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pearlessance · 4 months ago

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Moral Modification

Summary: When you decide to pierce your nipples, Joel Miller breaks his moral code to lend a helping hand.

Pairing: JacksonEra!Joel Miller/reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, seduction, age gap(undefined), piercings and needles, nipple play, moral ambiguity, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size difference

NOTE: this one shot was written for my bff joelmillersgirlfriend and all of the bolded words are titles of her fics over on AO3!! if you haven't read any of her work i def recommend going over there to check it out she's incredible. we also have a 3-part co-write we did on AO3 called False Pretenses! thank you to everyone for reading, love u all <3

[cross posted on AO3]

[masterlist]

You find it on a scouting mission.

Maria had sent you and Joel out in search of books to fill the shelves of Jackson’s overused library. It was a leisurely mission, moving slowly from house to house, searching through broken shelves and dressers and nightstands.

The blistering summer heat has you feeling exhausted by midday, and so the sun hasn’t even set when you pick a still-standing apartment complex and settle in for the night.

You drop your pack and flop onto the moth-eaten couch while Joel triple-checks every exit and every entrance in the tiny apartment he’d picked on the very top floor. He’s going at it again, glancing out of the wide windows with his rifle in hand, when you say, “If there was a way in or out, I think you would’ve found it the third time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not a man of many words, Joel Miller. But he was certainly fun to torture with lewd suggestions.

“It’s real hot today,” you say. And it’s the goddamn truth—your skin is warm and your shirt sticks to the small of your back, and even though you’re wearing jean shorts the fabric chafes at your thighs.

He does nothing but grunt in agreement as a reply. Few words.

Though you try, you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you tell him, “We’d be a lot cooler if we took off some of these clothes, you know.”

Joel Miller is a good man. A really good man. This is why he pretends you don’t get to him, why he pretends to shrug you off as just a naive little girl whenever you brazenly flirt with him.

But you see it.

The way his calloused hands tighten around his rifle, the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he turns his head just enough to keep that smirk from out of view. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. But he leaves his spot at the window and joins you on the couch instead.

You set your legs in his lap and when he rests his hand on your calf you half expect him to push you away. But he doesn’t—his fingers linger, pressing into the tender muscle. “How am I ridiculous? It’s only common sense, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes catch yours at the name. He’s never directly said it, but you have a hunch that it does something to him, speaking to him as an authority. A part of you wonders if he ever thinks of you in the way you think of him, wonders if his mind is often filled with sinful, raw images. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You do. Of course, you do. But you’re out here all alone and he’s sitting beside you and you can feel the heat of his skin against yours and he’s so big and warm and masculine. You want him, need him in a way you’ll never even try to understand. “Explain it to me,” you urge.

Joel leans his rifle against the arm of the couch and reaches up to rub the tension from his jaw. He smiles, one of those all-knowing smiles that makes your heart flutter. It’s a secret sort of smile, meant for just you and him. “You got any idea how old I am, girl?”

You shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it doesn’t. “I like that you’re older. Besides, I’m not talking about that.” You are. “I’m talking about the weather. The heat. I’m going to take my shorts off.”

Slowly, carefully, you trail your fingertips over the curve of your chest, down the center of your abdomen. His eyes follow your every movement, pupils blown wide and jaw set firmly. His hand flexes around your calf, squeezing softly.

When you slip the edge of your pinky beneath the denim waistband his lips part. You trace the seam, from one hip to the other and back again, real slow. Joel watches you and you watch him, transfixed, thighs pressed together to abate the ache that forms between them.

For a moment, a single moment, you think you have him. You can see the temptation on his face, clear as day. You think you’ve finally cracked the eternal goodness and strength of one Joel Miller��but his hand covers yours the moment you reach for the silver button.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you feel a little like you’ve been caught red handed.

His fingers squeeze yours, but his touch is so sudden and electrifying that the faintest whimper erupts from your chest. You want him to touch you with those hands, to touch you everywhere. You want him to take all that you offer and more.

But he’s just so good. “Stop,” he says, breathless.

The hesitance is palpable. The strain in his voice. You know he wants you, can see the growing erection pushing at the metallic zipper of his jeans from the other end of the couch. You know it’ll only take a little more convincing, a little more of the delicious chase…but you want the final decision to be his. You want him to need it, too.

So you relent.

You stand to your feet and move towards the staircase in the abandoned apartment. But when you step between his thighs, you linger. “Did you check for any books upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t think whoever lived here before were much the readin’ type.”

“Yeah, well…didn’t think you were much the reading type, either. But here you are.”

Joel shrugs. “Not much to do at the end of the world. Helps pass the time.”

You knock your knee against his playfully. “You even know how to read, old man?” He chuckles softly and it feels like a victory. “Never seen you in the library.”

He spreads his legs further to give you more room, settling into the couch with his head tilted back. You know he doesn’t mean to look that fucking good doing it, but he does. Taking up all that space, commanding without even trying. It makes your mouth water, makes your skin prickle in every spot he allows himself to look. And then he says lowly, “I’ve seen you.”

It gives you pause. Because if he’s seen you in the library back in Jackson but you haven’t seen him, it means he notices you. Even when you’re not out here alone, even when you’re not urging him to touch you, even when you’re not trying. A seductive smirk finds your lips. “You gotta crush on me or something, Mr. Miller?”

Joel scoffs and shakes his head, turning away from you to hide the redness on his face that has nothing to do with the heat.

You giggle softly and decide to grant him a little reprieve. “I’ll be back,” you say, escaping the growing tension and focusing instead on the task at hand. “If they don’t have books, maybe they have something else that could be useful. Clothes or shoes or batteries or something.”

It only takes a few minutes before you realize what he meant when he said the past inhabitants of the apartment don’t seem much like the reading type. There’s not a single bookshelf to be found. Nothing on the walls, nothing standing in the spare room. There are three computers, though. Not that they’re worth anything now.

Still, you try your damndest to find something. Anything. You rifle through drawers and find nothing but a cracked and weathered bible, of which you have a thousand and one copies in Jackson.

The closest thing you find to a real book is a stack of magazines in the cluttered bathroom. All are covered in a thick layer of dust and most have images of sports cars on the front, but they’re worth grabbing, anyway. You’re sure Tommy or Greg or someone wouldn’t mind skimming through them, so you grab the whole stack and return downstairs to Joel.

You’re halfway down the stairs when the magazine on the bottom of the stack tumbles from your hands. And it’s not a sports car on the front page.

Instead, it’s a woman all dressed up in leather. She wears platform boots that reach her knees, adorned with heavy silver buckles down the front. Even though you were born not long after the outbreak, you’re not oblivious. You know what pornography is, but you’ve never seen anything quite like this.

You pick it up and put it on the top of the pile.

When Joel sees the small stack in your hand he asks, “Anything good?”

“Mm. Not sure yet.” You set the pile onto the floor beside your pack, nestle back into your spot in the opposite corner of the couch, and flip open the magazine with the leather-clad woman on the front, reading the title aloud. “Have you ever heard of a porno mag named Dreadnought?”

“What are you—is that—?”

“I’m just curious, Mr. Miller. Relax.” You lift your feet and put them back in his lap and discover he is anything but relaxed. You can feel the stiffness in his thighs even through the thick soles of your high-top sneakers.

“No, what? No, you shouldn’t—you should…”

You ignore his stuttering, flipping quickly through the pages. Most of them are filled with erotic images of women dressed similarly to the one on the front page. They each have a man in a curious, submissive position. But none of this interests you, none of it even surprises you, in truth.

Near the end of the magazine is where you find exactly what you’re looking for. The woman on the front page is in different outfits, one in leather, another in red lace. But it’s the third page of her feature where she’s completely naked. Her breasts are full and sit too high on her chest to be real, but they’re beautiful. Not for any reason other than those pretty silver barbells that are pierced through her nipples.

You lean up, tucking your legs beneath yourself, and show Joel the image. “Was this common? You know, like…before?”

His face is red and you think maybe he’s forgotten how to speak. Because no words come out, he just sputters. “Is…what…which part—are you…I don’t—”

“I’ve never seen anyone with pierced nipples,” you interrupt. “That’s what I’m talking about. Was it common?”

He seems to find himself. “Uhm…no. Not really, I guess. Why do you ask?”

You shrug and find yourself leaning into his side, flipping to the next page. There’s another image of the woman, and though she’s back in that red lace again, you can see the piercings pushing against the thin fabric. “It’s pretty,” you say. “I like it. Do you think you could do something like that still?”

“Well, back then they had people who’d do that sorta thing professionally,” he says. “But as long as you’re careful, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

You let it go, and the two of you ration what food you have left, deciding to head back to the commune within the next day or two. You fall asleep leaning up against him, head resting on his shoulder. And you know Joel doesn’t rest much outside of Jackson’s walls, always too worried about being found or threatened in some way. But halfway through the night, you wake covered in a thin layer of sweat, scorched by the warmth of his head against your belly.

At some point in your sleep, you’d shifted, laying on the couch on your back, and Joel must have followed you. His arms are wrapped around your waist and his torso covers your legs, body heat warming you to uncomfortable temperatures.

But you don't dare move. Instead, you slide your fingers through the soft tendrils of his hair and scratch softly at his scalp, smiling in the dark as he moans in his sleep.

Your luck the following day is much better. You stumble upon an old strip mall, and inside there’s a small, indie bookstore. Joel picks through the science fiction section, stuffing his pack with everything he thinks might be interesting. He finds a few children’s books and pockets those, too, while you browse the romance section.

Half the books are crumbling dust in your hands and the others have so much water damage they’re hardly legible, but you pick up what you can. While you’re rifling through the horror books, stashing anything written by Stephen King or H.P. Lovecraft, Joel comes up behind you and says, “You really read that kinda thing?”

“What, scary stuff?”

He nods, takes the copy of Carrie from your hands, and flips it over. “Yeah. Ain’t we got enough horror out there already?”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “It’s not the same,” you explain. You flick the corner of the book in his hands and go back to browsing the shelves. “ This you can turn off,” you try to explain. “If you get too scared you can just close the book. Have you ever read anything scary before?”

Joel shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Try it one day,” you say. “The best time is in October, though. Under the sheets with a flashlight, scared out of your mind. It’s so good, Mr. Miller.”

His jaw feathers as if there’s something he wants to say. But the words never pass his lips. He simply slips the book into your pack and remains silent as he watches you.

It takes a while, but eventually, you’re satisfied with your haul. The day is still early, and so you say, “If we head back now we could save some time. Get home before dark tomorrow.”

To your surprise, he agrees with you. The extra weight of the books has you feeling sluggish an hour into your journey back home, but you persist. And even though it’s significantly less hot today than yesterday, at least once an hour Joel’s passing you his plastic bottle and urging you to drink water.

It’s a sweet gesture, in truth. Joel’s got this innate instinct to provide for others, you know. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he just silently takes care of the people he cares about. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, you. You’ve observed him for long enough to know that he’s a protector, a nurturer.

The only problem with Joel taking care of you is how much you like it. It makes you feel soft and gooey on the inside, producing sordid images in your brain of repaying the favor on your knees. You think about Joel’s big hands on you often—in your dreams, even.

But…today is different because you can feel the weight of the magazine at the bottom of your pack. You can’t shake the image of the woman on the cover and that metal through her breasts, can’t get over how elegant and edgy and bewitching she looked. You begin to wonder how it would feel to have Joel touch you if you had the same body modification—would his calloused hands feel more intense, sensations heightened with the sensitivity? Would he be gentle and slow-moving? How soft would his tongue feel against your skin over the adornment?

He seems to sense your distracted thoughts. “You okay? Seem quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer a little too quickly. “I’m just…just hot is all.”

Joel reaches behind him for his water bottle again but you shake your head.

“No, no. Not like…not like that.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face but you don’t have the energy to tease him about it. Not when you can’t stop thinking about his fucking hands. “Let's, uhm…let’s find someplace to rest for the night. Sun’s startin’ to set anyhow.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good.” As long as you stay six feet away from him. As long as you can keep your godforsaken hands to yourself. As long as he doesn’t look at you too long or ask too many questions or grunt an answer.

You find yourself praying, hoping to keep yourself from any further embarrassment, hoping to fight off that ache that seems to have made a home inside your belly. You cross your fingers at your sides and hope God’s got a private channel open for young girls with an insatiable desire for rugged, older men.

It feels like divine interference when you crest the hill of the street you're walking on to discover a run-down tattoo parlor. It still stands in perfect condition apart from the crumbling siding. Windows dirty but intact, door closed and stagnant.

A distraction will work.

And it looks sturdy enough to rest for the night. You know Joel will circle it a hundred times before he’s satisfied, but you think eventually he will be satisfied with it. “Didn’t people do piercings at tattoo shops, too?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, they did. At most of them, anyway.”

The thought seems to cross Joel’s mind the second you look at him. “Do you think I could…?”

“Maybe. Let’s see.”

You follow behind him as he approaches the building. He uses his knife to wedge the door open, and the two of you wait and listen for any approaching sound.

There’s nothing, though. Nothing but stale, empty air, and a whole lot of dust. You stick by his side for the first two rounds of inspection, as is your routine. But when he goes back in for a third, you decide to take a look around yourself.

