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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

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Hold You Tight In My Mind

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, blowjobs, kinda fingering), soft angst, injury, hurt/comfort, demon possession, friends-with-benefits to lovers.

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Maybe you won't have to love him in silence after all.

Author's Note: Kinda request from @brtodd on tumblr!! Nothing I love more than a good old love confession, enjoy!

Title from Terrance Loves You by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.5k

That’s a lot of blood. You’ve spent nights in motels stitching wounds and lost yourself on the side of the highway shouting for help, your guts half spilled on the pavement, but you’ve never seen that much blood.

“Son of a bitch, that’s a lot of blood.”

Dean, apparently, hasn’t seen this much blood either.

“Should we, um,” you scan over the tile floor, your nose slightly scrunched. “Should we take a picture for Sam?”

“Yeah, he should see this shit too-“

“No, Dean,” you give him a flat look. “For the case. To help him figure out what the hell this thing is.”

Dean gives you a bright, boyish grin and nod of approval. “Good thinkin’, in case he gets mad at us-“

“Gets mad at you,” you correct, moving to stand at Dean’s shoulder as he takes the photo. “I’m not a part of this. I just wanna go home.”

Dean shrugs. “We all wanna go home, Sweetheart. Hell, I’ve got a wife and kids- Shit-“

He doubles over slightly from your elbow in his ribs, and you roll your eyes.

“You have a fake wife and kids. And your fake wife,” you jab your thumb at your own chest. “Doesn’t want her fake brother-in-law to kill her.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Dean’s never allowed to have fun.” He mutters, rubbing his side. “And Sammy wouldn’t kill ya’-“

“He’d kill my fake husband.” You pout at Dean, placing a hand over your heart. “And that would kill me.”

Dean chuckles, rising back to his full height. “I love it when you pretend that you care about me. Makes me warm and fuzzy.”

You roll your eyes, hoping he can’t see the low flush on your face. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “You’re into it, though. C’mon, we gotta see if there’s actually a body in here, or Sam’ll kill both of us.”

Dean trudges off through the lake of blood, and you have to shake your head slightly to clear it. This case is going to kill you. This is so fucking gross, and the longer you’re here—in this room, in this town, on this case—the sicker you feel.

And it’s not just the blood. It’s all of this. It’s the haughty country club patrons who are downright impossible to properly interrogate, it’s the extra fancy clothing you have to wear for the investigations, and the shitty little tea cakes that the club serves. Tea cakes that you can feel your stomach growling for, because you haven’t had a chance to eat all day, and that only makes you feel worse. As every hour passes, you only feel more and more sick. You only spiral into starving mess that needs either food or Dean.

And that just makes you ill. Every time you look at Dean and hear him say wife, you want to strangle him then kiss him and it’s exhausting. Because you’d walked into this stupid fucking country club with a plan that would’ve worked fine—Sam’s your driver because he drew the short stick, Dean’s your bodyguard, you’re some fancy heiress looking to spend some money—and everything went sideways the moment the front desk asked how many household members, and Dean said four. Dean said that he was your husband, and you have kids, and that he knows he’s punchin’ above his weight class, but damn him, he can’t feel bad about it.

You want to hate him for that. You want to throttle him for how he’s treating this like it’s casual and easy, like every time he says wife it’s not so quietly cruel to your heart. How it flutters and glows before withering, because you’ll never have that. Dean always says wife with a teasing voice and nudge of your shoulder, and you can only grin at him like it’s not killing you, reminding you of what you can’t have.

But you can’t hate Dean. You don’t really know how to hate Dean. And he doesn’t know that this is like torture, because he really thinks you’re happy with this. Not just the fake wife thing—because you are playing into it, trading the same taunts and jokes and grins—but the very real, no-strings-attached fuck-buddies arrangement you have. Have had for fucking years. The one where you’ll follow him to the ends of the earth and never, ever look back to see what you’d left behind, but all he’s asking is that you stay in his bed and let him fuck you when he asks.

It’s not a bad arrangement. He’s a sex god, he gives as good as he gets, and you’re technically exclusive, but it’s still not what you want. Crave. Desire more than you’ve ever desired anything.

Because you really just want all of Dean. Something he’s never offered anyone‚ will certainly never offer you, and you’re going to chase until it kills you. You’ll warm Dean’s bed and touch his body for as long as you’re allowed, and cling to these small deaths of maybe this could be real until they all finally catch up to your heart. You’ll gather small offerings he drops in your lap without knowing—you’re the only person he looks at, and his eyes don’t seem to stray, and he’s the one who decided you should be fake married—and build a shrine to him along your ribs he’ll never be allowed to see.

But his voice still haunts your dreams with words you feel over your skin where he’s touched you before. Words you’ve heard a million times—so pretty, sweetheart, good girl—and words you’ll never hear. Words that circle your brain and bang on your skull all the fucking time, even in this disgusting, haunting mess of blood. Words that make some small part of you spark whenever you hear Dean’s deep, strong voice say your name, because you’re a little pathetic and you can’t stop praying that he’ll say them. He won’t. He never does.

He calls your name, and that spark kicks up your spine, and he still doesn’t say them.

“I got it!” He sounds so proud, and you hate that it makes you smile. “We’re looking at a demon!”

You turn, pushing through the blood to join Dean at where he’s standing at a fireplace, running his finger over the mantle with a twisted expression of disgust.

“Sulfur?” You ask, stopping as close to his side as he can manage, and he shoots you a grin, holding up a bloodied—but blackened—finger.

“Bingo, Sweetheart.” He winks, obviously missing your open, wanting gape at him as he looks back to the mantle. “Nasty son of bitch, though, I’ve never seen one of those douchebags do this.”

Dean gestures around the room, and you hum an agreement.

“So we’re good?” You ask, standing slightly on your toes to survey the sulfur buildup. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call my wife, tell her I’ll be home for dinner-“

You whack his arm, and he laughs like a handsome, cocky fucking asshole you still can’t figure out how to hate.

“Your wife is starving, and tired of standing in blood.” You kick your foot through the mess, wrinkling your nose. “Can we please go?”

“I dunno, I think this is kinda romantic.” Dean gives you a shit-eating grin, and you swallow. “I mean, this is freakin’ gross, but it’s just us and all these guts, I think we could waste some time-“

“Shut up.” You shove him, and he doesn’t stop grinning at you. “Haul ass, Winchester, or you’ll be in the fake doghouse.”

He chuckles, rebalancing in a second. “You’re being a little dramatic, kid-“

“Don’t kid me, Dean Winchester, I’m your fake wife. I gave birth to your fake kids-“

“You’ve got some good points,“ Dean drawls your name, pulling you right against his chest, and suddenly the smell of metallic blood is nothing compared to the leather and whiskey and gunpowder of Dean. The sticky heat of the room is overtaken by the heat in your core, the heat of Dean’s breath as he lowers down to kiss right behind your ear, his voice dropping to a deep, teasing growl. “And I’m gonna real fuck you when we get back to the motel. But I gotta call Sam and catch him up, can you-“

You nod, reaching into his pocket to grab the keys, and force yourself not to look back as you leave. You wince slightly as you lean into the Impala—starting the car before rising back up and leaning against the door—but it’s not like she’s never been covered in blood before. This just… a lot more blood than usual.

Dean takes a year to join you, and when he walks out of the building he’s smirking, spreading his arms in a wide aren’t you happy to see me? gesture.

“Sam’s workin’ it.” He stops right in front of you, too close and never close enough. “Can I buy a pretty lady a beer?”

“You can buy her some food.” You cross your arms, grinning up at him. “I saw a drive-thru down the road, we shouldn’t go inside looking like this.”

“Smart.” He places his hand on your lower back, guiding you around the car and into the passenger’s seat, and just being so fucking impossible as he opens the door and helps you inside. “Greasy fast-food for me and my girl, comin’ right up.”

You have to learn how to hate him. You have to learn how to flip Dean off and mean it, how to not flush and giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush under his attention. He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t know how to mean it, but it still makes your lower gut warm and your face split into a wide, stupid grin when he calls you my girl, drawls your name in the car, and rests his hand on your knee as you pull through the ordering window. When he parks in the lot and you laugh together, his eyes rarely leaving yours and his smile never falling from his face.

Even when he gets out to use the bathroom—promising he’ll be fast and try, somehow, not to draw attention to how he’s soaked in blood—Dean still grins and winks at you, and you can’t figure out how to shove his chest and shout that this is mean. That he’s mocking you and stringing your heart up on wires to play with, and he can’t be expected to know that but this is so fucking mean. He needs to stop smiling at you, and stop saying wife all the time like it’s real when it’s not. It won’t be, it can’t be, and now that’s going to haunt you forever.

You sit there for long, lonely minutes while Dean’s gone, trying get as little blood as you can on the upholstery, because Dean had already started grumbling about how much work this is gonna be to clean up and you can’t bring yourself to make anything harder for him. You spiral through the sound of Dean calling you my girl and promising to fuck you, sit in the ghost of his big, warm hand on your body and his chest pressed right against your breasts. The gleam in his eyes that was full of promises, and the fantasy of all the plans he might have for that aforementioned fucking.

Then you hear his phone ring, and you frown. Dean almost never forgets his phone in the car, even if he’s just getting beer or paying for gas. It’s a hazard, to not have it. To not be able to reach you or Sam if he needs to, for you and Sam to not be able to reach him.

And he’s been gone a while. Long enough that your throat starts to form a small lump, and—when you pick up the call—your voice is a little unsteady, your attention on where Dean had disappeared into the building.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hey.” Sam says your name through the speaker, his tone a little surprised. “Where’s Dean?”

“Bathroom.” You frown at the building, desperate for Dean to just appear, and soothe this horrible twisting in your gut. “What’s up?”

“I figured out what we’re looking at.” You can hear some papers shuffling on Sam’s end, his words slow and careful. “Special kind of demon that feeds off of lustful blood, which explains why he’s been going after all those rich people. Like, ten ladies and five dudes have tried to sleep with me this week, and I know you and Dean got that, uh, offer-“

“Sam.” You mutter, your eyes still on the building. “Can we exercise it?”

“Kind of. We can’t use the normal one, because it’s not a normal demon, but there is a way. And these guys seem to be capable of being injured, more dependent on their vessels or something. So-“

“If we find him we can knock him down,” you mutter. “Hold him until we figure out how to flush him out.”

“Exactly. And I’m trying to work on the flushing part,” Sam sighs, and you can picture his sheepish expression. “But I don’t have it yet. Are you-“

“We’re coming back soon. Do you want us gone a little while longer, so you can focus-“

“No, Dean told me about all the blood. Sounded gross.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “It was. But-“

“I’ll take the car, need to stop at the library anyway.” Sam says your name through the phone, and there’s a sound of pity in it that makes you curl slightly into yourself. “You and Dean can shower, relax, do, uh, whatever you do-“

You sigh. “Please don’t give me permission to fuck your brother, dude. It’s weird.”

“Yeah.” Sam chuckles through the static. “Sorry. I just know he’s been trying to get you alone-“

“He’s always trying to get me alone.” A dumb smile takes over your face as Dean reappears, and he’s fine. Still covered in blood, but grinning at you with a dizzying joy and gleam in his eyes. “I’ll tell him what we’ve got, and text us when you’ve got the exorcism.”

“Will do. Call me if you need anything, or if, uh, I should stay away longer-“

“Suck my dick.”

You end the call as Sam laughs, and look up to find Dean tapping on your window with a smirk. You blink at him, because he might be covered in more blood than before. There’s a bruise on his forehead that wasn’t there a second ago, his shirt is on backwards, and his jacket is drenched, but he’s look at you like he won the lottery, and you’re not sure what the hell is going on.

“Dean,” you frown at him as you roll the window down, your brow furrowed as he braces an arm on the roof of Baby. “Are you-“

He cuts off your words by ducking down, grabbing your chin, and pulling you into a long, mind-numbing, sloppy kiss that leaves you gaping and dumb. Your fingers curling in his shirt, his low chuckle rolling through your body as he pushes his tongue down your throat, the taste of Dean—lingering burger and sweet soda and salt for your food, plus something innately Dean that’s heady and always leaves a perfect aftertaste on your tongue whenever he kisses you—overtaking the taste of blood just enough override your sense of this is kinda gross, and make you pull him closer.

When Dean pulls back—leaving you starting at him, your breathing ragged and heart trying to escape your chest as he grins at you—he grins at you, his voice a gravely promise.

“You ready to head back, darlin’?”

You blink at him. He’s never called you darling. Darling doesn’t sound like a Dean word. “Uh, yeah, but are you feeling okay? You were in there a while-“

“Food didn’t sit right,” he shrugs, drawing back up with a last wink. “Trust me, Sweetheart, it ain’t gonna be an issue anymore. I’m all flushed out.”

He rounds the car, and you watch him move with a frown. That’s the Dean swagger-walk, but it’s longer, with almost no urgency. Dean always walks with a least a little urgency, and he calls you Sweetheart but not darlin’, and something is still squeezing around your throat and telling you something’s wrong, when Dean’s right here. He’s winking at you from the driver’s seat, driving with the same cool ease Dean always has behind the wheel, and talking to you like he always does. Like your every word is fascinating and amusing, and you could say the grossest thing in the world but he’d still call you adorable.

You hate that he does that. It’s perfect and painful, feeding that shrine over your ribs, and almost enough to distract you from how weird he’s being. How he doesn’t seem at all interested to hear about the blood demon, how his first clarification is so Sam’s gonna leave us in the motel, and how he’s growing bolder with his hand on your leg. Trailing fingers lazily up your thigh and grinning when he brushes over the apex of your thighs, chuckling at your small gasp.

