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madamechrissy · 3 months ago

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Step-Daddy Issues?

pairings- Toji Fushiguro x F! reader- Toji early 40s, reader early 20s

summary- oneshot PWP- You're staying at your old home for a night while your mom's out of town, you both never have gotten along but you need to get out after a nasty breakup. Toji and your mom have been hooking up on and off but she blew him off again, and he's there to make her forget she's mad with his dick... but instead mistakes you for your mom (after sticking his fingers inside you)

warnings- so many lol- Pure filth fr, age gap (20 years) He's not ACTUALLY your step dad. Toji is nasty, spitting, slapping, oral sex (both receiving), Toji calls reader 'doll and slutty, she calls him old man and daddy lmaoo, daddy kink, reader's mom is a bitch fr lol, but even so this is shady asf. Creampie, cum drinking/cum spitting-talking shit about reader's mom lol- reader fr has MOMMY issues (I'm prob going to hell for this one) WC- 4k - Comment/reblogs if you enjoy nasty ass daddy Toji lol

Tracks for this oneshot: Daddy Issues // Often // Favorite

You were not one to ever come home, you hadn’t even seen your mom in over a year because of how much of a bitch she really was. The day you moved out, she’d already turned your room into some office, and had all your shit put in storage, there was no ‘childhood room’ or memories to come home to. Since she left your dad especially, you’ve really not talked to her.

But tonight was a bad night, and you caved, messaging her, asking if you could come over. She gives you the go ahead and tells you where the spare key is. You are exhausted after a nasty breakup with your boyfriend, and you’re for once thankful for your mom’s existence… kind of.

Ever since she left your dad she was a grade a bitch, and she had boyfriends in and out from what you hear, some your age, but one in particular irritated your dad, some felon who used to run with the Zenin, the most notorious mafia family there was. You’d never met him or seen him on her Facebook, but everyone seemed pretty concerned at her taste.

The house is nice and clean as you remember it, as you lock up and let out another yawn, take off your shoes and jacket, it’s dark aside from the little stove light, you open the fridge, you find a whole case of beer, smiling. Mom’s good for that at least, you muse, bending over to grab one from the bottom, when you get a firm smack on your ass, making you yelp.

“Finally come back, huh? Thought you were fucking furious at me, ma?” You gasp as two fingers slip under your skirt, tense, half bent over in this fridge. “And what are you wearing, so fuckin slutty? F-fuck…”

“Ngh!’ You cover your cry up, when two rough pads of fingers prod under your slick panties, cunt dripping down his fingers, your heart racing, eyes rolling back when one presses into your entrance.

“Ya doing kegels? Why you so tight… mmm, c’mere…” He pulls your back against him in the dark room, you assume this must be Toji, whose finger sinks and stretches your tight little cunt, making you cry out. “Oh my god… mmm, she missed me huh?”

You can’t speak, not when the fridge shuts, leaving you both in the dark, and he’s pumping his two fingers in, other arm wrapping around you, pressing your back against him. He moans, vibrating his chest, before tilting your chin, slamming his lips down on yours. You wriggle, half in fright but half out of instinct, only earning him pressing you against the stainless steel fridge.

“You’re this wet f’me?” He huffs, amazed at how tight you feel, how soaked you are, the squelching sound loud in the kitchen, Toji’s cock straining against his sweats as he pictures sinking into you. “Not running that bitch mouth, huh?”

“Wh-what the fuck!?” Your voice halts him then, as you elbow him, making him hunch over, glaring in the dark at you, shock hitting him brutally.

You’re far prettier than your mom, and of course younger but that’s not what it is, it’s this look you have, these eyes that just end him, lips parted and inviting, your face is a little softer than hers, too. You look like her a bit, but there’s not much there similar aside from you both are the same height and about the same body size, your hair isn’t even the same now that he focuses.

He’s standing there dumb right now as you cross your arms, glaring up at him furiously, and he realizes now why that cunt felt so tight, why you were so wet for him. Your mom had been stringing Toji around for months, fucking around with this guy and that when she was mad at him, but he did it too, they were both toxic and awful to each other.

And he never even heard her mention you. He only knew about you from seeing a picture of your high school graduation, though you look more mature now, it’s unmistakable. Toji Fushiguro just had his fingers inside his girlfriend’s (ex girlfriend’s!?_ daughter’s pussy.

“Mom isn’t home.”

“Well, no shit… I… the fuck are you doing here?” He demands then, fighting the desire to suck you off his fingers.

“Bad breakup, last resort was coming here.” You sigh now, adjusting your skirt, color heating up your cheeks even in the dark. “You call her a bitch?”

“She is one. Shit she never even talked about you before, even when I asked, ya know that?”

You falter, emotions hitting then, and Toji’s face falls a bit. “Yeah I know, we don’t talk, ever.”

“That was a dick thing to say, m’sorry.”

“No worries, it’s true.” You open the fridge back up, taking out two beers, handing it to him, finally getting a good look at his face, handsome and rugged, some five o'clock shadow, a scar on his lip. He’s got dark, inky black locks all messy, and what appears to be lidded dark green eyes. “Do I really look like her from the back?”

“Same size and shit, I… fuck I had my fingers in you!?” He takes the beer, opening it and downing a bunch. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” You hop up on the counter then, and his eyes dart across your bare legs, cock leaking precum as he thinks of your sweet cunt. “No worries, more action than I’ve gotten in a while.”

“Psh, what? Look at you. Doubt it.”

“What because I have a slutty skirt?” You muse, smiling a bit.

“Nah, you’re drop dead gorgeous. So I don’t buy it.”

“That’s a compliment… from you?” You manage, nervous now, and Toji smirks, enjoying how the blush spreads across your cheeks. “Prettier than mom, Step dad?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, yuck.” You snort in laughter now, as Toji runs a hand through his hair. “We just fuck a lot, never put a label on it. But she’s been blowing me off for a month, so I came to town and thought I’d surprise her.”

“Well you surprised one of us.”

“So who broke up with you?”

“Boyfriend since high school.”

“Ouch.” You nod a bit, blinking back odd emotions. For some reason this random stranger who fingered you, thinking that you’re someone else, listens better than most people lately. “Well fuck him.”

“Yeah?” He nods, and you giggle. “Fuck him. I like that.”

“Shit, want another drink?” You nod, and he bends down, opening them both, standing between your thighs as he hands you the cool bottle, condensation seeping against your overheated skin. “Your mom really is something else though.”

“You’re telling me. You know you’re on her roster, yeah? Dad said she’s got a fantasy league.”

“Well fuck her too.”

“Fuck both of them.” You agree, giggling again, as you study him. “You’re kinda hot, for an old man.”

Toji glares now, only making your heart flutter, as you observe his strong, jacked muscles, he’s insanely buff, veins popping out of his strong arms, his neck, the shirt he’s wearing hiding damn near nothing. “Old man?”

“Mmm, you gotta be her age, older?”

“You’re a little fuckin brat. I look old to you?” Toji leans close, hands pressing against your bare thighs now, and you feel your cunt fluttering around nothing, breath quickening when he leans close. “Asked ya a question, doll.”

“Doll? Old man shit.” You whisper back, he grins then, a flash of white teeth, setting down your beer on the counter, big body completely overtaking your every sense, every thought. The only sounds then are of both of your breaths, coming quicker as your heart pounds in your ears, when a big hand cups your face, thumb pressing on your pulse point, feeling it flutter.

“Say that one more time, doll. Couldn’t fuckin hear ya?” You bite your lower lip, as he drags your panties down, smirking as he eyes them. “Should’ve known you’re not your mom, what kinda panties are these? My little fuckin pony!?”

“Fuck yourself, old man.” You earn his devious scowl, you see the vein in his temple throb now. “Are you stealing them!?”

He has them shoved in his pants as he shoves you back, head pressed against the cool backsplash of your kitchen, as he eyes your pussy hungrily, moaning now as your breasts heave up and down, heart pounding. He’s eyeing you like you’re some meal and he’s fucking starved, thumbs slipping down your puffy lips, spreading your pussy wide for his view.

“Oh my… fucking… your…” He is at a loss for words, gulping now as he eyes your pretty face, seeing how dilated those pretty eyes are, opening you to watch the arousal pool out of your tiny hole.

“Nicer than my mom’s, step daddy?” He glares, and you barely giggle before he smacks your pussy, making you cry out. “The fuck!?”

“You’re such a brat. They’re not teaching ya’ll shit in college anymore, huh? Should I give you a fuckin’ lesson?” He demands, smacking your pussy again, making it sting so good, you’re nodding eagerly, gasping when he spits right on your pussy, watching as the white bubbly liquid oozes down your pretty pussy. “Hah- would ya look at that…”

“D-didn’t answer.”

“You really got some mommy issues, huh?” He demands, raising a brow as he slides two thick fingers through your slick, sticky cunt, watching as trails of saliva and arousal leave little stringy trails.

“Maybe I need daddy issues, too.” You whisper, earning his fingers shoving deep in your cunt this time, the stretch too much, you’re struggling to even take his fingers, when they press up inside your slick walls and hit that spongy spots, you scream out, a sound you’ve never even heard.

“Daddy issues too, huh? You’re a freaky little brat, aren’t ya?” He leans close, lips hovering, you taste the alcohol on his breath, fingers curling in your soppy little cunt, making you whine. “Pathetic, can’t fucking talk?”

“P-please…” He moans then, kissing you desperately, while his fingers find you better than your years-long boyfriend ever could, making your tummy fill with pressure as he works you quicker and quicker.

“So sweet now, huh? Guess what, doll?” He murmurs, sloppy as he bites your lower lip, tongue dipping in and out of your mouth, you mouth the word ‘what’ as he pulls his fingers out, sucking on them, moaning. “That pussy is prettier, and yummier, but you sure are fucked up, aren’t ya?”

“Beyond fucked up.” You manage to whisper, he moans again, because your version of fucked up fits his so well. Soon he is picking you up like you’re nothing, carrying you over to your mom’s bed now, he has you on all fours, shoving your skirt up, your thighs are trembling.

“Wonder if she feels better, huh? M’gonna find out.” He whispers, before burying his face in your cunt, and drinking you up, his cock throbbing now, you’re way sweeter than your mom, your pussy is so yummy he could eat it for hours, for days. He grips your firm ass, pulling your thighs apart to shove his tongue deeper.

“Oh my g-god…” You whine out, trying to close your thighs, to pull back. “Just fuck me… what’re you…”

“Ha, I like to eat first, brat.” He shoves you on your back now, yanking your top off, moaning as your pretty tits bounce out of it, leaving you just in a slutty school girl skirt that makes him think filthy things. “Hold these fucking thighs open, or I won’t even fuck you, I’ll just eat it.”

“You want to!? Wh-what- I- ah!” You’re screaming out as he bites on your clit now, your hands yanking on his silky hair, trying to pull him off you, but he’s latched a hungry mouth on your clit, moaning then. You’re dripping down onto your mom’s blankets, you’d feel bad about that later -maybe- for now you’re too lost in the way he’s looking up at you, while his tongue licks a stripe up your slit.

“So fuckin yummy. Yeah I wanna, shit how pathetic are these college boys, huh? Ain't ate you out right?” You shake your head nervously, as he picks your little body up and shoves you where he needs you, he takes you over with his big grip, smirking against your inner thighs. “Cum f’me doll, like a pretty lil slut.”

“Little… slut!?... you- ah!” Your walls flutter around his tongue now as he fucks you with it, nose bumping your clit, chin digging in right against your little ass as he drinks you up, messy slurping sounds mixing with your cries.

Toju Fushiguro drinks every bit of you up as he spreads you wide, shoving your thighs up now. “Hold em.”

You eagerly obey, holding up your thighs so he has even better access, now flicking his tongue in little circles, finger back inside you, using both until you’re cumming all over his face, drenching him with your slick. He licks you through it, watching you arch your back, watching you scream out in pleasure, shaking and panting.

“Mmm, that’s it, doll. Cum so much more than her, don’t ya? Messy lil fuckin’ slut.” His words should irritate you, but they edge you on, as he flicks his tongue on the underside of your clit, teeth grinning against it as it twitches, as you cum more, until you’re soaking everything, screaming and trembling. “There ya fuckin go.”

“What even… a-are you!?” You whisper weakly, blinking back stars, making your vision so blurry, Toji leans over you, face glistening with you, he licks the scar on the corner of his mouth, smirking at you.

“Not an old man, am I?” You bite your lower lip.

“You are-”

“Open, brat. Now.” You nervously do, then he’s spitting in your mouth, smirking as you choke on it, shutting your jaw closed. “Mommy didn’t let me spit in her mouth, you’re nasty aren’t ya?”

“Oh fuck you!? Ah!” He’s standing now, yanking you to where you’re bent over, mouth against his cock that he’s pulling out, watching it smack on his tummy, as you eagerly shove up his shirt.

“Gonna shut that pretty mouth the fuck up.” He yanks off his shirt as you hungrily start lapping at his salty precum, drooling from his reddened tip, he hisses then. “Ya that cock hungry?”

“Fuck my mouth.” At that Toji loses his mind, while you’re bent over the bed, sucking him as deep as you can, saliva pooling as you deep throat him, ending him with how you worship his cock.

“Cock hungry…. Lil fuckin… what the… holy f-fuck! Doll…” Toji’s a mess for you, somthing he’s never been, as you’re working his cock with your mouth hungrily, and he’s pulling your hair into a pony tail, fucking up into your hungry, slutty throat.

You’re breathing through your nose, trying to take more and more of him as he wrecks your esophagus, you can’t wait for him inside you, you think as you’re sucking him as hard as you can, tears in your eyes. Toji’s groaning, not even moving you, just gently holding your hair back as you work his cock up and down, until he can’t take anymore.

He yanks you off him, shoving you on your back, pulling a thigh up over his arm as he lines his tip with your slutty little hole, and you whimper just from his thick, mushroom tip pressing. “You’re not a…”

You giggle, breathless. “No, not a virgin, why ya want me to be? Wanna fuck your girlfriend’s virgin daughter, pervy old- ah!” Toji’s glaring, shoving his thick cock so deep in you then, you scream out.

“Why ya feel this fucking tight!? Loosen the fuck up, slutty brat.” He huffs now, you’re gripping him way too tight, walls pulsing like you’re trying to milk him, while your pretty face screws up.

“You’re t-too big- shit!” You’re wincing now, legs shaking when he smirks, earning your little glare.

“Can’t handle me doll? Where’s all that talk?”

“Give me a second.” You’re struggling to breathe when he pulls his cock out, slapping it on your overheated cunt, slathering it in more of your slick before shoving it back inside, filling your pussy up so good he can see himself in your tummy. He moans now, pulling back.

“Look at that, fucking up your guts, brat- ha!” Toji jerks his cock in deep now, hands gripping your hips as you look down, gasping as you see the enormous bulge moving in your tummy. “Gonna fuckin ruin ya doll, for anyone.”

“Wh-what- ngh! Oh my god, Toji!” You’re whimpering as he moves, eyeing that bulge hungrily, his dark green eyes glinting, so dilated they’re black.

“Nah, don’t call me that.” He fucks into you now, thrusts wrecking your cunt as his tip bruises your cervix, bed creaking with the force of his thrusts. He has sweat dripping down onto your skin just a bit as he watches your pretty face. “You feel s’much better than any… oh my… pussy s’fucking tight, feel her…”

He’s shoving harder, faster, thick tip dragging on your walls, hitting some spot that makes you scream, Toji grins when he notices, pressing the spot again and again as he fucks into your soppy cunt. His balls smack your little ass, with arousal drooling down that hole, as you hear the ‘pap-pap-pap’ sound mix with the smacking of your skin.

“There, ya wanna cum all over this cock, huh lil girl?” Your brain short circuits, you’re pulsing around his cock as he pushes you over the edge, cumming so hard it makes the oral he gave you look like nothing. You’re weakly clinging to him, mouth opening and closing, eyes rolling back in your skull. “Look at you, cockdrunk, aren’t ya slutty girl?”

You can’t answer, not when he’s balls deep in your cunt, stuffing you so full, his big brutal hands digging into your waist. After your orgasm wracks you he yanks his cock out, making you whimper. “Back in…”

“Slutty lil brat, wait a minute.” He flips you on your tummy now, shoving back in you, so deep like this you’re a drooling mess, so fucked out you have no thoughts, you can’t remember you’re in your mom’s bed with her ex, a man twice your age, not when he’s wrecking your cunt so good.

Toji can’t remember ever even fucking anyone else, not when he’s buried in your tight little hole, you’re taking him so good. “Ngh! Toji…”

“Ha, no. What’d I say?” Toji pulls you by your hair, arching your ass up as he slips his cock so deep in your hole, pounding you over and over, licking up your neck, all the way to your chin, before he lands on your lips. “What ya gonna call me?”

“Old man? Ow!” Toji shoves his cock so deep it’s brutal, mean tip bullying your sore little pussy, you whine pathetically, head falling back as he makes you face him.

“Nah, answer right or I’ll pull out.”

“D-don’t!”

“So desperate, huh?” You just whine, as he wraps a hand around your throat, fingers so long they take you over. “Answer me, doll.”

“Desperate f’you…” You’re whispering the words, closer and closer while he’s pressing your throat, sucking your oxygen away while your pussy makes a bigger mess, leaving a huge wet spot on the blankets, now rumpled from him flipping you like a doll.

“Then how ya gonna address me, brat?” He huffs, and you look into his eyes then, reflecting how fucked out yours are.

“Daddy.” You whisper, and it ends him then, he lifts your ass up, shoving your face into the soft matress, fucking into you with hard, brutal strokes, smacking your ass over and over as you tremble, cumming down his veiny length until it’s so messy he almost slips out.

“That’s it, no one’s fucked you like this, huh doll? No one beat this pretty lil pussy up like that?” You weakly whine, nodding as he rocks his cock into you over and over. “Feel so fuckin good, best pussy I ever… oh like she’s made to take me? F-fuck… milking my cock…”

The sounds of his slapping skin and cock wrecking your sloppy pussy are ridiculous, mixing with your muffle moans and his stuttered gasps, as you clench him so good he can’t remember another pussy. As he fucks you so good you forgot you had a boyfriend, fucking every thought you ever had out of your dumb, fucked out brain.

“That’s it, taking me like that, good lil fuckin girl…” You’re pathetic and dumb at his words, nodding weakly when he pulls you back up on your knees, yanking you by your hair, pricking pain that makes your eyes water. “Want me to fill this pussy up? Knock you up? Get your mommy so fuckin mad?”

“P-please daddy…” You’re whimpering, speaking insane. “M’on the… p-pill… s’okay, please…”

“Fuck…” Toji slams up in your pussy now, tip hitting over and over until you feel him pulsing then, big hands brutally gripping you, rippling the skirt still slung up on your hips. “Oh my god… gonna fill your pretty pussy s’good…”

You’re shuddering when he pumps his hot, endless load in you, whining out a pathetic- ‘d-daddy…’

“That’s it, no one filled ya like this, huh?” You shake your head weakly, as his hot gooey cum fills your cavern, all over every inch of your walls, so much it’s dripping out in blotches, all slick with you, down his balls, down the bed. He moans, shuddering and then leaning over you, pulling your chin to him. “Perfect pussy, she’s just so full of me, huh?”

You nod weakly, letting him kiss you, nasty and messy, as he slows his thrusts, pushing his cum further and further in your soppy hole, so deep. “Too much…”

“Oh, doll, I got so much more for ya.” He flips you again, smirking down at the mess you are, smacking your pretty titties as his cock drips down. “So, am I old to you, hmm?” You shake your head quickly. “Good girl, gonna reward ya, finally keeping your pretty mouth shut.”

He unzips the skirt finally, showcasing your entire body to his hungry eyes, he smacks your titties again and again as you struggle to come to, before kissing down between the valley of your breasts, lower down your tummy, until he pulls your lips apart, smirking. You’re whimpering, so sore, while he eyes your pussy, watching his white semen pour from your abused entrance.

“That’s it, look at ya doll, took m’cum so good.” He shoves your shaking thighs apart, lapping at his own cum, you gasp.

“You’re… n-nasty I swear… the fuck- mmm!”

He’s chuckling, lapping all his cum that’s pouring now, you’re so sensitive you’re twitching, when he leans back over you, grabbing you under your chin. “Nasty, doll? You’re getting fucked in your mom’s bed, this old man’s cum pouring out, makin a whole goddamn mess.”

You gasp out when he spits his own cum in your mouth again, making out so sloppy and nasty, but you’re rolling your hips up, earning his soft laugh. “T-Toji-”

“Ah-ah.” He smacks your cheek, you inhale sharply.

“Daddy.”

“Whaddaya want daddy to do now?”

You blink a bit, taking a breath. “Eat all your cum outta me, put more in me.” He moans now, diving back down, licking your cunt clean as he drinks you both together, his salty, bitter cum, your sweet pussy all on his tongue, his big hands pressing into your thighs, bruising them. “Daddy! Daddy… Fuck me…”

Toji moans against your cunt, you’re screaming out then, as he has his face buried between your thighs, right when the door opens, but you’re both too fucked out to hear as your mom walks right in. She gasps then, watching her ex-boyfriend licking his lips, leaning over her own daughter.

“Toji Fushiguro, what the fuck!? My daughter!?” Your mom’s trill voice sobers you both up, you gasp, trying to cover yourself up with a cum soaked blanket, as Toji grins, licking you off his lips, scar stretched in a smirk.

“Well, shit.”

Well I know I'm going to hell for this one lol

Perma tags- @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @n1vi @aldebrana @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy - Toji tags - @rie-star @lavenderdaydream97 @xd3pr3ss3dx @winterautumn @g00seg1rl @lastsubstance - @getoisinnocent requested Toji, and @airandyeah wanted more Toji (sry this is so filthy loves lmaooo)

Toji Masterlist

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #toji x y/n #fushiguro toji x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk x fem!reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader smut #toji x reader smut

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imaginedisish · 8 months ago

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Liquid Smooth (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Started writing this last night...sooo happy you guys wanted a sex pollen fic! Hope it lives up to everyone's expectations! This one is (obviously) inspired by "Liquid Smooth," by Mitski. ENJOY!

Summary: A simple mission deep in a forest alone with Logan quickly gets out of hand when you just have to go and pick a flower...

Warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Sex Pollen (so dub!con just to be safe, but not really), Multiple orgasms, Porn Without Plot...literally, implied!age gap, cursing, friends to lovers, fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,797 muahaha

“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” you murmur as Logan thumbs through the controls of the X-Jet. “Could’ve done this by myself.”��

Logan scoffs. “I’m not your babysitter, princess.” You roll your eyes at the nickname Logan has specially reserved just for you. “Charles said we’d be safer going together. He knows you can handle yourself.”

The X-Jet cruises effortlessly through the clouds. The air is still today. Calm. You and Logan are on your way to get some sort of flower that Charles claims to have extensive healing properties. It’s an easy mission. No fighting. No violence. You’re unlikely to have to use your powers at all. And yet, you’ve been paired with Logan.

It wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t—admittedly—a little into him. Or rather, pining after him. There’s just something about the sarcasm that’s always thick in his voice; the way he squeezes himself into those thin beaters. How he’s always so self-assured, so thoroughly convinced he’s right. You just can’t help it. You want him. But he isn’t yours, and he probably never will be. He’s a little older—well, a lot, considering he’s been around forever. And you know it’s safer not to make attachments—not to fall in love.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for that.

But having him here with you now, alone, with no buffers…it’s overwhelming. You can smell him—that mix of tobacco and pine and musk and him. He’s suddenly everywhere, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You watch as his long fingers press different buttons, his hands gripping the steering wheel, adjusting thrusters. You stare at those fingers for far too long, your thoughts drifting to what else he can do with them. You think about him curling them deep inside you, stretching you open and—

“Everything okay?” You snap your head to face Logan, swallowing harshly as his voice pulls you back to reality.

You force a smile, nodding. “Yep!” You say, overcompensating just a bit. “All good,” you lie. You close your eyes, trying to push thoughts of Logan out of your head, denying the heat growing between your legs.

“Good, because we’re almost there,” Logan says, the X-Jet descending carefully. You look out the window to see the trees below. There’s a lake in the distance, but that’s it. No civilization, no houses—no one. It’s empty, peaceful.

“We’re really in the middle of nowhere, huh?” You say, glancing at Logan.

His eyes meet yours and he smiles. Warmth blooms in your heart at the sight. “My kind of place,” he says back. The X-Jet descends further as you approach a clear spread of grass to land on just ahead.

This is, in fact, not your kind of place. The humidity creeps up your back and settles under your skin. The forest is overgrown and impossible to navigate. You let Logan slice through the plant life with his claws, swiping back and forth whenever something gets in your way.

You haven’t been walking for long, but you’re already done. Perhaps Charles was right; a partner is not the worst idea on a mission like this.

You can see the flower just ahead—yellow petals and a long, green, viny stem. It glows brightly even under the dense forest canopy. “Semper in tenebris lux,” Charles had said; there is always light in darkness. And he was right. The flower illuminates everything in its path. Next to it, you can see a pretty, lavender-colored flower. You stop in your tracks, letting Logan wander ahead as you crouch down to stroke the purple petals.

“Charles didn’t say anything about not taking other flowers too, right?” You call out, watching as Logan swipes carefully at the stem of the yellow flower. He holds the dainty stem in his large hands as he walks back over to you.

“No, he didn’t. But you should be careful. It could be poisonous or—”

You ignore Logan, picking the flower anyway. You hold it up to your nose and breathe in. It’s sweet and fragrant. You twist the stem and realize the flower is sticky with sap and pollen. Your twist shakes some of the pollen up, and it lands all over your face.

“Shit,” you mutter, wiping it away. A gust of wind sweeps through the forest, knocking the flower out of your hand and spreading more of its pollen in the air. You can feel it in your nostrils, getting caught in your throat.

Logan furrows his brows as the pollen falls to the ground. “What the fuck did you do?”

You roll your eyes. “All I did was pick a flower!” You lift your hands, feigning innocence. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” You stand up, glancing once at the yellow flower in Logan’s hands and then back at Logan. “It’s pretty.”

He parts his lips, his stare focused on you. “Yeah, it is.” There’s something else in that stare, in those words. Like maybe he isn’t only talking about the flower. You shove those thoughts down as you turn around and walk back to the jet.

Your steps are suddenly very heavy. You scratch at your shoulder. Heat blooms in your chest, your stomach, across your face. You’re irritated and overheated and itchy. Your breath grows heavier and rougher with every step.

Logan notices immediately. He stops, grabbing your arm. You can’t control the way you lean into his touch, nor the way you’re craving more. “Hey,” he soothes, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay?” There’s a hint of panic in his voice.

You swallow harshly, nodding. Your throat feels thick, your skin tight and oppressive. “’M’fine,” you mumble.

“Quit lying. I can tell something’s wrong,” Logan demands. You open your mouth to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t give you the chance, his grip tightening around your arm. “Your skin is on fucking fire, princess. What did you do?” He cocks his head, sniffing as he furrows his brows. His voice is darker now, slower as his eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do?”

You take in a sharp breath. And that’s when you feel it, the ache between your thighs, the slick arousal soaking through your panties. The realization smacks you in the face. For a moment, you’re clear-headed, but still terrified. The pollen. That goddamn, fucking pollen. “Logan, look, I think that purple flower had some—"

He cuts you off as he yanks your arm, tugging you towards the ship. “We need to get you back to the jet, okay?”

“Oh, I am so fucked,” you cry. You know you only have a few seconds left before the effects really kick in. “L-Logan,” you stutter, almost moaning as your core burns stronger with need. “T-the pollen was everywhere. What if you got some too?”

He ignores you, handing you the yellow flower you came here for in the first place. He sweeps one hand under your legs and keeps the other at your back as he lifts you in his arms—bridal style. You can feel his heart beating in his chest. You lean into him again, searching for relief. Wetness pools between your legs. You have never felt this needy before. Your desire hurts, burns, scorches you. You rut your hips, clenching down around nothing.

“S-stop doing that,” Logan spits, restrained and quiet.

“C-can’t,” you whine. “It hurts, Logan. It hurts so fucking bad. How come you aren’t like this too?”

He pulls you tighter to his chest. “I feel a little something, but that might just…”

You tilt your head up to look at him. He works his jaw, that perfect jaw. You want to bite it, to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Might just be what?” You ask, tentatively brushing your lips against the hollow of his throat.

“Nothing, just—fuck,” he groans as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses all around his neck now. “Don’t do that, princess. You don’t want this.”

“But I do, Logan,” you beg. The ramp to the jet lowers as you and Logan approach. “N-need you.” You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. “Need y-you all the time.” The confession slips easily from your lips.

Logan’s eyes widen as he walks up the ramp and into the ship. It lifts and seals shut behind him. “You don’t mean that, sweetheart. Let’s just get you back to the mansion as quickly as possible, yeah?”

He places you down on the seat next to him, taking the flower from your hands and putting it in the jar Charles had given you. The leather cold at your back almost feels good, almost relieving—until you realize Logan is no longer holding you, touching you. You reach out towards him, grabbing his arms, pulling him back in. “Don’t go,” you plead, nails digging into his biceps. Your body is on fire. Everything is unbearably painful. “Please,” you whimper. “Need you so fucking bad, just you.”

“Fuck,” Logan curses. “I am not taking advantage of you. I am not doing this.” He stands, freeing himself from your grasp and walking over to the pilot’s chair. “I’m getting you back to the mansion and we’re going to fix this, okay?”

But that’s not good enough for you. You stand up and walk over to Logan. Your steps are shaky, your legs trembling. Your chest heaves, your heart beating rapidly. You climb into Logan’s lap, straddling him, one leg on either side. “Logan, I can’t fucking wait,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. The pressure feels delicious. He grabs your hips, stilling you, forcing you in place. And that’s when you feel it: his erection, hard underneath your core. “This isn’t you. You don’t really want this, don’t really want m—”

“It is me,” you protest, squirming against his hold. “Logan, I’ve wanted you for months. I-I was thinking about you t-touching me the whole way here.” You remember the way his fingers dexterously pushed all the right buttons. Need courses through you like a river, and as Logan’s hold on your hips softens, you grind down into his lap, against his erection. “S-so good,” you cry out.

His hands are still on your hips, but now he’s guiding you, rocking you against his cock. “J-just this though, okay?”

You hum, pressing your forehead to his, rolling your hips faster. The relief is like heaven. His arms wrap around your back, his fingers trailing up and down soothingly. Logan ruts into you, his erection straining against his jeans. You can feel yourself getting closer, but the pain, the need, it’s all still the same.

“Logan, it’s not gonna be enough,” you whisper, his lips ghosting yours. “N-need more. Hurts so bad.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, like he’s scared to truly touch you. But he wants to consume your pain, to take it away, to feel it for you. You can see it written across his face, in the way his cock throbs against your swollen clit, how he snaps his hips into yours.

“I know, princess,” he coos, his hands like fire on your back. Your walls contract around nothing, begging for something to hold onto, to feel something sink deep inside. “Gonna take care of you.” He kisses you again, with more vigor this time, more passion. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”

You moan into his mouth. His composure is slipping, disintegrating with every roll, every rock of your hips against his. His cock notches against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure up the base of your spine. He hikes your shirt up, the cold air hitting your overheated skin. “F-feels good,” you stammer. You’re almost there, almost hitting that peak. “S-so close.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes. “Let go for me, know you can do it.”

You moan his name, your orgasm crashing into you like a crescendo. You know you’re soaking through your clothes, and probably onto Logan’s too. He’s still rutting against you, giving you more. He knows it’s not going to be enough, and he’s right. Need builds back up just as quickly as you found your release.

“Lo…” you trail off, looking up at him under lust-filled eyes. You swallow harshly, squirming in his lap helplessly. “G-gotta have you.”

He presses his forehead to yours. He works his jaw, parting his lips. “Y-you meant it when you said you wanted me before this?” But he already knows the answer. He knows you wouldn’t lie to him about that, not even now.

“Yes,” you whine, pulling him closer. He tugs your shirt all the way over your head and picks you up, hands firmly gripping your ass. “Still gonna want you after this, too.”

He curses under his breath as he places you down in the pilot’s chair. He’s frenzied and frantic as he hooks his thumbs into your pants and panties, yanking them down your legs and casting them to the side.

He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands, his thumbs brushing soft circles into your inner thighs. He’s kneeling, looking up at you. Your breath catches in your throat as his face settles between your legs.

“Could smell you before, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning over your clit. “Wanted this so fucking bad.” He doesn’t keep you waiting, licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. “Knew you’d taste perfect. Pretty fucking pussy.”

You throw your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking harshly. He slips one hand across your back, keeping you close. His free hand climbs up your thigh, fingers exploring your folds as his tongue flits across your swollen bud. He spreads your arousal, prodding against your entrance before shoving two fingers deep inside you. “Logan!” You cry out, your walls clenching around him. He’s stretching you out, his fingers dragging inside you. He pulls out and plunges back in. He isn’t taking his time, isn’t teasing. He’s giving you what you need, pump after pump.

You look down at him, his face buried in your cunt, consuming you, swallowing you whole like a starving man. He’s lost inside you, lapping at you with unwavering hunger and desire. His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing ever so slightly. You moan his name again, and he hums against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice rocking through your body. He’s wrecking you, but it feels so goddamn good.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he goads you along. He’s adding a third finger now, and you suck him in. You’d take anything he gives you, anything at all. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.”

He sucks roughly, your walls clenching around him at the feeling. “Yeah?” He grunts, sucking again. “You like that? Feels good?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, stumbling over that one simple word. “S-so fucking good.”

“I know, beautiful,” he groans, nipping at your clit in between his rough sucks. “Gonna make that hurt go away, okay?” His voice is like honey, sugar; it’s sweet, addictive. “You just gotta come for me again, can you do that?” His tongue strokes your clit, his fingers pumping faster now.

You nod your head emphatically, pleasure surging as you near your peak. “Yeah, I-I can,” you huff.

Logan smiles against your cunt between rough laps. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His fingers scissor inside you, deeper than before. He takes your clit between his lips again, sucking hard.

And that’s all it takes—you’re screaming his name, coming undone, unraveling underneath him. The release is even better than the first, more full, more complete. Logan thrusts in and out a few more times before slowly pulling his fingers from your cunt. He licks one more long stripe through your folds and looks up into your eyes.

For a moment, the fire inside has been quenched. You feel clear, levelheaded. But it doesn’t last long. “Fuck,” you moan, your head hitting against the headrest of the chair. The fire is back, spreading across your stomach, your chest. “Logan,” you whimper. “I n-need more.”

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he coos, taking you back up into his arms. He hoists you out of the seat, his hands finding your ass, squeezing softly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you across the jet, setting you down on a storage container.

You bring your hands up to his biceps. “Need you this time, Lo,” you choke, stroking up and down his arms as the heat builds painfully between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes searching yours.

“Always wanted you, always sure,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Wanted you too,” he husks. “But I wanted it to be different, to—” You cut him off. “Just want you. It’s okay like this. I promise.” You grind against him, his erection still straining inside the denim of his jeans.

He takes the hint, and quickly unbuckles his belt, casting the leather to the metal floor with a clunk. He’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, shoving them down his legs, and lining himself up with your entrance. You push your hips forward, giving him better access. His other hand pushes your bra above your breasts, exposing you completely to him.

With one hand on his cock and one squeezing your tits gently, he thrusts himself into you. He’s so deep—down to the hilt—stretching you out and working you open. He groans, flicking your nipple with his thumb, his lips at the shell of your ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine, quenching that fire inside. “So warm, so tight.” He pulls out and plunges back in again, filling you up.

“Lo,” you whine. “More.”

“I know,” he growls, his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out with every thrust. “Gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He squeezes your tits once more before sliding his hand down your body and slipping between where the two of you connect. His fingers find your clit, drawing rough circles around the bud. “That feel good, beautiful?”

“Y-yes, Logan, so fucking good,” you cry out as he rocks into you. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place. You hope there’s a bruise there later—proof that he touched you, proof that he fucked into you like the world was ending.

His cock rubs against your walls, your muscles contracting around him, sucking him in deeper. “Squeezing me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. He’s taking all of you, hard and fast. You can feel him twitching inside you, throbbing with the same need you feel pulsing through your veins.

Logan kisses your jaw, and then just underneath, biting down on your pulse point. You arch your back, your chest meeting his. The contact is delicious, the friction a necessity. He thrusts into you faster now, doing his all to satiate your every need. He’s getting you there, pump after pump, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time.

It’s working. You can feel yourself slipping again, melting. “Logan,” you hum, too fucked out to say anything other than his name. That beautiful name, like a song in the air, a gentle prayer, a holy ghost. He’s all you need—all you’ve ever needed.

Your walls contract, squeezing him tightly. “Fuck,” he mutters. You know he’s close too. He strokes your clit, circling roughly. “Come on, pretty girl. You can do it, let me get you there again.”

“Lo,” you cry, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he fucks into you, rutting his hips, plunging deeper still. It’s all too much. You can feel the pleasure drumming inside you, coming to a head.

Logan loosens his grip on your hip and slides his hand behind your back, pulling you into his chest. You rest your forehead against his. “Come on my cock, princess, let go.” And you do. You’d do anything for him. You moan as your orgasm tears through you. It’s all blinding white heat, liquid smooth, pleasure wracking your body.

Logan curses under his breath, close behind. He pulses inside you once, and then he’s coming undone. Your arms wrap around his back, keeping him close, letting him know it’s okay to finish inside. He fills you up, whispering praises in your ear as you both come down from your high. Such a good fucking girl. Did so good for me. So fucking good. Perfect little pussy.