In the front of the parlor, there’s a big, circular desk that sits atop the black and white tiles on the floor. The walls are painted maroon, and there’s a neon yellow leather couch near the door. You can only assume it’s where people would sit to wait, but the leather is smooth beneath your fingers even after all this time sitting unoccupied.

There are six smaller rooms behind the desk, each set up similarly with a blackout curtain and a medical-looking chair in the very center. In one of the rooms, there’s a binder flipped open, and as you begin to turn the pages you realize it’s an art portfolio.

For a moment, you wonder about the person who’d drawn all of these designs. How old were they when they drew them? Did they have tattoos themselves? Are they still alive, out there somewhere still creating art?

People in Jackson still get tattoos, you know. But not as often as you think it might have been before the outbreak. You trail your fingers lightly over the next page. It’s an image of a glass half-filled with amber liquid, some sloshing out of the side. Below it, the words Tennessee Whiskey are written in cursive.

“Should be good.” His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. When you turn to face him, Joel’s got his rifle slung over one shoulder and he’s leaning against the doorframe, curtain pushed to the side. “Help me barricade the door?”

The two of you spend the next ten minutes moving furniture around the parlor, setting it all in front of the entrance. It’ll be harder to leave in the morning, you know. But you know, too, that a barricade like this means that Joel’s feeling too exhausted to spend another night pacing and you’re happy to give him the assurance of safety he needs.

When you’re done, he spreads out on the leather couch and you put your pack beside his. “Joel?”

He turns just his head to look at you.

You sift through the books in your pack and reach towards the bottom, pulling out the magazine that’s plagued your every waking thought. “I’m going to pierce my nipples, I think.”

For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word in response. He just swallows hard and when his eyes leave yours, trailing down your neck, he squeezes them closed before they reach your chest. But you know, you know, even without any words, that he’s thinking about it. That he’s thinking about you, forgetting his morals for a single second.

It isn’t until you stand to your feet and start towards the closed-off rooms, magazine in hand, that he finally speaks up.

“Be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you hurt.”

You smirk at him over your shoulder. “Is that the Mr. Miller version of saying, I care about your tits?”

He snorts incredulously, but a chuckle follows shortly after, erasing all of your earlier embarrassment.

It doesn’t take you long to find the materials you need. In one of the cases you pry open with your knife, you choose two matching silver barbells with dainty, white diamonds on each end. You use a cloth to clean off a tall mirror in one of the rooms, and there’s a bottle of isopropyl alcohol that you use to disinfect both a steel surgical tray and your hands.

You discard your shirt and bra, laying them in the chair in the middle of the room, and flip the magazine open to further observe the woman in the image. Thankfully, you find a drawer full of individually packaged needles and take out several just in case.

Sterilizing your hands with the alcohol again, you align the jewelry over your nipple, inspecting the placement and maneuvering it until you’re satisfied. You rip open one of the packaged needles with your teeth and sterilize it too for good measure.

Carefully, you orient the needle just right, inhale until your lungs ache, and when you exhale—

“God fucking dammit!”

You can hear his footsteps before the sound of his rifle, and then comes his voice. “You alright? What happened?”

Your exhale is somehow shakier than your hands. “I’m okay, Joel,” you say quickly. You knew it was going to hurt, you’re literally piercing a needle through your flesh. But you didn’t expect it to be so excruciating. It stings even now with the needle pushed through, completely still.

He stands in the doorway, rifle lowered and pointed at the ground. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him glance around the room, looking at everything but you. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t. This could be dangerous, you can wait until we’re back home and—”

“And have someone else pierce my nipples? Yeah, Joel, I’m good on all that.” You pick the jewelry up, sterilize it again, and breathe slowly as you push it through. This part, while uncomfortable, is a world easier than the piercing itself.

You twist on the tiny diamond ball at the end of the barbell and admire your work. It’s perfectly straight, much to your surprise. And though it’s just a small change, it makes you feel as entrancing as the woman in the magazine.

There’s no blood, which you take as a good sign. And as the seconds tick by the pain subsides and is replaced with a dull throbbing instead. It hurts, but it’s bearable. The only problem is that as you try to line up the second needle, your hands tremble too much to keep it straight.

Even though you try to take deep breaths, try to shake the tremors from your hand, nothing works. And you can’t just have one, can’t just leave this task unfinished, and so you gather your courage and turn fully towards him. “Joel? I need your help.”

You’ve never seen him quite like this, you think. There’s no flush to his face, no chagrin or hesitance or resistance. All of his morality seems to be replaced with a dark desire, a need unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

Immediately you know this is the Joel Miller he’s tried so hard to hide from you. Only glimpses of this terrifying man have slipped through the facade, each one smothered quickly by restraint.

Yet here he stands, hungry eyes swallowing you up, tracing the outline of the jewelry without remorse.

“I can’t…my hands are shaky. I need you to do the other one.”

His hands twitch at his sides. And even though you now know he longs to touch you just as much as you want to touch him, his words tell an entirely different story. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s not…it’s not right. Shouldn’t even be seein’ you like this. Too…too young. Too sweet.”

The southern accent in his voice is thicker now than you’ve ever heard it. Deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. He pins you with that intense stare of his and you suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe. Flickering flames gather low in your belly.

“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll just stand here. I just need you to…to push the needle through. That’s all.”

It takes him a second, but he nods. “Alright…alright. I, uhm…okay. Yeah.” He nears you slowly and you feel crowded. You can smell the salt and sweat of his skin, can feel that warmth even though he doesn’t yet touch you.

You pour the alcohol over his hands and hand him another packaged needle. “Here,” you say. “Just do it as straight as you can, and once the needle’s in I can do the rest.”

Joel peels apart the packaging and takes the needle between his fingers. He discards the plastic and you can hear each of his ragged breaths echo in your ears. Slowly, experimentally, he reaches out and presses his fingertips just below your ribcage and it makes you moan.

He pulls away immediately as if he’d been burned by your skin. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hold on.” You try again to catch your breath to no avail. “Let me close my eyes. I’m sorry.”

Joel nods, jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. But you do as you say, closing your eyes and trying to convince yourself it’s not Joel touching you. It’s someone else. The same person who drew everything in that portfolio.

But when he does touch you again, his hands are warm and calloused and big and familiar. You know it’s Joel. Your Joel. The brooding man of few words. The too-good man who cares about you, who lets you sleep even though he never does, who gives you his water to guarantee you stay hydrated.

His hand moves upwards, palm pressed flat against your ribcage. It stops just below your breast as if he’s feeling the weight of it in his hand and you wonder if he can feel the hammering of your heart behind your sternum, too.

You don’t have time to think about it for long, though. Because his thumb slides across your nipple, hardening it into a peak, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s touching you. He’s touching you and you want more, want to feel him on every inch of your skin.

This time you’re able to hold back your moan, but only barely. It’s more like a whimper that gets caught in your throat instead. But he doesn’t pull away, and soon his other hand joins in. “Should I…uhm,” he clears his throat. “Should I count, or…?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just…just do it. Please.” The words are desperate for a whole new reason. Your hands tremble even more at your sides.

The biting cold of the steel reaches you before you feel the pain. You try to breathe through it but the second one is somehow even worse and obscenities fall from your lips at the agony. It hurts so badly that you don’t even register as Joel slides the jewelry through and screws the diamond onto the barbell.

Ultimately, it’s his voice that cuts through the fog.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Hey, c’mon. Finished. Look at me, pretty girl. Open your eyes.” You do because that thick, southern drawl is more enticing than anything you’ve ever heard. You’d follow it anywhere, you think. Do anything it asks. “There you go. Atta girl.”

His words make your mouth water. You want to taste them. Joel’s hands are still on you, holding your hips, pressing into the exposed flesh. It’s all you can think about until he turns you away from him, forcing you to look into the mirror on the wall. “Oh my God.”

It surprises you a little just how much you love them. It makes you look powerful, like you are the one who belongs in a magazine.

“They’re perfect, Joel.”

“Did it hurt too bad?”

The question is so insane that it makes you laugh. “Are you kidding? It was awful. I don’t even know what to compare it to to try and explain it.”

He laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle that brings a smile to your face. “Well, you have my sincere apologies, little lady.”

When you turn back to face him, you ask, “What do you think? Do they look good?”

You know you said you wouldn’t torture him, but the look on his face is so sweet that you can’t resist. “They’re real pretty,” he says. “They, uh…they suit you.”

“Think so?” You look up at him through your lashes, trying your damndest to look as desperate for him as you are. “Hurts a little,” you tell him, pressing your thumb gently over the center of your nipple, the one you’d pierced on your own. “Right here.”

He sees right through your false pretenses. You watch him swallow, watch his eyes darken. “Careful, little girl,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

The name makes you squirm beneath his catastrophic gaze, thighs pressing together. He catches the movement—and you realize you want to be anything but careful with this terrifying, powerful man. Of course, you don’t heed his warning. “Might help if you kiss it better, you know.”

“S’that right?” You nod and a sinful smirk pulls at the corners of his full lips. He leans down and you can feel the scruff of his beard brushing the side of your face. Against your ear, he whispers, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it, and yet you can’t fucking resist. You’ve never been able to resist him. “Then show me.”

And just like that, his resolve withers. The cord snaps and the good Joel you know vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but this hungry, desperate man behind. He grabs your waist and hauls you up against him, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

Your chest presses against his but the pressure is bliss, fighting off both the ache in your breasts and the one between your legs. He swipes everything off the metal table in the corner. Alcohol and needles and portfolio all crashing to the floor.

Joel sets you atop it and his mouth hovers an inch above yours, breath fanning across your cheeks. “Last chance, little girl,” he says.

He’s giving you an out, you realize. One last opportunity to escape him. You lean up and press your lips tenderly to his instead.

It’s answer enough for him.

Joel’s mouth moves greedily against yours. One hand rests against the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other holds the nape of your neck. His tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like honey and whiskey and sunlight. You could drown in it, you think. But Joel doesn’t linger for long.

He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, your chest—-and when he flicks his soft tongue across your nipple, your back arches and you forget how to breathe.

“Joel,” you say, voice needy and desperate. “Touch me. Please touch me.”

His hands flex against your skin, still holding himself back. You don't understand—can’t he feel how much you want it? Can’t he see it on your face, in your eyes? “I want to,” he admits.

You grind your hips against his and the sensation of the bulge in his jeans against your center has you shaking. “What’s stopping you?”

A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his throat. He presses his forehead against yours, kisses the tip of your nose gently. “You make me crazy, pretty girl.” His hand comes around your throat, cradling your face. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traces the outline of your lips and says, “You make me feel like I’m eighteen again.” His hand travels lower, down your neck, knuckles dragging between your breasts. “Like I’m some little boy who gets a hard-on over a bra strap.” Lower, down your belly, between your ribs. “Or these fuckin’ shorts, baby.”

Everything aches for him. Every cell in your body has been lit aflame beneath his touch, longing to feel his hands, his tongue, to feel all of him. “Joel,” you say. “Please.”

He kisses a trail that follows the path of his hand, but this time he stalls at your breasts. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg,” he mutters against your skin. And then he’s kissing and sucking and biting marks into the softness of your breast, leaving proof that he was here, evidence of his affection. “If I touch you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“I want you to,” you say. “ I think about it all the time.” Your head falls back, hips rolling against his, seeking out any sort of friction you can find. “God—I dream about it. I want you inside me.”

His eyes darken as he looks up at you.

A man of few words. This time it’s him who reaches for the metallic button. He pops it open in one smooth movement, tongue lapping over the metal barbell through your nipple. You can feel each pass over the sensitive flesh down to your toes.

He wriggles his hand into your shorts, deft fingers finding your clit easily. You let out a lewd moan at the commanding way he just takes —as if he’s right where he’s always supposed to be. Right where you want him, right where you’ve needed him for all these years.

Joel kisses a path across your sternum, mouth giving the same tender care to the opposite breast. He slides his fingers through your wetness, gathering your slick and using it to circle your clit. “M’gonna take care of her, sweetheart,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, s’that alright with you?”

His words are filthy and obscene and you love it. You’re nodding quickly and saying, “Yes, Joel, yes.”

A cold shiver passes through you as he rises back to his full height, towering over you when he takes a step back. “Let’s get these off,” he says. Joel helps you shimmy both your shorts and your panties down your legs until you’re sitting there in front of him completely naked. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel small and minuscule beneath the weight of his predatory stare.

He places both hands on your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading you open. And then he drops to his knees and lazily strokes his fingers through your wet heat. You can feel the chill of his breath against your clit and your fingers find the outgrown tendrils of dark hair on instinct, trying to pull him closer, wiggling your hips to the very edge of the table.

“Needy girl, hm?” He laughs softly. It’s not malicious but rather adoring, and you wonder how it is that someone so strong and authoritative can make you feel powerful and cherished in the same breath. “S’okay. I’ve got ya.”

And then his tongue is on you and it feels like heaven. So much better than you’d ever imagined, ever dreamed. His scruff scratches at the inside of your thighs as he slides his tongue through your pussy. Joel groans against you like this is more for him, and the vibration of the sound pulls staccato moans from your mouth.