“Think we’re ready for that fuckin’, Sweetheart?” He drawls, pulling into the motel lot. “You sure seem real needy-“

“We’re not having sex, Dean, there’s a demon on the loose-“

“A demon Sammy’s handlin��.” He shrugs. “And I’ve been tryin’ to get you alone all freakin’ week. C’mon, we deserve some time together.“ Dean leans forward, smirking at you. “And I know you want it, babygirl. I bet you’re real fuckin’ wet for me.” He reaches up to your face, running his thumb over your lower lip. “So pretty, darlin’-“

There it is again. Darling. Darling, and the excessive drawling, and the slow walk, and the glint in his eyes you’re only now noticing. It’s colder than how Dean ever looks at you. It’s shallow and crude, like he can’t see anything past a pretty face and body, when Dean is—above all else—your friend. When there’s always a shining light when he looks at you that—both amazingly and awfully—reminds you that you’re more than just a body, and he mostly sees you as the best friend he’s ever had. The one he can do this with, because you care about each other too much to complicate things, and who he’ll always respect.

And this doesn’t feel respectful. It doesn’t feel like Dean. His hands are touching you, but there’s something off about them. Dean would be tracing his fingers over your inner thigh, not moving any further until your either grabbed his hand and moved it for him, or downright pleaded for him to touch you. He’d be disgusted by keeping your bloodied clothing in Baby for even a second more, and choose to back you against the motel wall instead of whatever this is. He’d let you get a word in, for your mock sparring and teasing that he always seems to win.

He would’ve worked in a joke about wanting to fuck his wife, because she can be a real brat when he neglects her. And you’d have smacked his chest, and he’d have laughed, raising his brows and saying see? She gets all bitchy and dramatic when I don’t fuck her right.

But Dean’s not doing that right now. And when you reach over the seat, trailing your hand up his chest in a pretend gesture of need, you feel it.

Warm, sticky blood that’s fresh, and seeping through his shirt. Pouring from a wound you can feel the dip of, that somehow doesn’t make him flinch when you press slightly on it.

A wound right over his anti-possession tattoo.

You move before the demon—not Dean, this isn’t Dean, and you feel fucking ill—can register what’s happening. You pull one of the Impala’s random guns out from the glove compartment, thank a God who’s obviously not listening that it’s weighed and heavy, and ram the butt of it into Dean’s temple. Not hard enough to kill him—you do want your Dean back after this— but hard enough to knock him out. To buy you enough time to grab his by the neck of his jacket and drag him out of the impala. You kick open the motel room door, scream to Sam for help, and haul him into a chair. Sam ties him down, while you take long, deep breathes, and your words are soft and short when you finally manage to speak.

“He’s possessed.” You whisper, starting at the floor. “They carved through the tattoo.”

“Shit,” Sam starts to pace, and there’s a ringing in your ears that makes it hard to hear him. “It’s-“

You nod. “The blood demon.”

“Are you good to stay here?” Sam marches over to the table and shoving his laptop into his bag. “I’ll go to the library, find what we’re looking for, and call you when I’ve got it. Okay?”

You nod, trying not flinch at Sam’s sympathetic pat of your shoulder, and stare at Dean as Sam leaves. You feel vile. That’s not Dean, but it’s Dean’s body. Dean will still be injured when you get this piece of shit out of his body. He’ll still be covered in bloody, disgusting clothing, and he’ll remember you knocking him out. He’ll ask questions that you’ll have to answer, about how you knew. And you’ll have to tell him that you just did. You’ll leave out the part about how you have every piece of him memorized to worship, so that even if the demon had tried a little harder to pretend to be Dean, you probably still would have caught on. You’d recognizes Dean’s bones in the grave. You’d recognize his voice in space. You’d recognize him just fucking near you if you were being waterboarded and flayed alive. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes and say the painfully basic and obscuring answer of I just did, and that will hurt.

But you have time to practice. The demon’s still knocked out in Dean’s body, and Sam’s taking too long to figure this out, but you don’t have anywhere to be. You can tug Dean’s jacket off his body with a mumbled apology he can’t hear, and busy yourself trying to clean it. You can’t stop looking at him—battered, vulnerable, his face so painfully slack—and the warm, soap-covered cloth isn’t enough to keep you from spiraling. From flinching as the blood, Dean’s blood, becomes red bubbles, and trying to convince yourself that this isn’t going to be so impossibly horrible. That, maybe, the demon just won’t wake up, and you won’t have to do anything but clean Dean’s jacket until Sam gets back

But you’re not that lucky.

Pretty, green eyes that are but don’t look like Dean’s flutter open, the demon drops any pretense of playing pretend, and your skin begins to crawl as it speaks.

“Good mornin’,” it leers at you from the chair, pulling slightly on the bonds. “Aren’t you a pretty sight to see after some forced shut eye.”

You start to scrub on the leather to a degree that can’t be helpful, your knuckles white.

“Knockin’ us out wasn’t very nice to your friend in here, Sweetheart. He’s awfully torn up about it. Feelin’ like he failed you, beggin’ me not to hurt you, hates that I was able to get the up on him and touch you at all. But can I tell you a secret,” the demon says your name, and your blood curls in your body. “He really wants to touch you himself. You’ve got a real dirty minded fellow on your hands. Who woulda thought the great Dean Winchester’s weakness would be a smart-mouthed bitch-“

The demon seems to choke on that last word, and when your gaze shoots up Dean’s body looks like it’s in pain. He’s curving into himself—his eyes screwed shut and sweat forming on his brow—and you’re moving before you know what’s happening. Jumping out of your seat and grabbing his face between your hands, your voice high and frantic over the blood pounding in your ears.

“Dean?” You run your thumb over his cheek, and he twitches, like he can’t figure out if he wants to flinch away or lean into your touch. “Shit, Dean, I need you to talk to me-“

Dean’s eyes snap open—that foul glint still rooted deep into them—and he laughs as you jerk away like he’d burned you.

“I’ll give ‘im this.” The demon says, the words still slightly strained. “He ain’t an easy ride. Keeps tryin’ to break out and talk to you, tell you not to listen to me and go find Sammy.” The demon laughs again, and it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. It’s Dean’s laugh, but inverted. Cold and hateful and wrong. This is so fucking wrong.

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking an unsteady step back, and the demon raises Dean’s brows.

“Well, darlin’, you’re just breakin’ poor Dean’s heart. Hurtin’ him, tellin’ him to shut up, tyin’ him up-“ The demon cuts himself off, twisting Dean’s face into a smirk. “Well, that one’s a funny little case, ain’t it. He’s too much of a pathetic little bitch to admit it-“

You scowl, standing a little taller. “Dean’s notpathetic-“

The demon pushes on as if you’d said nothing at all. “But he’s kinda into this. Likes the idea of you havin’ some fun with him however you want, pleasin’ you however you like, or,” the Demon’s grin grows mocking and crude. “Switchin’ places. Keepin’ you down to find out if he can make you scream louder than when he does that thing with his tongue, see if he can get you beggin’ all pretty. Nothin’ gets him goin’ more than when you beg-“

“Shut up.“ You hiss, grabbing your phone off your bed. “I don’t know what your fucking angle is, but I’d recommend you get out of my-“ you catch yourself, taking a short breath before plowing on. “Out of Dean-“

The demon caught it, though, and his smirk grows. “Your what? He ain’t your boyfriend, darlin’. But Jesus, he hates that too. I don’t think you’d keep indulgin’ this asshole if you could spend a second in here with ‘im like I am. He’s fuckin’ obsessed with you, it’s goddamn pathetic-“

You clench your jaw so hard you might break teeth, your movements rough as you scroll for Sam’s contact. “I said shut up-“

“He thinks he’s fuckin’ poison.” The demon sneers, and you can’t look at Dean’s face—can’t see it cruel and filled with hate—or you might start crying. “And shit, darlin’, he’d like to poison you. He’d like to do everythin’ to you. Fuck ya’ and buy you flowers and marry ya’,” the demon cackles, and you feel a little dizzy. “’S why he’s been doin’ this stupid fuckin’ charade all week. He wants to bruise ya’ and bite ya’, then whine and bitch about how he’s so disgustingly in love with you-“ The demon hacks a slight cough, and shakes his head with a mocking grimace. “Makes me fuckin’ sick, how needy and weak this piece of shit is-“

“I said,” you cross back to the chair, fisting Dean’s blood-covered shirt in your hand and yanking him up with cold words and words you hate on your tongue. “Shut the fuck up. And get out of him, before I fucking kill you.”

The demon just laughs at you, spit covering your face. “You ain’t gonna kill me, Sweetheart. Not while I’m in your precious Dean’s body. Not while you got me here, tellin’ you all the nasty things he’d like to do to ya’, how he worships the ground your fuckin’ walk on and dreams about you sayin’ you love a pile of trash like him-“

You tear off your own jacket, bundle up the sleeve, and stuff it the demons mouth. You don’t fucking care if it’s trapped in Dean’s body until Sam gets back, you can’t keep listening to it. Listening to it fucking lie and rip you apart with only words, watch it eyes gleam as it puppets Dean’s mouth to torture you. Why the fuck would it say things like that. It can’t be to hurt Dean, because all he’ll have to do is tell you when this is over that he’s sorry about what the demon said, and that it’s all just lies. And the demon doesn’t know—can’t know—that it just ripped your heart out of your chest and ran it through a meat-grinder. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, and you feel like your skin is trying to fly off your body, and Dean’s still covered in blood and it’s horrible-

Your phone buzzes on the floor—slightly cracked from being suddenly dropped—and it’s Sam. When you pick up he doesn’t wait to hear you before he launches into frantic words, practically shouting into the speaker.

“Found it!” He sounds a little out of breath, and you wouldn’t doubt that he’s been running back to the car. “Can you put me on-“

“Yep.” You press speaker, ripping your jacket out the demons mouth and turning the volume all the way up. “Go.”

Sam starts to recite a long, fancy string of Latin words, and you can’t bear to see Dean’s body thrash and roar and fold in pain, but you need to make sure the demon goes. That when Sam finishes and Dean’s eyes start to flutter, it’s safe to thank Sam, hang up the phone, and fall to your knees at Dean’s side.

“Dean,” you cup his jaw, angling his head slightly back. “Shit, Dean, please say something-“

He moans your name, and you almost start crying in relief, dropping your head carefully onto his leg.

“I, shit-“ Dean’s voice is hoarse as he pulls slightly at the bonds around him. “I’m happy to see you too, Sweetheart, but I kinda need you do untie me-“

“Fuck, sorry-“ You scramble with the ropes, scanning over his body as you do. “I’m gonna go get Sam’s medkit, can you take your shirt off-“

“Well, I’d usually make you but me some dinner- shit-“ He’d already started to pull his shirt off, his whole body shuddering as his arms tried to raise up.

“Dean-“

“Gimme three, I’ve got it-“

“No, you don’t. I’m cutting your shirt off, just-“ You move to your feet, pointing a stern finger at him. “Stay.”

He raises his hands, flinching slightly at the movement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Neither of you speak for a long while. You throw yourself entirely into his stitches, tossing the bloodied rags of his shirt into the trash and stealing small at Dean’s handsome, exhausted features. He’s watching you the whole time, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but it’s sure where to start. When he finally clears his throat, you hum, keeping your hands steady on the stitches.

“This fucking sucks.” He grumbles, and you huff a dry laugh.

“Yeah. It really does.” You pull another stitch through the gash, and Dean winces. “Shit, I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologize.” He mutters. “I should be apologizing to you.”

You frown up at him, your hands coming to a still. “Why?”

“I let that asshole get one up on me.” He grunts, refusing to meet your eyes. “Couldn’t get a hold over him, either. Let him say all that shit to you-“

Something cracks in your heart, but you just shrug. “That’s not on you, Dean. Demon’s lie, you don’t have to explain it-“

Now Dean’s frowning at you. “What?”

“The demon,” you mumble, your face flushing slightly. “What he said. I get it, it’s what they do, you don’t need to-“

“The demon didn’t,” Dean coughs, his face redder than you’ve ever seen it, his voice almost nervous. “It didn’t lie. He was a dick about how he said it, but he didn’t lie.”

“I, um, I don’t-“ You gape at him for a long second, trying to figure out if he’s joking. This isn’t something Dean would joke about, but that just means you must have heard him wrong. The demon said Dean loved you, and Dean didn’t love you—you haven’t even allowed yourself to entertain the thought outside of secret fantasies and feverish dreams—so the demon lied. The demon lied. The demon had to have lied, but why would Dean-

He says your name, tone cautious and features soft when you blink at him. “Lost you for a second, Sweetheart, are you-“

“I’m okay.” You mumble, refocusing on the stiches. “I’m probably just tired, I thought I heard you say-“

“That I love you?”

You swallow. There it is again. “I-“

He says your name again, careful fingers brushing hair from your face. “Look at me.”

You can’t. You don’t know what’s going on, and there’s still so much blood.

Dean hand moving under your chin and guides your gaze up, you lips parting slightly as your eyes meet his. He’s scanning over you, a slight furrow to his brow, and you can’t stop your hand from moving up and wiping a little blood off his cheek.

“Dean-“

“Never mind.” He mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Thought that we, uh, never mind.”

When you finish the stitches—your hands shaking slightly, your head spinning with confusion—you force him to shower first. It gives you time to spiral down, down, down, your brain turning desperately to figure out what that was. Why Dean would say that, why he’s acting so strange, why the demon would say that, why Sam’s being such a dick and insisting that he’s getting a second room, because Dean would—allegedly—rather have you here as the three of you had already been rotating through the floor, couch, and bed.

Which means you’re stuck with alone Dean for the night. And he’s not fully looking at you when he exits the shower, and you’re mostly just mumbling to each other, and he doesn’t love you but he looks like a kicked puppy. He picks up your own blood-covered jacket, helps you carefully out of your seat, takes the soapy rag from your hands, and flat out refuses to sit until you move to the shower.

And the water doesn’t help. You feel cleaner, but the steam makes your head spin all the more, and you can’t stop picturing Dean’s fallen, almost pained features, and playing the demons words over in your mind.