He’s still inside you, pumping slowly as you ride out your orgasm. His fingers let go of your clit, his hands running up your back and tugging you closer to him. He slowly pulls out, keeping you tight against his chest.

“Are you okay?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You take a deep breath, waiting for the heat to build again, waiting for that need to surge every cell of your being. But there’s nothing. Your nerves are suddenly quiet—silent.

“I-I think it’s over,” you stutter, still nervous that maybe it’s not. He keeps you there, holding you tightly, ready to start again if necessary.

After a few minutes, you let yourself relax. It’s not coming back. It’s over.

Logan presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “I’ve still got you. Not going anywhere.” Your heart rate has finally slowed down. The heat is gone. You feel comfortable in your skin again. You take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into Logan’s chest.

“Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” Logan reassures, his voice gentle and soft. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You nod against him, but you still feel a sting in your heart. You need to make him know that you meant what you said—need him to know exactly how you feel. You swallow nervously, ready to bite the bullet.

“Logan,” you breathe. “I-I meant everything I said. It wasn’t just the pollen.” You pull yourself from his chest, looking up at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you…” you trail off. “S-still need you now. Nothing’s changed.”

He smiles down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know, darlin’,” he husks. “I wanted you before, and I still do, too.”

“I know you wanted it to be different. I know it wasn’t—” But he cuts you off, his lips capturing yours, quieting your anxious rambles. “We’ll have other chances. Other times to do it the way I want.” He smirks, running his hands up and down your back.

Other chances. Other times. More. More. More. “Yeah?” You ask.

“Yeah, princess.”

tags: @wolviesgirl @dojacatswink @dilf420 @spiderset @pleasantlycrazyworld @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @y-ns-things

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joeloverture · 4 months ago

Text

deadfall | enemy!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog | on palestine

pairing: dad’s enemy!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel miller, rival raiders with your father, is the last person you expect to save you from the group that captured you. he’s also the last person you expect to sleep with. [post outbreak] warnings: (mdni) canon typical violence (stalkers, mentions of death), porn with plot, game or tv joel, reader born before the outbreak, reader has a present/loving father figure (HAH), alternate universe — joel never went to boston, implied age gap but how big is up to you, self indulgent humor, quicksand, explicit smut, reader is a biiiit of a peeping tom, close proximity, only one bed, (brief) accidental somnophilia so dubcon, dry humping, degradation, humiliation, mirror sex, unprotected piv (he’s snipped dw), doggy style, manhandling (he fucks you in a headlock), mild breath play & choking, brief hair pulling (reader has hair!), scratching/biting, brief orgasm denial, hatefuck [no use of y/n] word count: 9.5k author's note: pwplot! a joeloverture first. also my first foray into somno! and post!ob joel! lots of firsts here. special thanks to @joelsdagger for taking a glimpse at this for me (and for being the PIONEER that forged joel fucking in a headlock) and @lovesickonmybed for being the best sounding board ever. i hope y'all like this one, i sure do.

There are no infected in the swamp — not this far out. They prefer the slant of buildings or the maw of split pavement. Blood-bloated leeches and black-trunked cypresses aren’t their domain.

You can’t say you blame them. One day in, and you’re already sick of this shit.

A few gnats have flown up your nostrils as you wade through the ankle-deep sludge. Mist curls at the edges of your vision. Your feet keep slipping on the slime covered stones that are half-submerged in the deep. Sweat crystallizes on your nape as your toe catches on a downed branch.

Before you faceplant in the sludge below, a burly hand snags your collar and hauls you up. “You always this much of a klutz?” It’s the first few words he’s said to you in hours.

A scowl buckles your lips. You shove Joel Miller’s arm off your back, splashing up scummy water as you step over the branch this time. You say nothing — don’t even dignify him with a passing glance.

“You’re a real peach, ain’t ya?” Joel says. When he takes his next step, water splashes at the backs of your calves. “Save your ass and this is the thanks I get.”

Joel Miller doesn’t want thanks. Up until he accidentally burnt his thumb with boiling hot coffee yesterday, you’d been convinced he didn’t feel anything at all. As long as his pulse is woven between bullets and stab wounds, he doesn’t give a damn what happens to those around him. His heart, much like the rest of the people at the end of the world, is calcified. Only beating out of necessity.

You’re silent as you footslog forward. The slurp of mud stretches between your shoe and the ground. Your pack jostles against your back. The ache in your bones has proven to be a better company than Joel – at least that is tolerable.

A deadfall lays flat ahead, a tree with cambered branches that droop with moss. Joel cups a hand over his eyes to block out the sun and squints past.

You go to walk past him, around the deadfall.

“Nuh uh,” Joel tugs you back by the scruff. You grunt. “‘S deeper out there. I’d sure like to see you get swallowed up by a gator, but that doesn’t work for me, kid.”

It sure works for you. If you see one of their bumpy snouts protruding out of the water, you’re using him as bait.

You don’t say that, though. Just hitch your foot up over one of the branches in the tree and start to haul yourself up. It’s a nagging ordeal – full of hissing through your teeth and feeling wood tear small cuts into your skin. Your hand tangles in an unoccupied spiderweb before you toss yourself through the other side of the bramble. Water sluices around you as you right yourself, rubbing a bead of blood from one of your knuckles.

Joel’s quick to follow, even quicker to take front again. You’ve learned he likes being ahead of you — unless you’re climbing a ledge or a fallen oak.

The hours wear on. You refuse to be the first to call it for the day. Even when you get stinging salt water into your open cuts, you grin and bear it. When the sun lounges on the chaise of the tree-sketch horizon, he drops his pack on an island of mulch that’s nestled in a grove of dead vegetation.

You slump down next to him, rifling through your pack for a bite of jerky. Joel’s knees pop. He grunts as he slips down into the dirt and unrolls his sleeping bag. He rolls over, facing away from you. Hand wrapped around his gun like it’s a lover.

When you do the same, it’s with a barbed insult on your tongue that’s better left unspoken.

At the end of the world, everything is ruleless. But you grew up with exactly one rule: don’t talk about Joel Miller.

You hadn’t been expecting him to kill you.

The Cockroaches, the lesser raider group in Northeast Texas, had captured you. Apparently your dad had some unpaid debts, and in taking you as leverage, they’d intended to get close to him. All they got were bullets in their heads.

You’d sighed in relief when the hatch to your basement confinement had finally opened. A spillage of sun sliced down through the opening, and you were expecting the familiar warmth of your father, an apology, and reassurance that he wouldn’t let them take you again.

Instead, you got Joel. With his hulking gun, broad figure that blocked out the sun, and the scowl that would be the last thing you’d ever see.

You had fumbled against the post you were tied to, feet scrabbling against the floor. You’d winced away when he raised his knife. “Don’t–”

…And cut into your restraints.

You’d rubbed the chafing from your wrists and stared at him, nebulous and delirious. “Get the fuck away from me,” you’d croaked.

“They touch you?” he’d asked. You’d shaken your head. “Hurt ya?” Another shake.

“Good. Now get up and get ready to haul ass.” He turned around, but not before throwing his knife to the ground next to you. The clatter it made against the concrete made your ears ring.

You grabbed the knife.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask him. They’re the only words you’ve spoken since you’d seen him in the cellar.

“I ain’t,” he says. His voice is gruff. Sandpapery.

“Looks like helping,” you say, nodding at the pack he’d given you. He’d come out prepared. To get you.

“Your daddy ain’t the only one with debts,” he says.

You stop, booted feet sinking into the mud. Shit. “So that’s what this is. You take me away just to hand me off to some other shitty group?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. He turns around, already mid-stride.

You yank his knife out of your pocket and dive at him.

“Hey, hey, fuck – you little brat,” he spats. He goes off balance before he twists around. You corral him against a tree, leg hitching around his waist as you knee at his thighs, aiming for his crotch. His spittle sprays your cheek as he grunts. His fist wraps around your hand, and the knife splats into the mud. His booted heel slips and he goes sliding back as he shoves you away, hard. You cough as you slam into a tree trunk. The knot that swells out of the bark digs into your head. You drag a branch up off the ground, pushing yourself off the tree as you heft it.

Before you grab it, he slaps you. Hard. Your head goes spinning as you stumble back into the muck. He jams his boot down against your chest, mud smearing across your tank top. “I gotta tie you up, or you gonna fuckin’ listen to me?”

You reach up to grab his ankle, and he just stomps harder against your chest. You wheeze, flopping back in the sludge. “B-bastard,” you hiss.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up. ‘S your dad’s shitty group I’m talkin’ about.”

You give him an incredulous look.

“Your old man ain’t the only one with a coupla debts under his belt.”

“You’re shitting me,” you say. Voice squished in your throat from his tread against your chest.

He shakes his head and finally lets his boot up. You suck in a breath, another cough rattling your ribcage. “Quit being all uppity and pickin’ fights ya can’t win if you wanna learn, dumbass.”

“Why didn’t he just come get me himself?” you grit out as you lean back against a log. You use it to lift yourself, legs feeling gelatinous from being shoved about.

“You didn’t see? Cockroach shot ‘im in the leg.” Your lips tremble, but you straighten them. “He’s fine.”

You scowl. “And you didn’t tell me this sooner?” You march forward. Your arms cross solidly over your chest.

“Figured you wouldn’t take it well.” He looks you up and down. “And I was right.”

You curse under your breath. Dip to grab your knife. Toss it in your hand while you think. You don’t flinch when it slightly nicks your thumb — it’s hardly a poke with all of the scraping you’ve been doing through undergrowth — but Joel smirks.

He sees you as juvenile. The product of a world that you haven’t earned the right to be in, always cowering behind your dad’s back.

You’ll prove him wrong.

“How far are we from the nearest city?” you ask. You want to go home. Your arms ache not just from swinging at your side or lifting you up toppled trees, but to wrap around your father. Your bones protest at the thought of being in your skin. Your tank top sticks to your flesh with mud and the parasites that squirm in it.

“I’m not a goddamn fortune teller,” Joel says. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Then we better get moving.” You readjust your pack and jostle him as you march on.

Three days later, and there’s no end in sight to the swamp. Whatever towns you’ve encountered are home to only a derelict gas station and ransacked mom-and-pop stores. They’re no place for pit stops.

You (reluctantly) stay close to Joel, who you’re lucky to hear so much as a murmur out of. Most of the time, he’s redirecting you, tugging you out of the way of half-decade old hunter’s traps or reminding you not to go too far.

“The world isn’t gonna end if I step out of your imaginary line, Joel,” you say. You test your foot on the side of the bank you’re walking on. Nothing happens.

“Ki–” Joel says, brows crunched up.

“See? Fine.” You press more of your weight into the ground. He reaches for you, but your body tilts.

Your foot is sinking.

“You’re a fuckin’ pain in my ass,” Joel says. He pinches his nose bridge. “Shoulda left ya down there.”

You glare at him, bending yourself at the waist so you can try to wiggle yourself with your upper body strength. Your free knee is propped up on the squishy ground. You grunt, palms slipping against the oily, grass-filled mud. “I got it,” you rasp out as he crouches in front of you.

“Uh huh,” he says, frowning pointedly.

“I got it.” You slap his hand away and thresh your leg in the sand. It barely even wiggles. “Fuck.” You strain your leg, huffing and puffing. Dirt fixes itself under your nails.

Joel wraps his arms under your shoulders and you flail in protest. “I said I can handle it!” Instead of listening to you, he tugs at you like pulling a toy from a dog. You keep windmilling your arms.

“Quit thrashin’!” Joel yells. “Any harder and you’re gonna drag me in with you.”

Your face is too close to his. Too close for the uncomfortable heat. His humid breath fans against your sweat-slippery cheek as he groans. Your foot loosens. You prop your calf up on his thigh as he wrests you out of the quicksand. You’re chest-to-chest with him as you tip over the muck, dropping flat against him. “Mmph.”

Joel shoves you off of him, and you fall on your ass in the mud. By all odds, your boot has remained strapped to your foot. He’s already up and moving when he says, “Jesus Christ, you are just like your fuckin’ dad.”

The mud still caked into your shirt has started to flake by the time you reach a city called Monroe. Just off of I-20, you and Joel trek further into what you imagine must’ve been a medium-sized city during its heyday.

You’re bone-weary. Your back keeps popping with every step with how you keep having to sleep on the ground. You’d be thankful for even a mattress of moss — but luckily, you won’t have to settle. Sunset is nearing, which means you can see the blue water (imagine that, blue water) tainted pink and orange below. Houses and the city clocktower reflect into the gentle pull and ebb of the tide.

Joel nods at a half-bent blue roadway sign. “YMCA up ahead,” he says. He wipes the sweat off his brow and clutches his gun closer to his side. “Stay close.”

You keep your hand around the grip of your knife, following him into the city.

It’s quiet as you navigate through a labyrinth of abandoned, rust-gutted cars. At one point, you manage to slip ahead of him, and he allows it for long enough (fifteen seconds) that you opt to take a shortcut through a parking garage. You climb over the edge and dip inside, feet scraping over roots that have grown between concrete slabs. The shade is a brief respite from the scorching sun, but the humidity still wrings the sweat from your pores.

Joel slips ahead of you again, taking long, dragging strides that look as exhausted as you feel. Four days of hiking through swamp and gunk and slapping mosquitoes against your skin has made you grateful to just be walking on solid ground again. Joel steps past a busted, sticker-covered van.

A streak flickers against the dark canopy of the garage. “Infected!” you shout, but Joel falls back on his ass.

His gun flies out of his hand and skids across the concrete. He grunts, shuffling backward, but the stalker’s already on him, its mouth sewn partially shut by fungi. It croaks and slashes at him, blind left eye battering and twitching. Joel throws a hooked punch, but the stalker takes the opportunity to grapple him, snarling in his face.

He’s going to get bit.

You launch forward, knife in-hand. You fling yourself into a tumble with the stalker, legs strewn over Joel’s. Adrenaline plummets through your body. You stomp on its shin and it shrieks. The knife almost slips from your grip as you start to stab blindly. You thrust the blade up through its eye socket.

The thing cackles and caws, its vocal chords clacking with mold and rot. Rusted blood trickles from its nose and down your wrist as you twist the blade further until you meet bone and then whatever is left of a brain is beyond it. You cringe as you drag the knife out and wipe it across your pants. It slumps back in a mound and then falls over.

Your chest heaves as you look between Joel and the stalker. His hands are scraped up as he grabs his gun.

You extend him a hand. He seems to think about it for a second before latching onto you and letting you help him up. He grunts in acknowledgment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

This YMCA in particular isn’t like the others you’ve stopped at with your dad. Instead of glass windows and tin roofs, it’s brick and mortar. You and Joel climb in through the window, and you almost sob in relief when you see at least a dozen oversized yoga mats. That’s a suitable homemade mattress, you think.

There’s a basketball court whose court has been warped and fossilized by the leaks in the roof. A peek of sunset dives in through a hole, lighting up the western side of the room. You expect the pool room to still smell of chlorine. It’s a little weird when it doesn’t even though the pool’s been drained for years, you imagine. From there, you two reach the showers.

Before you let yourself get excited, Joel fiddles with the knobs. Water sprays out of it. “Still hot,” he says, absorbed in the droplets that are spraying his hand. He turns it off.

“Fuck it,” you say, tearing your tank top over your head.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Joel says, turning to face the wall.

“You aren’t the one who’s covered in mud!”

“Yeah, you’re right, I ain’t the one who went jumpin’ into quicksand. I also ain’t the one who deserved an ass whooping.”

You glare at his shoulder blades as you unzip your jeans, fumbling out of them. They’re nearly crunchy with the amount of mud you’ve been traipsing through. “They did charity drives at these things, right?” You never really went to any YMCAs before the world went to shit. “Maybe they’ve got clean clothes.”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Maybe you shoulda thought about that before you turned this place into a strip club.” You roll your eyes and hook your bra on the shower curtain, followed by your panties.

“I didn’t know you were a prude, Miller,” you say.

He bristles at the accusation. “Maybe I should get an eyeful. Being ‘round you is like wishin’ the Lord would strike me down.”

You laugh. Joel made you laugh. First (and only) time, probably.

“Yeah, right, you’d get struck down for something a whole lot worse before he started getting mad at you for peeping.”

You fiddle with the shower curtain and step in. There’s old body wash in an automatic dispenser on the wall. It doesn’t work, but it’s easy to wrangle open and squeeze the pouch into your hand. The grout is odd under your bare feet, but quickly becomes familiar as you twist the lever. Water spits down at you, and a satisfied sound leaves you. “Fuuuck,” you sigh. “This is nice.”

Joel clears his throat. “I’m gonna go look for clothes. And deodorant.”

“You should shower too,” you say instead.

You can almost hear the face he makes.

“God, don’t be so much of a Holy Joe, Joel. It’s practical. This water isn’t going to last that damn long, and I am not taking a cold shower when the hot stuff is all right here.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass,” he says like he hasn’t already told you.

Eventually, you hear his belt unbuckle.

He strips down a lot quicker than you. Habit, maybe, you think. His jeans slump against the floor, and then he’s in the shower. You hear the other faucet come on as the water warms against your skin. You sigh, lathering yourself with the Dollar General body wash. It forms iridescent bubbles along your body, and it smells faintly like artificial strawberries. You wonder if it ever used to smell stronger than this.

There’s a slit in Joel’s shower that exists between the curtain and the wall. You should look away, but you shouldn’t have plunged your foot into quicksand, either. There’s many things you shouldn’t do that you take it upon yourself to do anyway.

So you watch the dirty water cascade down his sharp, scarred shoulder. You eye how the gnarl of his bone adjusts as he lathers himself with soapsuds. He stretches to get his hair and his bicep tenses with the movement. He’s built, and built well. From years of survival, trekking through swamps not so different from these, and aiming guns in places he wanted to and places he didn’t. The way the sun flits through the rectangular windows makes him look golden.

You imagine how it’d feel to walk up behind him, to massage the knots out of his sore muscles. You don’t even notice it, but your hands are traveling your own body now, fingertips going to pluck at your pebbled nipples. He’d been rough when tussling with you in the swamp. Would he be rough with you in bed, too? In your mind, you run soft, open-mouthed kisses down his back, reaching your hand between his legs to wrap around his—

A clanging noise stops your hand in its tracks. You drop it limp at your side. A wave of revulsion crawls like insects up your back.

“Shit!” Joel says, fumbling around in his shower stall.

The plastic body wash dispenser goes sliding out under the curtain, foamy with soapsuds.

You can’t help it. You snort. And eventually, your snort becomes full-fledged laughter, breaking the seam of your lips as you lean against the wall of the shower.

“Shut up,” he says, but you hear the tinge of a chuckle embedded between his vowels. You hear his half-huff of laughter before you force yourself to stop giggling.

You two stay under the shower streams until the water runs cold and bitter and all of the mud that had banded around your limbs is congealed in the drain.

You leave the showers first, roaming around until you find a discarded cardboard box that’s brimming with clothes in your size. There’s jeans that should do well in the elements and another tank top suited for the crushing heat.

When you’re dressed, you call out to Joel that you’ll be in the yoga room. You spend the down time arranging the yoga mats into two separate mattresses. Joel’s feet will hang off a bit, but you imagine it’ll be better than sleeping on the floor.

Footsteps scrape from the doorway, and your head snaps up.

Joel Miller cleans up nice, it seems. He’s kept his boots, but apart from that, looks like a completely different person; his jeans now hug his hips tighter, his raggedy tee from earlier has been replaced with a form-fitting ribbed tank top. Any traces of mud, sweat, or gunk have been washed off his skin and down the drain. His hair hangs in wet stripes, sticking to his crinkled forehead.

You haven’t realized you’ve zone out until he’s waving a calloused hand in front of your face. “Hey, peach, anyone home?”

You clear your throat and replace it with a scowl. “Don’t call me that.” It’s deflection, and you know it. You think he knows it, too.

He gives you a funny look. “Uh huh,” he says. He taps his fingers along his hip bone. “Well, what the fuck are ya doin’?”

You furrow your brows at him. “Setting up camp…?”

“This is a shit camp to set up,” he says. “Stalkers in the parking garage, city I ain’t ever been in before? No, we need a vantage point.”

“And I assume you have one in mind?” you ask.

“Yeah, I do. ‘S a hotel, ‘lil further into town. Got three floors, we probably can block the stairwell from the inside to keep any raiders out.”

You nod and heft your backpack over your shoulder. It’s bulging from the extra clothes you’d stuffed into the bottom, and your arms are sore from the wrangling you’d given it after the collar of one of your new shirts jammed the zipper.

Joel turns to stand guard at the door while you collect your stuff. You can’t seem to focus much on that, though, not with his ass practically at your eye level. The tighter denim definitely does him favors. You swallow the newfound lump in your throat and stuff your water flash into the side of your pack.

It has to be the lack of human connection. It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen anyone other than your captors, and the majority of this week since you’ve seen anyone other than Joel. Joel, who with every word, breath, movement, flinch, gets a rise out of you. Joel, who stirs the pot with you at every chance he gets. Joel, who almost certainly looks at you and sees a reflection of your father whom he hates.

He’d said so, early on.

This isn’t only one-sided. It’s a living, breathing disaster.

“‘S a hotel’ my ass, Joel, this place looks like a loaf of moldy bread.”

Joel insists on staying on the third floor. Says that the second floor is ‘too low’ and that being on the third floor poses a good choke point for any raiders or infected who might stumble upon your camp. He wants to ‘bottleneck’ any intruders, whatever the fuck that means.

The issue with the third floor? There’s mold. Everywhere. In the days after the outbreak, a leak must’ve happened somewhere in the pipes that bled through the ceiling and all over the top floor. None of the rooms you’ve checked have been left unscathed so far. It’s embedded into the rugs, the walls, the ceiling, all of it. At least it’s a good deterrent for the people that pass through. The infected, however? You have a feeling they’d be just at home.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” he says through his teeth. He pinches his nose bridge – he does that a lot, or maybe you just stress him out a lot – and glares at you.

“No, Joel. I’m fucking exhausted,” you hiss. “I’ve been roughing it with you all week, all you do is give me shit. The only thing this voyage of ours has taught me is that my dad has perfectly ample reason to hate your guts.” You’re closer to him now, knocking him back with your fist to your chest.

“Quit bein’ cute,” he scowls. “I’m the only reason your ass isn’t eyeball-deep in quicksand.”

“Yeah, and you’d be stalker food without me. So I guess we’re even, aren’t we, Joel?” You shove past him. “I’m just a way for you to pay off your stupid ‘debts’ anyway,” you mutter under your breath. He wasn’t protecting you, pulling you out of that damn pit. He was saving his own skin.

The hotel room door at the end of the hallway is slightly ajar. You lift your knife just in case, and step inside.

It’s lacking the mold that the rest of the rooms have. People have definitely stayed in here before, what with the rumpled blankets left on the bed and a flashlight situated upright on the dresser. The thick layer of dust on the flashlight tells you that they never came back.

The room itself is satisfactory enough. Beige, almost green walls, close in at all sides. A cloudy mirror is hung by the window. Moonlight stipples the room. There’s a busted, corded phone on the nightstand that’s propped up on a Bible, a shattered nightlight, and a small table. You toss your pack onto the quilted bedspread and collapse onto the mattress. For an old, creaking thing with a busted spring or two, it’s still the most comfortable thing you think you’ve ever felt in your life. You sigh in relief and nuzzle into the pillow.

Joel clears his throat from the doorway.

“Find your own room, dipshit,” you say, nudging your pack off your bed with your knee. It thunks against the floor.

“I don’t think so.” He crosses his arms.

“I’m not sharing with you. You snore.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do.”

You don’t have to look up to know he’s doing that thing where he pinches his nose bridge again. “You’re a fuckin’ piece ‘a work, kid, you know that?” You hear his pack drop against the ground. He drags a chair across the room and you cringe at how it squeals against the floor until he jams it under the doorknob. Then, the mattress dips.

You look at him sideways. “Get off my bed.”

“‘Your’ bed? You just discovered it two seconds ago.”

“Finders keepers.”

“Well I’m takin’ it from you. Losers weepers.”

You grit your teeth so hard you hear the bone scraping bone in your ears.

“That’s now how this works–”

“We’re even now. You don’t wanna owe me one, and I sure as hell don’t wanna owe you one. So roll your ass over, act like an adult, and go to bed.”

You grouse under your breath, but with Joel, you have to pick and choose your battles. So you roll back over and wiggle yourself under the quilt, tucking your face into the musty pillow underneath you.

You sit in silence for a couple of minutes, staring at how the moon spills milky light along the alabaster ceiling. Then, you roll over again, stretching out the knicks in your back. Despite being the comfiest you’ve been in days, you’re feeling restless. You know Joel wouldn’t hurt you in any substantial way – you’re a bargaining chip to him. Nothing less, and certainly not anything more.

In spite of that, you find yourself drifting off with your face to him.

When Joel first wakes up, he thinks a clicker’s gnawing at his leg

Blinking the crust from his eyes, he realizes nothing’s gnawing on him at all.

Rather, it’s you.

In your sleep, you’ve thrown your leg over his thigh. Your crotch is angled up against the bulk of his leg, a furnace that sears him through his jeans. Your head has dipped, forehead overheated and angled against the crux of his neck. If it were just that, he’d roll you over (maybe hard enough for you to crash on the floor) and hog the blankets for himself.

But you’re thrusting your fucking hips into him, letting out sleepy little whimpers while you fuck yourself on his leg. That explains why you’ve been acting dumber than a box of rocks. He oughta tan your hide for this. Bitching at him all week and really, you just need to get dicked down. Ironic, ain’t it.

He should still shove you off the bed. Call you a whore and leave you to rub your pussy raw in the bathroom instead of on his leg.

You give a particularly hard thrust, a keening little sound catching in the netting of your teeth. He swears you’re soaking through the denim.

He bites his tongue. The moonlight accentuates your closed eyes, your lashes fan out across your cheeks, there’s a cute little pinch in your lips as you unwittingly try to muffle the sounds coming out of you.

He can’t help himself. He raises his knuckles to your cheek and taps, taps, taps at the bone until your eyes startle open.

When you first wake up, you think you’re dying.

There’s a shortness of breath in your lungs. You feel like you’re being burned alive, your skin hot to the touch. You’re mummified in the crusty, flaky hotel sheets. Each intake of breath is musty and clings to your nostrils. You’re throbbing. Between the legs and elsewhere. Confusion puckers your brows. There’s slick between your legs — and Joel’s leg between your legs.

You tear away from him, making a disgruntled noise as the sheets tangle around your legs. His hand is raised to your face. There’s a moment where all you register is the judgmental squint in his dark eyes.

“What the fuck– you pervert,” you hiss, slapping him across the chest. A queasiness squiggles in your stomach as you inch your way back.

“Oh, no, peach. That was all you,” he drawls. He wraps his thick hand around your hipbone and pulls you back. You kick him in the shin, but there’s no real force behind it.

“Y-you’re lying,” you snarl. But a brief look at his lap tells you he’s not. He’s barely touting a semi, yet you’ve got the entire Mississippi River in your YMCA-issued panties.

Joel shakes his head at you. “‘S why you been actin’ up, you little shit? Just needed to get fucked?” He grips your hip so hard that it stings and hauls you against him. You tell yourself that the moan you let out is more of a hiss.

“I don’t– you’re making shit up, old man,” you say, squirming in his grip. You can’t help the way your hips sway at the tease of friction his knee gives you. You feel lightheaded, a freshly kindled bonfire.

“Am I?” Another squeeze to your hip. “Don’t look like it.” He notches his knee tighter against your swollen cunt, and your head dips forward as you bite into your lower lip. “Look’s like I’ve got a ‘lil slut more worked up than a hornets’ nest that spent all night rubbing her needy fuckin’ pussy on my leg.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and whine.

“Jus’ say the word, peach. I’ll do ya real good. Make that ache go away.” He rubs his thumb in a circle along your skin. The calloused pad of his thumb slips underneath the hem of your tank top, a lit match dragging along your skin.

“I don’t think you have it in you, Miller,” you say. But your voice gives you away. It’s breathy, coarsened by your sleep-stained, lust-stained rasp.

“Yeah? Well I didn’t think you had it in you to be humpin’ this ‘old man’s’ leg, but ya learn something new everyday.” He doesn’t grind his knee into your cunt — more so wedges it up. Pain blurs a watercolor line with pleasure as your back arches. His hand drifts from your midriff to your thigh, arm hooking around it so he can heft you up against his thigh proper. You grunt as you end up chest to chest with him. Your hips rock into his, guided by the North Star of his hands clutching at your hips. “Can feel ya,” he says. “Drippin’ all over me.”

You grind your teeth, digging your fingers into his shoulders. He groans as your nails claw at the skin there. “Shut the fuck up so I can pretend you’re someone else.”

He chuckles. “You can play pretend all you want, but I’m the one you’re soaking, ain’t I?”

You make an aggravated sound. Your left hand drags down his arm, leaving angry red tracks in their wake. Before he can gripe about it, you slap your right hand over his mouth. His eyes flare. Eye for an eye, his teeth sink into the flesh of your palm. You hiss at the sting. It only makes you pump your hips against him faster. The friction of your shorts and panties against the bulk of his leg and the wrinkle of his denim jeans makes your clit twitch against him.

Your flesh stretches as you tug it from his teeth. Your hand plants itself in his hair instead, dragging his head to the side. His eyes flutter, lidded and dark. “Don’t act like you don’t damn near cream yourself when I talk to you like this. You like being told what a nasty. Fuckin’. Slut. You are. Don’t look at me like that. You are. Been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ this whole time — just didn’t know you were after a pussy beating instead of a real one.”

Your eyes roll back. Your hips roll more languidly, only jerking when Joel gives a particularly brutal tug at your waist. You let out a pathetic moan into his neck. You nip at the skin there, tongue laving over the scars and blemishes he’s collected over the years. He reaches down and grabs a handful of your ass, groaning. “Too pretty to be actin’ a fool, baby.”

You dig your teeth into his neck, hard enough to leave cavernous bite marks in your wake. Your tongue digs through the craters your teeth left behind, saliva pulling from your lips to his skin. He smacks your ass hard enough for your hips to jerk, and you almost glare at him as you separate from your throat. Instead, your eyes squeeze shut.

“Don’t wanna look at me, do ya peach? Mmmm, well thas’ okay.” He fists his hand in the roots of your hair and tugs your head to the side. You hear Joel groping at the nightstand in the dark, and then the flashlight ticks on.

Your eyes blink open to yourself reflected in desilvered glass. Mirror rot surrounds your luminescent face, but most of all, you can see your hips and how they rock shallowly into Joel’s leg. “Watch yourself fuckin’ yourself stupid on my leg,” he croons in your ear. When you go still, his thumbs press hard into your skin. You stare at him. “You already fucked yourself stupid or somethin’? ‘S a simple instruction, sweet cheeks.”

“That’s dumb, Joel–” you sneer, going to look away.

He jerks your head back to where he had it and rocks his leg into your clit. You watch your face contort around a ragged moan. Pleasure thrashes through your system. “C’mon, you’re a dirty girl. Watch how pathetic you look while you get yourself off. Pretend I’m your pillow if you have to, but it ain’t gonna change how I’m the one gettin’ you off like this.”

Your thighs clamp around his. He smirks at you in the mirror. Your knee grazes his bulge, and a breathy moan loosens from his lips. “Two way street, Miller,” you say. But you’re weak — and so, so wet.

You give your hips a languid roll, watching yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, mouth parted, eyes lidded, skin slick with sweat. Your hips shudder and start against him as you start to properly buck yourself against the meat of his thigh. With the shelves of your teeth, you try to smother the depraved noises coming out of you. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Gonna wake the fuckin’ dead with all that whining of yours.” Mid-moan, Joel shoves two fingers into your mouth and pries your jaw open. His fingers are bulky and ridged with callouses against your tongue. His thumb presses a dent into your jaw. “‘S okay, baby. I like ‘em loud.”

“I like you shutting the fuck up,” you say around a mouthful of his knuckles. You can’t help it. You bite at his fingers, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to sting. He hisses and presses down on your tongue. You make a sputtering noise.

“You were sayin’?” he asks, tensing his thigh. You whimper against his fingertips. He tightens his grip on your hair, and in the mirror, you see yourself bared raw for him to see in all ways but the physical. You rut into his leg with increasing need.

“Mmmph, Joel–” you say around his fingers.

“Oh, now you’re moaning my name? What was it I said? Cruisin’ for a bruisin’, peach.”

Wetness leaks down the insides of your thighs. Your swollen clit hitches on a wrinkle in his jeans. You’re shaking, thighs trembling where they’re wrapped around him. Your fingers grapple for purchase and find some anchored in his hair, tugging wildly. You eye yourself in that damn mirror, the way your chest is slotted against his, how your hips pitch into his over and over again in your pursuit of release.

“Ask for it, baby.” Joel grinds his leg up into your cunt. “You wanna come on me, you gotta ask for it.”

You shake your head wildly. You aren’t a beggar — especially not for Joel Miller. You’d rather throw yourself back into quicksand. Jump in front of a clicker. Step on an alligator.

Joel pouts mockingly at you. “Stubborn for a slut who’s willin’ to spread it open all hours ‘a the day.” You rub your knee into his bulge, tenting his jeans, in hopes that it’ll be a suitable distraction. He groans, knee jerking. His thigh rams against you, and your back arches. You see your brows pucker in your reflection, your hips undulating against him.

“F-fuck,” you whine out, bouncing against him.

“You wanna come, don’t you, peach?” You nod frantically. “Wanna soak me, huh?” At that, you grit your teeth and snarl at him. You do you do you do. But you don’t want to admit it.

You squirm on his leg, desperately rocking into him. You dig your feet into the creaking mattress, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt. Tremors wrack your body as you work yourself on him. Your cunt flutters, and you almost taste your orgasm.

Joel tosses you off of him.

“You son of a–” you shriek, thrashing and out of breath. Your clit throbs and your hole twitches at the stolen promise of release. You bounce on the mattress, sprawled on your back and twitching.

“I told ya,” he says. “Gotta ask for it.”

“I’m not asking you for shit, asshole–”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll change your tune when I stuff your right full.” He grabs you by the back of your shirt and coaxes you into spinning around. He yanks you onto all fours, forehead meeting the mattress.

You back your hips up as he reaches around your shorts for the button. The zipper squeals as it comes down and he shuffles them down your legs. He nudges your knees apart. You can feel his bulge, insistent and pressed against the back of your thigh. He grips the inside of your thigh, fingers sliding through the slick that’s there.

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “No wonder you were humpin’ me. Just needing someone to take away that ache, don’t you? Jus’ a horny girl wanting to go cock dumb.” His fingers graze over your clit, barely even a brush, and you let out a mangled sound into the comforter. “See? So desperate and sensitive. You’re cute when you’re not a pain in the ass.”

“That makes one of us,” you say.

Joel snorts. “She’s got jokes.” He rubs a circle into your clit, and then another, and all you can do is rock your hips into his hand. Impatient, you brace yourself on your elbow so you can reach behind him and fumble with his belt buckle. Joel laughs under his breath, working at the zipper while you undo the buckle. It chimes as his belt falls loose and his pants slump on his hips. You work the button open.

You wriggle your hand into his briefs and pull him out, giving him a series of quick pumps. Joel grunts. “Just like that, peach. Fuck, yeah, you know what you’re doin’.”

He teases the tips of his fingers at your entrance. Razor sharp want slices up the insides of your warm thighs as you clench and drip more of your wetness along his hand. “I’ll throw you a bone,” Joel says. Then, with no warning, he slips a finger into your warmth and curls it just right. You claw against the sheets, whimpering.

“Nasty thing.” He hooks his finger and you fully mewl. Heat rushes into your cheeks. “Barely gotta do anythin’ to get you writhing and wanting.”

Warm tears brim at your eyes from the heady, deadly mix of arousal and hatred. Your cunt tightens around his finger, and without warning, he pushes another one in, twisting and hooking them brutally inside of you.

Your fingers fist in the sheets, temple pressed into the mattress. You can see the cocksure look on his face in the mirror, the way his forearm flexes with each thrust into you. “Fuck me already,” you spit. You know it’ll hurt if he fucks you without really preparing you. You want it to hurt. You want it to ache like the tread of his boot stamped on your chest. You want it to sting and simmer like the cuts that the wetlands left in a collage across your arms and legs. You want him to split you open and leave you flayed by your own pleasure.

“Alright, alright,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. He gives your clit a light slap that makes you squeal. You almost black out when you see him bring his slick-stained fingers to his mouth and suck. “Yeah, taste as sweet as a peach, dontcha sugar? Such a tasty little cunt for such a smart-mouthed brat.”

You could cry with how bad you want hi— no, his cock.

“Gonna hurt, baby. But you want it to, don’t you? Wanna feel me all up in here.” He roams his free hand across your stomach, then back around to your ass where he tugs you back. There’s the smack of flesh as your hips meet each other, the whimper between your netted teeth as he nestles his cock between your slippery folds. You nod, head slinging forward. “Don’t gotta tell me. I know ya do. Girl like you, always such a smartass. Yeah, you want it rough.” His voice is gruff, lust-addled. “Act stupid all you want, peach. I got you all figured out.”

He slots his head against your hole and you let out a strangled noise into the mattress. Your vision swims as he pushes into you, thumbs dug into your ass cheeks so he can watch how you take him. You mewl, back arching into and away from him at the same time. Your body can’t decide where to go. If it wants to be further, or as close as possible to him. Joal groans as he sinks into you.

“Tight as a fuckin’ hose pipe, peach,” he says. He reaches around to give your flick your clit — a move that makes your entire body spasm.