He slips two fingers into you easily, encountering no resistance. You’re too wet, too eager to have him inside you. You whimper his name as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hands pulling tight in his hair. It feels so good it’s almost too much—but he seems to know what you can take more than you do.

Joel looks up at you from between your thighs and you can see the palpable hunger on his face. You think maybe he’s wanted this for longer than you, maybe he’s somehow been even more starved for this than you once thought.

You can feel your orgasm creep down your spine, inferno building and building, settling low in your belly. You try to tell him, to warn him—but then he hooks his fingers inside of you, pressing against that sweet spot and—

“Oh, God—God, fuck—Joel, I—!”

“S’alright, baby, go’head. Cum for me, oh—yeah, that’s it. There you go, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle, a stark contrast to the assertive way he moves his hands, pulling from you everything your body can give. The southern accent is thick as he talks you through it. “Feels so much better now, huh? Y’look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So pretty when you’re all full’a me.”

Your thighs tremble even as you begin to come down, trying to catch your breath, holding onto his arms to ground yourself as he stands back to his feet, thick cords of muscle sturdy beneath your shaking hands. And he’s right—it does feel better now, but as he eases his fingers out of you and you watch him lick them clean, your pussy clenches at the sight. It’s better, it is… but when it comes to good and moral Joel Miller you are insatiable.

A deep, rumbling groan reverberates in his chest when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. Your slick stains the bulge in his jeans, darkening the denim material. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, big hands running slowly up and down your smooth thighs. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this…shouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you. Such a little thing, don’t know what you want.”

The answer comes quickly. “You, Joel. I want you.”

You reach for his belt and he watches your nimble fingers undo it, pulling the leather through the metal fastening. He hisses when you reach into his jeans and pull him out.

He’s bigger than you thought, and wrapping your hand around him completely is a troubling task. You’re not sure he’ll even fit but it makes your mouth water, makes your swollen clit pulse with need. “Please.”

“I can’t, baby. Believe me, I want it, too, but I…you’re too good for me. Too—” He stops when you slide the head of his cock through your pussy, coating him in your slick. You watch the movement together and this time it’s Joel’s hands that shake. He curses under his breath, admiring the way he fits so perfectly.

“Just a little?” Your own voice is hardly recognizable in your own ears, needy and deprived. You slide his cock back up towards your clit and it catches at your entrance. You both gasp in tandem. You love Joel and all his goodness but right now you want the worst of him. You want all of him.

He nods and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Okay…okay,” he says to himself. “Just a little. You sure? You’re positive you want—?”

You line him up and shift your hips forward, words fading into nothingness. It’s just a little like you promised, but the stretch is so delicious you find yourself wanting more. More, always more—you think you could die without it.

Joel pushes in further, a little less than halfway, and then pulls out slowly. He groans and you feel like crying. His cock is covered in your wetness and when he pushes back in you think this just might be enough to make you cum a second time.

It’s filthy and obscene and you love it. You love him. He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb, fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place you’re joined. “You’re so big,” you whimper.

You can feel the tension in his shoulders and you do your damnedest to smooth it out with small, massaging motions. He touches you just right but you want it to feel good for him, too.

That heat of an orgasm begins to build again. A low, incessant thrum between your hips.

“I have to,” he mutters so softly you hardly hear him the first time. “I have to, baby. I’ve gotta feel you. I’ve gotta…” And then he eases his cock into you to the hilt without any warning, filling you so full it hurts. The invasion stings but your body adjusts quickly, making room for him in the same way your heart has. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel him shudder as he breathes the word fuck into your skin.

“Oh my God—it’s too much, too much—!”

“You can take it, baby. C’mon, spread your legs wider. I know s’alot,” he praises, circling your clit a little faster now. Your slick drips down your thighs, into the dark hair between his hips. “You got it, sweetheart. See? There you go.”

He pulls out just to sink into you again. This time there’s less pain and more divinity and your nails dig into his shoulder through his flannel as you adjust to the size of him.

Joel uses his free hand to tilt your chin up, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep. He sets an unrelenting pace, hips grinding against yours with each thrust. It’s so much and you’re so full of him in all the best ways. When you moan into his mouth you can feel his lips turn up at the corners, a predatory grin saved just for you.

The sounds are filthy and echo in the room, an obscene symphony of devotion. You’d let him do anything right now—anything.

He picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. All you can think about is how right this feels, how you were made for him, how well he fits inside you.

A low grunt filters through his teeth and he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so pretty. How’s it feel? Tell me. Use your words.”

“S’good,” you whimper in response. Your brain is mush and your thighs become a vise around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper. “So good, Joel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m—I’m close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum again already, hm?” He pushes his palm against your belly, thumb still gently stroking your clit. And the pressure of it feels so intense you let out a whine of bliss. “Yeah, you are,” he whispers. “Can feel her squeezin’ me. S’alright, baby. Wanna feel it.”

His words send you tumbling over the edge of bliss, and he fucks you through it. Stars blind your vision and your ears fill with static. But you can hear Joel though, can hear him and feel him deep inside you through it all.

“Ohh, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Pretty little thing’s just fuckin’ dripping all over me, feels so good. You feel so good.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, his rhythm falters. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you as Joel falls off the precipice. His head rolls back and the muscles in his forearms flex around the prominent veins. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you know you’ll never see anything as beautiful as this big, powerful man weak for you.

He’s panting when he slowly pulls out of you with a hiss. Sweat dots his hairline and that flush on his neck certainly seems like it’s staying for a little while longer. He’s beautiful, you think. Crafted by the hands of God himself, made with imperfect grace.

When he looks up at you he smiles in the way he always does, like the two of you share a secret. And maybe now you do. A sinful, dirty secret that’s all yours. You laugh softly and he mirrors the sound, helping you back to your feet.

You hold his shoulders for balance as he helps you back into your shorts. And when he hands you your bra and t-shirt, you’re starkly reminded of the dull throb in your breasts and think better of it before putting them on. “I think they might be too tight. I’ll look around and see if I can…”

Before you finish the sentence, he’s unbuttoning his red flannel and tossing it to you. He wears a light brown tshirt underneath, the arms just a little too tight on his biceps. He looks so good that you want to take him between your legs again even with the sweet ache that lingers. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”

You do. He helps you with the buttons and it’s too big but gives your new body modifications room to breathe and heal. You ask him how it looks.

“Better on you,” is his short response.

When you begin to fall asleep on the yellow leather couch later that night, all wrapped up in his arms, Joel presses his lips to your forehead and says, “When we get home, I wanna read that book of yours. Carrie, was it?”

You shift at his side, turning your head up to look at him. “You’re not gonna wait till October, like I said?”

Joel shakes his head. “You got any idea how old I am, girl? I’ve got no time for waitin’ till October.” He’s quiet for several seconds. And then his voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “No time waitin’ on this to be right in the eyes of others, either.”

And you can feel the heat behind his words, can almost hear the unspoken meaning. No time for waiting until you’re older, no time for waiting until the perfect moment. Your mouth pulls into a wide grin. “Are you asking to go steady with me, Mr. Miller?”

With a scoff, he runs his hand playfully down your face and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says.

When he kisses you, you make a promise against his lips. “I’m yours, Joel.”

He doesn’t say much in the way of a reply, your big man of few words. But he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

It’s more than enough.

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #pearlessance #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ao3 writer #joel tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou #joel miller self insert #smut #fanfic #tlou fanfiction #fluff #jackson era joel

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bloodibambiidoll · 5 months ago

Note

ok so hear me out. rafe and weird!girl get into an argument and rafe calls her weird or says something about her being normal for once and my girl gets all upset as she should.

Nonnie, are you in my walls? I’m very much having a day like this. This is heavily based on the day I had today and writing it made me feel sm better. Slight angst. Fluff. 1.8K words. NO MINORS!! (Note: weird!girl is autistic coded bc I am autistic)

You were extremely overwhelmed. It feels like every single thing is out to get you today. Before you and Rafe left to go on your first grocery shopping trip since you moved in together you got into a bit of a disagreement over the list. You are extremely picky. You have set safe foods that you like to stick to and you don’t like to stray from them. But Rafe on the other hand would eat almost anything. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that you wanted to live off of freezer waffles and chicken nuggets when he hired a professional chef for the two of you.

“Baby, why would I buy you the cheap freezer shit when I can have it made from scratch all fancy n shit?” It wasn’t about the price, you know that. It was just that Rafe wanted you to have the best of everything he could possibly give you and sometimes you just wanted the simpler things. Something that he’s still trying to understand.

“It’s just… I don’t want that. I want the ones from the store. That I always get. The ones I like.” Your lips were formed into a pout as you looked down at your lap and played with the rings on your fingers.

“Aight, Bats, if that’s what you want.” He shrugged and kissed your forehead before leaving you to finish getting ready. It was what you wanted. But you could tell it wasn’t what he wanted so you felt bad. You didn't want to be an inconvenience.

So after that you got in your head that you were too much for him. You spent the entire card ride to the grocery store thinking about how a normal girl wouldn’t want specific foods. A normal girl would be more than happy to have a personal chef make them anything and everything they wanted. A normal girl would be able to go to those fancy restaurants Rafe likes because she’d actually like anything on the menu. He tried to take you once and you spent the entire meal picking at your plate of chicken and veggies, so he never tried again settling to go places that had things you actually liked.

Then at the store you were so in your head that if you hadn’t made a list you probably wouldn’t have gotten a single thing you wanted. You couldn’t stop feeling like you were a burden to him because you needed him to buy you an entirely different grocery list from his own. You kept trying to put things back. Or tell him you didn’t need things that you did, in fact, need. You could tell Rafe was getting frustrated with you and it only made you want to shut down even more.

It didn’t help that the grocery store was easily one of your least favorite places. The lighting was awful. There were always so many people everywhere not looking where they’re going. The freezer section was always so cold that you spent that entire section of the shopping trip practically shaking. It was so goddamn loud. People talking. Kids crying. The squeaking of the old grocery cart wheels. So going there when you were already feeling overwhelmed was a recipe for disaster.

You fully lost it when you were checking out. The cart was extremely disorganized because you were too checked out to keep it in order the entire trip. The store you were at had it so you bagged your own groceries so the fact that the cart was a complete disaster made bagging them incredibly difficult. You were struggling to keep up with the cashier and also bag the groceries efficiently. He kept pushing the conveyor belt button, rolling the groceries that you haven’t bagged yet to pile up on top of each other at the end of it. The cart was full of bags and you weren’t even half done so you had to run and grab another one, only letting the pile grow further.

Rafe bought a case of beer and it the midst of you trying to frantically bag everything in a timely manner the cashier also asked you for your I.D. Which only frustrates you more. You don’t even drink beer. And it made you have to pause bagging again to dig in your purse. The cashier kept looking from the card to you and back again, like he thought it was fake.

“I know I look nothing like that, that was 7 years ago.” You didn’t mean to sound snippy, but you were pretty much at your limit.

“Baby, it’s fine, he’s just lookin’ for the date.” Rafe shot you a look and it only pissed you off more.

“Well he’s looking at it like it’s fake or some shit!” You scoffed as you slammed a full bag into the cart. Which only earned you another look from Rafe.

On the way home he hardly talked to you, instead he decided to blast trap music when you were clearly already overstimulated so you decided to put your headphones on and drown him out.

“Bats, the fuck is going on with you today, huh?” Rafe is towering over you the minute you enter the kitchen, backing you up against the counter.

“I just don’t like the grocery store. And you made me feel bad about the food. And everything was just so loud in there. And I felt like you hardly talked to me the entire time. I’ve felt like an inconvenience to you all day!” You snap at him as you stomp your foot in frustration, glaring up at him.

“All we did was go to the fuckin’ store. You’re seriously that worked up over it?” Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes! I am! The grocery store is extremely stressful for me and you’re not being considerate of that!!”

“That’s ridiculous, people go to the grocery store every day. It’s not a big deal. I don’t know why you can’t just be fuckin’ normal sometimes.” Rafe throws his hands up, letting them fall against his thighs with a smack. The minute the words leave his mouth your bottom lip starts to quiver as tears brim your eyes. And he knows he fucked up. Immediately he knows he fucked up.

“You know what? Why don’t you go find a normal girlfriend then!?” You push against his chest, running past him to your shared bedroom. You slam the door behind you, sliding down it as the tears in your eyes begin to spill down your cheeks. You knew it.

“Baby…” Rafe’s voice travels through the thick wood as he lightly taps on it. “ I’m sorry… that was- I shouldn’t have- Bats, can you open the door, please?”

“No. Go away.” You whimper as you curl further into yourself against the door.

“Baby girl, please? Just wanna talk. Lemme see you.” He turns the knob, pushing on the door lightly causing you to shift forward slightly. “C’mon, get away from the door, let me in.”

“Why don’t you go find a normal girl to talk to.” You snap at him before trying to push back against the wood but he’s so much stronger than you that it doesn’t even budge. Rafe shoves his foot into the crack of the door, pushing it until he can slip through. It slams shut behind him from your weight, causing you to yelp. He drops to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands. “Baby, look at me.”

