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lostintransist · 8 hours ago

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Secrets are for Grownups | Part 8

Part 1 can be found here. AO3

Should I apologize for the below? Probably, but they deserved it.

CW: Allusions to past SA and calling men out on their own bad choices

Disgust is not a strong enough word for John to articulate his feelings toward his men. He studies them, unsure of how to move forward. They had remained seated as you fled for the kitchen. Simon’s fingers dug into Johnny’s shoulder and Johnny’s into Simon’s thigh.

“How could you?” John does nothing to mask the sorrow in his voice. “How is what you did to her any different than what happened to you, Simon?”

He exploded off the couch, fists clamped tight as his shoulders shook with the energy to fight down a strike.

“That was nothing like what happened to me, John,” Simon growled out, face set in anguish.

Johnny rose from the couch, a hand settling on his husband’s shoulder.

“How is it different then? Because she wasn’t in chains? Coercion traps people much more effectively than restraints. We all know that. We all took those classes about infiltration and interrogation together.” The two steps between them stretched like a ravine. “Did you ever ask her, either of you?”

Simon pales, Adam’s apple bobbing, “She never said no.”

John fired the killing blow, in a quiet, angry voice.

“Did anyone listen when you said no?”

He is moving before either John can blink — hurling open the door and vomiting into the flowers out front.

Johnny stared at John, hurt and betrayal chasing each other through his eyes.

“What if this had happened to one of your sisters?” John watched the words land and explode like the bombs Johnny had been so masterful at creating.

Dry heaving from the front porch drew Johnny away from the entrails of his decision laid out before him like someone had been divining a message from the lost gods. John moved to the front door and watched his men work their way home. Johnny limped and Simon swayed with each step. John shut the door firmly, resting his forehead against it.

He fought back the acid straining to breach his throat. He hadn’t known. He would have done something if he had known. All it would have taken is a quick conversation and two little boys wouldn’t exist, but neither would all this pain that attacked his people or himself.

Janet, his ex-wife, had blindsided him that year. Never once did she speak about being unhappy. None of her friends, her mother, or even her sisters had mentioned that she might be feeling unloved, neglected. John showered her in love and gifts and time whenever not on a job. He had thought them both happy. He had been wrong.

After a short job, John had come home to an empty house and a knock at the door. Within ten minutes of searching through the whole house and finding it empty of any trace of his young wife, he had been served. Sitting at the kitchen table he had read every line of the divorce papers, seething at the slander and the truth sprinkled to have the greatest effect.

She had dragged him through the courts. Her shark of a lawyer took a bite and a pound of flesh, as well as a healthy chunk of his paycheck for alimony. It would have been higher but the judge denied taking half of a war hero’s paycheck. Though that didn’t stop them from taking half of his retirement benefits for twenty years.

Every unclassified evil John had committed to keep the world safe had been thrown in his face. Conversations had in confidence, kinks they had explored together, every trip he had endured to bring Janet joy had needlessly been dragged out and laid before a judge, spoils of war.

John’s lawyer, a shark in his own right, kept John clear of as much as he could but spousal abandonment couldn’t be washed away with his years of dedicated service to the crown. He had been relegated to desk duty per Kate until the divorce proceedings settled down; that had been about the time you left if he remembered right. He hadn’t noticed anything. How could he have fucking missed something like this? Turning he rests his weight against the door, not trusting his legs to hold him at the moment.

His flagellation paused when you and Nyla appeared from around the corner. Both faces are awash with confusion as he answers the questions you undoubtedly have.

“Boys and I had a chat, they will reach out when they would like to schedule to see the boys. It might be a few days though.” John cleared his throat as he looked away from you to the wall of pictures.

“Are they okay?”

John glances at you, astonished you would ask after everything they put you through. Running a hand over his beard he chose what he hoped would not become a lie.

“They will be.”

Your eyes scour his face, tracing every wrinkle as if searching for confirmation of truth. Whatever you find there must satisfy because you nod once.

Nyla, mother instincts alert, narrows her eyes at him.

“What did you say to them?”

“I reminded them that if they stood outside their choices, they would be disgusted with them too,” John straightened, his chest stretching uncomfortably with the depth of his breath. Matching Nyla’s ever-narrowing gaze he continued, “I would give them the day before you talk to them. They are going to need it.”

She nodded once, firm and on par with a general sending his men to war.

“Dearie, why don’t you and John go out for the afternoon? It has been a heavy morning and I think you both could use an escape,” Nyla patted your arm affectionately.

“Oh, I don’t think,” you start to protest but Mama MacTavish is letting none of it slide. She cuts you off with a keen look in her eye.

“None of that now, you mentioned you need to go to the shops for more flour and sugar. Here’s a strong man to do the carryin’ for you since you complained that the workers are always a bit odd about helpin’ you.”

John has no opportunity to offer an opinion on the plan. Before he knows quite how it happened you are backing the van out of the driveway and sharing a look with him. Sharing a laugh you point the car toward town.

“How have you been John? We haven’t really had a chance to talk about you with all my drama going on.” You glance at him when you pull to a stop at a light.

“Not much to report. Still working for the crown but mostly handling paperwork and training now.”

You wince in remembered pain. John’s hatred of paperwork had been quite well known. It hadn’t gotten better.

“Are you dating? I remember you wanting a family. You seem like the type to want a family,” the van rolled forward as you set it in motion.

Snorting, John shook his head.

“Hard to find a woman willing to look past the insanity of my divorce decree and the demands the job had on me. And what makes you say I ‘seem like the type to want a family’?” He fired back.

A warm, embarrassed smile broke across the half of your face he could see.

“You talked about wanting kids with your ex before everything blew up. There was this,” one hand lifts off the steering wheel as you twirl it, looking for a word, “sparkle in your eye when you talked about having children.”

Humming in reply John did recall the few late-night conversations the two of you had fallen into over Chinese food you complained about. Thinking of those dreams still ached. Time to change the subject.

“I remember you not wanting kids. Did having Noah and Jace change that?” John reached forward and adjusted the air settings of the car.

“Yes and no. I told you I wasn’t sure if I wanted kids, not the same thing as not wanting them. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Even if I could go back in time ten years and give myself all the tools to avoid the pain I might still make the choices I did because the idea of never meeting them or seeing them grow? Devastating. Will I have any more? I don’t know.”

The sentence trails off. John can sense there is more there and he gives a gentle tug to see if you will open up.

“Why don’t you know?”

You take your time to answer, using merging onto the freeway as an excuse to delay a reply.

“Men my age are not ready to be fathers, or they all want their own babies and not to raise someone else’s. You throw on top of that Jace and Noah have different fathers it adds a whole layer of being thought of as easy and more likely to cheat,” you cut him off when you can sense he is going to start to argue. “John I am not blowing smoke out my ass, I am in several groups online of other single moms who run into the same issues I do of men being weird about the fact I already have kids and all the misogynistic bullshit that comes with it.”

“What about older men then?” John challenges.

It’s your turn to snort.

“What? You mean the men who have divorced from their first wives and are looking for a woman to come in and play mom during their parenting weeks? It’s double the work with no real payoff. They are looking for someone to manage their kids while they go golfing on the weekends and make dinners during the week. Looking for a wife instead of live-in help because they aren’t rich enough to hire a nanny and a maid.” You shake your head and roll your eyes ending your rant with a sigh.

“Do you want to get married again then? This sounds enough to put anyone off finding love,” John prods a bit further, happy to keep the conversation off him and his unfulfilled dreams of a family.

Leaving the freeway the grumble of engine slowing fills the space.

“I want love,” you finally start, pointedly keeping your eyes on the cars ahead of you. “I want to know romantic love that settles into the backdrop of my life and keeps me warm at night. If that comes at the sacrifice of my boys, my freedom, my life though? I won’t take that chance. I would have to find someone happy to be a fourth father figure to my boys, who loves them and me fiercely, and makes life better.”

He holds his thoughts in, sensing that you have more to say. It took a few minutes, but John had been right. Settling into a parking spot of the wholesale bakery supply store you reach across the van to pop open the glove box and pull out a fast food napkin. The small space is nearly overflowing with them. Blowing your nose you drop the proof of unshed tears in the small garbage bag John hadn’t noticed.

“If it were possible to find a man who could do all of what I need, I doubt he would want me.” Your voice is small and sad as you say it, confessing to a sin you didn’t want to hold.

No words rise in John’s mind to soothe the ache he hears. He watches though as you pull out some cup holders he hadn’t noticed either. This damn car had so many nooks and crannies he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hide a body underneath the back seats. Lifting a plain band you slide it onto the ring finger of your left hand. Brows going up without his permission John is caught judging when you straighten up.

“The men in there are more likely to leave me alone if I have a ring on,” you say by way of explanation.

“Would be hard to catch a husband if they think you’re married,” John joked, climbing out of the car as you do.

“Not trying to catch any here. All these men do is belittle me for making my ‘silly little cakes’ instead of doing real baking like they do.” Rolling your eyes you stroll with him across the parking lot.

“The hell is real baking then?”

John had seen your work and tasted it. You could bake near anything and it might send him into space with how delicious he found it.

“Hell if I know. Because my ovaries are all tucked up safe in my body instead of dangling waiting to be hit it must mean I will never understand.”

The boisterous laugh draws eyes as the sliding door opens admitting your grin and John’s mirth. He trails after you as you push a flat cart around, pointing to items for him to load. At one point you are speaking to a tall man with a name badge, looking for a specific item you had been unable to find on the shelves.

A different employee walking by pauses, arms full of baking chocolate, to speak to him.

“I’m so happy she was finally able to bring you with her. The men who come by were starting to believe her husband was made up and bother her.”

She walks away before John can find the lever that allows him to open his mouth and deny the claim. Janet had been young when they married, the age gap almost uncomfortable as he thought of it now. John had vowed never to pursue a woman so much younger than him again. Though as he crept closer by days to forty he wondered if the nine years between you and him might still be too much.

The thought dogged his steps as he loaded your van with the bags and joked with you over lunch, staring at the ring you had forgotten to take off after the shop.

Could he have a chance at the dreams that haunted him since he was a teen? His mum had raised him until his gran took over the job and John shipped himself off to war. He knew from his time in therapy that the desire for a family stemmed from what he saw as the lack of it from early on. That knowledge didn’t stop the gnawing in his gut. Imagining you with his ring on your finger, his hands in your hair, your smile greeting him every morning instead of the coffee rings on his table, it tore at something inside him. It ripped and shredded because as much as he could pretend, he doubted you would want another broken military man in your bed or your heart.

