming shirt and one of his many oversized black t-shirts over the top. See, he's dressed according to his plans - the plans that he neglected to share with you.

But he's a man. How much can you really expect from him? You doubt he's ever had to run home in the middle of a thunderstorm with his arms crossed over his chest to protect his modesty. Doubt his eyes have ever felt the unwelcome intrusion of sodden mascara running into them.

"Oh, chill out, Disco Ball," he banters, rolling his eyes as he twiddles his lip ring with his tongue. He comes to a stop in front of you. Pouts. Pushes his lips to the side, and his cheek slowly rises like a freshly baked loaf of bread. "It's only a little water. Worst comes to the worst, we'll just buy you another shirt."

When Jeongguk says it's only a 'little water,' he's telling a big fat lie.

You're both well aware that 'little' is hardly the appropriate word to use.

Not when you're standing next to the entrance of the largest outdoor waterpark in the city.

You don't want to say definitively, but you think it might be the largest waterpark in the entire district. Biggest you've ever been to, that's for sure, not that you really make a habit of it.

"Look," he says. "You're the one who wrote the bird, not me. Blame yourself."

"And you're the one who didn't give me a dress code," you reply with a small scoff. He's unbelievable.

It's not like he was ever supposed to see your birds. Your intention had only ever been for the pair of you to vent out your frustration; to see them in black and white and maybe colour them in.

"You could have just looked at Naver. Seen where you were going."

"You told me not to!"

Jeongguk smirks to himself, a little pleased with how much you seem to have blindly trusted him. He also thinks it's incredibly foolish, and adds it to his list of things he needs to worry about in the future. While it's him that you're mindlessly following the orders of, it's okay, he supposes. Knows you're safe. Nothing to worry about right now.

"You'll be fine, Byeol," he says, hooking an arm around your neck, rubbing his knuckles against the crown of your head. You don't even bother to scramble away, sensing his grip tighten when your back edges out from his grasp. With arms like his, you're ensnared whether you like it or not. "You bring your bird?"

He keeps his arm locked around your neck, resting on your shoulders, but stands a little straighter as you head in direction of the waterpark. His relaxed posture allows you to rummage around in your tote bag for the small piece of folded paper. It's in the bottom, a little crumpled, but still quite clearly in bird form.

Jeongguk pinches it from you as soon as you retrieve it, not seeming to care much for the fact that it's your bird. You're locked in by his arms as he strengthens some of the creases that have fallen lax thanks to the lack of attention you'd been paying when you tossed it into the bag.

"You're gonna give yourself bad bird luck," he tells you. "Gotta preserve them, Byeol, or otherwise you'll never overcome your fears."

"I'm not really sure we'll be overcoming any fears today," you mutter in response.

He takes great offence to this. Tells you to 'stop being a negative Nancy', and that 'you'll never overcome your fears with an attitude like that'. You pinch him through his shirt. He recoils away from you, finally giving you a little room to breathe.

And then he calls you a goblin.

"That's rich," you snort, peering into your bag once again to get your wallet, shooing his hands away as he brings out his own wallet from his shorts pocket. "Nah, this is on me. My fear. I'll pay."

There's an attempt from him to protest, but you just tell the cashier you're paying for two, and there's very little he can do about it. He feels bad. This is, after all, his idea. He gave you no wiggle room. You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him.

A bathroom? Maybe.

But not here.

"Absolutely not," you had exclaimed yesterday afternoon after reading the bird. Jeongguk couldn't stop laughing. "Stop! You'll give me a complex."

He hadn't meant to find it so funny - he was just taken by surprise. It's a reflex.

"No, no," he cooed. "It's cute. Really sweet, actually. Should have told me last night. Could have actually done something about it."

It was at that point that you flicked him on the forehead. Told him to go touch some grass. Get his head out of his ass.

And then, finally, you told him, "You're never showering with me."

In typical Jeongguk fashion, he'd just smirked. Found your defensiveness funny. "And nor is anyone else, apparently."

The bird resting on Jeongguk's stomach was laying flat, open on your words:

SHOWER WITH SOMEONE ELSE.

He thinks it's the all caps that cracked him up so much. So aggressive. So cute. A bit like you.

Showers had been one of your favourite forms of intimacy during past relationships. You'd even found it fun with casual hookups.

But now?

Feels forbidden. Tarnished. Dirty.

It's almost as if someone else running their hands over your skin beneath the water will rid you of the stain that Seokjin left - and if you're not his, whose are you?

It's stupid because you don't belong to anyone but yourself. You'd spent months resenting the removal of your identity, but now that you have the chance to reclaim it, you're still letting his mark remain.

You had told Jeongguk later that afternoon - with absolute certainty - that he'd never be facing that fear with you, only for him to say, "it doesn't have to be that big of a deal. I'll prove it to you."

And now he's trying to do exactly that.

He leads as you follow and make your way into the park. It's been a fair few years since your last visit, but it always looks the same; paint work a little tatty, white watermarks tarnishing pipes, and slightly dated equipment available for hire. In fact, you think the inflatables sitting pretty and ready for renting might be the same ones you used as a child on family trips.

"Still don't understand how on earth this is supposed to help me with my fear of intimacy," you speak softly once Jeongguk is done telling you about the tallest waterslide in the world. It's in Brazil, and he insists that he doesn't understand why on earth they called it Kilimanjaro when it's not even remotely close in height nor geographical location.

You tell him he's pedantic and he smiles as if you've just given him a gold star.

"It's helping because we're making it less scary," Jeongguk states all very plainly. Seems simple to him. His logical mind leaps from A to B, while yours is still spiralling round and round like a hula-hoop. "What do you do in the shower?"

"When I'm with someone else?" You raise a brow. "Not sure I want to say it out loud in a kid's waterpark."

"Oh, ew, no, not that part. I mean the basics," he sighs, before choosing just to answer for you. "You get wet. That's the first hurdle."

"Gguk, that's barely even the first meter," you counter. "And after that? There's still a billion hurdles left to jump."

"Well, you have to start somewhere, don't you?" He nudges his shoulder against yours, before spotting the concessions store up ahead. "See. Told you you'd be able to buy a shirt. Here."

He hands you his wallet, only for you to pass it right back.

"It's good, I'll get it."

"I dragged you here."

"And I'm the one who made that stupid bird," you laugh. "It's fine. Tell you what though, if they only have ugly shirts, you're gonna have to get one too. Can't be doing this alone."

"Watcha mean?"

"Well look at you," you shrug, as if it's plainly obvious. "You're in all black and - not that I agree with this, but - I'm sure some people will find you 'okay' looking. You know all the yummy mummies are gonna be swooning over you instead of looking after their kids."

"Swooning?" He grins with a small chortle. "Are you trying to insinuate something, Byeol?"

You gasp, and take a step away from him. "Are you saying I look like a mother?"

This, he decides rather quickly, is dangerous. You almost sound like you're flirting. It's not that he doesn't enjoy it, just that he knows he shouldn't indulge himself and yet-

"Maybe I'm into MILFs."

You've a remarkably good poker face. He can't tell if you're actually annoyed, until you look at him with a small smile. It's hidden by the sultry, tempestuous expression you're throwing his way, but definitely still there.

"So first I'm a mother, and now you wanna fuck me? Well, aren't you full of surprises?"

If there's one thing Jeongguk enjoys, it's a girl who knows how to twist words. Regretfully, it always gets him thinking about other ways they could twist their tongues. The thoughts are unsavoury. Sordid. Lewd.

But you're you.

You're off-limits, and he knows better than to play with fire. He needs to get you wet.

Just, like, not in that way.

"I'll put you under that fountain if you don't stop twisting my words," he asserts as you walk through the park. To your right is a pool, with bright slides twisting in all directions around it. Families play, and laughter prevails. It's nice.

To your left is a row of spouting fountains for kids to run through, water pitter-pattering against the warm concrete floor. They're tall enough that even Jeongguk could stand beneath them without issue. You always think they look like reverse umbrellas; water pouring where protection should be.

Puddles of water interrupt the walkway, but neither of you care all that much.

"Maybe if you got your head out your ass and stopped flirting-"

"Not flirting."

You scoff as sarcasm wraps itself around your words. "Yeah, and I'm a MILF."

He pauses. Stops walking. Laughs.

"Right," Jeongguk says. "That's it."

It's said in a tone so light and airy that you almost don't realise he's wrapping his arms around you with a grip tight enough to crack a rib. Your playful shrieks are ignored by other park visitors, chalked up to you being a pair of young lovers enjoying the frivolity of a waterpark together.

"I'm in white!" is your final cry before he pulls you under the cascade of a fountain with him.

The worst part of it, you think, is how goddamn happy he sounds, laughing at your misery.

"And I told you to stop twisting my words, Byeol," he says like the bastard he is, while you struggle against him again. Finally releasing you, he keeps a clasp on your wrists to prevent you from straying. "You made your choice."

"I made no such thing," you wail, but the stream of water has you spluttering - and then you're laughing.

Laughing just like he is; like how you imagine Galileo would have laughed when he first pointed his telescope skyward, and saw the rings of Saturn. It's unadulterated. Blissful. Pure.

Jeongguk loosens his grip on your wrists. He rests his elbows on your shoulders, using his hands to create a barrier between the stream of water and your eyes. There's glitter on your cheeks, now, forced to part way with your eyes thanks to the water pressure, and Jeongguk finds himself grinning at how you manage to look like a party even in the middle of the day.

Perhaps he's a lot more like Galileo than you first thought. Maybe he's laughing because he's looking at the stars, too.

Water barrels down on the pair of you, soaking your hair, your clothes, your skin. It's heavy, the pressure of the fountain far heavier than a shower, but you suppose the outcome is the same.

You don't want to look at Jeongguk with anything but moderate vexation, and yet there's a fond smile tugging at your lips.

Strands of wet hair stick to his face, droplets catching on his lashes and falling down his cheeks. He shakes like a dog caught out in the rain, only to continue getting drenched because he doesn't move from the fountains trajectory. It'd be so easy for him to just manoeuvre himself out of the fountain's direct line and hold you in place, but he chooses to be caught up in it, too. Chooses to be with you. Experience with you.

You'd done his bird together. Only fair for him to do yours with you.

"You still scared, Byeol?" Jeongguk asks, voice quiet beneath the water pummeling down on you both, and yet it has your attention loud and clear.

You want to banter back, say something that will get tripping on his words just like you seem to be - but the rope tied around your ankles seems to be around your tongue, too. Instead, you just shake your head.

"See," he smiles, now. Pulls a hand away from your forehead to wipe at his. Puts it back. "Are showers really that scary?"

And then you do laugh. "It's not a shower. You know it isn't even close."

His face scrunches, water catching in all of his little ridges.

He'll admit the water is annoying. Keeps having to close his eyes. It's bothersome, and it's not like he even cares for boundaries anymore at this point, so-

Fuck it.

His pinkies are against your forehead, index fingers outward. He lowers his head, mirroring you. Rests his forehead against his index fingers. Swears. Can finally fucking see.

And now that he can?

He's looking at you.

With his head angled to such a degree that your chins couldn't be further apart, you still manage to fool yourself to believe that your lashes could brush.

"It's as close as we'll get to one," he counters. "You are showering with another person."

"I'm under a stream of water with another person."

"And how is that any different to showering with someone?"

He isn't stupid. He knows the answer. Knows that you're pedantic enough to go into all the clauses and stipulations that would ever stop this from being classed as a shower - and so he doesn't let you.

Instead, he pulls away, grabbing your wrist as he does so. Leads you further into the park with a smile so big you're surprised he doesn't dislocate his jaw.

"That's the hard part done," he assures you. "You've had a shower with someone. Say thank you."

There's an acute awareness between you both that he's not helped you to overcome your fear in the slightest - but he does have you laughing as you walk through the park, absolutely sodden, without a single care in the world. You're not even bothered by the fact your black bra is visible through the soaked fabric of your shirt.

See, Jeongguk's gotten you relaxed in a situation when you know you'd typically be frantic. He's taking the pressure off. Got you giggling. Got you facing a fear, even if it's not exactly how he set out to do so, nor the fear in question.

In his defence, he really had thought his contrived little plan would count. He'd have never insisted on actually taking a shower with you. He understands why you consider them so intimate. He does, too. Something about the vulnerability really gets him. It's not even the sex that inevitably comes with one that makes him weak at the knees.

He thinks of the girl who folded paper butterflies for him, and how he'd shampoo her hair, chest pressed to her back, and the fact it was in the confines of his bathroom that he realised he was in love with her.

So, Jeongguk gets it. It's why he wouldn't even consider anything but his dumb little waterpark shower as a remedy of your insecurities. He hopes a lesson is learned even if a fear isn't overcome: you can let down your guard without giving up all of you.

What it comes down to, you think, is that Jeongguk isn't a taker. He's not a giver, either, really - but when your walls start to crack and crumble, he doesn't intrude. Stands at a safe distance. Offer you back your bricks. Most men you knew would see a weakness in your defences and claim what's yours as their own.

He's not always been this way. Used to have a 'what's yours is mine' understanding of his relationships, too.

His butterfly girl had taught him that no, just because he was given temporary access to something didn't mean it was his. He'd learnt the hard way after he'd always swapped his heart with hers, not realising she'd ever want it back.

And so while Jeongguk will never fully understand whatever you went through - not unless you choose to share it with him - he can empathise. Treat you how he wished someone would have treated him while he was still healing.

As the clouds migrate across the sky, fluffy white shapes occasionally hiding the careful watch of the sun, the day rolls into stupid competitions and races down the tallest slides in the park. The reason you'd ended up here doesn't seem to matter.

Jeongguk races you to the top of the slides again, and again, and again, just to try and beat you down them. He never wins.

Not until you hold back by just a millisecond.

It's just enough to give him a slight edge, and have him roaring in victory - "ha! suck it! loser!" - as he slaps at the water, a smile larger than Hang Sơn Đoòng eclipsing any desire you had to win. You'll let him have this one. Let him have one victory.

The haze of late-afternoon sun grazes down on the pair of you, while you lounge by the 'adults-only' pool area. A lot of families have gone home already, but sometimes it's nice to be away from the shrieks of kids messing about in the water.

You're not exactly the maternal type. In fact, Jeongguk's the one who's been pointing out how cute the kids are in their little armbands and sprout hairstyles. He's not wrong. They're incredibly adorable - you're just not that naturally inclined to go 'awww'.

It's all swings and roundabouts, though. Getting away from kids meant being surrounded by, well, some less wholesome auras.

Jeongguk thinks he notices it first; the unwelcome gaze of a middle-aged man. He's felt it for a little while. Upwards of ten minutes. Thinks you're none the wiser. Tries to figure out what's so fucking interesting. Stares him out a little bit - but is ignored.