“No.” You shake your head, subconsciously nuzzling into his touch. Your lips are quivering so bad your teeth are chattering as tears flow down your cheeks and Rafe kind of wants to kick his own ass.

“Listen I- I shouldn’t have said that, okay? I didn’t - fuck baby, I didn’t mean that shit. I was just frustrated. Doesn’t make it okay though, never wanna make my girl cry.” Rafe runs his thumbs down the apples of your cheeks, wiping away the salty tears that continue to fall. “I think I’ve gotten pretty damn good about knowing how you work. But with us living together now there's gonna be new shit that I’m gonna have to pick up on. I’m so sorry princess.”

“I just - I - just wanna be enough for you. Don’t wanna be a burden.” Your body tries to curl in on itself even more but Rafe doesn’t let it, he grips onto your hips and pulls you into his lap. He wraps his strong arms around you as he starts to rock you back and forth.

“Want you to listen to me baby, aight?” He takes your jaw in his hand, tilting your head towards his to get you to look at him. When you do it nearly cracks his heart. He hates that he made you feel like everyone else always has. “I never should’ve fucking said that shit. I didn’t mean it. Not even a little bit. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, okay? I fuckin’ love you and all your weird little shit. Your weird little shit just makes me love you more. I’ve never known anyone like you. You’ve taught me so much. I guess I’ve just still got some shit to learn. But I’m trying, Bats. I’ll never stop trying.”

“You really mean it?” You sniffle as you look up at him through your teary eyes and Rafe has never felt more bad than he does at this moment. If he saw anybody else making you cry like this they would be so fucked and here he is, doing it.

“Of course I fuckin’ mean that shit, baby girl. I’m sorry for losing my patience with you today. I never, ever, wanna hurt you. Never wanna make you feel like all these other douchebags on the island do. Kind of want to run them all over, including myself right now.” Rafe lets out a dry chuckle when he sees the corner of your lips tilt up slightly. His large hand runs down the back of your head, smoothing down your hair as he continues to rock the both of you. “You know I love you more than anything, right?”

“It’s okay, Rafey. I know I can be too much sometimes. But I do know that you love me.” And you do. Especially right now. Rafe never opens up to you like this. And you kind of want to blow him right now.

“Hey, you aren’t too much, aight? Don’t ever let anyone make you feel that way. Including me, put my ass in check baby. God knows I need it.” He smiles down at you before leaning to place a gentle kiss on your lips. “Want me to put some nuggets in the air fryer for you and we can watch that movie you’ve been trying to get me to watch?”

“Mhm, that sounds perfect daddy.”

All things Rafe & his weird!girl here

#weird!girl reader #Dolly writes #requests #rafe Cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe fluff #rafe concepts #rafe cameron concepts #I’m always very nervous posting these things #bc smut is my forte #also it feels more raw n personal idk #but I hope u like it nonnie 🖤

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lani-heart · 6 months ago

Text

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mentions of abuse, anxiety / paranoia, illegal acts mentioned, violence etc. words -> 3.3k

abstract -> fight or flight... what are you going to choose Hongjoong?

y/n's perspective

After a while, I returned to the apartment and made sure my face didn’t tell them I cried.

I couldn’t let that tiger get to me… but he did. My mind wandered and overthinking everything. I was taught how to differentiate happy hybrids… but I couldn’t now.

His words couldn’t leave my head.

“Are you thinking of adopting them?” I heard as I saw Yeosang behind me. No… I was wondering if you guys lied to me.

“I know you want to help them–” Did I? They weren’t my responsibility… and frankly, Hongjoong was scary. “–we talked and if you really want to help them, we understand.” he said and I wondered…

Did they want me to adopt them?

“San… he told me how he felt when you adopted me. If he said no, I would've been under her control still and I couldn’t wish that on any hybrid” he confessed and I nodded.

“You don’t need to feel guilty–” I don't… but if you want me to adopt the tigers then I’d do anything for you three. “–we promise to try to get along,” he said and I noticed Wooyoung and San by the doorway of my room.

“You’re a good person, without you we would’ve been suffering on our own”

“You do know this is dangerous, right?” Kun asked me as I signed. What was I doing? I couldn’t think straight. Everything was overwhelming… it felt like high school all over again, like almost a year ago when he left me.

They were dangerous but not to them… to me.

Seonghwa came out first. He helped me… he was kind but it was to get out of his own hell hole. He only fulfilled his side of the deal, nothing more… nothing less.

“You? You’re adopting me?” he said with a smile. I didn’t know how to react but I smiled softly… he seemed happy… was he?

“You won't regret it! I… thank you for everything…” I turned him out when I saw the other tiger. He was in a red code protocol gear. “He’s still a code red. The only reason I'm agreeing is because of the training you have… I hope you know what you're doing” Kun said. I don't… I know nothing. I don’t know how to take care of someone… I don’t even know if my own hybrids trust me. If everything was a lie… and I was blissfully just ignorant.

He looked at me with a smirk.

I was just a writer… Why was I biting more than I could chew?

hongjoong's perspective

I don’t know how Seonghwa didn’t notice it. Maybe because of how happy he was… but she was scared of us, even him. What could’ve gotten to her head to adopt us when she’s so scared?

We made it to her building where she was greeted and I could tell this building was expensive. Truly just another rich human with nothing else better to do.

When the elevator opened it revealed an apartment with three hybrids. Now just how blind were they?

“My name is Seonghwa, I'm a white tiger hybrid” he introduced with a bow to show his politeness. “Hongjoong,” I said while bowing slightly only to get smacked on the back by Seonghwa. Silently scolding me for not making a good impression.

Why were good impressions even needed? I doubt we’d stay here for long.

Seonghwa was an annoying happy virus. He immediately made friends with the fox hybrid named Wooyoung. The two often cooked together and Seonghwa was a victim to his teasing. I could tell the Doberman and Seonghwa clashed a bit with their personalities but tried to get along for the sake of the humans.

No one noticed just how… unstable she was becoming.

I was starting to think my words of her hybrids faking everything got to her head. None of this could be true. She had to have had an incentive for them to act like they loved her. They actually treated her like a mate.

Even then… all of them were blind. She was spacing out and smiling softly and nodding to pretend she was listening to them. Every time she did this and caught my eyes she looked nervous… scared. I felt proud to have done such a strong response to her.

It's only been three days… but that panther. Something about him made me feel uneasy. He wasn’t easy to approach like the fox or as easy to converse as the Doberman. Seonghwa has tried and he’d only stare menacingly and give uninterested responses.

He started to see what was happening to the human and how she recoiled in his touch. Almost like she was scared of him. Despite that… I overheard the other day that he’ll give her space.

That she might be overwhelmed by too many hybrids around especially since we were from the circus. He didn’t know I was a red code nor Seonghwa had the potential to be one as well.

I was going to my room when I passed hers… she was in her room. Pacing back and forth mumbling under her breath. I peeked in to see papers scattered around her. She had a pen and was scribbling but she was clearly frustrated.

Maybe I’ll check that out later.

y/n’s perspective

I was confused about everything… I wanted to find comfort in them but I couldn’t. And Seonghwa has been nothing but the sweetest hybrid telling me how thankful he is that I adopted him let alone both him and… Hongjoong. He promised that Hongjoong would come around. He got along well with Wooyoung and helped clean and cook… he even enjoyed watching San and Wooyoung play on the TV and shared a love for fashion like Yeosang.

Everything was… great.

Poor San… he’s been avoiding me. I know it's because I flinched that one time he waved his hand in my face to pull me away from my thoughts. Was I scared of San?

I found myself in the hallway and he attacked me. The broken vase was no longer on the floor, Nothing was on that top shelf anymore. The blood… the sounds of Johnny and his paramedic team. That was almost a year ago now. Why… Why was that flooding my mind now?

I went to my room and turned the lights scaring myself in the process to see Hongjoong sitting on my desk chair. He held up my story… circus.

“Did my performance inspire you?” he said in a mocking voice. I was frozen… “Why are you so scared? I’ll admit, I understand why they like this place so much~” he said, only adding to my pool of thoughts that I couldn't swim out of.

“The food, the luxury, your submission,” he said as he stood up and I took steps backward. “It's all amusing,” he said and I wondered if that's what they thought.

“You, however, have been scattered. Did you finally realize the true nature of hybrids? How they like each other's presence but not yours?” he said and I didn’t want to believe it.

San… he told me how much he hated me in the beginning. Why would he change… is it because he didn’t want to live in the kennel? Was it the same for Wooyoung? And Yeosang didn't… want to be with her anymore so what's the difference here?

“This pathetic piece of work is just that! Pathetic” he said as I saw him put both hands on it getting ready to rip it. My only draft… my months of work. I don’t know why my body moved on its own. But it did… and my fingers grazed it as Hongjoong grabbed my wrist and pulled away the packet of paper with his other hand.

“Let me guess. You were gonna grab the piece of paper out of my hands? Just to what? Punish me? How would you do it? I don’t think you have whips… you don’t look like you'd be into that. Maybe… lock me in the closet? Sleep outside? Or… no food for a week?” he asked as he kept on listing punishments. I couldn’t listen anymore as his grip got tighter the more harmful punishments he listed. His claws dig deep into my wrist. I didn’t mean to cry… I tried to stay strong. They liked the tigers here… I was just collateral.

“Are you even paying attention–” he asked as he now gripped the back of my neck plunging his claws into my skin. “–you humans don’t care what happens. We’re toys, entertainment, fun to you! Just because you can pay your way in life… just because I was born this way I’m the one made into a slave!?” he yelled as I was now questioning… Was the double vision because of my tears? Or because of the blood I was losing?

“Why do you get all the fun?” he asked and I didn't know with what strength I said it but I gave him a way out.

“Then why don’t you run?”

hongjoong’s perspective

Run? That… it was an option now, wasn’t it? I could pretend to be a human… go to those illegal surgeries to try my best to look human.

Why didn’t I think of that before? She wouldn’t be missing the money… wait.

Why wasn’t she moving? I let her go only to hear a thud of her falling down. Why was there so much blood? I tried to shake her awake but nothing worked. I checked for her pulse but I felt nothing?

Did I kill her?

How was I gonna explain that to the four hybrids in the living room?

As much as I tried messing with her head… I knew those three cared about her as stupidly as I thought it would be. Seonghwa… even liked the idea of living a pampered life. While trying to heal his wounds with humans starting with the girl who was bleeding out on her bedroom floor.

Now was my chance… I could get her information. I could get money and leave. I could… live the life I want. But… It didn't change what I did. My hands are stained with my blood– “What did you do?” I heard as I saw Seonghwa standing by the door. He looked at my bloodied hands and then at her.

He slammed the door shut but didn’t lock it.

“Seonghwa, I know what I did was wrong, okay! Just help me find her wallet and maybe even her docu–” “Hongjoong I don’t want to run away and try to get the money for those ridiculous black market surgeries. What did you do?! Why?! She was a good person– Is she even alive?!” he said clearly panicked. He tried feeling for a pulse when he scrambled up to open the door and yell–

“Call 119!” he said. He turned back to look at me with fear in his eyes… “I told you Hongjoong to stop. You misjudged her… what makes you think you’d survive living as a human? Get a job working with the species you hate! You're an idiot and you might've killed–" "Killed?” I heard as I saw the fox hybrid and panther by the doorway. They looked at her body…

Wooyoung started crying… he immediately went to wipe her face of tears and blood to try to wake her up. Whilst I was tackled to the ground with hands wrapped around my throat… I couldn't breathe and I struggled against him. Why was he so strong?!

He didn’t say anything but I could see the rage in his eyes. He was an animal… he showed pure anger, and bloodlust in his eyes as I started feeling faint.

“Let go of him!” I could hear Seonghwa’s voice trying to reason. “She’s alive!” the fox yelled, making the panther look at him and loosen his grip, making me cough out and pant for air.

“Her pulse is there! She’s still alive, we just need the paramedics to get here!” the fox reasoned as I saw the pair look over her dying body. Seonghwa stared at them… what did I do?

A few minutes passed by while we all tried to process everything when we heard people speak in codes.

I saw a tall man in a uniform that seemed like a nurse. He looked at all of us and then her body.

He held a radio– “Kun, in her bedroom, four other hybrids have been located” he said as he slowly went to approach her. Realistically… paramedics don’t go towards the body until the threat has been handled but Sna and Wooyoung looked at him hopefully to help her. Wooyoung moved out of the way while San stayed by her side holding her hand. He looked for a pulse.

He pulled out the radio again– “Faint pulse, get a crash cart ready” he said while now feeling around her wounds.

“Contain all hybrids with a code black status” I heard as I saw the hybrid behavior analysis. He was in charge of me… of seeing if I could ever… live a happy hybrid life.

“You can help her right!?” Wooyoung said and he could only nod as he took out a syringe and surprised Wooyoung by tranquilizing him.

“Please… help her,” he said last as looked at the other two and me to decide. “San, I need to take her, '' the nurse said and the panther seemed unresponsive, which the specialist decided to go for next, not seeing too much resistance as he started to lose consciousness. “Don’t leave me,” he muttered lastly.