Secrets Masterlist | Masterlist

@love-kha1 @sweetlike-sugarplum @vmaxis @splaterparty0-0 @momowhoo @talia-the-gemini @redkarmakai @aethelwyneleigh27 @asexualbuthorny @sleep101 @callsignbumblebee @lucienofthelakes @sirbonesly @demothers-empty-blog @fightmerahhh @skeletonsucker

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #price x reader #soap mactavish #john price x reader #simon ghost riley #lostinstransit writing #a side of ghoap #ghoap

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flowersdiceandlove · 1 day ago

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Au where Hua Cheng stays as Wu Ming. All the canon stuff during the first banishment happens, but when he goes to Mount Tonglu, he stays as Wu Ming instead of becoming Hua Cheng. He decides to keep the name Wu Ming bc that’s the name His Highness gave him. He keeps wearing the black robes and Xianle soldier uniform/armor. He makes it clear that he was a soldier in the Xianle army, that he still considers Xie Lian his god, and he wants to serve and protect his god for the rest of his existence just as he wanted in life. He still becomes the calamity and founds Ghost City and challenges the gods, but he does it as Wu Ming. Instead of Crimson Rain Sought Flower, he becomes Crimson-Teared Smiling Ghost (or maybe Crimson-Teared Smiling Soldier?) bc when he’s standing in the blood rain, it slides down his smiling mask making it look like he’s crying tears of blood.

The Heavens know that he’s looking for Xie Lian, and when the Mount Yujun mission happens and Xie Lian’s asking about the young man who controls silver butterflies, they’re like “ah, yes, Wu Ming... Of course he was there since you were…” And Xie Lian is balking learning that Wu Ming is still here and has been looking for him and is still openly worshiping him after all that happened. Xie Lian finds out where to find Wu Ming and hurries down to Ghost City and finds Wu Ming.

This could either be a speed run for their relationship (more than it already was in canon) because Wu Ming’s devotion makes it kinda clear of how much he loves Xie Lian and Xie Lian figures out that he’s Wu Ming’s beloved that Wu Ming wanted revenge for—and, while Xie Lian’s not sure he deserves this love after all that happened—is touched deeply and falls in love with Wu Ming as they spend time together. Or it makes it drag out so much bc they both feel guilty about the past and inadequate to stand next to the other. Xie Lian not feeling worthy of Wu Ming’s steadfast devotion, and Wu Ming feeling he’s failed his god since he left Xie Lian to fight White No-Face alone and is only just now finding him. Either way, like hell Xie Lian’s leaving Wu Ming’s side after their parting 800 years ago and is 100% on Wu Ming’s side in everything. The Heavens have some sort of critique about Wu Ming or warning to Xie Lian about him? In one ear and out the other along with a pointed reminder that Wu Ming is his ghost and his follower. Do not speak I’ll of him again :) Wu Ming’s poor heart is pounding and his face is flaming at how steadfast his god, his love, his everything is defending him and fanboying so hard about it to He Xuan and Yin Yu.

I think at first Xie Lian would move into one of the shrines or temples that Wu Ming built in Ghost City, but then after a little move into Paradise Manor properly.

Also, while Wu Ming openly worships Xie Lian, he doesn’t make any of the denizens of Ghost City worship him. However, bc their beloved Chengzu is worshipping this god, they want to as well and learn about this god that their Chengzu loves. Because of this Xie Lian has a lot of temples and shrines in Ghost City. This number increases after Xie Lian moves there and actually starts answering their prayers, helping where he can, becoming just as beloved as their Chengzhu to them in his own right.

Since Xie Lian has all these temples and shrines, when he has his initial debt, he actually has merits streaming in that Ling Wen is plucking from Xie Lian before he even gets them to start repaying the debt. He still needs to do the Mount Yujun mission though because it is a big debt. And Wu Ming has no intention of purposefully giving more offerings to Xie Lian to help him pay the debt that way cause he doesn’t think Xie Lian should have been billed in the first place. And, since the gods know that any merits from Xie Lian would be coming from Wu Ming and Ghost City, they’re actually scared to take the merits since they think it would piss Wu Ming off (they’re right, of course). So they’re more than happy when they learn about the Mount Yujun arrangement, saying they only want merits if it comes from that mission. (Some still decide to just wave the owed merits all together just to be safe.)

Most of the gods in Heaven still avoid Xie Lian like he’s the plague because of his past but also because (and as the leading reason) because they don’t want to piss Wu Ming off accidentally if they say something offensive to Xie Lian by mistake. After Wu Ming challenged the gods and it came out that he worshipped Xie Lian, the incident of the 33 gods kicking Xie Lian off the mountain came out and so people are scared they’ll be next if they make a wrong move around Xie Lian. They don’t know Xie Lian very well, so they don’t know what he would consider offensive.

Feng Xin and Mu Qing know Exactly why Wu Ming’s pissed at them and can’t even blame him for it after learning of Wu Ming’s devotion. I think their interactions would be really funny. The three of them dragging up old, petty grievances, and hurling Xianle insults at each other. Wu Ming and Mu Qing are winning this because their memories are so good that they remember a lot while Feng Xin is wondering how these two remember so fucking much and so many fucking details. He’s doing pretty good with the insults, though. Those he remembers just fine. Pretty much all of Heaven has learned insults and swears from the Xianle dynasty and dialect and they actually use it. (Xie Lian is pretty shook after ascending again and hearing his native dialect used so casually after it being out of use for centuries.)

The gods eat up Wu Ming, Feng Xin, and Mu Qing’s beef because they know it’s personal instead of left wondering why he’s so against the two and are enjoying watching the matches, arguments, and fall out with them all just like they did with just Feng Xin and Mu Qing in canon.

While Wu Ming does have a lot of fake skins, he still always wears the smiling mask when he’s going up against the gods or in any Official business as Crimson-Teared Smile Ghost/Soldier(?) as a matter of trademark and principal. If he’s not wearing it over his face, he might slide it to the side of his head or have it hang from his waist. When he’s in a human disguise in the Mortal Realm, he keeps it tucked away out of sight, but still on him and easy to grab to put on. He might also just have a technique for making and shattering them for when he needs them. Like how his butterflies come out of his vambraces.

I really like the idea of his title starting out as “Crimson Teared Smiling” because it’s so beautifully tragic. The blood rain falling down makes him look like he’s crying tears of blood, and horrible type of grieving for his his god who went through so much. He wears his smiling mask, though, and is makes it look like he’s smiling because his god was kind and smiled kindly to all, offering shelter and a helping hand. Xie Lian’s duality is reflected here, the pain and suffering he went through with the bloody tears, but also the kind smile he kept and still offers despite it all. We also can’t forget White No-Face’s cry-smiling mask. That just feels like the cherry on top of hidden meanings.

As for whether it ends in “Ghost” or “Soldier” I keep wib-wobbling back and forth on because they’re both so good. “Ghost” is good because that’s what Wu Ming is. He is a nameless ghost. He was nobody until his god gave him purpose. He was ready to die and felt dead because of his shitty life and luck before he remade himself for his god. Even when he was alive, he was always told he’d be better dead and that he’d not live to 18. He was always surrounded by death and tragedy. A ghost is a very good descriptor of what he is even before he died. In volume 1, Chapter 6 it says:

Many believe that, as the God of Misfortune, any paintings or writings of the Prince of Xianle have the powers of a curse. If placed on the back of a person, or on the main entrance of a household, then the cursed person or household will run into all sorts of bad luck… …It was hard to tell whether this was a description of a god or a ghost.

With Honghong-er's luck, even as alive, I would not be surprised if this was true for him also. So, "Ghost" is a very good word to describe him and has a lot of meaning to it.

However, "Soldier" also has a good meaning to it. Wu Ming was a soldier in the Xianle army. He took up arms to defend the capital, but mostly his god, Xie Lian. In the first battle after Xie Lian desended, Mu Qing notes that Wu Ming(still a nameless soldier) was fighting really closely to Xie Lian the entire battle, trying to keep enemies away from Xie Lian. Later, as the ghost Wu Ming in actuality, he was a soldier once again, serving Xie Lian directly, working as his blade and tool. He made himself into a solder for Xie Lian. He did that. That was his choice. He pushed away his fate and became what he wanted. A soldier. A protecter. All for his god. He still wears the armor and attire of a Xianle soldier because that's what he is in this au. He is a champion of Xie Lian, the Crown Prince of Xianle, his weapon, tool, protector. He is a soldier and he wears that honor proudly. Xie Lian is the one who told him he would be suited for a saber and gave him tips. He pledged himself to Xie Lian many times, and Xie Lian accepted that pledge. He is Xie Lian's soldier. His champion. Everything Wu Ming built was towards that end of protecting Xie Lian. The fact that Wu Ming made himself this, is so very in line with canon that it would be so beautiful for his title to reflect this just as the "Sought Flower" does in his canon title.

"Ghost" is a good descriptor of him, but holds tones of his past and what was given to him.

"Soldier" is what he made himself despite it all.

Both are so good, and I'm not sure which would be better. Maybe it's something they change? In canon, there are multiple titles used for people. Just Qi Rong is called both "Night Touring Green Lantern" and also "Green Ghost." So, idk.

I thought up this idea about a week ago and was like "I should write that. That's such a good idea and would be so much fun." but then I remembered that I have so many other fics I need to finish and that this idea would be a big one because there's no way that this could be a oneshot or anything even in the realm of short. I would think 50k at least, but the way my writing goes, it would probably end up closer to 100k. So, i decided to release this idea to the wind and see if any of you got inspiration from it. If anyone writes this or has ideas, let me know because I really do love this idea and want to see stuff about it.

#tgcf #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #hua cheng #xie lian #hualian #wu ming #wulian #tgcf fanfic prompt #tgcf fanfiction prompt #do with this what you will

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that-hazbin · 2 days ago

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Your angel AU now has me by the THROAT.

I’m assuming that Alastor goes to Hell basically immediately after Emily tells him that Lucifer Fell and hopes that Lucifer didn’t just forget about him (even if everyone else had).

That reunion will be messy, and I think that in a way Lucifer didn’t forget about Alastor—I am now convinced that the apple on Lucifer’s hat is the one he meant to give Alastor and no one can convince me otherwise—but thoughts of him kind of fell to the wayside as other things took priority. I imagine Lucifer will be a mix of happiness to see Alastor, and horrified guilt because he was left in that garden for 10,000 years alone and it’s his fault. You said this whole idea was based on Spinel, so I’d think Alastor is a mix of terrible sadness and frothing fury, oscillating between the two in turns.

You have set up a situation that will have severe emotional repercussions that are delicious to contemplate; thank you for sharing your ideas and writing with us, and I respectfully request more.

I shortened a lot of this AU because I wanted people to make their own thoughts on it, but I've got a lot of personal thoughts for it that makes it fun. One of them is that in this AU, Alastor doesn't have wings. He was made for Lucifer as basically his doll, and so he wasn't allowed flight. If he needed to go anywhere, he needed Lucifer to fly him around. So leaving Heaven to get to Hell would, in fact, be really difficult. He can't just fly down the way Adam and his exorcists can.

Granted, since Lucifer fell, maybe Alastor thinks "alright I'll do that too" and just bodily throws himself over the edge. That would be a NASTY reunion for Lucifer. Sees some meteor falling from Heaven, flies up to stop it, only to realize "Hey wait is that a person— IS THAT ALASTOR?!"

Meanwhile Emily, who witnessed this poor WINGLESS guy JUMP FOR HELL, is frantically trying to call up Charlie and give her like. A warning. Perhaps an explanation.