See, the man - who is probably old enough to be your father - isn't looking at Jeongguk at all. Too busy staring at you, and that shirt of yours which is still yet to dry out. You're on your back, sunning yourself, clothes sodden and sticking to your skin.

Jeongguk thinks you look no different to anyone else in the park. It's typical to wear regular clothes in places like these. Would be more shocking if you were in a bikini. And so while yes, he has noticed the fact your bra is dark, he couldn't tell you the colour because he's been trying not to look. Actively avoiding it, actually.

Annoyance isn't something that Jeongguk's ever been able to hide well.

As he sucks in a little bit of air between his teeth and mutters a small curse to himself, you glance over.

"Hmm?" you ask.

It's not like you don't know the man's staring. You had warned Jeongguk about your attire earlier. Was always gonna happen. He just hadn't realised that this was the reason why you'd been so insistent about the fact he was an asshole for not giving you a dress code.

Realistically, you could have bought a second shirt - but the pair of you got distracted. Didn't care so much when you were laughing and joking about how you both look like rats with your hair all wet.

"Here," he says, tugging on his shirt at the nape of his neck. There's resistance, the weight of the water dragging against his skin, but he pays it no mind as he pulls the shirt over his head. You're still laying down on your back, and turn onto your front with a small grin.

"Y'know if I really was all that bothered, I'd just do this," you say, talking about your change in position. It's not that you want the man to stare - you just know he will regardless. Know that your shorts have ridden up a little, and so he's getting a whole new type of show.

Jeongguk doesn't laugh. Smiles, but doesn't let it reach his eyes. Leans over and drapes the fabric of his shirt over the top of your legs. Over your ass. "You'll burn."

"I'm wearing suncream," you purr, knowing that this has nothing to do with keeping your skin safe.

And so Jeongguk just shrugs. Considers staying silent. Chooses not to.

"He might wanna stare, Byeol," he almost growls beneath his breath, feigning indifference through his body language. "But I don't."

"You saying you can't help yourself?" You tease, to which he just rolls his eyes and lays back down.

"I can help myself perfectly well," he says, tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek. "Just didn't finish my sentence."

"Oh?" you chirp with great curiosity.

There's a boldness to the way you're engaging in conversation with him. Makes you realise that Jeongguk is just the same as any other boy. He can see you as a sexual object, apparently. Just chooses not to. It's all very interesting.

"He might wanna stare, Byeol," he repeats, crossing his arms over his torso, a defensiveness to his posture, even when he's flat on his back. "But I don't want him to."

Though his eyes remain closed, Jeongguk can hear you move to sit on your knees.

Your back is to the sleazebag, Jeongguk shirt bunching by your heels. You pull it around and bundle it in your lap, mouth resting open in a slight stare of shock.

Unspoken words beg for him to look at you.

But he doesn't. Keeps his eyes firmly shut. Grins. Just says, "Lie back down, Byeol."

The worst part is that you want to. You really do. When his voice is that low, the look on his face that cocky, you want to fold like a sheet of fucking origami paper. Have him bending you about like one of those damn birds.

But then you take a second to think, and realise you're no better than that guy who is still staring at you so intensely you're surprised he doesn't burst a blood vessel. Makes you feel bad. Guilty.

So instead you toss Jeongguk his shirt back and, as you stand, say, "I've a fear of intimacy, Jeongguk. No fear in telling men to fuck off."

He's not surprised by your response. Quite amused by it. Sits up on his elbows. Watches with curiosity as you walk away from him - and then is stunned to see you beeline for the man.

It's the kind of thing he'd see in a movie, background characters slowing to a stop, time ceasing to move except for the leading lady.

And then you're pointing. Accusing. Jeongguk's not sure of what - he can't hear you from this far away - but he knows it isn't nice. Watches the blood drain from the man's face. He's ghostly. And then it all returns, red and raw, with such a vengeance he's surprised blood doesn't start leaking from his nose.

When you turn on your heel, Jeongguk observes with morbid novelty at the scene unfolding; the intense shame on the man's face and the pure brilliance on yours.

"Men," you sigh, as you sit back down next to him. Mirroring his position, you're up on your elbows until you casually let yourself fall back into your original position. "Sorry, where were we? You told me to lie down? Done."

Jeongguk doesn't say anything. Just grins. Collapses back down, too. Doesn't tell you to cover up. Knows better.

Doesn't shut up about it for the rest of the day, though.

Relays the story to you as if you weren't there - weren't central to it - with so much animation that you think he might turn into a cartoon on the subway home.

He's still talking about it between the part where he invites you back for dinner - "Jimin's gonna be in but it's cool. We haven't eaten all day, you must be starving." - and the part where he stands by your door, taking a whole twenty minutes to say goodbye.

You've declined the offer. Told him it'd be a bit weird seeing Jimin. Wouldn't know how to explain it. Jeongguk just says "of course, yeah, you're right. Didn't even think of that. My bad."

There's a little silence afterwards. You know why. It's rejection. Not romantic, nor for anything serious, but it's still the same difference. He'd spent the day trying to help you break down walls only for you to put your bricks on top of his.

It's as he's heading down your stairs (after his fifteenth and final 'bye') that you realise how rude you've been. Just 'cause you wouldn't feel entirely welcome at his doesn't mean he's not welcome at yours.

"Hey, wait a sec! Danbi's home, but do you wanna eat here?" You chance. "We don't have much in, but I can order or we can-"

"My God, I thought you'd never ask," he grins immediately turning on his heel and back towards you. "So hungry I might die."

"You won't."

"I could."

The pair of you bicker as you enter your apartment, Danbi glancing up from the sofa. She looks at you, then looks at Jeongguk, and takes a second to place his face. Definitely knows it - and then it clicks.

She considers asking why the fuck your favourite barman is following you in. He's known within the confines of your apartment as the Barman That Smiles (more commonly referred to as BTS boy), Jeongguk's name a secret just for you to know. Danbi doesn't realise all of those nights you waste are the bar are wasted on him, nor does she realise he's the reason you snuck off the other night.

What she does wonder, however, is if this is all part of your master-get-revenge-on-Seokjin-plan.

Instead of voicing any of these queries, she settles on "what are we having for dinner?"

You shrug. "Ask Jeongguk. He's paying."

He raises a brow as if to question your assertion - only for him to cough up the bill for the pizza delivery that feeds the three of you through a Deadpool rewatch.

When he leaves, Danbi tells him he has to come back next week for Deadpool 2. You grin as you walk him out.

"She just wants you to pay for more food," you tell and he nods. Says he knows.

But then he calls back over to Danbi, "See you next week."

She does a little cheer, and it's all very sweet. They get on well. His humour is welcome in your apartment, and so is his presence. Danbi also hopes it means she'll get more free drinks next time she's at the club.

"She'll play you like a damn fiddle if you let her," you warn just out of her earshot.

"Good," he grins. "We can double date with you and Jimin."

You tell him to fuck off - but also insist that he lets you know when he gets home. The way you care about him is so casual that it feels as if it's been this way for years.

As he heads on home, Jeongguk kind of hopes it will be. Hopes it's the kind of friendship that stands the test of time. Worries that he shouldn't take the flirting too far - but then he's distracted by the little fleck of glitter on the top of his hand. His thoughts are lost, a smile unwinding on his lips as he strolls back to his place.

The skies are void of stars tonight, and yet, for the first time in months, Jeongguk's eyes are full of them.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

#by holly #jk #jeongguk fanfic #jungkook fanfic #Jungkook Fanfiction #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook ff #jeongguk fic #bartender!jungkook #BD #bad decisions #bangtan #bts fanfic #dappleddaisies

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taintandviolent · 18 days

Text

Nosy Neighbours ; Gambit x Reader

summary: PART TWO TO TACO TUESDAY! Reader wakes up after a night of debauchery.... and continues it. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.2K | smut with very little plot, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, blowjobs, eating out, no use of y/n, a sprinkling of angst at the end because things are developing for reader.

a/n: Listen, listen. I am blown away by the love on my first Remy fic, and the fact that you guys wanted a part two made my day. Thank you so much for all the praise and I hope this one lives up to the hype as well! part 3....? peut être... - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @atomicfoxx!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Sunlight filters in through the crack in your curtains, warming a stripe across your thigh and stomach. You squeeze your lids shut tighter and turn your head away from the window, trying to get away from the glaring brightness. A grogginess lingers heavy in your system, but despite that, your body is giving you all the internal signals that it's time to wake up. You stretch deeply, muscles quivering as you flay your limbs out on the bed.

You hadn't gotten that drunk. At least, you didn't think you had. You don't remember falling asleep, but you definitely remember the dreams you had. They were lusty, lewd and lascivious, and every other adjective to describe naughty; your brain had conjured up the filthiest dreams you'd had since... well, ever. And they were all with the Cajun guy you'd met at Wade's. Remy. You remembered his name because you'd said it at least a dozen times in your dream.

Still half asleep, you flop over, throwing your arm and leg over onto the mattress. Your sheets are pulled down on one side, oddly, but you assume you just tried kicking them off or burritoing yourself in the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. You sniff and an unexpected sweet, warm fragrance fills your nostrils. Breakfast? You roll over again, and sit bolt upright to look down the hall. You suck in a breath and hold it, listening intently to the sounds coming from your kitchen; the scrape of metal against cast iron and a distinct sizzling sound.

“What the hell?” You whisper, scooting yourself to the edge of the mattress.

As you get up off the bed, you pull the sheet with you, wrapping it around your naked body, which honestly, was odd - you never slept nude – always in an oversized shirt. Your muscles seem to shake as you walk, and ache pings somewhere in the area of your hip flexors as you pad down the hall, barefoot. When you get to the kitchen, there’s a visual in front of you that causes you to come to a screeching halt.

Had it really not been a dream?

You nearly have to pick your jaw up off of the floor. He – Remy – stands in your kitchen, over your stove, in nothing but his purple briefs and your polka dotted apron, which hasn't been tied and hangs from his muscular neck.

As he tends to the bacon sizzling in the pan, he sees you in his peripheral, and turns his head slightly, a bright but relaxed smile on his face — the look of it tickles something in your core. You hum quietly.

"Mornin', cher."

What you want to say is holy shit but you instead mutter out an inquisitive and unsure: "Uhhh, morning...?"

Even though you’ve seen him naked before, you’re still flabbergasted by the visual. You swallow, and let your eyes fall down the length of his body; tan skin pulled taut over sculpted muscles. He's just as delicious now as he was in your dreams. Maybe even moreso, with the lingering cuddle of sleep, his hair mussed, and the sunlight beaming in from the small window over the sink, kissing his skin in a yellow haze.

"Hungry, mon ami?"

"Starved, actually." You blink away from his half-naked form and up to his face. "I'm so sorry, am I still asleep or did we....?"

Remy chuckles and flips the bacon. "We sho’ did. I ain’t remember the last time I had it like ‘dat."

You take a breath, and think back. It doesn’t take long to differentiate between dreams and reality as it all comes rushing back, playing out in your mind like a dirty movie.

The way he held you close to his chest, the way his hands explored your body, fingertips kissing your flesh... the way his thick cock felt as it filled you, pleasure coursing through your body in ways that you’d never experienced before. The way he spoke, the way you said — moaned — his name. The way you nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder after you both had cum, the way he’d stroked your hair as you fell asleep…

You swallow and blink again, bringing yourself back to reality. Remy is plating the bacon and walks it over to your small kitchen table. He gestures with a nod of his head and you walk over, plopping down into the seat, which squeaks as you do. Tucking the sheets underneath your armpits, you reach forward and pluck a single piece from the plate; it's warm and sticky, and tastes like maple syrup. You hum happily as you chew, and Remy takes a piece for himself as he sits down in the chair across from you.

"Remy," you coo. It sounds far more wanton than you intend, almost a moan. Judging by his reaction, it sounds familiar — like the way you were whining his name last night as he hammered into you.

"Hoo, don't start 'dat again or we gon' be havin' a repeat of last night."

You swallow the mouthful of bacon and reach for another strip. He’s a good cook on top of everything, and made the bacon just the way you liked it. Great.

“Listen, I… I’m not usually like… that. I don’t hook up with random guys or anything.”

“Is ‘dat what ‘dat was?” He asks, a taunting tone in his voice. There’s something behind it, something warm and inviting, but you shake the thought off.

“Wasn’t it? Isn’t that what that’s… classified as? I’m…”

He interjected, pushing the plate towards you. “Well, I dunno’, cher. You fell asleep in my arms… and I’m still here.”

You munch on another slice of bacon as you grapple with the fact that maybe it wasn’t just a one-night stand. Your eyes glaze over, staring at nothing in particular as you consider a couple of things.

First, was the fact that you’d never been one for one night stands. They were frivolous, and usually ended in embarrassment or heartbreak. Neither of which had happened here. He had a glaring point; he had stayed, and apparently, you were comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. Another something that you never did.

Second, was the fact that you’d also never really been one for the whole fate, destiny, or soulmate thing. That was cringy, and not something you’d ever entertained, because why would you? Save for a few meaningless relationships in college, you’d been alone and liked it that way. Less to deal with, less to have to clean up at the end of the day. You weren’t actively looking for a relationship, but Remy had just been there. Wasn’t that how fate worked? You furrowed your brows.

Third, was the undeniable fact that something – and you didn’t know what – but something about Remy had been written deep within the confines of your heart. The magnetic pull that you’d felt towards him last night still lingered heavily, and you wanted nothing more than to push yourself against him and feel his body against yours.

Lust at first sight. That’s got to be what it is, you decide. You’re in lust with him.

But why not test it again…. Just to be sure. Your cunt clenches in anticipation, having been sent the signals that you plan to pursue him. Again.

The wanton voice returns as you push yourself up out of your seat, leaning over the kitchen table. “Maybe we should… do it again… for good measure. Remy…”

"Chere, what did Remy say about usin' ‘dat voice...?"

"What if that's what I want?"

Remy's chewing slows and his eyes lift to yours. The legs of the chair scrape against the tile as he stands up, stretching forward to meet your mouth. Your lips barely graze each other, before –

As if on cue, someone knocks at the door, the sound echoing in your ears. Shit. You hesitate for a moment, eyes darting towards the door.

“I’ll get it.”

Begrudgingly, you move away from him, kick the sheet out behind you so you don’t trip on it, and hurry to the door, unlatching it.

"Wade," you breathe as you throw open the door, almost exasperated.

Wade pauses for a beat, assessing your appearance. "Oooh, good morning, sunshine. Looks like someone celebrated Taco Tuesday with some extra Cajun seasoning."