The nurse took her and before we could react I felt a prick on my neck. I saw the doorway blurrily reveal the doctor from that place.

“All hybrids have been captured and will be analyzed as a code black”

The next time I opened my eyes I heard banging and yelling.

Yells demanded if the human was okay. Where was I? I sat up to see I was on the floor… the kennel? I looked beside me at Seonghwa. The only thing separating us was glass.

“You're lucky! I should've killed you when I had the chance!!” I heard as I saw the panther. He was in chains and muzzled. Why did he have such intense equipment? It's when I realized… So was I?

Seonghwa didn’t have it. Before I could say anything I noticed a change of smell and the noise of a door opening.

“These are the hybrids under behavior analysis…” I heard as I saw two unknown staff members with the doctor. “Hyung, there's no way that–” “You can follow the orders I give you and fulfill your request or I'll have someone more experienced do this job” he threatened. He didn’t seem like he was in the mood or cared about the situation.

“Is she okay?” I heard… that was the fox. “You five, are under analysis. However, no further action will occur once we get permission from your owner–” “She’s alive?!” They interrupted him. He looked to his side to look at me… she wasn’t.

“Or when she gets announced dead” he finished creating an eerie feeling in the air. “Depending on what she has discussed with lawyers in her revised will, I have permission to act accordingly based on your past records and current situation,” he said as he left. The two staff members stayed however to do checkups… her hybrids begged for anything relating to her.

I noticed San's cage opened. I couldn't see the other two but San did behave for them. “Did she… ever tell you what was bothering her this week?” he asked and I felt my heart stop. They still didn’t know?

“What's been wrong with her this week?” the employee asked. “She’s been… writing more than usual and spacing out,” he asked and the staff sighed.

“You’ve known her for years… what could’ve bothered–" "Anything really… once something gets into her head, she’s insistent. It must’ve really bothered her if you noticed it. Usually she’s better at hiding it,” he said and I started feeling something eat me up. Was it guilt?

“She’ll be okay,” he said and San didn’t seem to believe him. “She’s dead isn’t she… or dying?” he asked and the face he made seemed to clarify any questions.

They were waiting for her status… but I could see on their faces that they were already mourning their friend… this feels like a dream– no a nightmare.

I noticed my door open. They were the most cautious with me… I felt like I couldn’t breathe. What did I do?!

“Unresponsive Kun.” — “Hongjoong?” I heard the only friend I've ever had say worried for me. Would he still be worried for me if she died? If he knew I tormented her?

“The orange tiger is going into isolation”

seonghwa’s perspective

It was a dream. I got a sense of freedom… I knew that she was scared of Hongjoong and in association was scared of me. But I saw how she flinched away from San.

I learned that he was her first hybrid… and she became scared of him. Something that Hongjoong said to her. He got into her head… and now here we were awaiting our death sentence.

I know the other three might get another chance but us? We're from the circus… we're gonna die here without feeling how love feels like… we were so close… to feel loved.

“It's all you tiger’s fault” Yeosang said and I knew we didn’t get along well. I tried my best to get along with them… and they tried their best for my sake. “I shouldn’t have convinced her to help you” he muttered and that made sense. “She adopted us because you suggested it?” I asked and he scoffed.

“She came back the day of your interviews spacing out and in her head… I assumed she wanted to adopt you two out of pity like she did with me” Yeosang said and San scoffed.

“She didn’t adopt you out of pity… she wanted a better life for you,” he said and I chuckled softly. “She… she didn’t want to adopt us. Not after what Hongjoong told her that day. It makes sense now…” I said and they looked at me like I was crazy.

“The day of the interview, Hongjoong was a red-coded hybrid. So she brought me with her to help calm him down. But instead, he got into her head… and she ran. He mentioned something about hybrids pretending to love their owners to survive and that we’d do anything to survive. That one day if you wanted to kill her” I explained and I saw how distraught they looked. Wooyoung now had tears running down his cheek and Yeosang hid himself in the corner whilst San… he only stared at his hands.

“So this is it? She’ll die thinking what we felt for her was fake?” Wooyoung asked and San tried getting out of his restraints.

“What are you doing… there's no point in fighting it” Yeosang scolded the panther but San was hysterical. “I’ll never live it down… that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. None of you were there… not when I almost did kill her. She… she wouldn’t have believed that stupid tiger if it wasn’t for what I did! And… and—” he broke down crying. “–she should’ve left me in that stupid adoption center” he finished with his voice cracking.

The room was filled with silence and even I felt tears blurry my vision.

San continued to hysterically get out of his restraints when the doctor came in again. “San?” they waited to see and San did not respond instead his cries were painful. He was also injured fighting in the restraints.

“San, panther hybrid prepare a code purple room”

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

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gaysindistress · 7 months ago

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What if Simon didn’t listen when Price told him to apologize to his girl before she does go off and find herself a better man? - part two

a/n: I know John isn’t American but I kept picturing him as Joe from SIX and honety Gibs from NCIS and I couldn’t stop myself. I sincerely apologize that this John is American-grumpy-hot-military-older man coded (not really). Also I know it took a month and I’m so sorry 🙈 I got so busy at work but it’s here! Enjoy!!

Warnings: smutty smut smut, phone sex

non-mcu masterlist

part one

Taglist: @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @calicocat45 @whos-fran @vonev @yyiikes

The situation at hand is tricky to say the least. Waiting around and trying to be careful of everyone’s feelings will push you away. On the other hand, he’s wanted to show you the love that you deserve and now is his chance.

Fuck Simon.

Fuck him for treating you like a safety net and like you’re replaceable. Fuck him for letting you shoulder the burden of your relationship and expecting you to always be at his beck and call. Fuck him for lying to you instead of having the balls to just be honest about why he wanted to break up. Fuck Simon Riley for saying that you could find a better man and expecting you to not listen to him for once.

“I want a lot of things,” he starts and takes a moment to choose his words, “I might be a gentleman but I’m a selfish man. I won’t take what’s not offered but you’d be hell bent to find me sharing my life with others. If you say that it’s over and mean it, well then love, I’ll be the most selfish man you’ve ever met when it comes to you. Im not some young lad anymore; I’m settled in my life and now that things are stable I want someone to share it with. I’ll follow your lead when it comes to how we share it but just know that I don’t want something casual or even friendship.”

You’re still resting your chin on his shoulder, listening to his every word as hope begins to fill your eyes. It’s the last sentence he whispers as he gazes down at you that causes your breath to hitch;

“I’ll love you until my lungs give out.”

And this man Delivers. The capital d is not a typo. John Price understands that you’re an independent person and he respects that. That’s not to say that he doesn’t spoil the absolute shit out of you and ensures that you are happy in every facet of your life imaginable.

The dogs are being wild today and overwhelming you? As soon as he gets home, he’s taking them out on a walk and giving you instructions to go have yourself a nice hot bath. Dinner is already taken care of so no need to worry about that. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the quiet.

He’s been on deployment for a couple weeks and the loneliness is starting to creep in? You will be getting at least two check in texts a day and a call or FaceTime if he can before you go to bed. You should also expect some sort of care package to be on your doorstep weekly. This could be anything from flowers to your whole ass Amazon cart, all you need to do is say you miss him and he’s got you covered.

Things have been a little tense between the two of you? Well get ready because you’re going to be doing a check in that night where the two of you talk about whatever is going on. If it’s something small like you’re both stressed from work and a weekend getaway is needed, he’s already got that planned. If it’s something that needs more work, he’s ready to dive right into it and figure it out.

Still true to his internal word, nothing physical happens between you two at first. He wanted desperately to kiss you when he told you he would love you until his last breath but he didn’t. Disgusted by the enormity of his craving for you, John vowed to wait until you asked for his physical affection. Of course this meant he wouldn’t give into any of your advances until you told what you wanted.

After that night, you began the long and arduous process of breaking down John’s resolve. While it may have been unspoken, you knew what he wanted but you weren’t going to give into him so quickly. It started with closing the distance between you two. Instead of sitting on opposite ends of the couch, you’d lay your feet in his lap or move just close enough to trail your fingers over the back of his hand. Only would you move to sit beside him if he slung his thick arm over the couch’s back and beckoned you closer. Then you would take every opportunity possible to cuddle into his side and slyly skirt your hands across the waistband of his sweats when you wrapped your arms around him. If you were in the kitchen together, you were always just out of his grasp. His fingers could grasp at the back of your shirt but never fully grab you. You’d swiftly slip around him if he moved behind you but not before brushing your hands over him in some way.

Eventually you grew bolder and began to shower with the door propped open. You’d said it was so the dogs could still see you but John isn’t stupid. He knew that you wanted him to catch a glimpse of your body through the foggy glass doors. But here’s the thing; he’s not Simon. Simon would’ve joined you and fucked you on that glass door like your life depended on it but not a captain price.

No no no. John Price is going to make you say those three little words, ‘I want you’, before he touches you even if it means leaving on for a mission without so much as a chaste peck on the lips. No amount of sly looks and sneaky touches is going to convince this man to give into you.

He starts beating you at your own game though. his bedroom door is suddenly always cracked open making it so that you can hear every rumbling moan and gasp of your name when he fists his cock at night. You no longer feel the waistband of his underwear when you wrap your arms around his am waist during your cuddles. Instead your fingers find the thick trail of hair that disappears under his sweatpants. Speaking of which, John knows about grey sweat pants and he exploits that turn on every chance he gets. Soon it goes from just wearing them low on his hips to forgoing boxers (as mentioned above) and sometimes he even ‘forgets’ his shirt. The memory of his thick bare chest on display alone is enough to make you clench your legs together.

When he finally does have to leave for work, he presses a light kiss to your temple and tells you to be careful. It goes without saying but John makes your promise anyways. Eases his old heart as he likes to say. If only he would go easy on yours…

Nearly every photo, FaceTime, what have you, this man is bare chested with lidded eyes and a knowing smirk on his face. He knows that you’re frustrated with the way things have played out; namely his departure with no memorable moments. He’s already become an expert in you, knowing what your body langue means, what your blushes mean, and most importantly, what your words truly mean.

Probably about a month in to this mission is when it comes to a climax. Your hands were doing nothing to ease the ache between your legs and your toys were making it worse. It was as if your body knew that it was you instead John rubbing small circles into your clit late at night. You’d tried nearly everything you could think of aside from finding someone in a pub and telling the older captain about your dilemma. While you two weren’t anything more than roommates with feelings at this point, it still felt wrong to find someone else to help you out. With only one person that your body wanted and nothing you could do about it, you settled for being sexually frustrated and irritable.

John is finally able to get some alone time to call you and actually talk to you. Settled into some poor excuse for a cot, he makes himself comfortable as he waits for you to pick up. It makes maybe a few rings before your tight voice comes through with a short ‘hello?’

He wants to chuckle and fails to suppress it, “Well hello to you too, love.”

Immediately you sigh when you recognize his voice, “oh John it’s you. How are you?”

“Been better. What’s been going on with you?”

You let out another deep sigh, pausing to answer as you contemplate what to tell him.

“What is it, love? Something bothering you?”

“I…I’m just….im just irritable,” you attempt to pass off as the full truth but John knows you better than that.

“Irritable you say?”

You can hear him shuffle around on his end and it causes your legs to cross to even think about him. God it’s beyond annoying to be this turned on over just hearing him move around, let alone hear his voice right now.

“I’d say a relaxing day is in order,” he teases with a low pitched sultry tone, “find some relief in a massage maybe.”

Relief.

The word feels hot as it washes over your brain and invokes images that would make a nun curse under her breath.

You snort at his suggestion. In that small noise, he finds all the answers he needed; you’re about to break and murmur those three sweet words.

“No appeal to that, love?” He asks and you can just hear the smirk he’s wearing. “A massage isn’t the relief you’re looking for though is it? You need a different type of relief, isn’t that right love?”

That bastard.

You hear him shuffle again and you swear to god you hear the sound of a belt coming undone.

“Talk to me. Tell me how I can help.”

If you weren’t needy before, you must certainly are now. You feel pathetic, a bitch in heat with the way your body starts to react to his simple words. Practically mumbling you attempt to tell him to fuck off but it doesn’t sting as much as you’d hoped. John laughs off your feeble attempt at hiding the true reason you’re in a mood.

Instead of adding flame to fire, he stays quiet.

It takes 40 agonizing seconds of silence for you to groan his name out of frustration. The captain only hums his acknowledgment that you spoke.

Phone sex isn’t new to you by any means however there’s something about this time that causes you to falter. There’s something about the way he initiated it but is allowing you to lead where it goes. There’s something about the way he knew what you needed within seconds. There’s something about the way your body seems to know that it craves his without ever touching.

“Yes,” you mumble while your cheeks burn and your body sings at the thought of getting what it truly desires.

John chuckles under his breath and the sardonic sounds causes your eyes to squeeze shut.

“Be a good girl for me and slip your hand into your panties.”

Your hearing dulls to a muffled tone as your hand follows his instructions. Barely does your ears register the sound of skin on skin, a slick hand taunting an impossibly hard cock. Your name comes out as a groan when you tell him to continue.

“Fuuckkk, love. Tell me are ya wet?”

“S…soaked.” You sigh as you roll your clit with your fingertips.