Lucifer and Alastor would have the most messed up reunion in this case. Alastor is still operating on the idea that his whole existence is to please Lucifer in some way, specifically to make him happy, to entertain him. In Lucifer's mind, this means that Alastor literally condemned himself to the most painful action in existence because of HIM. He never managed to give Alastor the fruit of knowledge like he planned, and it resulted in this.

Unbeknownst to Lucifer, Alastor isn't completely bereft of free will. Otherwise, he wouldn't be... feeling the emotions that he's feeling. He's hurt, saddened, and filled with so much anger. And Alastor is not going to direct that anger at Lucifer, of course not, it's not his fault that Alastor waited for ten-thousand years for no reason. (Except, it kind of is, but NO IT ISN'T.)

Things will hit a boiling point, though, when Lucifer suggests getting Alastor back into Heaven. Because obviously Alastor doesn't deserve to be in Hell, it sucks here, and Alastor deserves better— except that's not what Alastor hears. What Alastor hears is that despite waiting several millennia for this moment, Lucifer doesn't actually want him around and is planning on getting rid of him. Wiping his hands of him. Why not, right? Every other angel in Heaven has forgotten about his very existence, and here's Lucifer, the one he was made for, trying to do the same!

Alastor would just. Explode. He's confused and so, so furious. What exactly did he do wrong this time? Why isn't his friend happy to see him, why doesn't he want Alastor to stay? Is he seriously going to abandon Alastor AGAIN?! TEN THOUSAND YEARS! He can't do it again, he can't.

It would take a while before Alastor calms down.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #lucifer morningstar #appleradio #radioapple #angel alastor #hazbin emily #charlie morningstar

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mermaidgirl30 · 2 days ago

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✨Fall Into the Dark With Me Part 3: Forever and Always✨

Dark Arts Professor! Joel Miller x Herbology Professor Fem! reader

Part 1

A/N: I wasn’t planning on another part, but a sweet ask came in and gave me some inspiration for another part. This one is so so soft and sweet 🥰 Happy Valentine’s Day from your favorite Slytherin and Hufflepuff lovers 🩷

Chapter Summary: You reminisce on your wedding day and your honeymoon. But that’s not the only thing you’re smiling about. You’re glowing because you’re carrying Joel’s child.

Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 2.5k

Chapter Tags: So much fluff, Joel in love, soft! Joel, Professor! Joel, Slytherin! Joel, Hufflepuff! reader, wedding night, reader is pregnant, flashbacks of smut

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You sway back and forth in the garden, tending to your fragrant lilies and fresh strawberries while the sunshine warms your bare arms, your summer dress flying in the breeze. You’re a little distracted today, a little nostalgic thinking back on your wedding night that was just four months ago. But really it seems like it was just last week.

A smile slips over your mouth; dreamy eyes stare into the distance where a water stream floats through an open valley, ending in a sea of green trees. Biting your bottom lip, you smile as you remember the moonlit wedding. Floating lanterns lit up the trees. Fireflies danced all around your flowing white dress. The one with the sheer sleeves and the bodice that glittered with crystals sewn into the silky fabric.

Time seemed to stop when you saw Joel at the end of the aisle—his hand lacing through his slicked back hair, a midnight black tuxedo hugging his broad body, a white bow tie to top off the sleek outfit. And in his hand sat a white lily. But not just a normal lily. No. It was the rarest flower you’ve ever seen. The one you showed him in your flower book. You didn’t know it actually still existed, but there it was, glittering under the moonlight, just waiting there for you. And when you got up to the altar, he laced it through your braid, told you how you were the rarest flower in all the land, so you deserved a flower that was as special as you.

And of course you cried. Gods, you cried when he took your hands in his and confessed his love all over again. He didn’t even need a paper; he just knew exactly what he wanted to say to you. And it was the most beautiful speech you ever heard in your life.

“My love. The moment I saw you across the Great Hall, I just knew you were the one. I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on you. I remember you waltzing in with a book about lilies under your arm and an empty flowerpot in the other.” He had to stop for a minute because he was chuckling under his breath, but it didn’t take him long to continue. “You stole my breath away the moment you pulled me by the hand in your classroom and walked me through how to properly handle a Venomous Tentacula. And even though most people are scared of them, you weren’t one bit. You handled it so gently and talked so sweet to it. I’ve never seen quite anything like it in my life.”

More tears spilled from your eyes, but he just kept going, squeezing your hand all through it. “You captured my heart with how kind, caring, and gentle you are with everything. Plants, animals, children, me.” He shook his head with a smile and continued on. “But it wasn’t just your heart I fell in love with. It was your entire soul. The way you’d leave me flowers outside my classroom. The way you planted a garden in my heart. The way you continuously loved me, even through the days I relentlessly teased you and gave you hell. You never gave up on a not so easy Slytherin like me. You showed me what it’s like to be kind. You showed me how to love unconditionally. And baby, I jus’ can’t wait to spend the rest of my life lovin’ you the way you deserve. I want to give you the entire world. And I promise you this. There’s never a day I won’t stop lovin’ you. It’s you and me forever, baby. Jus’ a sly Slytherin with his kind Hufflepuff wife. You’re my whole world.”

And then he tugged you close after the two of you said your I do’s, his lips consuming you as fireflies danced around your tight embrace. It was like a dream, and he made it the dreamiest wedding you could’ve ever imagined. Even went as far as planning most of it with you. He never slipped, never strayed on any of the decisions. He was there through it all, your hand in his.

And then there was the honeymoon in Croatia. That blissful, two week filled vacation of just you and him. Endless love making in the sheets, his body between yours, slow strokes of his hands, relentless snapping of his hips, his mouth between your thighs, lapping you up till you climaxed twice before his cock was buried between your slick folds. You both barely made it out of the room. Instead of endless sightseeing and boat rides on the crystal clear water, you traded it for long soaks in the bath, his broad body flush against yours, his mouth magnetized to yours till all you could smell, breathe, think was Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

He’s all you’re ever able to say. He’s just so… perfect. The perfect husband, lover, father…

Father. Yes. A slow smile slips over your mouth, makes you blush as you wrap your arms around your middle, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you think about the near future. Joel’s going to be a father again, with your child. He just doesn’t know it yet. But today is the day you tell him. Today is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

Hiding this has been hard, extremely hard. You’ve been dying to tell him. You just wanted it to be the perfect moment. He’s been gone the last few weeks taking Sarah and Ellie on a late summer trip before they have to go back to school. He begged you to go hiking with them, practically got down on his knees and pleaded for you to go. Said he couldn’t stand being away from you for one night. But hiking and camping was no place for a pregnant woman of now almost four months. So you stayed here, but not alone. Joel’s mother came and stayed with you, making sure the baby was healthy and that you were taken care of. Now it’s time to tell Joel the good news. Hiding your stomach the past few nights had been hard, but you can’t hide any longer. You’re starting to show, so it’s time. It’s time to announce he’s going to be a daddy again.

Just as you get lost in the view of the sunlit garden, Joel sneaks up behind you and wraps his arms around you, peppering kisses all along the side of your jawline. “How’s my beautiful wife today?” he asks in a soft tone, dragging his lips slowly down your neck.

You giggle at the showering of love. Turning toward him, you lock your arms around his neck and lean in, crashing your lips over his for a few blissful seconds. When you pull back, you smile up at him. “Perfectly happy, my love. Now that you’re back home.”

“I missed you so much, sweetheart. Missed getting to hold my girl at night. Missed the taste of your lips,” he drawls, tugging you in for another heart-stopping kiss. One that makes the ground shake beneath you, makes the ocean tides lap against the shorelines a little harder, makes the sun shine a little brighter.

“We missed you too,” you reply quietly, hoping he catches the we.

He pinches his brows together, tilts his head to the side, his eyes swimming with questions. “We?”

You smile, nod up at him.

This is it. This is the perfect moment. The moment that’ll change everything. And you think the baby knows that, too.

Taking one of his hands in yours, you slowly guide it to your stomach and flatten his palm over the small bump that’s now showing under your summer dress. And just then, the baby makes its presence known with a little flutter of a kick.

Joel jumps back, his arm falling back to his side with wide eyes. He’s absolutely stunned. He blinks once, twice, then steps forward in a hurry and places both his hands across the length of your stomach, searching for that little flutter he just felt seconds ago. And just like that, the baby kicks once more, just for Joel.

Lifting his big eyes, his mouth drops open in awe. “Are you…”

You nod, smiling up at him with love written all over your eyes. “I’m pregnant, Joel.”

His brown eyes swell with tears, his vision probably hazy as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, letting his palm brush against your cheek affectionately. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

Placing your hand over his, you nod. “We’re having a baby. You’re going to be a father to three now,” you smile with tears welling in your eyes.

It only takes him a second to pick you up off the ground, spinning you around while he shouts into the air, “This is the happiest day of my life! My beautiful wife is pregnant with my child! I’m gonna be a father!”

You giggle as he spins you; your heart about to burst at the seams with happiness. “Joel, put me down! Your wife is a little motion sick right now.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, setting you back on your feet where the earth isn’t spinning anymore. He cups your cheeks between his palms and stares at you with love in his big brown eyes, his heart all over his rolled up sleeves. “You’re gonna be such a good mother, sweetheart. I’m so fuckin’ happy.”

Stealing a quick kiss from your lips, you lace your fingers through his tousled curls and melt into a big smile. “And you are going to be the best father. I’m so excited, Joel.”

Tugging you into his chest, he wraps his arms around you and kisses the crown of your head. “What do you think the baby’s gonna be? A boy, a girl?”

You toss the question back and forth in your head, undecided. “I’m not sure. Guess we’ll have to wait to find out,” you hum out, closing your eyes as possibilities flit through your mind. You have this weird feeling like you know exactly the gender of your baby, and you hope you’re right.

“I hope it’s a girl,” he whispers in your ear. And you can’t help but smile at that because he’s such a good girl dad. You’d give anything to see him holding your baby girl in his arms, rocking her to sleep, sending her to bed with forehead kisses and words of affirmation.

Somehow, you just have this feeling that that’s what’s coming. A little girl wrapped in a pink blanket, being welcomed by the most handsome, gentle Slytherin you know. Would she be tough, witty like her father, or would she inherit your love of flowers and magical creatures? Maybe she’ll be both. Smart, sweet, a gentle Hufflepuff maybe? Either way, she’ll be perfect. She’ll be a miracle in this world just waiting to bloom.

You spend the rest of the day with your hand laced through his, planning the baby’s room, telling Sarah and Ellie they’re going to be big sisters. And it’s all so perfect. It’s all wonderful—this new journey you’re about to embark on. And you’re ready. With Joel, you can conquer anything.

Gods. You’re just so fucking happy. Nothing could make this more perfect than life already is.

Later that night, when you’re wrapped in Joel’s strong arms under the silky sheets, you toss and turn, your dreams so vivid and real. But this isn’t just any dream. You’re having visions, real visions. Sometimes this happens, you just can’t control them. They’re a gift passed down by generations of your family, a special kind of magic you still haven’t perfected.