You heave a sigh; half out of annoyance and half out of embarrassment, because the reality was, you hadn't looked in the mirror this morning, so your appearance was a mystery. You look down at your sheet-clad body, and pull it tighter around you, as if that's giving back any of your modesty.

Wade leans on the doorframe, grinning like an absolute idiot. Lips pursed, he wiggles his eyebrows (or lack thereof) at you and waits for you to say something. Confess something. He's waiting for the juicy details, and you aren't delivering.

"Speak, Lassie! Tell us what happened!"

You huff. "What do you want, Wade?"

"So hostile. Actually, like State Farm, I was just being a good neighbour. Checking on you and the Cajun Sensation since you two never came ba - oh fuck me is he in his underwear? What in the Magic Mike is happening here?" He peeks over your shoulder, spotting the half-naked Gambit behind you.

"Wade!" You try to lean into his line of sight, preventing him from looking any further. "Look, I hardly know you, I'm not about to divulge my sex life to you-"

"Woah, TMI, princess. But thanks for the confirmation!"

"What!? No, that's not what I meant! I'm just..."

"Sure, pumpkin. It's okay, Disney gave it an R-rating for a reason."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." You snap, obviously frustrated. "Look, I'm fine. Everything is fine, we just --"

Remy's voice comes from behind you, fast approaching. "Cher? Everythin' alright?"

You cast your glance behind you briefly – he’s ditched the apron, and is now in nothing but those tight fitting briefs that leave little to the imagination. God, he's so attentive. He’s already acting like a boyfriend, a thought that turns your guts to butterflies.

Wade preens, clearly amused. "Oohh, well fuck me sideways. It was that kind of night, huh? Real x reader type plot. Cute. Have you said I love you yet? Or is that chapter three?"

You bristle, absolutely appalled at the question. Behind you, Remy opens the door further and raises one arm over his head, leaning it on the wood of the interior frame. He sees Wade and grins brightly, a twist to his lips, almost like he knows what’s happening.

“Mornin’, mon petit rouge.” (My little red)

“Oooh, I felt a tingle with that one.”

Remy chuckles, shaking his head lightly. Starting with his bare bicep, which was now on full display, Wade's eyes trail down the length of Remy's body, lingering far too long at his groin before snapping back up to his face.

"Jesus fuck, someone needs to put Agent Tequila on ice again. I thought it was Texas where everything is bigger–"

You feel your cheeks get hot and your eyes widen. “CHRIST, Wade!"

“Oh please, drop the Sandra Dee act, pookie. You two fucked nasty and everyone knows it. At least the whole floor.”

Behind you, Remy laughs low. You can feel his gaze on you, tunneling into you, almost as if he’s waiting for you to confirm or deny. The decision weighs heavy on your shoulders, and finally, you blurt out an answer.

“Okay, so we did. Happy now?”

Wade’s shoulders drop and he heaves an over dramatic sigh. “Hallelujah. There, doesn’t honesty feel good?”

Remy leans forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Not as good as what I did to you last night, huh cher?”

“Heard that.” Wade barks.

Your entire face feels hot, and the blush is spreading down your neck the longer this goes on.

Remy’s hand comes forward to take a fistful of your ass, squeezing firmly before giving it a determinate smack and heading back to the table. He’s apparently ascertained that the situation is safe; Wade may be a character but he means no harm. You stiffen at the feeling, fighting against the betrayal of your body. Wade arches a brow, his eyes darting to the very subtle way that your hips pitch forward stiffly.

“Anyway, this isn’t a threesome — could be, but isn’t — so I’m going back home. I have a big… wet… chimichanga waiting for me. Toodles.”

You’re relieved he ends the conversation before you have to; you aren’t quite sure what might’ve come out of your mouth had he stayed any longer and as an afterthought, you don’t want to create hostility with your next door neighbour. You shut your door, throwing the deadbolt into place.

You march back to the table with an apparent chip on your shoulder over the interaction with Wade – which all things considered, wasn’t that bad, but you’re still worked up. Your muscles are tense with frustration, which you don't notice until Remy's large hands are sliding up the sides of your arms. He eventually gets to your shoulders, which he pinches and massages between his fingers, forcing them back into a more relaxed state. You let out a sigh, and buck your hips back slightly. His groin is pressed up against the ample curve of your ass, your bodies fitting together like a erotic puzzle piece.

“What’re you all mad for, cher? C’mon now…”

“Who does he think he is? Making me confess that… and I’m a grown wo—“

“You was pretty loud last night.” He interjects, that mischievous smirk on his lips.

You spin around in his grasp and cross your arms, shooting him a disapproving look. “Whose side are you on here?”

He's unphased by your anger, and instead, brings his hands up to your cheeks, pulling them forward until your head gives way, and your lips smash against his.

At this, you let out a mewl of faux discomfort, and Remy smirks against your lips. He shakes his head softly, and pulls you closer at the waist. After a moment, he breaks the kiss and looks down at your sheet-clad figure. While it is a tantalizing sight -- the way the sheet drapes over your figure, conforming to the curve of your breasts, peaking over your semi-hard nipples -- he wants to see your body again. It's been hours, and he's craving it again.

“Yours.” His voice is so sure, so low and so close.

Well… his hands are definitely on your sides. They roam between your waist and your hips for a few moments before he makes a fist with one of them, the gray fabric bunching between his fingers.

“Who you bein’ modest for, huh? You don’t need ‘dis. Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

“I… I don’t know…” you whisper, falling into the trap of his eyes again. When he looks at you, really looks at you, you feel like you’re standing at the edge of a building, but going nowhere, because his big, brawny arms are wrapped around you tight. You’ve never felt safer. Uh-oh. That’s not good.

As he drags his fist down the front of your body, the sheet pulls free of your arms, the fabric grazing your nipples. The sensation has them hardening, and Remy’s hand replaces the sheet, running his thumb over one of them, while cupping the fullness of your breast with the rest of his hand.

He leans forward, kissing from your hairline, over your ear and down the curve of your shoulder, sending convulsive shivers down your spine. The feeling of his lips, pressing into your soft, warm skin… your lids flutter. Your hand reaches down, sliding over his taut muscles, until you find the bulge between his legs. The fabric is warm, heated by the fire of his cock. Your fingers curl around the length of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Unconsciously, his hips pitch forward, forcing more pressure on your palm.

"Remy," you breathe, looking down between your bodies. His briefs are tenting now, his cock straining against the fabric. You swallow back the saliva that's gathering in your mouth, literally on the verge of drooling. 'I wanna'... I have to -- need to taste you."

"In Louisiana, 'dey call 'dat having an envie for somethin'."

"Yeah, well I have an envie for your cock right now, so..."

The surprise is apparent on his face, his brows lifting on his forehead, but it quickly morphs into something more lusty, something more pleased. His dick jumps at your words and he reaches up to grip your chin firmly, looking hard at your mouth.

Aroused, his accent thickens. "Hoo, you a naughty girl with 'dat mouth. Why don't you show me what else it can do, huh?"

You nod and sink to your knees, slowly. Once you're situated in front of his groin, you reach up and hook your fingers around the elastic of his waistband, peeling it away from his skin. You lean forward to trace the tip of your tongue along the lines of muscle, that tantalizing V cut. Remy chokes on his breath, as your tongue flattens against the skin.

You continue baring him, pulling the fabric down his thighs in one quick motion. He helps you by kicking them off to the side, and now stands, completely bare in front of you. His cock bounces heavy in front of your face and you immediately take him into your hand, wasting no time. You wrap one hand around the thick shaft, towards the base, and slide it slowly up towards the tip.

The heat coming off his cock radiates into your palm and the contrast of the velvet, soft skin, and the aching, rigid center has your mouth (and cunt) drooling. You can't help it, and the way Remy's muscles flex every time you move your hand eggs you on. You begin stroking his cock, slowly, but tightly and his breath hitches in his throat. Tightening his abdominal muscles as he does, Remy bucks his hips, forcing his dick through the circle of your fingers. The precum is spreading now, making the action easy. His head is down, watching you intently.

“‘Dat’s it, babygirl, just like ‘dat…”

As you drag the head over your bottom lip, glossing it with precum, it twitches in your grip. Extending your tongue, you slap the heavy, fat tip against it a few times, teasing him. Your lips wrap around the head, tongue massaging the underside with a flattened tongue.

Remy braces his hands on the counter top above you, his breath rushing out.

“Hoo, you don’t need no help from Remy, you know what you’re doin’.”

You nod and tighten your grip around the base, leaning your mouth forward to press a single kiss against the tip. Your tongue peeks out, licking a long stripe from the base to the head, and you hear Remy make a sound that can only be described as a growl. You moan against his cock, the sound buzzing against his skin. He bucks again, forcing his cock further into your mouth.

Remy’s grip tightens on the counter top. He’s doing his best to keep it together but the way that your warm, wet mouth has enveloped him, the way that you’re gently sucking as your head bobs, the way your fingers wrap around his cock, gripping him firmly and jerking him off at the base has him in pieces. Aside from last night, he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good – certainly not in the Void, and try as he might, no memories are coming forward from before the Void. All he feels – and sees – is you. You. You, in your naked, morning messy glory. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, his gaze heavy and half-lidded.

You have to open wide to take him all the way in, but you don’t care. The weight of his cock on your tongue has your cunt weeping profusely between your legs, and the head nudges the back of your throat, teasing at your gag reflex. You steady yourself and get back to it. Your nose prods the thatch of coarse hair above his cock as you deep throat him, over and over again. The salty pre-cum glides over your tongue, saturating it with the taste that you’re craving.

“Mon coeur,” He exhales a low, raspy breath, and backs his hips away from your mouth, his dick leaving your lips with a wet shlick. You stare up at him with wide, unknowing eyes, chin covered in saliva. His cock twitches in your grip; the visual is erotic.

“Believe me when I say ‘dis, cher. I wanna’ make a mess on your face, but Remy ain’t ready for it to be ova’. C’mere.”

With a gentle tap, he urges you up off your knees, helping you to get to your feet. Just like before, he’s hoisting you up into his arms and you’re ready to be carried off again, but this time your ass comes down atop the counter, and Remy slots himself between your legs.

“Wait-wait…. What are you doing?”

“Eatin’, mon ami.” He says it so nonchalantly and throws in the ever casual mon ami as though this is something done between friends. His hands cup your kneecaps, urging them apart with careful urgency. He looks at your cunt, and his brows lift slowly, a smirk crawling across his lips.

“Hoo…” He chuckles, running a single finger along the slit of your cunt. As he pulls back, his finger is coated in your arousal, thick strands of clear stringing from your cunt to the tip of his finger. “You get yourself all worked up while you were down ‘dere? She is glistenin’, cher.”

You’re almost embarrassed. Almost. You hadn’t told him, but giving head was a massive turn-on. Besides that, the mere sight of his massive cock was enough to get your engines running. Something about admitting that to him sounds a little too whorish, so you keep your mouth shut. You whine, leaning your head against the cabinets and buck your hips forward, closer to the edge.

It’s as though he can tell you’re withholding something from him.

“Ah-ah, cher…” He brings his face close to yours, licking at your mouth. “Tell Remy what’s on your mind.”

“I… I like giving head… I like giving you head…. I like…”

He nods, encouraging you further. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks, and you roll your eyes to the ceiling.

“Ugh, okay. You have an amazing cock, and I like having it in every part of me.” You curse yourself for being so honest.

Now it’s Remy that’s on his knees, and he dives at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue is strong and warm against your clit, flicking upwards against the bundle of nerves. He’s burying his mouth in your folds, lapping at it. Every time his tongue nears your opening, you let out a long, whining moan.

Pause. Let’s just recap. Just to make sure we’re on the same god damn page. You met this guy at Wade’s…. Fucked him all night long, he made you breakfast and now he’s giving you the most toe-curling head you’ve ever had. And you think, just maybe, you might be falling in love with him. Cool. Okay.

Your hand snaps to the crown of his head, fingers lacing amongst his hair to hold him to the spot he’s working. His tongue is drilling into your clit, and that’s when you feel the pressure of two fingers, prodding your slick slit.

“Sweeter ‘den ‘dat maple syrup up on your counter,” he says, practically into your cunt. You look down; his gaze is lust-blown, and lips are glossy, spit-slick and reddened. He presses a few gentle kisses to your clit before his tongue starts swiping at it again, and plunging his fingers deep within your core. Just like before, he knows just how to curl his fingers up into the sensitive spot inside you. You let out a moan, and bump your head against the cabinets again.

A shudder rips through your body, overwhelmed at the dual stimulation. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking gently and you can feel the slippery puddle forming on the countertop beneath you. Briefly, you wonder if you’ll just slide off the counter, but really… the only place to go is further into Remy and his mouth.

Abruptly, you feel the flash of heat between your legs and arch your back, readying yourself for the drop. Your cunt aches, throbs and – Remy suddenly pulls away, his chin shimmering with your arousal.

“Huh, I didn’t hear anyone say you could be doin’ ‘dat yet, ah?”

Holy shit. You clench her tight, holding back the wave of an orgasm. Your teeth grind together, legs quivering at the feeling of denial. You were right on the edge, right on the edge of white, hot bliss.

“Ffffuck,” you whisper. “Fuck. Please….”

“I said no, cher. Not yet.” There’s a playful lilt in Remy’s voice and it drives you crazy.

“Fuck me then, please…. I need to feel you.”

He chuckles, and presses a deep kiss to your folds. “You ain’t gonna’ have to ask me twice, ma bichette.” (my little doe)

He slips his fingers out, and inserts them into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off of them. Your jaw drops. It’s such a casual, but erotic action, and your cunt responds feverishly. She’s got a heartbeat of her own at this point, thrumming between your legs. Leaving you leaking on the countertop, Remy gets to his feet and turns around to the kitchen table. He shoves the plates out of the way, somehow not knocking them onto the floor.

“C’mere…”

You’re in his arms again, and he’s swinging you around, plopping you down on the kitchen table. Your hands go back behind you, pressing down into the wood apprehensively.

“I don’t know if this table can support me…. ”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout ‘dat, cher. It might not, but Remy’s gonna’ be holdin’ you tight. This is just givin’ me a betta’ angle, ‘das all.”

He wasn’t lying; most of your weight was in his grasp. One arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up. You scoot yourself closer to the edge, closer to him, and inhale a deep breath. Remy shuffles forward, his cock leading the way. The red, leaking tip nudges your entrance and he lifts your head to place a kiss against your lips, nibbling softly on the bottom one. He’s so passionate, even amidst the burden of his fiery, seemingly untameable lust. A lover. Fuck… you think. You’re falling into a deep, dark hole that you don’t think you can climb your way out of.