“So about as small as your dick, then?” It’s bullshit — you know it, and he knows it. He’s not even fully inside of you, but the difference is startling. He’s stuffing you to the brim, leaving you to scrabble and claw against the sheets.

He slams into you, a blatant disregard of your comfort. You feel his balls smack against your clit, and hear the same thigh you’d been humping slot against your own. A ragged cry rips from your throat. “Joel,” you whimper, hips trying to writhe against the bed. “Joel, fuck—”

“Feels pretty big now, don’t it?” You whine, petulant, but it breaks off into a moan as he pulls back and then punches back into you.

All you can do is take it, take it, take it as he bashes your swollen cunt with his fat cock. You gasp raggedly, each snap of his hip bringing pleasure-pain tears to your eyes. Joel’s nails dig into the meat of your ass and yank you back on him. The sting is renewed, then, as he props his leg up on the bed and pounds into you. You whimper, helpless to his whims.

Between one thrust and the next, the bite in your cunt turns into a thrum of pleasure. A persistent swarm of heat and your own slick leaking down his cock. “Like I said,” Joel grunts as he fucks you. “A nasty fuckin’ slut with a sloppy ‘lil cunt.”

You whine, squeezing around him. Your head spins. “Fuck,” he spits.

“Joel, please, please, ple–”

“Quit beggin’, it ain’t ladylike.” You prop yourself up on your elbow and reach behind him, tugging his wrist away from your ass so you can slip his hand between your thighs. His pistoning into you falters. “What’d I say?” Joel grunts. His knees adjust over the backs of your calves to hold you down.

“Keep touching me,” you whine. “Please, you asked me to ask for it, so I’m fucking asking for it.”

“Told you to ask permission, not cry at me like a kicked puppy,” he says. “I call the shots here. Like it or not.” He goes to yank his hand away from your clit, but you yank at his knuckle.

Joel scowls, and so fast you might get vertigo, his other arm’s bicep locks around your neck and heaves you back against his chest. You sputter, drool pooling in your mouth. Your hands briefly tug at his arm, but fall limp when he says, “Oh, shut the fuck up, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Gotta keep you on your toes, peach.”

You arguably shouldn’t. But you trust him. Enough to keep you alive, at least.

With another thrust into the warm vise of your cunt, your body’s running hotter than an engine and twice as fast. He squeezes tight enough that your air is in short supply, and with it, everything is amplified. Pleasure crinkles through your body like crumpled aluminum foil, serrated and clinging to you. The crook of his elbow is warm, and you can’t help your head lolling back to give him a look that’s purely salacious. He tips his head down at you and smirks.

“Yeah, that’s my hungry little cockwhore,” he says. With his free hand, he tugs your hair. You seize around him, struggling for what to hang onto. You let out a rasping, strangled moan. With your head tipped back, you can see the tilt to his lips as he moans, feel his scruff scraping at your forehead. “Takin’ it like you were made for it. Shit.”

Joel moans as you clamp down around him again.

Tears might be sliding down your cheeks – you don’t know. You’re too trapped in this, in this moment, in the feeling of his cock slamming into your throbbing, aching cunt. “Mmph,” you whine low in your throat as he fucks up into you. He’s damn near bruising your cervix. Each thrust makes your cunt flitter around him.

“You look good like this,” Joel grunts against your ear, using the leverage of his propped-up leg to bounce you on his cock. “All quiet ‘n sweet ‘n whorish. Goddamn, never thought a slut could feel this fuckin’ tight.”

Your eyes slip shut, vision spotting behind your eyelids. He keeps forcing himself into you. Making room. Making a mark that you’ll never forget he carved into you.

Your body is limp as he gets himself off, his hand moving from your hair. He gropes at your tits, flicking your nipple in a way that draws a sloping moan out of you. He slides it down your side, each callous bumping against your skin until he reaches your clit. You nod wildly, and he chuckles into the shell of your ear. “You think you’ve earned it? All you’ve been doing is whinin’ like a little bitch, baby.” He taps his fingers against your clit, once, twice, mounting the tautness of the tension drawn tight like elastic through your body. You gasp down air as he ever so slightly loosens his grip around your neck. He keeps thrusting into you, jerking tiny moans out of you as he does.

Your legs tremble. Your brain feels like mush. You wring his cock with each strain of your pussy. “I don’t want you,” you gasp out between thrusts. “I want you for what you can — fuck — give me. So I guess… that makes… us even. Doesn’t it?” Joel’s finger stills where it hovers over your clit, and you almost don’t notice the falter in his hips with how subtle it is.

“Yeah,” Joel pants. “Guess it does, peach.”

He presses his thumb down on your clit and the whole world makes sense.

You cry out as your juices soak his cock, dripping down his balls and thighs. “Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant in between moans. He’s holding you up now by the underside of one of your arms, his fingers toying with your nipples. Each touch sends laser hot electricity between your legs.

He slams up into you again and you shriek. “Fuck, you’re a mess,” Joel says. “All stuffed full ‘a me… yeah, that’s how you’re s’posed to be. Sprayin’ your pussy juices all over me while I ram my cock into this drippy little hole.”

You whine, clit twitching against his finger. Tears burn at the edges of your eyes like fire on parchment. “I wanna come,” you whisper, voice tinged with need. “Please, Joel. I–”

“Who do you want to make you come?” he asks as he rolls his hips up into you. An undulating pace that makes you want to scream.

The curdling pleasure in your stomach brims, stews, steeps. You’re drowning in it, in the fire lashing through your body. Fire that he lit and stoked and now, only he can put out. “You, Joel!” you cry out. “You! I want you to make me come, please, I need it, I want t-”

“I got you, peach,” he says. He mashes the pad of his thumb against your swollen nub, rubbing circles, circles, circles. You scream this time, head slumping against him. “Throbbin’ for it,” he growls out. “All swollen and whinin’ like you’re in heat. You needed this. Needed me.”

“I needed you,” you nod, exhaling. You think you’d agree to anything he said right now. “Fuck,” you wail. Your hands anchor themselves on his forearm.

“Don’t fight it, baby, don’t fight it,” he coos. Your nails scratch angry red tracks down his burly arms. “Come on me, see if it gives you an attitude adjustment.”

To your chagrin, that does it.

Your orgasm shatters you. You’re fragile as it tears through your body, tying knots around your racing heart and making your legs quiver. You feel yourself gush around Joel’s cock, gasping for air as your lungs empty. Your cunt flutters around him as pleasured tears spill from the corners of your eyes. Everything’s hot and melting, your arousal dripping out of you in droves. Joel rubs at your clit through it, coaxing in your ear, “That’s it, theeeeere it is. Shit, baby, I’m comin’— squeezin’ me so damn good—”

Joel twitches inside of you, and you whine at his absence when he pulls out just in time. With a throaty, reverberating groan, he sprays the small of your back with his cum. You gasp as it splashes against you, your chest heaving against his hand.

You sit in the silence, high off of the come down, panting in delirium.

Joel clears his throat. “You alright, peach?”

“You don’t have to pretend to like me now that we’ve had sex, Joel,” you say. “I get it. We fucked. We got it out of our systems. Hooray. Do you want me to pop some confetti poppers?”

“I was being courteous, goddamn,” he grunts as he stands up. You watch as he tugs his jeans back up. “Clearly ain’t nobody ever treated you gentlemanly before.”

“Says the man who got off on choking me out.”

He shoots back, “The feeling was mutual, if I remember five minutes ago correctly. I ain’t that old.” He buckles his belt up. As he redresses, you toss your own shorts off to the side. He’s already been in your whole pussy — you’d rather not sleep in the denim shorts.

When you’re done, you give him a look.

He pinches his nose bridge and sighs through his teeth. “We oughta hit the hay. Long day ahead. And you should be too exhausted by now to be wakin’ me up again.”

You clench your fists at your side. “Fine.”

You reach for his flashlight and turn it off.

Reunion Tower is the first building you see.

Dallas. Home sweet home, for better or worse.

The skyline slowly eases up and out of the treeline as you and Joel meander up the car-cluttered I-20. Remnants from a life that’s long gone, all but skeletons with the organs of another time.

You and Joel have scarcely talked. Mostly, it’s just him pointing out directions. But he does other things. He helps you through wreckage or rubble instead of leaving you to muscle through on your own. He gives you part of his rations. He tosses you a magazine he finds in a store. He keeps watch.

You had meant what you said. You fucked. That was that. He was still the man your father told ghost stories about. The thoughtless killer. The unforgiving bullet to a skull. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of peoples’ deliverance to the afterlife. The man who’d betrayed your father all those years ago, a story of which you only know the vague specifics of.

Maybe you’ll ask him while he’s on bedrest from that bullet wound. (Or maybe you’ll just ask him. He’s not the sort of man to stay down for long.)

Regardless, as you two cross the exit a couple blocks from your dad’s base, you ask him, “Do you think he sent people after me?”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Probably went up to Oklahoma instead. Louisiana ain’t famous for bein’ easy hikin’ material. Shocker that them Cockroaches brought you all the way out there.”

You nod and kick a rock with the toe of your shoe. “You think your group’s doing good on their own?”

“Who fuckin’ knows,” Joel says. “Left Tommy in charge of the place, I’ll be lucky if it ain’t burned down by now.”

“Well, you’ve got a whole new world ahead of you. Free of debts and all. Maybe my dad will finally get off your ass. Could skip town, if you wanted.”

Joel’s feet drag on the concrete. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he scratches the back of his neck. “There were never any debts, peach,” he says.

Your brows furrow as you stop in your tracks. “The fuck do y—”

“Got you of my own volition,” he says. “Your dad and I might be on shit terms, but that don’t mean I don’t care about him. I…” He pauses. “I know what it’s like to lose people.”

“Everyone does,” you say.

“Yeah,” Joel nods. He turns to make eye contact with you. “Everyone does. But I don’t exactly wanna go about losin’ you,” he says.

“That’s a bold claim, Miller,” you say.

“You’re good company. Even if you’re a shitass.” He pats you on the shoulder. His hand slides down your arm to your hand, and he gives it a squeeze before letting it drop. “Now c’mon. Let’s get you home.”

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #deadfall fic

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deadsetobsessions · 2 months ago

Text

He’s existed for an eternity. He will exist for longer than that. Danny Fenton’s ruled the Zone longer than he’s been fully alive, by a long shot. Still half alive.

Immortal. He can’t die- not when he’s already half dead- and his age stays and stays stagnated. Un-aging. True immortality, unlike the claims of those newborn gods who borrow power from a deeper force than even they could comprehend.

A god dies when there are none left to venerate them. Danny dies when death ceases to be reality, which in itself is death…

It’s easy, once his mortal life had faded far away. He slips into roles- protection, of course, never forgotten- and traipses around to live in universes even as he kills them by simply existing. One day, a little fairy catches his eyes. It fluttered about meaninglessly, gathering dew drops and sap. It taught him two lessons.

“Why do you work yourself so?” Death had asked the little fairy.

The little fairy, only seeing the facade of a placid young boy that Death had donned to imitate the days where he was fully alive, had answered fearlessly. “I enjoy the work! My court needs those supplies, and I’m happy being able to help while doing something I love.”

“Oh.” Danny remembered being like that once. It was why his essence thrummed with Protection, even in Death. He had forgotten, even as a halfa, how to be alive. He knew how to be living, but he’d forgotten how to be alive.

Still, the boy had another question.

“Are you not afraid of me?” He’d met people like these before, on the rare occasions he personally guided souls, and they were unflinching in his presence.

“No, you are just a child. Say… won’t you tell me your name?”

“Danny,” Death answered truthfully. Death doesn’t like to lie. “Danny Fenton.”

“Danny-” the little fae freezes, malicious grin falling from its face as it trembled like the blades of grass it stole dew from. “No- no, no! Why- why can’t I take your name?!”

“I am also known as Death,” Danny admitted, watching as the fairy’s magic imploded on itself. One could not own death. He learns a lesson that day too. If he disguises himself, if death is disguised as harmlessness, as just ‘one more’, as an object of greed, those living would happily run towards Death himself.

As the little buzzing fae backed away, the flowers on its extremities withered. Danny caught its wrist before it could dart away.

“Tell the ruler of your court to come,” Danny said gently, ectoplasm easing away from the trembling little thing.

“Yes, yes, please, I will.” Danny released the fluttering thing and bid it leave.

----

"That's how you met Oberon?"

Danny laughed, plucking the little Robin from a jump and shadowing to the ledge two buildings ahead.

"Not so, little sparrow. That was how I met Tatiana."

"The queen?!"

"The queen. Remember this, if nothing else, when you play with Royalty, there is very little they wouldn't stoop to in order to ensure their wants."

"Okay. Does that include you too?"

See? Danny knew the little sparrow was smart, somewhere beneath that fanboy-driven dumbassery.

"Yes."

"Soooo... what do you want, Danny?"

"To know what it is to live again. Death tends to be cold, you see."

"...Can I help?"

A flash of fangs, a slow, meaningful smile. "You are already helping, little sparrow. Even your Bats are helping. I have not felt joy in centuries."

"Oh."

Robin's comms buzzed. "Ask him about how he met Oberon, Timsy!" Jason's voice came through loud and clear to Danny.

"Oberon?" Danny cut in, enjoying the vibrant activity his chosen nightlife observed. "Oh, I beat him at poker. Actually, I own a quarter of his palace."

#dcxdp #danny phantom #fae adjacent! Danny #dc universe #world building #danny fenton #Tim drake #Jason todd

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paulyenvol6 · 12 days ago

Text

Something To Cry Over

Dark!Joel x female reader

This is very very dark and very dirty so PLEASE be cautious. There are very triggering things in this story so only read it if you're sure you can handle it.

You're horny and can't sleep, so you beg Joel to make it better. At some point he gives in and offers to guide you while you pleasure yourself, but you demand more and more and eventually he snaps, making you take far more than you want and can handle.

Contains: non-con and dub-con elements, rape, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, forced creampie, dark!Joel, fingering (f receiving), mentions of deepthroats, degredation, humiliation, dirty talk, Joel being a creep, dacryphilia, angst, description of fear and pain, Joel getting off on reader's suffering, very dark and heavy themes, reader has blue eyes, pet names (kiddo, babygirl, sweetheart), daddy issues (and Joel referring to himself as daddy), age gap (reader calling Joel old)

Wordcount: 8,093

Masterlist

You sighed and it was much louder than you had wanted it to be.

"What," was the sharp answer out of Joel's mouth and all you could do was shut your eyes and chew on the inside of your cheek.

"Nothing," you said although it didn't sound very convincing.

But apparently that was all the reassurance he needed, because he rolled back onto his other side staring ahead of him at the wall of the tent, arms crossed. You kept quiet for a moment, weighing whether to speak up or not and perhaps even hoping that he might ask you again but when that didn't happen your eyes searched for his frame in the dark.

"Joel," you whispered and at first, there was no reaction. Should you say his name again or was he already asleep? Should you poke him in the side?

"What," he hissed, the anger clearly showing in his tone but you were used to that by now. This was Joel Miller and he seemed to have a good day considering he hadn't just ignored you.

"M'not feeling so well," you spoke, fingers intertwined to somehow magically get rid of the accumulated tension in your body.

"What?" he said again and you wondered if you would be able to get any other word out of him tonight.

"M'feeling weird," you whined, legs pressed together as you shifted in your sleeping bag to create some friction, anything to defeat the biting, throbbing heat between your thighs.

Joel on the other hand drew his eyebrows together, not at all aware of what was bothering you. You had seemed fine all day, jumping around, asking all of these usual annoying questions and now you were suddenly complaining about feeling sick? He just prayed you weren't infected.

Feeling concerned all of a sudden, Joel turned around again, eyes narrowed as he took in your face. Your cheeks were flushed, that much he could see in the darkness, and your eyes looked a little glossy.

"What is it?" he hissed, frowning at the way you chewed on your bottom lip.

"Just feelin' weird, s'all," you mumbled which evoked an annoyed sigh in him.

"You already fuckin' said that. What's wrong? You sick?"

You seemed to think about it for a few seconds before crawling to lay on your stomach, your cheek pressed to the ground so you could meet his gaze.

"No. I don't think so."

He exhaled loudly, the ends of his nerves prickling with tension because why did you have to speak so cryptically instead of just saying what was stressing you? He was exhausted, eyelids heavy and limbs aching so all he wished for was a good night of sleep that you were stealing from him right now.

"Then what the fuck is wrong with you? You're tryna play a joke on me or somethin'?"

"No," the answer came quickly before Joel could roll on his back and he suspiciously glared at you blinking a couple of times as he felt the drowsiness creeping up on him again.

"S'just… it's aching, Joel."

He had to scoff because he couldn't believe he was actually lying here at 11pm listening to your riddles and wasting his precious time with you, who seemed to be producing your words at a rate of one per minute.

"You're gonna tell me right now what's goin' on with you like a fuckin' grown-up or m'gonna ignore you for the rest of the night. You think I like wastin' my fuckin' time with some stupid teenager like you, huh?"

When he saw the glistening in your eyes he felt bad for a brief moment. But a second later that changed because when there was a familiar pout forming on your lips he was reminded of all the times that you'd start to sulk because things weren't going your way and you'd believed that if you let Joel know how bad and serious it was he would take care of everything. You were behaving like a princess and he really wanted to finally set an end to it.

He watched you expressionlessly, not budging to your will just because of that sweet little pout and instead waited for you to open your mouth. Once you realised that he was uncompromising tonight you actually complied, swallowing and then clearing your throat.

"S'aching… right here…," you whispered carefully darting down to your sleeping bag and this time Joel's brain started to race. You weren't actually…

"Between my legs. It's really uncomfortable, Joel. I can't sleep."

"Jesus fuckin' christ," he moaned and turned on his back while rubbing with his hand over his face. "You're fuckin' kiddin' me, kiddo, aren't you?"

He could see you shake your head, fists clenching around the sleeping back.

"No, Joel. I can't sleep 'cause of it."

"Then go jerk off or somethin'. God… Can't believe you're tellin' me this."

Joel closed his eyes because he feared if he looked at you it would do things to him he didn't want to happen. You and your little attitude that never failed to enrage him and piss him off but at the same time you were just too pretty. Too pretty to be close to and too pretty to keep his eyes on for too long.

He knew how fucked this was. You could be his daughter and Joel seriously had tried to see you that way. Him, as your protector and you as the person to keep safe but then there were these thoughts creeping up on him when your face looked so beautiful in the sunlight or when you reached for something and your shirt lifted a bit or when you wore those goddamn little shorts that showed off your legs –

"Please."

His eyes shot open again at the sound of your thin voice, insides twisting and a familiar warmth floating towards his center.

"Please, Joel. Do something."

An unnatural laugh left his mouth, eyes flashing at you because he was so angry with you and the fact that you couldn't leave him alone for a single night.

"What do you want me to do, huh?"

"Help me. Help me make it go away," you whispered, your voice sounding so whiny that he almost felt pitiful. Almost.

"What, am I supposed to teach you how to fuckin' masturbate? Can't do shit, can ya?" he growled loudly, his face only hardening at your glistening eyes. He wouldn't let you get under his skin just because you happened to have some pretty pair of blue eyes. But then a single tear escaped the corner of your eye, rolling down your cheek in the most cinematic and dramatic way that made Joel believe he was in a movie scene. He sighed and slightly sat up on the hard ground, your eyes following his every move.

"Goddamnit… If it's that bad go outside and I don't know, jerk off and shit."

He was grateful for the thick fabric of the sleeping bag because the image in his head, you burying your slender fingers inside your cunt made his cock that by now was rock hard uncomfortably twitch.

"I don't know how," your airy breath made his head turn and he narrowed his eyes at you, blood throbbing in his veins.

"What."

"I don't know. I don't know how to do it," you repeated and Joel inhaled deeply, his forehead furrowed.

"You're tellin' me you've never…"

Before he could end the sentence you shook your head, your eyes following the movements of your own fingers that fumbled with the sleeping bag.

"Never?" Joel asked again in disbelief of what you had just revealed to him.

"No. When was I supposed to?" you shrugged your shoulders and that was the moment when he snapped back to reality, gulping and then shaking his head as he laid down on the back again.

"Then do whatever feels good. You're gonna figure it out, m'sure."

"No Joel," you cried out and now it was you who sat up straight, your lips curled in a defiant and pleading pout. "Can you… Please, can you show me how?"

Joel would have liked to bury his face in the ground underneath him if he hadn't felt so tired. He couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth, even though they were ringing like bells in his head and sending adrenaline rushing through his veins.

"Hell no," he said, making every effort to appear as calm and cool as possible despite the roaring storm swirling in his chest that seemed to grow the longer he breathed the same cutting air as you.

"Please. I'll be quiet afterwards. Just please help me make the ache go away," you begged, hips shifting under the fabric and once again, sinful pictures appeared in his head.

You rubbing your center against the ground in an attempt to stimulate your pulsating core and then the ground was replaced by his thigh or hand and – Fucking christ.

"I said no. Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? You're not feelin' ashamed or… or bad for asking me this? Jesus."

"It's only us here. Who cares? M'not asking you to touch me, just… need you to guide me."

Joel squeezed his eyes hoping that it might help him clear his head but the longer you talked and the longer your sweet voice filled the air the hotter his skin became and he was suddenly thankful that it was dark in the tent. The skin on his arms was prickling and he could feel a single drop of sweat running down his neck.

"There's nothing to guide. We're talkin' about fuckin' masturbating, right? There's no science behind it, just do what feels good and leave me alone, alright?"

Joel turned on his side, back facing you while letting out an annoyed sigh. And then the tent was still, the only noises drifting in from outside. The occasional chirping of various creatures, the rustling of leaves, and crickets singing for the two of you. Joel had almost prepared himself to drift to sleep (although he only now realised that his hard cock might pose a difficulty) when you spoke up once again.

"Please, Joel," you whispered quietly, as soft and slight as the wind howling through the trees outside.

"Shut up."

"Please."

"I said shut up."

It was a war of words and Joel wondered how you had the energy to keep up this stupid fight for so long instead of just stuffing your fingers inside your weeping hole if you really needed it that badly.

"I won't let you sleep," you then said.

White thick anger made his toes curl and his fingers tingle with the urge to hit something as he clenched his teeth to somehow control his emotions. Fury combined with lust was dangerous and he just couldn't lose control of himself now.

"You're an annoying little brat, you know that?" Joel grunted not moving an inch when he heard the rustling of your sleeping bag.

"Maybe."

You had moved closer to him and before your front could touch his back and perhaps increase his desire for you he moved to lay on his other side again, hand coming up to your shoulder to push you back.

"Stay the fuck away from me. N'lay on your back," he added quietly, a mischievous smile passing over your face as he seemed to finally cooperate with you. You mouthed a silent 'Okay' and then stared up to the ceiling while Joel watched your profile.

"After that you're gonna sleep. N'you'll stop complaining and annoying me, is that clear?"

You nodded, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes. "Yes, Joel."

"Move your hand between your thighs," he whispered with a low voice, the odd mixture of feeling incredibly bad and disgusting for talking to a girl almost 30 years his junior that way and being horny making his stomach painfully twist.

He forced himself to keep his eyes on the ceiling as well because otherwise he believed it would only get worse.

"Push your pants down… and underwear or whatever you're wearin'," he then mumbled, lips in a thin line while he waited for you to follow his command. As if you couldn't do this on your own.

An ugly thought formed inside of his head and he suddenly widened his eyes, nostrils flaring in disgust as he ran his eyes over your soft features.

"This ain't some fucked-up daddy issues shit, right? You searching for approval or somethin'… I don't know."

Your face twisted, nose wrinkling and pure distaste marking your face as you shook your head. "Ew. No. Fuck, Joel, I told you that I just couldn't sleep."

Instead of answering he watched you, not entirely convinced, but what else was he supposed to do, other than take your word for it? All of this was terrible but you had promised him you would leave him alone after you had come.

There was the sound of fabric brushing over your body again and then your glowy face was turned to him, your expression longing and desperate and like an open book to him which was a grave contrast to your unreadable face when he had first met you.

"Slide your finger through your folds. Slowly." He waited a few seconds although he didn't know what for and then closed his eyes as his next words formed in his head.

"Collect your wetness. And then bring it to your clit."

A questioning look lingered on your face as your pretty eyes burned holes in the side of his face, his eyes still refusing to meet your gaze.

"A li'l bundle over your hole. You're gonna find it. S'gonna make you feel very good."

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe steadily and then opened his right one when he heard you gasp quietly and cursed his body for the way his heart fluttered. He wasn't supposed to react to you this way. This was so incredibly wrong and filthy and Joel knew if all the horrible things he had done in the past weren't enough already, this would be the reason for him to be sent to hell - if something like that existed -

"Rub it. In circles. Use your wetness as lubrication," he pressed using all of his strength not to let any of his own desire show although you seemed to be very busy right now anyway.

"Oh," you moaned and Joel couldn't help himself and darted at you just for a brief moment.

Your cheeks were flushed, lips parted and eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tent while your left hand that wasn't occupied tightly grasped the sleeping bag. The imagine alone was enough to fuel his dirtiest cravings and at this point his dick was leaking with precum. His own breathing started to hitch in his throat although he hadn't even touched himself but who would have known that watching you get off was so goddamn hot. A part of him regretted to have agreed to this because now there most certainly was no turning back and he feared that he wouldn't be able to get through this.

"Joel," you moaned and he threw his head back, letting out a quiet "Fuck." Were you even aware of what you were doing to him?

"You needa stop," he hissed through gritted teeth, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the ceiling of the tent but it was so seducing to just let his eyes travel to you for a second. Just enjoy this pretty view for a moment and imagine that it wasn't your hand but his…

"Why?" you asked looking right into his eyes for the first time since you had started to pleasure yourself and Joel felt his heart pound so loud in his chest that he was sure it was the only noise in the tent apart from your panting.

"You need to… You need to stop lookin' at me like that 'n' say my name… Just fuckin' cum and then get to sleep."

His voice was quiet and muffled… and weak. Like he wasn't in control of the things he said and did and Joel had a feeling that was exactly what you wanted.

"C'mon old man," you evily sniggered, hand still snug between your legs but somehow you seemed a lot more at calm and in command of the situation.

"I know you want it too. You wanna touch me, Joel? You wanna see it yourself? How wet and warm I am… it's such a mess down there… who's gonna clean it up?"

"Shut up. M'not gonna say it again," Joel managed to breath out, body stiff and tense as he felt you move closer.

No, that was the wrong direction, Joel thought, panic painting his view white and he was quick to put an end to it by pushing you backwards by your hips. How had this slipped out of his hand? He had promised himself to keep a clear head and be the one to pull the strings but just a blink of your eyes had turned his brain into a mush. Joel felt like a horny teenager who had just seen a boob for the first time, the only difference being that neither had he touched himself nor had he seen anything of you. He was weak, uncontrolled and pathetic.

"Please Joel," you moaned, biting down on your bottom lip while you seemed to rock your pussy against your hand under the blanket.

"You like me that way? You want me to beg for it? Want me all whiny and desperate for you? 'Cause it makes you feel fucking needed?"

Joel felt sweat collect on his forehead, little shivers running down his spine every few seconds but the sensation was now overcast by this burning and throbbing heat in his stomach that made him want to shut you up so badly. How many times did he have to tell you to be silent until you would actually do it? He told you exactly that, voice sharp like a knife but you were unimpressed.

"Please Joel. I just want it to be your hand makin' me feel good. S'not a big deal, just… C'mon, it's not gonna take long. Just this once, please."

"I can't, goddamnit," he snarled, his hands clenching into fists and he used his own fingernails to create a painful sting in his palms. Anything to distract him from his dick that seemed to have a mind of his own.

"Why not? We're hurtin' anyone by doin' it?"

You came closer again and this time Joel didn't have the energy to do something about it.

"No. But… you're so young. I can't do this. S'not good. You deserve something your age."

"Oh come on!" you exclaimed, hand coming to a stop between your legs but that wasn't what distracted Joel. It was your hot breath lingering at his neck and he had to bring up all his will power to move an inch away from you, hand gripping your shoulder to get an appropriate amount of distance between the two of you.

"Don't come at me with the age thing. I'm an adult, I can decide who I wanna touch. And don't put this on me. I want it, don't come up with excuses like you wanna protect me."

Joel grinded his teeth so hard that the both of you heard it, a single muscle twitching in his cheek.

"You're too young for me," he insisted slapping your hand away that you had wanted to move to the back of his head to play with his hair. "S'not appropriate."

You rolled your eyes and propped yourself up on your elbows, forcing him to look at your face hovering right in front of him.

"Joel. This isn't about gettin' married or shit. I just need you right now."

He remained uncompromising, his eyes observing you precisely but not in the kind of way you wanted him to.

"Just finish what you have started, kiddo."

A desperate whine that once again didn't fail to make Joel's stomach clench escaped from your mouth but you didn't move an inch.

"I don't think I can come this way," you claimed and yet another wave of frustration made his body buckle.

"Jesus fucking christ," Joel spitted and ran a hand through his hair. "Stop lying and cum and if you don't, I don't care."

"But I said I would let you sleep after I came."

Joel wanted to die right here and right now. He couldn't believe he seriously had gotten himself in this situation with this stubborn little bitch who wouldn't stop annoying him. Years ago he would have believed himself to be in paradise with a pretty girl like you literally begging him to touch her in any way but not now and not with you. Not with such an innocent fragile thing like you who seriously deserved better.

He was old and marked by the years. He had done terrible things and he knew, even if it was just touching you between your legs, he somehow would… ruin you. He would destroy you and your pretty innocence.

"Just this once, Joel. I promise I'm gonna be good," you whispered close to his ear, seemingly confident that you were about to break him. If only you had been wrong.

"I'm gonna do whatever you tell me to. I just need to feel your hands, s'all. I'll be quiet and I'll listen to you. Please."

"God…," Joel exhaled rubbing over his eyes and realising now that all sleepiness had faded away.

"Please?" you added and then your eyes brightened up as he pushed your left shoulder down so you lay on your back.

Quick and rough hands shoved down the sleeping bag until only your legs were covered by it and he hissed out as he took in your tight t-shirt that couldn't hide your hard nipples and your pubic hair, covering what certainly deliciously clenched for him right now just a few inches further down.

You rocked back and forth in anticipation, your face glowing with pure joy and Joel almost felt annoyed wishing back the pouty and whimpering version of you. But he would surely get you there again.

"Open your legs," he growled not at all caring about his rude tone but you didn't mind. Your eyes were fixed on him, who completely ignored you and just started to finger you like he had a job to do.

He used the pats of two of his fingers to glide through your folds smearing your arousal that was dripping down your thighs over the whole of your pussy. His pants felt so goddamn tight around his cock at the warmth your little pussy radiated and he wished to press any of his body parts inside of you, no matter if it was his fingers, his cock or his tongue. He was so focused on his hand moving between your legs, a deep crease between his brows in concentration, that he didn't even get to enjoy all of your reactions; your little sighs and whimpers, your mouth open and your teeth nibbling at your lower lip.

Joel circled your entrance with two thick fingers and then brought them to your clit that felt swollen beneath his touch. He began rubbing it at a quick pace, his own lips unconsciously parted as well because now he was so close to you that his nose nestled against your shoulder and your scent was all it took for his head to spin.

"Joel," you moaned fully enjoying his treatment but when your hand grasped his wrist he lightly slapped it and pinned it down next to your body.

"No. You told me you'd be good. I want you to shut up and keep your hands to yourself, am I clear?"

The "yes" you whined didn't exactly fulfil the purpose because it made Joel's eyes roll back and he quietly cursed to himself. Although he felt like he had the upper hand now with you falling apart beneath his touch he wasn't quite satisfied because something about this made him feel like the longer he touched you, the more his hunger for you grew and he feared that he might do something he would regret. Apart from the fact that he was already sure he would regret what he was doing right now.

His finger became faster, his only goal being to make you finish as quickly as possible and in addition to the patterns he drew over your clit, Joel eased a single finger inside your quivering hole. You were drenched and therefore your pussy welcomed him kindly but he also hadn't forgotten the fact that you were a virgin so he believed that one finger would be enough for the time being and feeling your center tighten, there was immediate evidence to support his thesis.

He slowly thrusted his finger in you without stopping flicking your clit with his thumb. The intoxicating combination made you cry out, your body so incredibly responsive to him that Joel couldn't hold back pressing a kiss on your shoulderblade.

"There you go…," he hummed. He wanted to rock his aching dick against your thigh so badly, get some stimulation and make you feel the size of him, but he couldn't. He couldn't let go now, not after having betrayed his morales so many times already.

"Fuck," you cursed, hips buckling to meet the movement of his hand and this time Joel allowed it, wanting nothing more than for you to come as soon as possible.

Therefore he added a second finger and although your eyes squeezed, little droplets of sweat pooling on your temple at the stretch, he could see your pupils dilating, more pleasure being added to what already felt like a huge wave of warm, sticky, honey embracing you. Joel touched you right where it was itching and you were at a point where you didn't care about anything but his touch. His thumb sloppily pressed into your clit, his own movement restricted from the pleasure he experienced but when he felt your hand wrapping around his wrist, he frowned, lifting his head to look at you.

"Joel," you exhaled close to him, your hot breath prickling on his skin.

"Come, sweetheart. Let go, alright? You can do it."

But you defiantly shook your head, lips pressed together and face drawn almost as if you were in pain.

"Need more, please," you whined and brought a hand to his shirt to grip the fabric tightly in your small fists.

"What are you talkin' about, c'mon. I'm gonna make you cum on my fingers."

But just like the hand on his shirt, your hand around his wrist squeezed him, pushing it away from your core.

"Can I touch it, Joel?" you asked eyes round as coins as you submissively looked up to him underneath your lashes.

Fuck. Although he would never admit it, he knew that you were smart. And you had him figured out, read him like a fucking book and knew just what buttons to push to make him bend to your will. Joel couldn't exactly describe what it was and had never bothered to label it, but he had a thing for this submissive bullshit and when you gave him your pretty doll eyes his stomach clenched and his dick swoll to unnatural dimensions.

"No," he barked nevertheless, removing your hand from his shirt and pressing against your fist that prevented him from continuing to rub your pussy.

"You wanna fuckin' come or not?" he said against your temple, finding satisfaction in the way your lashes twitched.

"Yes. But please. Just wanna see your dick. Give me the tip at least. Then you're gonna feel good as well."

Joel twisted his eyes, teeth grinding as he let out an animalistic growl.

"You're fuckin' kiddin' me, aren't you? First you convinced me to guide you, then that wasn't enough for you and you convinced me to rub your l'il clit and now you want more again?"

"Just the tip, Joel. I don't want you to fuck me, just wanna feel you for a moment," you mumbled, fingers lazily picking at the sleeves of his shirt.

"I said no. An' you're gonna learn to take no for an answer," Joel said under his hitched breath, teeth threateningly blaring as you trailed a finger down his chest.

"I bet you wouldn't be able to make me come," you whispered, your hot breath brushing over his chin. "Maybe that's what you're so afraid of, old man. You think you won't satisfy me 'n' you don't want your ego to get hurt. You're scared of this pussy."

"Shut up," Joel pressed, face unreadable, but a crooked smile appeared on your face, your confidence not fading at his harsh tone.

"You think you're dick is too small? Mhm? Or what is it? You think you can't keep up 'cause you're too fuckin' old?"

His nostrils fluttered as he clearly tried to control his heavy breathing, chest and shoulders trembling under accumulated anger.

"I said. Shut up. Or I'll have to make you," he said a lot calmer than he actually was, voice thick with rage.

"Make me then. That's what I have wanted from the start. C'mon, Joel Miller. Gimme something that's gonna shut me up."

You curled your lips into a triumphant smile, an assertiveness glowing in your eyes that drove him insane.

"You're such a greedy little thing, aren't you? Just can't get enough."

With an abrupt movement of his hand he had pinned down both your wrists right next to your head while simultaneously crawling to lay on top of you with one knee between your legs. Your eyes became round, lips curling into a surprised pout but it moved nothing in Joel. His hand clapsed around your chin forcing you to look at him and a satisfied growl left his mouth at the sight of your intimidated face.

"That what you want, mhm?"

"Yes," you breathed, although you looked much less sure of yourself than you had a few of seconds ago.

"You said you want somethin' that's gonna shut you up, mhm… I think m'gonna give you somethin' that's gonna make you scream. Somethin' to cry about."

His face twisted unnaturally, eyes filled with so much rage that his surroundings looked a little blurry for a moment. Joel was driven by an animalistic urge to finally sweep this irritating stupid look off your face and replace it with your pretty little doe eyes that he knew you were able to give him. And first and foremost, he wanted to punish the shit out of you.

Every single minute of this night had cut deeper into the rope keeping him together and now it had snapped and you would pay for it. He would make you pay for each of your little whines and pleas, for your pouts and complaints and your demanding voice keeping him awake. He had done everything, giving you more than you deserved and now it was his turn to take from you whatever he wanted. He wanted to see you break and tremble, beg him but not in the way you had a couple of minutes ago. He wanted to see you beg him to stop and apologise for being so goddamn needy.

A first frightened flickering appeared in your eyes when Joel brought a hand to your breasts, kneading the flesh through your shirt, perhaps because this was more than what you had asked for. Oh and he would give you a lot more than what you had asked for.

"You're so goddamn ungrateful. Such a greedy l'il whore that's always askin' and takin' and wantin' more. An' now m'gonna give you more 'n you're gonna take it. I know you're not a good fuckin' girl but m'gonna turn you into one, don't worry. Now you're gonna lay still and let daddy feast from you."