Dean’s disgustingly in love with you. He worships the ground you walk on and dreams about you saying you love him. And you do love him, but he doesn’t love you, and it’s dangerous to hope that he’d love you, and-

And he still looks so beaten down when you exit the shower. He barely looks at you as you cross the room, his attention wholly on your jacket, and when you drop on the bed and clear your throat, you could sworn he pales.

“Are you,” you swallow, forcing your voice to be stronger. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yep” He mutters, still not looking up. “Stitches are fine, Sweetheart. Good work.”

You flush slightly, but push on. “And your head?”

“Pounding like a bitch, but I’ve gotten through worse.” He shrugs, and words start to creep like vomit up your throat. “We’ll grab Sam in the morning and get goin’-“

“What did you mean?” You blurt, and Dean freezes. “When you said the demon wasn’t lying?”

Dean sighs, and drops the rag, running his hands over his face before turning to you, his voice low and elbows braced on his knees. “What I said.” He grunts, his eyes now refusing to leave yours. “He didn’t lie.”

“About-“

“All of it.”

Your breathing is shallow, your voice barely a whisper, but you have to ask. It will ruin everything, but you need to ask.

But you’re a coward, and you ask the wrong thing.

“Why did you tell the country club we were married?”

Dean lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Because I thought it would be fun. I’d get to call you my wife and see you blush all freakin’ week, and this case was gonna be shit so I thought what the hell.”

“Oh.” You whisper, unsure what to make of that. “Okay.”

Dean still doesn’t look away. If anything his eyes sear into you as his voice drops lower, his expression darkness and unreadable. “How’d you figure out I was possessed?”

You’d practiced this. You just did. You just knew it wasn’t him. That’s all you have to say, and you can’t. Something grabs your tongue and all you can say is the truth.

“Because I know you.” You mumble, unable to break his gaze. “And that wasn’t my Dean.”

“Your Dean,” He chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Wasn’t sure I was your anything, kid-“

“Well, I didn’t think you loved me.”

You say the words before you can actually think them through, and time freezes. Dust seems to the hanging static in the air, red water still and motionless on the table, the hum of the bathroom fan stuck on one long note, and you and Dean both trapped in place. Neither of you strong enough to speak, but not weak enough to run, and why did you say that, Dean doesn’t love you-

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.” He’s searching over your face, words low and whole body tensed. “And I’d try to take it back for you, but-“

“Don’t take it back!” You almost yelp, and Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “I don’t want you to take it back, I just- I don’t-“

“You don’t believe me.”

You nod weakly, wishing he would look away. Wishing Dean would just let you curl into yourself and hide for a million years, until this ends. Until this sore heat of shame over your skin and blooming warmth of hope that Dean might, maybe, really, possibly love you both die a quiet, easy death.

But he doesn’t look away. Dean pushes himself out of the chair with a grunt, walks on unsteady legs to stand before you, and takes your face between his hand, his words deep and firm.

“I love you,” he says your name, lowering his face to yours. “And I know it’s not what you want, but I do. I won’t apologize for it, but if you’re done messing around with me because of that, I’m never gonna make you pretend you love me back-“

You’d been sent into a daze of Dean loves you, he’s saying it himself and it’s the truth and he loves you, and that snaps you out of it. You close the last breath of space between your lips without effort, and this is a long, lazy, peaceful kiss that people without blood and demons would have. It’s cementing, steeling it fully into you that Dean loves you. You’ll never have to try and force yourself to hate him, because it’s shit work to hate Dean Winchester and there’s no point it anymore. He loves you, and it’s impossible to doubt that he loves you when he’s kissing you like this—not invasive but deep, not demanding but still dragging small moans and happy sighs from your throat, holding your cheek with one hand and cupping the back of your head with the other—so it’s not a war with yourself push him back a little and finally say words that have been stuck in your throat for years.

“I love you too.” You smile at him, and his eyes flash. “I don’t have to pretend, and this is what I want, so please,” you take a shaking breath, moving your hand to hold his against you. “Please don’t apologize for this. And please,” you lean a little further forward, bumping your nose with his as he continues to stare. “Keep messing around with me, Dean. I love you, so I’d-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Dean pulls you back into a kiss, this one heavier and sloppier, leaving you with ragged breath and puffed lips. Your hands curl into his shirt as he drops onto the bed at your side, hauls you over him with only a low, slightly pained grunt, and looks up at you with a slight frown on his face.

“That son of a bitch kissed you.”

“I thought it was you,” you mumble, tracing a small patten on his chest with one finger. “Sorry-“

“I’m not mad at you,” Dean gives you an amused look, pressing another, smaller kiss to your lips. “I’m mad at that douchebag, for trying to get with my girl.”

His words are mumbled against your lips, settling deep and warm in your stomach, and you can barely manage a hum of, “Oh. Okay.”

He chuckles, his hand moving under your shirt to run up the skin of your waist, your body shivering with pleasure at the touch. “I’d like to fuck you,” he mutters your name, his eyes on yours so attentive and dark that you might agree to jump off a cliff if he asks. “But my doctor said I need to take it easy-“

“I’m your doctor,” you gasp, dropping your brow to Dean’s as he brushes the underside of your breast. “And I think that- shit, Dean-“ He’s adjusted you in his arms, settling your core right over the obvious, proud bulge in his jeans. “If we take it easy, and you promise to let me stay on top-“

Dean shakes his head, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “That’s gonna be a real hard,” he ruts up into you, and you whimper. “Promise to keep, babygirl-“

“Well it’s that,” you lean back, giving him a stern glare. “Or nothing, Winchester. Your choice.”

He gives you a look of mock disbelief. “I can’t believe I fake married someone so freakin’ mean to me-“

“I can.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your own lips curling up slightly. “What’s it gonna be.”

Dean narrows his eyes at you, his hand trailing down your stomach to cup you right over your pussy as he drawls. “I think you should make that choice, Sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”

“I-“ You lean forwards, burying your face in his neck to try and stifle your moans. “I already-“

“You said you stay on top, but that can mean a million things,” he mutters your name, kissing right under your ear. “I can fuck up into you, or you can ride me, or,” Dean starts to rub you through your pants, his thumb drawing rough, taunting circle over your clit. “I can finger fuck this pretty pussy until you cum all over my fuckin’ hand.”

“Dean,” you moan against his skin, your nails digging into his back. “Fuck, I-“

“This,” he moves his free hand up, playing with the waistband of your pants. “Seems to be getting in our way. Take it off for me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You almost scramble to pull off your clothing—still manage to shoot Dean a glare for his low, teasing wolf-whistle when you’re fully bare before him—and almost throw yourself back onto him before you freeze. He’s still dressed—you can see the outline of where his pants must be becoming painful—and he’s still hurt. That’s why you had to stay on top in the first place. Dean won’t say it, but he’s in pain, and that’s more important than sex. You’re aching for him between your legs, you whole body whining to be pressed to his, but you can’t let him injure himself.

So you drop to your knees, help him out of his pants and boxers—feeling Dean track your every movement, remaining silent as you work—and swallow as his cock springs into view. You’ll never get tired of the sight of it. Big and meant to fit so well inside of you, pretty because it’s Dean’s, and he’s not really capable of being ugly.

Dean grunts your name as you take him in your hand, your fingers trailing over his strong thighs as you start to pump him slowly.

You smile up at him, raising your brows. “Do you like that?”

“Of course I fucking like that-“

“Do you love me?”

You say the words innocently, squeezing your hand lightly, and he blushes slightly, throwing his head back as he groans. “Shit, Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me-“

“I do,” you whisper, pressing an open mouth kissed to the broad, red tip of his cock. “You do it to me too.”

“’S not-“ You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting him bump against your throat, and he cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, ’s not the same-“

You pop off of him with a frown. “It is. I love you too.”

“I know, pretty girl.” He mutters, moving hold your cheek, his cock twitching in your hands as you lean into the touch. “But you don’t gotta do this for me just cause you love me-“

“I like doing it.” You shrug, licking a long stripe up his shaft to prove your point, savoring the grunt it draws from his chest, the way his hand moves to fist in your hair. “I might love you, Dean Winchester,” you grin at him, replacing your mouth with your hand as you speak. “But I also really just like sucking your cock.”

“Son of a-“ Dean’s voice is a growl, his eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “You’re- fuck it.”

You squeak as he pulls you up, back to his lap, and impales you on his cock in one smooth motion.

“Dean!” You try to gain a little power over your mouth, your fingers running over his fresh stitches. “Your doctor did not, fuck-“ He rolls his hips, and you bite your tongue to stop your moan. “Winchester, your doctor did not approve picking heavy things up-“

“You’re not that heavy.” He shrugs, kissing your shoulder as his arm braces you against this chest, his words teasing and low. “And lucky me, my fake doctor is also my fake wife, and they’re both,” he moves his mouth back over yours, muttering against your lips. “Begging me to fuck them all pretty.” His other arm wraps around you, starting to guide the rolls of your hips, his eyes on yours so soft for how he’s splitting you open and bumping against the deepest places inside of you. “And get them to cum all over my fuckin’ cock.”

You moan, throwing your head back as you start to grind down on him, and you’ve done this a million times before, but it feels different. You’ve fucked Dean enough that you must have covered every base—rough and fast and soft and slow and teasing and desperate and angry and blissful—and it’s the same to your body, but different to your mind. Dean’s hands still ignite fire on your skin as he holds you as close as he can manage, but you’re not worried about how they might drop away. He’s still kissing you everywhere he can reach, but there’s nothing turning in your head about how he might not like what he tastes. He’s doing it all right—he always does it right—but it’s so much more.

You squeeze around his cock and he moans your name, almost pinning you into his laps as he latches his mouth to your upper chest. Sucking and nipping you where people can see. He’s always kept his small habit of marking you to where it won’t be visible, where people won’t jokingly ask you who got messy. But people will see this, and he knows that, and it seems to spur him on. His mouth crashes back into yours, his hands keeping your rhythm on him steady as his mouth and cock unravel you above him.

“You gonna cum, Sweetheart?” Dean growls down your throat, and you just nod frantically, swiveling your hips around him.

“So close,” you whine, trying to find just a little more friction. “Please, Dean-“

He starts to slam up into you, holding you steady with one arm as he leans back, bracing himself on the bed. His stitches are somehow still closed, he’s looking at you like you’re all the world gathered for him to hold, and his mouth is lowering to pull your nipple between his teeth. Keeping you right on the edge as his thrusts grow uneven, his hands bruising on your skin in the best way.

“Fuck, you wanna cum with me, babygirl?” He groans, flicking your nipple with his tongue before pulling you down to him, dragging you into a kiss of spit and need and pure fucking desire. “Think you can ask me real pretty-“

“Please. Please, Dean, please.” You gasp, your clit starting to rub against his abdomen, your whole body so close to bursting into flames. “So fucking close, need it so bad-“

He bites on your lower lip, smirking at your high whine. “Good girl.” He jerks up into you one last time, the movement rough and uncontrolled, and groans into your ear. “Cum.”

You might have screamed, but everything goes blinding and loud and holy like a hymn you only know in the language of Dean, and you never want to stop singing for the rest of your life. You can hear him shouting your name as he spills up into you, but you’re so high on your pleasure— on the smell of Dean everywhere around you and his lingering taste on your tongue—that it’s distant and only a rush of good. Dean feels good, and he’s muttering in your ear that he loves you, so you think everything might be really good.

And it is. This isn’t blood or work. This is Dean’s cock still buried inside you, his hot, warm cum running down your thighs, and your hands tracing over his warm skin to check that his stitches are still together. This is your face pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck, his hands combing through your hair, and a priceless sense of peace. It’s always lingered before, but it would wash away as you both left the bed, and drift into nothing as you wandered back into the real world. It feels more certain now. It feels more set into your bones, and you know you’ll see more blood and stitch more wounds, but this is going to stay. Dean is going to stay, and you have all of him. And that’s welcoming this sense of peace that’s so finite and rare, you’d have to be insane to let it go.

So you won’t. And you won’t have to cling to him, because Dean isn’t foolish enough to let you go either. You’ll keep all of Dean, he’ll do the same for you, and he’ll keep igniting a spark in your gut by saying my girl that you won’t ever allow to go out.

End Note: Look! A Rare Dean Winchester dealing with his own emotions! Spotted in the wild! And I am physically incapable of writing a short one-shot, and I'm very sorry about that.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

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starryylies · 2 days ago

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I love how you write Konig! I love the idea of him being a big mess when reader touches him, what if Konig is with a small reader and he always has to be touching them or holding them. Even reader riding oh his shoulders, or piggyback rides💚 but he totally melts in their touch.....maybe even the slightest contact makes him hard👀

König who gets turned on by just a touch, literally

He feels like such a loser,

So pathetic

That the big brute of a man got a boner just by a pretty lil thing holding his hand

It’s cute though, in your eyes atleast.

You turn up to look at him,

Just to see his masked face, with only his eyes visible

you see the look of shame and guilt in his eyes

But you also see that it’s overpowered by lust.

Well you gotta admit you got this on yourself though,

It’s your fault you dressed up so pretty and smelled so nice,

It’s your fault that your hand felt so soft that it made him wonder how it would feel wrapped around his cock.

So who are you to say no if he continues to travel his hand up your shirt,

Who are you to say no if he cups your hand and rubs his clothed dick on it

And who are you to judge him if he cums in his pants while whining like a little bitch.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆ ੈ✩

Hii! Thank you so much for the ask, I hope the fic came out well. I’m sorry I deviated a bit though.

Header Credits- @anitalenia

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gh0stsp1d3r · 2 days ago

Note

LOVE the way you write nerd!rafe 🥹 could we see their first date like after the “giving nerd!rafe head for the first time” fic you did ?!

first date

A/N: IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE.

Warnings: all fluff!

NERD!RAFE MASTERLIST

Honestly, when you agreed to go out on a date right after having sex with him, you didn’t know what you expected. But whatever it is, it definitely wasn’t this. You didn’t expect it to be so… perfect.