He lets out a string of curses as his hips buck up into his hand and his cock throbs from his slow pace.

“I want you to keep rubbing your clit and fuck yourself with your fingers,” the captain orders you, “and dont try to hide any of those pretty sounds.”

You mumble a weak ‘okay’ as you work your clit in small circles, feeling yourself become even more wet.

Strings of curses fall from his lips as he listens to your desperate cries of pleasure. The sounds of his thrusts get louder and louder in time when you bury two fingers in and become to fuck yourself like he told you to. It feels better than all of your other attempts but it’s not enough.

Nothing will be enough until you can feel John’s cock deep inside of you. Until you can feel his hips rut against yours and his hoarse moans in your ear. Until you feel the burn that his facial hair will give you when he eats you out like a starved and neglected dog. Until you feel his warm speed leak from you after he’s worked you through several of your own orgasms.

The thoughts of what is to come push you over the edge and you moan out his name in an absolutely pornographic manner. It stirs something disgustingly powerful and sinful deep in his gut when he hears it. He can only imagine the beautiful display of pleasure and bliss that you’ve come as you lay panting post orgasm.

You can only imagine how stunning he looks with his sweats pulled down to his mid thigh, his bare chest rapidly rising and falling while his stomach is painted with his own cum.

“John?” You whisper after your breathing has returned to normal(ish). “When are you coming home?”

His lips turn up in a smirk at your word choice, “missing me more than you let on, now are ya love?”

“Yeah it’s lonely without you here. you can’t leave on another deployment like this without fucking me before.”

“I promise it won’t happen again, my love.”

#john price imagine #john price x reader #john price #john price smut #captain price x reader #captain price #captain price smut #price x reader #cod price #price #price smut #captain price imagine #price imagine #cod x reader #cod smut #call of duty imagine #call of duty #call of duty smut

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nmakii · 8 months ago

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‘Can I ask you to do something about Alastor×reader? About y/n being a modern girl (2023-2024), and she often has strange gestures or words towards Alastor. One time she talked to him in modern language, making him confused and very curious. (You can expand the situation as you like, sorry my English is not very good)’

NEW IS ALWAYS BETTER!

— alastor x modern!reader (platonic or romantic!)

— alastor calls reader “good girl” so mostly fem!coded

— I WROTE THIS AND THEN IT GOT DELETED I MIGHT KMS.

alastor gets slangs that are common such as LOL, WTF, IDK but doesn’t get some that aren’t as common like LMFAO, IDRC, or WTAF since they’re just making them longer, so it’s quite useless…

he also doesn’t quite get shortcuts for words. one time you left him a note “lol brb rq imma b back in like 20 min. j gon pick smt up” most of it was honestly gibberish to him, but at the very least, he understood you’ll be back in 20 minutes.

gets really angry when you say things like “stop reaching, gooner. you’re just pissed that you’re a beta.” because; one, you’re blatantly disrespecting the radio demon and telling him to shut up. and two, he doesn’t get what any of that meant. what’s a gooner?

also gets annoyed often when you start singing songs like “i’m the alpha, i’m the leader” or “sticking out your gyatt for the rizzler” because, it’s a reflection on modern society and how music quality in modern times have plummeted significantly.

what happened to those beautiful songs such as “the man i love”? has it been replaced by this rizzler nonsense??? honestly, you’re giving alastor more and more reasons to dislike modernity… you’re lucky he finds your company enjoyable

in a desperate attempt to connect with you, he asked angel about your humor, hoping he’d understand. alastor knows that if anything, velvette would know. but, he’d rather get beaten by lucifer than ask the vees for help…

sadly for him, angel is just as confused. although, he at least knew what this alpha bullshit was, vaguely explaining furries and the alpha-beta-omegaverse to him…

you were in the hotel den, scrolling on social media as alastor walked in. “s/o, be a dear and fetch me some chicken breasts from the butcher, would you? i’d like to prepare something for tonight’s dinner.” alastor smiled

“hmm… nah. go do it yourself, furry” you giggled brattishly. “hahah… what did you call me?” alastor asked sternly, his face now close with yours, antlers increasing only slightly in size. “ah…” you stuttered.

alastor was never this mad when you said stuff like that, what was so different today? maybe he was in a bad mood? “ah… ill get it…” you conceded, using your hands to lightly push alastor away, lest he decides you’ll be for dinner…………

alastor snickered before patting you on the head. “good girl. don’t call me that again, this old dog can still learn new tricks, y’know?” he teasingly sang out. “huh?” you asked. “did you learn what a furry is?” you bit your lip, holding back your laughter.

“indeed, i did. horrifying that you’d think i would indulge in such hobbies…” he sighed, looking a little uncomfortable through his stressed smile. “what..? i don’t think you’re a furry, alastor. it’s not that deep. furry is just something that i used to laugh about with my friends back on earth.” you shallowly laughed, copying his actions by rubbing his hair.

he has to admit, that little mistranslation was a little funny looking back on it. but, he is a little disheartened that he got you scared over nothing. you were just having your fun and he got all pissed off. he’d definitely try to instead ask you about your slang as to prevent such a thing again…

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hasbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hasbin hotel

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rowdyluv · 21 days ago

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summary: jack is fuming mad about the gossip blog’s post about y/n. he makes a trip to her public relations manager’s office to settle the issue.

word count: 1k

warnings: angry jack, profanity, use of y/n,

notes: sincerest apologies for the delay and that it’s so short. I don’t want to mix two topics into one part and shorten the series, still working through hurricane helene damages at my sisters and a lot of co workers were affected and haven’t been able to come in.

Jack stormed into Ms. Castellanos' office, his usual bright blue eyes now a fiery mix of anger and desperation. He slammed his phone down on her desk, the screen displaying the latest headline from 'Pucking Gossip', a notorious bullshit gossip blog that had a knack for stirring drama in the lives of professional hockey players.

"You've got to be kidding me," he barked, his voice echoing off the eerily empty white walls. Castellanos kept her office appearance the way she typically came across, plain and empty. "What the hell is this? Did you even know this was out there? If not, what the hell are you doing all day? What are your employees doing? Get some smart computer person to it taken down. Find the person who wrote it, and get them to take it down. I don’t care just do it.”

Jack paced her office chewing the edge of his fingers, then his bottom lip, and back to his fingers. His motions flipped from anger, frustration, to worry for Y/n. Worry for if she had seen the lies someone had put out about her and now who knows how many people have seen it.

Ms. Castellanos took a moment to re-read the article again for the 100th time, her eyes narrowing with each line. When reading the article before she didn’t see much wrong with it. It was just another day for her in the office, another player’s problem becoming hers to clean up.

From a professional stand point she knew the stakes of the situation. Y/n had become a crucial part of Jack’s image rebranding, and any negative light on her could ruin everything they had worked so hard for. But, it was then she realized Y/n truly meant more to him than the agreement. She was skeptical of the best friends story he had spun out when suddenly she was the one taking the place of his fake girlfriend, but it’s clear now. But best friend doesn’t describe his feelings towards her in the slightest with the way he’s acting. She took a deep breath, her hands resting gently on the cold metal edge of her desk.

"Jack, I understand that this is upsetting, but we need to handle this strategically. We can't just go after the blogger or demand they take it down," Ms. Castellanos said calmly, her eyes never leaving the screen of the phone.

Jack's pacing grew more agitated, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "How is this strategic? They're tearing apart Y/n's reputation! She's not even met the girls yet." He jabbed a finger at the article, as if the digital ink could feel his fury.

Ms. Castellanos looked up from the screen, her expression shifting to one of understanding. "I know how much you care for her, Jack, and we will address this. But we can't let our emotions dictate our response. We need to control the narrative, not give them more ammo for their next article. You know all too well how quickly they will tear you apart.”

Jack stopped his pacing, his gaze locking onto hers. "But they're lying about her. She's not like that. She’s never been like that." His voice grew softer, the anger giving way to genuine concern for his friend's well-being.

Ms. Castellanos nodded, placing the phone aside. "I believe you, Jack. But we must be careful. We need to gather all the facts and build a counter-narrative that is both truthful and compelling." She paused, tapping her manicured nails on the desk. “One of the team’s charity galas is coming up. I will arrange for Amanda to interview you and Y/n on the red carpet. She will have specific questions to ask about why Y/n sits behind the bench versus why she doesn’t sit in the private box. I will arrange seating so that instead of your usual table with the singles, you’ll be with the couples. Giving her an opportunity to meet and chat. It is your responsibility to tell your teammates that none of this.” She waves her finger in a circle above the phone before sliding it across her desk. “Is true and that Y/n isn’t who it makes her out to be.”

Jack's fists unclenched slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "Okay," he agreed, though the skepticism was clear in his voice. "But what about the blog? What if they don't believe us?"

Castellanos steepled her fingers, her gaze sharp. "We'll have to be proactive. I'll draft a statement from both you and Y/n addressing the rumors. We'll release it before the gala so the media knows we're aware and in control of the story. We have taken multiple pictures of the two of you bumping fists or shaking hands before games or in between periods. We’ve caught you looking at her from the bench during timeouts too. We can spin a story out of it. In the statement release pre-gala we will be sure to include that the gala is the first time she will be meeting the entire team and their significant others as well. Clearing everything up, then Amanda will get personal statements in her interview.”

Jack took a deep breath, his eyes flickering with hope. He knew the PR world was a minefield, but he trusted Castellanos knew the terrain better than anyone. He finally sat down in the chair across from her desk, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his anxiety. The first genuine smile since he walked into her office graced his features. "Thank you, I appreciate it. I just need a moment to chill out."

Ms. Castellanos nodded in understanding, her own expression softening. "I'll get to work on the statement immediately. You go home and simply believe in me to get it taken care of.”

taglist: @luke-hughes43 @thedevilrisen

#cay writes #nj devils imagine #nj devils fic #jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes angst #jh86 #♡⤷ believe in me #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #angry!jack hughes #hockey fic #hockey fics

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landorris · 9 months ago

Text

popular | lando norris x fem! reader

summary; who says instagram models don’t know a thing about f1?

fc; darianka sanchez

warnings; english is not my first language, this is my firts ever smau

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yourusername

liked by friendsuser, danielricciardo and others

yourusername: back in ny for a bit ⭐️💋

user1: she’s so mother

frienduser: come home i miss you😕😕

yourusername: ik i miss you too, it’s just for this week 😖💞

user2: who is she and why is daniel in her likes?

user3: she’s an instagram model from australia, oscar and her have been following each other for years now but we don’t know if they’re friends

user4: isn’t she a bit young for danny?

view more comments

lando norris phone

your phone

lando norris had followed you on instagram

you followed lando norris on instagram

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, lando norris and others

yourusername: finally home

user1: you’re so coquette coded

user2: lacy

user3: not lando joining

user4: lando norris what are you doing here?

user5: idk what they see in her

landonorris: you like bows?! i also like bows what a coincidence

yourusername: ahah so cool norriz

view more comments

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, landonorris and others

danielricciardo: home race was alright 🦘

tagged: yourusername

yourusername: i’m so cool😎

danielricciardo: i got payed to post that photo

yourusername: all i see is lies👩🏽‍🦯

user1: MOTHER IN THE PADDOCK

user2: i want a win

user3: what is she doing here?

user4: i hate when f1 teams just invite this instagram models who know nothing about f1 instead of inviting people who actually like it

user5: right?! she probably doesn’t even know how many drivers are in f1

landonorris: good race mate🙂

danielricciardo: you two lando, wonder why🤭

user6: what is this supposed to mean?

view more comments

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, frienduser and others

yourusername: damn i wish my dad taught me more about f1 🫤

tagged: aussiegrit

aussiegrit: damn you should’ve spent more time in the paddock with me

yourusername: yeah, it’s not like i went to ALL of your races

danielricciardo: now everyone knows im besties with your dad

yourusername: no you’re not

aussiegrit: come to dinner tonight daniel

danielricciardo: see!! i’m going mark 😁

user1: now i understand why is she so beautiful

user2: this explains a lot about her relationship with daniel

user3: OH SHE ATE THIS

landonorris: 😦

yourusername: what?

landonorris: text!

yourusername: kay

user4: not lando discovering with us😭😭

user5: she gagged that girl in daniel’s post

user6: i want your dad 🤭

view more comments

your phone

yourusername

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and others

yourusername: last few days at home before japan

danielricciardo: you’re coming to japan?

yourusername: yeah! i got invited

danielricciardo: and why am i only hearing about this now?

yourusername: i only got the invite today

danielricciardo: he’s cooking 🧑🏽‍🍳

user1: who is stealing my gf?

user2: is it lando

user3: guys hear me out i think it’s lando

view more comments

lando.jpg

liked by yourusername, aussiegrit and others

lando.jpg: japan🇯🇵⭐️

user1: are they……soft launching?

danielricciardo: i wonder who it is on the second picture

user2: still don’t like her

user3: they think we don’t know 😂

user4: ladies we lost him

user5: he posted her, man is in love

view more comments

yourusername

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and others

yourusername: i think i like japan

danielricciardo: i knew you would change your mind

user1: can he fight?

aussiegrit: have fun kiddo!

yourusername: i love you dad💞

user2: yeah it’s definitely her

user3: are they dating ?

landonorris: i think i really really like japan too

user4: never beating the norriz allegations

view more comments

#formula 1 #f1 #moodboard #cars #grand prix #aesthetic #mclaren #orange #lando norris #f1 smau #lando norris smau #lando norris x reader #f1 x reader #driver x reader

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unfinishedslurs · 4 months ago

Text

The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?