Your eyelids flutter back and forth while the vision takes hold inside your head. A bright light flashes in the distance, gold dust sparkling all around the sky. But when you look into the light, you freeze at what you see in front of you. A little girl running through the green grass, chasing after Joel. She’s got bouncy brunette curls, big brown eyes that remind you of Joel’s, rosy cheeks, and the cutest laugh you’ve ever heard. He scoops her up and throws her in the air, quickly catching her as she giggles into a fit of laughter, Joel’s laugh echoing through the air. You see it so clearly. That’s your little girl. She’s the spitting image of Joel, and she’s so fucking beautiful and bright and glowing. She’s got a special kind of gift—one you’re not sure yet. But there’s one thing you do know. That little girl is yours and Joel’s, and she’s going to be so, so loved.

You’re suddenly thrown out of the vision, your eyes snapping open just as Joel groans and wakes up, pushing his fingers affectionately through your hair. “You okay, baby? Have a bad dream?”

Tears well in your eyes, and you shake your head, not quite able to catch your breath. You’re too stunned, too emotional from seeing what the future holds.

“Hey, you alright? Why are you crying?” he asks with concern lathered in his tone. Carefully, he catches a falling tear with the pad of his thumb and caresses your cheek.

You wrap your hand around his wrist and look up at him, happy tears filling your eyes. “It’s a girl, Joel.”

His eyes go wide as his mouth drops open. “Are you sure?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip. “I had one of my visions just now. And I saw… I saw you playing with her in the garden. She looked just like you, Joel. She’s so beautiful. And she loves you so much…” Without being able to contain yourself, you bury your face into his neck, let him scoop you up as he kisses the top of your head, holds you just a little tighter.

“Oh, my darlin’ girl. I already love her so fuckin’ much, jus’ like I love you. My beautiful, pregnant wife. You make me so fuckin’ happy, I hope you know that.”

You nuzzle into his warmth, breathe in the woodsy scent of his musk and let out a smile. “Not as happy as you make me, my love. You’re such a good father, a good husband. The best part of every day,” you confess with love threaded through every syllable you speak.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” He cups your chin and lifts your mouth to his, dripping his love all over you in slow, affectionate kisses. You melt into his body, get tangled up with him in the sheets, drown in his very essence as he peppers light kisses over your growing stomach.

You think you could watch him like this forever. He already loves her so much, just like he loves you. You can’t wait to see him bloom into a new father, can’t wait to see him raise your child beside you. Forever partners in crime. That troublemaker Slytherin with a warm, gentle Hufflepuff. But he’s just as soft and gentle as you now. He’s everything you ever wanted. And now, he’s going to be the father of your child.

You can’t wait to spend forever with your one and only lover. And you can’t wait to bring a gentle soul into the world. Your sweet little girl. You just can’t wait to meet her. Can’t wait to do your entire life with your perfect little family.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #Professor! Joel #hogwarts au #so much fluff #joel miller tlou

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millersgirl80 · 3 days ago

Text

SUMMER BREAK CH. 4 18+ MDNI

A/N: This is 18+ So MDNI!!! Masterlist

Summary: Joel’s bbq is in full swing, Tasha finds her a new hobby, Darlin gets her way, and just read so I don’t spoil it

Pairing Joel miller ofc x female reader

Warnings: unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it), oral (f receiving), fingering, age gap.

Word count: roughly 4.0k

“Go into my room. You can relax there. I’ll bring you some water.”

His room. The thought sent a thrill of anticipation mixed with trepidation through me. I’d been in his house countless times, but never…alone, in his bedroom.

After climbing the stairs, my legs feeling heavy. The scent of his cologne, a subtle blend of spice and sandalwood, drifted down to me, wrapping me in a comforting embrace.

His room was exactly as I imagined it. Simple, uncluttered, and undeniably Joel.

I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me. The encounter with Josh, the constant push and pull of my feelings for Joel, the fear of shattering the delicate balance of our lives…it was all too much.

A moment later, Joel appeared in the doorway, a glass of water in his hand. He sat beside me on the bed, close enough that our shoulders brushed.

“Here,” he said softly, handing me the glass. “Drink this.”

I took a sip, the cool water soothing my parched throat. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy with unspoken words.

“Thank you,” I said again, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned to face me, his blue eyes searching mine. “Darlin’, are you really okay?”

I shook my head, tears welling up in my eyes. “No. I’m tired of this, Joel. I’m tired of pretending, acting like nothing happened.”

He reached out and took my hand, his fingers interlacing with mine. His touch was warm, reassuring.

“Pretending what?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable. “Pretending that I don’t…that we don’t…feel something for each other.”

The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Joel’s gaze intensified, his eyes burning into mine.

“And what if we do?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

The question, so simple yet so profound, shattered the carefully constructed dam that had held back my emotions for so long. Tears threatened to stream down my face.

“Don’t you think we deserve a chance to explore it?” I whispered, my voice choked with emotion.

He brought my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles. “I think you deserve a life time of happiness darlin.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against my cheek. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment, to the pull that had always existed between us. Joel pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. He paused, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. “But... what about the risks? What about what everyone else thinks? Our families…your dad? I would never want to take that away from you. Ruin your relationship with him because of my selfish needs.”

Without waiting for an answer, I leaned into Joel pressing my lips against his. The kiss was electric, a spark igniting the passion that had been building for so long. Joel responded with an intensity that matched my own, his hands cupping my face, holding me in place as he deepened the kiss.

Our tongues danced, exploring each other's mouths with a hunger that had been pent up for too long. I could taste the sweetness of his breath, feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me into his lap, and I melted into his embrace, my hands running through his hair.

Breaking away for air, we gazed at each other, breathless. Joel's eyes were dark with desire, mirroring the fire burning within me.

His lips found mine again, hungry and demanding. He kissed me with a passion that left me breathless, his tongue exploring my mouth with expert precision. I responded in kind, my hands tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.

With deft movements, Joel pulled off the straps of my dress, exposing my floral bikini top and the swell of my breasts. His eyes darkened further as he took in the sight, his breath coming in sharp gasps. ”You're breathtaking, Darlin'. I want to worship every inch of you.” His hands cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over my hardened nipples, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. I arched into his touch, craving more. “Please Joel, take me here, now.” I begged rolling my hips onto his.

“Darling, he breathed, his voice filled with regret. I want you, more than you can imagine. But we can't... not like this. If we do this…I want to take my time with you and not rush.” Joel pulled himself together fixing my dress.

“When the time is right darling.” He picked me up standing me up right. Standing up in-front of me fixing my dress. “Let’s head back downstairs, okay?”

I walked barefoot across the soft grass, the evening breeze caressing my skin as I made my way back to the BBQ. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the backyard, and the sound of laughter and music filled the air. Joel's house was buzzing with life, a stark contrast to the quiet anticipation I felt within.

As I approached the gathering, I spotted Sarah, Joel's daughter, chatting animatedly with a group of her friends.

"Darlin, over here!" Sarah waved me over, her voice cutting through the lively chatter.

Hey, Sarah," I said, giving her a quick hug. "Having fun?

"Yeah, it's been great! But listen, I was wondering if you could come over Monday while dad is at work? Just the two of us, you know, girl time. I need some advice on a few things." Sarah's voice lowered, and I could tell she wanted to talk about something private.

“Of course, sweetie. I'd love to. Just text me the details, and I'll be there.”

As I turned to walk away, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

It was Joel, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Having a good time, Darlin?" he asked, handing me a plate.

"Yeah, it's been great, thank you.” I smiled at him slightly blushing as the thought of me straddling him came back to my mind.

“I'd love to hang out more but I've got a lot of cleaning up to do. The party's winding down, and you know how much of a mess these things can be.” Joel laughs kinda awkwardly rubbing his neck.

"I could help you clean up," I offered, hoping to spend more time with him.

“That's very sweet of you, Darlin. I'd appreciate the help.

I nodded, my heart racing at the thought of being alone with him again.

Not long after I finish my plate Joel made me, the guests began to filter out, I walked my dad out to his car after Melissa had demanded him to come home. “You know she’s not in charge of you.” I laughed at him.

My dad nods. “She’s right tho, I need to spend more time at home instead of work.” He opens his door. “You coming?”

“I’ll catch a ride with Tasha.” I pointed back to Joel’s house.

“Hey dad? Can I ask why you haven’t sold the house?” My dad looks at me and turns back to look across the street our old house. “I’m not ready to let it go just yet.” He pauses smiling at the house “plus it’s not mine to sell.” He winks getting into his car, starting it and driving off.

I walk back into Joel’s house shocked and a little relief. Joel walks over to me “Everything okay darlin?” I nod walking away still unable to speak. “Hey, hey what’s going on?” Joel caressed my arm. “Dad, he pretty much just told me the old house was mine?” I smiled looking at Joel, not being able to contain my excitement anymore. That house was my mom’s everything, she made sure to always have it up to style. “You said something about fixing it up? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing big, just some up keep.” Joel turns around to a table pulling something out. “You wanna walk over?” He hands me the keys.

I had tried to ignore this part of my life for years, having to come back wasn’t the worst part, it was the decision to sell it, but as I stood at the edge of the cracked sidewalk, memories flooded over me like the summer rainstorms of my childhood.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Joel asked, his voice a comforting murmur. He was standing beside me, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jeans, his eyes searching mine for any hint of regret.

I swallowed hard. "I want to," I replied, my own voice sounding foreign to me.

With a nod, he took my hand and we crossed the street together, the warmth of his palm steadying me. The rhythmic walking felt oddly nostalgic—like the whispers of my childhood. The neighborhood had changed, of course; the vibrant hues of the houses had faded, and the trees, once grand and mighty, were now mere shadows of their former selves. Yet, the sight of my house—the little blue one with white shutters—still struck a chord deep within my heart.

I stopped at the edge of the driveway, my breath catching in my throat. It looked smaller now, the paint peeling away like memories too old to hold onto. I could almost hear the echo of laughter—my laughter—bouncing off the walls, mingling with the warm sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead.

“Darlin?” Joel called softly, pulling me out of my thoughts. He stepped closer, watching me with those soft, brown eyes filled with a protective warmth. “Do you want to go inside?”

The question hung heavy in the air. Did I want to step back into that world, a world I had worked so hard to forget? I could feel the memories tugging at me, but there was fear mingled with that pull—fear of the ghosts that might greet me within those walls.

“I think I do,” I admitted. “But only for a moment.”

With that, Joel unlocked the door.

With a gentle push, the door creaked open, and I was enveloped by nostalgia; the air was thick with the smell of aged wood and something sweetly floral. The living room looked just as I remembered, with an old brown couch and a mantle adorned with family photographs, their glass frames catching the afternoon light. “I forgot dad only took our clothes when we left.” I ran my hands over the couch.

“Do you want a minute alone?” Joel asked, stepping inside and glancing around as though he were worried I might break.

I shook my head. “Stay.” my feet already moving toward the narrow staircase that led to the second floor. Each step creaked beneath my weight, each creak resonant with echoes of my childhood laughter and the quiet sighs of my mother. As I reached the top, I paused outside the familiar door, the paint now faded, the doorknob slightly rusted, my old room. I haven’t been in it since I was 10.

Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob and pushed the door open. Just like the rest of the house, it felt both comforting and eerie—an overlapping of my childhood and the shadow of distance.