A beach date wasn’t exactly a typical first date. But, it sounded extremely fun. It was different and unique, something about it had your stomach fluttering. Why were you so nervous? You’re his tuttee, you’ve literally talked to him countless times.

You put your earrings in, smoothing down your sundress as you stood up. You had your bikini on under it, just incase you did want to go in the water.

Your phone vibrated on your bed, with a little text from Rafe.

rafe (super cute tutor guy)

Hey, I’m here.

You typed a quick message back,

“be down in a sec!”

He replied with, “Take your time.” A small smile made its way onto your face, hearting the message and putting your phone in your little crotchet bag. You just pulled on some simple slides, not bothering with it.

You went down your stairs, taking a breath before opening the door up. You saw Rafes car sitting there, him messing with the ring on his finger in the drivers seat. He looked up to see you, giving you a soft smile as you hopped into the passengers seat.

“Hi.” He spoke, you turning to look at him back with a smile.

“Hi.” You spoke rather shyly, swallowing the lump that began to form in your throat. You were usually so confident, so why were you so nervous?

“You look… really beautiful.”

“Thank you. You do too.” You replied, before realizing how weird it sounded. “I meant.. you look handsome. Not beautiful-“

He laughed, “Thank you.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment, before turning his car on, and beginning the drive to the beach.

“So, uhm, what made you pick the beach?” You asked him when he started to drive, him shrugging his shoulders, pursing his lips together.

“Well, it’s nice out. And I didn’t like- I feel like you deserved better than some boring dinner date.” He began to stammer out, you smiling at his words. “I didn’t even know if it was good, but-“

“No, no, it is. I like it. That’s…very sweet of you.” You hummed, him glancing at you with his lips turned up.

“I’m glad you like it.” He said, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

You gave him a smile, him glancing back at you while he turned up the radio, rolling down the window as you approached downtown, and drove closer to the beach.

“Alright,” he spoke when he parked the car in a spot, “I just gotta get the stuff from the back.” He told you, opening up his car door, you doing the same.

You stood, watching as he opened up the truck bed, grabbing the towels, along with a large bag.

“You got it?” You asked him with a giggle when you saw him struggle to balance everything in his arms and close the trunk bed, him laughing at his own struggles.

“Maybe not.” He replied sheepishly, you going to his side and helping him close the trunk bed.

“Thanks.” He told you with a small smile, still carrying everything in his arms.

“Mhm.” You hummed, beginning to walk in front of him, and making your way to the beach, him following behind you.

As soon as you found a spot, you grabbing a towel from his hands, putting it down onto the sand. He had a small smile when he put down the bags and sat down next to you, offering you a water bottle.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him, not thinking when you leaned in to press your lips to his cheek. His cheeks turned crimson, mouth going slightly agape.

“Y-yeah.” was the only thing he could reply with, sitting down next to you, breaking off a piece of bread.

“It’s really nice out today.” He commented in his best attempt to make small talk, you nodding and laughing in agreement.

“It is.” You replied, glancing at him with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The both of you talked, ate and laughed for what felt like hours, but was really only 40 minutes. You enjoyed talking to him, more than you thought you would.

“Uhm… do you wanna take a walk, maybe?” He suggested when you both began to pack everything up into the bag, you smiling and nodding.

He carried the beach bag on his shoulder, your towels, shoes and the food containers thrown in there. He held his hand out, looking at you with his head tilted to the side like a puppy would. You grabbed his hand, the both of you walking alongside the water. A large smile was visible on your face as you looked out at the horizon and the setting sun. He smiled as well, the both of you feeling the wave crash against your feet.

“It’s beautiful.” You breathed out, him looking at you, lips slightly parted. He nodded in agreement, “It is.”

You turned to meet his eyes, both of your gazes locking. His breath hitched when you moved your hand to cradle his face, getting on the tips of your toes so that you could reach his lips. His eyes shut, both your lips meeting halfway.

His hands went to your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips moved with yours and the sun set behind the both of you.

Taglist:

@moonssyrup @koibleufish @anamiad00msday @wearemadeofstardust0 @wintertxt @teenwolfbitches28 @10ava01 @mileyraes @theoraekenslover

#nerd!rafe #rafe fic #obx rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine

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pha55ed · 2 days ago

Text

Back to You || OP81

type :: slight angst? to fluff

tw/cw :: none

summary :: popstar!reader broke up with oscar a year ago and swore she was over him. but after publishing her album that's flooded with sad songs, guess who pops in her dms? - wc: 1.5

inspo :: "why oh why does god keep bringing me back to you" - ariana grande, everytime - fc is yeri from red velvet! <3

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist

liked by oscarpiastri, jackdoohan, paularon_, alexandrasaintmleux, and 3,418,722 others

yourusername : My album, "Finally" is finally out!!! 🎉 haha get it... Anyways, it has songs that I KNOW you'll love since u guys leaked them early 😒😒 but wtv so much love for you all! ❤️

→ user 01: YESSSS MOTHER IS BACK!!!!!!

⎯→ user 02: FINALLY GETTING FED OMFGGGG

→ user 03: OMFG WE'RE GETTING A STUDIO VERSION OF "EVERYTIME"

⎯→ user 04: I don't have to listen to it on YT anymore THANK U LORDDD

⎯→ yourusername: so i can collect those streams finally 🙄 (jk love u all haha)

→ user 05: ummm... why is oscar in the likes...?

⎯→ user 06: didn't they break up???

⎯→ user 07: literally half of the songs on this album are about him.. ermmmm

⎯→ user 08: wait which ones??

⎯→ user 09: everytime, don't smile. i wish i hated you, good looking, and like you do... and that's not even mentioning all the other leaked songs that didn't make it to the album

→ user 10: DEATH TO OSCAR!!!

⎯→ user 11: but he inspired all these bangers???

⎯→ user 12: but he also caused her year long break...

→ alexandrasaintmleux: so glad you found your peace babe <3

⎯→ yourusername: thank you for helping me find it <3

liked by 724,291 others

f1.gossip.page : (Y/N) (L/N), famous singer and Oscar Piastri's ex of 3 years, was spotted with Oscar at a restaurant together chatting. They were then spotted again two days later on a private rooftop hotel. Even more suspious is that (Y/N) removed all songs that were negative towards Oscar from her private SouncCloud. Are the two back together? Or did Oscar pay her to stop trashing his name?

→ user 01: No way this is real??? That's gotta be AI

⎯→ user 02: But Oscar did like her post promoting the album...

⎯→ user 03: Plus she literally made a song called "I wish I hated you"

→ user 04: As a Oscar and (Y/N) fan I'm both happy and angry and sad and confused????

→ user 05: I mean??? I guess??? Let's go??? Healing????

⎯→ user 06: Only (Y/N) could make over 20 songs shitting on a man, basically dedicate an album to their relationship, and then still make him love her

→ user 07: Lowkey feel bad for Oscar??? Like he got so much hate only to forgive her...? I feel like maybe SHE paid him

liked by oscarpiastri, jackdoohan, paularon_ alexandrasaintmleux, and 4,724,291 others

yourusername : filming "everytime" with a special guest... 🤫 i wonder who!!! well actually i don't have to wonder, just u guys LOL

→ user 01: guys... i'm lost and confused

⎯→ user 02: she's going to be filming w/ Oscar! hope that helps!

⎯→ user 02: JK IM LOST TOO WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

→ user 03: Watch us all just be fucking delulu thinking they're getting back together and it's gonna be some random ass actor

→ user 04: THE BEST SONG ON THE ALBUMMMM YESSSS

⎯→ user 05: ur just gonna ignore "i wish i hated you"?

⎯→ yourusername: don't worry! that one will get love too ;)

⎯→ user 06: SO UR JUST GONNA HINT TO FILMING A HATEFUL SONG WITH OSCAR ANDDD HINT TO FILMING A LOVE FILLED SONG WITH OSCAR????

→ user 07: we're all just gonna ignore the drivers in the likes... specifically the one that's her childhood best friend....?

⎯→ user 08: IDGAF!!!! OSCAR X YN FOREVER

#f1 #formula 1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 smau #mclaren formula 1 #yeri red velvet #f1 fanfic #f1 2024 #f1 2025 #op81 #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x yn

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sunny-knight · 2 days ago

Text

Dear My Dear -

an @forgettable-au fan-slideshow

At the end of their journey, Sans has remembered everything. And theres only one question on his mind now…

*now what?

Its lore time. omg theres so much-

The way ill organize this…lIll start with the GENERAL thing, before getting more spesific, and explain each slide in way too much detail.

THE BIGGER PICTURE

This is the hypothetical end to their journey. Sans and Papyrus remember what happened, and this is how Sans is handling it. A letter to Wingdings.

I was hesitant to make this at first for obvious reasons- we dont know how its gonna end!!! But I took this more as a “what if ?” scenario. IF they ever remember anything, how would Sans specifically, react? I mean thats gotta be tough.

Because of that though, lot of what happened to lead up to this is kept vague.

ill explain in way more detail how Sans got to the point of writing this letter, and how he feels in the end when I explain each slide individually. But the reason why, the MAIN ISSUE is…

Over the years, hes put so much effort into enjoying what he has. And- nothings even changed!!! So why does he feel so much has? Now that he remembers what he lost…WHO he lost. He cant help but have this voice in the back of his head that says “would it have been better if that never happened? if Papyrus never existed?” and of course he absolutely hates to think that! but the voice gets louder. Writing this letter, is an act of closure. Of laying to rest someone he never got to. Someone he never even really got to do much with.

(Excuse the shitty quality of the images- I promise they’re better. WATCH THE VIDEO)

my dear wingdings,)

Sans says “wingdings” here instead of “brother”. that’s important. Also its on a white void, showing a sorta “heavenly imagery” with the mention of Wingdings. Also Gaster is in a BLACK void, but hes talking about WD here, so, contradictions.

you never came back, and now…after remembering everything everything clearly i understand why.)

Sans and Papyrus are sitting by a fire at night. They are both sorta lost in their own worlds at the moment, but are more or less leaning on one another for comfort and support. They both need each other right now despite each other being the whole reason why they feel the way they do right now-

Papyrus is notably no longer wearing the white coat that somewhat resembles a lab coat. Symbolism! Growth!

(art note: I drew Sans as a lefty in this- cherish it. It was so hard to draw these hands at these angles- CHERISH IT.)

i don’t imagine you’ll receive this letter, but i, nonetheless, must send it. wingdings….oh ‘dings…)

the first part is somewhat of a self aware/sarcastic joke. Sans is writing this letter for himself- he doesn’t imagine Wingdings, the dead man, will ever see it. Nor would Gaster care to read it. Thats another important thing, this is NOT a letter for Gaster. This is a letter for Wingdings. which is for Sans

The star in the sky symbolizes a few different things- the main one being Wingdings ofc. But also Papyrus’ expectations of himself- which mainly come from who he was. He’s looking at it, reflecting, thinking of what Wingdings did, and what Papyrus has done. Who he is NOW, and if he ever was Wingdings.

Or if Wingdings just became him.

A square is a rectangle, but a rectangle isn’t a square type thing.

i was just starting to dream the silliest- the softest of dreams. i miss you. and i will always miss you.)

2 contradictions, what Sans used to think, vs what he knows now. The memories were fuzzy- he couldn’t remember The Royal Scientist, he just feels like he remembers some nice times. Before now knowing everything clearly. And he still misses it- slightly.

The reflections are blacked out at first, before showing their future selves. Before, there was no connection to the present because it wasnt true. It felt like/was 2 completely different things

but i cannot live like that.)

Sans can still tell, even without the rose tinted glasses view he used to have, he cant live missing the past and not living in the present. He always knew that, but repeating it here makes him feel better.

Pictured is Sans and Papyrus hiking up the mountain next to the city as the sun sets. Papyrus is in full view of the light, but is facing away in order to help Sans see it too. Symbolism!

and it seems you cannot live any other way.)

another reference to the fact that Wingdings cant live… at all now. But also an awareness that part of him lives on in Gaster. The thing that killed him.

I doubt hes going to change in any way by the end of the comics, he’s far to obsessive about angels and the player for childish stuff like “growth” and “changing for the better as a human being”

when i was with you, the world made sense. but now that we are apart, i see clearly that your world is not a world from which one can escape.)

When they were together, they knew what they wanted to be. They wanted to be scientists. But after being apart so long and experiencing so much uncertainty, Sans finds that mindset is unhealthy. Again, a lot of this is stuff he already knew, but is repeating to himself because after remembering everything, he feels as if hes back at square one.

As kids they would test echo flowers, for science purposes! We don’t know yet if WDs voice comes through on them, but I imagine not… maybe. But for this we’re gonna say no. Their speech bubbles are trying so hard to be circles- the scribbles also somewhat resemble stars because I thought that’d be fun.

But the last slide has it shown that he dug them out, also for science purposes!

He took the echo flowers from their roots, much later on in his lab career. That in itself isnt that bad, but it symbolizes that he doesn’t care much for taking things slow. He wants to test with echo flowers? **TAKES EVERY SINGLE ONE WITHIN A 100 MILE RADIUS**

Also the empty holes reflects sort of what happened after he died. All of the underground was left with holes to fill. Sans, a childhood/brother. Alphys, the royal scientist. Those are the main ones but he was THE ROYAL SCIENTIST im sure there were more (smaller) holes that may or may not have been filled.

Ok and the last thing the flowers being taken out represent- he took the ones specifically from when they were kids, and abandoned what was left for the grass to grow tall and the entire area to be, in general, a lot flatter. In his quest to basically never grow up and continue being the thing he KNEW he wanted to be since kindergarten- he’s taken everything and left the rest in the dust. He’s The Royal Scientist now, he “doesn’t need anything else.”

i’m so sorry. for everything. for everything long ago, and for starting up that machine again.