“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.

He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.

She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.

Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.

She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”

“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”

“Then what is it?”

“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”

Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.

The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”

Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.

He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.

“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.

Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.

Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.

In an instant, Leia understands everything.

Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.

Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.

Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.

“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”

“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”

“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”

“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”

He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”

“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”

“Yes it is.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.

“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”

“But—“

It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.

She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?

Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.

It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.

Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“

She makes a decision then and there.

“We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.

“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”

He salutes and scurries off.

“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”

“And you trust this person because…”

“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”

It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.

He squints at her. “That’s not it.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”

“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.

“Well?”

Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.

“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”

He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”

What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.

“So there’s good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” she demands.

“They know there’s a mole.”

“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”

“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”

Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”

“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”

“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”

“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”

“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”

“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.

Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.

Unless he didn’t.

It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.

But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.

The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.

Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.

Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.

Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.

Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.

“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”

A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”

“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”

More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”

“I figured it out.”

“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.

“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”

“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.

“What?”

“Stand back. Please.”

Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.

“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.

The TIE explodes.

“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.

And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.

“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.

As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.

Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.

Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”

“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”

“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”

“Should I be offended?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”

“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right.”

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #luke skywalker #han solo #leia organa #imperial luke skywalker #exactly when luke was taken by the empire is totally up to speculation it could honestly be anywhere from newborn to 5 #as for why luke has his dad’s blue lightsaber here instead of like a red one or smth- well you see your honor I thought it would be a slay #but also when you think about it for more than 5 seconds you’re like actually yeah that’s sick and twisted of palpatine and vader actually #you’re carrying your fathers most treasured weapon #you don’t know your father once fought the rise of the very empire you stand to inherit with that blade. you don’t know who he defended #you don’t know your father brought about the end of the republic with that same weapon #he killed the younglings with it. he fought his closest companion with it #you’re carrying what was once your fathers most treasured weapon. you are your fathers most treasured weapon #just as your father is a weapon now #also I didn’t make it clear but obi-wan has his ‘strike me down and I become stronger’ moment like he still dies on purpose to cause proble #but when he saw luke he couldn’t look away. he had to see him with living eyes one last time #can u tell I had So Many Thoughts on everyone else’s perspective in this fic too #han is having a constant crisis in the background because 1) force is real 2) princess is annoying AND pretty which sucks for him #in particular and 3) pretty princess is learning to use the force and is hot while doing it. Chewie is laughing at him. life is hell #good lord did not mean to put an entire essay in the tags. i love their super special twin powers (cosmic entity that binds their souls)#edit: GUYS I FORGOT TO NAME THE FUCKING AU #AND WHEN I TRY AND FIX IT IT GLITCHES OUT ON MEEE 😭😭😭

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i-heart-hxh · 1 year ago

Text

So, a few days ago I found this post on Reddit from 2 years ago (that sadly barely got any attention at the time) that sheds a ton of light on the separation scene between Gon and Killua, and my mind is blown! I've known for years that there was some sort of Togashi "coding" in the dialogue and it was always like I could get halfway to understanding, but this post gives the rest of the puzzle pieces that I was missing, and ties into other scenes that I was uncertain about the meaning of as well. It's heartbreaking, but also hopeful for their future! I had to share it with you all. Please read it!

The original Reddit post has been deleted, but here is a link to the author's Reddit profile. (I received permission from the original author to post this here.)

In-Depth analysis on the Hidden Reasons behind Gon & Killua's separation scene (ep 147) Why Gon is 'Number 2'

The translations across the separation scene in both manga (chp 338) and the anime (ep 147, 2011) have some shortfalls. These dialogues are vital for understanding even the first layer of reasons behind this separation.

REASONS FOR KILLUA'S DELICATELY PLANNED SEPARATION

1. WHEN -

There are very important reasons why Killua picked a specific timing to tell Gon about Alluka. It was Killua's plan all along, to only tell Gon at a moment's notice, to make sure Gon won’t get time to ask any DETAILS. He is deliberately downplaying the seriousness of everything he’s been through to heal Gon, so it will have less impact on Gon, and at the same time, avoid Gon asking details. Prior to healing Gon, Killua specifically asked Morel and Leorio to promise not to tell Gon that he saved him. After Gon was healed, there was a scene in the anime (ep 148) which showed the three spent a night together before reaching the World Tree. During that time, Killua still haven't said anything. It wasn't until the moment when they were literally saying the last goodbye, Killua casually brought up:

“Oh, by the way, this guy healed you."

I want to emphasis the word Killua used to address Alluka was “こいつ”. This is a very light and overly casual word used to address someone you know, and usually a playful guy friend (e.g. “This guy used to be my neighbour.” type of feeling). The manga and anime translation, “She’s the one that healed you,” did not clearly depict the intentional casualness.

2. WHAT was SAID -

If Killua just doesn’t want to burden Gon with guilt and responsibility, then why not just keep his mouth shut and say nothing? That’s because Killua found a better option than not telling Gon anything. Killua shifted the “priority of reasons” a bit, so the VERSION OF EVENTS he told Gon, was PRIORITIZED on Alluka’s rescue rather than healing Gon. This way, they will also get to THANK Gon, and put an emphasis on thanking Gon because Killua make it SEEMED like it was more important to rescue Alluka, that the INITIAL REASON for Killua to go home, was to rescue Alluka. Only AFTER Alluka was freed, they came to the hospital to heal Gon, out of convenience, since only Alluka has the ability to do so, and since she’s now outside. The MAIN motive for these past events has been delicately swapped around by Killua, so the focus switched to the rescue of Alluka, rather than healing Gon. Hence Alluka is “No. 1”, Gon is “No. 2”. Downplaying it so healing Gon was just a bonus convenience (ep 147, 19:12 to 19:51).

Killua then goes on another level to make this version of events seem even more realistic, by saying “….You owe me a lot now,” in a teasing and playful tone of voice. This is to again, downplay the seriousness of everything he’s been through, to comfort Gon that "Yes you owe me one now, but don’t you worry! I will make sure you pay it back okay?! Hehe!”

3. WHY -

The fight with Pitou allowed Killua to witness Gon's ultimately immature mind set when it comes to “repaying someone, and redeeming himself.” Kite lost an arm and his life to protect him. So Gon gave his life and was even more happy when Pitou took his arm too. Gon will always want to “match” what was sacrificed by another, by throwing away AT LEAST the same. Not “sacrificing”, but THROWING AWAY. It’s so immature, so dangerous, no one will be able to keep up with him. Killua was very confident with how much he could take, but even Killua himself is at limit. This ultimate baka!! (ep 136, 17:50 - 20:17)

If this is how far Gon will go for Kite, he can only imagine what Gon would go recklessly into if he knew the DETAILS. This is when Killua decided on a way to part with Gon the way they did, and to PROVIDE him a particular REASON.

“I’m prepared to spent the rest of my life protecting her.”

This is the reason Killua wants Gon to know, but NOT what he actually wants to do with his life. Although it’s true he feels responsible and genuinely wish to protect Alluka and Nanika, but it’s not what he ultimately WANTS to do. He NEEDS to protect Alluka, but he WANTS to spent his entire life by the side of a certain baka…

After the previous events, Killua was traumatized, especially when he saw Gon's twisted decaying arm. That was a breaking point for him, after that, the only thing that matters THE MOST for him is for Gon to be safe. He also realized that in order to protect this baka... it’s better if he keeps a distance for now, until he finds a solution to keep Alluka safe from Illumi and his family.

4. THE PARTING -

By planning this parting with Gon, Killua hopes Gon will become detached from him. And that time and distance will slowly render him less important to Gon. So if he was to die... (because Illumi is hunting them down) he did for Alluka, he did it for the vow to protect Alluka, not Gon. We knew Killua always plans ahead, and here, he plants this reason for Gon in the future so he won’t need to feel responsible if he was to die protecting Alluka (or die with Alluka while Illumi is hunting them). This is what’s going through Killua’s head:

“If I die, you’re not responsible for anything. You don’t owe me anything, so NEVER throw your life away again. My only one wish, is for you to be safe. So here I am. I’m parting ways with you... Because I SAID you are only ... No. 2 ... I SAID you are not the most important to me.. So don’t think of me as the most important to you too….”

This, is Killua’s eternal Devotion.

5. THE RESULT -

As a result of this deliberate planning by Killua,

Gon was made to believe:

While I was recovering in hospital Killua had to go home and rescue his sister

Alluka is such a cute sister and she can grant Killua any wish?!!! Wow…that’s one cool sister…

Well… no wonder Killua thinks his cool sister is more important than me, it’s only natural.

Looks like Killua finally found what he wants to do. He will enjoy traveling the world with such a cool sister, it will be so much fun. I should be happy for him, I can’t hold him here... I have to let him go…

The DETAILS omitted:

Gon was not recovering at all in the hospital. Killua RESORTED to USE Alluka in order to heal Gon.

Alluka’s blood stained dark past and the risks and uncertainty that still involves.

Baka Gon is always No. 1 !

Killua and Alluka are desperately trying to find a way to out of Illumi’s grasp. Illumi is hunting them down and trying to make Killua his puppet again. And this time it's not going to be just a needle in the head... Killua can feel it. And if things doesn’t work out, he will just kill Alluka.

These Reasons are the core of the separation. We have a song named “Reason”… aren’t the lyrics shedding a new layer of light now?

6. IMPORTANT WORDS ALLUKA USED TO FACILITATE A BETTER RELATIONSHIP AFTER REUNION -

Killua promised to “always be together” with Alluka.

But to this promise, Alluka’s response was always silent (episode 145, 3:32 to 4:19). She looked at Killua with deep thought. Because even in such a short amount of time, she realized Killua is doing all this to ALSO or MORE SO protect Gon. It was never just for her, it will never be just for her, and there will never be anyone more important than Gon for Killua. She’s moved by Killua’s devotion and resolve, and she can also feel his sadness…

If, the situation was different, if Gon was never there to begin with, and Killua just happened to solely come to Alluka’s rescue, and then make a promise to stay together with her forever, Alluka’s natural reaction will be melting with happiness, she’d be crying tears of joy, and hugging Killua. But in this instance, she was composed, she sensed her brother’s deep seriousness and sadness. That’s why later on, she reassured the two at parting, that they will see each other again, without disclosing Killua’s true REASONS.

The Exacted words Alluka used (Manga chpt 338, 2011 anime epi 147)

a. Manga translation: “I’m going to HUG my brother for a while and then I will LET HIM GO.”

b. Better translation: “I’m going to have my brother all to myself for a while and then I will let him free.”

c. The exacted phrase: “I’m going to Monopolise my brother Exclusively for a period of time, then I will Release him.”

独り占 (Monopolise Exclusively)

Very strong characters with Explicit meaning. Have it all to oneself. Same characters and meaning used in Chinese as well. （独占）

解放 (Release)

This is much more formal and serious than “let go”. It implies the subject was initially bound/locked/restricted. Also the same characters and meaning used in Chinese.

Alluka employed these words to imply a forceful lead in this “deal” of owning Killua exclusively. These words have an underlying tone of enslavement.

Why? Because Alluka knows, the harder she IMPOSES herself on Killua during their time together, the more effective it would be on the easing of Killua’s own guilt.

Killua felt immensely guilty.

No one will enjoy a relationship bound by guilt.

Alluka knows clearly that part of her brother’s promise, was formed with guilt, from using her and Nanika, that he was having fun with Gon while Alluka was literally forgotten. Although it's true that this was largely due to Illumi's manipulation, but the fact that he did just left her in the basement all this time was both unacceptable and unforgivable to Killua himself (episode 138, 13:28).

Therefore apart from protecting Gon, this was the other important reason for this separation. Almost as if Killua has accepted this as a befitting price to pay in order to redeem himself as a brother.

Alluka and Nanika have no condition nor demand in return for Killua’s requests. But Killua imposed a price on himself for having Gon healed. Out of guilt. Alluka knows, Nanika knows. That’s why Alluka used the word 解放 (release), because it will make Killua feel better, that he has complied with her ‘enslavement’, so when the time comes, Killua will be able to release HIMSELF from guilt, and go back to Gon, properly. Alluka loves her brother, and she’s prepared to help him towards a better relationship with Gon in the future, by helping him to eliminating this chain of guilt.

lol Alluka totally ships Gon and Killua ! XD

Thank you for reading.

#hunter x hunter #hxh #killugon #gonkillu #gon #killua #alluka #meta #PLEASE read this post if you have lingering questions and confusion about the separation!#like most of us do!#I think it's incredibly helpful and explains so much #having this makes a big difference to me in how I interpret the meaning and reasons for the separation #and what Togashi did and did not tell us with it

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physalian · 3 months ago

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“Likable” vs “Compelling” Protagonists

Protagonist does not mean “good guy” it means “the person the story is about”.