Remy reaches between your bodies, pushing his cock down slightly, until he feels the sopping wet opening of your cunt. Groaning deeply, he stuffs himself inside, inch by inch until your bodies are flush. He finds a rhythm quickly, bucking his hips against you. As he splits you open, you can’t help but moan loud, louder than last night, his cock filling you, throbbing veins rubbing against your inner walls.

“God, yeah… yeah, fuck me hard…!” You chant, sounding more and more like a porn star with every passing moment.

“Only if you give it t’ me, cher… the way you takin’ this dick, I ain’t gonna’ last long.”

You nod hurriedly, looking deep into his eyes. He growls and pulls his hips all the way back before slamming them back into you – hard. Your jaw drops again, and you find yourself staring at the cabinets, vision going hazy with lust as your orgasm rushes to the surface, claiming your body wholly. The plates that previously hung on now go clattering to the floor, but the sound does little to interrupt you two. Remy’s got his dick so deep inside of you that you’re seeing stars, and the sounds that are tumbling from your lips are far louder than the sound of porcelain on tile.

With a smooth, guttural sound, Remy loses it, too. He fills you, deeply, and what leaks out the sides, he hurriedly pumps it back inside of you until his cock starts to soften, his thrusts languid and spent.

“I could do this with you all day…” You whisper into his neck, rubbing your nose against the warm, sweaty flesh there.

“Me too, cher, me too.” He nods, blinking slowly. “But I can’t be doin’ ‘dat… not today.”

You rear back suddenly, looking him in the eyes. They’ve still got that mischievous glimmer that he seems to always possess, but there’s something behind them. A sort of… coldness, that has your arms falling away from him.

“You have to leave…” you say softly, suddenly understanding.

Remy nods, and slips out of you, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. He pushes your hair out of your face, and rubs his thumb along the fullness of your cheek. He disappears then, and your shoulders sink slightly. You stay on the table for a few minutes, your legs hanging limply off the table, just listening to the sounds of him getting dressed; the gentle rustle of clothing, the snap of his elastic waistband as it hugs him.

Finally, you hop off the table, and bend down to retrieve the rumpled pile of sheet. You hold it against your body, not worrying about what’s showing. Like he said before, he’s seen everything. You turn, and spot him – standing tall behind your couch. He reaches for his leather jacket.

He’s attractive, so the sight of him dressed is to be appreciated as much as him undressed, but there’s a pang of sadness in your chest. Your lungs feel tight, and you wring the sheets around your fingers as he smoothes a hand through his hair, tousling it lightly. Again, as though he’s in tune to your emotions, he seems to notice that you’re staring sullenly.

“Remy be needin’ to deal with some things, cher…” he says, adjusting himself in his jacket. You wonder what it is he has to deal with, where he has to go. It’s none of your business, you’re sure. You want to ask him if he’ll be back, but your gut warns that that sounds too desperate, so instead, you nod once.

“Thanks,” you start, trying to find the strength in your voice. “I had a really good time. My door is uh, always open.”

“Good t’ know, cher.” He says. He sounds genuine, but he’s still leaving. Every bone in your body is screaming for him to stay. He makes his way over to you, wordlessly, and wraps his arm around your waist. His lips find yours, and he tips you backwards slightly as he kisses you. The way he tastes you feels like he’s trying to stain his own mouth with your essence, to remember it later. When he breaks off and straightens you back up, you let out a pathetic little cry that you know he hears. You bring your fingers to your mouth, stroking your bottom lip softly.

And with that, he opens your door, slips out and shuts it behind him, but not before casting one last look at you, standing there in a sheet that he fucked your brains out on.

To the closed door, you whisper: “I… think I love you.”

He doesn’t hear it and maybe that’s for the best.

#Gambit #Remy Lebeau #channing tatum #Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit #channing tatum gambit #Gambit x reader #gambit x you #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau x you #female reader #Deadpool and Wolverine #Deadpool 3 #x reader fics #myfics

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covetyou · 1 year

Text

my bright future's behind me

joel miller x f!reader

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con (reader is paying a debt), anal sex, rimming, anal douching*, oil as lube, oral (f receiving), mild spanking, masturbation (f), praise kink, brief sex toys mention, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.8k chapter summary: The line between wanting to help your father and wanting to see Joel again blurs, and you find yourself at a familiar door asking for help. You know what's in store for you this time... don't you?

*NO DETAIL reader is given brief instruction on how to do it, and agrees to. no description of the actual event.

A/N: it's lengthier than I intened, but I really enjoyed writing about this in detail okay, let a girl have some fun. Like yeah, our reader is living in a hellish apocalyptic society and is an anal virgin going to a drug dealer to pay a debt with some serious dubcon vibes, but that man is going to be soft and gentle (ish?) af with her butthole and make her enjoy the hell out of it, okay? okay. let's go.

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song: anything but(t) by Hozier dividers: @saradika

Five weeks ago, heavy feet had carried you away from Joel's door in a daze.

You'd spent the first day waiting for your fathers pain medication to kick in. You spent the next getting him up and ready to go find work again. It was like watching a newborn deer finding its first footing; once he was up, a few stumbles and he was off, throwing himself back into work. He'd even picked up his medication himself at the end of the second week - you'd offered to go for him, but he declined. You deserved the rest, he'd said.

He'd come back, pills in hand, proclaiming how much of a "nice man" Joel Miller was. You didn't disagree.

You spent that night, fingers buried in yourself, whispering Joel's name into the dark as you clenched around fingers too small to feel satisfying.

Every night since then you remembered the look of Joel through the haze of the orgasm he'd slapped out of you. The weight of his cock, glistening head leaking precum as he rutted against you, the pressure of being filled over and over. His face, mouth agape, eyes glued to where you joined, mesmerized.

You came every time, whether it was to the thought of the first push of his cock into you, the firm, repetitive slap of his hand against your bare pussy, or his cum spattering across your naked body.

You didn't just grind pillows any more. Not all the time anyway. You bit into them, hard, stifling moans that you didn't dare let echo around the bare confines of your room. You made yourself writhe in sheets on a bed that felt too small, fingers stuffed to the knuckle, unable to reach the depths you craved. You'd even tried spanking yourself, desperate to chase that zinging feeling he'd given your pussy that day.

Weeks had gone by, and you'd spent every one using your own hands to chase the feeling of Joel Miller between your legs.

And now, an opportunity to grab those feelings presented to you all over again and, although your father was in pain, a part of you you'd kept hidden for weeks was glad for it. Five weeks to the day, and you were stood outside of Joel's apartment once again.

You knew what to expect now, you thought. You'd done this before, it was familiar. He was familiar. You knew how he moved, the sound of his voice, the look on his face when he came.

So, arm raised and feeling braver than you had any right to feel, you knock on Joel Miller's door for the second time.

A moment passes. Then another. You hear nothing beyond the door, and think about turning to leave, when there's a sudden click of the latch and the door flies open.

You'd psyched yourself up all day, but standing here you come to the stark realization that you're not ready to see him again at all. You shrink at the expanse of him.

His eyebrows raise as he leans toward the door frame. His dark eyes look you up and down and you stand there like an idiot, staring at him like you've never seen a man before.

"Can't say I expected to see you again so soon," he says, ticking his head to the side, inviting you in.

You walk past him, he doesn't move from the door way again, and you squeeze into his home.

The door snaps shut behind him, his feet thudding on the floor as he walks up behind you. You stay facing into his living room, staring at a deep scratch on the dining table he'd placed his whisky glass on five weeks ago.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart," he says, and you can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. He knew it was a stupid question. There was no other reason why you'd be here.

"My dad. He needs more. He's bad again and we can't..." you trail off, your poverty unspoken but understood.

Your eyes are locked on the table, you're trying not to clench your hands into fists. You weren't nervous this morning when you'd made up your mind, and now, trapped in this room with him your blood hummed with nerves, anticipation, fear, arousal. It was a cocktail you weren't familiar with and it was making you lightheaded.

Joel's footsteps thud again and you hear the nearby open and close of a cupboard door. He rounds back, appearing in front of you holding another familiar packet. He shakes it and you hear the rattle of pills.

"You ain't got any debt to pay off this time, sweetheart. You can take these right now and owe me... or you can pay me off right now."

You were waiting for this, but even so his offer makes your breath stop and your heart pound. You weren't just expecting it, you were wanting it, and you had a feeling he knew and his offer just proved that. He may as well have said do you want me or not. Your answer would be the same.

"What'll it be?" he says, extending the pill packet out with two thick fingers.

You take a deep breath. "I can... I can do right now. I-if that's okay?"

You can practically see the gotcha flash across his eyes.

"S'more than okay, sweetheart," he says, pocketing the pills with a smirk and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"You know the drill - show me."

You begin to undress for him, stripping off your jacket and simple dress you'd worn to accommodate the dwindling summer heat. You'd worn your best underwear this time, the black cotton bra, faded to dark grey over the years, actually lifted you and showed off the valley between your tits. Equally faded black panties sat high over your hips.

He watches you like someone would have watched a boring TV show years ago - almost disinterested, but watching anyway. You remove your bra, freeing your breasts and dropping it to the floor. Hands come to your hips to shimmy your panties down your legs when he suddenly moves toward you. You stop immediately. He walks past you, around you, circling like a vulture, assessing your nearly bare body. He's so close you can feel the heat radiate off of him, but he doesn't lay a finger on you.

He completes another half circle, stopping when he's directly behind you. He can see the way the skant fabric of your panties parts the cleft of your ass.

"Take 'em off," his deep voice comes from behind you, closer than you'd expected.

You bend - perhaps more than you usually would - and pull your panties down your legs, pulling them past your knees and stepping out of them as you rise.

Warm hands smooth down the plush of your hips and to the swell of your ass, gripping and lifting your cheeks briefly before releasing. Both hands smack back onto your ass before he speaks again.

"It's a damn shame I never got to do this last time."

He kneads your ass some more, the feel of his massive hands foreign, all things considered. He'd touched you in ways no one ever had, in ways that had you reeling and dreaming of them still weeks later, and yet he had barely ever really touched you. He touched your thighs and your wet cunt, he'd tasted you and been inside you, but his hands had barely ventured further than that. You were unkissed, relatively untouched, and totally, utterly, fucked.

You steady yourself just as he withdraws, leaving your skin burning for him to touch you again.

"C'mon, bedroom. Got somethin' for you." You hear a smirk in his voice. You don't think the grin has left his face since you got here.

Once in his room, he pulls open a drawer on the large dresser. You peer inside. Colorful shapes fill it - you know these things, you've seen them before, but not in a long time. The last you'd seen being your own as you frantically stuffed underwear into a bag, ready to leave your home during the first evacuation at the end of the world.

The man is a god damned a sex toy collector.

"Why do you have all that?" Fuck. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. If there's anything you shouldn't do, it's question a strange man about his sex toy collection.

He leans toward you, whispering in mock conspiracy, "I use 'em on sweet girls who come to see me when they can't pay."

He pulls out an unfamiliar object. You had seen the other things in the drawer before, but you'd never seen this.

"You know what this is?"

It looks like a fucking mutant turkey baster.

You shake your head.

"It's an anal douche, sweetheart." He trails a finger down your arm, the skin pimpling in its wake.

"You never seen one before, let alone used one, huh?"

You shake your head again. Your body immediately set on fire with the mention of it. He'd ghosted a finger over your asshole last time and promised you that he'd have it next time. Now, here you were. Next time. You'd be lying if you said you didn't get off from those exact words, if you hadn't tried touching yourself in the same way, going further and breaching yourself with a spit slicked finger, stopping barely a fingernail in, embarrassed even by yourself in the dark.

"You're gonna fill that up. Put that nozzle right in your pretty little asshole. Squeeze," he says softly, squeezing your arm. "Hold it in there for a little bit, and then you go push it out. Okay?"

You stare at him in dumbfounded silence - you'd never heard of this before and felt naive. One hand comes up and clasps your jaw, snapping your mouth shut, as he forces your head into a nod. He hands you the douche, and you take it. It's soft, but the nozzle is hard and unyielding.

"Good. Now you're gonna do that till the water runs clear, you got that? Don't want no messes." He moves to your side, looking between your face and your ass. Your face heats as his calloused hand smooths over your ass, giving another light slap to one of your cheeks.

You don't know what makes you do it, but you start talking. Rambling. Maybe panic at the unfamiliar had taken over, the nerves too much to bare, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"Or we could do the same as last time! I could even -" he cuts you off.

"You'll do this. Don't want anythin' else. Way I see it, I'm the one callin' the shots here. Of course, if you'd like me to do it for you..."

"What?!" you yelp in shock, your embarassement growing threefold. "No, no, please I-"

A dark laugh escapes his lips, he was fucking with you. "Didn't think so. Now, go on. You don't want to make a mess, do you?" You feel your cheeks heat with the preemptive embarrassment of that happening.

"I-I'll do it," you stutter, nodding your head once and looking down at your feet, willing the heat in your face to go away. You wanted what this led to, at least you thought you did. You'd thought about it enough, at least.

A kiss presses into your hair, the unfamiliar action melting your bones, sending you soaring. "Good girl."

A slap to your ass brings you back into the room.

"Get to it then, sweetheart. I'll be waiting outside. I want you clean, so no rushing."

The warmth of him moves away from you, back into the living room. You follow, watching, and he gestures to a partially open door next to his bedroom. You didn't pay attention to it last time, fear and tunnel vision blinding you to most of the details of his home.

You enter, close the door behind you, and take a shaky breath as you lean against the cool door.

You can do this. You just hope to fuck he doesn't hear a thing.

Joel is lounging on his couch reading a worn book when you exit the bathroom 15 minutes later.

"All good?" he says, not bothering to look up.

"Mhm," you nod. You didn't trust yourself with words and honestly, you had no real clue. You'd never done any of this before. You'd had thoughts, sure, but you were not familiar with any of it in practice.

He's up and moving toward you in an instant, the book thrown to his dining table as he passes it. You think you can see a growing hardness in his pants as he walks.

He looms over you, tracing gentle shapes over the bare skin of your upper arm, watching your nipples harden and a shudder run down your spine.

"Let's get you someplace more comfortable," he says with a softness to his voice that doesn't meet his eyes. His eyes are dark and molten.

He leads you back to his room and deposits you at the end of his bed once again. You stand awkwardly, hands and feet flexed in an attempt to push away your nerves. If Joel notices, he doesn't say anything.

"I've never-" you start.

"Oh, I know you've never had anything back here," he says, coming to stroke down your back and over the curve of your backside. "If you did you wouldn'ta jumped away from me last time."

Any humiliation that was bubbling beneath the surface floats away as he strokes gently over your hips and ass. The roughness of his hands against your soft skin makes your pussy thrum. If you were being honest, you'd turned up to his door wet and ready. By this point you were positively dripping.