Sans knows he could have been better. He could have done things differently, and that thought messes with him, even before he remembered.

The 2nd image is Sans at Grillbys after another failed attempt to get Wingdings outside. Despite the fact that he could have done things differently, theres no real reason to be “sorry” But still, he cant help but feel like he should be. He could have done things differently- could have tried harder, and gotten Wingdings out more often- or at all.

Im not sure where the machine in Sans’ lab comes into play in this AU, but it worked for the purposes of this audio.

theres a good man within you, wingdings. but he is wrestling with a giant. and the giant WINS time and again.)

Before everything, there was still a good man inside Wingdings that Sans saw. But now that he’s Gaster he just cant see him ever changing... and yknow what hes probably right. Like Papyrus says! Anyone can be a good person if they just try!…Gaster just isnt trying

“Wins” being emphasized here, I enjoy, since its sorta a video gamey term. The giant hes wrestling is that/the player, after all. Also probably his ego

I also had fun with kid Wingdings and what he’s drawing. Ofc its all him and Sans plus silly little stars, but him being finished drawing Sans, but not yet finished drawing himself, symbolizes the fact that at that age he still didn’t really know what he wanted to be, I feel like Wingdings kinda remembers the past wrong. Sure he definitely had science on the mind, but younger kids are often filled with questions, he questions if thats truly where he’d be the happiest.

Thats the good man within him

you’ve broken my soul again, and i fear i have broken yours. and for that i will never forgive myself, but i need to let you go now.)

the star represents, again, Wingdings. And the moon represents Sans, which shines only under the Suns (Papyrus’) light.

The sun is beginning to rise, and Sans and Papyrus are beginning to leave. Sans puts out the fire, closing this chapter of his life.

Because of every reason he needed to relearn/re-reflect on listed here, hes ready to let Wingdings go now. Sans is the one to put out the fire here, and not Papyrus, cause this is from the perspective of how SANS handles putting this issue to rest. Papyrus can have his own fire to put out later

Another thing about putting out the fire, thats just kinda common knowledge to do especially at a public camping spot. Yknow what else is common knowledge to do so you dont disrupt the community?? NOT REPLANTING FLOWERS-

Its not that deep…but still-

i send you the radio you made many years ago when we were kids. not because i dont want it, but… because i care for it far too much and it reminds me too much of you.)

CALL BACK!!!!!!

Sans leaves this last memento to Wingdings, the last thing they have that has nothing to do with Papyrus. Because at this point theres no reason to keep it, in Sans’ mind at least. There’s also no reason to destroy it- Like he says, hes not leaving it out of malice, theres just no good that will come from keeping it and holding onto the past.

As the sun rises, here we see the brothers leaving. in contrast to before, Sans is helping Papyrus down. Helping him down from the spotlight, the expectations he’s set upon himself. Another kick that Papyrus still has much more to reflect on and think about, he’s still looking back at that light, at a shooting star, at everything he thought he wanted to be.

i hope one day you will find some kind people who with appreciate you. for it kept me thinking of you all these years.)

GASTER FOLLOWERS!!!

Despite everything, Sans still wants whats left of Wingdings, Gaster, to be happy and find something, anyone, that will give him true happiness. It’s left ambiguous however if they truly do, do that for him. If it’s at all healthy.

cause frankly i have no idea how theyll be included. but just like everything- i cant wait to find out

and i hope by returning it to you, i can finally be free. goodbye.

- your brother

As the sun rises, the star gets smaller and smaller and eventually the sun replaces it. Remember when I said Papyrus represents the sun? SYMBOLISM!!!

Also about that, the star shines brighter than anything, but the Sun is among a lot of clouds, depicting how isolated Wingdings is/was despite shining the brightest, vs Papyrus who also does indeed shine! but isn’t isolated whatsoever.

Now, remember when I said Sans saying “my dear wingdings” instead of “my dear brother” was important? well, he acknowledges that he is still Wingdings’ brother, despite everything. So he signs off as “your brother” but… He’ll always try to remember Wingdings fondly…but…he’s unsure if he considers Wingdings his brother anymore- just because of how much they’ve changed. Thats why the whole thing is called Dear My Dear.

the radio + letter remains there in the end. I briefly played with the idea of having them disappear as the sun came out, implying that Gaster took the radio and reas the letter, but that was before I realized it was much better for this to be for Wingdings specifically, not Gaster/Wingdings/whatever.

FINALE!!! PLUS SOME BEHIND THE SCENES INFO!!!

weeps pitifully this was probably the most fun i’ve had with a project/the most happy i’ve come out of one. Learned lots about my process’ and what works! so thats awesome It took a while to make, so theres a lot of stuff I changed or ideas I scrapped that I find interesting, so im gonna show some of that on my side/shitpost account, @o-sunny-day

also isnt this so awesome???? I got a computer so I got to post more images than just 10, THIS IS SO AWESOME!!!

Have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! Heres to being a bigger, better, and different person this year! except not really because despite everything its still you.

un-unless you…got shattered across time and space…. then you’re-

well I mean that-….. hm…

does that…? hmm, well….

#forgettable au #dont forget #despite everything #despite what you remember now #youre still you

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pedgito · 1 day ago

Text

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

summary | twisted into the miller brothers web, you find yourself deeply entangled in a complicated situation between the two and hell bent on self-preservation, you discover that running isn't always the best choice.

author's note | i was going to get this out before the end of the year if it was the last thing i did. i have never been so fully engulfed in a fic like this. it's just a little mini series, but i could talk about this shit for hours. thank you to everyone who's listened to my incoherent rambling and especially @gracieheartspedro who nailed down this ending when i was struggling so hard to decide. if you enjoy this silly story as much as me, ily.

content warning | 18+ smut, this is heavily joel miller x reader leaning, cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, death, joel's territorial <3, lots of unprotected sex going on 'round here, oral (f receiving), pain kink go hard, blood kink and consumption, biting kink, literal love as consumption, restraints, description of wounds from said bites, scarring, omitting a few tags for spoilers but please remember you are responsible for the work you consume, if you are ever feeling uncomfortable, do not continue reading. this is dark fic. that's the only warning i'm giving.

word count —13k, BITTER (part one)

“Killin’ is a viable option.”

Tommy groans, hand rubbing over his face as he leans against the kitchen counter, “They aren’t backwoods folk, Joel. You know that, we gotta be smart.”

“All they gotta do is get the law involved,” Joel points out, “fancy lawyers—“

“We’re selling to half that department,” Tommy argues, a long moment of silence before he adds, “and if you’d stop interrupting I’d tell you I already spoke to ‘em. Said I’d run it by you first before we set anything in stone.”

The big brother seal of approval.

You watch along curiously, stuck in the chair that Joel had a hand gripped around, sandwiched between them both as they volleyed arguments back and forth like they were fighting gladiators shoved in the colosseum—may the best man win.

“I still think we should just kill ‘em,” Joel chirps with finality, glancing briefly over your dumbstruck look, frozen somewhere between fear and shock, their voices fading in and out like muffled conversation, “make sure no one’ll come askin’ questions. Easy. You ain’t never had an issue with it before.”

The letter was still clutched in Tommy’s hand, a list of vague threats and accusations—the weird occurrences around the Miller property, the strange behavior of Tommy’s older brother, the smell. There wasn’t hard evidence, but they weren’t wrong either. A few minutes grazing the property and a look in the barn would confirm anyone’s suspicions—which, speaking of…

“Are you going to kill me now?”

It was a brave thing to interject with, given Joel’s current hostility around the situation with their nosey neighbors and you, like a pest making a mess of his home. But, instead it was him. His mind—a foreign feeling that he didn’t like or intent to allow to wreak havoc much longer.

He’d kill you if he had to, if that was what it took.

Unsurprisingly, they both ignore you.

“Let me talk to ‘em tomorrow, Joel,” Tommy barters, “see if I can smooth things over.”

“Ya ain’t smoothin’ shit over, we know how this goes—you lose your temper and then we have a mess. Just take care of the fucking problem like I suggested.”

You knew the house, it was the only one within walking distance. Far off, covered by a line of trees and eclectic decor—you never thought much of it, under the impression that everyone in this town was as demented as the Miller brothers, most of the suspicions confirmed as the brothers continued to argue.

It was an open secret—deranged and fucked-up, but there was full, completely loyalty.

If you had gone digging enough, you would have found out yourself. But, Joel wanted you to know. It takes a killer to know a killer—the wood of the chair cracks behind you as his grip tightens.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you,” Tommy comforts suddenly, a quick glance over of your injuries, “not intentionally, at least—”

“She fell,” Joel explains, a half-truth, “made a damn mess and wasted the scraps for the pigs—”

“Joel,” Tommy warns, returning his gaze to you, “You’ve been good to us, better than most. We can trust each other, alright? Ain’t no reason to think otherwise.”

He was sickeningly sweet, laying it on so thick you see right through the facade. He was upset, rightfully so, but you weren’t sure how much of it was directed at Joel and how much of it was directed at you.

“When did I surpass being a meal?” You turn your attention toward Tommy, flicking your eyes up briefly at Joel, “Was it before or after you fucked me?”

You expect it to be newfound information to Joel, but he doesn’t react in the slightest. He almost smirks, actually. A sudden, miniscule response that you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t so on edge.

“Now, darlin’—”

“Cut the shit, Tommy,” You retort, “When did it happen?”

“Still a chance, if you’re feelin’ persistent,” Joel taunts.

Tommy shoots Joel a dangerous glare before his face softens.

“The thought never occurred to me,” Tommy replies though you find it hard to believe him, “M’not sayin’ we’ve been this kind to everyone, but with you—s’different. Right, Joel?”

“Well, she does like the taste,” He grins viciously, a showing of teeth that sends your body into a full chill, “ate it right up, loved it.”

Your eyes shoot daggers in his direction and he shrugs, his tongue shoved into his cheek as he moves to stand, turning in a circle on his heels as he leans against the nearest surface.

“I mean it, you’re safe with us,” Tommy assures, “out there—we can’t protect you. And if you think we’re the monsters, you’re in for a rude awakenin’, baby.”

“Don’t,” You chuffle, a short laugh through your nose, “I’ll—I’ll stay, but this,” You wave your finger between him and you, before it circles the group, a discoordinated trio, “I don’t trust either of you and don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything, actually.”

Your anger was justified and Tommy didn’t try to argue, only sinking back in his chair with an ‘I told you so’ look on Joel’s face. Luckily, they leave you to gather yourself, ignoring the subtle sting from the wounds on your legs and your spiraling thoughts—you could wait until nightfall.

That was it—wait long enough until it was dark and they were both asleep and make a run for the only sane people in the nearest vicinity. They could help you and help take the two brothers down in the process, it was a fair victory for the opposing party and your only saving grace.

–

They retire to their rooms eventually, the insistent chirp of crickets keeping you awake, standing on sore legs as you move around the dark room and pulling on a warm pair of clothes to trek against the nighttime winds.

You were careful, prying open doors with a quiet effort and allowing the softest steps against the old floorboard as you reached the door, immediately met with the deadbolt lock and an even heftier lock to keep you trapped–or to Tommy, safe. The house was silent aside from the sounds of nature, the occasional howling wind blowing through but you looked around, searching for another path—you had already made it this far, you weren’t going to go scrambling back.

If anything, the backdoor would have the same locks and your eyes scan the windows, closed shut but not inescapable. If either of them decided to wake, they would surely know.

There was no time to deliberate or weigh the consequences, hurrying toward the living room window that led toward the yard, pulling it up with forceful but cautious precision, ripping at the screen.

It isn’t an easy feat, not nearly the path you would have chose, but you fell to the ground with a deft slump, careful of your fresh bandages and gravel under your hands as you land, wincing as you stand but peering inside of the house cautiously, determining if you needed to make a run for it.

Silence meets you. Dead silence.

The eerie feeling in the distance creeps in, eyeing the house over your shoulder that is still lowly lit but quite the walk, you turn on your heels and make the long walk there, wondering if darting off down the road would be simpler, continuing until you came upon another sign of civilization or normality, anything to save you.

As you grow closer, the muffled melodic tunes coming from the house start to drown out your stream of thoughts, the bass booming from the driveway as you grow closer. You careful approach the steps to their door, pressing a finger into the doorbell as it chimes throughout the house—the music lowers in an instant, quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop, the door ripping open with a forceful gust of air, meet with the fierce scowl of an older gentleman.

It was hard to describe him, but there was so much going on—a peek at the inner house decor that screamed for a touch of neutralness, a mix of beaded necklaces hanging around his neck over a stretched out tank, barefoot as he approached you on the mat at his door.

It only dawns on you now that you hadn’t prepared anything—you were drawing a complete blank.

“You better start talking,” He speaks, a grittiness to his voice that stills you at your core, “botherin’ us in the middle of the night—”

“You’re right,” You blurt out, shaking your head slightly as you realize how abrasive it was, taking a breath before you speak slower, “about Joel and Tommy, you’re right. They’re bad people.”

His expression turns steely, jaw tightening as he straightens his back in an intimidating manner. You couldn’t mistake the whiff of alcohol on his breath, his drifting eyes down the length of your body, slowly realizing that this might have been a mistake.

Self-preservation had always come first, even if you didn’t think the Miller’s were the worst possible people you could have come across, they were unfortunate targets in the moment.

“They—they are killing,” You point vaguely in the direction of the house, “it’s—the smell, it’s the bodies. They’re murders, you have to help me,” It comes out in a panic and you stutter as the confession rolls off your tongue, his expression only growing dark as time passes.

Fuck, he didn’t believe you. Of course—who would?

Hey, you’ve got a couple cannibals for neighbors—let’s deal with them.

It was never that easy.

“You don’t think I know?” He responds, stepping into your space to send you stumbling backwards, but his arms lock around your biceps and keep you upright, but not for the reason he should, feeling the sting of pain as he squeezes down hard.

You gasp at the suddenness of it, “N—no, no! You have to believe me!”