The walls were still painted soft pink, dotted with peeling flower stickers I had placed there myself a lifetime ago. The quilt on the bed still retained a hint of my mother’s touch with its careful stitches and pastel patterns. My heart ached with the memories—sleepless nights filled with whispered dreams, stuffed animals bearing witness to my fears.

“Wow,” Joel said softly, stepping in behind me. “This is beautiful.”

I turned to him and smiled, grateful that he could see it too, appreciate the beauty of my former life, even as I grappled with the complexities of it all. “It used to be my sanctuary,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He was quiet for a moment, absorbing the bittersweetness surrounding us. “What do you remember most?”

“many things,” I said. “The laughter mostly. And the stories my mother would tell me at bedtime. That was my favorite.” I let out a soft chuckle, remembering my mother's animated gestures as she spun tales of brave heroes and faraway lands.

“And the pain?” Joel asked gently, his eyes holding mine with unwavering sincerity.

I paused, contemplating. It was there, too. “Every home has its shadows.” I shrugged.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But you lights it up, Darlin. You always can.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. With Joel beside me, I felt more anchored than ever. “Come on darling. Let’s head back and clean up, yeah?” Joel squeezes my hand.

I stayed by Joel's side, gathering plates and stacking them neatly. We worked in comfortable silence, the only sound being the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter from the remaining guests finally saying goodbyes and walking out.

As we made our way towards the trash cans, we stumbled upon a sight that took my breath away. Tasha was kissing Tommy, Their bodies were pressed against each other, hands exploring, and their lips moved in a frenzied dance.

I quickly cover my mouth, Joel's hand on my lower back grounded me. "Let's not disturb them, shall we?" he said, his voice husky. "We can take care of the trash later."

“Come on, Darlin," Joel whispered, leading me away. "Let's go inside and finish up there.

As we stepped into the kitchen, I could feel the tension between us building. Joel's touch was electric, and I knew he felt the same way. We worked in silence, our movements becoming slower, more deliberate. I could sense his eyes on me as I bent over to pick up a fallen fork, my dress riding up my thighs. He steps behind me wrapping his arms around my waist.

“You know, Darlin, I've always wanted to taste you. To explore every inch of your body.”

"What happened to going slow and taking your time?" I smirked, turning to face him.

Without another word, he pulled me into his arms, his lips crashing down on mine. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if we had been holding back for too long. I could taste the whiskey he had been sipping on throughout the party.

His hands roamed over my body, cupping my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress. I arched into his touch, my nipples hardening further. With a growl, he tore his mouth from mine and began to kiss my neck,

“I want you, Darlin. Right here, no more holding back.” his hands sliding down to grip my hips.

“Then don’t" I whispered, my hands tugging at his shirt. "I need you.”

Joel lifted me onto the kitchen counter, his hands sliding under my dress, caressing my bare thighs. I gasped as his fingers trailed higher, teasing my wetness through my bikini.

“You're so wet, Darlin. I can't wait any longer.”With a swift motion, he ripped my bikini aside, exposing my glistening folds.

“Joel," I pleaded. "Please, I need to feel you inside me.”

With a rough groan, he plunged his fingers into my core, curling them to find my sweet spot. I cried out, my body trembling as his thumb begin rubbing my clit in firm circles. The sensations were overwhelming, and I could feel my orgasm building quickly.

“That's it, Darlin. Come for me. Let me feel your sweet pussy clench around my fingers.”

His words sent me over the edge, and I cried out his name as my body convulsed in pleasure. I could feel my juices flowing freely, coating his hand as he continued to stroke me through my climax.

As my tremors subsided, Joel pulled his fingers from my pulsing heat, bringing them to his mouth and sucking my wetness from them. His eyes never left mine as he savored my taste, and I felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight.

“I want more, Darlin. I want to feel your tight pussy squeezing my cock.”

“I want that too, Joel. I want to feel you deep inside me.”

But before he could take me, the sound of the front door slamming interrupted us. We froze, our gazes locking, Joel groans as he shoves my bathing suit bottoms in his pocket as I move off the counter straightening out my dress for the second time tonight. Going back immediately to picking the trash up acting casual.

Tasha and Tommy walk in Tommy’s arm is wrapped around her neck as they make their way to the kitchen, they freeze as they see Joel and I standing in the kitchen. “I was…just showing her-“ Tommy starts to explain. “We know.” Joel interrupts not wanting to picture it again. Tommy pulls Tasha upstairs as they go back to each other as if nothing stopped them in the first place. I walk around the living room finishing picking up cups and plates left down, Joel comes back in from taking the trash out. “Stay tonight.” He whispered walking to me pressing his back to my chest. Before I could respond, Joel leaned in, his lips brushing against my neck. A soft moan escaped my mouth as his warm breath caressed my sensitive skin. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me closer, and I could feel his hardness pressing against my lower back. "Stay with me, Darlin. I've wanted you for so long.” He peppered kisses down my neck to my shoulder.

I hum relaxing into his touch. “Is that going to be a good idea for us?” I ask letting my head fall on his shoulder as he continues to leave kisses on my shoulder. “Don’t know but I do know I need you darlin.” Joel pressed harder against my ass making me whimper.

“Come on baby.” Joel grabs my hand leading me upstairs to his room. Joel shuts his door behind us making his way to me cupping my face bringing it in for a kiss. Soft and slow taking his time, his hand moves to my waist pulling me in closer against him, as his knee moves between my thigh, opening them up more for him. I pull away catching my breath looking at him.

With trembling fingers, I reached for the button of my dress, my movements hesitant. Joel's hand covered mine, guiding it away, his touch firm yet gentle.

"Let me,” he murmured, his voice sending shivers down my spine.

I nodded, my breath coming in short gasps as he undid the buttons and strings, one by one, leaving it to pool at my feet, revealing the floral bikini top beneath. His fingers brushed against my skin, sending sparks of pleasure through my body. I arched into his touch, my breasts straining against the confines of my top.

"You're so beautiful, Darlin.”

"Please, Joel, don’t stop.”

"Patience, darlin'. We have all night.”

With that, he stood, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. I felt lightheaded, my body buzzing with anticipation. Joel led me towards the bed, his hand firmly holding mine. As he lowered me on the bed on my back crawling on top of me. Pulling the strings to my top letting it lay loosely around my breast, he kissed down my neck to my collarbone nipping here and there.

I buck my hips against his needing more. “Joel” I breathlessly beg. “Shhh baby. I got you.” He whispered finally getting rid of the bathing suit laying across my chest. I felt exposed, but the hunger in his eyes made me feel desired in a way I'd never experienced before. He took my nipple in his mouth sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud. "Oh, God, Joel, that feels so good.” I gasp looking down at him.

Joel hummed as he popped my nipple out of his mouth continuing kissing down my torso leaving marks sporadically across my stomach and pelvic bone. “Can I taste you darlin?” Joel looks up his eyes dark as he waits for my approval. I nod biting my lip, With that, he settled between my legs and lowers his head, his tongue finding my clit, flicking it gently. I cried out, my body convulsing with pleasure. Joel's mouth was hot and wet, his tongue relentless as he laved my most sensitive spot. I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him to me, my hips bucking against his mouth.

“Oh my god, Joel!” I cried out my legs squeezing around his head, as my hands gripped his shoulders as he continued to licked and suckled.

Joel continued to pleasure me, his fingers joining his mouth, delving deep inside me, finding that spot that made me see stars. I was on the brink of orgasm, my body coiled tight, making him chuckle, the vibration against my clit sending sparks of pleasure through me. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of my pussy, while his fingers worked their magic on my swollen bud. I was a mess in his hands, my body trembling on the edge of release.

“Come for me, Darlin. Let go.”

His words were my undoing. I cried out, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. Joel continued to lap at my sensitive flesh, drawing out my orgasm. Joel sat up taking his shirt off and unbuttoning his pants. I sit up helping him, I wanted to taste him, to feel him explode in my mouth, but he stopped me.

“Not yet, sweetheart. I want to be inside you” He laid me back down, positioning himself between my thighs, his cock nudging at my entrance. I was still sensitive from my orgasm, but I wanted him desperately. I lifted my hips, urging him to fill me.

“Please Joel.” I whispered

He pushed forward, his thick head breaching my tight opening. I gasped at the stretch, my body accommodating his girth. He paused, giving me a moment to adjust, before withdrawing slightly and thrusting forward again, this time seating himself fully inside me.

“Fuck, you're tight.” Joel groan lowering his head into the crook of my neck.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him. He began to move, his hips snapping forward in a steady rhythm. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure through my sensitive flesh, and I matched his pace, my nails digging into his back.

“More Joel. I need more.” I moan feeling another burning sensation in my lower stomach

Joel complied, his thrusts becoming more powerful, his cock pounding into me relentlessly. The bed creaked beneath us, the only other sound being our ragged breaths and the wet, slapping sounds of our bodies coming together.

“I'm close. So fucking close.” He whimpered reaching down rubbing my clit.

“Come with me darlin” he rasped.

I felt his cock swell inside me, bringing my orgasm closer, I tightened my muscles, milking him losing what little control I had left, wanting to feel his release. He threw his head back, his body stiffening as he emptied himself deep within me, his hot cum filling me with each powerful spasm.

We lay there, our hearts pounding, our bodies slick with sweat. Joel collapsed onto the bed beside me, his chest heaving as he fought to regain his breath.

“Incredible. You're incredible, Darlin.” Joel rolled onto his side kissing my face.“So are you, Joel.” I smiled turning to face him. Joel reached up sliding a strand of hair behind my ear. “Get some rest darlin.” He laid down pulling me closer as we drift off to sleep.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Taglist: @tikosblogg @lostboys1987girl @untamedheart81 🤍

#joel miller #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal #joel x reader #hbo joel miller #joel tlou #pedro is daddy #joel miller loves big girls #joel smut #pedro x reader #joel miller x reader #young joel miller #joel miller tlou #dbf!joel #jackson joel #joel the last of us #daddy joel

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dare-writes · 1 day ago

Text

Oh God Collection

For Valentine’s Day, Aaron surprises you with a treat.

Aaron Taylor Johnson x Female Reader

Slight Tangerine x Female Reader

genre: fluff, smut; 18+ MINORS DNI

wc: 4.8k

sexual content warnings: DUBCON, drunk sex, nearly cheating?, fingering, f!receiving oral, drunk-sex Aaron has an identity problem, couch sex, wall sex, stair sex, roleplay, degradation kink, mentions of a threesome, (technical selfcest?), unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay, slight praise, hair pulling, wrist pulling, slut-shaming, dirty talk, overstimulation, i might have missed something, strength kink if you squint, implied breeding kink

content warnings: slight age gap (27/35), f!reader, tangerine dies and goes to another world, aaron taylor johnson x reader, established relationship, tangerine thinks your his girlfriend from his world, tangerine is lowkey just sad, and a russian lit major, tangerine misses lemon, tangerine gets a real name, aaron implies a threesome with reader and tangerine, lowkey slice of life for a little, unbetaed

the way there is so much more sexual content warnings, but there’s less porn than plot i’m pretty sure.

Happy late Valentine’s Day.

this went an entirely different direction than i planned it to go.