"Have you ever..." you say breathlessly, closing your eyes. He laughs, it's raspy and deep, the sound of it sending another trickle from your pussy despite the anxious feeling in your belly.

"You ain't even the first I've ass fucked this week, sweetheart."

With that, he wordlessly moves you into place, turning you to face his bed, legs slightly parted. A hand comes between your shoulders to he push you down, making you hinge at the hips to bend over. Joel steps back, leaving you there nude, bent over his bed, and alone.

"Spread yourself for me."

You let out a shaky breath you didn't realised you'd been holding and reach behind you, gripping one plush ass cheek in each hand as you spread yourself for him. He approaches again, only to grip the meat of your ass with his massive hands to spread you wider, exposing both your holes completely to his gaze.

You slam your hands down on the bedsheets to steady yourself, the sound of blood rushing through your ears as you think of how much he's staring and where he's staring. Someone didn't tell your pussy this was meant to be embarrassing though, and you feel your heartbeat in your cunt.

Strong hands knead at you, pulling you apart and pressing you together over and over. You can hear Joel's breath get deeper behind you, enjoying the sight of your ass being manhandled.

Turning, you look around and up at him. His eyes are transfixed, and he's nodding gently, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you in from every possible angle.

"Fuck yeah," he murmurs, looking up at you as he notices your stare. "Beautiful ass, sweetheart. You gonna let me play with it?"

You already want to moan. As if you fucking wouldn't let him play with it now.

You bite your lip and nod at him.

"Ain't I lucky," he grins, before crouching behind you. You feel a nip of his teeth on your ass cheek, then the same on the other. Your breath catches when you feel his tongue dip down into your folds, catching your clit and swiping upwards through the wetness of your pussy, pushing in briefly to taste you. He does it again, and again, and again. You're moaning softly with each swipe, his tongue moving closer to your ass with each lick. You're pouting, trying not to whine, when he pulls away just before he touches your tight ring.

"Someone's enjoying this," he mutters into your ass, soft lips placing another kiss to your cheek as he circles a finger around your dripping cunt.

Fuck yes I am.

You hear him laugh behind you, the puff of air from his nose fluttering across your spread holes. Your eyes go wide, realizing you'd been so lost in it all that you'd said it out loud.

He moves away from you completely, reaching to drag pillows down his bed. A tap to your ass prompts you to move.

"Get comfortable, sweetheart, might be a while."

Draping yourself over his pillows, you get to your knees and rest your forearms on the bed. He's moving around behind you when you duck your head lightly, trying to be discreet as you breathe in the rich scent of him from his pillow. The smell of him fills your lungs, leaving no space for nervousness now.

The bed shifts as Joel climbs on behind you, a hand stroking up your thigh. You can't help but sigh. You were really enjoying this - your dad and your 'reason' for coming here long forgotten.

Hands pull you apart once again, and he's back to kissing across both your cheeks. He returns to where he's spread you, and you feel the scruff on his chin scratch against your ass, another huff of his breath, and then a warm, wet tongue is finally licking over your asshole.

Your toes curl as he licks you in gentle circles, tasting you. You'd never felt anything like it, the sensation strange and not exactly as exhilarating as you were expecting. And then he moans and you finally get it.

"Oh."

He wiggles his tongue gently into your tight hole, not quite breaching you but adding a pressure that has you pushing back into him slightly, willing him on. A broad lick and a kiss to your hole later and he's pulling away again. He keeps pulling away but you're desperate for him to continue.

"Good girl. Stay nice and relaxed just like that for me, okay?"

"Okay," you whisper into his pillow.

"Just a little longer, sweetheart," he says, stroking a finger up and down over your asshole.

There's a small snick behind you, and the finger stroking you pulls your cheek to the side.

A dribble of something cold, thick, and wet trickles over your asshole, and drips down to your cunt. You flinch and wiggle at the feeling, but a hand clamps down around your calf, keeping you in place.

"What's that," you gasp.

Hand on your calf keeping you steady, you hear another snick behind you. A finger traces the trail the substance took, up from your pussy, spreading the slickness of it around as he gets to your tight hole.

"Cooking oil. Ain't no lube in the fuckin' apocalypse and I don't wanna go in dry. Tear my dick straight off, and I quite like you havin' two holes instead of just one."

The tip of his thick finger, slick with oil, pushes into your asshole. You take a deep breath and the pressure gives way, allowing his finger to breach you. The hand on your calf releases, and traces up to your ass, squeezing.

This is as much as you'd ever managed with yourself, but with Joel doing it, it feels so much more. The tip of one of his fingers so much thicker than yours, and the oil easing his way so much better than your spit slicked finger.

He wiggles and swirls the finger just inside your hole, and you whimper, toes clenching. This is nothing like his tongue. Something like this shouldn't feel so good, none of it should, but the embarassment is long gone and all you want is more.

The finger pulls from you before he can give you what you want, and you feel more oil being poured onto you.

You arch your back, hoping he'll go right back to what he was doing, and he does. Finger to your asshole, he circles gently once, before pushing in again, not stopping at one knuckle this time.

"Nnngh," you moan, as his finger settles deep into you.

"All the way in all in one, good fuckin' girl."

He pulls out half way before pushing back in, fingering your ass with his index finger and holding you open with the other hand so he can get a clear look at your ass taking his finger.

There's no stretch, just a fullness, and goosebumps prickling over you as he moves in and out. You settle into it after a few more pumps, skin calming as you do.

"How's that feel?" he says. He must have seen you relax back down into his pillows, or felt it as his finger moved inside you more easily.

"S'good," you mumble into his pillow.

"You like my finger in your ass?"

"Mm," you moan, as he picks up the pace, fucking you a little harder with his thick digit.

"Let's get another in you, huh? Sweet pussy would like that too, I can see her twitchin'."

He begins to curl his finger, swirling it around and stretching against your hole. Your skin prickles again and you let out a whine, the fullness and added stretch feeling so good.

The finger retreats again but it's quickly replaced with the feeling of two pushing into your ass, one slipping in just before the second starts to spread your hole further than ever.

You groan deep and low, the sound being pulled from your chest without warning. When he's down to the knuckles of his fist, he holds there, twisting and scissoring them deep in you.

You're breathing heavy, whimpering, as Joel plays with your asshole. At one point you hear the snick of the bottle again and feel his fingers withdraw half way before spreading, creating a valley between them and spreading your asshole open for him, when a drizzle of oil is poured onto them. His spread fingers funnel the oil into your ass, and he pushes them back deep into your needy hole.

Over and over, he pulls his fingers completely from you before punching them in quickly, giving you no time to recover as he watches your hole barely wink closed each time.

"Nice and oiled up now, sweetheart. Just a little more. Wanna see somethin'."

His voice is thick and heavy, loving watching the way your ass is taking his fingers, listening to the whimpers and moans you try to hold back.

He's not touched himself, but you can tell he's rock solid and desperate just from touching you. You lick your lips at the thought of his cock, remembering the faint taste of him he'd smeared on your mouth weeks ago, and you feel more slick drip from you.

It was funny, if you thought about it. The attention to your cunt last time such a stark contrast to the neglect it was receiving now. You didn't mind.

Slicked fingers speed up in your asshole, really fucking you now, your ass jiggling with each thrust of his hand. You let out a high pitched whine, and he fucks you through it, before burying his two digits deep in your ass. He keeps pushing against you, never ending pressure making him feel deeper and deeper than he is. As if reading your mind, his other hand comes down to swipe drips of oil across your clit, using the tips of his fingers to rub in soft circles.

He keeps the pressure in your ass, releasing and pushing rhythmically so it feels like he's fucking you impossibly deep. Another wave of goosebumps cascades over you, and you feel your neglected cunt tremble.

"Joel I - fuck - I'm gonna come. Please, I-" you gasp, holding onto the pillow tighter with one hand but scrambling frantically with the other, not knowing what to do. The pressure is so deep, so foreign, but so incredible. You've never felt like this.

"Fuuuck yeah," he grunts from behind you, pushing his fingers deep in you again. Instead of releasing them, he starts shaking his fist, fingers still buried in your tight asshole. His other hand swipes over your clit in tandem, and you feel it.

The crashing wave of it comes for you, and there's no running. You're consumed by him; nothing but the scent of him in your lungs, and his fingers deep inside you. Moans that only he has ever pulled from you. Nothing else exists. The world falling to shit, caring for your ailing father, the years of loneliness at the end of the world. Gone - chewed up and spit out and gone, all at the hands of Joel Miller.

Before you know it, your thighs and cunt are twitching as an orgasm batters into you, knocking the air out of you with a scream you can't give sound to.

"Comin' from bein' ass fucked, thatta girl. Filthy fuckin' girl," he pulls his fingers from your ass as you still twitch, riding through your orgasm totally empty. A slicked up hand slaps your buttcheek, sending another aftershock through you.

Joel rises to his knees and you hear the tell tale clatter of his buckle through the white noise in your head - you'd long forgotten you were nude and he was not.

You look around to see him stroking his thick cock with an oily hand. You whine, you could come again just from watching. Every nerve in your body is on absolute fire.

He slides his slick hard length up your ass, rutting himself against your crack.

"I'm fucking one of your holes today, sweetheart. Don't have to be this one though, but I'd like it to be."

"I want it," you moan without hesitation.

"That's a good girl," he says, sliding his cock between your cheeks a little quicker. "You give me what I want, and I give you what you want."

His solid cock pulls away from you, and he rests a hand on your lower back, pushing down on you gently to hold you still. You feel the tip of his cock drag down through the slick of your pussy before he swipes back upward toward your ass.

Knuckles drag across your ass as he pushes his hips forward, the tip of his cock in line with your hole. A firm press of his thumb to the tip of his cock, and your asshole gives way, letting him slip in.

"Would you look at that," he says, before pulling his thick tip out of your ass. You immediately feel more oil drizzle into your hole, still opened from his slicked head breaching you.

He pushes back in, even easier than before. The stretch of it sends the most ferocious wave of goosebumps over you yet, drawing a babbling moan out of you.

"Jus' look at that," he groans, eyes locked on his cock fucking into your asshole. He fucks his tip in and out of you for a moment, your moans dying down as you adjust to the feeling, before his hips push forward again.

"Fuck, I could just slip all the way in sweetheart," he says, pushing deeper into you. "All the way in." As he says it, he slips his cock further into you with ease, sliding down impossibly far in one smooth thrust.

He stills. You feel so full, so stretched, but you don't feel the weight of his balls against you, or the heat of his warm belly. There must be more to go, but this is already so much. You whimper, almost begging him to pull out, when a hand slips around between your legs and starts lightly caressing your pussy.

"If you want more you're gonna have to ask for it."

"P-please, Joel. I want more."

Finally, he pushes all the way in, his entire dick encased in your oiled heat. He throws his head back with a groan, drowning out your whimpers as he bottoms out, grabbing both of your hips to steady himself.

"Fuuuck."

There's so much of him in you, you try to wiggle forward to relieve the pressure, even with both his hands clamped on your hips.

"Hold still," he shushes you. "Hold still and take it."

You'd do anything he told you right now. You quieten and let him push into you more, his dick twitching in your ass sending a jolt through you. You can feel his balls on your cunt, slicked up from your pussy and the oil covering you.

"Hold that slutty little hole open for me," he growls.

There is no hesitation in you as you reach back with both hands to spread your cheeks for him. Your grip is hindered by the oil, but you hold firmly and pull, spreading yourself and allowing him even deeper into your ass. He was quickly making being spread for him your favorite thing in the world.

He pulls out, leaving just the tip in you once again, before fucking all the way back in in one motion, pushing the air out of you when his pelvis meets your thighs.

Somehow you still hold yourself open, moaning and rocking your hips, and he fucks into you, his large hands on you pulling you toward his cock with each thrust.

Joel's breathing is heavy as he fucks into your ass, grunting softly every so often. He shuffles his legs as they slip away, unable to get purchase on his sheets in the constraints of his jeans.

They slip again and he slams into you, hard, with a growl.

"Fuck," he grunts in frustration and you hear the frantic shuffle of fabric as he pulls his pants down his thighs, his dick still buried in your ass. His belt clatters again, and he quickly pulls out of you. The bed rocks as he moves to discard his jeans, before he climbs back behind you, placing his feet either side of your knees. You try to look around in confusion, but then he lifts your hips, lines himself up, and in one smooth move, he's pushing his entire cock down into you.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, high pitched and desperate.

You let out a keening high pitched scream as he pulls out and slams into you again, and then he's fucking you in earnest.

He's like an animal, grunting as he ruts into you, fucking his cock down deep into you so far you swear you can feel your organs shift.

"That's it, she's likin' it now, huh. She's fuckin' likin' it now," he snarls.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chant with each gasping breath.

Your hands slap down onto the bed, white knuckle gripping the sheets as he pounds into your asshole from above.

"Ohhhh, yes - fuck - yeeaaahhhh," you groan. You can't tell if you're coming, it feels so good that you could be but it doesn't feel the same. You have definitely never felt this before.

"Takin' it so - fuck - fuckin' well, sweetheart," he gasps. "So. fuckin'. well."

He speeds up, pounding faster and faster, his balls smacking against the meat of your ass.

"Gonna come in this fuckin' asshole. Gonna get my cum all up in you."

"Please," you don't know what you're begging for, but his thrusts accelerate and that might just be it. You're screaming around him, his hips stutter, slamming into you. Joel's thighs quiver with the force of his orgasm, rattling the entire bed as he shakes and unloads deep into your ass.

You've deafened yourself. You've maybe came, you can't tell. All you know is your body is on fire and your mouth is dry. You could sob and you don't know anything, you just know it feels so good and so much.

Not knowing what to do with yourself, you lie there, face down, in a daze.

Joel lowers his shaking knees to the bed, still buried in your ass. His grip on your hips relaxes, fingers unconciously soothing you in gentle circles. His breath is heavy, and for a moment you feel him lean over your spent body to press a kiss to your back, before he retreats, pulling out of you and leaving your asshole still full of him.

You don't know how long you're there, ass still in the air, head floating through a million different universes, too fucked out to care you're still naked on Joel's bed.

"C'mon, sweetheart," says Joel, his voice gruff from heavy breathing. "Gotta get you home." You feel his oily hand softly pat you on the thigh, bringing you back to reality.

There's a thump as your clothes hit the bed, and you look around to see him for the first time since he put his dick in your ass. He's fully dressed again already, running a hand through his graying hair, sweat patches blooming on his t-shirt.

You nod at him and sit up - the floaty feeling has escaped your head and is buzzing all through your veins, creating a distance between you and your body. You mindlessly dress yourself, and he watches.

When you stand, your legs are somehow steadier than last time, and you don't even stumble as you pull your panties up the rest of the way.