“I’ve seen you helpin’ them,” He nods vaguely, “Think I’m gonna believe this shit? Where are they, huh?” The spit from his vicious reaction and volume sprays against your face as he shoves you to the ground, your arms skidding against the cement as you scramble backwards, trying to flee his quickly approaching figure, “They use you as bait?”

He’s over you before you have a chance to roll out of the way, your forearm presses up against his neck as he leers, glancing around for any sign of the brothers—silently praying that he was right in the moment, but you knew there was no one to help. Just you. Just him.

He forces you onto your stomach as your face was smashed into the rock path along the driveway, “Well, good—they can watch,” It makes your blood run cold, sensing the exact implication of his words as you calmly and slyly wrap your fingers around a palm sized rock, curling it in your fist as he leans back on his legs, twisting in his grip and bashing the rock blindly at his face, a grunt releasing from him as you make contact with his skull, falling to the ground with a dead weight as you scramble away breathless.

You stare at the sight, a man near death on his lawn before the whistle fades in—low and melodic as it approaches with the sound of heavy boots and speaking before you can react.

“Well, look at that,” Joel looks on in admiration, a small suspicion of amusement in his tone as he steps onto the lawn and peers over you, hand extended out blindly for help as he cautiously steps around the pooling blood of the now dead man, “little messier than I like, but you got the job done.”

If looks could kill—you’re seething, staring up at Joel with narrowed eyes as you take his hand and stand.

“I’ll give you some credit,” Joel continues, “You’re resourceful but predictable—suppose you can’t trust anyone in this town anymore, can you?”

He’s cocky about it, which pisses you off more. Undoubtedly, he was probably watching you the entire time, waiting in the shadows, undetectable. He’s mastered his craft, he killed people for a living. It wasn’t a mystery how he knew or expected your retaliation. But, his reaction is jarring.

“C’mon, up,” He yanks at your hand and helps you upright, instinctually brushing the clumps of grass and dirt out of your hair with a pinched expression as your eyes slowly drag toward the motion, unmoving out of…not fear. It was something indescribable, flinching at the heat of his hands as his eyes gradually rose toward the upstairs window.

“You know what happens next, right?” Joel asks, kicking at the dead body to roll him on his back, staring down at the lifeless corpse.

You didn’t need the whole speech—murder me now, please. Spare me the misery.

“Alright, alright,” Joel sighs, almost like he’s carrying on a conversation with himself—and with your silence, he was. But, he senses your fear, “well—you can’t just murder one and not the other, you little killer. You’re gonna take care of the other one, too.”

“Joel—I—” The adrenaline rush was waning, the bile in your stomach swimming and swirling.

His face hardens in an instant, forcing his hand over your mouth with a stern shake of his head as your eyes grow wide, “Ain’t time for excuses. You made this mess—you’re gonna finish it.”

You blink slowly, searching for any sign of a bluff. It never comes, in fact, his grip only grows tighter until you answer, shakily nodding your head.

“Go on,” He urges, “I’m right behind you.”

He’d have a front row seat this time instead of waiting in the wings.

Joel wanted a full taste.

–

The wife is tucked into bed when you finally find her, barricaded in her sheets and sleeping soundly despite the loud, blaring music when you first approach the house—you figured it was a regular occurrence, but you don’t linger on the thought long.

You hold onto the thought of the husband and his unwillingness to hear you out, how they seemed to already have you figured out, wrapped up in the Miller’s web and just another willing accomplice, repeating the same careful steps from earlier that had clearly failed you as Joel breathed over your shoulder.

It needed to be quick—not entirely painless, but clean.

The vase to the left of her head seemed like an emergency option, the woman splayed out on her back as you searched around, knowing that you didn’t have long with Joel’s looming presence. You chew at your bottom lip as you reach carefully for the pillow beside her head and slowly press it over her face, a few seconds of calm before you find yourself in a predicament.

Climbing over her lap, you mount and press the weight of your palms into the pillow, face scrunched in concentration as the woman flails and shakes against the movement, grunting meekly as your hand slips against the scratch of her nails, glaring at Joel for a silent plea of help, realizing that she was putting up far more of a fight then either of you expected.

He waits until the last possible second, an unreadable expression on his face before he’s flipping the switchblade out of his pocket and piercing it through her clavicle, the blood squirting on your chest and face, rearing back instinctually as you gasp, her body falling lifeless in an instant.

“I can appreciate the effort,” Joel comments, wiping the blade off on the sleeve of your shirt before he pockets it again, “how’d that feel?”

You don’t realize your heart is racing until he asks the question—it was a similar feeling to a drug-induced high, slightly floaty and off-balance, your mind hazy as you blink, the stench of iron filling your senses and that strange look on Joel’s face returns.

You understand it then—lust, another subtle hint as he licks at his bottom lip out of reflex.

Joel would lick you clean if you let him.

You clear your throat and speak quietly, “What—what do we do?”

“Well, we gotta transfer ‘em to the house,” Joel explains, “So, you’ll stay here and wait—not run, that clear?”

You nod mindlessly, towering over your second dead body of the night.

You were far too deep now.

You don’t move—not really. You sink to the sheets beside the woman’s body but you listen dutifully, ears perking up at the roar of an approaching truck and door slamming followed by footsteps before Joel reappears again, seemingly breathing out a sigh of subtle relief as he spots you.

He’d never admit it, but you can see it.

It take a while, but eventually you carry both bodies into the bed of the truck and cover them with tarp, questioning Joel on what happens with the house, the evidence, everything that could essentially criminalize both of you—

“That’s above my paygrade, honey,” You’re not amiss to the change in his voice, his expression more relaxed as he shifts the truck into gear, “the sheriff handles all that for us.”

“And…the sheriff…he—”

Joel chuckles, “It’s everyone. Not just a group of us. We aren’t just sellin’ to townsfolk, either. It’s overseas, across the country. Shit is high risk, high reward. Why do you think I followed you tonight?”

So, he did follow you—he’d known the entire time.

“I saw the idea pop into your head earlier while Tommy and I were arguin’. Like I said, predictable. I’m not sayin’ you didn’t have a fair reaction, I get it. But, we can keep you safe.”

You cross your arms over your chest silently, skin and face caked with blood.

“But will you?” You retort, “Can I really trust you both?”

As the truck pulls in near the barn, the ignition falls silent.

“I want to,” Joel admits, “natural ability like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

A natural-born killer, he means.

“You feelin’ guilty right now?” Joel asks, eyebrows raised.

You shake your head quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Good, keep it that way.”

Joel works silently to unload the bodies and load them in the barn as you sit quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the barn door as he drags tarp covered corpses inside with a brute strength unlike his brother, somehow spotless throughout the entire ordeal.

“I’ll move the truck in the morning,” Joel tells you as he pulls your door open, a hand waiting in assistance as you climb out on unsteady feet, the ache of your wounds coming back in waves as reality sets in.

“It is morning,” You retort, earning a huff of annoyance from Joel.

“You know what the fuck I meant,” He responds, his thumb flicking at a flake of dried blood on your collarbone as you stand in front of him, “Tommy’ll get pissy if you wash the blood off in the main bathroom—I’ll let you use mine.”

Your face contorts in a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Or I can hose you down out here, your choice.”

–

The house is as quiet as you left it, guided silently with the touch of Joel’s hand between your shoulder blades as you traversed the dark house—and you aren’t sure what you were expecting as you enter Joel’s bedroom, but it wasn’t this.

It was lived-in, personal; full of books and random trinkets, pictures lining the top of his dresser and walls—his family, you can only assume. A few pictures of kids that you surmise are Joel and Tommy, you avoid Joel’s gaze as you look around aimlessly, clearing your throat as you approach the bathroom, hearing the light flick on beside your head.

It was clean, at least. A dark colored shower curtain hiding the tub away from view and his bathroom amenities only slightly astray, probably from previous use that night.

You turn to him with a quizzical expression, his expression matching.

“What? Somethin’ wrong?” He asks.

“It’s just—it’s…clean. It doesn’t—it doesn’t fit you, I guess.”

“I’m just a dirty old man to you, ain’t I?”

It’s a joke, but his delivery falls flat.

“I’m confused, I guess.” You tell him honestly, “Look at me—” A vague gesture at your own disheveled state, dirt and blood smeared on your face as he tilts his head against the doorframe.

“I am,” The deep timber to his voice strikes you at your core, a casual but unsuspecting answer, “I cleaned up for the night, wasn’t plannin’ on getting dirty again.”

“But, you’re always dirty.”

His job required that—but Joel was meticulous about his routine after he was done for the day. Dinner, a thorough shower, sometimes another if he was feeling particularly bothered, and the quiet of the calm house to lull him to sleep.

Unfortunately, that routine has been disrupted since you arrived.

Like an infestation, you’d taken over.

Joel ignores you with a half-assed shrug and flicks a dried speck of blood from your nose.

“Go on,” He demands, “I’ll grab you some clothes and fresh bandages.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and nod as you gently swat his hand away, avoiding his gaze as you press the door closed enough that it doesn’t lock, but allows you the privacy to undress.

It feels good to clean the blood and grime away, scrubbing at your body until it burns, bathing in the distinct smell of Joel’s body wash, a faint hint of it always wafting off of him despite his usually dirtied state.

You can hear him moving quietly beyond the curtain, his shadow passing a few times as you’re expecting him to fold against the urge to peek his head beyond the curtain—something, anything.

You hated the forced gentlemanly facade.

Once you’re out of the shower and dressed in clothes Joel had picked out, a matching set and a fresh pair of underwear that had you glancing sideways at him as his fingers peeked around the bathroom door with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and fresh bandages in his hands.

He kneels quietly with a concentrated expression, mirroring his actions from before. Wincing through the sting of pain as he cleans and dresses your wounds, catching his glances as the noises slip beyond your lips—an inconspicuous check-in, wordless.

You can’t help but fuck with him now, defenses down.

His eyes follow the way your hand smooths over the waistband of your shorts, your thumb slipping beyond the thick band as you lean against the mirror, watching as he taped down the gauze, “Kinda defeats the purpose, don’t it?”

“What’re ya gettin’ at?”

“The whole—bet you can’t guess what color underwear I’m wearing joke,” You play quietly with the waistband, fingers twirling in the drawstrings below your navel as your thighs spread against his guidance, his hand sliding down to your ankle to raise your leg higher in an effort to secure the bandage, “I see you wanted them to match,” You jest at him lightly, noticing the way his eyes immediately lock onto the apex of your thighs.

He brushes it off, a roll of his eyes as he finishes up his job, carefully piling up the trash on the floor as you slowly slide off the bathroom counter, leaving his head level with your waist.

Had you asked yourself if you wanted to be this close to him twelve hours ago, the answer would have been different, but the downright pathetic look on his face as his eyes drag up your body and eventually land on your face are a powerful spell.

Slowly, your hands drift into his hair—surprisingly soft as the curls sway with your movement, gripping the hair tight and pushing his head back in the process, a low rumble in his throat at the action.

“Do you like that?” You inquire, his eyes darkening at the question as he sets his sight on something he wants—a primal gaze, almost like a warning.

“You tryin’ to make my brother jealous?” He asks, “Think I should tell him about your plan to rat us out—how it didn’t work and now you’re tryin’ this—”

“I can’t leave now,” You admit, still not fully settled with the idea but deep down you knew, “I—I do feel safe, you know. With you—”

You exhale shakily as his lips press against the sliver of skin beneath your shirt, just below your navel as his eyes fall shut, his tongue following the path as he presses surprisingly gentle kisses into the skin before his fingers are curling over the band of your shorts.

“Don’t trust me, though—do you?” Joel asks snarkily, eyes peeking open slightly as your lips part in a soft gasp as he pulls the clothing down your hips, peeling the underwear down with it.

One hand drags up your calf, calloused hands against soft skin as he pulls one knee over his shoulder and shoves your shirt upwards, giving him an obscured view of your cunt, lips spreading open with the movement and glistening with slick despite how much you tried to loathe him—there was a racing in your heart that differed from Tommy, like you know you shouldn’t be doing this but your body was demanding otherwise.

You shake your head lazily as it drops back, slumping against the medicine cabinet as he drags a finger through your folds, toying with your clit in small movements, silent as he drinks in every small sound you make, your opposite hand digging into the counter of the sink as his fingers dig into your thigh, opening your eyes as he presses his lips to your cunt, right against the mound and into the short, coarse patch of hair before he’s spreading his tongue out flat against you and licking a slow, tortuous line up the seam.

“Trust–trust is earned,” You reply breathily, “It, fuck—it takes time.”

Joel hums a response of approval as his nose nudges against your clit, tongue dipping inside of your hole as he stared up at you, even at this angle you could see the smug smirk on his face as he drank you in—Joel was still a frightful man, enough unknown that you found yourself wondering if the choices you were making were correct, if somehow this would cost you your life in the end.

But, then he’s pulling away, dragging his finger up the seam of your pussy as he stands, unbuckling his belt quietly as you strip your shirt away, not needing to be told or guided, his tanned skin flushed a subtle red as he unbuttons and parts his flannel, adjusting his jeans and underwear down just far enough under his balls that they sit snug against the fabric, his cock intimidatingly large against his even larger hands.

So much with Joel is unspoken, his intensity held in his gaze. Even from your first meeting, there was a look—and even now, he’s got that look. Like he’s trying to decipher you.

He flattens one hand against the bathroom counter as you spread your legs to accommodate him, his other hand grabbing at your ass to pull you near the edge before he’s running his hand down his shaft, the foreskin swallowing up the red, angered tip of his cock before he’s pulling back and rubbing his cock through your folds, gathering the wetness there and pressing inside with a pinched expression on your face, your breath catching as your hand twists into his shirt.

“That hurt?” He asks, his voice taking on a softer tone.