Honestly, you never got the chance to really watch Aaron’s projects except for the premieres he brought you to. You’d only begun dating before Bullet Train’s production, and for obvious reasons, he didn’t start taking you to carpet premieres until recently with Kraven and Nosferatu.

When you knew Aaron was returning, you’d relax in your shared apartment and put on any of his movies. Aaron lost count of how often he would come back when you were either sleeping through the credits or just at the end of a film. It was a pleasant surprise to see that when he saw the credits to one of his films. Aaron didn’t have a lot of films to watch with online streaming services, noticing you mostly do rewatches of his newer films like Bullet Train A Million Little Pieces, even kicking back into his 2010 films like Kick-Ass or (much to his surprise) Chatrooms.

His absence on Valentine’s Day was woeful, but he also said he deserved a little time with your partner despite his absence at the set of Fuze. It was fine enough that he would be out and about in London this time.

You managed to get out of university on Valentine’s Day. Most classes were on the four other days of the week, so you got to stay in and snooze this particular Friday. You knew having a partner in the film industry was going to be tough, so when Aaron told you he wasn’t free on Valentine's Day for some promotional stuff, you didn’t mind. He would find some grand way to make it up, and it was always more than perfect. It’s like he read your mind, knew when you wanted to stay in, and knew when you wanted to go out in town or just have a nice dinner.

For Valentine’s Day, you had your little dinner. An excellent pasta take-out meal and cue up any Aaron Johnson movie to exist across your various streaming platforms. (And the occasional pirating when you hooked your laptop to the TV.)

Aaron has seen your secret TikTok account, where you will mindlessly scroll between assignments or breaks from your university assignments. He’s also used it several times, even stalking through some of your reposts or saves. To your knowledge, he just went through your feed, not stalked your private Aaron Johnson edit collection called “Oh god.”

Throughout your lonely Valentine's Day, Aaron texted you randomly, sending a bouquet of your favorite flowers, sweet treats, and even a pretty dress with a card, saying, "We’ll make it up another day, my love." It was lovely and made you feel a little less alone. That and the plentiful edits saved in your Oh God collection you can always look back in if you miss Aaron extra.

Mindless scrolling was your third favorite hobby; number one was Aaron, and two was whatever activity your university friends wanted to do next.

By nine at night, you’d exhausted all your Aaron, Tangerine, Pietro, Count Vronsky, Sergei, Fredrich, Tom Ryder, and even Ford Brody edit sources.

A rattle came from downstairs, shocking you slightly as you crept around your bedroom. Light on your toes, you looked for the heaviest item you owned in the room.

“Dollface?” A voice called. It made your stomach twist. Was it Aaron? Why the hell was he putting on a different accent?

You crept downstairs. His facial scruff was gone. He was dressed in a navy suit with a waistcoat similar to the one Tangerine wore in the movie. The one thing that caught you off guard was the blood. It was ridiculous. Everything that was once white was now splattered red. Aaron looked great, you almost drooled at the sight of your boyfriend.

You just didn’t understand why he was dressed as Tangerine. Unless this was some sort of roleplay thing you once discussed ages ago.

“Aaron?”

“‘ Ou the hell is Aaron?'” not Aaron asked. That was undoubtedly Aaron’s face, though. His hair was no longer neat American military cut; it was longer, shaggier, and windswept.

“My boyfriend,” you answered as you raised your old laptop.

“The fuck you gonna do with an Apple laptop? Hit me?” He asked snidely. “Doll, whattrya on about? Last I checked, Doll, my name ain’t Aaron.”

He gestured his hands up and down his body like you should recognize him. You did recognize him, but there was no logical explanation as to why Tangerine was standing in your living room, blood dripping onto the hardwood floor. “No, this is fucking weird.”

Was this some weird roleplay thing? You and Aaron had talked about roleplaying and sex. If you had an actor boyfriend, you were doing roleplay without a doubt.

Before you could ask anything else to try to get a hint, Tangerine rolled his eyes and walked to the kitchen. His bloody hands opened his shirt to shrug off his equally bloody shirt and discard it to the sink to run cold water on it. After also washing his hands and checking his non-existent bullet wound, he was back up to you.

You let your defenses down; you had no clue what else to do. Common sense fell out the window when Aaron was around you. His slightly damp hands, gruff from seemingly his gun and all his fights, held your face. His gaudy gold rings were cold to the touch.

“Doll, I missed you… Lemon— where’s Lemon?” He asked as he realized his new location. He was back in London without his twin.

“I don’t know— you. Look, Aaron, is this what I think it is? We never even talked-” Tangerine didn’t even let you finish. His lips were on yours, kissing and biting down on your lower lip. Aaron was aggressive during sex usually, but never this much.

Something in you wanted to playback, be more than just the innocently confused girlfriend. You tried to pull away, but this was still Aaron, and you trusted him. You were no physical match for him. His hands reached and trailed down your body, racing to your pants. Even in his acting, Aaron was still the same when he was in a mood. It made you smile in the kiss.

His mustache tickled. You were used to it enough with Aaron. You finally pulled away, only for him to spin you and toss your torso over the back of the couch.

“Stop! No, I’m not your— Fuck!” You shouted as you tried to sit back up. His hand shoved you down, his other hand yanking down your sleep shorts.

“Fuck, you’re not my what? Hmm? Ya, not my doll anymore?” Tangerine asked gruffly. His lips connected to one of your lower back and bit down. You yowled in pain, his teeth leaving marks down your backside.

“I’m not your girlfriend! Or whatever! I— I’ve got a boyfriend, A—Aaron!” You cried falsely, you were used to Aaron rushing in the beginning. It was also probably a long day for him, you excused it. Also cause you missed him so bad today.

A quick trail from your clit to your hole, Aaron shoved his fingers inside with no hesitation. It was already sopping wet, but Aaron let cold spit drip out his lips and landed where his fingers plunged inside.

“God, Doll, yer still so tight for me,” Aaron said as he pushed his fingers, curling them gently. It didn’t matter despite your (false) protests because the front door opened soon after. “Baby, I’m back!”

Your heart stilled. He’s back?

“Oi! What the hell, Baby? Doll you-“

Something clattered into the floor, and you returned from your room. Aaron… Tangerine… In the same room.

“Aaron! Fuck!” You cried out as he made eye contact.

Aaron and Tangerine still. The same man looked back at one another—Aaron looked back at his 2022 film Character in disbelief. “Aaron— I-“

“Love, what the fuck is this?” Aaron asked. You hadn’t even realized the flush of tears running down your face.

“I don’t know! I thought— I thought you came back early from filming… Then we were kissing, and I— I don’t even know what to— I’m so confused,” you said as you tried to escape Tangerine.

His hands dug into you. His hand reached for his back, then remembered he was gun-less. His gold knuckle dusters glinted against the warm lights of the walls. “The fuck are you?”

“Her fucking boyfriend!” Aaron shouted. He stormed forward and shoved Tangerine off. You bent up from the couch and down to grab your panties from the floor to put on.

“Aaron, honestly, babe, I don’t think you could take him—he’s a murder.”

“I played him!”

“And he’s murdered probably over a thousand people.”

“That’s nice of you, doll, but it’s more like 250? I’m not a serial killer or mass murderer—“Both you and Aaron just stared at him.

“Okay, then if you aren’t… my dollface, then who are you? Cause ya got the same face,” Tangerine asked. His fingers twitched around, his eyes eyeing the slick left on his fingers. He wanted to taste it out of habit but held himself back. Aaron rubbed his face and just looked between you two.

“This is a terrible Valentine’s Day,” Aaron mumbled.

“What do you remember last?” You asked as you grabbed Aaron’s hand with a glare at his comment.

Tangerine looked down at his bloodied pants. “Getting shot by that idiot American.”

“Well, got that right,” Aaron mumbled. He looked exhausted. A wrapped box of more gifts for you was still at the entrance. He just got off work.

“Well, uhm. Tough luck… Tangerine—Fuckin— Can I just get your real name? You’re very much not there anymore in that world.”

“Fuckin’ Thomas,” he mumbled. His eyes bleared at the idea of his brother, the girl he left behind. He scrunched his nose and pretended to weld the tears away.

“Ironic. Yeah, this isn’t a good one to tell you,” you mumbled as you took your lip between your thumb and forefinger.

Aaron took control of this, explaining it all. Bullet Train is a book and movie; Aaron is an actor and plays Tangerine in the 2022 film. Hesitantly, he told Tangerine about his demise, the gunshot likely hitting an artery and killing Tangerine permanently.

Tangerine stilled once again. It’s like his world ended—at least, it did end for him. Entirely. He had nothing left for him here, not a real place to live or an identity to fall back on. He may be a prick, but he did just try having sex with his real person’s girl. He never did that kind of shit (on purpose.) He wouldn’t ruin Aaron Johnson’s life to get himself back into a business he hated and stuck to only because of what else he had.

“Aaron, can we talk?”

Aaron nodded, but not before giving Tangerine water, and you took Aaron into your room. Aaron dropped off a few stuff for Tangerine to wear instead of the sticky yet stiff with blood clothing he just died in. Tangerine left for the guest bathroom and waited anxiously. He was never without Lemon. Thomas was never without Tyler ever. After an hour to Tangerine, you and Aaron emerged again. Tangerine felt certain when he saw Aaron’s hand holding your lower back, but he bared face.

“He and I talked. You can stay here until you can get on your feet. I’m sure you could find someone to create an identity for you or something… But Aaron and I think kicking you out is unfair when you have nothing else.”

Half a year later, Aaron proposed. On August 14th, 2025, Aaron got down on one knee and finally asked you to marry him. You cried joyfully, and he spun you around like his long-lost princess. Tangerine wasn’t bitter. He didn’t say much about it other than congratulations, and he’ll find a way to attend to support the two of you.

Tangerine was glad for the two of you, but he missed his girl. She was known as Nightshade in the Assassin world, but he didn’t even know her real name for safety reasons. (A very sensual and intimate relationship that teetered on romance, but he didn’t wanna go in-depth with his new roommates.) He regularly confided in both of you about missing her. You and Aaron were emotionally secure between one another, periodically letting Tangerine open up to you two.

Tangerine didn’t see Aaron as a brother, but he had no male figure to rely on except Tyler. Aaron was awkward initially, but living Tangerine’s life out was weird for those months during Covid quarantine. Tangerine could have spent his time in therapy, but instead, he decided to try getting a college education.

Tangerine was known as Thomas Henley, an orphan who lived in the countryside and had no documentation about himself. Honestly, you and Aaron did your best not to know much. Thomas didn’t talk about it either, wanting both of you to have complete deniability.

Thomas was still here. None of you had an issue with him sticking around; you found it lovely. Around nine months, he had secured an identity and dyed his hair a frosty blonde. He cut his hair and dolled himself up, but he kept his face clean-shaven except for his mustache, which he maintained, occasionally trimming it shorter and letting it grow out.

You and Aaron said nothing as the two of you giggled. He looked so much like Count Vronsky when he returned home from the hairdresser. Again, you and Aaron giggled when you saw Thomas reading Anna Karenina for his major—Literature with a focus on Russian Lit.