Joel guides you out of his home, no offer of a hand or a touch to steady you. You slide your feet into abandoned shoes when he unlatches the door and pulls it open. Fishing around in his jean pocket, he pulls out the packet of pills, holding it out for you to take.

You thank him, taking the pills and walking from his apartment. You don't turn, intending to walk away from him before he can close the door on you again.

"I'll make you a deal," he calls out to you. You stop in your tracks. "You keep comin' to collect for your daddy and I'll give you those pills for free."

You frown and turn to look at him. He's standing in the doorway with his arms crossed like you'd just arrived. "That's not free. I won't whore myself for pills."

He lets out a wry laugh, "You already are, sweetheart."

Shaking his head, he closes the door on you once again, leaving you alone in the hallway.

And he still hasn't kissed you.

next part

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missmonsters2 · 2 years

Text

—OPIA | FOUR

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x OFC/Fem!Reader

Summary: You've been avoiding Wednesday's gaze lately.

Warnings: Angst. Protective!Wednesday. The Addams Family reunion. Larissa is exasperated. Enid, the gossip queen. Thing, the chaperone. Xavier, gets no breaks.

Series Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there’s no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: I rewrote this chapter so many times but I think it definitely explores the most intimacy so far. Likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated 🥺💘

Part Three

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Opia: Noun. The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday is agitated.

To succinctly summarize, you have been refusing to look Wednesday in the eye as of late.

It took a while for Wednesday to notice, perhaps because your back was always turned to her when she met up with you nightly to apply the medicine on your wings. And when that was finished, you kept your eyes focused on the pond while you talked.

And for a while, your witty banter and intriguing anecdotes had kept Wednesday distracted. The more time she spent with you, the more she began craving something she couldn't quite place.

Wednesday found herself enjoying listening to you talk about your life before Nevermore. Of course, she could tell you were avoiding talking about anything serious, but there was a small relief that there were good moments in your life as well.

In turn, Wednesday shared anecdotes of her own childhood, tales of the times she had to rescue Pugsley because he was weak, squishy, and sensitive. Whereas other people had looked at her disturbed and passed judgment on her, you had grinned and laughed.

Wednesday never minded the judgment from others, but she quietly admitted to herself that it was also pleasing to have someone enjoy her morbidity and harsh penchant for revenge.

So, maybe that's why Wednesday began to notice. Her discovery to see what your face looked like as she told her stories had led her to realize you've been avoiding eye contact.

You made it seem like it wasn't on purpose, fiddling with flowers until they've been weaved into crowns or giving Thing manicures—he's been getting much too pampered between you and Enid.

But even when Wednesday called your name, you looked at her, but you weren't looking at her. It was like you were looking past her, like Wednesday couldn't even be seen by you, and she despised it.

Wednesday detests people who can't look her in the eye. It was a sign of deceit, guilt, and secrecy.

And Wednesday will be damned if she'll let you keep any more secrets from her.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Oh my god, did you hear?" Enid leans her head forward at their table in the quad.

Wednesday was reading her spellbook, her eyes occasionally trailing across the quad to where you sat with the faceless outcasts. You seemed very intrigued about learning how they communicated.

"Hear what?" Yoko asks, adjusting her sunglasses. The vampire has taken to joining their table lately, and sometimes it would grate on Wednesday's mind to hear Enid and Yoki incessantly talk and gossip.

"Ajax was telling me all about it this morning," Enid grins as she looks over to the stoners. "Apparently, someone changed one of the girls' bathrooms near the Gorgon rooms to nothing but mirrors. I heard that two gorgon girls walked in this morning and were stuck stoning themselves over and over."

"Shit, that's awful," Xavier frowns.

Wednesday smirks behind her book.

"I wonder who would do that," Yoko casually comments.

They all look at Wednesday.

"So, why'd you do it?" Xavier asks, resting his chin in his hand.

"Even animals know to have evidence before accusing someone," Wednesday flatly speaks, her eyes never leaving her book.

"So," Eugene tilts his head with confusion, "you didn't do it?"

"I never said that," Wednesday's reply was uninterested.

Because Wednesday did do it.

The investigation took longer than it normally would with her being distracted by you. But finding out something so trivial, like who had hurt you, was child's play.

Wednesday had debated long about what to do. The idea of filling their rooms with tarantulas or poisonous snakes had first come to mind, but she knew it was almost guaranteed that Weems would discover it was her if the girls died.

While she did save the school last year, it would be unlikely Weems would allow her to stay here if she did kill someone, as tempting it would be.

Wednesday sighs lightly through her nose. It would've looked lovely on her record.

But expulsion would mean being very, very far from you, and Wednesday couldn't have that.

At least—not before she at least found out why you've been refusing to look her in the eye.

"Hi, everyone."

Everyone's attention turns to you as you begin walking up to them. They greet you back, and Xavier, Enid, and Eugene are already throwing out the nicknames they came up with that week.

"Tinker Bell!"

"Winx Club!"

"Bloom!"

"Eugene, that was literally just a rip off of mine," Xavier laughs.

"Those are all terrible," you laugh along, shaking your head. "Are you guys just thinking of all things faerie-related only?"

"Well, yeah," Xavier blinks as if there couldn't be anything else.

"Well, continue on then," you gave them a lopsided smile.

"Really? None of them?" Xavier sighs as he moves down his seat to let you sit between him and Wednesday.

"Can you blame her?" Wednesday comments while turning the page.

"Oh, yeah?" Xavier raises his brow. "Let's hear what you've got then."

"And let you idiots ride off my coattails? I think not."

Xavier starts grumbling, and you chuckle.

"Hi, Wednesday," you say softly, looking over at her.

Wednesday looks up at you, but you start staring at her bangs as soon as she does.

She glares.

"Oh, hey, I think you've got some dirt on your back," Xavier says, his eyes squinting as he stares at your back. "Here, I got it."

Xavier lifts his hand and starts to descend upon your back when Wednesday reaches over and grabs his wrist, twisting it back.

"Ah!" Xavier grunts. "What the hell, Wednesday!?"

Wednesday is holding up her book with one hand while holding Xavier's wrist in the other, glaring at him. "What are you doing, you oaf? Are you trying to dislodge her lungs from her chest?" She flings his wrist away, glaring at him while he shakes off the sting in his wrist.

"I was just trying to help," Xaiver mumbles, looking confused.

Wednesday doesn't dignify him with a reply as she inspects your back carefully and does find dirt on it. "Were you rolling around in the grass?" Her tone is flat, but her lip is curled in distaste.

Still, she carefully begins to brush the dirt off your back. It's a far cry from the hard pats you would've gotten from Xavier.

"Maybe," you sound amused.

"Christ, Wednesday," Xavier huffs. "Morgan le Fay over here isn't made of glass."

"It's a no to that one too," you shake your head.

"C'mon!" Xavier groans. "You're not going to pick anything at this rate."

"You never know," you shrug, smiling. You look at your watch on the palm side of your wrist. "Class is starting soon. I'm going to head out." Turning your head to Wednesday, you tilt your head. "I believe your class is on the way. Do you want to go together?"

Wednesday nods jerkily, packing up her things. She doesn't say anything to the group other than giving a look and walking off with you.

The walk down the halls is quiet, as it usually is. It's something Wednesday can appreciate that you never feel the need to fill the silence. But halfway through, you break the quietness.

"I heard the bathroom near the Gorgon's dormitory was changed to mirrors," you say nonchalantly.

"I see," Wednesday's tone betrays nothing.

"My usual lab partners were absent as they were apparently stoned all day—over, and over, and over."

"How lucky."

You stop walking, causing Wednesday to stop as well. You face each other, but once again, you are staring at her ears.

"I told you it was an accident," you sigh. "She doesn't know my wings are hidden inside my back. No one does."

"Accident or not, she still slapped your back—and I don't care that it was meant to be jovial—hard enough to reopen your wounds," Wednesday snaps and then sneers, "What? Were her hands partially stoned when she patted you?"

You seem unsure of what to say to Wednesday. In the end, you sigh.

"Even though it was unnecessary, thank you." It's soft and sincere, and the gruesome butterflies are eating Wednesday's insides again. It probably would've been worse if you had actually been looking Wednesday in the eyes when you said it.

"You're welcome," Wednesday says stiffly, and you turn to walk again.

The silence resumes, and Wednesday is nearly so fed up that she's about to just ask you if she's done something wrong. But what actually comes out of her mouth is, "Are you looking forward to Parent's day?"

There's an internal frustration rising within Wednesday.

"I'm ambivalent," you reveal, your tone even.

"I assume your parents won't be coming?"

You chuckle. "Unlikely."

"Will you spend the day with Weems, then?"

"Maybe," you seem pensive. "But she'll most likely be busy talking to other parents. Are your parents coming?"

Wednesday sighs. "Unfortunately, yes. They'll want to know how I've suffered so far."

You chuckle. "They seem like horrible people."

"Thank you, they are."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Oh, my little storm cloud, how have you been doing?" Gomez coos as he walks towards her.

"Wednesday, you look positively pale," Morticia comments. "It suits you."

Wednesday brushes off the comment, feeling awkward but nods at her mother to acknowledge it. Her eyes then focus on Pugsley, and she accesses him.

"Pugsley, you look feeble and squishy as per usu—are you sniveling again."

"I missed you, too, Wednesday," Pugsley smiled.

The four of them sit at a nearby table. Wednesday's eyes skim the quad, catching her various friends with their families. Enid seems to be getting along better with her mother, but Wednesday will always despise that woman.

"Who are you searching for, Wednesday?" Morticia's voice drags Wednesday's attention back to her family, who are all staring at her curiously.

"No one," Wednesday answers flatly.

But her mother only smiles as if she knows Wednesday's secret, which utterly irks her.

"So, how have you been faring?" Gomez asks, his face genuinely eager to hear.

"Dreadful," Wednesday replies. "Not once has my life been put at risk, nor have I been accused of any murders. Not even a single stalker."

Morticia and Gomez gaze at each other for a moment before back at Wednesday placatingly.

"It's...quieter than your first year here, but not every year may be filled with mayhem," Morticia smiled. "At least, not in the way you expect."

"What do you know about faeries?" Wednesday asks, changing the subject as it was intruding on a topic Wednesday herself wasn't prepared to talk about.

Morticia and Gomez seem lost in their thoughts as they contemplate Wednesday's question.

"Why do you ask?" Morticia finally answers. "Is that who you've been looking around for?"

Wednesday doesn't answer her mother's question, but the lack of an answer is an answer in itself. Luckily, her mother is merciful and only gives Wednesday a knowing smile.

"Not much," Morticia answers. "I believe we had only one ancestor who has ever visited a fae realm. They might've documented it somewhere in a diary."

Wednesday's eyes sparkled with interest. "Is that so? Do we still have it?"

"Perhaps," Morticia muses, her voice dragging at the end, and Wednesday felt herself tense. She knows that tone and already begins mentally bargaining.

"Alright," Wednesday says evenly. "What do you want in return for sending me the diary?"

Morticia tilts her head to the side, a black widow-like grin on her lips. "Larissa let me know that the next Parent's day will be when students get to go home for the weekend. I want you to bring your fae friend."

"Why?" Wednesday demands, her eyebrows furrowed in displeasure.

"Because Wednesday," Morticia leans into Gomez, who puts her arm around her. "You rarely show interest in other people. Enid is a lovely girl, and I hope to host her one day as well, but she didn't have you sitting here asking your mother what I knew about werewolves."

"What makes you think my 'fae friend' will be available to come?" Wednesday shot back.

Morticia doesn't chuckle in consideration for her prickly daughter, who was more likely than ever to say hurtful words now.

"You've been looking around the quad, but your eyes haven't landed on anyone. If they're not here, then neither are their parents. And if that's the case, they'll be unlikely to show up for the second Parent's day," Morticia looks around the quad and then back to Wednesday. "It would've been nice to meet them today."

Wednesday says nothing about the last comment but contemplates her options. The idea of introducing her parents to you was dreadfully...uncomfortable. But the diary...Wednesday sighed an internal breath of defeat.

"Fine," Wednesday concedes. "I will ask, but I cannot control the outcome of the answer. I want the diary regardless."

"Agreed," Morticia nods.

"Alright," Gomez claps his hands together. "Why don't I catch you up on what Uncle Fester has been up to?"

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wednesday feels a casual headache forming.

The day was long, and her family had been one of the last few to go. While her relationship with her mother improved after resolving the Garret Gates case, there was still a limit on how much time she could spend with her before feeling like she was on edge.

Although, Wednesday was pleased that her brother was faring better in school and no one was torturing him in fear his killer sister would come for them. It made her smirk a little.

But now that the day has ended, Wednesday finds herself craving something—craving you. She checks her watch, but it's still too early in the day to meet up with you for your salve treatment.

Wednesday runs her tongue against the back of her teeth in contemplation.

Friends...you were friends, weren't you?

Enid had confirmed it. With the consistent hangouts, shared stories, and occasional walking each other to class...that was friends, wasn't it?

So, if Wednesday wanted to see you earlier, she could. With that, she turns in the direction to start looking for you. You were nowhere in the quad, so Wednesday began to look for you in places you usually were.

In the end, Wednesday could not find you.

And she was angry.

First, you were avoiding eye contact, and now, you've hidden somewhere without saying a word.

When she finds you, Wednesday promised herself repercussions.

"Enid," Wednesday calls out evenly when she spots the blonde dragging her feet through the halls.

"Oh, hey, Wednesday," Enid says tiredly and then smiles. "Survived Parent's day, did we?"

"There was never a doubt."

"What's up?"

"Have you seen..." Wednesday drags and then shakes her head. "Did you happen to see—"

"I saw Faerie Canary a couple of hours ago with Bianca," Enid cut in to spare Wednesday. "Bianca's parents didn't show up either."

"Back to the rhyming, are we?" Wednesday doesn't hold back the unimpressed tone.

Enid only makes a face.

"Are they still together?" Wednesday asks.

Enid shakes her head. "I don't think so. I only heard bits of their conversation when I passed by with my family earlier."

Wednesday tilts her head, waiting for Enid to continue.

Enid looks mildly uncomfortable as she rubs the back of her neck.

"Enid," Wednesday's eyes narrow threateningly.

With a sigh, Enid mutters, "This isn't the type of gossip I'm into." But then she focuses back on Wednesday and looks at her seriously. "Don't repeat what I'm telling you. Not only do I think Bianca will stab me with her fencing sword, but I don't think Fae will talk to me if this spreads around."

Wednesday nods, and Enid looks around. Satisfied that there's no one in sight, she leans in closer to say quietly, "Bianca was talking about how it was unlikely her mother would visit again after last year. Their relationship is strained and complicated, but Bianca said she knows her mother does love her and wants the best for her. Bianca said how every mother wants the best for their kid, even if they have a fucked up way of showing it, although it was between her mother and mine for winning an award for the way they went about it." Enid scrunches her nose at that.