You nod fervently, “Yeah—yeah, it’s—you’re…pretty big,”

You weren’t trying to actively compare the brothers, but the thought passes in your mind and Joel notices the thoughtful look on your face, huffing out a laugh under his breath.

“Good,” That it hurts—he wanted you to feel it tomorrow, that it would be a constant reminder.

He’s a natural masochist, but he wasn’t about not enjoying sex. So, while he savors the soft hiss of pain at first, the dig of your nails into his chest, eventually you relax and turn to curling yourself around him, legs tight around his hips and your arms slung over his shoulders as he presses his forehead into your own and fucks you with a slow, powerful force of thrusts that make the walls shake—surely it would wake his brother, maybe that was what he wanted.

His mouth parted slightly, panting out hot against your skin as he glares at you—into you, through you, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he follows your trailing gaze, the precipice of your pleasure clawing over the edge of their metaphorical walls.

“Yeah, s’right there—isn’t it?” He taunts, a half smirk on his face as he watches you.

Always watching you.

You nod again, feeling the hand that was squeezing at your thigh digging into your skin as he used it for leverage, thrusting into you while he guided your hips toward him, using your body like he had full control over it. His other hand finds your breasts, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he’s rubbing his thumb over the quickly hardening bud, a shiver running down your spine.

There was nowhere to hide with Joel, all imperfections on display as your head lulls back against the mirror, eyes opening to find him matching your expression—somewhat sated but nearing the edge of his own release, he nudges his chin up and speaks, “S’this what gets you off?”

Your brow furrows as you tilt your head, his hand trading your breast for the hand twisted into his shirt, guiding it toward your clit as he gives you a silent order, your fingers circling the sensitive nub.

“Fuckin’ both of us—s’gonna be a hell of an issue when he finds out, you know.”

“Is this what you like—huh, talking about while you fuck?” You counter, “Your brother?”

His jaw shakes slightly as he gaze dips, admiring the way your cunt swallowed him up, his fingers wrapped around the wrist that was working at your clit, toes curling as your knees squeezed into his hips, that heat building in your core.

“I can talk about how he eats pussy better than you,” It’s teasing, an effort to get a rise out of him, “or do you—you wanna hear how he whimpers when he fucks me because he’s so pathetic? Is th—is that what you want?” His hips stuttered with your words, “He’s so much sweeter, you know? S’all soft and kind—”

Nothing like Joel.

His hand seems to loosen at the mention, but you shake your head.

“Oh, don’t ease up now, honey—I never said I liked it.”

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but you didn’t want to hear it, shoving your opposite hand over his mouth as you both spill over the edge, the ache of loss finding you as he pulls out, thick ropes of come panting your stomach as you clench around the emptiness, his teeth digging into the palm of your hand as he groans with his release.

“I’ll handle Tommy,” Joel promises as you both dress, cleaning yourself up as he buttons his shirt, “It’ll be easier coming from me.”

“You don’t have to lie, he should know—”

“I’m not,” He responds quickly, looking up at you through his downturned gaze, “like you said—trust is earned. You’ll earn it.”

How was a mystery—but what other choice did you have?

You learn very quickly that Joel was intentional in you earning his trust—not so much Tommy. He wasn’t surprised by your attempt to escape, but the marring of their neighbors—yours too, now—he was slightly disappointed. Hoping that he could spare you the gruesome side of things, that keeping you within the house and under his watch would help save your innocence about the entire ordeal.

But, he quickly finds out that isn’t the case.

And you find out how steady their diet of human meat was, a fridge stocked full of various cuts and textures, unsuspecting to the eye but you knew—and truthfully, the sickness dissipates after a month of eating that way. Tommy will occasionally skip a day or two, sometimes even a week.

Whereas Joel, he’s fully accepted his ways.

“How does it work?” You ask curiously, night has crept in and left both you and Joel, who you’ve gradually drifted toward lately, aware of Tommy’s lingering touches and fighting that feeling of betrayal on both ends—Tommy never seemed to mind you favoring Joel, even indirectly. However, Joel was territorial, overwhelmingly so. You wished you disliked it, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.

“How’s what work?” He asks, legs spread wide on the couch as take a seat beside him, legs curled under your body and the fire crackling beside you, his hair wet from a recent shower and his shirt sticking to his skin, “Tommy’s job?”

You nod quietly, chewing on a piece of dried meat, akin to jerky.

You’ve willingly succumbed to the lifestyle over the past few weeks, partly to blame on Joel, but mostly out of your own morbid curiosity, finding that it wasn’t all that bad as the nauseous and general sickness fell dormant.

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Joel answers bluntly, but honest, “He’s got some kinda system going, I do my job—cuttin’ things up, mindin’ my business. I just know it makes us damn good money.”

You wouldn’t be able to tell outside of their house, but they kept things well within the interior—they owned nice things, you assumed they were out of debt and had money saved back, but they lived beneath their means as much as possible.

Joel liked a quiet life, you could tell.

“I could help out more, you know.”

Outside of your general duties and decent pay—it felt lacking, like you could be doing more.

Neither of the brothers kept you chained or trapped, that much was obvious. And you didn’t feel the lingering threat of something to come, the need to run—the feeling of security was something you had searched out for a while and oddly, they provided that.

In some sick, fucked up way, you felt protected.

“Stock is runnin’ low,” Joel debates, his thumb circling the beer bottle between his legs, while his other trails along his bottom lip in thought, “I got an idea, dunno if Tommy’s gonna like it.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” You reply, “He cowers like a puppy when it comes to you.”

It was essentially a lure and catch situation—Joel never strayed too far, always on the outskirts while you found the next willing victim, it was always you approaching them, never the opposite. You were in full control and under very specific orders.

Never people in town, always the stragglers. The more meek and unsuspecting the better, but it varied—after a couple months, Joel doesn’t even bother to stick around, sitting in his truck while you finish up the job.

And you’ve learned over time just how different Tommy and Joel are—Tommy prefers seclusion in the extremist of ways, more subdued with his affection when Joel was around and didn’t argue with him in your presence, almost like he was attempting to shield you.

Joel is out late in the barn when Tommy crowds you in the kitchen, a curious and longing stare out the window at the closed barn door, his tell-tale throat clearing as his hands wrap around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as you sip gingerly at the glass of water in your hands.

“M’glad you feel safe here,” Tommy murmurs into your skin, a soft peppering of kisses along your spine as he moves the material of your shirt out of the way, his fingers slipping beyond the thick waistband of your pants, shoving them down wordlessly, “ready for bed?”

“Not yet,” You admit, letting the silence linger before you speak again, “Can I ask you something—and I’m just curious, I swear.”

Tommy makes a noise of approval.

“What happened to my car?” A laugh bubbles up at the thought and Tommy laughs too.

“I mighta sold it for scraps when you agreed to stayin’ with us long term. I was meaning to tell you, but you never asked…so I figured…”

Who cares, right? Truly, it was a piece of shit anyways.

You laugh softly at his advances as they grow more needy, your arm curling behind you to flex your fingers in his outgrown hair, “I want you to fuck me here,” You admit, his eyes peeking open as he leans over your shoulder to look at you, a salacious smile on your face as you lean back, rubbing your ass against his cock, growing hard underneath the confines of his sweats, before you turn to face him, “like this—right here.”

Fortunately, it takes very little convincing. He’s impatient in his movements, only getting both of your pants down before he’s pushing the head of his cock inside of you, a welcomed but comfortable stretch before his cock is fully seated inside of you, walls squeezing down tight as he buries his face into your clothed chest, your hands cradling his head as he rocks into you at a gentle pace.

“God, I’m never gonna get tired’f this,” Tommy groans weakly, a hand gripping tight at your hip as he quickens his thrusts, one hand falling back on the counter to support the forceful angle of his movements, laughing breathlessly at his comment, his head rises to look at you with complete and full admiration, “I’m serious, baby.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips that quickly divulges into an open-mouthed exploration as you trade sounds, feeling Tommy teeter closer to the edge of his own orgasm as his fingers drift against your clit, always assuring that you were taken care of first—it doesn’t take long, hands gripping the curtain above the sink as your whine loudly against his ministrations.

Tommy is too distracted to hear the quiet creak of the door, but you’re not. The lights are off, only granting you a silhouette of Joel, but you know—he’s smirking to himself, closing the door behind him quietly as he freezes for a moment, seemingly locking eyes with your sated expression, your orgasm hitting you just as he passes down the hall, his face coming into view for a brief moment.

It was pathetic, how quickly your mind drifted to him even while his brother was buried inside of you, your grip on the curtain tightens, pulling the rod from the wall and sending it clanging down against the sink as it startles you back to reality, feeling Tommy’s hips stutter before he’s pulling out and you sink to the ground instinctively, lips wrapping around his cock as he releases the warmth of his cum against your tongue, a heady but tolerable taste that slides down your throat with ease.

Joel is already gone by the time you rise to your feet, redressing quietly as Tommy examines the broken curtain with a subdued chuckle, tossing the few pieces of sheetrock in the trash.

“Sorry,” You wince, looking at him apologetically.

Tommy grins, his thumb rubbing down the center of your chin in a comforting way as he shrugs, waving it off, “Easy fix.”

The difference between the two is simple to spot after a while—Joel’s leniency with things comes to a head as Tommy’s rigidness battles for dominance. He doesn’t make it a habit to put his foot down often, but he was already increasingly hesitant as you started luring people back to the farm—while thankful, it was dangerous. You were good at it, without fail, but something was bound to implode.

–

“She’s earned it, you know,” Joel fights for you, the usual recluse encourages a night-out—a real one, no work, just pure enjoyment, “Ain’t much trouble to get into there.”

The bar, he means. With how often you frequented it now, it was like a second home.

You were coming up on your sixth month mark of living with the Millers, finding the stragglers came in like a cycle, every few weeks, and the town was due for more.

Tommy squints cautiously, turning in the desk chair as the heel of his boot scuffs against the flooring, “An hour—only an hour, don’t need you stickin’ out like a sore thumb.”

Joel, he means. He rolls his eyes in response, dressed more casual than you’ve ever seen him. It was a simple pair of jeans and a dark-colored shirt, but it made him seem normal.

It was unsettling.

“Don’t worry,” Joel smirks, “No one’ll touch her.”

Except him, you think.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious to your odd affection toward Joel, but he wasn’t privy to every detail. He didn’t know how often you snuck into Joel’s bed at night, sometimes after being on his own before that, the devouring looks and purposeful touches that always happened behind his back.

Joel knows you find comfort in Tommy, but there was something missing.

Something lacking.

Tommy eventually relents and you arrive at the bar a half hour later, Joel in tow.

And it is mostly uneventful, drinking amongst the other patrons with the loud rumble of music drowning out far away voices—Joel was stoic, like a bodyguard over your shoulder as he seemed to people watch, like he often did.

“You’re doing it again,” You tell him, peering up at him from your seat as he glances down, his glass pressing to his lips, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from the occasional townsperson, seemingly shocked to see him.

“No I’m not,” He argues, tapping his finger against your lips before he’s guiding the glass to your lips, a wordless order to silence yourself, “Drink, enjoy it—or all that beggin’ was for nothin’.”

Eventually, Joel lets you wander.

Even if it was to dance lazily a few feet away, practically begging him to join you with your hand outstretched, a constant scowl on his face as he refused. But, eventually someone takes that offer for him, obstructing his view with a grin—an older gentleman with wiry hair and rotted teeth.

There’s a few moments of uncomfortable movement before you’re making an excuse to flee toward Joel who snickers at your discomfort, a hand wrapping at your waist to pull you between his legs as the man, persistent as you suspected, approaches beside you.

“Tommy finally let his dog out of the house?” He asks over you, staring Joel down.

Joel chuckles at that, subdued as his hand tightens against your waist, hiding your own giggle behind a sip of beer.

“C’mon, sweetheart—I’ll show you a better time than this guy. Wouldn’t know how to care for a nice piece of ass like that—him or his damn brother.”

Joel stands then, without warning as he towers over the man and you as he forces you into the seat, “Get the fuck out of here,” It was the only warning he was offering, but it strikes fear through the man without fail, sending him scurrying off for the moment.

“Tommy’s gonna kill you when he finds out about that,” You comment as Joel approaches at your back, maneuvering you out of the seat to settle between his legs again, his large palm settling against your stomach as he pulls you against him, spotting the man again from across the room, staring you both down with hardened eyes.

“What he doesn't know won’t hurt him,” Joel argues, the surprising press of his lips against your neck as you jump at the touch, calmed by his reassuring words, “Gonna scare him off, alright?”

“How—” You’re cut off on a gasp as his hand travels up your shirt, squeezing at your breast as his teeth dig into your skin, mouth hung open as you stumble back against him, eyes fluttering closed at the stinging pinch of Joel’s teeth, hard enough that you fear it breaking through the skin

Surely, it does.

As Joel raises his head and catches sight of the man’s widened eyes, he scurries off. He’s not amiss to your reaction to the bite, fingers clawing into his skin, moaning at the action. Really, he should’ve expected it.

“Turn around,” He orders, spinning you on your feet before you can react on your own, catching sight of your dilated pupils as you stare at him wondrously, a smile growing on your face as his impatience grows.

He ignores your wandering hands that crawl up his arms, gripping onto his large biceps before he’s hauling you out of the bar without a word, arm twisted behind your back as you tumble on your feet toward his truck parked in the far back of the parking lot, far away from the roar of music.

“Did I do something—oh,” You squeak, jumping back at the creak of the drivers’ side door as he sandwiches you between the seat and him, “wrong—Joel, did I—”

You’re stuttering but he isn’t answering and you begin to crawl to your side of the seat before he’s stopping you in your tracks, feet pressing against the step bar of the truck while the upper half of your body curls against the seat—and Joel, with his large and threatening presence, towers.

He works at the belt in your jeans, turning your head over your shoulder as he rips the leather from the loops of your pants, “Put your hands on the steering wheel,” He orders and you follow suit, watching as he quietly tightened the belt around your hands and through the steering wheel, rendering you immobile from the waist up.