Antagonist does not mean “bad guy” it means “person in opposition to the protagonist”.

We know this, yes?

So when I’m talking about “likable” protagonists I do not mean that your MC has to be witty, funny, charming, etc—they have to be compelling.

I didn’t much care for Death Note, I thought Light got away with way too much without consequences for his actions, but he was very much the villain and the protagonist. He was an arrogant narcissist with a god complex and you watched the show not to see him win, but to see how badly he would eventually lose.

This was because, despite my dislike of his story, Light was a compelling character. You don’t necessarily agree with his motivations, but you do understand why he does what he does and why he believes what he does about himself and his world.

In contrast, one of my favorite anime is Code Geass. Lelouch (who is often compared to Light) is *constantly* getting kicked in the ass by his own hubris. He's arrogant as well, but he makes mistakes everywhere and suffers if not immediate comeuppance, then drastic consequences later down the line. Which, to me, made a far more compelling character than someone like Light playing with cheat codes.

Most of the time, “likable” and “compelling” go hand in hand, because your protagonist is the “good guy” that we’re supposed to root for.

So one of the worst mistakes I think you can make is writing a hero who just doesn’t want to be here.

—

I recently read a story where MC needed to win a competition, baseline unsponsored underdog story, and everyone loves an underdog. The problem was the MC’s attitude. Nothing pleased them and in their internal monologue, nothing was good enough and everyone else was the problem. They actually hate competitions and can’t wait for this to be over…even though no one forced them into it with a gun to their head. They hate all their competitors for behavior they themself exhibit. They hate their lone sponsor for being a sleezeball, and yet, chose to enter a voluntary competition, knowing this sponsor’s behavior, and still blaming the sponsor for their problems.

The entire time I was reading all I kept thinking was, “Then go home, bitch!”

This was not a high-stakes competition, and the MC didn’t have dire enough circumstances for the reader to believe this was a "life-or-death, even if it sucks, MC has to win," type situation. Not like Hunger Games. This was all completely voluntary.

So I started wondering if the author meant the MC to be the villain with all these personality flaws, but they’re still the underdog with no wins under their belt to support their level of entitled arrogance and no notable skills that make them inherently better than the competition.

So I was rooting for the MC to lose, and I don’t think I was supposed to. Even if I was, the mixup between “underdog hero” and “catty bitchy villain” was too confusing for too much of the story. MC didn't have to be here, didn't want to be here, so... why was MC here?

—

Some suggestions for compelling motivations for your protagonist boils down to this:

Define as quickly as you can these three things for your protagonist of any walk:

What the protagonist wants

How the protagonist plans to get it

And what’s in their way

Specify the stakes, if not physical, then personal. It doesn’t have to be life-or-death, but if they’re entering a risky situation, whatever it is has to be extremely important to them. Luca doesn’t have as high stakes as, say, Toy Story 3 but the moped race is important to the heroes, thus a compelling motivation.

Make this a journey they actually want to be on. Even if it’s grimdark or horror, if your hero is complaining the entire time and wanting to go home, yet plowing forward anyway because the plot’s dragging them on a leash, your audience will be as invested in the story as that character. If they don’t actually have the commitment to see their quest through, why should the audience care?

Alternatively, make this a journey they cannot afford to walk away from. Whether that be pressure from without or within. Frodo didn’t have to take the One Ring to Mordor. He chose to, because it was, in his mind, the right thing to do. He suffered his entire journey with the Ring and got homesick and depressed and discouraged, but he never called his own journey stupid and dumb. He could have put the Ring down and walked away or given it to somebody else, but he chose to carry on, because that’s who he is.

Even reluctant chosen ones have an ulterior reason for remaining in the story. Your long-lost princess might not want the throne being thrust upon her, but she’s chasing something else that accepting the throne and going along with the plot will give her. Maybe it’s power, respect, vengeance, money, protection, connections. So she’ll tolerate the nonsense so long as it still gets her what she wants and her struggle might be trying to not let herself get corrupted by the allure of politics and “the game”. Or, she's playing along merely to stay alive and actively trying to escape and return to her simpler life.

Popular example: Percy Jackson is a reluctant chosen one throughout his entire story in every book, even Last Olympian where he insists that he's the unknown prophecy child. In The Lightning Thief he doesn’t give a damn about the quest for the Master Bolt, he’s there to get his mom back, and cooperating with the quest will give him the means to achieve his goal, and along the way, finds that he doesn’t quite hate it as much as he thought he would.

—

So. Yeah. In no way, shape, or form does your protagonist have to be “likable”. If someone tells you they aren’t, they probably mean that your protagonist is contradictory, or lacks compelling motivation and drive, and lacks a clear goal or aspiration that will define their story. Or, they lack drive to even participate in the story at all.

Or they simply mean that your charcater, who you intend to be likeable, has a nasty flaw that would turn readers off, but a beta should be able to tell you that one easily. If they can't come up with a solid reason why your charcater is unlikable, it's probably a motivation issue.

The earliest draft of a WIP that shall never see the light of day had my protagonist sent on a glorified space field trip by her parents, and wasn’t happy to be there. This not only made her unlikable, but also uncompelling. She didn’t want to participate in the plot and only did it to hold up her end of the deal, she wasn’t excited about the actual trip nor making friends, and eventually grew into it far too late in the story.

I then changed it to have the trip be her idea, and she ran away from home to chase this dream she had. Doing so gave her much more agency as an MC and gave her an immediate motive and goal so you wanted to see her succeed right from the get go.

Even villain protagonists have a goal, and generally they very much enthusiastically want to be in this story. You don’t have to like them, but you do have to want to root for them, if not for their success, then their eventual downfall in a blaze of glory.

—

Interested in a fantasy novel without a "chosen one" protagonist? Eternal Night of the Northern Sky is up for preorder in ebook, paperback on sale 8/25/24. Subscribe for updates if you'd like~

#writing #writing advice #writing a book #writing resources #writeblr #writing tips #writing tools #heroes and villains #character motivation

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haikyu-mp4 · 7 months ago

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Media presence, part 3

word count; 1526 – gn!reader, final part of the mini series

go read part 1 and part 2 first for the best experience

You were tapping your foot under the desk like a bunny, lips pursed as you tried to choose who to talk to first. Your eyes settled on Hinata. “Sweetie,” you started, and he nodded eagerly as if he awaited praise. “You don’t have to do everything Atsumu and Bokuto do.”

Hinata visibly deflated, but puffed out his chest to put on a brave front. “Yes, boss,” he said, and it brought forth a small smile because you did like it when they called you that.

“Imagine how much you could have earned if Calvin Klein was the one asking you to do it. Now it’s just out there for everyone.” you kept saying, visibly frustrated. Once again, Sakusa was thankful that you couldn’t see the smile behind his mask as he watched you from the side.

You turned your attention to Bokuto and Atsumu, who were so perfectly placed in the middle of the four, both wearing very guilty smiles.

“It’s not about posting thirst traps, obviously hot guys draw attention,” you said and just missed the way Sakusa’s nose scrunched. You gritted your teeth, breathing through them as you stared at the angry message from one of your bosses that was open on your computer screen. “It’s the fact that Black Jackals has taken in four younger players and three of them are doing a flexing competition on social media like they’re 17 years old,” you said, definitely rambling at this point.

Did I forget to explain what happened? If it’s not obvious already, all three of your problem children posted shirtless thirst traps on their stories last weekend and hashtagged it with HottestMSBYJackal, and then Atsumu posted another one with a poll on it so people could vote between the three. While they gained a lot of younger followers from the stunt, your bosses were not happy as older fans of the team found them to be way too vain and busy with their bodies, and not focused enough on the sport or whatever. What you felt about it was irrelevant. Caring about what everyone else thought about them was your job.

Bokuto pouted and nodded, not understanding what he did wrong but still not liking your tone. “Sorry, boss.”

“I’m letting you off with a warning, just please think twice before posting stuff. Be normal,” you begged them, shooing your hand as a hint for them to wrap up the meeting.

Atsumu must have put some extra audacity in his smoothie this morning because he seemed to let the whole thing fall off his shoulders when you said they just got a warning. “I need to ask you something first, it’s important.”

“Let’s just go,” Sakusa said. He was trying to herd them outside without touching them, which always proved equally difficult. Perhaps he had an inkling about his teammate’s question.

“Which one would you vote for?” Atsumu asked, a toothy grin growing on his face that usually did great for advertisement. You sighed. They probably expected you not to answer.

“Sakusa,” you said, which made all three start yelling for different reasons. He was your favourite today after not participating, knowing that if he tried to stop them it wouldn’t have worked anyway. You covered your ears, regretting answering immediately.

“Quiet down, this isn’t a playground! Let’s go.” Sakusa commanded, this time with a sternness that made the others kick into gear.

“Keep your shirts on, thank you.” They were all on their way out, Bokuto and Atsumu hanging with their heads like wounded puppies who startled once you spoke again. “Not you, Sakusa.”

“Not keep my shirt on, or?” he asked, that Atsumu-coded smirk ringing from his voice.

“Don’t test me, sit back down,” you said, and he shrugged before following your orders. The other jackals had turned around and were looking between you two curiously until Sakusa closed the door in their faces. He sat down and excused them for being so loud, which you brushed off.

The bosses had instructed you to scold all of them, even though you insisted Sakusa was not part of it. Those old men only saw how everyone referred to the MSBY four online.

Honestly, you had no idea why you asked him to stay, so you had to pull something out of your ass real quick. Your mind was racing with all the things you had to do because even though this wasn’t the biggest scandal, it still came on top of everything you usually did. So instead of lying, you rested your head in your hands for a second. “I’m not sure why I asked you to come back inside.” It wasn’t some grand confession, but just that made it feel like a tiny butterfly was fluttering its wings in Sakusa’s belly. He was so pleased that he wasn’t sure what to say, choosing instead to scoot his chair closer to the desk and wait for you to unbury your face again. You eventually did, resting your chin on your hand instead. “Did you think about my suggestion yet?”

“Yes.”

You smiled, nodding your head as he once again gave you one-word answers. Feeling like there was too little air in the room now, you went to open the window. That might soothe your headache. “Once again, the quality of your answers rock my world,” you said sarcastically.

Sakusa hesitated for a moment before speaking up again. “You do a great job,” he said just as you sat back down. For what felt like the first time that day, you really let your eyes settle on him. His hair was a little extra nice that day, in your opinion. You liked it when it was more messy, not picture perfect. Behind the hair, you could still see how his eyebrows were drawn together. More than usual, you’d say.

If you were honest, you would have told him you didn’t always feel like you did great. That you felt like it was so difficult to understand who you were supposed to cater to when everyone had a different opinion and kept expecting you to bounce back every time you met a new challenge. Because you were so good at your job, that came with expectations.

However, your relationship with Sakusa wasn’t like that, so instead your eyes teared up a bit and you whispered a weak “Thank you”.

He nodded but desperately wished you were close enough that he could ask you to tell him everything. To rest your head on his shoulder and hug you until the pain went away. But he knew he had to go back to practice any minute now, and you two would stay an unspoken thing.

You might have only started looking at him now, but he had practically been staring at you since the second he and his teammates came into that office. “I’m sure those idiots will charm everyone with time,” he said, an added assurance he didn’t usually give anyone else. “I’ve seen Bokuto practising his Bokuto Beam, lately.”

“You’re right,” you said. The Bokuto reference did make you laugh and quickly wipe at one eye where a tear threatened to fall from the pressure. It had been a long day. “I’m just glad you didn’t join them, imagine you finally started posting and I had to yell at you.” Sure, you would love a shirtless photo of Sakusa, but your job came first.

“Mm.” He cringed at the thought, hands stuffed in the pockets of his training jacket. After a beat of silence, Sakusa’s frown slowly loosened up. He was glad he could make you laugh a bit, that wasn’t usually his strong suit. “Anything else?”

“No, you can go,” you sighed. “They need you.” He nodded and silently got up, wondering if he should say something more. But he didn’t, he just left. It left you staring at the door, sighing deeply as you realised your predicament. You felt something special for Sakusa Kiyoomi.

As Sakusa got home and settled into his sofa after he was freshly showered, he unlocked his phone and opened messages. He wrote a message, deleted it, and then repeated this a few more times before switching to Instagram. There, he opened the story camera and angled it to show a small part of his pristine living room where the last lick of the sun was shining across the floor. Imagine you finally started posting, were the words that rang in his ears.

The picture he took was nice enough, and he added “Good evening.” in white before spending a while choosing the font he liked. He even added a calm song he heard the other day and grew to like.

After it was posted, the likes flooded in, but he turned on silent mode and switched back to messages. He wondered if seeing the story would make you do another victory dance. Once again, he opened your contact and wrote, deciding to finally send it.

What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?

You: Probably eat

Sakusa rolled his eyes yet smiled affectionately. Eat with me.

You: Okay:)

You: I look forward to it

No more 'unspoken thing'.

part 1 ║ part 2 ║ part 3 (final part) ║ headcanons ║ masterlist

#hq sakusa #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyu #fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyu fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #hq #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #haikyuu sakusa #msby sakusa #msby

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