"Joel," you whispered, helpless eyes glancing up to him and in response he slapped your cheek, not as hard as he would have wanted to but enough to make you tear up.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, pushing hard against his chest but he took hold of your wrists once more, pressing them down over your head and this time he left them trapped there underneath his large hand.

"Now you can scream as loud as you want to," Joel whispered, evily smirking at the way you writhed under his body that caged you so wonderfully. Things weren't going the way you wanted them to and so you naturally began to panic.

"Joel. You're hurtin' me," you complained and tried to move your hands. When you realised that you weren't able to, fear spread through your body, making the blood in your veins freeze and your heart pound.

"Joel?"

"No, babygirl. It's a little bit too late now to get all scared and frightened. It was you who begged me to do this, remember?"

He chuckled darkly and then fiddled with the waistband of his sleeping pants, your eyes darting down at once as if you could keep a grip on the situation like this. Joel pulled his pants down revealing his hard dick that was swollen and wet with precum, the angry red tip practically begging to finally get some relief. You tried to close your legs around him, jolting backwards as a big hand squeezed your hip and then worked you open.

"Ugh uh. You're gonna take it all. You're gonna take it all in your tight little pussy because daddy deserves it. Daddy deserves to fuck this hole after havin' to bear with you all fuckin' day an' night and listening to your dumb questions, and now this? I think you need a l'il lesson in how to behave yourself and that your actions have fuckin' consequences."

Joel growled as he forced you to spread your legs even wider, settling between them and pumping his leaking dick a few times.

"P-Please Joel," your terrified quiet voice stuttered, your eyes relentlessly producing new tears although you hadn't began to cry just yet.

"Please don't. I'm sorry, please. Please don't do it."

"Oh babygirl," he purred, a hand caressing your cheek way too softly for the harshness of his words, but you couldn't focus on it anyway because his tip was touching your entrance now and one thing you knew for sure. He was way too big.

"Joel, please. No, no, no. You can't do it, lemme suck you off or… or I don't know, just please don't fuck me," you stumbled over your own words and if you had hoped to evoke something in Joel, you had been wrong.

It was the opposite; goosebumps rose on his arms at your weak voice and the need to hurt and mark you gripped his heart. He panted heavily while resting his tip against your entrance, completely ignoring the way your body tensed and shivered and started to work his dick inside your clenched virgin hole.

He knew that the pain must be excruciating, especially in view of the fact that your body refused to let him in, and he wasn't going particularly slow, but god, this was what he wanted and perhaps this made him fucked up but he needed it.

He needed to taste and smell the fear off you and hear your quiet cries while taking you. Tears spilled from your eyes, your whole body trembling and jerking as he went deeper, your pussy feeling so incredibly tight around him, he thought his dick was about to be ripped off. He might have helped you by telling you to try to relax and loosen up around him but you had missed your chance when you had behaved like a fucking bitch the whole night. You would have to go through it now.

"You stupid, stupid girl," Joel whispered in your ear, eyes rolling back at your glistening tears along with your impossibly clenched walls.

"You gotten yourself into this position on your own. With your draining, horrible attitude. You thought it's cute? You think it's cute now?"

You looked down, eyes threatening to close as the pain took on new dimensions, Joel now halfway into your cunt.

"Yeah that's right…," he growled with his husky voice and released your hands to rub over your face instead, smearing your tears all over your face.

"Hurts, doesn't it? Hurts so badly and you want me to stop so badly… But I won't. M'gonna continue as long as I want to and you're gonna take it. You might not take it very well... but it's enough for me."

You hiccuped, face tilted to the side as you grinded your teeth, a long heartbreaking sob leaving your mouth.

"S-Stop, p-please… Please. J-Joel…"

Your hips bent as if you were trying to evade his length but Joel had you pinned down beneath him and you didn't stand a chance. A warmth leaked from his heart flooting his body with an animalistic satisfaction. Now you were his, now he had claimed and marked you and you would surely feel him for days.

He would be lying if he said that he didn't get off on this. Your body that looked so helpless beneath his broad shoulders, your hands resting on your face and on top of your chest in turns as if to hide from him and of course your pleas that wouldn't change anything in him but were nice to listen to. Joel got off on your weakness. On your pain and on your demands to make him stop. Because he was stronger and he wouldn't stop. He had full power over you and everything that was happening to you from now on was under his watch.

You were a sobbing mess, hands protecting your face from his thumb that wiped away some of your tears but soon Joel set an end to that as well, not only wanting to have complete control but also humiliate you in every possible way.

"You haven't quite gotten it yet, mhm?" he growled peeling your hands off your face. "You're gonna fuckin' look at me. All you are is a goddamn toy f'me. A stupid l'il hole to make me feel good and I don't fuckin' care about you or what feels good. You understand me? I wanna see you cry, l'il one. I wanna see you fuckin' break for me. Wanna squeeze each of these little cries outta you until you're nothing but a brainless mess. Attagirl…"

He was completely inside of you now feeling your walls thob around him. He could only imagine the amount of pain you were feeling right now and your reactions, your twitching face as well as your bottom lip that you had bitten bloody could only hint at just how bad it was.

Joel waited a couple of seconds before suddenly bottoming out with his entire length and then slamming himself back inside because this time he didn't have to work you open before fitting inside but could just use you for his pleasure.

Your eyes once again opened wide, almost watching him in disbelief of what he was making you feel before new tears leaked out, cheeks and forehead covered with a burning heat as well as a thin layer of sweat.

"N-No…," you mumbled, your hands coming up to push against his stomach as a last desperate attempt to make him stop but Joel was too far gone now anyway. Even if he had wanted to stop he couldn't. Not after having been consumed by your perfect pussy and the way you sucked him in so firmly.

"Mhmm that's some pretty tears right there… C'mon lemme see them."

Joel grabbed your chin adjusting your head to his liking and then brushed with his thumb over your temple, watching the drops of tears fall upon your cheeks in awe.

"Aren't you such a pathetic little slut? Bawling your eyes out over my dick after asking me to stick it inside you a hundred times? Ungrateful bitch. Just look at these little tears. Look at the mess you're makin'… and once again daddy has to clean up everythin' just like you always rely on daddy…"

He fucked you at a steady pace now, paying no attention at all to the way your body rejected him and how your pussy clenched and cramped every time he pulled out but just went on like he was trying to tear every last layer of resistance down. You jolted away from him almost as if your body had a mind on its own but Joel made sure to drag you back every time, his grip on your hip like iron while his other hand now wrapped around your throat.

"That's it…," he drowned your whimpers, pressing you into the hard ground and now setting an even more brutal pace. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the tent, along with the sound of your muffled screams, but there wasn't anyone out here anyway so it was clear that Joel only choked you for his own amusement.

"Good fuckin' girl," he cursed, his teeth sinking down on his bottom lip and his eyes never leaving your face.

"Ugh uh, eyes on me."

You had wanted to escape his piercing gaze but Joel would have none of that, delivering a soft slap to your cheek before his hand came back to use your neck as leverage to fuck into you deeper.

"You're not gonna escape me, babygirl. You're daddy's now. I'm the first to fuck this little pussy and don't worry, she's gonna get used to it. She's gonna get used to likin' it. Next time it's not gonna be you that weeps for me but your pretty cunt. Unless you don't play by my rules of course."

Joel's mouth came down to press a possessive kiss on your brow while his hand cradled your face almost in a protective manner. Then his hand on your hips traveled to your belly and he applied a little bit of pressure that made your red-rimmed eyes anxiously glance at him. Joel soothingly rubbed your skin pressing down harder at the same time as he thrusted deep inside of you, his tip kissing your cervix in a way that made you painfully tense your muscles.

"There she is… Want you to remember that feelin' in every fuckin' moment from now on. 'Cause it's supposed to remind you of what happens to you when you're disrespectful and can't hold that little tongue of yours. Maybe m'gonna punish your mouth the next time you disbehave like this... So that you can't speak for days and I don't have to listen to your goddamn voice every mornin' and night."

Your round eyes were glued to his face and Joel believed that you were at a point where you were incapable of having a straight thought, let alone speak up.

There was silence for the next few minutes and Joel could almost see you trying to adjust to his size, your mouth swallowing desperate gasps but it was still too much for you. He simply demanded too much, giving you no time to relax your cunt as he took and took like you were nothing but a set of holes to get him off. The next time Joel spoke up was when he felt his orgasm approaching and obviously he had to make sure you knew what he was about to do to your poor pussy.

"Gonna cum right into this pretty hole o'yours. Gonna paint your walls with my cum until you've understood that I fuckin' own you."

You seemed to need a few seconds to understand the dimensions of his words, head suddenly turning to him to stare right into his eyes. Jolting to the side your hands buried in his arms while mindless stuttering left your parted lips. As a precaution Joel pressed a finger on your lips shushing you before your doubts could even be expressed.

"Ah ah. Don't fight it, babygirl. There's nothing you can do about it so you better take it unless you want this to be painful. And I think you've had enough pain for tonight, hm?"

You broke down on the spot, a wave of tears crashing upon you at the reminder and this time Joel held you through it. Perhaps it was seeing you all fucked out and helpless that made him soften or it was the fact that he was all satisfied with the world right now but either way, he allowed you to snuggle against his arm and soak his shirt with your tears, all while still pounding your pussy in order to reach his high.

"Jesus fucking christ…," he moaned, adrenaline shooting through his veins and the pleasure blinding him. And then he came with a loud groan, his left hand groping your breasts while his right yanked your head back by your hair to cover your neck with kisses.

"That's right… Take it all like the little slut you are… Goddamnit, babygirl…"

He pushed into you a few more times to be certain that his cum was deep inside your pussy, each thrust evoking a gasp from you, your nails scratching his muscular arms and then moved your sweaty hair back, making you face him once again.

"Look at that… All stuffed with my cum. So fuckin' full of me."

Your face was an absolute mess, your eyes and nose red and swollen while traces of tears made your cheeks look pale and washed-out. Your lip was bloody and tattered from the way you had chewed on it and your brow radiated a burning heat. You wanted to avert his gaze and rather melt with the floor head first but Joel forced you to keep your glossy eyes on him, the heavy weight of his body leaving you no choice but to listen to the breath that was his voice, lingering at your ear.

"You didn't like that, did you?"

You pressed your eyes and lips together but managed to answer him by shaking your head.

"I thought so… An' you definitely don't want this to happen again, do ya?" Another shake of your head and this time you opened your right eye, anxiously winding under his body.

"So you're gonna behave from now on. I could make this very uncomfortable for you, babygirl. I could make you swallow my dick an' make you choke on it. Or I could fuck your tight ass. I'm sure I could come up with a lot of fun stuff that's all gonna be very unpleasant for you. But you could also be a good fuckin' girl f'me, listen to me, do as I say and stop bein' such an ungrateful whore and then I might let your pussy recover for the next few days an' we're all gonna be very happy."

The muscles in your chin twisted, new tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks but nevertheless, you nodded and Joel loosened the grip on your hair.

"I wanna hear your voice."

"Y-Yes. I'll b-be g-good," you stuttered, voice croaked and thin but it was enough for him because he suddenly dropped you like you were a hot potato and pulled his flaccid dick out of you to crawl to his side of the tent.

You immediately collapsed again, rolling onto your side to face the wall of the tent, covering your battered body with the sleeping back and putting as much distance as possible between Joel and you. A cold shiver ran through your numb body. You pussy uncomfortably pulsated with a stinging pain that you had never experienced before tonight and yet was already so familiar to you. You were freezing but at the same time craved a cold shower, but perhaps this need was caused by the urge to clean yourself to wash his cum and sweat off your body and scrub every inch he had touched.

You sniffed a couple of times holding on to the sleeping bag as if it was your shield against Joel and forced yourself not to think about what had just happened. On one hand it was incredibly easy because everything about it was still so surreal and strange but at the same time every time you closed your eyes picture appeared before your eyes. The lust in his eyes. His hand coming down to caress your cheek.

A shockwave went through your body and you would have started crying again had not your exhausted and traumatised mind drifted off to sleep first.

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mamasfavourite · 5 months ago

Text

queen cobra

pairing: axel kovaćevic x reader

summary: the captain of cobra kai catches the eye of the captain of the iron dragons and manages to deal with her teammates and her crush on axel!

warnings: mentions of abuse, some swearing, kissing, fluff, little bit of angst and a little implication of smut at the end, kwon is alive, axel is a sweetheart, kreese is rotting in jail !

cobra kai was never your preferred environment, but you fought to survive there, even when the others tried to influence you. you were a good person and you stood by that. you just had to mask it when in the dojo. it’s not like you would be there long, the dojo was just a way to the sekai takai for you.

and you fought like fucking hell for your spot as captain.

you even dealt with the endless bullshit literally everyone except kwon and tory threw your way. before karate, you had trained boxing and taekwondo, mastering both of them. so, it was easy to say you had the highest kick of everyone your team.

which really did come in handy in moments like this! like when kwon started a stupid bet with miyagi-do over whose kicks were highest. the highest anyone had gone was some kid from the russian team named vlad.

169cm.

kwon hid you for the time being, as the miyagi-do male captain and him faced off in front of the crowd of sekai takai contestants. when they shook hands, you watched as he put chalk to his shoe and swung his leg as high as he could.

175cm.

the crowd cheered, surprised by the height he had managed. you and kwon only laughed. he stepped to the side to let you foward. “show them, captain.”

you grabbed the chalk from the ground and locked eyes with robby as you rubbed it on your shoe. you kicked as high as you could, marking an almost inhumanely high point on the wooden whale statue.

you had to admit you couldn’t eyeball the measurements on that one, but you had won by far.

there was a mixture of gasps and applause as your cobras immediately crowded around you, celebrating your easy victory. you stepped foward to the miyagi-do’s, and stuck out your hand to accept your prize.

a whole room to yourself!

you and the cobras were walking back to the hotel. you all had met up with sensei kim at a karate gym on the other side of the city, and were only now getting back. you walked ahead of the others, not really wanting to speak to them right now.

as you entered the hotel reception, you noticed a few familiar people your age, they were most likely from the same dojo. you were walking quite slow so you had time to observe.

on the couches were, a dark skinned girl, who was chewing loudly and texting on her phone and an asian boy, who seemed to be staring into nothing at all.

as you turned your attention back straight, you saw an incredibly cute boy, he looked european to you in some way, maybe scandinavian.. or slavic? you didn’t care! he towered over you, and you took a second to appreciate his features, his messy brown hair and dark green eyes, his sculpted face and built arms.

you shot him a flirty smile as you kept walking, which almost made him drop the plates he was carrying.

“axel! what the fuck? can’t you hold a plate?” the girl from the couch called out. ‘oh so she was a bitch!’ you thought, but dismissed it as you continued walking, the cobras following closely behind, chuckling at the scene.

how could he! he was such a fucking prick. yoon was already getting on your nerves but you lost your shit when he was bitching at you just because you were chosen captain over him.

you unknowingly stomped past your locker room, and accidentally pushed into the wrong one. but you heard something and quieted down. you heard loud, echoing grunts, hits and yells of “ais!”

you snuck to the doorframe, sneakily peering inside and seeing the cute boy from the lobby the day before. he was training with his sensei, delivering strike after strike to the punching mitts ahead of him.

he was insanely focused, and incredibly strong. even through the gi, you could tell he was built. the force behind his punches were insane, but his sensei withdrew from him immediately.

“what are you doing wrong?” his sensei yelled firmly and all of a sudden the incredibly powerful demeanour axel had just flaked away. he flinched as the older man threw the mitts to the floor.

you watched as his sensei struck the poor boy, you had almost grown attached to. not once, not twice. you could tell he had to hold himself back after the third time. he picked up the mitts and commanded axel to continue.

but before he even landed a second punch, the mitts were on the floor again and axel was being hit. you heart hurt to watch it. you let out a soft gasp.

axel turned his head at the sound and saw you, you shot him a sad smile and walked through the hallway, hearing his sensei yell at him as you kept walking forward.

the cobras wanted to go somewhere and get drunk, and as their captain, you had to go. plus you had secretly hoped you might bump into the guy you had been crushing on for the last two days.

kwon was slumped against the counter, trying to maintain a conversation with you, but miserably failing. yoon and the others were standing around tory, trying to make their lazy advances that seemed to go completely unnoticed.

“씨발, 나 산책하러 가야 돼.. 안전하게 지내라, 얘들아 (fuck this, i’m going on a walk, get home safe boys.)” tory practically growled at you, still insulted by the fact she couldn’t speak your language but the remainder of the team telling you goodnight or to stay safe.

you left your half empty bottle of beer on the counter as you walked out, heading straight for the beach. it was calm, and quiet, and for a second you thought you heard the same sounds as earlier.

“ais! ais!” you heard and you recognised the voice, turning to watch as axel stood a couple metres away from you, shirtless, practising his kata. you watched for a couple moments before you spoke up.

“that’s a really cool kata, what’s it called?” he immediately turned around. he smiled at the sight of you and answered softly, “it’s called enpi.”

you nodded and were about to answer before he spoke again, “i don’t mean to be rude, but it’s a pretty common kata, and you’re an incredible fighter, i’m shocked you don’t know it.”

you looked at the floor for a second, before meeting his eyes, as they watched you. “it’s okay! i’m originally a kick-boxer and i studied taekwondo, so that’s my more proficient area.. i can apply a lot of it to karate though so it’s perfect!”

he nodded and gave you a small smile as he continued the conversation with you. “you’re incredibly strong in karate, i wouldn’t have noticed!” he spoke to you.

you stepped closer to him and brushed his arm. “thank you, you’re very strong, i mean clearly.” you said, trying to make it clear you were flirting with him. “i-thank you.” his smile turned bashful and he felt his cheeks heat up.

“you’re amazing.” he said, and immediately paused to reformulate his statement. “i-mean your dojo’s amazing!” you beamed at him. he was honestly so cute you wanted to squeal sometimes.

you smiled, about to speak but he beat you to it once more. “can i join?” he asked you, and you immediately felt yourself get kind of excited at the idea.

“the cobras? i mean, the boys are stupid but kwon’s okay, he just tries to overcompensate when he’s around others but he’s such a sweetheart i promise-“ you began to ramble.

“i meant your walk..” he replied, almost annoyed with himself that he interrupted you once more. you smiled at him once more and accepted. “of course!” you watched as he turned around to grab his jacket.

your eyes fixed on his back, and the scars covering it. you touched them experimentally and felt his body tense under your hand. “i-i’m sorry.. are you okay?” you asked him, empathy laced in your voice.

he quickly grabbed his jacket and put it on, hiding his back from you. “i’m okay.” he quickly dismissed you. you slid your hand into his and nodded somberly. the pair of you started to walk towards the footpath.

you responded to him. “you don’t have to talk to me about it, but i know what it’s like to have an abusive sensei and it’s always okay to not be okay.” you turned your head to face him as he did the same for you.

“thank you. it means a lot.” he smiled softly as you both stood still and he stared at your face. you asked him to lean down a little bit, claiming you had a “secret” to whisper to him.

once he was close enough to your height, you reached onto your tippy toes and gave him a soft peck on the cheek. you let out a soft giggle as you did and he could’ve sworn he felt his heart beat out of his chest.

you had stumbled upon the cobras, well not all of them, but yoon and a few others. they were clearly drunk and yoon smirked as he saw you. “y/nnn, who’s the guy?” yoon asked, cockily as he dragged out the last letter.

axel’s hand tightened protectively against yours.

“who would’ve thought our captain’s with the enemy..” another boy pressed behind him, and you couldn’t quite make out who it was but it enraged you. you replied to them sharply, with authority.

“you know, i’m sure sensei kim would love to hear that her star fighter was being preyed on by a bunch of drunk losers on her team.” that’s when the remainder of the cobras scattered, but yoon stood in place. you were loosing your patience, and so was axel.

“and i’m sure sensei kim would love to hear that her star fighter is fucking around with some pussy off the hong kong team.” yoon cockily challenged you, but axel stepped forward instantly.

you put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, reassuring him you’d handle it but he kept his fists clenched in preparation.

you stepped towards yoon and spoke to him loudly. “지난번에 팀원 중에 나한테 엉뚱한 짓을 한 사람이 있었던 걸 기억나? (remember what happened the last time someone on the team fucked with me?)” he swallowed and waited for you to continue.

“그러니 그런 일이 일어나기 전에 빨리 호텔로 돌아가세요. (so get your pussy ass back to the hotel before it happens to you).” and with that, he sprinted in the opposite direction, following after his teammates.

you turned back to axel and smiled, “i’m so sorry, you had to be there for that.” you spoke softly to axel and you felt his rough hands envelope yours. “it’s okay, i’m sorry you have to put up with that.” he answered. gazing into your eyes.

“it’s okay, it’s not your fault. it’s all you expect from egotistical teenage boys.” you smiled a little, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

“i’m not like that, am i?” he asked you, worried that he was like them. you instantly shook your head. “nonono, axel, not at all.” your gaze flicked between his lips and his eyes and he noticed it.

he held himself back, with the worry that you may have only done it as a mistake, or a way to make sure he was comfortable. he released one of your hands and the pair of you kept light conversation as you walked.

outside your hotel, he stopped. “we’re in the same hotel, axel, we don’t need to split up.” you turned to face him and watched as his brow furrowed slightly, in thought. he brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

you leant into his touch and looked up at him, knowing it was his way of making a move. you reached as high as you could to put a hand on the back of his neck, and the other rested on his chest as you pulled him into you.

his lips met yours. they were soft and you couldn’t help yourself. his hands reached down to your waist before he pulled away.

“we should probably go to our rooms now.” he said, and you giggled softly, once again, still excited from your kiss. you nodded in agreement, as you held hands again and walked to the elevator.

as soon as the doors shut, he couldn’t help himself any more and pressed you softly against the wall as you continued what you had done just a few minute prior, outside the hotel.

except this time, it was deeper, and it was hungry. his hands wandered over your body, tapping under your thighs, telling you to jump, and as you did, his strong arms held you, kneading at the flesh there as he continued to attack your lips.

at some point, when the pair of you were so wrapped up in eachother, the elevator doors opened. he frowned as you pulled away from him and commanded him jokingly to “put you down!”

he did, and just as you were about to leave, he spoke up once more. “let me walk you back.” and you accepted, still giddy from your stolen kisses.

once you reached your door you smiled and leant up to peck him on the cheek. “goodnight, axel!” and just as you turned around he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him once more.

he kissed you one last time before you went inside. “goodnight beautiful.” he smiled as he started walking away. it took you too seconds before you called after him, dragging him back once more.

“axel, i do have a room to myself… if you wanted to put it to good use?”

#axel kovacevic x reader #axel kovacevic #cobra kai #cobra kai x reader #kwon jae sung #kwon jae-sung #karate kid #fan fiction #axel x reader #iron dragons

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caffeinewitchcraft · 6 months ago

Text

They Didn't

Once there was a town far removed from the capitol. Its citizens lived according to the seasons and held that all things would fall as they should. So when the regime came under fire, they were not alarmed. They did not lock their doors nor did they send their strong ones to go fight. They knew there were good people out there who held their interests and fought for their country in their stead.

And, of course, they were right. The Monarch fell and a new Monarch bloomed in their place. Not a scrap of the war came to the town's doorstep. Of course their crops were less than they should be - seed trade had screeched to a halt two years ago - but they were alive and still citizens of their country which had always looked out for their interests before.

So when the new Monarch sent a representative to their village, they were curious. They had neither rebelled nor contributed. What could the Monarch have to say to them?

"Resources are scarce after two years of war," the representative said. "We have come to see what is needed."

The citizens nodded for this was to be expected. The war had hollowed out their winter stores and delayed major repairs to roads and roofs. They needed much.

They were glad for the representative's arrival, but there was much work to do. They set up their stalls for market and did not pay him much mind. There was not much fare to lay out on their tables. They spent their time arranging each vegetable to hide its bruising and to showcase the best side of handicrafts made with amateur hands.

"By show of hands," he said, "who needs new tools to work their fields?"

Such a silly question! The representative had to have seen their fields while riding into town. He knew the barren state of them.

(They did not see he rode in a covered carriage, so sick by the motion of the wheels that he could not open his eyes.)

Seeing no hands, the representative moved on. "Who needs grain to see them through winter?"

Again so silly! Their storage gaped open and empty at the other end of the square. Surely he knew they needed grain.

(The representative thought it charming to have an empty barn as a communal gathering place and made a note to bring the idea to his own hometown.)

"Very good," the representative praised. Not a single hand! He had been to 40 towns already. What a relief to have one not on the verge of collapse! "And your roads? Your bridge?"

At this, some of the villagers rolled their eyes. The last storm had wiped away their bridge. The representative had to take the long way to come into their town square because of it.

(The representative asked to take the long way into town as his report claimed the village had a rope bridge which would make him even more violently motion sick.)

"And shelter?" the representative asked, checking No on every box. He would have said they needed new roads, but what did he know? Not a single one raised their hand. They must be used to traversing such pitted and rutted roads. "Do you have adequate shelter for the long winter ahead?"

Villagers chuckled for they did not have adequate shelter now. The autumn leaves blew through their eaves and their thatched roofs were gray with age. They had no materials to repair them, nor talent. Did the representative not see that their carpenter's booth at the market sat empty?

(Next year, the representative will do a survey of the town himself. He will count the artisans and craftsmen for his census. He will sleep under their roof to judge their condition for himself. He will eat their food to judge its quality. This year...well. Too many needs in too many places.)

"Thank you for an easy visit," he said. He turned back to his carriage. "See you in the summer."

The villagers watched him go in shock. To think he would leave so quickly! Well, it was fine. He had seen their roads and roofs, their storage and fields, their empty market stalls and slim market fare. They didn't need to worry.

They didn't.

The representative hummed to himself as a distraction while the carriage dipped and rolled away from the town. He thought that it was very good that they needed no craftsmen or grain or tools. This village lay in a valley that would become impossible to traverse in the winter months. He would have to act very quickly if they needed help.

But good! They didn't.

#go vote #my writing #in local and state and federal elections

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sleep-0-deprived · 6 months ago

Text

Feels like sugar in me~ (Dom Yandere manager x model male reader) ૮꒰っ˕‹̥̥̥ ꒱ა

WC:. 2.5k

Tags: power abuse, ass eating, voyuer, humiliation, gaslighting/ manipulation, older man-younger man (character is referenced in his mid forties and reader in his twenties) dark content, slight dub con, dacryphilia <33

A/N: my posting schedule has been all wonky the past month! But I hope you guys enjoy and as promised @blond3ang3l ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

Everybody knew that modeling was a cruel line of work, your father told you so ever since you were just a little boy prancing around your bedroom.

Most male models didn’t last more than a month in the industry, you understood exactly why once you started putting yourself out there. Applying to all the big name brand you could never dream to be taken in by but you wanted to atleast try!

Here you were, halfway across the U.S trying to pursue your own little American dream and how else would you do that if not by working in some rundown diner by your apartment. Well that was until you met Him, tall and undoubtedly handsome with black hair having grey streaks through the sides with a small little beard of mostly white hairs, his name hung infamous to anybody who ever wanted to be a somebody, Dean Carter was his name.

You didn’t know him too well, just a local man who liked the diner you worked at for some reason you always thought. But he’d smile at you a little too long or tip you a little too much with his age showing at every glance he handed you. Creases in the corners of his eyes and lips crinkling up in delight when he watched how your hips swayed in your apron working the floor having him in awe. He had to have you—he absolutely needed you.

He’d simply slip you his business card just trying to swoon you under his wing like any big dreaming boy, whispering honeyed promises of fame and being a star on the runway to you anytime you would doubt him. Your fate was sealed the moment he wanted you, he was a man of greed and power and he wanted you in his pocket like a caged bird.

Here you were, eight months later from meeting dean, a photo shoot just being finished by you but you were far from happy. How could you possibly be happy when all you were seen as was the pretty boy who slept his way to fame, and the worst part of it all was the fact they weren’t wrong and all you could do is sit in your designated seat in your dressing room feeling the cold hand clasping your cheek “don’t listen to them baby, you’re just so much more than a pretty face and you know it”

Dean leans down kneeling on his knees with his chin resting on your shoulder blade holding your chin making you look at the mirror straight ahead of you. “Sh-sh doll don’t pout, you’ll ruin your makeup” his lips press to the back of your ear as his hands grip the sides of your seat turning you facing him.

“Not right now dean..” you whimper out silently feeling the hotness in your eyes bubbling up with tears that threaten to peak. “Don’t be that way baby doll, let me make it all better, you know I just wanna help” his voice softens so much your heart wants to believe it’s all real but atlas, you knew so better and yet you still fell.

“Not tonight dean, I don’t feel like it” you sniffle put rubbing your face feeling your warm cheeks under your palms while his hands slip down massaging your thighs in the slacks you were modeling. His thumbs tracing up slowly to your zipper giving it a little tug, you already knew what he was getting at and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

“Hush darlin, it’ll all feel alright so soon” a elicit purr fell from his thin lips when he stops after opening up the top of your pants leaving them hanging up on your hips, his hands slipping up to your hip bone and grabbing it gently lifting you up out of the chair and getting you on the counter of your dressing room while his hands guide your thighs apart.

“People will hear us dean” you hush out and tilt your head back looking upwards at him trying your hardest to not let your emotions win tonight. “Well then they’d be lucky, you’re my little show-boy aren’t you [name]? Always strutting down that runway”

Dean’s hands slide up your sides gripping your boxers and the waistband of your bottoms and slid them off down your thighs with ease leaving you in your white socks and the designer shirt, having not made it to putting on the shoes yet.

“O-h shit—“ you go slack in the face with your jaw hanging pinching your brows together when his face shoves between your thighs and nuzzles his way between your cheeks having you spread wide arching your back and holding the marble counter top.

“Taste’s so sweet doll, like sugar on mh tongue” his voice deepens rolling his own eyes back into his skull leaving red irritation marks on your ass cheeks from his stubble while he groans against your hole before lapping his tongue out from his mouth giving a long lick going down your crack leaving your balls neglected while your cock stands half hard.

“Dean, they’re gonna hear us~” you can’t help anymore, you slowly crumble on the counter, reaching your hands back and placing them over your mouth trying to hide how you were crying like a little boy and leaning back against the dressing room mirror internally praying that none of the brand executives made it to your room to see you in all your glory hitching your leg up on the older males shoulder and letting him devour you like a helpless lamb.

Deans tongue presses flat to your rim and keeps rubbing against it before his lips press against your hole sucking at it and gripping your thighs tighter looking up at you the whole time wanting to kiss away your tears.

“My baby boy is such a pretty cryer” he hums in a sickeningly sweet tone coating your rim in a glossy layer of his spit making heat build inside your stomach leaving your cock now fully erect pressing it’s way to your belly button.

“I’m not gonna- I can’t handle it!” A sharp gasp falls from your lips feeling like you’re being torn apart by the man between your thighs. His fingers moving off your thighs only leaving his right hand on your knee trying to keep your thighs from fully closing around his hand while he takes his fingers and snakes his way between your cheeks, letting us index finger prod open the walls whilst he keeps flicking his tongue in sync to his fingers.

“You wanna be a star right doll? Let me make you the brightest one” the movement doesn’t slow or waver leaving your lips trembling against your palm understanding his inward promise, the one he’s told you a thousand times over.

“Close dean” you sloppily slur and cry out feeling your hand slipping from hour mouth when his finger works its way against your prostate having the world around you turn white in a buzz and your cock glaze over with a pearl of semen leaking down the sides of your base making your body clamp up ready for the wave of release to wash over you only to have him pull away from your ass leaving your leg sliding off his shoulder when he stands back up.

“I want you to reach your orgasm from my cock, not my mouth baby doll” his words wash over you when he wipes his hands off and starts undoing his belt leaving his slacks undone while he opens up his fly, the grey waistband reading ‘Calvin Klein’ exposes itself to you before he pulls out his cock showing him already stiff from eating you out.

“Look at the mess you made baby, you’ve got my face utterly filthy” stepping between your thighs keeping them spread open while he presses his face into the side of your neck with your legs slowly lifting up to his hips, “the staff will hear us, I don’t want them to know dean” your hand finds its way into his hair and pulls at it, not even bothering to hide the hot tears streaming down your face.

He reaches his hand off your hip, still holding it tight with his other hand while he holds your chin firm and lifts his head from the crook of your neck pressing hot kisses to your damp cheeks. Dean’s cock presses its way between your slick cheeks letting his cock-head rub and make contact with your rim almost daring to push inside you but not doing so yet.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ve got’cha” his words linger muffled and half audible between his lust filled haze and the wet kisses he left across your skin. Your thighs stay parted up on his hips with your eyes looking up at him feeling humiliated in ways beyond words, unable to stare in the mirror behind you, unable to face what you’ve let him break you into.

“Just push in dean” your sniffles fall on deaf ears but he just smiles down at you and takes his lips off your cheeks placing them on your neck while letting your chin out of his clasp making your ruined face fall forwards on his shoulder when he slips his hands back to your hips guiding you down on his cock. “That’s a good boy, my sweet little angel” he talks you through it making your rim ease up when he sinks into you leaving you feeling every vein of his shaft when it pierces you.

“Sh-sh-sh don’t cry, baby. If you stay nice and quiet I’m sure they won’t hear” his words do very little in terms of easing you. Your neck tilts back looking up at the ceiling and staring through blurred leans as you reach your hands off the counter edges and dig your nails into the back of his tailored suit, leaving lighter colored marks on the fabric while the sound of hushed moans and skin filled up the dressing room.

Dean continued to roll his hips and make out with your neck, butting and sucking on every inch moaning into the skin, not bothering to stop your tears “you’re so pretty when you cry like that Y’know angel”

his voice was far to sweet for the ways he was ravaging your body. His cock pressed up against your prostate with every deep stroke he gave, your cock weeped against your stomach the whole time he held your hips flush against him while working between your legs, making sure his cock rubbed and violated every inch of your cavern.

Dean held your hips tight, softly massaging them and rutting his hips fucking you up against the counter with his canines dragging alongside of your neck so soft you felt like you were on cloud nine and yet you wanted to puke. You’ve never felt so beautiful yet so dirty until you were with him.

You finally look down from the ceiling with a sharp gasp “o-oh Dean-“ your eyes zoom out until they see the dressing room door peaking open, then it’s like bells and gears in your head start churning with your toes curled close to cumming. “Don’t even pay attention to it doll” Dean smooths you or at least he try’s to sooth you but fails, you just shove your face into his shoulder moaning and wailing to yourself when you realize there’s someone entering the room.

“Are you almost ready [nam—“ low and behold the door opened wide standing in the doorway was one of the stage managers for your upcoming shoot today, he stood jaw slacked the clipboard nearly falling from his hand staring at you watching how Dean didn’t bother stopping making the tears flow faster when you look up from dean’s shoulder having your eyes meet.

“Scram, boy. [name] is busy right now” Dean’s voice hardens tilting his head back out of your neck with drool smeared on his chin from a the kissing he was doing to your neck. He doesn’t bother to stop your coupling session but instead shoo’s off the other man. Oliver the stage manager scrambles to leave quickly, not wanting to be in the middle of the situation any longer but you knew him.

You knew within ten minutes the whole brand- better yet label. Would know your secret and that alone made your face go red with shame. “I’m close~ let-me come please?” You plead with Dean knowing that you needed your high, you needed the adrenaline that brought you to heaven before throwing yourself back down to sadness like always.

“Come for me darlin, just let go” Dean croons to you holding you up on the counter steadily thrusting into you already starting to leak more pre cum inside you. Your dressing room door still open wide leaving anyone able to see you being ruined by your manager if they just walked down the hall. Your cock starts to spasm and bob upwards jerking on its own about to cum as your legs wrap tighter around his hips, gripping his back and curling your toes tight arching.

Your walls clamped tight around his manhood when you finally hit your peak feeling rope after rope speed from the pudgy cock head when you orgasm. Dean pulls out of you and comes all over your thighs, holding you tight and panting when his cock throbs and releases its load all over your thighs in a thin and runny mess while you sit panting and truth to wipe away your tears before you can even look back at Dean.

“You did great, so great doll” he murmurs his words leaning down kissing your cheek and wiping your eyes leaving you sitting on your dressing room counter all splayed and ruined with cum coating your skin and runny mascara flowing down your cheeks as you watch Dean remove his hands off you and start fixing up his pants, wiping his cock off before putting it back inside his own boxers.

“I’m sorry I have to run honey, I need to straighten things out and I have an appointment with the magazine executives for your next shoot” with one last kiss on your cheek and an infatuatedly pleased smile when he looks down and sees your thighs coated in his cum, a small peck is forced on your lips before you watch him leave as he always did once he was finished.

Sitting alone in your dressing room, still up on the counter with the door now shut feeling the sadness wash over you from the after effects of your orgasm leaving your rubbing your eyes having to get up and get cleaned “I have to learn to stop crying, I swear” you whisper aloud to yourself walking around the dressing room just cleaning yourself off with a complementary rag and looking at your disheveled appearance in the mirror making you sight, after all how could you not? This same scene replayed day after day with Dean and you knew it would continue to.

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flowerisevil · 8 months ago

Note

Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen reader where she is Rhaenyra’s sister and daughter of Viserys and Aemma, she is pregnant when they visit King’s Landing and she has the baby so Alicent calls her as she does with Rhaenyra and Gwayne gets furious about it even more when Alicent insinuates that their son is not Targaryen so from then on he is team black.

Devotion

Gwayne Hightower X female reader Targaryen

A/N: I hope its okay that I use an original female character and i don't if i understand your request right but yeah here it is I hope you enjoy. Happy reading mwa!

Disclaimer: grammatical/typographical errors ahead, englisn is not my first language.

Warning: mention of blood, child birth, cursing, and no use of Y/N. Please tell me if I miss anything.