Aaron was away again, filming another movie. You and Thomas sat around, working on your dissertation for what felt like the hundredth time, and Thomas was preparing for his undergraduate exams.

“I fucking hate this,” Thomas groveled over his school-provided laptop. He refused your and Aaron’s attempts to buy him anything. He lived here for free, and his campus job gave him enough money to save.

“You picked Russian Lit—“

“Fuck off.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” You had been waiting for Aaron to be here for this, but you couldn’t resist.

“Break?”

“Yeah,” you nodded as you stood up from the dining table. Thomas agreed, and you picked an Aaron Johnson Classic.

“It’s Anna Karenina—I don’t want to hear about any discrepancies from the original if there are any,” you added hotly before you pressed play. You always admired the cinematic take on the play, with a very stage-theater visual look. For the entire beginning, Thomas was quiet, his eyes overseeing it all.

He even took the time to learn Russian while taking Russian Lit to read Tolstoy in the original text. Thomas was the kind to talk during movies. He mumbled and smiled at the actress for Anna, mentioning she was what he pictured Anna to look like when he imagined her.

When Levin was introduced, you got up from the couch. You set up your phone in the corner against the books in the bookcase behind the couch and press the record button. Then, you returned with a fresh bag of popcorn and passed it to Thomas. The two of you watched. Thomas even liked the stage-theater take on Anna Karenina.

Then Count Vronsky brushed his shoulder against Levin’s and turned to face the ginger man. Thomas burst into a tirade. He grabbed the remote and paused on Aaron’s face. His tirade continued, unbelieving that you took this long to show him Anna Karenina, how you and Aaron were the worst roommates for keeping this secret.

You were sending this to Aaron later. You snagged the remote back and resumed the movie. He kept going, even taking his phone out to spam Aaron, uncaring if he was filming. You managed to get him to shut up when Count Vronsky and Anna danced, which was your favorite part. Aaron had taught it to you on one of your early dates together for fun. You were swooning as he lifted you effortlessly that day.

You watched Aaron with such desire, and Thomas saw it. Nightshade also looked at him the same way while they worked together.

That same night, Thomas apologized to you. You brushed it off, saying that you knew he didn’t mean to do anything terrible to you, even admitting you thought he was Aaron for a Valentine's Day surprise. Thomas snorted at you and rolled his eyes.

“And you’re planning on marrying him; you didn’t even know I wasn’t him,” he said sarcastically. You slapped your hand into his shoulder.

“You have the same face, same body, same fuckin’ hands–even down to your sexual mannerisms! And you never progressed past fingering me,” you rolled your eyes back. The topic was rarely discussed between you, but you and Thomas were best friends. you and Thomas was strictly platonic.

Occasionally, you wondered if Thomas saw Nightshade in you like you saw Aaron in him (except visually). Deep down, his actions perfectly matched Aaron’s. Five years of dating an actor, and being able to meet his character from another world or universe or whatever was ridiculous so to speak. Your heart twisted at the thought of Thomas no longer having Nightshade. You and him talk for a lot longer that night, never grazing on the topic of his arrival or his previous life again.

Aaron and you had bought a house, yet you hadn’t moved out because you were still attending university nearby. Aaron was finally back, no longer filming, and done with Fuze. He was here to plan the wedding. You and Aaron wanted a small summer wedding, not needing anyone more than some friends. Neither of you talked to your family that much, finding the most solace between one another and the friends they had–actors and university friends alike. It took a lot of sifting friends to find out who were friends and who wanted to meet Aaron Johnson.

Of course, Aaron invited actor friends but was hesitant to invite Brian Tyree Henry for apparent reasons.

Thomas said to do it. He would stay away as much as he could, and he wouldn't drink any alcohol to avoid any emotional issues that may arise. In this entire year, you hadn’t rewatched Bullet Train once. You couldn’t, not with Thomas around the apartment. You could barely even watch Aaron–Tangerine edits without feeling some kind of way. Your gut twisted in unspeakable ways as you watched the silly bouncing and rhythmic edits of Aaron-Tangerine, trying to separate Thomas from Aaron as much as possible.

You stared deeply at Tangerine, you could see them both so clearly in Movie-Tangerine. Thomas’s poor smoking habit, and brotherly gentleness, while Aaron’s watchful stares, and facial expressions perfectly mirrored his real life expression.

Part of you swooned over the Movie-Tangerine, which can be considered Aaron-Tangerine too, right?

Back to the wedding, Thomas mostly stuck around the outskirts of the wedding as promised. Brian didn’t even glance his way, but he indeed stared Brian down. His American accent helped a little bit until Aaron and Brian were drinking together, giggling slightly drunk while they recalled their accents for the film. The wedding was lovely, small, and in the backyard of you and Aaron’s new home. It was floral, with a nice tent around the outdoor dining section. The house was overly large; Aaron, the sole provider, took the house payment upon himself. You owned their apartment, telling Thomas he could stay there when you graduated and visit the house whenever he wanted.

Thomas didn’t stay that night. He couldn’t. He knew you two were tipsy and would be consummating the marriage loudly the entire night.

He was right, too. Aaron didn’t even make it up the stairs with you in your sleek white wedding dress. He stripped you in the foyer, his hard-on pressed against his suit pants, and was eating you out while you sat on the top stair of the house.

Your skin was sticky with the summer sweat, and his shaved beard still scratched your thighs raw. After forcing your legs open, his drooly tongue lapped up the dampness between your thighs. He smiled up at you lazily as he slid in his fingers and hummed against your clit. His fingers stretched and pushed around, it was like his second home. Your arms were first. Aaron made himself plenty at home as he smiled up at you with a devilish smile, his lips still attached to your sensitive nerves.

All of Aaron's muscle prep for Kraven’s appearance in a Marvel film was overpowering no matter how much you tried to shove your legs shut. His large free hand shoved them back open without a moments break.

“Mhfm, taste delicious, don’t you, Pretty?” Aaron rhetorically asked.

With a sudden spin guided by Aaron, you then held yourself up on your knees. Your hands pressed against the cold hardwood floors as he pushed himself inside with a languid groan. The stretch was terribly achy. Aaron loved spending time on his knees for you, but the age gap made you giggle as you joked about his aging knees.

“Baby… god, you feel so good. Mhm,” he whispered into your ear. Drunk Aaron was a time, he was different each time. You loved each personality he fucked you in, slipping into different accents from time to time. After six years of being together, you’ve fucked each drunk personality he claimed to shed post-film production.

Allan "Ize" Isaac and his whiny tone while he thrusts into you needily while begging you to come around him was fun. Same with Dave Lizewski pretending to fuck his University history TA or Fredrich moaning in your ear lovingly as he asked to breed you with his children. Your personal favorite was when Aaron cockily fucked you with Pietro’s Sokovian accent teasing you as he overstimulated your clit. But there was one more who hadn’t appeared in the past year.

More often than not, Tangerine came out. Fuck, Aaron made you call him Tangerine multiple times before the appearance of Thomas one year ago.

Today was no different.

When the Cockney slid past Aaron’s tongue like it was his first initial accent, you knew you were done. He even called you Doll as he slid in and out. His cockhead crushed into your cervix more times than you could count. Not that you could count clearly while being impaled by Aaron. He groaned as he moved your hips to slide on and off his cock, “Fuck, so’wet for me huh, doll? Like this cock?”

You cried into the piled dress beneath you, his lips connected to your back. Your knees ache against wood panels, rocking back and forth. His wet lips sucked into your back as he grunted, “God, Doll, yer still so tight for me.”

It was like neuron activation, exactly what Tangerine had said to you a year ago while he fingered you against the couch. You didn’t think about it a lot, an awkward interaction you three claim. For you, it was intoxicating to hear Tangerine say doll, more or less Aaron say it.

You hummed a cry at his comment.

“Say my name, Doll, come on,” he said. Skin slapping echoed in the barely decorated home, your cries echoing off the cold, empty walls. “Fuck… Aaron, pl–”

His hands pulled up your wrists to your lower back, holding your front up as he used you.

“That’s not my name, Dollface.”

For just a moment, you swore this actually was the Thomas Henley you met on Valentine’s Day. You cried out again, “No, Aaron, no! I can’t–”

Morally, you can’t. Aaron (or Tangerine) at this moment had no morals. Never had, will.

“Say it!” He shouted as he released you to fall into your dress. His hands clamped on your hips with a bruising hold. His trimmed nails even dug at the plush of your thighs.

“Fuck, Tangerine!” You sobbed, you squeezed around him as he laughed. Your body was jolting as he did as he pleased, you always let him do as he pleased.

“Whore likes that, huh?” He asked as he snapped into your hole. The constant squeeze around him and the new twist around your stomach told Aaron you were nearing another finish.

You gasped out sobs as his hand dipped down and touched your clit hard; his fingers were rough against the sensitive nerves. Your thighs shook beneath Aaron’s thrusts, wet dripping down your thighs.

“Tan…Tange, I needa cum,” you softly mumbled as you felt him twitch in delight. The knot in your stomach tightened as he punched his cockhead against your g-spot. “Mhm, yeah? Gonna come already? Then you’re gonna make me fuck you again? Need my cock that bad? Need Tangerine that bad?” He asked condescendingly. You shook your head no pathetically, crying out in denial. Your stomach continued to quell, and you squeezed down to try not to cum before granted permission.

“Please let me cum,” you quietly begged.

“Slut wants to cum? Hm, with me and Tangerine? Do it, whore,” He groaned his permission, watching you limply twitch on him as you finished for the second time around him. Aaron smiled behind you before slowly sliding himself out and grabbed you by the wrist to pull you up with one arm.

His chest pressed against your back to help you towards his desired destination. Even while Aaron’s over-confident actions were harsh on your body, he kept and held you firmly with care. You hoped he would bring you to your bedroom, fuck for a bit longer then fall asleep in each others arms.

You neared the wall, your hand sliding along it to keep you up. Aaron stopped your movement, his hands firmly on your elbow now. To your left was the collection of pictures you and Aaron took together or treasured. Most importantly, the picture next to your face.

You, Thomas, and Aaron at your graduation just two months ago. The two boys held you on their shoulders, the black graduation gown billowing around their chests. Your various colored stoles and cords flew in the wind, your tassel was flicking around as well.

Before you were aware of anything else, Aaron hiked you up and slid himself back inside with a prideful moan. His hands still had a tight grip, moving from your elbow to your waist. Aaron spun you around to face him, his lips kissing and sucking down your neck. “Oh, fuck Doll, I’m gonna cum… But tell…me, you wanna fuck us both?”

Drunk, intrusive thoughts rolled back around.

Between them, Aaron and Thomas kissing you up and down your body, two sets of hands holding or even pleasuring you, the thought of absolute overstimulation flooded your cunt. A loud squelch followed as you thought about the possibility of Aaron and Thomas at once. Aaron pushed further inside, kissing your limit. Fuck it sounded wonderful.

While you imagined the chance, Aaron whispered into your ear. “Taking us both… you just want attention, don’t you? ‘m’I not enough?”

“Oh, ffuck. No, just… fuck!” You shouted as he rolled his hips into you. He had you pinned up against the wall, his hips endlessly torturing you in the best way you could dream of.