Wednesday nods, unsurprised by the comment.

Enid pursed her lips. "Well, then—" Enid huffs. "Fae just laughed, and then she said, 'Unless your mother's best for you is your demise, I think my mother has both of you beat on that.' I don't think she elaborated on it and left shortly after."

Wednesday was silent, her face furrowed as she thought about Enid's words. There was something uncomfortable nagging at her, and it was going to result in something Wednesday would despise.

"I see."

Enid nods. "If you find her, you didn't hear it from me, okay?" Enid gives Wednesday a look. "I also might not come back to the room tonight. I'm going to hang out with Yoko and Ajax."

Wednesday nods. "If you don't provide me an update at night, I will assume the worst and their murders will be the reason for my second expulsion here."

Enid smiles widely, doing her best to refrain from hugging her friend. "I will let you know I'm safe."

Without saying anything else, Wednesday turns and begins to head somewhere else.

Principal Weems's office.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Principal Weems," Wednesday calls after she knocks once and then proceeds to enter without waiting for a reply.

"Wednesday," Weems sighs deeply when she sees the gloomy girl. "How lovely to see you in my office. I assume your parents' visit went well?"

"It went fine. My mother was delighted to hear you weren't murdered and made a full recovery during the summer," Wednesday says bluntly.

Weems tries not to roll her eyes, especially when she remembers Wednesday's concerned face hovering over her when she had been injected with nightshade.

"Yes," Weems says dryly. "Surviving was the highlight of my summer." Then Weems sighs. "What can I do for you, Wednesday? Are you looking for our resident faerie? I've been told about the contest for coming up with a nickname. So far, I've heard some...interesting suggestions."

"She told you about that?" Wednesday narrows her eyes.

"Fae tells me about most things," Weems reveals. "But as her legal guardian, it's also my job to know."

"You call her Fae?" Wednesday frowns.

Weems smirks. "She actually quite likes it. I believe outside of her own amusement, Fae had her own hopes about the results of the contest."

"What does that—"

"What can I help you with, Wednesday? It's getting late."

Wednesday clenches her jaw in annoyance but tries to relax, remembering her objective of coming here in the first place.

"I want to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth."

Weems nods. "I'll do my best."

"I'm aware that her parents couldn't visit today for her safety," Wednesday looks at Weems expectantly, who nods.

"But I was under the impression that it was their judgment that it was too dangerous," Wednesday's face was impassive. "That's not exactly true, is it? She had said the more in contact they are with her, the more it exposes her location—which is true to keep other faeries away, but the full truth is this place is meant to guard her against her parents too, isn't it?"

Principal Weems sighed, looking both annoyed and impressed as she looked at Wednesday. "Well, since you've already figured out this much from what she's told you, I assume you'll find out soon enough because you're incessant and nosy." Weems rolled her eyes. "And I would prefer you don't alert the entire school as you do your investigations, so I trust what I'll say remains between us."

Wednesday felt her jaw tightening, her position staunch as she waited for Weems to come out and say something that would irrevocably change things.

"Yes, it is too dangerous for her parents to visit," Weems confirmed. "But not because they deem it so, but because I do. I wasn't offered guardianship because her parents brought her here and requested it, but because she escaped and found me."

So few little things make Wednesday's heart beat faster. Usually, it's from excitement, but Wednesday doesn't feel the excitement from the words, 'she escaped.'

Wrong.

Wednesday had been wrong.

Wednesday is filled with dread, rage, and vengeful thoughts—promises.

"As you know, night faeries are outcasts within their own group. Many people dread their existence, and some are even violent enough to take matters into their own hands before they believe calamity ensues," Weems's hands were tightly clasped together on her desk. "I will never allow her parents to step foot on these grounds because her mother was the one to try to cut her wings off."

Wednesday turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

There's nothing like the frustration of not having your number when you're nowhere to be found. Wednesday considers coming up with some ridiculous nickname and forcing you to accept it the next time she sees you.

There's only about an hour before she usually sneaks out to see you for your salve treatment, so Wednesday decides she'll play the cello to get her mind off things.

It'll be difficult with the hot rage that beats furiously inside Wednesday's chest. Her emotions dictate she avenges you because that's the only way she knows how to show she cares.

Wednesday opens the door to her room and finds it empty, as expected, with Enid not returning tonight. But when she looked out the balcony, she could see a silhouette of someone sitting on the railings.

Immediately, Wednesday made her way over and opened the window to see you gazing at the sky, swinging your legs as Thing sat next to you. The noise makes you turn around, and Wednesday can't explain the immense relief at seeing your face.

"Where have you been?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

"I could ask you the same," Wednesday asks with a clenched jaw.

"Around," you shrug your shoulders. "But I wanted to see you earlier than our usual time, so Thing let me in about half an hour ago."

"So, you've been here for half an hour?" Wednesday glares.

You nod.

She was going to break Thing's fingers, but the disembodied hand looked confused at Wednesday's irate behavior, and she had no choice but to let it go.

With a deep breath out of her nose, Wednesday steps out onto the balcony and joins you in sitting on the railings. It was quite a far drop-down that guaranteed either a lifetime of being a paraplegic or death.

It was kind of nice.

"How was parent's day?" You ask softly, staring out into the view.

"I survived."

You smile. "Your parents and brother are refreshing. It looked fun."

"It was not," Wednesday immediately corrects you. "You saw?"

You nod. "For a bit."

It was silent for a bit before Wednesday spoke up again.

"I talked to Weems before I went looking for you." Wednesday looks at you, but you don't look at her. "She's spilled all your secrets."

You laugh, and Wednesday frowns.

"I told her she could tell you if you asked," you reveal, a quirk on your lips but still refusing to look at her.

"Why?" Wednesday demands. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because somewhere along the lines, you stopped asking me."

The words hit Wednesday in the gut, making her feel unwell and breathless. It was true, and Wednesday can't even remember when she stopped asking and started assuming.

It was so unlike her.

All of this leads towards something Wednesday knows will make her face a revelation she's not sure she's ready to.

Still, Wednesday needs to ask because that's how mysteries are solved.

"Why have you stopped looking me in the eye?"

There's silence, and despite how much Wednesday has loved it all her life, she wishes you'd say something now.

You grant her wish.

"Do you know what I think about why you stopped asking me questions?" You ask instead of answering her question. You don't give her time to answer it, though. "Everybody has told me you've got an obsession with solving mysteries. But somewhere along the lines, you knew deep down your interest would continue even after you got your answers. That would mean you're vulnerable—and you don't want to be."

Wednesday felt herself clenching her jaw and fists so tightly she could draw blood from her palms.

"So, when you asked me why I stopped looking at you in the eyes, it's because it’ll push you towards being vulnerable." As if to prove your point, you finally turn and look at Wednesday—really look at her, like she's been wanting for weeks.

You look at Wednesday, locking gazes, and Wednesday feels like she sees galaxies and constellations in your eyes. It's opening her up to your bottomless, gleaming pupils. It's invasive and vulnerable, but the thing is—Wednesday can't tell if you're looking into her or if she's the one who's looking into you.

Wednesday thinks she sees something in you that you didn't mean to share, just as you saw something in her.

You turn your head, almost ripping your gaze from Wednesday's.

"Unpleasant, wasn't it?" You say with a self-deprecating smile.

"Yes," Wednesday answers, swallowing.

You nod stiffly. "Then, for both our sake, stop—"

"But in a way that I favored," Wednesday cut in.

You slowly turn your head back, catching Wednesday's intense gaze.

Wednesday's face somehow softened, her brows less tense and eyes less narrow. It was minuscule, but you noticed.

"I'm not good at this—whatever this is," Wednesday says quietly. "I will most likely devastate you at some point but for now, all I can vow is to ask you questions if you stop avoiding my gaze."

You stare at Wednesday, analyzing her face, and she wonders exactly what you're thinking.

In the end, you chuckle. "Deal, but no questions tonight. My wings are sore, and I hear you're an excellent cellist."

PART 5

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams fanfiction #wednesdayedit #wednesday addams x you #mm: my fics

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campbyler · 7 days

Note

our chapters average at 27,000 words, the total fic length is already 3x the average novel length, and we lost one of the authors working on this fic. it must be so nice to only have to endure the wait for a chapter to be uploaded so that you can interact with it rather than being the one to actually write it.

im going to be cruel (no pun intended) to be kind: this is such an intense externalisation of blame. you are the ones in control of the fic length; the chapters could handle some heavy editing and it wouldnt make them any less wonderful (such as regarding the descriptions of mike and will's internal thoughts, not the action between the characters themselves). fic is free and its a gift to be able to read works that inspire our hearts and minds while we wait for the show, but then again, when at the stern of a juggernaut work such as this, one that will inevitably have many followers chomping at the bit on tumblr as well as ao3 (as you designed it to have!), you surely must be aware of something that only usually exists in professional marketing spaces involving customers + brand IP: the relationship between consumer and creator, and what they can give each other.

not 'owe each other' - nothing is owed, except perhaps basic human kindness. fans want your work, and its free, so we should be grateful; likewise, you want readers, feedback and clicks, and that should be free, too. but in order for this to work smoothly, there has to be fair give and take. i mean, if you wanted to monetize the fic i'm sure many people would pay to read it, but thats beside the point here.

what fans of this fic simply want is the same honesty and self-awareness from you that they might expect from any artist who has embarked on such am ambitious project. and this doesnt just mean transparency about potential uploading dates (which is already much appreciated by the majority!), or notifications about how hard it is to balance work and life (something most people on the planet struggle with). it means total honesty and hard answers. people like to know where they stand. plenty of writers (both professional and fan alike) abandon works for months, years at a time, and if the work is THAT good, people will always be thrilled to see a return. it's the mucking people about that is what destroys relationships - no matter how good your reasons are.

your fic is wonderful and very, very memorable. you could take a big, undefined hiatus and people would, im sure, return, including me. seeing you admit that you have been prioritizing this fic over your mental health does not inspire confidence either, or even comfort - do i want to read something that has caused the creator such harm?

i think everything about this process would be happier for everyone if you set boundaries that work for you and didn't place blame elsewhere. after all, as you said, it's just a fanfic. it doesnt matter if you don't finish it. it doesnt matter if it takes all the way to s5 for 10.2 to release. everyone would, though, appreciate you taking a stance and being consistent (and therefore fair) to both yourselves and the readers.

please feel free to not post this publicly or do as you wish with it.

hello! thank you for your feedback and for sharing it in a way that is both kind and respectful. you make many valid points that i agree with -- we are in control of the word counts and could stand to edit down more, and we do recognize where being transparent about the reasons behind the chapter delays might not inspire confidence or comfort. i do, however, think that isolating one response/chain of responses to a particular ask is a little unfair, so i'd like to provide additional context.

i do not think that it's fair to say that we haven't been honest, self-aware, or fair, because we have been incredibly transparent throughout the entire run of the fic (over a year) about our writing process. just last month suni said she hadn't been working on 10.2 at all because abby had been visiting her house, and readily took ownership of that fact. there was a 4-month wait between chapters 9.1 and 9.2, and i was very open about the fact that i simply needed a break for at least the first of those months because i didn't want to write it. we have continued to maintain several times that we are not abandoning the fic, even if it takes longer between chapters, and have tried to stay as active as possible on the blog because we know that seeing us interact with asks Does inspire confidence. if you just scroll down and see how we have answered other asks inquiring about the upload, we responded kindly and respectfully.

what you interpreted as externalization of blame in that one (1!) ask response was me trying to provide perspective to someone who clearly lacked it. we understand that people will be frustrated about chapter delays, especially if we keep pushing them back, and this is also something that we have received feedback about before and tried to implement; however, it is also a double-edged sword where if we don't give an estimated upload, people get upset, or we give an estimated upload that we think is completely reasonable for us to achieve and then hurdles get in the way, whether it's writer's block or work or time with friends. i absolutely get the frustration on the receiving end, but something i have learned from being in this fandom for two years is that a pretty big majority of those who are interacting with fanworks are not creating it themselves, hence why my response -- while snippy and annoyed, because i was matching the energy, and will not apologize for that -- was contextualizing the whys behind the chapter delay: the chapters are long, the fic is long, we are down one entire body from where we started. the intention was not to shuck blame off of ourselves, but i get that intentions don't always translate into effect, so it's understandable that it was received differently.

we don't always respond to things perfectly. when we have a million and one asks inquiring about the next upload, one stray one that comes off the wrong way is likely going to set us off, because we are people, and this is not a job. we have set a boundary by disabling anon, and again, i cannot stress enough how much i appreciate that you've come to us with this feedback off-anon and with respect and decency. i get where you are coming from and again, agree with a lot of your points.

the only other thing i want to make clear is that this fic, no matter how much attention its garnered, should not be treated as a creator/consumer relationship that mirrors anything where the exchange of money is involved. not only is it unfair to apply this standard to fanworks, where it is illegal to monetize such content, but the entire purpose of fanworks is to celebrate what you are a fan of together. when you apply expectations on either end -- i am a fan of this work, therefore, people should create timely content for it; i am creating this fanwork, therefore, people should interact with it -- defeats the entire nature of fan-created work as a whole. while we have continued to be vocally grateful for the love and support our fic has been shown, we both maintain that we would continue writing and continue uploading even if we were getting less than half of the amount of interaction that we do. it's nice to have interaction, but not necessary, because we what write and post is done because we love it, and it's shared so that we can look back on it, so our friends can enjoy it, and anyone else who might want to. we are, of course, excited to share that world with anyone who cares -- we created the blog and the promo because we wanted to share it -- but that does not mean that the relationship between us and our readers should have expectations. we are all creating and enjoying this work for free for the sake of love for the characters, as the star trek obsessed housewives of the 60s (and the law) have intended.

i feel like this response is a bit jumbled so i apologize if anything isn't clear or hard to understand. thank you again for your time!

#asks

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mayajadewrites · 5 months

Text

Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy! Story Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes? Or possibly even... love? ao3 Chapter Fifteen: Trust

let me know what you guys think!! i love responding to comments and it inspires me to write more :)

You needed to tell Levi how you felt.

That is 'arrangement' wasn't working, because you wanted all of him. You didn't want to feel like this was a transaction. You wanted to know all the little things about him that he may see as insignificant, but in reality they're what makes him, him.

It's been a couple of days since the bar outing and things with you and Levi seem... normal. Well, normal for you two.

You open your phone to check if your sister answered any of your texts, but they all are left unread. Your heart starts to beat faster as you open the map to see where she is - about an hour away upstate. Your work laptop is in front of you as you're organizing the company's expenses on a spreadsheet, but your mind is elsewhere.