The married couple returned in Kings Landing from Oldtown for the King's funeral, the second born princess Targaryen along side her husband and her growing belly arrived at King's Landing, the princess was expecting to see her elder sister Rhaenyra only to hear that she had already departed with her family to Dragonstone.

"Your sister s-she is rather not very pleased to be here" the Queen explained of her sister's departure with her new husband Daemon.

"How is your pregnancy daughter?" Alicent asked, changing the topic.

The princess rub her belly as she smiled "It is great though a bit struggle happens"

Gwayne her husband held her hand that was caressing her stomach, as he joined their conversation "My wife pregnancy is very delicate, it is her first pregnancy and the maesters said her body needs a lot of rest"

Otto nodded in acknowledgement "I am happy for the both of you, you seem to grow fond of each other"

The couple smiled, they did indeed. "We truly did and Daeron in Oldtown is one of our witnesses" Gwayne chuckles, the poor boy was tired seeing the two couple always on each other like what a newlywed partners would do.

Alicent sighs at the mention of her youngest son "and how is he? Daeron?"

"He is doing good, a boy full of wit, a good sword fighter" the princess explained ".....he is very kind your grace, a soft hearted child, his heart has a space for animals" she added, her youngest half brother was a great boy, far away from them. He is a chivalrous boy.

"I should talk to the both of you outside, may I?" Alicent turned to them, the couple simply nodded as all of them walked outside the chamber.

"I wish for your wife to give birth here in Red Keep" Alicent said, the princess frowned but before she could give reaction her husband spoke first.

"I wish my child to be born in Oldtown, why you must decision for that?"

Alicent looks resigned to her brother's fire backs.

"It is an order from your Queen" was all the Queen say before she entered the room, shutting the door before them.

Gwayne's clenched fist softened as she caress it. "We shall give it to them for now Gwayne, there's nothing we could lose for giving them a small favor"

Gwayne rolled his eyes "Oh please that is my sister, and I am a Hightower I know how one thinks"

Gwayne was never unknown to the small resentment his sister Queen had for his wife, even before Alicent was a young lady she had always envied the younger princess, the princess was smarter, kind, beautiful, she was like a glowing light walking through the halls of the Keep, everyone pleased her, and when she was on the right age for marriage she was married to him, the heir to Oldtown and a knight. She had the life his sister was deprived of.

And he knew Alicent has some plans behind this little show of hers.

And he was not wrong.

His wife give her the favor, she gave birth between the walls of Red Keep, her screams and groaned echoed all over the Keep, they can hear her dragon Silverwing roaring for her rider.

"Lord Gwayne you shall not enter, you should be somewhere else or perhaps on the training grou-" the servants shuts when his collar was tigtly gripped.

His wife birth was no jest, the Maesters had informed them before her birth that her body was weak, and she might be carrying a boy for having such a hard labor.

"Don't you understand my wife's condition? She needs me, let me in" Gwayne scowled but his request was denied as the servants pulled him away from the room.

One of the Maesters came out, his face full of worry "My Lord, the princess"

"How is my wife?"

"The princess...she is trying her best my Lord but I must be honest with you, I have both a good and bad message to deliver" the Maester exhales before he continued. "The good one is that the princess is able to push half of the babe's body"

Gwayne wanted to smile, he will finally have an heir and child that he had hope would taken the look after his beautiful wife but knowing that the news has a bad new to come, he can't help but worry for his princess.

"And what is the other one?"

"The babe was rather in an unfortunate position, in birth the head of the babe should be the first thing to come out but in her condition it is unfortunately the other way around"

"You mean my baby's head is still stuck inside of her?"

The Maester nodded "and it is quite dangerous my Lord, we might lose the babe"

Gwayne nodded but frustration covered his face, what would happen to his wife and child?

"Unless my Lord you wish to cut open the princess to save-" the Maester wasn't able to finish his words as he stumble on the ground from Gwayne's singld punch.

"You will do no such thing, what you will do is save my wife from that horrible state whatever it takes, my wife shall come out of that room fine and alive, you hear me?" He command, his knuckled has some blood stained from punching the man.

The Maester nodded and walked back inside the room, Gwayne sat on the cold floor, they will have to save his wife one way or another.

"Your father wish to see you Ser Gwayne" one of the guard approached him and spoke.

"I do not wish to leave my wif-"

"The Lord Hand wants me to tell you it is urgent" the guard continued, Gwayne groaned out of frustration, slowly standing up and walked to his father's office.

On the other hand the princess was lie down on the bed, blood was everywhere.

"Your grace, another push please you are doing well" one of the midwives encourage. Another scream filled the room, stained tears on her cheeks.

The nursemaid and midwives encourage her more, as she continued pushing out the babe inside her, her situation was hard to watch, as they looked at her filled with concern for the princess, she looked tired and breathless. Some of her handmaidens that was present was tearing seeing their princess crying out from pain.

Another scream filled the room once again.

"It is a boy!" The Maester finally announced. Holding a baby boy on its hands, the room filled with cheer as they ran to the princess, immediately handing her help, some wash their sweat, some clean her up.

She smiled as she saw her son being washed and wrapped, she was still shaking but she insisted to hold her child. A boy...an heir for her husband.

The cheering stop as they all looked at the door opening revealing a concerned servant "M-my princess...the Queen s-she uh"

"What of the Queen? Speak clearly"

"She said that she wish to see her grandchild, and you aswell, she wish for you to deliver her grandchild to her" the servants finished, murmurs, shock gaps and whispers filled the room, looking concerned for the princess.

The princess sigh, so this why she wants her to stay here? To have something to play with?

She stood up, legs shaking, her whole was is shaking rather, the nursemaids guide her to carry her newborn son.

"Princess....you're body is still trembling, you shall not walked around the castle or els-"

"Who are we to deprive the Queen a sight of her grandchild" she smiled weakly, as she embrace her son and start walking through the Halls, her whole full of sweat and blood still dripping on her legs.

The news arrived Gwayne's ear, one of his men bargen inside his father's office sending the news of his wife's succesful delivery, Gwayne stood up and left the room fast, his knight walk fast closely to him.

"But my Lord the princess has already left her delivery room, the servants said she immediately left as soon as she gave birth" his man informed.

Gwayne stopped his footsteps.

"They said her Grace had asked for your wife's immediate presence after her birth"

That mad woman. Gwayne was so done of his sister, she is nothing but a horrible Queen, he let her and their father do whatever they have wanted in this castle, corrupting the King, ruining the life of his wife's older sister but he would not let him take advantage of his wife's kind nature.

Gwayne ran as soon as he saw her walking through the halls, his mouth opened but no words came out as he saw her state. Trembling, body covered of sweats and bloodstains, her dress was not very appropriate to see, and his fist clenched as he saw the path of blood dropping from her legs as she walk. Was this is the sigh his Queen sister wish to see?

She wasn't suppose to even raise a finger after her horrifying birth but now she is walking around carrying their babe. He ran to them and cautiously held her back.

"My wife, where are you going?" He tried to sound calm to not show any hint of frustration and anger on his voice.

"Oh ask your dear sister, my love s-she wish to see our child" her voice was hoarse it sounded to frail almost like a whisper from all the screaming she made.

His jaw clenched, he looked at his men and ordered him to bring a nursemaid as soon as the nurse came he told her to carry their child inside the room.

"Gwayne but the Queen-"

"I would have the talk with her, you shall not worry she will be able to see our child when the right time has come, and that right time is when you finally have a rest and sleep" his voice was soft but full of authority, he slowly lower himself to carry her in bridal style.

His eyes cannot lie and his wife can see it, she see right through him. The anger she can almost see what she is plotting inside his head.

The princess lean on his chest. "Do not let anger took over you Gwayne, talk to her nicely"

Oh he would definitely do have a nice talk with his cunt sister.

"Please Gwayne, I would not wish you to be in trouble"

"She took advantage of you darling, how do you wish me to react when I see you trembling as blood drip from your legs walking through this long fucking halls of castle nothing but fragile? Do you wish for me to celebrate?" Gwayne sarcastically spoke, he hated her wife for being a too much proper but he also loved her the same way.

"I kinda wish you do, I gave you a boy. An heir" she smiled, her eyes sparkles as she look over the maid who was carrying their child, Gwayne smiled looking over the babe.

"I am happy more than happy actually, but I would not want to put you in that situation again"

"It is normal state they said"

"Still I would not want to risk you again, I am happy with you no matter with heir or none but now I have a young version of you, I would have more very reason to go home and wake up everyday"

She was his life, she made him whole, losing her would be a big tragedy to him, the day he vowed to her that he will love her with all he can offer, he did not just love her, he stayed and place his faithfulness to her.

As he slowly placed his wife om their chamber, he send her handmaidens and Maester to look after her, clean her and check if she need something to be mend.

He barged inside the council room knowing they will be their, the members looked at him, Otto spoke first breaking the silence.

"My son, as far as I remember you do not have a seat in this room to attend to"

Gwayne scoffs, as he eyed for his sister. "Is this your plan? Why you wanted my wife to give birth here? To make her suffer?"

"It is the King's dying wish"

"Oh I believe is it? Just like how his dying wish is to fucking crown Aegon as his heir, despite your son being brainless smug"

"To say that such thing to the prince is treason, what is it that makes you so angry Gwayne?" Otto tap his son shoulder but he immediately pull back.

"Your Queen, made my wife walk through the halls right after she gave birth to our child, have I not told you that her pregnancy is risky? Yet you made her walk instead of giving her the time to regain her energy"

Alicent snapped a look at him, the two children of Otto Hightower faced each other. "I wish to not harm her, I simply wish to see her and my grandchil-"

"Is that really it? Or perhaps you are so envious of seeing my wife live the life you wished you had?"

A deafening silence filled them, the members each switch looks between the Queen and Gwayne Hightower.

"You shall not touch my wife anymore and so is our child, we will leave here as soon as she recover" Gwayne discussed. Otto approached his son.

"What about your army? we need them incase Rhaenyra declares war after we declare Aegon as King" Otto explained.

Gwayne chuckles, the audacity of his father to think that he will give him his army.

He did not answer them instead walked out the room, he will make sure what they did to the princess will be delivered to the future Queen Rhaenyra.

She arrived at the chamber, she was welcomed by the sight of his beautiful wife holding their child, he slowly walked to them sitting on the edge of bed beside his wife.

"We will leave here tomorrow, I can and will not go another days with those cunts around you and our son" Gwayne spoke, caressing his wife's silver white hair, he sighed as he continued to reveal another thing.

"They plan to make Aegon King"

The princess turned her face to him, her face was confused hoping she heard him wrong.

"They know Rhaenyra is the heir, the future Queen of the realm our father made it known before he died, he declared her as his heir" she explained, she and Gwayne were both there as she was declared the rightful heir to the throne.

"I know but those two said it was the dying King's wish, I do not believe."

"We shall go to Dragonstone and send words to Rhaenyra..." She trailed, something in her was nervous what if Gwayne would not side with her?

"Yes we must, as soon as possible my love and make it clear to your sister that we bend our knee for her" Gwayne leaned his forehead to hers, his gaze moves to their son.

The boy had her eyes, lilac gaze, he had his nose and lips.

This is all what Gwayne had asked and wished when he married his wife, a whole family but with the upcoming war he knows they will have to be extra careful.

He will bent the knee for Rhaenyra but his wife and son's safety would remain a top of his list.

#hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #daemon targeryan #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne higtower x you #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower

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catastrophicdisasters · 8 months ago

Text

apologies, i'm still angry abt TUA S4

so, if we take out all of the blatant issues with the season (character assassination, 'resolutions' that create more plotholes than they solve, rushed scenes that make no sense, side plots that go nowhere, raymond vanishing for no reason, etc etc), what are we left with? let's see:

fatphobia (multiple jokes made about 'chubby Diego', when David just looks hydrated and healthy)

SA played for jokes (it's clear that Klaus having sex while possessed is supposed to be funny, but he's being held hostage and forced to do this for money, when we already know he didn't even want his powers back??)

cheating

problematic / borderline problematic age gaps (either way you spin it, either Five is physically 20-26 while Lila is likely mid 40s, or Five is mentally 70s while Lila is mid 40s; Aidan was 19 while filming, and Ritu was 34)

waiting for the actor to come of age before introducing a romance (we already know what some fans can be like over Five/Aidan, this will not have helped; I would be horrified if I found out the show runners had planned a romance arc with a coworked 15 years older than me and then waited for me to turn legal age to execute it)

sexism (i was reluctant to call it that but i also don't know what else to call it - Lila basically had her agency stripped away to become the love interest two men fought over; Steve wanted Five to have a romance and didn't care who with - use Lila simply because she was there)

complete disregard of character trauma (Klaus being buried alive despite it having been mentioned in every prior season that he was locked in a mausoleum by Reginald, including literally being left to die)

possible overstepping of an actor's boundaries (i've not been able to verify this, but i've seen it said that robert sheehan has requested not to do sex scenes?) (still havent been able to prove this; wasn't an issue with other roles so... hesitant to leave it)

actors requests being ignored (David asked multiple times if the Lila cheating sideplot was required, but clearly it went ahead anyway)

bad cgi

that awful vomit montage

Reginald (im not quite calling it abuse forgiveness but uh. it's not far off tbh)

i don't even know what to call this, but basically told the Hargreeves the abuse they suffered was their fault because they shouldn't even exist??

what did i miss? (im sure there's something)

from the replies:

the song in the ep3 dance scene uses a slur for romani people (and is also about a man and an underage girl)

SA dismissal (it's literally never addressed that Allison SA'd Luther last season. like, at all. everything's just a-okay now!)

more sexism (Allison's arc was also reduced to serving men; there's a single line to explain that Ray left, with no mention of why (i could go OFF about this but this post isn't supposed to be about mishandling of characters); even after everything, all her bonding with Claire comes through Klaus's storyline. also, Sloane is just gone and nobody gives a shit - Luther has one line and that's it??)

so many issues with consent (all of the girls shown in the place Klaus works look drugged / Klaus doesn't want to be there and doing any of that, it's all against his wishes / they all get their powers back against their wishes - although they do tell Ben that wasn't his choice to make / Klaus gets his powers back against his will when Allison is pressured to do it to save his life)

#the umbrella academy #tua s4 #tua spoilers #tua s4 spoilers #umbrella academy spoilers

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slowburningechoes · 2 months ago

Text

on my mind

Ah!! Here it is, I hope you all love it. Pls keep in mind an exhausted doctoral student wrote this with little reviews/edits hehe

Summary: After months of secretly pining over Wilson, you find something suggesting he might feel the same way. Despite it all, curiosity gets the best of you and what you get is far beyond anything you ever fantasized about.

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: very self-indulgent smut, 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) / brief mention of past infidelity, mutual pining, sexual fantasization, slight age gap, fingering, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, office sex, desk sex, threat of exhibition, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), body worship, breeding, soul connection, porn WITH plot and feelings

Word Count: 7.8k

here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred site

Wilson didn’t have the best romantic track record when you reflected on it, standing outside his office, debating whether or not to knock.

That was what Cameron had told you on the first day consulting the team as a new psychologist at PPTH, when she caught you trying not to stare.

You had been so engaged in observing how the diagnostic team battled through a differential before he arrived. The quick exchange of wits and sly remarks was so enthralling, you couldn’t look away. Until something else distracted you…

The door swung open, and in walked a man who carried himself with an effortless kind of charm. His brown hair appeared perfectly tousled, but still neat enough to be professional, like he had absentmindedly run a hand through it just before coming in. His white coat, crisp and clean, hung open just enough to reveal a comfortably fitting dress shirt and a tie that was loosened ever-so-slightly.

As he stepped into the conference room, he seemed to be already three steps ahead in the conversation he was about to join — like this heated exchange was something he’d been witnessing for years. He paused, silently observing Foreman and House trade intellectually sarcastic banter. As the exchange died down, his eyes met yours. His sharp features softened as he looked at you with curiosity, the hint of a dimple appearing as his lips curved into a playful smirk.

“You know, House, I’m impressed,” he joked, tapping House’s cane with his foot. “It only took you this long to admit you need some serious psychological help.”

His warm brown eyes flicked back to you, winking, amusement lingering just beneath the surface.

A scoff escaped House, followed by a characteristic retort, “I’m not admitting anything, Wilson. Besides, I wouldn’t want you getting jealous watching someone else take the job you volunteered for all these years.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite knowing so little about their dynamic. Apparently, you were not alone in this reaction, as the rest of the team seemed to find House’s response amusing, likely because it was true.

“James Wilson, Head of Oncology,” he said, rolling his eyes at House’s comment. “You must be Dr. Y/L/N. I’ve heard good things from your new colleagues.”

His hand extended towards you welcomingly. Despite a flutter of nerves beneath the surface, you shook it, hoping your feigned confidence wasn’t too obvious.

“Y/N’s fine,” you responded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dr. Y/L/N has always felt a bit too formal for me.” Your gaze held his for a brief moment, feeling the subtle weight of the connection. A soft gasp escaped your lips, despite trying so desperately to keep it in.

“Y/N,” Wilson repeated softly with a smug smile.

He held your hand just a moment longer than necessary. When he finally released it, the hold he had on you remained. There was something magnetic about him, making it impossible to draw your gaze away as he repositioned himself against the wall. You blinked a few times to ground yourself, quickly glancing down at the file in your hand before instinctively looking up at him again. His eyes caught yours and his smirk deepened ever so slightly, as if he’d caught you giving away exactly what you hadn’t meant to. He appeared to take quiet pleasure in the fact that, for just a moment, you were completely distracted by him… but you were certain that was just wishful thinking getting the best of you.

It was then that Cameron leaned towards you, voice in a low whisper, “Careful with that look — you don’t want to end up in the ex wives club.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not only at the fact that he was divorced but that it seemed to be more than once.

Cameron nodded matter-of-factly, subtly mouthing the word “three” as she held up the same number of fingers under the table before gathering her things to head to the patient’s room.

While you felt the warning in her comment, it didn’t deter you much over the coming months. After all, it was highly unlikely that Wilson would even share your feelings. Despite this, there was something magnetic about his presence, and you often found yourself running into him, both accidentally and — more than you would like to admit — on purpose.

You had bought each other lunch in the cafeteria on a few occasions and took time to chat at least every couple of days. Even when you didn’t run into each other for a few days, both of you exchanged small reminders. One time, when you spent all day managing a patient in psychosis from the emergency department, he left a sticky note on your desk that read, "Missed you at lunch. Hope your patient is doing as well as possible. Also, House is being insufferable — rescue me soon?" A few days after that, after Wilson had an emotionally exhausting morning with some of his late stage patients, you had appeared at his office door with a cup of coffee exactly how he liked it (sickeningly sweet), offering no explanation other than a casual, "Figured you could use a pick-me-up." These exchanges became regular but still made your day every time.

There were quieter moments too, ones that lingered in your mind long after they happened. A late-night conversation in the breakroom when both of you had been too exhausted to keep up pretenses, speaking in hushed voices over lukewarm chamomile tea. A touch that lasted a fraction longer than necessary when he passed you a patient folder for a consultation he requested. Playful glances exchanged across the hallway after House made some inappropriate joke at his expense. Small pick-me-ups scratched onto sticky notes and left on desks or forgotten items.

But today, something a bit different occurred. By the time you finally got back to your office late in the day, you found a vanilla bean scone from the café waiting for you on your desk, a thoughtful surprise he had left earlier that morning. It was nothing out of the ordinary until you saw, across the brown paper, scribbled in pen, a note that read: Saw this and thought of you. Can’t seem to stop doing that lately. Come by my office soon?

At first, you thought he was just being normal Wilson — friendly, with the touch of flirtatious he has with everyone. That was until you read it a few more times and those moments over the past few weeks replayed in your mind over and over. You had been thinking of him incessantly from the moment you first saw him, but always tried to keep it professional. His note to come by sounded charged in your mind, more suggestive than any of your previous conversations. You contemplated his intentions for longer than you would like to admit, but figured you would never truly know unless you asked.

Which is exactly how you ended up here, in front of his office, two cups of coffee in hand, torn between knocking and shamefully walking back to your office. The hum of the hospital growing quiet as the typical business day came to a close.

There was no way he was serious… was he? It was probably just some stupid bet he had made with House. God, that would be embarrassing. Maybe you should just leave the coffee and accept that your relationship would only ever be a friendship. When all those inner arguments (and more) failed to motivate you to turn and head to your office, you thought back to that conversation with Cameron. Even if he was serious, it was unlikely to last. You didn’t want to end up hurt like so many times before… but you were interested to see where this went.

Curiosity is what did you in… so, you knocked. So, what if it’s what killed the cat? “Come in!” his voice called, slightly muffled from the other side.

You hesitantly step inside, jumping a bit as you hear the door click behind you. You had barely stepped into his office before Wilson glanced up from his desk, his expression shifting from slightly stressed to pleased when he saw it was you.

“And here I thought my afternoon was going to be boring,” he said, standing to meet you by the door.

You lift the coffee cup slightly, before handing it to him, “Just returning the favor.”

He raised his brow in curiosity, leaning back to rest against his desk. “Oh, is that all?”

His feigned disappointment was laced with more flirtation than you had noticed before.

You shook your head silently, glancing down at the floor as you felt an embarrassed blush spread across your cheeks.

“Your note,” you say, barely above a whisper, “...intrigued me.”

That got his attention, pausing from taking a sip of the beverage you brought.

“Oh?” His smirk turned curious as he scanned you up and down. “How so?”

You hesitated, but only for a second, “You’ve really been thinking about me?”

You brought your eyes to meet his as you finished your question, masking your nerves by tightening your fingers around your cup of coffee. When your eyes met him, the look on Wilson’s face was a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

“Well, that depends,” Wilson responds, sitting the cup down and crossing his arms across his chest. “Would saying yes make me seem endearing… or deeply concerning?”

You tilt your head, feigning consideration as you build your confidence. “Hmmm… that depends on just how much you’ve been thinking about me.”

A moment of silence passed as Wilson pondered his answer, breaking it with deep breath and a step towards you.

His grin deepened, and he leaned a little closer, admitting. “More than I should, really.”

Your stomach fluttered. You hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily, so effortlessly… or even at all. The part of you that wondered if the note had been some bet was fading, but you couldn’t help expressing your doubt even as your heart pounded into your throat.

“You’re not just… messing with me, right? This isn’t some House-ordained social experiment, is it?” Your voice was softer than you had desired, hesitation dominating your tone. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but you knew better than to take things at face value when House might be involved.

Wilson studied you for a long moment, his expression nearly unreadable, except for the flicker of something undeniably heated in his eyes.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is noticeably lower than before, still smooth and warm. “No, no… this isn’t some bet. If House was putting me up to this, don’t you think it would’ve been months ago?”

He did have a point.

Wilson tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he watched you consider his argument. Then, he slowly brushed his fingertips against the edge of the desk he rested upon, fingers tapping twice, as if considering his next words carefully. Or maybe he was just giving you time to process the shift in the air between you, which had become quickly thick and charged.

"Though if it was, I would’ve lost already," he stated matter-of-factly, bringing himself to stand up right, taking a step towards you. “Because this is painfully real for me.” His gaze flickered over your face, lingering for just a beat too long at your lips before returning to your eyes.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. "What is, exactly?"

Wilson exhaled a quiet chuckle, the sound richer, deeper than his usual easy amusement, “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, any idea of what he meant absent from your mind.

"The way I catch myself looking for you even when I know you’re not there.” Wilson’s breath came slow and measured, but you could feel the tension humming beneath it, the weight of his restraint barely holding. “The way I think about you when I know I shouldn’t.”

Wilson stepped even closer, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he thought silently. Your breath caught as you shamelessly notice the veins in his arm becoming more pronounced, the subtle flex of his hand accentuating the tension coiling beneath his skin.

"I tell myself to stop," Wilson admitted, his tone almost confessional. "That it’s unprofessional, that I should focus on work... But then you walk into the room or I hear your voice, and suddenly, I don’t care about anything else."

“Wh-what do you think of?” You asked breathlessly, looking back into his eyes.

He didn’t respond at first, a conflicted look replaced his previous vulnerability. Wilson took the coffee from your grip, gently placing it on the desk next to his before stepping back towards you. He appeared deep in thought, the crease between his brows deepening as they furrowed and he brought his hand to briefly cover his mouth. His warm brown eyes flickered over your face, searching, as if debating how much he should give away.

Then after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, slowly and steadily, “It was small things at first. How the first day we met, your quiet laugh was so genuine and radiant.” Wilson cautiously raised his hand to barely brush fingers through the hair that hugs your cheeks. “Or how you sucked in a little breath when I said your name for the first time…”

You dart your eyes away from him, feeling simultaneous embarrassment and surprise. “I, oh — that wasn’t subtle was it?”

He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, a knowing smirk appearing across his lips.

“Not at all,” Wilson teased, bringing his fingertips to caress your neck. “Should I keep going?”

You nod quickly, likely a bit too enthusiastic. His arms came up by your ears to brace the door behind you, making your heart thud in your chest even harder.

A low hum came from his throat before continuing, “Then I started to notice how your perfume would linger after you left me.” He held still for a moment, stiff with restraint. “It’s so intoxicating… I swear it follows me all day.”

As Wilson finished his sentence, his face buried into your hair and one of his hands dropped to grip your hip. Your breath hitched at his touch as his breath warmed you, shifting from beside your ear to the curve of your neck.

“J-James,” you gasped, a near moan as his breath tickled against your skin, lips so close to touching flesh.

“I’ve tried not to think about all of it, Y/N,” he whispered deeply, barely audible. “I promise, I really have.”

The hold he had upon your hips moved to nest in the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve tried to distance myself, stay professional,” Wilson explained with a tone of desperation, bringing his eyes back to meet yours. “But then I’d always end up coming back… asking you to lunch or finding something, anything, that I could use to get a consultation from you.”

“So, what you're saying is... you’ve been using work to get closer to me?” You let a playful smile slip through, despite your nerves standing on end.

Wilson’s gaze softened, sincerity behind his eyes. “Is that so bad?” His voice was low, almost questioning. “Because, honestly… I couldn’t help myself. Every excuse I found — every consultation or referral or accidental cafeteria meet up — was just an excuse to see you. To be close to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The air around you seemed to thicken with the confession, and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his words pressing against you. His honesty disarmed you, and you found yourself drawn in closer, despite the unspoken tension.

“And you know what?” Wilson asked, his hand in the small of your back spreading open to feel you even closer. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

“I —,” you breathe, a chill crawling up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Of course you did.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Wilson said with a bit of bite in his tone.

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, tilting your chin just enough to where you could not avoid his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was softer now, rich with quiet amusement. “The way you look at me when you think I won’t catch you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Wilson only hummed, bringing his thumb to press against your bottom lip.

“Or how you always seem to find a reason to stay just a little longer when we talk,” he continued, his face looming closer to yours. “Like you don’t really want to leave.”

You never realized he had been paying attention to any of that, or really that you had acted on your internal feelings so obviously.

Wilson’s fingers pressed just a little firmer into your waist, bringing your body flush against you. His body was soft and warm against yours.

You swallowed hard, words unsaid stuck tied in your throat. There was no escape from the truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be spoken. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself, gripping just enough to steady yourself.

“I do,” you admitted, voice hushed. “I - I think about you… all of the time.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. Relief washes over him, relaxing the tension in his shoulder and softening his facial expressions. however, the look of desire in his eyes did not fade.

“I thought so,” he murmured, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt. Instead, he sounded almost relieved. “And how do you think about me?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question settle between you. It was so very “Wilson” — turning your own question back to you.

Your fingers stroked against his tie as you thought, evading his gaze. “The same as you — I think about you when I shouldn’t be,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m supposed to be working. I think of you whenever something good happens… or something bad, and I need to tell someone. When I see something and I wish you were there to see it too.” You bite your bottom lip, pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin. Then, you barely mumble, “And — I think about you when I’m alone at night...”

Though your voice trails off at the end, Wilson’s body language shows that he heard exactly what you said. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his grip at your waist tightening for just a moment, relaxing again as he exhaled slowly. As he opened his eyes, they were darker, his pupils blown with an unspoken hunger, yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

The weight of your quiet confession hung between you, making the whole room charged. For once, he didn’t have a quick-witted remark, no teasing quip to defuse the moment. Instead, he reached up, his knuckles brushing along your cheek, his touch achingly gentle.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered. There was no real warning in his tone, but rather a slight hint of desperation.

You tilted your head into his touch. “Why not?”

His gaze flickered down to your mouth, lingering there for just a second too long before he looked back into your eyes. “Because,” he said, pausing momentarily, his face riddled with confliction, “...it makes it very, very hard to resist you.”

A rush of heat engulfs every inch of your body, making it nearly impossible to think. Before you can, your fingers dance across the fabric of his tie.

“Then don’t,” you respond quietly, the last bit of uncertainty melting away as the words escape your lips.

He didn’t move, which you had somewhat expected him to. You could feel the weight of his restraint, so tense it could snap at any moment. His jaw was clenched, as though he was just barely holding it together.

You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him to crumble — you needed him to.

With a sharp breath, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie. You thought for only a split second before pulling him down to you with a sudden, desperate urgency that surprised both of you. Before could even think to hesitate, your lips, finally, crashed into his.

The moment your lips met, it was as if a dam had broken inside him. You felt the weight of everything Wilson had been holding back in that kiss — the hunger, the frustration, the overwhelming need. His hand that cupped your lower back pulled you in tighter, while the other cupped your cheek, ensuring you couldn’t break away from his kiss. Wilson’s lips were so soft yet demanding, the hint of sweet coffee on his tongue as he coaxed you open, exploring you with a raw intensity. His breath was hot against your mouth between kisses. A low, needy groan came from him as he deepened your embrace, motivating your entire body to react, heat pooling in familiar, secret places.

The rhythm of the kiss became frantic, desperate, each movement clumsy and raw, breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You could feel the loss of control in every touch, every trembling sigh that escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer with need. He obliged, his fingers tracing feverishly from your back to your waist, skimming upward to your ribcage, then to the curve of your breast, each touch sending jolts of heat through your body.

Then, Wilson’s lips reluctantly left yours, only to trace the line of your jaw with messy kisses, his breath erratic. “Y/N,” he said between kisses, nearly begging. “I can’t… you have to tell me to stop.”

You shook your head, against his request. “Not a chance, James,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. The next words felt like they were ripped from your soul, a silent plea to let go, to fully give in to what had been brewing for months before. “Don't stop. Please – don’t stop.”

Wilson’s lips found yours again, rougher this time, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Wilson pushed you further against the wall, lifting you up just slightly so his hips aligned with yours.

There was an undeniable ache between your legs, where the heat had gathered earlier, beginning to throb and grow slick with need. Your desire for friction was so overwhelming, you hadn’t even noticed your hips rolling into his with desperation until Wilson groaned, low and guttural, separating your kiss once more.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asked, his words soft and just centimeters away from your lips.

“I’m sure,” You nod with reassurance. “Because this,” you whisper against his cheek, the heat of your breath brushing against his ear, “is just the beginning of what I think about when I’m alone.” The words were more than a confession, but also a promise and a challenge all at once.

“Christ, are you trying to kill me?” Wilson muttered, words laden with shock.

He dipped his head lower, pressing open-mouth kisses from your lips down the nape of your neck and onto your collarbone. His hands began to explore further, tugging your blouse from its tucked position, slipping his finger beneath the fabric. The built up tension made his touch sting, sending a shiver down your spine and the heat beneath your legs becoming practically unbearable.

“Please, James,” you whimper, a handful of his hair and the other dipping down, applying friction in an attempt to relieve your need.

He drew back, studying the quiet plea upon your face and your hand trembling against your still-clothed center, attempting to find satisfaction as you rocked your hips. You could only imagine how pitiful you looked, but it was entirely overwhelming for Wilson. His breath caught in his throat and he fell to his knees, lips parted with desire and his brown doe eyes looking up, with an expression that was almost fawning.

Wilson reached behind you to find the handle of his office door, which he clicked into the lock position. Still on his knees, he watched you silently for a few more seconds, admiring the look upon your face. Your brows furrowed in desperation, soft grunts escaping your lips, as you unsuccessfully searched for your release. He stared up at you, soaking it all in.

Then, suddenly, both his hands gripped the fabric on the outer sides of your thighs, shifting your skirt upwards to your waist and revealing your shamelessly soaked panties. The sudden rush of air hitting your sex made you gasp, chills climbing up your stomach and hardening your nipples.

Before you could fully process the atmosphere overwhelming your senses, Wilson brought his pointer finger to slowly glide over the damp spot of your underwear, running perfectly between your covered folds. As he reached your clit, your breath hitched, prompting a teasing smirk to grow across his cheeks.

“Now,” he sighed, still basking in the sight. “I’m going to show you what I’ve thought about doing to you,” he paused, placing a gentle kiss against your mound, before continuing slowly, “…Every. Single. Time. You wear a skirt like this.”

A moan escapes you as his fingers hook on either side of your underwear, pulling them down to expose you entirely. Instinctively, you kick them off your ankles.

“God, you’re so…,” Wilson places careless kisses against your thighs, admiring your bare pussy before him, “so perfect.”

You look down at him, reveling at the sight of your pussy on full display. Just as you wrap your fingers in his hair, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against your clit, bracing your back with one hand, and spreading your thighs open with the other. Your legs go weak as his tongue darts out and begins lapping at you relentlessly. The mix of his soft lips intermittently sucking your clit and the deep pressure of his fingers digging into your flesh, is so consuming that you absentmindedly tighten your grip on Wilson’s hair. You begin pushing and pulling him while bucking your hips into his mouth, fighting desperately to reach your climax.

He can sense your need, which is reflected as his tongue begins to flick more methodically against your clit in addition to providing suction. His dominant hand joins his mouth, one finger massaging your entrance before slipping between your folds. Your body responds almost immediately, becoming even more aroused as he introduces a second finger, pumping you with a complementary rhythm to the one he is devouring you with.

The sensation is so overwhelming that there are tears in your eyes, and cry-like whimpers escape softly from your mouth. “P-please, I’m so close.”

He maintains his pace, but curls his fingers just enough to find the exact spot where you needed stimulation most. Looking down at him, seeing his mouth full of you and his pupils blown wide with desire is too much to handle. His lips provide deep suction against your swollen clit and the tension burning in your stomach releases. You are overcome with pleasure as you ride out your orgasm on Wilson’s face, his fingers and tongue still putting in work to ensure he can lap up every last drop.

When you were finally able to catch your breath, your legs were impossibly weak. You steadied yourself against Wilson’s body as he rose to his feet, a look of teasing satisfaction on his face.

“You taste so sweet," he hummed, his voice low and lustful. He pulled you flush against him, the heat between you both rising with every second. As his tongue flicked against yours, you could taste yourself mixed with him, the fire inside you burning brighter with every passing second. He groaned softly as you deepened the kiss as if he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You pulled back, barely able to catch your breath, lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss. "You know, I did expect you to be a giver," you teased, running your tongue over your lips. "But that… that was better than anything I ever imagined."

“That’s because I’ve been obsessed with the idea of what you’d taste like…,” he breathed, his words thick with need, “And the scent of you… God - I’ve been dreaming about it, craving it, for months now.” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, the raw honesty in his admission pushing you to pull him down by his tie, lips crashing together again in a messy, heated kiss.

You broke away after a few moments, breathing heavily, a smile curling on your lips as you slowly pulled his tie loose. “Well, since one of your fantasies has been fulfilled," you sighed, tone heavy with teasing lust, “it’s only fair that one of mine gets to be, too. Don’t you think?”

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. There were so many thoughts that had run through your mind — so many fantasies you’d envisioned over and over again, but there was one that had played over and over in your mind far more than the rest.

For a moment, he was mute with anticipation, admiring how your fingers began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. By the time words finally break from his throat, one of your hands is caressing down his chest, the other grazing along the waistline of his pants.

“I’ll give you anything, whatever you want.” He assures, reaching to cup your cheek. Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, but his voice cracks as he pleads in a near whisper, “Just tell me — but don’t stop touching me, please.”

His plea is so raw, so desperate, it makes your heart race, your pulse quickening in response. You can feel the weight of his need, how much he’s willing to surrender, and it sends a wave of satisfaction through you. You can’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment hearing the vulnerability and desperation in his voice.

You let your fingers trail over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. A slow, teasing smirk grows across your face as you lock eyes with him. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, you know.”

His breath catches, his pupils dilating as his gaze flickers to your lips. The heat between you both is undeniable, and the anticipation thickens.

“Tell me... tell me what you’ve been thinking,” he mutters with desperation.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, your words a slow, tantalizing whisper, “I’ve been imagining you… having your way with me, right here on your office desk.”

The words hang in the air and you watch as his body reacts, muscles tightening and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.

"I’ve imagined you pushing me onto this desk, your hands all over me, taking control, claiming me,” you hum, bringing your hand to brush against the bulge in his pants. “No hesitation. Just you, making me lose myself in you."

A deep groan escapes his lips, your words and touch unraveling him. Wilson’s eyes squeeze shut as he tilts his head back as if he’s struggling to regain some sense of control. Then, without warning, his lips crash against yours. His kiss is frantic, starved for you. His hands grip you, sliding up your back, threading through your hair, pressing you so close it’s like he wants you under his skin.

"You have no idea," he moans between kisses, breath hot and uneven, "how many times I’ve wanted this, too. How many times I’ve thought about throwing everything off this desk and putting you right where you belong — right under me.”

The words send chills down your spine, desire coiling tight in your stomach. His hands are already moving, feverish and impatient, pushing under your clothes, dragging his fingertips over every sliver of bare skin he can reach. You gasp into his mouth as his grip tightens around your waist.