“No… just you,” you denied with a lazy shake of your head against the painted walls. Aaron, in response, pulled you down into his cock. Slamming you up and down on him while you choked up on air, “Doll, y’know I don't like when you lie,” a strangled moan left Aaron before continuing. “My cum not enough for you, want both of ours?”

“No! Aaron, I don’t want to,” You tried again. He rolled his eyes and sunk his teeth into your neck. His lips hummed with skin between his teeth. Aaron shot his load inside, groaning as he continued to thrust in and out. “Admit it, doll, you want him and me together.”

Even after he filled you up, he kept going.

His fingers took place, but not before taking any fallen liquid and scooping it back inside to fuck his cum inside of you. Shoving three fingers inside of you at once released a throaty “Oh god,” as Aaron’s other hand took your waist and thrusted your hips into his hand.

The wall rattled, and the picture of you, Aaron, and Thomas shook as Aaron shoved his fingers in and out again. A rush flooded down your thighs. Aaron smiled as he felt another fluttering squeeze around him.

Your throat was raw from begging, “Aaa...Aaron, let me cum; please, need’ta cum so bad.”

“Mhm, s’ not Aaron, princess,” the Cockney accent asked as he ground his fingers into the gummiest spot. The sudden pulse around him as he whispered, Princess, into your ear. His nose pressed against your hair with a deep inhale.

“Fuck, Tangerine,” you shouted out as you squeezed against him again. The third knot of the night was getting tighter as you panted the former code name of your closest friend out helplessly. Over and over again, Ta..Tange. Please Tangerine, been good.

Aaron smiled and kissed the back of your head. “Go on, doll. You can do it,” he whispered into your hair. His other hand slid to your front to push you over the edge. A pornographic cry passed your lips as your chest tried to hug the wall to cool yourself down. Aaron groaned quietly again, down to his wrist dripping with you. After leaving your hole empty, Aaron picked you up bridal style to finally lie you two to sleep.

He cleaned you as best as a hazy-drunk-man could. A warm cloth ran up and down your body before getting to the sticky mess between your thighs. It had cooled off by the time he reached your vagina, but he still treated you like porcelain. His lips trailed around as he cleaned.

He vanished again and returned with a bottle of water and he dipped beneath sheets with you.

“I love you Aaron,” you mumbled quietly. You faced his chest and held his waist gently, he set his hand onto your head and quietly kissed you. “I love you too, Princess.”

#aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson x reader #atj #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x reader #aaron taylor johnson smut #tangerine x reader smut #smut #aaron johnson #bullet train #bullet train 2022

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melancholyfool · 3 days ago

Text

February 14th

Pairing: Henry Winter x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Henry exchange gifts on Valentine's Day

a/n: rewatched the notebook and the letters kill me every time so this piece is entirely inspired by the movie. happy valentines day to all my lovely followers xoxo 💌💘 P.S henry would totally celebrate v-day if his darling girl wanted to :')

The table is set with care—crystal glasses catching the light, silver gleaming under the low amber glow, deep red roses resting in a slender vase at the center. It's a scene out of some half-forgotten dream, a painting brought to life.

And then there is Henry.

Sitting across from you in his perfectly tailored black suit, he is an image of quiet elegance. The sharp cut of the fabric, the inky darkness of it against the pale column of his throat, the way the firelight catches in his hair, illuminating the few unruly strands that have fallen loose. He looks devastating. His gaze lingers on you, eyes darkened by the dim lighting, tracing the curve of your red dress, the way it moves with each breath you take.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “So do you.”

He smirks, and then slowly, he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, drawing out a thick stack of neatly folded pages, bound together with a thin crimson ribbon.

You pause.

He places the collection before you with the same reverence one might handle a sacred text. The weight of it is immediate, tangible.

Your breath catches. “Henry, what is this?”

His fingers linger against the edges of the parchment before he finally lets go. His voice is low and careful when he speaks. “Since last Valentine’s Day, I have written you a piece every day. Three hundred sixty-five of them. Some are letters, some are sonnets or poems, some are mere fragments of thought. Some are confessions.” His voice is impossibly soft now as he tilts his head slightly, studying your reaction. “They are all yours.”

The words settle deep and a slow warmth spreads through your chest, thick and heavy.

You reach for the stack, hands unsteady as you tug at the ribbon. It slips loose, pooling onto the table like spilled silk. Carefully, you unfold the first page. His handwriting, precise and elegant, spills across the parchment in deep black ink.

You take a breath and begin to read.

"My love, my light, my sweet unweaving star, you are the hush before the vesper bell, the silver thread that binds my waking soul, the tide that bends the shore to its command.

O! would that I were made of air and sighs, so I might slip between your parted lips and be remade anew beneath your breath, forever lost within your trembling hands."

Your vision blurs at the edges. The words curl around you like ivy, sinking into the marrow of your bones, wrapping themselves into the spaces between your ribs. The fire crackles in the hearth, the faintest echo of wind rattles against the windows, but the world beyond this moment ceases to exist.

Henry watches you closely, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his lips pressed into a soft line.

“You did this every day?” you whisper, your voice barely steady.

Henry nods his head. “I did,” he says.

Your fingers tighten around the paper. “Why?”

Henry leans forward, his voice low. “Because you deserve to be immortalized.” His gaze never wavers. “And because I love you.”

The words hit you like an exhale after drowning. Your breath hitches, a quiet, broken sound, and before you can stop it, a single tear slips down your cheek, and then another.

Henry moves before you can, pushing back his chair, rising to his feet just as you do the same. You don’t hesitate as you step toward him, and he is already there, already reaching for you, pulling you into his arms.

His embrace is warm, the press of his body against yours steadying you in ways you can’t name. His arms wrap around you tightly, one hand slipping to the small of your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

You tilt your head up, standing on your toes, hands fisting in the fabric of his suit, and press your lips to his. It's slow, aching, and deep, a silent language all its own. Henry exhales against you and his fingers tightening at your waist, and when you finally pull back, another tear falls.

He catches it with his lips, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to your cheek, then another. His breath ghosts over your skin as he lingers there, as if he could take the weight of it all and bear it himself.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, baby," he murmurs against your temple.

Henry’s arms are still wrapped around you, steady and certain, as if holding you together while your breath quivers against his collar. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slow exhale of his breath against your temple. The warmth of the moment lingers between you, settling into the space where your bodies press close, where his hand still cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair with absent-minded reverence.

For a while, neither of you move. The fire crackles softly behind you, the scent of wax and roses heavy in the air. Your fingers uncurl from his suit, only to smooth over the fabric and Henry does not let you go.

"You must have been exhausted," you murmur after a long silence, voice thick with the weight of everything unsaid. "Writing something every single day."

Henry huffs a quiet breath, almost like a chuckle. His fingers drift from your hair to your jaw, tilting your face up so he can meet your gaze properly. “You think so little of me if you imagine it was anything but a pleasure,” he says, grinning.

“Still. Every day, Henry?”

“Every day,” he confirms, “but not out of obligation. It was simply…” He pauses, as if searching for the right words, and then settles on, “inevitable.”

The depth of his certainty sends another shiver down your spine.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you pull back just enough to press your fingertips against his chest.

His fingers trace lightly over the curve of your waist, and then, without breaking your gaze he reaches past you, lifting the stack of poems from the table.

"Read one more," he whispers.

You swallow, glancing down at the pages. The weight of them feels heavier now, knowing each one is something pulled from Henry himself. His thoughts, his devotion, his love, all laid bare in ink.

Carefully, you pluck a random page from the stack and unfold it. Henry watches you, his fingers ghosting over the small of your back as you clear your throat and begin to read a confession:

"There are things I cannot say aloud. Not because I lack the words, but because they are too much when spoken—too heavy, too true. But I can write them, and so I will.

I am not a man prone to sentiment. I do not make a habit of soft thoughts, nor do I seek comfort in the notion of love as others do. But with you, I have found myself undone. I have found myself lost in the way you tilt your head when you are thinking, in the way your fingers linger at the edges of things, as if searching for the world beneath them.

I think of you when it rains. I think of you when I wake. I think of you in the quietest moments, when there is nothing to remind me of you, and yet, there you are, as constant as breath, as inevitable as the tide.

If I were a better man, I might have tried to resist this. But I am not, and I have not.

I am yours, wholly and without condition. I do not know how to be anything else.”

You press your lips together as another tear slips down your cheek. Henry’s gaze softens as he catches it once more with his thumb, brushing it away with a reverent touch.

"You're weeping again."

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "You keep writing things like this, and it'll keep happening."

Henry hums, tilting his head slightly. "Then I shall spend a lifetime chasing your tears."

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to the edge of his jaw. "Hopeless," you murmur.

"Entirely."

As Henry leads you back to the table, his warm fingers laced through yours, you hesitate. Your grip tightens just slightly, pulling him back.

He glances down at you, a faint furrow between his brows. “What is it?”

You swallow, your pulse a steady hum beneath your skin. He has given you something immeasurable, and now you have something for him too.

“Wait,” you murmur, slipping your hand from his.

Henry watches as you step away, moving to the small side table near the fireplace, where a slim, carefully wrapped package rests. You pick it up slowly, fingers skimming over the deep blue ribbon that binds it before turning back to him.

His expression doesn’t shift, but his eyes darken slightly, the weight of his gaze settling over you.

“You didn’t think I wouldn’t have something for you too, did you?” you say softly, extending the gift toward him.

Henry is still for a moment, then steps forward, taking the package from your hands with precision. His fingers ghost over the ribbon, loosening it, before he peels back the wrapping to reveal the book beneath.

It is a collection of Greek tragedies, bound in the richest leather, the gold lettering catching the light. The pages are edged in gilt, and when he brushes his thumb along the spine, the craftsmanship is evident—every detail and every choice made with care.

Henry runs his fingers over the cover and you watch his expression, searching for something, anything, but he only stares down at it, tracing the engraved lettering.

Finally, he speaks.

“This is…” He trails off, his voice quieter than before. His fingers press against the spine. “It’s beautiful, angel.”

You shift slightly, watching him. “I had it bound especially for you.” A pause. “There’s something inside.”

His gaze flickers up to you before he carefully opens the book, turning past the first page to find the inscription written in your own hand, neat and precise:

"For Henry, my beloved— A tragedy to hold, that I may always remain your favourite love story."

For the first time that evening, Henry falters.

It is slight—so slight that most wouldn’t notice, but you do, the way his breath catches just briefly, the way his fingers still against the page. The way his lips part, but no words come.

“Henry—"

Before you can finish, he moves.

The book is set aside carefully, and then his arms are around you, pulling you in tighter, as if the space between you has suddenly become unbearable.

You let out a soft breath, closing your eyes as you press against him.

"You remain my favourite everything."

Your eyes burn at his words.

You tilt your head up and press your lips to his once more, slow and deep. This love, in all its quiet poetry, in ink-stained pages and bound tragedies, in kisses pressed to trembling lips and hands that hold too tightly—

This is something infinite.

#henry winter #henry winter x reader #henry marchbanks winter #tsh fanfic #the secret history #donna tartt #melancholyfool

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