"You okay?" Jean pressed his hand to your shoulder which causes you to jump. Jean interrupted your thoughts, maybe for the better. "You looked like you were zoned out."

"Leave her alone, horse face." Eren said as he picked some papers up from the printer. "I'm sure your face scared her enough."

"Eren you are such a hater, I don't know how Mikasa can stand you."

"You WISH she could stand you." Eren mumbled as he walked to his desk. Jean turned his attention back to you.

"Seriously, you good?"

"I'm fine, thank you." You look back at your phone, hoping that your sisters name will pop up.

She means everything to you. You spent so much time raising her the best you could, so she wouldn't turn out like your parents. Gave her everything you could, even though that meant you would suffer. It was all worth it for her.

It was finally the end of the workday and you honestly can't remember anything that you did. Your anxiety is at an all time high, your heart rate definitely 5x faster than it should be. You kept checking your sisters location and your text thread, but there were never any new notifications. You leaned on the kitchen counter as you scrolled.

"Oi, what's wrong?" Levi grabbed your arm gently. "You've been somewhere else all day." He poked your temple with his index finger.

"I haven't talked to my sister in 2 weeks."

"Is that abnormal? I don't have siblings."

"For us? Yes. I'm more of a mother figure to her, so I worry more than a sister might."

"Show me her location." Levi pressed his chest to your back as he peered over your shoulder at your phone. You slide the map back on your screen, pointing to the dot with a picture of your sister on it. "Why is she up there?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." You sigh and check your messages again. "Am I being over dramatic? Should I just let her live?" You turn to face Levi, letting your hands settle on his forearms. "Tell me the truth, Levi."

"I've never lied to you." Levi pushed a piece of stray hair behind your ear. "I don't think you're being over dramatic. But I do think you need to take a breath. She's an adult, right?"

"She's only 18." You look down. "I knew nothing at 18."

"But you were basically a mother at 18." His index finger pushed your chin up to gaze into his eyes. "Do you trust her?"

"I-I do. But sometimes she acts like my moth- the woman who birthed me. And that worries me."

"She's growing up, she's not the little girl you have to protect anymore."

You nod, pressing your forehead to his chest. His fingertips traced shapes on your back as he held you, letting you just... be. He didn't say a word. You didn't cry, but you needed comfort in that moment.

Once night fell, you buried yourself in your bed. You don't sleep in Levi's bed often, only when you hear him have his nightmares. Your body craves his presence, but you don't want to seem like you're spending time with him for money. You genuinely want to sleep next to him. You want to wake up next to him - morning breath and all.

You soft skin touched the sheets as you tried to find a comfortable position, but it was to no avail. Anxiety fills your stomach and brain, so no sleep for you.

You pad to the kitchen, surprised to find Levi already there.

"Can't sleep?" He takes a sip of his tea, pushing a mug towards you with his fingers.

You nod, taking the tea and sipping the warm liquid. "How do you make this so perfect every time?"

"That's a secret for me to know and you to never find out."

You stare at him for a moment, in his white t-shirt and navy blue sweatpants, his hair a bit messy. Your mesmerized by him - he makes your heart flutter.

"Levi," You set the mug down, taking a step toward him. He takes a step toward you, gently setting his cup next to yours.

"Mm?" He tilted his head, his hands restraining themselves from touching your beautiful face.

"I-I want to tell you..." You take another step toward him, your bodies almost touching.

"Spit it out." He whispered, his hand ghosting your waist.

You look up into his eyes, then to his lips, back to his eyes. He leaned his head in as he closed his eyes. Your lips hovered over his before you hear your phone ring in your room, breaking the moment.

"I'm so sorry." You ran to your room to see your sisters name on your screen. You sighed of relief as you ran into the kitchen with your phone to show Levi. "It's her!"

Levi watched you as you answered the call.

"Alexis! Where the fuck have you been?! I've called and text you-"

"Hey." Someone elses voice said your name. It was a woman who you don't recognize. "You're the only person who's text her recently so I thought you would be the best to call."

"Who is this?" You raise an eyebrow, then looking to Levi.

"My name is Sage, I've been hanging out with your sister for a bit and well... she's not okay."

"What the fuck do you mean she's not okay? Where is she? What's wrong?"

"She's... in the hospital. Critical condition."

"Why?!" You almost scream. "What happened to her?"

"She overdosed."

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfic #attack on titan #levi ackerman smut #aot #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman x you #ceo levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #levi aot #levi

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kingkatsuki · 2 years

Note

you are a whole ass weirdo for blocking people out of nowhere for not REBLOGGING your stuff 😭😭😭 you are one of the most popular blogs in the whole mha fandom, you gotta be kidding you don't even lack the reach or the platform, i didn't peg you for being this interaction hungry

Hihihi! You’re clearly very upset that I’ve blocked you for not supporting content creators by reblogging their fics. I’m really sorry that you won’t be able to be a silent follower anymore, but maybe you can check out my ao3 instead if you just want to silently consume content without clicking any buttons.

The reason why I block people who don’t reblog fanfics (as I’ve mentioned a million times before it doesn’t have to be my fanfics, doesn’t even have to be bnha fandom) is because you bring absolutely nothing to fandom or the fandom community. There’s no point you following me, so I just block you to make myself more comfortable.

The people I’ve blocked for being blank blogs or not reblogging content that have messaged me have all been unblocked after supporting writers/artists. And honestly most of them have never reblogged any of my fics, and I’m okay with that… because they’re supporting someone.

There’s gotta be someone on this website that you hold above all else, that whenever they post they put a smile on your face? That bring you comfort when you’re having a bad day? That you actively look at their page first, like a morning newspaper or you think of randomly throughout the day like “oh, this was in ____’s fic,” … you don’t even want to support your most favourite author/artist?

It’s nothing to do with my “reach” or my “platform”. I’m a nerdy woman who reads and writes fanfic in my spare time, not David Attenborough. But regardless of whether I have 1 follower or 100,000 followers I, like every other creator that posts their stuff online (musicians, artists, writers, even fucking tiktokers) want feedback on my work! Even if it’s just an empty reblog or a quick comment “that was great” “good job” it means so much more than a like on a fic.

We’ve spoken about this before on tumblr but the like to reblog ratios on fanfics (and other content) is laughable. A fic with 5000 notes might only have 200 reblogs and 5 comments, and the lack of feedback will result in the creator wondering if it was even worth posting, if it’s even worth them posting again.

This is the reason why people stop creating, and it’s not just in the fanfic community. What do you think happens when your favourite musicians music flops, or your favourite TV show doesn’t bring in the ratings? People stop making, they stop producing. It’s the same shit with fanfics.

The fanfiction that you’re so mindlessly consuming takes time and effort. There’s a real person behind the screen gifting you their piece of art for free, and you don’t have time to click a button?

I’ve said it before, and I’ll continue to say it. I’m incredibly lucky I have the friends and followers that I do on this website, people that comment on my fics and reblog with the loveliest tags. Even the ones that are too shy to interact with me, I see your usernames in my notifs whenever you reblog something. But I know a lot of friends and followers do not get that same luxury, there are writers who pour their heart and soul into writing on here and get no likes, no reblogs and no comments. But people like you are reading and enjoying their fics.

How many times have you wished you got a part two to a fic? Or a new fic from an author who stopped writing? I know for people like you it’s easy to click out and just find something else to read, but I’ve lost some of my favourite authors on here because people like you won’t even click a button.

I deserve interaction, all the other creators on here deserve interaction.

TL;DR — You’re selfish, and I don’t want you following me💕

#me ranting soz babes xxx #jo talks

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callisto-died · 5 months

Text

gojo x reader

crossposted from my ao3.

Hear me out.

A guy with white hair that works with you in a Home Depot.

Perfect jawline, perfect blue eyes, perfect hair, perfect everything.

You got carried away, bumping into his back and dropping the box full of materials on the floor.

"Shit. Gojo, I'm sorry, I wasn't looking and I- I'm sorry." He turned to look at your small form, cocking a brow.

"My back is that sculpted? Huh, guess all that going to the gym shit worked out for me all along. Don't worry, I'll take the blame."

He knelt down, picking the box up from the floor, picking up the broken pieces of the vases and dumping them in the box. "Say, I've caught you staring at me a couple of times. What's your name?"

Your face. Saying it was red would be an understatement, and you covered it with your hands.

"My name is Y/N."

He extended his hand, you held it and shook it.

"Hey, I got a question."

Your eyes traced him as you leaned in closer to listen.

"So, asked a girl out and apparently she couldn't make it, so now I have a reservation for two at this fancy restaurant. Wanna come with me?" He cocked his head and started walking, he walked over to the gardening section, taking a watering pot in his hand. You followed behind him sheepishly like a puppy.

You froze momentarily, his form disappearing into the distance.

You chased after his, patting his back.

"So you're asking me out on a date is what you're doing, right?"

He nodded, seeming carefree. That was what attracted you so much to him. His wit, his determination to water those damn plants and get his hands dirty by using the forklift. You melted on the spot.

"I'll go. What's your number?"

You both exchanged numbers, and you took your leave to do your work.

You paced around your room, you were anxious. You wore a tight (f/c) dress that hugged your curves perfectly, curled your hair, and applied some mascara and lipstick. You had a (f/c) bag, and it had everything you needed, pads, tampons, and just in case, condoms. You checked your phone constantly, you finally got a notification.

Gojo Work - im outside

You didn't know what to save his contact name as, so you just stook with the obvious.

You - omw, r u at the front entrance or back entrance

Gojo Work - back

You left your apartment, not before double checking the mirror to make sure you looked nice.

You admitted, you looked beautiful...

You scurried downstairs, opening the passenger door to his car, it was fancy, cold and slick, clean and...

"So are you gonna get in or are ya gonna walk there?"

"Right."

You nodded, slipping into his car, closing the door next to you.

"So, what's this restaurant you're taking me to?"

"You'll see."

He drove, his eyes carefully traced on the road, his glasses on his face. He wore a black tight shirt and you couldn't help but stare at his...

Anyways, along with the tight black shirt, he had his sleeves rolled up, a belt, and some black tight dress pants.

You finally arrived, and Gojo stepped out of the car, opening your door.

"After you."

He closed the door behind you, and took your hand in his. "You look great, by the way."

You blushed, "Thanks, you look nice too."

You walked into the restaurant, mexican music blasting through the speakers. "This is my favorite restaurant, I know I said it was fancy, but that was just a bluff. Sorry."

"How can I help you?" The waitress walked up to you two.

"Reservation for two please, Satoru Gojo."

She led you to a private dining area, where she locked the door right after.

"For privacy, you know?" Gojo stated. "Last time I came here this weird homeless guy walked in and started yelling at me and my date."

"Oh."

"Anyways, what do you want to eat?"

After ordering your food, you leaned your head on the palm of your hand.

"You're so hot."

Gojo perked up. "Am I?"

"What?"

"You said I'm hot." He scooted closer to you, caressing your cheek. "Do you really believe that?"

You nodded sheepishly, "Who wouldn't?"

Gojo leaned in for a kiss, lips connecting with each other.

He leaned in closer, putting his hand behind your head. You tilted your head, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth.

There was suddenly a knock at the door. Gojo pulled apart from you in an instant, and your food was served.

A while later, you two began making out again, he lay you on the table, and you gave him a toothy grin as he held you softly.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pulled him closer. Gojo had just locked the door, as you laid on the table, Gojo spreading your legs with his strong arms. "Spread for me, baby."

He started massaging your inside thighs, rutting his hardness between your core, it made you shudder and moan in pleasure.

"Is this okay?" He unbuttoned your dress and slid them down to your ankles, admiring your favorite pair of panties beneath him. "Yes." You whispered huskily.

"Alright." He stuck his fingers through your panties, tracing your clit with small circles, eliciting a moan from you.

He pushed a finger inside you, stretching your insides slowly. "Ah- Gojo.."

He unbuttoned his own pants, taking his own length out and stroked it twice before coating it with your slick.

Gojo pumped his length once or twice and you took a second look at it, it was too long. Way too long.

He pushed another finger inside you, taking them out and thrusting back in at a medium pace.

"Fuck, Gojo."

"Soon."

He brought you in for a rough, yet passionate kiss, running his hand along your waist, squeezing it a couple times. He pulled his fingers out of you, and licked them free of your pre-cum. He pulled your panties down, and aligned himself with your hole. "Just let me know if it hurts, okay? Don't be too loud."

You nodded, letting him slowly slip inside you. You felt his member poke your stomach, and you pressed a finger there, which made Gojo squirm. He grabbed a fist full of your hair, and looked into your eyes. "Do that again." He waited patiently, but you just stared at him dumbfoundedly. "Be a good girl, go on, do it again." You finally gave in, pressing against him, causing him to groan. "Good girl, yes, good...mm." He leaned into your neck, leaving sweet kisses and bites, he was so mesmerizing, you couldn't get enough of him.

You enjoyed the praise, so you did it again.

He thrusted deep inside you at this, shaking the table in the process. "Ow!" You winced, which made him pause.

"Sorry, nevermind. I'm fine now. You can.. go faster."

He stared into your eyes, you couldn't help but stare back, getting lost in his oceanic gaze. "I'm sure, please."

He nodded, and held onto your shoulders.

He started slow, easing himself out only to thrust himself back in faster.

At this point, the only thing that could be heard was the table shaking, his balls bouncing on your ass, and the pants and groans that would come out of Gojo's mouth.

You felt your core tighten, you moaned loudly and Gojo put a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. "Be a good girl for daddy and shut up, won't you?"

You came inside him, but Gojo seemed to still be hard. You tapped his shoulder which made him stop, and you slid off his dick.

"I want to suck you off."

His face went beet red when you said this, but he obliged, carrying you off the table and placing you on your knees gently. "Be good for me."

You nodded as you held his dick with your hand, your cum pooling down beneath you, dripping on your thighs.

Licking a stripe up his dick, tasting yourself, you squeezed his length twice before taking him halfway.

"Gnnnhm.." You made a weird noise when you took him, amazed by his hugeness.

At the noise, Gojo thrusted upward, taking your hair in his hands.

"Fuck, do that again, baby!"

Stuffing your mouth hole, you choked on it, letting out a gagged noise.

You did as he asked, slowly taking him out and sucking him with lust.

You started pumping his cock faster, sucking him faster, everything just to make him cum. He squirmed in your touch, his dick twitching in your mouth.

"I'm so close, Y/N, baby. Oh, I'm so close, keep being a good girl for daddy and suck me off just like- hnnng!" He came unexpectedly in your mouth, pulling your hair, forcing you down.

...

"God, we should go on dates more often."

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #smut #fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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