Then, in one swift motion, Wilson’s hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. The sound of scattered papers and objects hitting the floor barely registers before he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, feverish and insatiable, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, teasing, like he’s trying to devour every gasp, every moan.

His hands roam with an urgency that borders on worship — gripping, kneading, learning every inch of you that he’s been deprived of for far too long. Then, with a low, needy groan, his fingers find the hem of your blouse, tugging it up, over your torso, leaving your top nearly bare before him. The fabric is barely gone before his lips descend, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. A sharp gasp comes from your throat as chills scatter across the tops of your breasts, your skin prickling at the contrast of the cool air and the heat of his breath.

Wilson takes a slow, deliberate step back, his gaze raking over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the sight before him. His chest rises and falls, his lips still parted from your last kiss. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, his fingers move to his belt. The slow slide of leather through the loops is deliberate. His knuckles graze his waistband as he pulls the belt free, the flex of muscle beneath his sleeves hinting at the tension coiling just beneath his skin.

As Wilson tosses his belt to the ground, the air feels thicker, heavier, expectation crackling between you, leaving you breathless with want. You have truly never felt this aroused in your life, your heart rate quickening, muscles tense, and every sensitive part of you swollen with desire. You never expected that you would ever really be laying on top of Wilson’s desk, watching him undress and waiting for him to take advantage of your body — let alone that he had thought about it, too.

As he moves back towards you, slacks now undone, you can’t help but notice the outline of his prominent erection straining beneath his boxer briefs. You reach out to touch him, but he meets you first — his hands slipping under your skirt, fingers digging into your skin before drawing the fabric down your legs. As the garment falls to the ground, Wilson kisses up your legs and to your torso, caressing every part he does not touch with his lips with his fingertips. Eventually, he meets your breasts, still guarded by your bra, placing kisses along the valley between them. He then cups both of them with his hands before sliding behind you to unhook the final bit of clothing that was keeping you from being completely nude before him.

As Wilson pulled the thin barrier of fabric from your body, his warm hand replaced the supportive cups that protected your tender breasts. His eyes linger on your chest, admiring as it rises and falls, thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples. Your breath seizes in your throat as he takes one into his mouth, suction pulling between gentle flicks of his tongue.

As much pleasure as you feel in this moment, you can’t help but remember Wilson’s bulge, hard and twitching just underneath a layer of cloth. You sit forward, propping yourself up on your forearms, prompting a perplexed look from Wilson who was reluctantly releasing his mouth from your breast.

“Everything okay?” he inquires, catching his breath.

You do not answer him with words, instead you lean forward and bring your palm to press softly against his bulge. Wilson’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted in a struggle between ache and pleasure as a grunt escaped him. He was full and swollen as you gripped him firmly through his briefs, precum staining the fabric darker.

You kiss his chest softly as you sneak your hand beneath his waistband. His flesh was hot as your fingers danced across his erection, which jerked in response. You wrap your hand around him, savoring how strained and tense his thick cock feels, before bringing your thumb to glide down the slit.

“I need to feel you inside of me,” you insist with a begging tone, eyes fluttering up at him with need.

Before any words come from his lips, his dick is already out and Wilson is stroking it with painfully slow, drawn-out motions. The head of his cock is swollen and flushed and a prominent vein on the underside is near-throbbing with with every motion.

“God, yes,” he groaned in agreement with your request, before pulling you down closer to the edge of the desk. “Spread yourself open for me, beautiful.”

Without taking time to think, you separate your legs, bringing your fingers down to glide through your slickness. Wilson revels in the sight, but still moves towards you — his earlier restraint melted away entirely. Placing one hand on your thigh, he uses the other to guide his cock to massage between your labia, tip grazing against your clit, sending shock-like waves of pleasure through you. He stays there for a moment, gliding himself through your folds, properly preparing both of you before lining up with your entrance.

You lock eyes, both of your faces twisted with anticipation and desperation, as he begins to sink into you with a pace so slow and deliberate it is nearly excruciating. At the same time, you were grateful for this patient approach, as the thickness of his cock stretches you out, creating the perfect mix of pain and pleasure across every inch of your body.

“Y/N,” Wilson cries in a hushed whisper, nearly half-way inside of you. “Y-you’re so tight a-and warm… damn.”

You moan in satisfaction at his words, hands searching for something to hold onto as you unravel beneath him. Seeing your fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, Wilson reaches one hand down to intertwine with yours. There is something intimate and touching about how he holds your hand as he presses deeper into you, true care mixing into this moment of raw lust.

As he bottoms out, feeling the base of his dick against your pussy, your free hand clings to his back, fingernails digging into the skin beneath his shoulder blades. Wilson fills you perfectly, stretching you just enough to still surround him like a sheath. You have never felt this full before, which makes you even more aroused, bucking your hips to grind your clit against his groin. It must look utterly pitiful, but you can’t help but search for friction.

“Fuck, you’re stretching me out so good,” you whine, pitch higher than before and laced with pleasure.

Looking up for reassurance, you see Wilson’s face is blown with pleasure, slack-jawed and brows knit together, pupils blown. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, slowly pushing the first full thrust into you.

It doesn’t take long for him to build up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, despite your walls attempting to cling to him with every entrance and exit.

Despite the pace being steady and his strokes being deep enough you feel them in your stomach, there is something so soft in the way Wilson fucks you — more as if it wasn’t fucking at all, but more like making love. His eyes look over you with admiration, like he’s soaking in every motion of your body, and the hand not holding yours roams freely across your skin, frequently nestling fingers against your aching clit. When a cry escapes you as he begins rubbing it in figure eights, he presses a kiss to your lips — not only to muffle the sound but as an indication that he loves to make you feel this way.

He whispers against your lips as he breaks the kiss. “You feel amazing, better than anything I ever dreamed…” You feel him trembling with overwhelm as he continues breathlessly. “I-I’ve never felt — fuck — any pussy as perfect as yours.”

“James,” you gasp, feeling his dick hit against the most sensitive area inside you. “Please, keep going… r-right there.”

Wilson nods eagerly, in surrendering agreement, “Anything you want, my love. I’ll do anything for you.”

He keeps true to his promise, continuing the same pressure and angle of his thrusts until you’re completely undone beneath him — vision blurry and every inch of your body nearly numb with pleasure. The only thing keeping you grounded is your back against wood and his hand still holding yours.

You can barely form thoughts, let alone words when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on them needily and grunting enough that low vibrations hum against your chest. Every inch of you was buzzing with pleasure, but you felt the familiar pressure grow deep within you.

“I - I’m going to cum,” you manage to say, looking down at him with pleading eyes.

Wilson releases his latch from your breast, barely taking time to catch his breath when he provides a pressured reply, “Please, please cum on my cock. Shit — I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

His permission is all you need to let go as he keeps up his pace, working your clit relentlessly with his free hand. Your eyes roll back into your head as the sensation of heat rushes across your trembling thighs, walls clenching around Wilson’s thick cock as you cum. The pressure slowly lessens and your clit is throbbing from overstimulation when you come back to reality, your mind still foggy in bliss.

“That was so fucking hot,” Wilson whines, face scrunched with the sweet agony of pleasure. You can tell he’s close, before he even tells you, through strained breaths. “Y/N — tell me where I can cum. I’m so close, please.”

“Cum in me,” you beg, consumed with feverish need. “I’m on the pill. Baby, please — fucking fill me with your cum.”

A guttural groan leaves Wilson’s lips as he hears your request, his dick twitching inside of you. “Christ — yes. I was hoping you’d say that.”

With a few more strokes, you feel him become rigid inside of you and his breath hitches in his throat as he releases inside of you. The warmth of his cum coating your walls sends a rush of bliss throughout your body, a soft yet satisfied smile growing across your face.

You both try to catch your breath as you come down from your shared high, soaking in the last seconds of being physically one. As Wilson’s tense body relaxes, he nearly collapses on top of you, bare chests still heaving and sweat-laden pressed against one another. You’re both exhausted, yet idyllically happy. You run your fingers through his now-damp hair as his breath slowly returns to a normal pattern.

The quiet hum of the room settles around you and the faint rustle of fabric begins to fill the air. You both begin to dress, but the heat between you lingers, tangible and unspoken. As you pull your skirt up over your hips, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, you instinctively glance at him. His eyes are fixed on you, intense, almost reverent, as if he wanted every moment, every movement, etched into his mind. The tenderness in his stare is enough to make your heart race like he's memorizing every inch of you, this closeness, this shared silence.

You gather your hair, pulling it into a ponytail, a vain attempt to fix the mess it’s become. As your fingers complete the final loop, Wilson steps towards you, cupping your face with his hands and bringing you in for a tender kiss. His thumb traces your cheek with a tenderness so light, it feels almost like a whisper. Your fingers weave through his hair, drawing him closer, as if you’re aching to be closer, wanting to melt into him, as if he hadn’t just been inside you. The moment is quiet and brief — but feels like an eternity. You both linger in it, savoring the silence that speaks volumes.

As the kiss ends, the absence of his lips on yours leaves a hollow ache, but it is almost immediately remedied when he speaks. “Come home with me?” Wilson asks, his voice wrapped in a quiet, inviting warmth.

His eyes search yours, steady and sincere, yet there’s something more behind it, something vulnerable like he’s offering you a piece of himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long... wanted you,” he says in a near-whisper, his tone thick with emotion. “Now that I’ve had you... I can’t stand the thought of letting you go.”

The sensitivity in his voice makes your heart race, his words carrying all the unspoken hopes you’ve both held onto these past few months. You let the moment stretch between you, just enough to collect yourself, but not long enough to let the fear of doubt slip into his mind.

“Of course, I’ll come with you,” you respond quietly, your voice filled with affection as you press a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “I don’t want to be anywhere but with you. We’ve both waited long enough for this, haven’t we?”

A soft, almost disbelieving smile appears on his face, as he threads his fingers gently around yours. “I’m so glad you said that,” he sighs in relief, his voice thick with sincerity.

“I’m yours, James,” you assure him, squeezing his hand in return. "I have been for a long time.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmurs in a pleased tone, a look of admiration beaming down at you.

“I think you’ve shown me that tonight,” you reply with a slight tease. The months of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, all seem to settle into this one moment—solid, certain, and undeniably real. “Take me home?”

His smile deepens, tender and unguarded as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, opening his office door.

The silence as you walk hand-in-hand down the hall is no longer heavy with anticipation but is instead filled with something quieter, more certain. Peaceful.

Outside, the cool night air hits your skin, stinging as it contrasts your flushed cheeks. Wilson pulls you close as you walk, his thumb tracing soft circles against the back of your hand. Neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of contentment and understanding. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against yours, a language all its own.

When you reach his car, he pauses, turning to face you as if needing to see you clearly beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. His gaze lingers on your face, soft and searching, before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips, sealing some still-unspoken promise.

“Home,” he whispers breathlessly, the single word carrying more weight than it should. As you settle into the passenger seat beside him, heart thrumming in your chest, you know, deep within you, that you’re finally right where you’re meant to be.

#james wilson #house md #james wilson smut #james wilson x reader #house md fanfiction #house md fandom #james wilson fanfiction #dr wilson #gregory house #house fanfiction #house fandom #x reader #smut #malpractice md #dr james wilson

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fadedncity · 6 months ago

Text

(blood)thirst

wc: 11.2k

pairing: jeno x fem!reader

cw: smut, supernatural!au, lycan!jeno, vampire!reader, natural enemies to lovers, a tad bit of a slowburn (i swear i ain’t mean for it to be this long 😫), injuries, blood, angst, mention of death and family loss, reader is technically older (physically the same age) so..age gap(?), flirting, sexual tension, teasing, pet names, oral sex, multiple orgasms, slight blood play (very minor), unprotected sex, pretty sure that’s it

song inspo: closer by nine inch nails | acquainted by the weeknd

a/n: i’m sorry for the wait, edits took longer than expected but ty for the patience 🙏🏽

TUESDAY [3:31 AM]

Rain pours in sheets, pelting against your skin. Your footsteps are silent as you sprint through the underbrush, hot on the heels of the Lycan ahead of you.

Even with his head start, it took you no time to catch up to him. Your pace matched his as you zeroed in on his steady breathing and rhythmic drum of his footfalls. Lycans are fast, and he hadn't even shifted forms yet. But still, you had no trouble keeping up with him.

All the while you closely trail the Lycan, you're cautious of your surroundings, keeping your ears peeled for any sign of a presence accompanying you both in these woods.

Just as you were about to fall in line with him, an unexpected sound sliced through the night—a whistle, followed by the unmistakable twang of a bowstring.

An arrow whizzed past your head, embedding itself in a tree trunk to your left. Stopping in your tracks, you tilt your head, seeing sparks and smoke emitting from the arrowhead now embedded into the old pine tree. But you aren't given any more time to investigate as you're tackled to the ground by the Lycan.

Before you could push him off, his body shields you from the explosion of blinding light so bright you could've sworn it was day for a split second.

He just saved you.

"Are you okay?" Jeno asks, rain dripping from the ends of his hair as he stands from the dirt.

"Yeah," you nod, hesitantly taking the hand he offers. "Thanks," you say, looking at the tree bark melting off the trunk.

The humans have UV explosives. Great.

Both you and Jeno hear the sound of cars approaching from the nearby road and take off running again. Without a word, you plunge deeper into the forest, your movements synchronized with Jeno's by necessity.

"How did they even find us?" Jeno asks, looking over his shoulder, his voice barely audible over the rain.

"I was just going to ask you the same thing."

The hunters were relentless, their shouts echoing in the distance, along with the pounding of their boots. You moved swiftly, navigating the maze of branches and roots with an ease born from decades of practice. The forest seemed to close in around you, the trees pressing in like silent sentinels bearing witness to your flight.

Then shots start firing off, the sharp cracks of bullets cutting through the air. It sounds like they were coming from every direction, the rain making it harder for both you and Jeno to locate where the hunters are.

A bullet soars past you and stops whistling in your ears when it hits flesh, tearing through skin and muscle. Jeno beside you roars out in pain and begins to slow down as the metallic taste of blood enters the air around you. You shoot him a look of concern over your shoulder.

"I'll be fine," he says. But when you see his hand pressed to his shoulder, blood seeping from an injury that should've already started healing, you know he's far from okay. "We need to get out of these woods," Jeno winces as he applies pressure to the gunshot wound.

"I know a place not too far from here," you tell him.

[6:37 AM]

The moon's silver glow was waning, giving way to the first light of dawn. The storm had passed, leaving the forest dank and muddy. Urgency rose as you were closing in on daybreak. You and Jeno raced through the forest, the scent of his blood and sweat mingling in the damp morning air.

Jeno's breath was labored, each step accompanied by a pained grunt as he pushed himself forward. The wound on his shoulder, though not fatal, was slowing him down.

"The sun's gonna be up soon," Jeno pants, his voice weary.

"I know," you raise your eyes to the sky, "But we're almost there."

As you ascend the mountain, you spot the entrance behind a thick curtain of ivy and moss. The camouflaged door was almost invisible against the rocky face.

The two of you approach the fortified door. But not before you start to feel the uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles all over your body, a warning of the daylight's deadly approach.

The air grows warmer with the first rays of sunlight piercing through the treetops, casting long shadows stretching like skeletal fingers across the ground, leaving you exposed. You scream out in pain just before you can reach the door, feeling the severe burns blistering across your body under the sun's relentless gaze.

Without hesitation, Jeno quickly removes his jacket and throws it around you, shielding you as best as possible from the searing sunlight.

You reach the door with trembling hands and enter the security code to unlock it. You hear the mechanism click and attempt to push the door open, but it remains stubbornly shut. The hinges, unused for so long, now rusted, obstruct your entry.

"It's stuck," panic edges your voice.

Using his good shoulder, Jeno presses his weight into the door, helping you push it open. The thick metal gives way with a heavy creak, welcoming you inside. The moment you both are through, Jeno slams the door shut behind him, enveloping you in the safety of darkness.

The flickering emergency lights cast long shadows across the walls, the only illumination source along the steps down to the bunker. As you descend further down, you can hear the sounds of the forest growing distant, muted, and distorted through the layers of earth and stone.

With the adrenaline from the chase already simmered down, the reality of your situation sets in. Here you are, a vampire, with Jeno, a lycan, forced into hiding together by humans hunting you both. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words only filled by the sounds of Jeno's steps behind you.

Your burns are already beginning to heal now that you're out of the sunlight. The cool, dim interior of the bunker feels like a sanctuary, the pain in your skin subsiding by the time you lead Jeno into a high-ceiling room.

"Thanks, again," you break the silence, returning his jacket. Even in the shadows, you can see Jeno's eyes examining your burns. "I'll heal," you assure him. "You, on the other hand, aren't for some reason."

"I'm fine," Jeno lies.

"You're not. You're still bleeding out. I can smell it."

Jeno stays silent, knowing there's no use in arguing with you.

"I'll go see if I can find the generator and a med kit or something," you say.

The underground facility is large enough to house an entire clan and well-equipped for emergencies—or at least it was once. The thick and impenetrable walls provide a sense of security, but the darkness within is oppressive, the silence deafening.

You move through the narrow corridors, blindly navigating yourself through the place. The emergency lights give off a faint glow, barely enough to see by. The bunker has an air of abandonment from years of sitting unused here. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and dust motes danced in the faint light.

Jeno isn't sure how long you're gone, as all he can focus on is the agonizing pain in his shoulder, further slumping against the wall to support his weight.

The lights finally flicker on, and you return with a med kit in hand, finding Jeno right where you left him. His breathing was shallow, face pale and drawn, sweat glistening on his brow. From where he stands, the light casts deep shadows across his face, highlighting the strain etched into his features.

"Sit," you say, opening the case of medical supplies on the table.

"I can do it myself," Jeno mutters, though his voice lacks conviction as he weakly pushes himself away from the wall.

"You look like you can barely stand on your own. You lose anymore blood and you won't be doing anything yourself anymore," your words are punctuated by the snap of latex gloves you slip on.

Jeno has no energy to protest. He drops his jacket onto a chair and peels off his shirt, sitting on the table before you.

You don't have much time to ogle over the Lycan's chiseled physique as your eyes are drawn to the discolored skin around the bullet's entry point. In all your years of existence, you've seen some pretty bad shit. But even this sight—Jeno's bloodied and seemingly infected shoulder, is enough to make even you wince.

"There's no exit, which is probably why you're not healing. Whatever specialized bullet hit you is still in there," you observe, examining the injury closely.

"Great," Jeno groans, throwing his head back. "Think you can get it out?"

"Sure, but it's not gonna be fun," you tell him.

"Let's just get it over with."

Using saline solution from the kit, you clean enough blood off his shoulder to be able to clearly see the entry point before you grab the forceps and carefully search for the bullet. Jeno clenches his jaw, deeply breathing through his nose with flared nostrils.

"I've almost got it," you tell him. You pick up the pituitary rongeur once you locate the bullet. Jeno grips the table's edge so hard you hear the slightest splintering of wood in his grasp. You pull the bullet out of Jeno's shoulder, his skin sizzling until you've got it out completely.

"Pure silver," you study the small piece of metal, holding it up to the light. "A few more hours and this thing surely would've killed you." You toss the bullet into a stainless steel tray with a clatter.

"Now it's my turn to thank you," Jeno grimaces, holding the piece of gauze against his shoulder as you silently asked. "Would've had second thoughts if I knew getting shot would be like this." he jokes.

"I don't have to tell you silver's poison to you guys but since it was lodged in there pretty good for so long your healing won't immediately kick in. But you should be good in a few hours," You wrap bandages around Jeno's arm, securing it with medical tape.

He gently grabs your hand, getting you to stop working and meet his eyes, "Seriously, thank you," Jeno says.

"You're welcome," you quietly reply, unable to pull yourself away or at least break eye contact.

A shrill sound echoing off the stone walls breaks the fragile truce. You glance at your phone and see Draven's name flashing across the screen.

You put some space between you and Jeno as you step away to answer the call, trying to keep your voice steady. "Draven."

"Are you alright?" Draven's voice is sharp, filled with concern and authority.

"I'm fine. It was the hunters. They knew about the meeting and ambushed us. Only Jeno and I got out." you reply.

"Where are you now?"

"We're at the old Valor safe house."

"We? You're still with the Lycan now?" Draven asks.

"Yes," your eyes flicking over to Jeno, who's having a similar conversation with his father, "I trust him. He saved my life."

"You're mother's daughter you are," Draven mutters on the other line.

"And what about it?" you ask, an undertone of malice in your voice at the mention of your mother. "How the fuck did they find us, Draven?"

"This is no time for that conversation," Draven lowers his voice, "I will say you might be better off where you are right now."

"What happened? Is everyone alright?"

"Seems the humans had planned a coordinated attack. We've been taking in vampires all night from all over the city. People are shaken up, scared, angry," Draven says. "It might take us a while to come out there and get you. Are you sure you'll be okay until then?"

"Haven't really had a chance to settle. Don't know what's left around here, not sure if there'll be much left to find."

"We'll try to get out there as soon as things calm down. It's getting late and after the night we've all had we ought to all get rest. Take care of yourself."

"Take care of yourself too, Draven."

You turn to find Jeno already having ended his call with his father.

"Everything okay?" you ask.

"My father said we should stay put," he says, clenching his phone so tightly in his hand that you worried he might break it.

"Draven said the same thing," you can practically feel Jeno's anger broiling from across the room, "But something else happened?"

"A few members of the pack got attacked last night. They're okay but they barely made it out."

"A few of our nests got raided too."

"And we're just supposed to stay here? They attack us unprovoked and we're just supposed to take it? Do nothing?? How can you be so calm about this right now? I mean aren't you angry?" Jeno asks.

You furrow your brows, "Of course I am. But there's nothing that we can do about it right now. We are miles away from the city, our people, reinforcements. And everything that happened last night was proof enough that we are severely out of league here on our own, okay. And let's also not forget to mention that it is daytime and I quite literally can't do a fucking thing right now," you say, "So we take a minute. We recuperate here. Heal," you nod toward his arm, "Rest," you tiredly sigh, rubbing your temples.

At this moment, Jeno was envious of how you seemed to keep a level head, now slightly ashamed of his outburst.

Jeno's resolve softens. "You're right, I just-" his words abruptly stop once he looks at you, "Shit, are you okay?" he asks, concern etched into his features.

Your brows furrow at his question before you feel the blood dripping from your nose. Somewhat embarrassed, you curse under your breath as you wipe the blood from your face.

"Yeah, it's just my body telling me I'm overdue for sleep." With not enough time to explain much else to Jeno, you say, "Doesn't matter which room you choose. Showers should still work and clothes should still be in the closets. Take what you want" before rushing out of the room.

He nods, "Thanks—" Jeno can barely get a word out before you've already disappeared down the hallway, locking yourself away in your own room, "…Goodnight, I guess."

[6:42 PM]

Lukewarm water sputters out of the showerhead, and you take note of the poor water pressure, silently cursing the antiquated plumbing. The water drips down your body in an inconsistent stream, making it a less-than-satisfying experience. You scrub away the remnants of the previous day, feeling the grime of dread and tension wash away.

In a new change of clothes, before you did anything else, you knew you needed to scour this place for a charger since you woke up to find your phone dead.

On your way toward the kitchen you find yourself stopping in front of a half-open door, peeking inside to find Jeno still asleep. He's sprawled on the bed, his brow furrowed even in his sleep, a testament to the strain of last night and this morning's events. The sight of him stirs a mixture of emotions as you watch his chest slowly rise and fall—relief that he's safe and a flicker of something deeper that you quickly suppress.

With your luck, you were able to find a charger as well as additional supplies to help sustain you and Jeno while you're staying here. It's not much but you'll take it over nothing.

You open the fridge door and to your disappointment, only find one bag of o-negative in there. You didn't even get a chance to feed yesterday as you were planning to after your meeting with Jeno. And we all know how that ended.

You don't dwell for too long, your attention immediately going to your buzzing phone on the kitchen counter.

"Hey," you answer.

"What the fuck?? Draven told us what happened, are you okay?" Tyra asks.

"Could be better. All I have access to right now is O, and there's barely any of that but the hunters are off our trail, so hopefully Jeno and I won't be stuck inside this ancient tomb much longer."

"You're with Jeno? Like Jeno Lee?"

"Do you know any other Jenos?" you ask.

"Draven didn't say you were cooped up with a Lycan. And him? He's like the hottest Lycan to ever grace this earth. Maybe he can help you break this dry spell after two centuries." Tyra lighthearted jokes.

"First of all, fuck you. Second, I wouldn't say all that."

"Are you telling me he's not hot?" she questions.

"He's…" you trail off, "Alright."

Tyra scoffs on the other line, "Why do things like this never happen to me? If I were you, we'd be settling more than just a peace agreement."

You laugh, "Yeah, I need a break from you. Maybe being stuck here ain't too bad."

"You sure ain't wrong about that. It's a fucking shit show here—just a second!" Tyra yelled to someone in the background, "I gotta go, I'll talk to you later though."

"Talk to you later, Ty."

Just as you hang up the phone, you hear the faint creak of a door opening. You look up to see Jeno emerging from his room. Now adorning loose dark grey sweatpants and a white button-up with about only two buttons fastened.

"Evening," he greets you, his voice husky from sleep.

"Good evening," you clear your throat, "How're you feeling?"

He shrugs with only one shoulder, "Like I've been shot. Took damn near half the morphine in the med kit for me to sleep a wink."

"You definitely slept more than a wink," you mumble, beckoning him over to you, "Do you mind if I....?"

"Be my guest," he effortlessly undoes the couple of buttons with one hand, letting the shirt fall off his shoulders.

You carefully unwrap the gauze, allowing the bloodied bandages to fall to the floor. Jeno watches you examine his wound.

"What is it?" he asks, seeing your brows stitch together.

"You should've started healing by now," you frown, seeing as his shoulder doesn't look any better than before. Instead, it seems as if the infection is spreading. And in your predicament, your options are pretty limited. "Do you trust me?" you ask.

"Do I really have much of a choice?"

"Not really, no," you say, grabbing his forearm with both hands, "I'm sorry about this."

"What are you-" But before Jeno can finish, you snap his radius in a clean break. Jeno's angry howl bounces off the aged stone walls.

"Jen-"

He growls, pushing you away, "Get the fuck back," Jeno glares at you with black beady eyes.

You keep your distance and watch as his shoulders heave and the muscles in his back ripple under his skin. Claws start to grow from his nail beds, and his ears stretch until they're pointed. You can hear the fabric of his clothes tearing as Jeno grows twice in size before your eyes. Roars of pain continue to rip from Jeno's throat with his transformation completely overcoming him.

Standing across from you is no longer the man you had gotten yourself acquainted with over the past 24 hours. Instead, this half-man, half-beast towers before you, baring sharp canines and a senseless predatory hunger behind his eyes, absent of his humanity.

You glance at the dining table, spotting your desert eagle where you left it this morning, and try not to make any sudden movements that could possibly aggravate the Lycan.

"Now, you know I was just trying to help," you say, your voice steady but soft as you slowly inch closer to the table.

Jeno's growl reverberates through the confined space, a guttural warning before he lunges at you with alarming speed. Instinct took over. You dodge Jeno, vaulting yourself into the air, flipping over him, and landing on the table gracefully.

Your fingers curl around the grip of your pistol, aiming your gun at Jeno before he can even think about charging at you again. Your finger hovers over the trigger, the metallic click of the safety being disengaged echoing loudly in the tense silence.

"Jeno, you've saved my life and now I'm just trying to save yours. Do not make me shoot you," you warn, your voice a low, deadly calm. You aim at his leg, sure to temporarily debilitate him instead of shooting to kill.

A beat of silence passes before Jeno's breathing begins to normalize. The wildness in his eyes gradually softens as his shoulders drop and his posture straightens. His transformation recedes, muscles shrinking and claws retracting until he is once again in his human form. You watch his eyes change from feral black to their original deep chestnut brown, now filled with exhaustion.

"Sorry," Jeno apologizes, his voice rough with lingering regret.

You wave off his apology, "Don't sweat it," With a click, you reengage the safety and lower your gun as you hop off the table, "It worked," you grin triumphantly, noting the lack of any wound or scar on his shoulder.

Jeno looks down at his shoulder and arm, flexing both experimentally. "That was extremely stupid of you, you know," he says, shaking his head,

"The moon isn't the only thing that influences your transformation," you shrug, "If you transform, your healing factor kicks in and it did. Besides, it's not like you'd be the first Lycan to try and attack me," you say with a faint, wry smile.

WEDNESDAY [9:18 PM]

"They wouldn't be able to find this place, right?" Jeno asks in a hushed tone like he was afraid to break the silence.

"I highly doubt it. Many vampires don't know about this place, I only do because I was brought here when I was younger," your eyes are still trained on the monitors in front of you, "However considering they shouldn't have been able to find out about our meeting, I wouldn't put anything past them," you tear your attention away from live surveillance footage to give it to Jeno.

"How do you think they found out?" The light of the computer monitors cast an artificial glow across Jeno's features.

"That's what I've been wondering since," you say, with a suggestive glance.

"What are you insinuating?" Jeno turns his chair toward you.

"I'm insinuating nothing. It's just interesting. Your father and Draven were supposed to meet but something happened last minute and neither of them could attend so they send you and me instead? And then we get ambushed. It's just not a coincidence is all I'm saying."

A beat of silence passes as Jeno thinks over your theory, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights from the halls filling the space.

"Are you saying that they knew?"

"I don't know your father much so I can't speak for him. But Draven..." you wince, "It wouldn't surprise me."

"Why would Draven risk your life if he thought it was a setup anyway?" Jeno furrows his brows.

You shrug, "He knows I'd be able to handle myself, and I did." you pursed your lips. "I'm not saying he knew what exactly was going to go down but Draven is pretty paranoid. He doesn't trust many people. So if he got a feeling he was being betrayed, especially by one of his own, he'd hold his card pretty close to his chest."

"He didn't tell you he was thinking any of this?"

"Draven doesn't necessarily have to tell me anything. I just know. He was suspicious of a mole within the coven, which is why I didn't ask any questions when he requested I go in his place."

"You're making it seem like this isn't the first time something like this has happened."

"Well not this particular situation, but close enough. I mean, you've met Draven. This ain't the first time someone would've tried to take him out," you smile, "Why do you think there are so many security cameras around this side of the mountain?" You leave Jeno to keep monitoring the cameras if he wishes as you go to take a shower.

. . .

Stepping into the library, your eyes adjust to the dim lighting as you find Jeno seated at a table. His expression is one of deep concentration and fascination, absorbed in the pages and pictures laid out before him.

"Keeping yourself entertained?" you ask, your muted footsteps shuffling into the room.

The glow of the old chandelier shines a warm, golden light from overhead, casting a soft halo around Jeno, "Yeah, actually," he chuckles, "Is this you?" Jeno asks, holding up a photograph. The sepia tones capture you and Draven in a snapshot of joy, the two of you laughing amidst a gathering of friends, your clothes reflecting the exuberance of the roaring 20s.

"Yeah," you murmur. Taking the photograph gently, a wave of nostalgia washes over you, "That was a long time ago."

It was almost adorable, the curiosity that glimmered in Jeno's eyes, thousands of questions swimming behind them. You roll your eyes, pulling the chair next to him out.

It was unexpected of Jeno to be able to draw you out of your usual reserve. It doesn't even register to either of you that minutes turned into hours stretching into the early morning.

"How long have you known Draven?"

"Too long," you laugh, "He knew me when back when I was still human. He's been around longer than almost anyone."

Too enamored in the pages before him, your eyes steal a few glances at the man next to you. You study Jeno silently as he carefully picks up each photo. He is handsome, and undeniably so, it's evident he's been blessed by Aphrodite. The way the light plays across his features only accentuates his striking looks, and you can't resist your admiration.

Trailing your eyes up his neck, your mouth waters, watching the beat of his pulse throb beneath his skin—Damn, I'm gonna need to feed again soon. You snap out of it.

Jeno's voice pulls you back to reality, "I recognize this picture. Who is this?" Jeno asks, sliding another photograph across the table toward you.

Your eyes flicker from the photograph to Jeno, "Where have you seen this before?" you ask, your voice tinged with surprise.

"In my house," Jeno replies, pulling out his phone, "My mother has the full picture." He shows you a family picture taken in the living room of his house. "She's standing right next to her," he says, zooming in on a framed photo behind his sister's head.

Surely, it's the full photograph. Your mothers, standing side by side, their smiles as radiant as ever.

Jeno watches the sadness fill your eyes as you give a small smile, "It's my mom," you say.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Jeno quickly apologizes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay," you stop him, "I just...don't talk about her much." The room feels heavy with unspoken emotions.

Jeno nods, not wanting to push further. "I understand, I'm sorry. I didn't know, I wouldn't have-"

You stop him firmly, yet gently, "No, Jen, it's fine, seriously," you rest your hand atop his, "It's not that I don't want to talk about her. It's just I have a hard time doing it sometimes."

Despite the somber turn in conversation, Jeno's presence is a comfort as he closes his fingers around yours. You weren't expecting to feel the warmth of his hand in yours, but it offers you solace. The silence returns, but this time, it feels more like a shared moment of understanding rather than discomfort.

"What was she like?" he asks quietly.

Flipping through the weathered photo album you thought had been lost all these years, a warm smile takes over your face. "She was beautiful. And funny, and smart, and full of love," you say, your voice tinged with pride and sorrow. "She was raised by witches, so she was no stranger to any of this," you wave your hand, indicating the room filled with arcane books and artifacts, "That's how she met Draven and probably how she knew your mom."

"I can't believe my mother never said anything about her."

"I'd understand why. Her death hit a lot more than just me pretty hard."

You knew it was coming sooner or later and waited for the question to fall from his lips. "What happened?"

"We were attacked by Lycans," you say, and Jeno's face is immediately taken over by guilt mixed with empathy. "They were infected with vampire venom." You begin to explain, "Usually it's harmless. The humans even have found ways to use it as another means to get high. But in large enough doses, our venom for you guys-"

"Turns us into rabid animals. I know, my father has told us the stories," sorrow and compassion are etched into Jeno's features, "I'm so sorry, y/n."

You continue, "My mom didn't care about surviving herself. She used her last breath to make Draven promise to save me at all costs. Next thing I knew, I woke up completely healed with a fatal allergy to sunlight and an insatiable bloodlust."

A heavy silence settles between you two as Jeno carefully chooses his next words.

"Do you know what happened to the Lycans?"

You shook your head, "Draven and a few others had tracked the pack across a few states but by the time he caught up with them they were dead."

"I'm sorry-"

"Please, Jeno, once was enough," you squeeze his hand, still unable to look him in the eyes, "I don't blame you or any Lycan for that fact. All that anger and pain," you let out a shaky breath, "I'm holding it for the right person."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Lycans know the risk of vampire venom so they couldn't have willingly taken it. And I mean a whole pack?" your brows furrow, "Someone purposely infected them. We just don't know who or why."

"You know I could ask around see if anyone in the pack knows anything."

"Draven would've already thought to do that years ago already. Every trail went cold. A part of me has come to terms with the fact that we'll probably never get those answers."

Jeno nods, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "I'll still keep an ear out. Maybe something new will come up."

You nod, a small but genuine smile touching your lips despite the heaviness in your heart. "Thank you, Jeno."

Jeno nods in understanding, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, a shared understanding passing between you. The library feels smaller now, filled not just with books and memories.

THURSDAY [8:19 PM]

This is gonna be a problem.

Each moment without feeding stretches into an eternity as you stare at the empty shelves of the fridge.

"What was that?" Jeno's voice echoes across the room from his spot on the couch.

Fuck, he heard me? "Nothing," you reply, closing the fridge quickly.

Your stomach growls insistently, hunger gnawing at your insides, and you begin to reminisce about that last bag of O-neg you had.

The thought of descending from the safety of the mountain to seek sustenance in the nearest town flitted through your mind, but the ever-present risk of hunters finding you keeps you rooted in place. You decide against burdening Jeno with your dilemma, as there was little he could do to remedy the situation without endangering both your lives anyway.

When you turn around, you nearly collide with Jeno's chest as he had moved across the room faster than you anticipated. He's standing close enough you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You keep your shoulders square even as Jeno's intoxicating scent invades your space once again.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Nothing," you repeat, attempting to sidestep him, but he blocks your path, his expression unwavering.

"You're lying," He narrows his eyes, scanning your face as he takes a step forward.

"No, I'm not," you counter, backing up until you feel the refrigerator door against your back.

"Then move," Jeno presses, his voice firm but not unkind.

"Why must I?" you challenge, crossing your arms defensively.

"You always this stubborn?"

"Since the day I was born," you grin proudly.

"Must I demonstrate how easily I can move you, sweetheart?" Amusement tinges Jeno's tone.

Sweetheart? Oh, we're going there?

You smirk involuntarily, unfolding your arms. "That's cute but you're just a pup, Jen. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves now," you teasingly pout.

Jeno pokes his cheek with his tongue at your comment and accepts your challenge. He starts by attempting to move you aside, but you catch his wrist in your hand before he can lay a finger on you. He tries to grab you with his other hand, but you're still faster, blocking his arm before you hit him directly in the middle of his chest, making the Lycan stumble back.

Jeno laughs.

You haven't moved from your spot, waiting for his next move before he launches himself into a series of swift strikes aimed at testing your defenses. You retaliate by throwing your fists almost faster than he can block, aiming for his midsection, and landing a hit. Jeno's knocked back a few steps, putting enough space between you both to give him time to catch his breath.

"Draven's right, you really do know how to handle yourself."

"Of course I can, that's how I saved your ass remember? Now we gonna keep talking or are you gonna show me something worth my while?"

The rhythm of this spontaneous spar intensifies as you both circle each other.

The kitchen area echoes with the sound of your footsteps, grunts of exertion, and the occasional light laughter as your movements adapt to one another's.

But it all comes to a stop in a silent blink of an eye, your back lands on a flat surface as you're pinned to the dining room table. You underestimated his speed, unable to leg sweep him as you planned, now your faces only inches apart.

Jeno gives you a lopsided grin as he looks down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark as they peer through silky curtains of hair. The tension between you crackles in the air as you have him trapped between your legs. The room's atmosphere seems palpable and charged with you both unexpectedly in this vulnerable position, but you neither move as the seconds stretch on.

Jeno seemingly snaps out of the trance first, letting go of your wrists and weaseling his way from between your legs. When he swings open the fridge door, the triumphant smile on Jeno's face drops as he stares at the empty shelves. "There's nothing in here."

"Exactly," you sit up, swinging your legs over the table's edge, "There're no more blood reserves," you say.

"And you weren't going to say anything?" Jeno's concern turned to incredulity.

"What's the point? The closest blood bank is 50 miles that way," you gesture vaguely, "And in case you forgot, we're down here hiding from humans who want to kill us."

"And what's going to happen to you if you go too long without feeding?" Jeno presses, his voice softening with worry.

"I'll start decomposing from the inside out," you reply bluntly, "But it'd be a while before that happens."

"So what, you were going to hide this and just suffer in silence for god knows how long we're stuck here?"

You shrug, "It could be worse," you murmur as if it would lighten the mood, "But what exactly could you do to help me in this situation?" you retort, a note of resignation in your voice.

"You could feed from me," Jeno suggests quietly.

"Jeno, I'm not drinking your blood," you shake your head.

"Why? Because you're above drinking Lycan blood, princess?" Jeno's tone is gentle but insistent.

You narrow your eyes at the use of the pet name, "I never said that. Blood from banks is processed and centrifuged, so it's essentially watered down compared to drinking from a live...donor," you explain, your words measured. "When vampires directly feed from someone, we get some of their memories, feelings, and thoughts. It can get pretty intense and somewhat very intimate. Something similar would happen if you were to consume my blood as well. Which is why I wasn't sure whether to give you any when you weren't healing, so—"

"So you broke my arm to trigger my transformation to heal me instead," Jeno interjects, his voice tinged with understanding.

"Yeah. I am sorry about that, but like I said, I had faith it'd work," you admit, your tone apologetic yet resolute.

"Do you not trust me?" Jeno's question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications.

"If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be refusing," you reply softly, "My bad I consider you a friend rather than food," your tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Friends, huh," Jeno muses, a hint of a smile touching his lips.

"Don't push it," you warn with a small smirk.

"When was the last time you fed?" he asks.

"Two days ago. It'll be enough to hold me over for another few days. So let's just hope we're saved by then," you say.

FRIDAY [7:50 PM]

"Jeno?" you call out, stepping into the common area.

Still no answer. You woke up to find the bunker suspiciously quiet. You already checked his room, and the lights in the library were still off. No TV was on, no shower being run, not even a creak of a floorboard. The usual draw of breath Jeno's lungs take could no longer be heard by your ears that had grown finely tuned to the Lycan.

If he's still here there's no way you wouldn't be able to detect him.

You reach the security room, your eyes bouncing around the screens, searching for any sign of Jeno. Your worry is quickly replaced with fury when you spot a shadowy figure approaching through the trees.

Jeno calmly strolls along the path that leads up to the main entrance with no sense of urgency in his stride. With his hands in his pockets—it even looks like he's whistling. He can't be serious right now.

When Jeno returns to the bunker, he finds you waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, your arms crossed over your chest.

Jeno flashes you the sweetest smile when he sees you, "Hey-"

"What the fuck?" you ask, brows stitched together.

He looks around, confused, "What?"

"What? Where were you?"

"In town," Jeno answers simply.

"You went into town?" you narrowed your eyes.

"Yeah," he mocks your tone as he drops his bag onto the counter with a heavy thud, beginning to unload its contents, "You needed blood. And since you weren't going to drink mine, I just got some more for you," Jeno opens a mini cooler, placing a blood bag in your hand, "Plus I was really starting to get tired of beef jerky and crackers, and decided to grab a few things for myself since I was already out."

You sigh, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions, as you hold the bag of AB blood in your hands. He got your favorite type without even asking. "That was extremely stupid of you, you know," you say, fighting a smile threatening to spread across your face.

"It was worth the risk. I'd rather have another run in with those hunters than let you die of starvation on the hope that our families will come get us in time."

"Seriously, Jeno, if anything had happened-"

"And as you can see, nothing did. I made it back home safe and sound, making sure I didn't leave a trail that could compromise us. You do know I am capable of handling myself right?" he says, "But if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were worried about me, sweetheart," he tilts his head at you.

"You're young, of course you don't know any better," you scoff, teasingly rolling your eyes, "What I'm saying is, I hope whatever else you got was worth it."

"It definitely was," he grins, pulling out a bottle of red wine. "Join me?"

"I don't drink ," you tell him.

"I know. I still like your company," You don't know why you feel fluttering in your chest, your heart doesn't even beat. "I mean with all this, I really don't wanna dine alone."

The corners of the lips curl upward, "You're asking me to have dinner with you?"

"Yes," he answers without missing a beat, "I mean it's Friday night, neither of us is going anywhere. What's the harm in a little normalcy role play?"

"Role play? We haven't even made it to dinner yet," you joke. You lean closer, "On one condition."

Jeno leans in as well, a curious smirk playing on his lips "And what might that be, princess?"

. .

The kitchen was filled with a mouthwatering aroma of sizzling meat, rich herbs, and melted butter. It was dimly lit, the only light from the soft under-cabinet lights casting a warm glow over the countertops. One of Draven's old jazz records you found plays softly in the background, its sultry notes weaving through the air.

You sit perched on a barstool by the island, wine glass in hand, watching Jeno concentrate intently on the stovetop. His hair's slightly tousled, a few loose strands falling over his forehead as he focuses on the skillet before him.

"Make sure you sear it evenly on each side," you call out, "You want that perfect crust to lock in the flavor, otherwise, you'll end up with a dry, sad piece of meat."

Jeno turns his head slightly, giving you a sideways look. "Yes, chef," he drawls sarcastically, but there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Anything else, or are you gonna go back to sitting there looking pretty, silently criticizing my every move?"

"I'm also simply admiring the view," you reply, meeting his eyes and holding them for a beat longer than usual. Jeno's smirk widens, and for a moment, the sizzling of the steak seems louder in the charged silence that follows.

"Where'd you learn all this stuff by the way?" Jeno asks.

"When you've been around as long as I have, you're bound to pick up a few things."

"Wouldn't have taken you for such a food connoisseur."

"Why, because I don't eat?"

"I mean, yeah."

"Well I don't eat anymore. I used to love cooking, when I did though. I loved the satisfaction of a good meal, good wine. It's almost better than sex." you reminisce.

"Almost?"

You laugh, "Let it rest for a few minutes when it's done. Don't rush it. The juices need time to settle."

Jeno nods, stepping away from the stove impatiently hovering, however.

The corner of your mouth lifted. "Patience not one of your strong suits, Lee?"

He scoffs, "I have plenty of patience," he counters, turning off the burner and setting the pan aside. He wipes his hands on a towel, moving closer until he's standing directly in front of you, a playful glint in his eye. "Especially when properly motivated."

You raise an eyebrow, "And what exactly motivates you, Jen?"

"A lot."

"Like?"

Jeno leans in slightly on his elbows, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of the wine on his breath mixed with the aroma of herbs and spices wafting in the air. "Proving you wrong is one thing," he murmurs, gaze locking with yours. "But maybe it's just the way you look at me when I do something right."

You somehow manage to keep your composure, "Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you're doing all this to impress me."

"Is it working?" he asks, eyes hopeful.

"And if it is?"

Jeno steps back, giving you a wicked smile as he turns to plate the steak.

Jeno had finished eating nearly two hours ago, but you two had still not moved from your seats. His empty plate sitting between his second glass of wine and your fourth of AB.

The low hum of the jazz record is now barely noticeable beneath the sounds of your laughter mixed with Jeno's.

You notice his gaze lingering just a little too long every time you meet his eyes, and the way his lips curve into a subtle smirk when you catch him.

Every time his knee brushes against yours under the table, a subtle but deliberate touch, your skin prickles with awareness. You felt the weight of his presence adjacent to you, the air between you simmering like the heat still rising from the abandoned stove.

Jeno's leaning back comfortably in his chair. His eyes study your lips as you take a sip from your glass, watching as you catch a drop of blood from the corner of your mouth with your thumb before licking your finger clean. Jeno holds onto every word that comes out of your lips, and his wavering eyes give him away.

You shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, but each movement brought you closer to him, your leg brushing against his, and that simple contact sent a jolt of heat through your body.

"Sorry," you softly apologize, already pulling away. You don't get too far before he's bringing you back.

"Don't be," He gently tugs your leg into his lap. His eyes never leave yours as his hand circles your calf, his touch soft yet confident as he begins to massage your flesh. "Continue," Jeno tells you.

You couldn't even remember what you were talking about. Jeno's eyes bore into yours like he was gazing into your soul, leaving you breathless, your nerves seemingly burning beneath his palm.

Suddenly feeling suffocated by the mounting tension, you stand. You think about clearing the dishes from the table so you can distract yourself from Jeno's eyes quietly undressing you or ignore how good it felt to have his hands on you and how you desperately yearned for more. But just as you're on your feet, Jeno takes your hand, and you let his fingers close around yours.

"You know what you're doing," you murmur accusatorially.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks.

"No," you sheepishly answer unable to look at him.

"Then why are you running, princess?" he asks, getting you to meet his eyes.

"I'm not," you protest.

"You are," he retorts, "Cause you only think it's fair for me to be the flustered one here, huh?"

You roll your eyes, all but verbally confirming his verdict, "You're enjoying this way too much."

"You have no idea," Jeno grins.

You hike up your dress with your free hand and straddle his lap. The space closing between you feels electric, charged with unspoken desire.

You cup his cheek as he snakes an arm around your waist. His skin is warm compared to yours, your fingertips feeling like an icy cold kiss on his cheek. You catch his eyes darting down to your lips once again.

"Do you want something, Jen?"

"Yes," his hand inches up your thigh.

"Then why haven't you asked?"

"Can I ki-" you don't let him finish, crashing your lips into his.

The kiss starts soft and exploratory but quickly deepens as the tension that's been building between you both finally finds release.

His hand travels up your back, sending shivers through you while your own hands take hold of his face, deepening the kiss. The world beyond the two of you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

You taste the sweet bitterness of the red wine on Jeno's tongue as it pushes past your lips, dancing with your own. His hands on your thighs set your skin aflame as they inch up higher and higher. You hum into Jeno's mouth when his hands cup your ass, softly squeezing.

Your hands travel down his chest, and you feel the contours of his muscles beneath his shirt, now wanting it so desperately out of the way. Your hips move on their own accord, dragging against Jeno's, allowing you to feel the outline of his cock through layers of clothes. Jeno comes up for air, heavily panting with swollen lips, staring up at you with lust-drowned eyes.

You barely process the time you spend in the air as Jeno lifts you by your thighs from his lap onto the dining table.

"Has your appetite not been satiated enough Mr. Lee?" you lightheartedly ask, hooking your finger in the belt loop of his jeans, pulling him close, and locking your legs around his hips.

"Not if you think I'm skipping out on dessert," he softly grips your thigh, hungrily attacking your lips once more.

Jeno's lips leave yours, traveling lower. His teeth graze your neck before latching onto the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Jeno," You moan, craning your neck to give him better access while your hands thread through his hair.

Jeno continues his journey south, his tongue flicking out to taste the delicate skin of your collarbone. You shiver, the sensation both ticklish and tantalizing. His hands familiarize themselves with your body, roaming every inch. Cupping your breasts in his large hands, Jeno litters kisses across your chest, gently tugging the neckline of the dress down.

Jeno's eyes darken as he takes in the sight, kneading your flesh, thumbs circling your nipples until they tighten further.

"I want to make you feel good," he whispers into your hair.

"You are," you mewl, your head lulling back.

"You know there's more I could give you."

"What else do you want, Jen?"

"To taste you."

Your words are cut off by a gasp, feeling his warm wet mouth enclose around your areola. The sudden suction sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He alternates between sucking and nipping, his teeth sharp enough to elicit cries from you, not of pain but pleasure.

You squirm on the surface of the table, wanting desperately to close your legs and relieve the pressure built between your thighs. Jeno seems to sense this. A plea falls past your lips when Jeno's fingers press into your throbbing clit through your panties.

"I can already smell how wet you are, sweetness." his voice grounds you back to reality, "I need to hear you say you want it."

"I want it," you say breathlessly.

"What?" Jeno questions with a smirk.

"You—god, Jeno, I want you," you roll your hips into his hand, "Please," you couldn't care less about how pathetic of a whine your voice comes out as.

The sounds of dishes and silverware clattering and crashing to the floor don't phase you as you lay down on the table, Jeno silencing your impatient whines with his lips on yours. Jeno then lowers himself between your legs, slowly kissing his way up your inner thighs.

He wastes no more time, not even bothering to properly remove your underwear, only pulling them to the side before kitten-licking your clit. You practically melt, feeling his warm tongue on your pussy. Jeno weakly groans as you entirely overwhelm his senses. He pushes your knees to your chest, his hands on the back of your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

"God, I can sit here and eat you all night," Jeno darkly chuckles, savoring your essence covering his lips.

Spit dribbles from Jeno's mouth onto your pussy, his saliva mixing with your arousal before he parts your folds with his tongue. He tugs your clit between his lips, making you loudly moan. The sound was music to Jeno's ears, and he'd give anything to hear it again. He buries his face into your cunt, lapping up all the sweet juices flowing into his tongue.

"Fuck—don't fucking stop," Your eyes roll back into your head, every nerve in your body sparking with ecstasy.

Your hand finds its way into Jeno's hair again, curling around the dark locks, gently tugging. He flattens his tongue, vigorously moving his head side to side. You already feel the knot in your lower stomach tightening, too enamored in the pleasure you're getting from Jeno's mouth alone.

His skilled tongue slivers down to your slit, weaseling inside of you. The wet muscle explores you intimately, curling against your soft walls. Jeno hums approvingly, feeling the way your pussy pulses around his tongue. The vibrations from his mouth reverberate through your entire body, ascending you higher to your climax.

Jeno pulls you closer to the edge of the table, laying his arms flat across the backs of your thighs to keep you from writhing any more than you already have been. He gently pulls the hood of your clit back, swirling and flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves. You cry out, your legs attempting to push back against Jeno's arms. But his strength doesn't allow for it, and he continues to eat you out like you'd be the last meal the man ever has.

"God, you're too good at this."

"What makes you say that?" he chuckles between shallow breaths.

"You're gonna make me cum."

"Duh, that's the point," a drunken grin stretches across his face, "Come on, I can take it, baby," he tells you before going back to tonguing your clit.

"I don't know, can you?" you tease.

A half-smirk stretches Jeno's face when he finally decides to add his fingers to the mix. Your back arches away from the table, two of his digits stroking your sweet spot in a come hither motion while he tongues your clit.

You cum with a loud curse of Jeno's name. You whimper and writhe atop the dining table, your legs closing around Jeno's ears as he's too concerned with lapping up your juices.

With a whine, you tap Jeno's shoulder, getting him to let up before overstimulation overcomes you. Jeno sat back, licking his lips of remains of your slick, wiping the rest of his face with the back of his hand. He gently rubs your thighs, helping you sit up, one hand holding your waist, the other cupping your face. Jeno's lips reach yours with the taste of you still staining them.

The high of your orgasm simmers down, the euphoric fog lifting. You slip your hand under Jeno's shirt, sliding your hands up his torso until he pulls it off, mindlessly discarding it. Your eyes fall from his face to his defined muscles, subconsciously tugging your lip between your teeth.

You palm Jeno over his jeans, grinning when you feel his semi-hard length in your hand even through the various barriers of clothes.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he groans, slowly rocking his hips into your hand.

Jeno shivers, feeling your tongue run along the side of his neck before you nip his earlobe, "You're one to talk," you say.

"Oh? So has your opinion of me being the hottest Lycan to grace this earth changed now?" he teases.

Of course he heard that.

You poked your cheek with your tongue. "Eavesdropping, were we?" you tilt your head.

"Technically, no. I can just hear everything," Jeno says, "Was kinda hurt though, when you said I was alright."

You laugh, "I'm sorry, babe," you kiss the put on his lips, "But I only said that cause I knew you were listening," you pull him closer, your hands roaming the contours of his body, "I couldn't let you know then how badly I wanted you to fuck my brains out the second we met."

"That makes two of us," Jeno darkly laughs.

Jeno picks you up, barely giving you time to process how fast he moves over to the couch. His hands snake up your thighs, reaching beneath your dress to tear your underwear off your hips. All the while, your fingers swiftly undo Jeno's jeans, pushing them along with his underwear down far enough to let his cock spring free.

"I've barely even touched you. All this just from eating me out?"

A growl deeply reverberates in Jeno's throat when you pump his cock in your hand. You swirl your thumb around the head, smearing his precum around the pink tip.

"Fuck, yeah. You have no idea what you're doing to me."

"And what exactly am I doing, baby?" You tighten your fist around his dick, and a broken whine falls from his lips as you swivel your wrist.

"Fucking killing me," Jeno throws his head back against the couch, "I need you," he desperately claws at your dress.

"I'm right here."

"I need to feel you. Be inside you—for fuck's sake, please." you silence Jeno's pleas with a kiss.

You lift your hips, Jeno assisting you as you guide his cock to your entrance. Your head falls back as you fully sink down onto his cock, filling you to the hilt. Your pussy hugs his length in a vice grip, gently pulsing, slowly sucking him further in.

"Holy shit," Jeno says, his eyes fluttering shut. "you feel fucking amazing,"

You don't even realize that you've moved from the couch until you feel the hard surface of the refrigerator against your back. Your head lands against the door with a soft thud, feeling Jeno deeper inside you in this position. He sets a steady pace, each stroke hitting deeper than the last. You cling to him, your nails digging into his skin, leaving angry red streaks in their wake.

Your face twists into a flustered scowl, "Faster," you demand.

Jeno dryly laughs, "Uh ah, I want you to feel it all, feel what you're doing to me," he slowly draws his hips back before sinking back into your heat even slower, "S'all for you, princess," he rasps.

Jeno takes time to revel in the feeling of your warm wet walls snuggly hugging his cock like a perfect sleeve. You feel every inch of him leave you empty before filling you back up to the hilt. It's torturous how agonizingly slow he's fucking you, and your patience is wearing thin.

"Jeno, please," you cry.

Jeno complied, the corners of his lips turning upward as he drew his hips back before slamming back into you, making your toes curl. The room becomes blurs of motion in your peripheral. The world fades away, leaving only the two of you locked in this primal dance.

You don't notice Jeno's brought you to one of the bedrooms until you're placed on top of a vanity. The sound of the mirror banging against the wall is drowned out by your sensual moans.

Jeno then stops, slipping out of your heat. You shudder now feeling empty, biting your lip to silence a whine.

Jeno takes a step back, never taking his eyes off you. He pushes his jeans down his legs the rest of the way letting them pool at his feet along with his underwear.

The tension is stifling. You let your eyes fall from his face, drinking him in in his entirety. You watch Jeno take his cock into his hand and begin stroking his length.

"Get on the bed," he instructs.

Your lips curl into a mischievous smirk. You slip your dress over your head, throwing it to the floor along with Jeno's clothes.

Jeno already heard the words before they came out of your mouth, "Make me."

He rolls his eyes before throwing you over his shoulder and tossing you onto the bed. You land on the mattress with a soft bounce, pushing yourself up on your elbows. You teasingly turn away from Jeno to crawl your way up to the pillows but before you can get too far, Jeno grabs your ankle pulling you back to the edge of the bed.

You arch your hips into the air as Jeno trail his hand down your spine. Jeno runs his fingers between your folds, coating his fingers in your arousal. "God, look at how wet you are just for me, princess," Your jaw drops, feeling one, then two of Jeno's fingers curl against your walls. You push your hips back against his hand, your head falling to the sheets, muffling your low groans.

He parts your folds with the tip of his cock, teasing your clit. You see stars behind your lids, feeling the delicious stretch of your pussy accommodating his size. Jeno's fingernails leave crescent shape impressions on your ass as he spears into your drooling cunt.

Jeno cages you in beneath him with his arms. You feel his chest against your back every time your hips meet. Jeno grabs onto the headboard for leverage. His hips snapping back and forth with a speed and power that leaves you gasping for breath.

Each thrust is deeper than the last, filling you completely and making you feel utterly possessed.

Jeno snakes his arm around your waist, reaching between your thighs. His fingers quickly find your clit, pinching and rolling your bundle of nerves between them. You squirm in Jeno's arms, your body involuntarily twisting and jerking as you feel heat blooming in your abdomen.

Mindless blubber stumbles out of your lips as Jeno kisses the side of your neck.

"What was that, beautiful?"

"Good. So good—god, Jeno," your head falls back into his shoulder.

His arms flex, keeping you flush against his chest. Jeno lowly moans in your ear, feeling your walls flutter around his cock.

"You close, baby?"

"Yes m'so fucking close," you pant.

"Cum for me. Let me feel your pretty pussy cream my cock, sweetheart" he smiles, feeling the way your body reacts to his words.

Your body tenses, preparing for release, and Jeno senses it. With a deep grunt, he doubles down on his efforts, his thrusts growing nearly ferocious in their fervor.

Your fangs grows on the their own volition, triggered by the euphoria coursing through your veins.

"Jeno—fuck!"

Your hips rock along with Jeno's chasing the high of your orgasm. Your nails lightly scrape Jeno's scalp as he sinks his teeth into the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

Your nails dig into Jeno's forearms, just breaking the skin barely drawing blood. The wounds close just as fast as they appear. Jeno deeply grunts, his hips stuttering against yours as his cock twitches from the pain of your nails in his skin. He releases his load inside of you, pumping you full.

"Fuck," Jeno gently pants into your ear.

Jeno's damp skin clings to yours, regardless of the discomfort, you keep holding him close. The steady drum of his heart beating in his chest against your back soothes you out of your post orgasmic stupor.

Your pussy continues to gently flutter around his cock. Jeno pulls out before he's too overstimulated but he's quick to replace his cock with his hand as you slump against his chest. He swallows your moans, your thighs clenching around his hand.

"I'm gonna need a minute," he tells slowly circling your clit, "But my god, you're insatiable. I'd do anything to see those cute fangs again," he teases.

Your lips meet again, and Jeno sucks your bottom lips into his mouth, sinking his teeth in and drawing blood. He smears the blood on your lips before grabbing your jaw and initiating a passionate kiss, the taste of copper staining both of your lips.

"Don't start something you can't finish." You lick the few drops from Jeno's lip, quickly healing the wound before pulling away.

"Oh you know I'll do more than finish it."

SATURDAY [7:29 PM]

You and Jeno both hadn't gone to sleep until the sun had risen, so it's no surprise you find him still sound asleep beside you when your eyes first flutter open. You snuggle closer to Jeno, stealing his body heat as you find it comforting enough to put you back to sleep.

But the sound of a blaring alarm jolted you both out of bed. Jeno had no time to ask any questions as you had exited the room already, without a word. He follows your silent, hastened steps down the hall to the surveillance room.

"What is it?" Jeno asks, eyes bouncing around the screens as you search for what tripped the alarm.

Then, you see four escalades ascending the dirt road. Oh fuck.

[8:39 PM]

The words exchanged between the three men you're watching from afar fall on deaf ears even though you can hear them from this distance. Jeno glances over his father's shoulder at you before reverting his attention back to whatever words coming out of Draven's mouth.

"You two fucked, didn't you?" Tyra asks in a whisper.

"What makes you think that?" you snap your head toward her.

"You almost let your disappointment show when we pulled up," she answers, "Plus, I can smell him all over you."

"I'm not disappointed," you scoff, "I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"Not many other people knew about the meeting Draven set up with the Lees. Four of them are dead. The rest are all standing right here."

Tyra's eyes scan the vampires and lycans standing in the underbrush. "Are you saying it's someone here who's working with the humans?"

"It's only a theory. But how else could the humans have known when and where Jeno and I were meeting?"

"Have you shared this theory with your lycan lover?"

"No," you glare at her, "And he's not my lover."

"You don't think he's..."

You shake your head, "No, I don-"

"Think I'm what?" Jeno asks.

You know he was listening to the conversation, "Old enough to be in grown folks business," you tease.

"Haha," he deadpans.

You shoot Tyra a look, and she pretends to find something else to occupy herself with, leaving you and Jeno alone.

"I guess this is it," he sighs.

"No need to shed tears. You'll see me again," you say.

"If that's the case," Jeno slips a piece of paper into your hand, "Call when you start missing me," he smiles.

"As if," you laugh.

You watch Jeno retreat back to his father's car. He looks back at you one last time, shooting you a wink before ducking his head to climb into the vehicle.

"You seem to be extremely fond of the lycan," Draven says.

"He's not bad company," you reply.

"And an even better fu-" A cough interrupts Tyra as you elbow her in the ribs.

"Shall we go home?"

tagged <33: @peachesmilk @doyotint @jaehyunpeachyy @hyuckiegirlfriend @mrsjohnnysuh @binniesbabe @imwutim @marsoverthestars @everything-fine-n-peachy @yukisroom97 @stqrgr7

a/n: i’m so sorry this took so long i really thought it would be ready early october but life and shit yk. ty for reading. feedback is appreciated!!

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ittybittyfanblog · 4 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 6

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, you get your very own samantha from her (2013) lol, time skips as a plot device!, this has an arc i promise, if anybody here plays disco elysium you’ll find that i took concepts of “the pale” as inspo at some points in this chapter lmao A/N: Oof this one’s a little longer than any of the previous chapters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 (and just a heads up, this might be the last chapter I post before I kick it off for the holidays. advance happy holidays! if you guys celebrate that sort of thing.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

There’s a quiet stillness brought by the morning after that makes the problems of a heavier night seem like a fairly distant memory.

For at least a few minutes past the moment you blink away the stubborn grit in your eyes—you don’t remember the last time you’ve been this well-rested in ages—you lie, listless, on the soft powder-blue bedding of your twin-size mattress, watching specks of dander and dust drift from the amber sunlight that filters through the cracked panes of the casement window.

It floats aimlessly; unhurried. Much like you.

The echo of last night’s events return to you in sporadic flashes—fragmented and unsteady. The whispered exchanges, the playful banter between you and your unlikely conversation partner play back in your mind, like some half-finished supercut.

And the more you recall, the more awake you feel, chipping away the last traces of daytime lethargy weighing you down.

“So, what happens now?”

The sound of a car backfiring breaks through from the outside, like a starting pistol signalling the beginning of another day. A familiar, heavy weight presses against your side, and you thread your fingers through the scraggly fur of the purring feline who’s taken the empty space on your left, just above the covers.

You breathe in deeply, closing your eyes.

“I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

You realize how many questions still linger, a lot more left unanswered. Far more than what you were able to glean, at least. From what little you’ve learned, an entirely new moral dilemma emerges—one you never imagined you'd have to contend with.

There’s a lot of things you’ve never expected to happen. Yet here you are.

“Seems we’re at an impasse.”

It’s an odd thing in itself. You keep waiting for the disbelief to catch up, for a shred of sanity to surface and make you reject the situation you’ve found yourself entangled in. You should be feeling the same, pesky feelings that pulled you sharply out of your flight of fancy last night; a sense of trepidation for what lies ahead in this precarious game of two.

But instead, you’re here. Now fully awake, and already looking forward to the day with wary acceptance. Looking forward to resuming where you’ve left off with that charming anomaly who’s upended your world, and left you suspended in an exhilarating limbo of uncertainty and excitement.

“...Indeed.”

You crave it—like the first stirrings of a neophyte druggie teetering on the edge of an irreversible habit.

You need another hit.

“Why the long face, little dove?”

Because if desire could manifest into being, it would’ve been Sylus.

“We can figure this out together, can’t we?”

You pick up your phone.

––––

“You’re here? Make yourself at home.”

You look at him, deadpan. He looks back at you serenely.

Your voice takes on a dry monotone when you respond, “Keep talking like that, I’m about to cum.”

There’s a shocked silence; then—

Sylus barks out a surprised laugh, immediately breaking character.

You snort. “Good morning to you too, I guess.”

He meets your gaze with a look of scandalized amusement, his smile wide enough to flash teeth.

"Good morning, indeed."

––––

You two fall into a natural rhythm even before the day comes to a close. Perceptive as he is, Sylus hasn’t let you linger in the unease left over from last night any longer than necessary—which to say, should be left buried and forgotten, past its provenance.

“So you could, like–hypothetically, top up my ascension materials… indefinitely?” There’s a manic shine to your eyes when you confront him back at the home screen, gleeful and triumphant after you boost almost all the 5-star cards you have of him up to max level. ��Like an infinite glitch?”

He’s content to just simply listen to your excited chatter from his languid perch on the seat, one palm resting against the side of his face as he watches you—half-lidded and relaxed. Utterly entertained by your antics.

The slight twitching of his mouth, the subtle tilt of his head… each minute shift in his expression makes a whole world of difference from the version you’ve known him longest—almost a lifetime ago.

Now he acts so human, so alive, that it’s almost unreal.

(It’s almost imperceptible, but you swear the air also feels different; like the pixelated space around him is bending, stretching, to accommodate this newer him.)

“Sure,” he shrugs, lips quirking up into a half-smile as he notices the deep crease forming between your brows.

He knows the question you’re about to ask—curious thing that you are.

“How, though? Like, what are ‘materials’ to you?” You make air quotes with your fingers, making you appear all the more endearing to him look at, in your process to make sense of a world that’s unfamiliar to you.

“Think of it as upgrades,” Sylus explains patiently. “You place the order to modify the equipment I use, in whichever situation calls for it.”

“And Memory Cards?”

“... A video reel, maybe. Or a restricted case file—locked until you’ve got enough to trade for the information you want.”

“And I suppose the dealer in question here is you?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who else?”

“Huh,” you say, considering. “So, Deepspace Trials. That’s something you do on the daily? Because I… make you?”

“More or less.”

“And you never thought to question that?”

“Mm, maybe I’ll start charging for my services this time around.”

You roll your eyes, already accepting his analogy for what it is. “Oh, please. With the amount of money I’ve spent on this game, consider yourself paid in full.”

––––

You were right about your earlier prediction—this new Sylus in combat mode is something else.

For starters, he’s a lot chattier.

“Ouch, kitten– don’t charge in like that.”

“Why are you using a sword? Don’t you like the guns I’ve given you specifically for this?”

“What are you waiting for? Make her resonate with me now.”

And, instead of sticking to his lines and responding to whatever the MC’s programmed to say during battle, he focuses on whatever you’re fussing over—no matter how… moronic it is.

“Ah, fuck! I hate that spinning thing!”

“Move, then. Let me handle it.”

“Block it, block it!”

“I would, if you weren’t halfway across the field. Stick closer to your partner next time, yeah?”

He doesn’t say any of his usual lines. Nothing from his scripted prompts. When all Wanderers are defeated, there’s no post-battle banter between him and the MC.

“Goddamn, you’re strong!” You whoop giddily, completely energized by straight winning almost twelve Orbit trials in a row. I guess that’s what a fully awakened Solar pair gets you, huh?

Sylus lets out a chuckle, infected by your enthusiasm. He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite all the damned fighting you’ve put him through.

“We make a good team,” he allows. And because he likes the little nose scrunch you do when you’re annoyed— “Although your dodging really needs more practice, sweetie.”

Before you could think of a comeback, the pop-up window for the next stage comes up. Ass.

––––

Come Monday morning and you’re once again swamped with work.

You barely have enough time to scrounge something up for lunch—if it weren’t for the persistent reminders from Sylus, chiming in every five minutes once the digital clock on your phone had hit eleven-thirty, you’d probably skip eating altogether.

And make something else than just boiling a pot of instant ramen, sweetheart. You’re on track for an early grave at this rate.

“I could… add an egg?” You suggest, unsure. “Maybe cut up some tofu, make it gourmet?”

He doesn’t even dignify the egg suggestion with a response. Tofu’s a good start. Now, what else do you have in your pantry that has nutritional value?

“I despise that,” you mutter, but start rifling through the cupboards anyway.

After amassing enough ingredients—or what looks more like a sad pile—that might, with some effort, turn into something healthier than your usual go-to fix, you start Googling recipes online.

‘tofu easy lunch recipe’

‘10 mins tofu recipes’

‘begginer recipe using tofu frozen dory mixed veg—’ Ping!

… Really, kitten?

You don’t even have to see him to know he’s giving you that look, the one that’s practically dripping with judgment over your dubious life choices.

(You know it all too well. Personally, in fact. You see it on some relatives' faces at the family get-togethers you’re always required to attend.)

Great. Heat creeps up your face as you mumble defensively, “Stop. Not everyone’s a culinary genius, okay?”

After that, he lets you be – something you’re thankful for, really. He’s being too distracting anyway.

Swallowing down the–stubborn and suffocating–embarrassment that's now stuck in your throat, you keep scrolling through Tasty dot co, praying you can whip up something edible with what (little) you have. You’re fully aware that you’re a grown-ass woman who can’t manage a basic life skill and that you’re probably about to burn down your kitchen—

Another notification pops up.

Pull up your tabs, sweetie. I think you’ll find something there that we could put together easily.

Confused, you do as he says. Sure enough, four tofu-related recipes are neatly grouped together in your Chrome browser, ready to be tried and tested.

Your eyes widen. “Wait—you did this? How?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He does, however, offer: Want me to coach you through it? Cooking’s more fun done with a partner, I’d say.

In the end, you manage to make something that tasted way better than you thought you could do by yourself. You have him to thank for that.

“You happy with it?” Sylus asks, grinning at the satisfied look on your face.

“Mhm!” you hum around a mouthful of food. “Fanks, Sy.”

“Anytime, darling.”

––––

“Do you really have to call me ‘kitten’? You sound like a Discord mod.”

Sylus has no idea what a Discord mod is, but judging by the contempt in your voice, it’s clear that you’re not giving him a compliment.

"What do you prefer, then? Princess? Poppet? Sweet thing?" He pauses, tilting his head. "Baby?"

You blush and look away. "... Ugh, whatever. Kitten's fine."

––––

Your routine with Sylus settles into a seamless, effortless flow as the days go by; it’s almost second nature, talking to him. So much so that you’d think nothing could faze you anymore.

Well. Almost nothing.

A message bubble from an unknown number appears on your lock screen: Hi, sweetheart. X

You almost ignore it—brushing it off as some dumb prank from a bored rando—when, not even five seconds later, another text pops up.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its Sylus.

… Huh?

“Is someone fucking with me right now, or…”

+0063-XXXXXX: Nobodys ‘fucking with you,’ kitten.

Then–

+0063-XXXXXX: Send a reply so I can see how it shows up on my end.

Your jaw drops. “Holy shit—you can text?? How are you doing that?” and, “Did you just cuss...?”

+0063-XXXXXX: 👍

+0063-XXXXXX: And Ill let you know if you text me the question 🙄

So you do. You tack on a now spill?? at the end for good measure.

You watch the “typing…” bubble appear, holding your breath.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its a complex mix of technical code and harnessing the energy from a dormant protofield Ive discovered, just south of Vagrants Land.

+0063-XXXXXX: The energy I got from it felt different somehow from your normal protofield. I figured I could put it to good use.

+0063-XXXXXX: Oddly enough, theres an… indescribable effect to oneself when youre nearing the centre of disturbance, shall we say.

+0063-XXXXXX: I can only decrypt the waveforms by the rarefield border surrounding the AoR. Any further and Im afraid the adverse effects may do more harm than good.

+0063-XXXXXX: But if amplified, it seems responsive to the filament of what connects your signal from deep space to this planet.

+0063-XXXXXX: Who knew it could act as a transmitter to send you something as rudimentary as a telegraph?

… Sometimes you forget how smart Sylus really is.

You: that’s pretty amazing ?? wtf sylus

+0063-XXXXXX: I get by OK.

You could practically feel his smugness radiating from those four words. You scoff, shaking your head in a mix of awe and begrudging admiration.

He sends two more messages.

+0063-XXXXXX: Im just glad we can communicate through other means, sweetie.

Sy-Sy (??): Now save my number. Sy Sy will suffice 😉

––––

Since your latest discovery that Sylus can now text (!!), you’ve been talking to him outside the game non-stop. It’s like talking to a very active friend who never leaves you on read, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic.

You: so no one else in ur universe knows anything abt ur situation?

You: no one else acting funny or sumn ? >.>

Sy-Sy (??): None that I know of, no. I prefer to keep it under wraps.

Sy-Sy (??): Now that you mention it, Mephisto has been acting quite suspicious lately.

You: ?? suspicious-suspicious or just reg suspicious??

Sy-Sy (??): Hes with his other crow friends now. They might be attempting a murder.

You: ………. is that…. supposed 2 be a joke……….

Sy-Sy (??): Im running on 3 hours of sleep, give me a break.

Sy-Sy (??): Also your textspeak is horrendous, sweetie.

"Um, hello—?"

Your gaze snaps back to the–very real, very present–person sitting across from you at the table, sporting box-dyed blue hair and a frown. You're at the Annex House; a sleek, new-age Japandi-style bar downtown, just an easy five stations away from your place. You both decided to try it for their infamous Rotten Apple cocktail and, of course, your weekly catch-up.

Khol, your friend of eight years since college, is currently giving you a mildly annoyed look.

Oops.

They point at you accusingly while complaining, "Ugh, we don’t use our phones when we’re hanging out! That’s the rule!"

You smile at them, sheepish, pocketing your phone as discreetly as you could. “I know, I know. Sorry.”

Then, puffing out your cheeks, you meekly ask, “You were talking about Anna...?”

They roll their eyes but go over the gossip a second time, much to your benefit. Phew.

Your phone vibrates. Twice.

…

You sneak a quick, final peek.

Sy-Sy (??): Enjoy your night out, darling ❤️

Sy-Sy (??): You let me know when youre back home, OK?

Biting back a grin, you send out one last text in reply.

You: will do !:9

Sy-Sy (??): Good girl.

––––

"Um–so this is my cat, Maru," you say by way of introduction, holding the plump, orange tabby in front of your phone that’s propped up against a carton of Koko Krunch. There’s a slight struggle in lifting his left paw between your fingers to wave at the man on the other side of the screen. "Say hi, Maru."

“Hello, Maru,” Sylus greets amicably in return, watching the both of you with clear amusement in his eyes. “Care to tell me the origin of this proud beast?”

You recount the story where you’ve first seen Maru five years ago, nothing more than a scraggly little runt at the time, hiding in the gap between a dumpster and the interstice of a cragged wall. You were walking home from a night out drinking with your uni buddies, when you heard the incessant meowing.

It drew you in like a siren’s call. If the siren in question had the vocal prowess of a warbling whale on the brink of death.

Upon closer inspection, the grimy fluffball revealed a stubby, crooked tail and wide, beady eyes. In your alcohol-fueled haze, you briefly wondered if you were staring at a tiny ginger rat.

“Well, it’s definitely all cat,” your friend Bee declared by noon the following day, calmly retracting a scratched and bloodied hand from the disgruntled feline, which promptly hissed and darted right back under the bed.

You hummed in agreement, passing her a wad of tissue.

"I couldn’t decide between Nospurratu and Catpin Meow," you say matter-of-factly, giving your capricious son a scritch under his chin. "Bee suggested I stick to something simpler, like Maru. Hence the name."

Your explanation is punctuated by an offended nip on your pointer finger.

Sylus is covering his mouth, but nods solemnly. “I think Maru is a nice name.”

There’s a moment where the two seem locked in a silent standoff, neither breaking eye contact nor making any sort of outward reaction. Just as you’re about to step in and interrupt the bizarre staring contest, Maru gives a slow, deliberate blink.

Sylus takes it as a sign of victory—or perhaps a ceremonial seal of approval.

With a faint smirk on his lips, he offers the cat a small bow in respect.

––––

You’ve practically emptied the entire arcade of plushies—enough to put it out of business if it were actually, you know, real—and you’re bored to tears.

“Another round of Kitty Cards, perhaps?” Sylus suggests, but a single glance at your face is enough to let him know that you’d rather gnaw off your own hand. Or his. He might just let you.

Sighing dramatically, you complain about the limited playability of the “mini-games” in-game.

“There’s literally nothing else to do. Same old shit, over and over again.” There’s a pout on your face that Sylus wants to nibble on, not that you’re aware of the forming thoughts in his head. “No new banners. I’m stuck between Kitty Cards and the claw machines... I’m bored, Syyyyy,” you whine, stretching the last syllable for effect.

To be fair, he has tried to make it a bit more challenging for you. He stopped fucking around during Kitty Cards—no more extra two cards in exchange for one of yours, no longer placing different colored kitties deliberately in the wrong cups.

After six straight losses, your frustration is palpable. The fun is gone.

He makes audible commentaries during each of your six tries at the claw machine. Every time you manage to snag a plushie, he praises you for a job well done (It flusters you—not that he needs to know that). When your luck runs out and you grab onto nothing but air, he wryly points it out through some slight ribbing, but nothing that’s actually hurtful (This flusters you too—again, not that he needs to know any of this).

There’s nothing else to do. It’s like you’ve exhausted all you could in this small, curated window of his that you’re privy to. If only there’s a way to leave the mini-games behind, to do something new, perhaps outside of what the game has to offer…

Oh, wait.

“Hey, Sy,” you call the man to attention. “Wanna try something out?”

You beat him at Words with Friends by a small margin.

“Ha! That’s thirty-nine points, buddy.” You crow proudly, after putting down Devotees in a straight column.

He eviscerates you at Zynga Poker.

“... How are you so good at this??”

“Comes with the package, sweetie,” he says with faux-modesty after revealing (yet another!!) full house, winking like he hasn’t just wiped the floor with you.

By the end of it, both of you are in high spirits—except, maybe, for your bruised ego.

––––

“Say my name, say my name… If no one is around you, say baby I love you…”

“It’s nice to know that we have another thing in common, little dove.”

It takes you a moment to process what he’s implying.

You stop singing, affronted. “Wh—how dare you.”

––––

“Are you having fun?” Sylus asks, his tone droll as he stands there, hands on his hips and a small scowl on his face. You’re too busy spinning him around, thoroughly entertained by the number of outfits and accessories you’ve forced upon your slightly reluctant model in the photoshoot that's currently taking place.

It’s more amusing, knowing that he’s fully-aware of what’s happening. And that you know he’s aware of what’s happening.

He’s like your personal, sentient Ken doll—if Ken had ashy grey hair, red eyes, and a mercurial attitude.

“I am, actually,” you shoot back, grinning as you plop a tomato stuffie on top of his head. “Look, you two match!”

He exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

Not that it stops you. Fluffy bunny ears, a fish headband, an uncharacteristic halo—you’re relentless. “Hey, can you try a different pose?”

“That depends on the pose… and how nicely you ask.”

“Dear Sylus,” you sing, jutting your bottom lip forward and fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly, “could you please, pretty please, flip the camera off?”

He snorts but obliges, raising his hand to deliver the most effortlessly cool middle finger you’ve ever seen. “Happy?”

Woah. That’s… hot. “Oh! Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your reaction. You giggle nervously. “You look… hot.”

“Mm?” His smirk grows, teasing and predatory. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you blurt out, but the pinking of your cheeks betrays you. He’s definitely enjoying this now.

“I could be convinced to do another one,” he murmurs, voice pitching a little lower.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to say the first thing that comes to mind. Stop, you whore.

Your nerves get the best of you. Without thinking, you switch to putting the MC back on screen.

Sylus blinks, red eyes narrowing as he looks at you, perplexed.

“Uh,” you shift your gaze between her frozen stance and his idle figure. The sudden silence hangs a little heavy in the air. “Would–would you like to do poses? With her?”

He opens his mouth, an automatic response—but he stops, expression flickering into something unreadable. Confusion? Hesitation?

His brows knit together, and for a short while, he just studies you, the space between you thick with unspoken questions.

“Do you want me to?” he asks finally, his voice quieter, almost careful.

No–I don’t want you to— To pose with someone who looks so-–

perfectperfectperfect by your side—I only want to see you—

I want to see you––

Why do I care–?

I don’t care––I care, I care so much––

“Why not?” you choke out, the forced cheer in your voice grating even to your own ears. You shrug, nonchalant in all the ways you’re not. “I’ll dress her up real nice, and then—” You slap a pink bow onto his head. “You can try to keep up.”

He doesn’t move, not paying the offending accessory any attention. His gaze is solely locked onto yours.

I don’t care. I don’t.

You take the first shot.

____

“What’s the song you’re playing?”

You pause mid-mop, cocking your head to the side in slight surprise.

“Uhh—Pedestal,” you answer unsurely. “By Portishead. You like it?”

He hums, eyes glinting with interest. “I do. Play the rest.”

And just like that, you’re introducing Sylus to modern twenty-first century music—and to Spotify.

____

From that point on, Sylus begins using your Spotify account to discover a whole new world of music—quite literally, in his case. Sometimes he steals the control from you, overriding what you’re currently listening to, just to hear the most random track play from your speakers.

In the middle of a mundane afternoon while you're completely locked in at work—hyperpop synths blaring in your ears—you’re suddenly jolted by the sound of heavy mandolins as an honest-to-god Russian military march blasts through your headphones, shattering your focus like a damn rhino in a china shop.

And so with the level of patience that could put the Virgin Mary to shame, you painstakingly explain to your friend the courtesy of not stealing the proverbial AUX cord from the “driver,” especially when it’s their turn on the radio.

The two of you reach a compromise, and thus the birth of your “shared” playlist. Sylus reluctantly agrees to explore on his own time—when you’re not using the app. Like when you’re busy with other things. Or when you're asleep.

You wake up to the first strings of a Muse song. One of your favorites, in fact.

Sy-Sy (??): Good morning, sweetie.

Sy-Sy (??): Last night was enlightening. I have you to thank for that.

Sy-Sy (??): Oh, and I hope you could indulge me. I added some songs to our playlist. I think youll like them. We both seem to have a thing for alt-rock.

Sy-Sy (??): Give me time and Im sure Ill acquire a taste for electronic music too. Be patient.

You huff out a laugh, lazily rolling over as you check your shared playlist. Sure enough, there’s twelve new songs on it.

You: awe that’s great sy :)) and these songz r rly good !! u got sum of my faves here

You: based on what u like maybe u can try looking up sum david bowie, probz massive attack idk

You: i’ll add stuff later for u to listen 2!!! <2

You: <3*

Sy-Sy (??): Alright, sweetheart. Im looking forward to it.

Sy-Sy (??): ♥️

____

From the outside, the studio is just another unit among endless rows of dull grey—small and unassuming. Tucked away on the sixth floor of a nondescript building, it’s built as unremarkable as the rest.

Through a window stained with a mix of corrosive ochre and burnt sienna, there’s a quiet hum—the presence of something that wasn’t there a week ago. Life has shifted, ever so subtly, from an oppressive achroma to a much warmer vibrancy.

There’s a faint hint of movement. Inside, the young woman wears an almost-permanent smile, her phone an extension of her hand as she taps away with no semblance of rhyme nor rhythm—only in a continuous staccato. Her eyes are locked on the screen, as if drawn by an invisible force.

It’s elusive; this connection—something beyond. Supranatural. It weaves through the room like whispered secrets shared in the dead of the night, beneath a city blanketed in deep ultramarine. Soft, like a wind brushing through a still everglade.

The apartment, once steeped in a self-inflicted solitude—one that went by unnoticed for a long period of time—comes alive as an intangible presence fills its nooks and crannies with the steady warmth of companionship. There’s a gentle heat to the space now, like the glow of an invisible hearth.

The flickering of the string lights, the muted laughter shared with a voice through the tinny speakers of a handheld device, a slight signal interference… all feel like the genesis of an impossible story.

Outside, the evening sky is fading into twilight.

And as one looks out onto the street below from the sixth floor window, it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t quite matter anymore.

Inside, the air is full of life, in ways it has never been.

____

“Come to me, just in a dream

Come on and rescue me

Yes, I know I can be wrong

And maybe you’re too headstrong

Our love is––”

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @tinyweebsstuff @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean

(if..... for some damn reason..... the tags still don't work i rly don't know what i'm doing wrong T_T i'm posting this from a macbook is that it, is the ghost of steve jobs fucking with me rn)

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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acid-ixx · 10 months ago

Note

How do think readers relationship with each of the batfam would be had they not been neglected?

what if...? ft. domestic headcanons w/ your family

series masterlist &. request masterlist — long post ahead !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 6400+ words, no beta i'm genuinely insane. help i literally thought abt this yesterday !! i may or may not post a drabble about this one specific dream the reader had about where they had a normal relationship with the batfam but at the same time i want to implement it in the next chapter instead so have food for thoughts instead! slight spoilers below. also please do comment and reblog if u like this ! ^^ supporting my writing just makes me further motivated to write even more !

if you were never neglected by your own family, then i could say that the process of them turning yandere would be a tad bit better or worse. i'm saying, because of your past and because of an incident during your elementary years (that could've been avoided if your family actually never ignored you; so let's assume that that incident actually never happened but it opened a gateway for an even more protective family) the batfam could easily be either a dream or nightmare.

let's say it was bruce and dick who had picked you up from the police station. the moment he sees his own firstborn child, all his thoughts would circulate from just how broken and hopeless you absolutely looked, how the injuries litter throughout your entire body, the way your empty eyes stare at anything.

the child, his child, looked exactly like him all those years ago. he knows just how painful it is to bare losing all your loved ones.

he wouldn't hesitate to approach your form, immediately picking you up and letting your head lean on his shoulders as dick follows in tow, cooing about his significantly younger sibling.

that would be the first time dick would call you his baby bird, with the way you'd stare at him with mixed emotions in your eyes.

if him and dick were to hear about what happened to you inside your old apartment from the police (drugged and abused by the same men who took your mother away from you), then be guaranteed that batman and nightwing would be more brutal during their patrol afterwards (dick would even take more weeks off from bludhaven just to care for his younger sibling), even going as far as formulating a plan for your captors, having oracle stalk each and every person involved in your life.

if anyone thinks the vigilante would abide by his no-kill rule then they're wrong, because he'd turn a blind eye for once if dick were to brutally stab someone at any moment. why? because batman will not settle until his own child's attackers are thrown into putrid prison cells with no guarantee that they'll see the light of the day. the criminals should be grateful that red hood isn't even in the picture yet.

your father would be more perceptive of your emotions if he had never neglected you. he will always be the one giving you rides, he'll shield you away from the mass media trying to take photographs of you— and you're getting carried throughout the manor if your little body were to even express fatigue.

bruce wayne wouldn't admit it, but he absolutely cherishes you and your youth. he had adopted dick and grayson when they were above the age of ten, when they were already growing some sort of consciousness about the world they live in. but you? you're so small and you have so much to learn, your innocence is something bruce would protect. you'll be absolutely coddled by your father, your grandfather figure, alfred, and your oldest brother, dick. even future members of the family knows just how important you are maintaining their sanity.

that means you have the manor in the palm of your hands. you had a nightmare tonight? don't worry, your dad would always be one step ahead of you and would immediately be in your room. hell, if you were comfortable enough, you'd be sleeping in the same bedroom as your dad for the first few years you'll live inside the manor. he'll read you bedtime stories if you want and even have alfred prepare you warm milk or chocolate before you go to sleep. his entire schedule would also be centered around you, making sure that he would always arrive on time from business meetings to have dinner with you, and coming home early from patrols. if he leaves the manor before you're set off to sleep, then he'll be giving you a good night's kiss whilst alfred would be the one substituting for your nightly bedtime stories.

you may call him overbearing once you start to notice the signs the more you grow older, but your father will always track your sleep schedule - he even makes you wear a watch that records your heart rate - from the moment you drift into dreamland to the times you get nightmares— he makes sure the food you eat before dinner is light, booking appointments with nutritionists to make sure you're healthy. he even does specialized training with you, for self defence and to also maintain a healthy lifestyle.

and dick grayson? his visits to gotham would be more frequent. even if his relationship with bruce is strained, he'll always be in the manor faster than you could say 'i miss you' to your older brother on the phone. he loves coddling his baby bird, especially since you were adopted right after jason's death; dick doesn't want a repeat of the past, always making sure you get proper cuddles and affirmations.

spending time with dick means you get all the power to draw on his arms or face or make arts and crafts with him. he enjoys it when his baby bird is at their comfiest state so even if you were seated on the floor, there would always be cozy blankets that count as your chairs and snacks right beside you. you could ask him to get something for you and he's right at it.

he would be the older brother who normalizes physical affection in the household. dick would constantly kiss your cheeks, your foreheads, and any injuries you would obtain (a habit that even bruce adopted once your dad realized how it's an effective way to soften your cries and ease your heart). he's not afraid of picking you up even! always tossing you to the air under alfred or bruce's supervision whenever you feel down. dick would always hold your hand, too, as an assurance that your beloved older brother is always there for you.

you'd probably ignore all the red flags he carries around because of how early he shows off his signs of obsessiveness. so don't question it if him and bruce wouldn't allow you to go to sleepovers with your other friends or if sometimes, just sometimes dick feels the need to just have you in his arms for hours without end after particularly brutal patrols. you're the only person holding him up and if he doesn't breath in that reminder then he might just lose himself.

your brother would literally prioritize you over anything else. he can and will pick you up from school, he makes sure nobody in your class is there to bully you, he'll spoil you with sweet treats whenever bruce is too busy with business meetings. he wants to be seen as your favorite ever since he's discovered himself to be your idol, so he'll always show off his acrobatic skills for your eyes only.

whenever dick would say "i love you!" it always translates to, "if you want me to, then i will give you the world." which means he'll drop anything he's doing right now the moment you invite him over to design your diaries or sketchbooks.

your talents very early on would be heavily acknowledged by your family. that means any single drawing or craft you'd do, whether poorly done or not, would be stored in very protective places or shows off in every crevice of the manor. any father's day gift from you would be framed in bruce's personal office, a personal reminder to him that you are the light at the end of the brooding tunnel he puts himself in. so even if he can't always be there for you, he will always have you in his mind and in his heart.

your existence in the manor would prove to be a healthier way for bruce to cope, for him to get his mind off of the loss of his second child. whenever he looks at you, he'll always be filled with a determination to protect gotham from any further danger, to save the city - if not himself, then for your sake, for his baby to feel safe whenever they would walk on the streets, for his baby to feel protected whenever you two would eat in fancy restaurants or go shopping for your diary's supplies.

criminals would immediately get the message that messing with you means getting on the bad side of both batman and nightwing. you may be the child of bruce wayne, (name) wayne, but if they even think of kidnapping you for ransom then they should pray; pray because if batman's baby even gets a single nick, a single droplet of blood on their body then they're gone. there's no such thing as holding back if it comes to you.

now, your older sister figure, barbara gordon, despite her constantly being busy because of her role as the oracle, would find ways to at least entertain you whenever you would visit her in the batcave. if you feel like your father's overprotective nature and your older brother's coddling is too much, then she will be offer you solace by her side. she may not always be physically there but you two are as close as you are to the other members of your family because you're a creative one. it's not often barbara gets to spend time with someone like you who enjoys having her as a muse for your art pieces. she allows you to also style her hair, and if you like to design clothing, then she'd be your model for as much as you want.

barbara is also your go-to for when dick and bruce are both unavailable. she lets you watch her hack through multiple security systems, explaining concepts that you don't understand. and, because she's the most emotionally stable out of all of them, you'd prefer gossiping to her about your school's drama compared to dick, as she actually gives you helpful advice!

well, little do you know that she had already hacked your school's camera footage and wired multiple recorders on your bag but you don't have to know that! after all, barbara wants to keep the only sane person in the household safe and happy. she's not openly obsessive towards you, but whatever secrets you have that don't compromise your safety are secrets she promises she will bring to the grave. that means if you ever have a crush on a someone then she will hide it from the others.

... that is until you actually end up trying to get into a relationship too early for even her eyes then she won't hesitate sending out the signals to bruce and the others. she can't afford exposing her younger sibling to heartbreaks and emotional attachment towards strangers! so do forgive her if there are times where you feel like there's someone constantly watching your back, because she is that someone; with all the intentions in the world that you wouldn't have to go through what she did with the joker or any other villains who could whisk you away from their arms.

it's obvious that, of course the oracle will use all the power in her hands to guarantee all eyes are on you, so that there would never be an opening for any danger towards you. even if you do know that she's the one in-control of the strings, there's not much you could do but accept it.

then there's tim drake. your brother who had stalked batman and nightwing just to prove a point. his parents are alive and he's fine being on his own, but fuck it if he prefers being in the wayne manor! once you're introduced to tim, he's immediately researching about the first biological child of bruce wayne. and thank god bruce requires the two of you to become familiar with each other because you're just so interesting to him, you and your curious eyes, your small habits— the way you shift in your position as your father's hands are clasped on your shoulder protectively.

tim can already feel himself blast off in excitement just solving the mysteries about you! yet he doesn't know it in himself that the longer you spend time with him, the more the urge to just stitch himself into your very life grows stronger.

if you were never neglected by your own family then you would instead be analyzed constantly. tim is just another set of eyes constantly watching you, but unlike the others, he picks off every single detail about you to a T.

you, your interests, your hobbies, your favorites, your friends, you name it; he will have an entire collection of case files on everything, picking apart your very mind to the seams. it's like he's eating up the information about you, spending sleepless nights researching about a movie you two would watch soon, because the look of amazement in your eyes feeds the growing love he has for his sibling.

at first he'd never understand why bruce and dick seems so smitten towards you other than the case regarding your mother. but he slowly starts to understand why— because just like him, you're perceptive of his well-being. if dick isn't around then you're always the one hanging around his room, visiting him with snacks in your arms or an invitation to watch a cartoon show.

he likes doing your assignments for you, especially your projects even if he neglects his own duties for his own school. and despite how emotionally constipated or unaware he seems, he's obsessed with your personal life. that means you don't even have to rant to him about school drama or your friends or crush because he can and will know it. what he doesn't like, though, is when your attention is towards anything but him. he may not be the most physically comfortable to cuddle but he will offer you his jackets which he would end up not washing right after you use them, instead he wears them, feeling closer to you than ever.

it even lulls him to sleep for the times you're unable to sleep over at his room.

tim may not know how to comfort you like dick whenever you wake up from nightmares but he does know ways to avoid them; he knows a lot of strategic methods to get you drowsy after a moment's panic.

bonus points if you cuddle him afterwards! he loves the warmth that you emanate, loves it when your body leans against him and makes him feel so important. tim loves it when you snuggle him unknowingly, tightening your already bruising grip on him, he loves reciprocating it too, feeling a special bond with his sibling that not even his parents could offer.

though he doesn't openly tell you that he loves you, he does so in his own ways! you don't want to see an entire photography room dedicated to his younger sibling— most pictures contributed by tim. you don't want to see the terabytes of files that are all about you and your interests, millions of video imagery of just you sketching or writing diary entries, sometimes eating or rambling senselessly. you don't know it but tim loves playing the videos of you in the background, especially the ones where you're humming a tune or singing a lullaby; those are his favorites.

it's not his fault that you're just so interesting to him, that your presence is so comforting, that you're the only person closest to him that has the ability to make him melt into you, unknowingly succumbing to your spoiled wishes.

jason todd comes into the picture later, and he is a very enraged man. he's mad at his replacement, at bruce, at you, at the entire universe.

at first he just doesn't understand anything. he doesn't understand why bruce finds it so easy to not only replace his status as robin but to also bring in another child, who's valued and loved more despite not taking the mantle of robin. he's mad at just how quick he was replaced, how it seems like bruce never avenged him, and yet if he threatens your safety then the old man suddenly turns violent towards him?!

jason wouldn't bring you into the fray, because you're unaware of the entire situation, but fuck, he doesn't understand why you are just so cherished when he'd watch the news and sees your picture plastered all over the reporters' walls, talking about the child who bruce never allowed to separate from his side. they talk about how you're the sheltered one, the hearthrob of all media with just how clingy the billionaire is towards his supposed younger sibling.

he's not jealous, he gets why bruce is protective and smothers himself all over you; but he hates feeling replaced, feeling discarded and forgotten by the very man who'll avenge your death if that ever happened.

hence why he has to see it for himself, has to see you for himself. it's a coincidence, a miracle actually that he just seems to easily find you by the kitchen of the manor— a manor whose aura is now different from last time, it seems like it now reeks of life, of personality. clearly you were the main cause of all of this.

you could simply be reading a book and sipping your nightly tea, but jason would soon realize just how... vulnerable you are at the moment. you find him hiding in the shadows and all you offer is a wide stare with no sense of self defense whatsoever. it's the same vulnerability that he sees off the cruelest streets of gotham. you're exactly like the innocent kids who get brutally murdered without justice, just like the children who have never once gained penance for the torture they had to experience just living off of personality.

jason isn't a dumbass, living near the crime alley means hearing the gossips of every citizen. your name, or preferably your last name is famed even in the underground. your mother is infamous for catching the attention of most crime lords by running off with their cash, successful staying hidden to care for her child, just right until she met her untimely demise. you lost her early just like how he lost his mother early as she had fallen victim to drug overdose.

he'll discover why gotham's vigilante seems to be so protective over you. the way you carry yourself, the warmth you give off as you offer him your leftover dinner despite not

you told him that your dad taught you to never talk to strangers— but clearly he's not because "how else would you be able to trespass the millions of security alarms in the manor? you must've lived here before." you'll state as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, sipping your drink before you offer him a seat next to yours, unafraid of the dangers that lie ahead of you—

"you must've really been pampered by the old man, huh?" is all his reply, the voice changer of his makes him sound naturally intimidating, like he's ready to attack but no, that's not his intentions with you. he'll take a seat beside you, try to make out what book you're reading and that's when he knows that you truly have no idea that it's your dead brother who's talking to you. you have no idea of his resurrection whatsoever as you start to mumble off about the novel— he finds it quite amusing that, finally, he's not the only guy who enjoys literature in the family, even going as far as to recommend his own fair share of favorite novels to you.

once he leaves out of the window after a seemingly long session of talking, definitely aware that yes, bruce does have a microchip inserted under your skin, and the watch you're wearing has a voice recorder that sends recordings straight to the batcave's system; jason takes note to visit you more often, finding the normalcy you offer very welcoming.

he likes it, likes your mellow behavior. he'll even admit that you're the only proof that bruce can, in fact, raise a child right, even if that means tracking their entire life. but that's the old man's love language, and jason knows it in himself that he's already planning for a way to take you to ride his motorcycle at night without bruce's knowledge; just so his angel knows the feeling of gotham's breeze flowing through their hair since bruce seems to love dictating your every move.

once he does form a solid plan to take you away, even just temporarily, you don't have to worry about the criminals who litter the streets because jason made sure that nobody's gonna mess with him and his angel's bonding time together.

the youngest, damian wayne, and the second biological child of bruce is a special case. his upbringing as an assassin makes him susceptible to his fits of tantrums. the first time he steps foot into the manor is the same time he will threaten anyone around him; and that includes you, the bastard child. quite frankly, your first greeting with him would be the same as the one in the original storyline, you'll greet him with a tray of sweets in your hand and a small smile and he'll reply with a sword on your neck. but the difference would be the undeniable fact that dick and bruce immediately stopped him from even nicking your delicate skin.

dick's swearing was shut down by alfred's scolding and you, again! pulling on your oldest brother's sleeve with an assurance that you're okay.

that's the very first time he sees his father truly reprimand him with nothing but rage in his eyes. despite damian's annoying antics towards his father the entire day, it seems like you were the snapping point.

his father, bruce wayne, made it very clear that he can mess with anyone and everyone in the family but you. that you have nothing to

his only reply would be a sneer as he demands they take him to his room immediately, unable to shut you down when you offer to help bring his luggage despite bruce's firm unwillingness and dick's hesitant request that his baby bird should instead spend time in his room instead.

but it was always your word above everybody else's and damian hates that, hates that everyone just seems to succumb to your request as long as it doesn't compromise your safety. the bitterness that keeps resurfacing in his heart whenever he sees you wearing tim or dick's jacket, or if he caught sight of bruce giving you affection was a feeling he tried to convince himself wasn't jealousy.

not jealousy towards you, no, but towards them. your behavior towards him was nothing but kind, a kindness that was taught to him as weakness. he thinks you're weak and undeserving of being spoiled and yet he hates it whenever he sees his blood sibling (whom he called a bastard child so many times) become too close with anyone but him.

he hates it, he hates you and his conflicting feelings. he hates it when he pushes you away, hates it when he sees you pout after another failed attempt at trying to have your youngest sibling talk to you.

and as the days or even weeks pass by, with all your effort to try to bond with him, with the days where he can feel dick's energy drain because you insisted on spending time with damian instead of dick again, with tim's intolerable treatment towards the him because you chose to bother damian instead of that loser— are the days he feels himself actually becoming closer to you because he relishes in your insufferable behavior towards them, because you just seem so sweet to him.

damian feels that it's right that you make him the exception.

so it's inevitable that damian will eventually discover both your talents towards art and the love for nature. it's a mistake, really, when one day as he stalks through the hallways he'd find you in your own atelier, painting a portrait of a robin with a color scheme that matches his vigilante suit. the beams of sunlight seems to hit you just right because you looked so at peace with your surroundings, humming a tune, unaware of your youngest brother who has found himself at your most natural state.

he'll budge in without moment's hesitation afterwards, steering clear behind you as he analyzes your art. it would only be after a few minutes would he announce his presence in the room, expecting you to scream at him to buzz off but all you did was jump in your seat, looking back to eye the intruder only to find out it was damian all along, offering him a smile and a seat beside you.

after he does so, you'll both end up spending the entire day bombarding each other with art tips and animal facts. he'll give you comments about the bird's proportions and you give him guidelines on how to properly mix your colors without it looking muddled. it's like you two are meant to be siblings because damian swears he ended up clinging to your side after your painting session, refusing to even seat beside anyone during dinner time if it isn't you because he's not done rambling about the rainbow eucalyptus you had told him you'd seen in a nature documentary once— so it's rightfully his place to be beside you and not drake's or grayson's or even his father.

eventually you two would be as close as peas in a pod because you're seemingly the only one who knows how to calm him down, the only one with the right to raise your voice at him and to ask him of favors because you're his blood sibling. and because you both share the same blood, that means you both should share clothes that complement each other, share snacks and treats, share matching bracelets and necklaces and any jewelry, you're the only one allowed to hang around his room and him in yours.

the others find it annoying that you let him be, but what choice do they have? unless they would like to hear an earful from damian then they should stay silent because you both aren't done painting each other's nails yet!

stephanie brown is shortly introduced to you after her incessant insistence on meeting you right after stepping foot into the manor. she knows of your internet fame for being the beloved bruce wayne's 'favorite' child and she's not afraid to admit that you are indeed adorable in person! unlike your first meeting with damian, steph would immediately coddle you at first glance, insisting you call her by 'steph' and that

due to the short period of time as her robin and her being constantly reprimanded for her antics, you'd take it in yourself to become closer with her, and she accepts your offer without any complaints. she's also one of your muses for your art and it's a good thing she has a sense of style unlike your brothers who are either too flashy (you had to stifle a laughter looking at the discowing costume) or too dull. damian's fashion sense is good but he's often out during the time period you spend with steph, and even if she often doesn't stay still, you at least hsve someone to talk your ears off whilst you try to sketch the poses she chose.

her obsession towards you stems from your willingness to "match her freak" or whatever internet lingo she finds that day, but she's a fun company to be around! she's always there for you when you need to rant about anything regarding your feelings, especially since you're at the age where you're a teenager and your emotions towards your family would be all over the place and she'd relate the most towards that.

so other than barbara, you'll find yourself speaking up about any concerns you have to steph, and she turns your 'favoritism' towards her her entire personality.

but if you think of even spilling your secrets about a highschool crush to steph or news that someone had asked you out for prom them then spoiler alert! don't. like her mentor, steph will drop signs and clues and your brothers would promptly deal with that. awe, don't worry about feeling alone though or if you weren't permitted to go to your highschool prom because steph and babs will be the ones to convince bruce to throw you your own very elegant gala where you would dance with only your siblings!

see, isn't she so strategic that way? psht, you don't need a boy or a girl acting as your temporary reprieve when your entire family is there for you! steph is here for you and you did technically promise to go out with her today to go shopping so...

it's not that she isn't on your side, no! but you're very much the entire family's baby and she doesn't want you losing your attention on her, definitely not! her goofy personality towards you really does cover her intense urge to be by your side really well. unlike damian, it's not obvious that she's trying so hard to monopolize your time for herself but you're just so fun to be around and she's at her best behavior when it comes to you.

so what's wrong if she ditches her other friends to bond with her beloved sibling? it's not like they'd understand what it's like having someone who actually looks at her for her rather than just the surface level.

don't question why most of the gifts she had given you (which ranges from attires like jackets and shles, to matching bracelets, even little fidget toys) all don a shade of purple and blue! and don't also question why her gallery is filled with cute selfies of you and why your phone's lock screen wallpaper is now suddenly matching with hers.

after all, steph likes making it known that you are her favorite!

cassandra cain, when she first saw you, is, of course, silent. but she makes her presence known quickly after she has enough proof that you've no fight in your body. she may not be the most expressive in words but she is through actions.

you were actually the one who had first approached her after bruce initially introduced you two to each other, offering her a handshake and a greeting in sign language. albeit it being crusty, and her insisting that it's alright if you do the talking, it seems like you were more than willing to learn sign language just for the sake of your new sister and she likes it.

she really, really likes it, appreciates how there were no signs of malice in your movements and just how comfortable you seemed with someone who could potentially end your life with just a snap of her fingers. and yet you treat her like she's not a weapon of murder but rather another sibling who is welcomed into your own world.

you ask her if she wants to hang out with you and steph in your own personal sleepover inside your room and she accepts it because of just how comforting your presence is. it's been so long since she had last felt like she was treated as a human and you were proof that she's glad she never took the path to human carnage like her father intended her to because then she wouldn't meet someone who would soon be so precious to her.

cass may not talk a lot but she is a listener.

a listener to both your words and your body language. it's quicker for her to notice if you ever needed a hug or a catalyst for comfort. she knows your boundaries and when you need space the most. she knows it when you want to open up to her about how stuffy the manor is beginning to feel, how it feels as if they're becoming more sensitive about your social life, how you wish your friends aren't distancing themselves from you because of how intimidating your family is.

and you can say all that to her because cass, alongside duke and sometimes steph, would be the only ones keeping your deepest darkest desires to their grave. although she may not understand your reasonings on why you even felt like your family is coddling you too much (because they're not! they love you very much and she does too) in the first place, she's always the one offering you to hold her hands whenever you're going through a momentary panic attack or a shoulder to lean on whenever dick would scold you for something impulsive you've done.

unlike your neglected counterpart, cass would always be by your shadows, watching every one of your moves and to abide by bruce's order to make sure you wouldn't escape, shall you ever feel rebellious during your teenage years. you may be older than her but she's stronger than you, more experienced and can even combat your dad if she wants to.

yet she always seems to let her guard down when it comes to you because you just seem to have that alluring effect on everybody. can't you understand just how important you are to everybody? you're the most important to her, you're one of the first few people who had treated her like a human so she swears on her life to protect you from harm's way like you did her whenever she's often in a pit of despair.

cass isn't the most expressive, so she makes up for it by instead leaving signs that she really cares for you, or sometimes hiding little trinkets for you to find in your room. it's like her very own message that translates 'cass was here'.

whenever you sit beside her at the dinner table, she always slips in extra food by your plate without you looking or sometimes even filling your glass bottles with extra juice and you'll never know why until you realize that it's her way of telling you to eat more. sometimes, your clothes would go missing until you see your sisters wearing your own collection of jackets and hoodies then swapping them in your drawers for their own— you'd realize that cass got that idea from steph and you can't get mad at her or anybody else as it soon becomes tradition that you'll have an entire closet dedicating to the missing clothes you have that your siblings have replaced to their own attire.

cass really does love you and although she can't always say it out loud, you'll always have a constant reminder instead. as long as you're safe and sound then you don't have to witness the darker sides of her that she hides from you.

then finally, duke thomas. he may have been introduced to you the latest but you could say in terms of every trait, he'd be the brother you'd like to keep close for every situation. your first meeting with him is quite frankly the most normal one of them all, introducing yourself to duke through dinner. although he may be temporarily under bruce's guardianship over anything else, he's incredibly comforting to be around as he's quick to catch on your emotions but unlike the others, he doesn't push you to open up to him, but he won't leave your side at all either.

duke is the only metahuman you're probably allowed to be close with because your dad absolutely refuses you from even trying to talk with the superfamily. and duke heavily prides himself with that information, often secretly showing you his metahuman skills and answering whatever questions you have about them.

like jason, duke wouldn't fully delude himself into thinking you're innocent, that you need to be babied to the point they feel the urge to track even the food you eat— so he's your reliable source for any video games you were forbidden to play or any movies dick would consider too gruesome for you. he's chill, he even sneaks you unhealthy chips once in a while which makes him automatically one of the top in your tier list.

but don't think he's entirely on your side, because whilst duke seems the most normal to you - the only sibling who wouldn't smother you in blankets the moment you accidentally cut yourself with a kitchen knife - he's also batshit crazy for his own sibling and he'll sacrifice a lot for you two. so if you even dare try to suggest an idea that duke knows would risk not only him, but especially you, then that idea automatically is relayed to your dad and you wouldn't really want your father's gentle scolding anymore.

you can try to find a loophole to go out with him though! if you want to eat batburgers outside then you can do so when he's at his patrol, seeing as how he's the only batkid who does daytime patrol and that's way safer than eating at night, no?

so do expect spending more time with him the most outside, other than with dick and damian, but you'll be forced to sit in the sidelines where nobody can lay their hands on you whilst duke would be busy fighting crime and afterwards treating you to ice cream like he didn't just 'accidentally' and brutally body slammed a criminal into the wall for giving you heart eyes.

'most normal member of the family, my ass' would be the first thing that pops into your mind, but hey! at least you didn't have to be always locked up into the stuffy manor, right...?

at least you get to spend time with all of your siblings and a very loving and attentive father..!

little did you know that the only reason they allowed you out is to give you this false sense of independence, slowly but surely planning for the ultimate day where they truly would lock you up away from the world.

but they just can't help it, you know? the media's greedy hands are starting to take more than they could; so many eyes are on you and danger awaits at every corner in gotham— they can't afford having their beloved being pried away from their arms.

so is it truly a blessing or a curse in disguise? you don't know anymore.

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