“Wait—right here? But, there’s people—”

Never stopped you before,” He comments and your face heats at the mention, having never brought up the instance with you and Tommy until now, “I’m not a fan of waiting and I’m not against takin’ you in front of my brother—rather not, but…”

“You like having me to yourself,” You finish for him, a hum of acknowledgement following.

Joel yanks at your jeans until they fall to your ankles, pulling them off alongside your shoes and underwear as he tosses them over your head and into the passenger seat, sinking to his knees without a word as he parts your legs, licking into your with warning as you gasp, your hands yanking against the leather belt.

He squeezes your ass in his hands, spreading you open as he dips his tongue inside of you, forcing you up on your toes as you curse into the seat of his truck, forehead pressing into the fabric as your hands are stretched over your head.

He’s got an idea…a lingering suspicion as he trails his lips along the inside of your legs, never quite kissing or lingering, just a slow drag before he’s digging his teeth into your skin, a sharp pain that makes your pussy clench, his eyes locked on the action as he bites down.

Instinctively, you yank against the binds, the urgency growing as he bites down more, picking various places along your legs until he decides to bite into the fleshy cheek of your ass, purposefully breaking the skin—the tiniest drop of blood pooling at the surface before he licks it away.

He repeats the process, trading between bites and licking at your cunt until your orgasm catches you by surprise, panting against the seat as you catch your breath with his satisfied presence looming behind.

Quietly, he rustles with his belt and slides into you without a word until he’s got his hand tucked up under your chin, wrapped around your throat as he presses you against the seat with his chest, turning your head to the side to catch your already fucked-out expression, more turned on from the biting than the fact that his dick was finally inside of you.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Joel remarks, watching the smile spread across your face, “You like it when I bite you? The pain?”

You shake your head with a soft hum, “S’nice, but I like you marking your territory.” You watch his face morph into something indecipherable as you laugh, “Got you really riled up in there, didn’t it?”

“Gotta let them know to lead you back to me if you go runnin’ off again,” Joel taunts, grunting against the shell of your ear as your walls squeeze down when the head of his cock nudges at a particular spot inside of you that steals your breath away, “Yeah—that? That right there?”

You nod weakly, wishing you could touch him—claw at his skin, grab on and take hold, but you were left helpless. Though, somehow it was more comforting this way. Joel was increasingly careful of the authority you tried to hold over him, never allowing you to have the upper hand—and you didn’t mind it.

Again, it was the stark difference between he and Tommy, who’d be willing to bend to your will if you asked, eager to please you, but with Joel, it was kismet. He always knew what you were thinking before you even spoke about it.

And as the ache in your wrist grows into full discomfort he releases them without a word of acknowledgement, lips parted with bated breath as you turn until your back is pressing into the seat, legs wrapping around his waist as he hoists you up with his brute strength, releasing a loud moan of expressive pleasure as you surge forward, pressing your lips against his before he can object, licking into his mouth with profound eagerness as his nails dig into the skin at your hips, his balls tightening with an impending release as he returns the wet, sloppy exchange of lips.

It stalls him for a moment, the sensual pace of your lips pulling his focus up, your tongue twirling around his own before they trail to his lips, your lips dragging down his chin, along his jaw, before you’re biting against where his jugular would be hiding under his skin, not nearly hard enough to cause any damage but enough to have his eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering.

“Don’t—don’t pull out,” You tell him through a murmur, running your tongue along the mark in a soothing gesture, catching his gaze as he looks at you, “What? Are you scared, Joel?”

Not scared—Joel wasn’t sure he could emulate that emotion anymore, but it was far too personal for his liking, even with the few partners he’s had in his life he’s never crested beyond that, purposeful in his abhorrence distaste of kids or the possibility of, but you have him completely under your spell and he shakes his head.

“S’just you—wouldn’t want it to be anyone but you.” You assure him, his expression softening as your thumb trails along his bottom lip, eyes locked on his own as his thrusts stuttering through his own orgasm, face pinching at his brow, your breathy moans guiding him through as he pumps your pussy full, feel the warmth seep down as he eventually pulls out, his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs.

“Get in the car,” Joel instructs as he tries to catch his breath.

His silence on the ride home is deafening.

–

Joel is more stoic and pensive over the following weeks—spring is always harder on the business, or so he says, and selling overseas picks up quicker, it wasn’t something they could explain but it was a constant trend; high demand, high reward. It was quite stressful, really.

So stressful that eventually things are beginning to run thin and you become the source of stress relief for both of them—in different ways, but nonetheless.

Tommy would rather cuddle up with you on the couch while you lull him to sleep with your magic fingers, dragging through his hair—it was gentle caresses and quiet conversation that he found comfort in, but Joel was always unpredictable.

Sometimes it was just sharing a meal—his weird obsession with feeding you; providing, in a way? You couldn’t make sense of it, but it never made you feel uncomfortable.

“Have you ever gotten a bad batch?”

“We’re careful,” Joel reminds you, “It’s why we test all of ‘em before we go through the process.”

“Is that why you sent me?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

You stare at him blankly, waiting.

“Yeah—we had to make sure you’re clean.”

“But now?” You push, your tongue pressing against the underside of the fork as he brings it to your lips.

“I trust you,” Joel admits, “You’ve kept up your end of the deal.”

It was conversations like this that led to Joel’s affinity toward you, a drunken night several weeks later leading you both outside after Tommy had already fallen asleep, walking backwards as your fists curled into Joel’s shirt as his hand cupped your head, licking into your mouth as he unintentionally led you toward the barn door, both of you separating as your back hit the creaking wood.

You pull apart, peering curiously over your shoulder and attempting to look through the cracks, awaiting Joel’s reprimand that never comes.

“You wanna see inside?” He asks curiously.

“You’re fucking with me—”

“It’s a yes or no, darlin’.”

“Yes—yesyes, I do.” You spit out quickly, curiosity getting the best of you as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and snakes it into the lock, unlocking and prying the door open, met with full and complete darkness as he leads you inside, his chest close at your back.

He reaches blindly for the lights out of memory and you’re engulfed in the blaring lights of a spotless room—almost like a medical office with the array of equipment lining the walls and the long embedded tables, something reminiscent of what you would see at a mortuary for draining bodies and embalming, probably to help with the mess.

You sniff slightly, curious about the lack of smell as the door closes.

“That’s partly the animals, but we dispose of some of the shit the pigs can’t eat out behind the barn.”

“Like what?” You stare at him incredulously, eyes wide.

“Clothes, shoes—s’why we have the barrels burning every couple weeks when the stench gets too bad.” He spots your itch to explore, that glistening curiosity in your eyes as you relax at his answer, “Go on, look ‘round.”

You’re not ignorant to the absence of bodies—it was confusing to see a place so clean come from a man who always left work looking like he had brought half of it home with him.

There’s an array of knives and confusing cutting devices that you trail your fingers along, a bonesaw lying against the table lining the shelves, a stack of papers with faces and names, various info that you took a glancing look at, attempting to avoid the idea of putting names to faces and treating the people as anything other than product—it was how Joel lived, as disconnected and separate from the ideas possible.

“Usually it’s messier in here,” Joel admits, your lips parting in a surprised gasp as he presses his lips to your neck, “—we can fix that, though.”

“Joel Miller,” You respond in a scandalized tone, “what exactly are you implying?”

“I’ve got a room upstairs,” Your eyes flick up, spotting the loft overhead—that would explain the long nights when you wouldn’t see him at all, his comfort with being more openly affectionate outside of sex has grown slowly, turning your head to face his over your shoulder as his gaze trails up in another silent question, “unless you’ve got another idea—m’just dyin’ to get inside of you, honey.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip in faux thought, already knowing your answer as you were brimming with excitement, resisting the urge to drag him after you.

“Yeah?” You tease, his lips pressing against your soft, kissing you soundly.

“Yeah,” He responds against your mouth, a rare moment of calm, a sweet exchange before he’s chasing after you with a swift slap to your ass.

–

It was essentially an extension of his bedroom, cozy and homey, you find yourself stretching out on the rug rather than the couch, watching as he carefully kneeled to the floor, cursing his achy knees as you giggle, spreading your legs open to invite him in.

“The things you do for me,” You joke, slowly unbutton his flannel as he yanks you towards him, knees falling against his hips as his palms grip either side of your, his thumbs rubbing against the soft skin underneath your shirt, “careful—I might think you love me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Joel replies easily, stripping your shirt over your head as your breasts bounce free, removing your jeans with the same impatience before he’s immediately latching his lips onto your breasts and lazily trading off, biting teasingly into the skin as he looks up to gauge your reaction.

If Tommy notices Joel’s evidence that he leaves, he never says anything. Perhaps it was unspoken, maybe they’ve talked it out—it was information you weren’t privy to, but you didn’t question it. He could smell his brother all over you and he was dying to rid you of it, baring his teeth as he bit into the flesh of your breast, a satisfied hum coming from you in response.

“Do you want that?” Joel asks again, “To be loved—ain’t somethin’ you’ve felt much, is it?”

Quietly, you shake your head.

“Well, you’ve got my brother by the balls,” He chuckles knowingly, “I’m sure he’d marry you if you asked—I ain’t good with words, but I can show you—”

Curious, you watch as he stands, grabbing a sharpened knife off the end table before he’s returning to you, “Somethin’ my parents passed down to me—never used, just like lookin’ at it.”

“We’re not about to Romeo and Juliet ourselves, are we?” You joke lightly, half-serious.

Joel grins wide at that, a full belly laugh following as he slices his palm with a squint of pain before he’s allowing the blood to pool in his hand as beckons you forward with a finger. You rise on your palms and stare curiously before he’s directing his hand to your mouth, lips parting wordlessly as the deep crimson hits your tongue, eyes falling shut as you sucked at the wound.

You were so accustomed to the rich, irony taste that it isn’t even a surprise, moaning as the blood slides down your throat and his fingers curl, squeezing more blood out for you to consume before he’s sliding his hand over your mouth and down your chin, stopping against your chest as he smears it with blood, one-handed as he shrugs his flannel off and rips his shirt over his head, tearing the fabric apart in strips like butter, not a sign of struggle.

He ties the fabric around his wound before he’s wordlessly handing you the knife.

“My hand?” You ask curiously.

“S’up to you,” He admits—the wordless blood trade vowing his affection toward you.

It was something far deeper than love, you think. Devotion. Loyalty.

“Wherever?” Your eyebrow raises as Joel seems to clock the moment the idea comes into your head, trailing the blade along the inside of your thigh, up your stomach, along your breasts.

Eventually the tip of the blade finds a spot against your inner thigh, Joel’s hand careful adjusting your placing as he speaks, “Careful, there’s an artery there,” Further down, you brave the initial sting and slice through the skin, watching as the blood rose to the surface and Joel quickly descends, knife clattering to the floor as he sucks the flesh between his lips, his tongue lapping against your skin.

It’s euphoric, the feeling. So intense you could descend into madness as Joel eagerly lapped up the blood, even as he pulled away going back for a second time, a third, rising with blood stained lips and the crimson liquid pooling on his tongue as he pulls you toward him, mixing the taste of his blood with your own as he kisses you, a messy exchange of fluids as you claw at his skin, rising to your knees to match him.

Silently, you work at his jeans, unbuttoning and pulling them down his lips alongside his underwear—Joel works them the rest of the way before you’re pulling the hand supporting him over you out from under him, straddling him into the rug as your cunt sat directly over his cock, feeling him grow harder underneath you, a sight to behold with blood dripping down the corner of his mouth.

“I want more,” You tell him honestly, his cock twitching at the words, reaching for the knife laying beside his head, “Can I have more?”

Joel nods wordlessly, slightly breathless.

It was a trading battle of surface wounds, just enough to spill blood but nothing deep enough to cause any damage—surely looking insane as you straddled him with a smile, blood-stained lips yearning for more. Joel has a drunken haze to his expression, committing the sight to memory as he squeezes at your hips, rutting his cock between your soaked folds.

“Enough,” He says softly, barely above a mumble as he tosses the knife aside, rolling you underneath him before he’s sliding home inside of you, a hand cradling the back of your head while the other gripped at your knee, pulling it high over his hip, near his chest as he thrusts into you, a controlled but needy pace that was followed by low, pitiful groans of pleasure.

You’d broken this man.

His head was buried in your neck, your hand trailing down his back as you squeeze into the flesh of his ass, the fingers off your opposite hand carding through his hair, pulling gently at his curls.

“Got so much of me inside you now,” He breathes into your skin, “fuck—I’d eat your right up, baby.”

Despite his obvious lifestyle, your laugh is careless and light.

“Greedy,” You note, “I’ve already given you a taste and you’re asking for more?”

He doesn’t respond, not really. His hips are sharp, forceful as his cock spears itself inside of you, rubbing against the sensitive spot inside of you, eyes fluttering shut as it overwhelms you.

“Take a bite,” You encourage him, “f’that’s what you want.”

A real one.

Enough to scar, to leave a permanent mark and reminder of him.

One, two—you didn’t care.

His teeth drag over your breasts, tongue trailing around your hardened nipple before he’s biting into the skin at the top of you breasts, a gasp ripping from your throat as your walls flutter around him, tightening at the pain that slowly transfers to pleasure, glancing down at the small gash and trail of teeth marks in your skin.

He’s admiring, finger running over the wound before he’s rising on his knees, continuing the thrusts of his hips but slowing as he reaches for your hand, pulling you upright again.

“You–do you want me to?” You ask cautiously, feeling the blood from your wound trail down your chest, “Are you sure?”

“Ain’t never been sure ‘bout nothin’,” Joel admits, “but—this…yeah, I want it.”

It shouldn’t make you hesitate, but it doesn’t. He isn’t emotional or forceful—it was like a plea, disguised behind his facade of stoicness. He needed this devotion just as bad as you. He needed someone to put his own trust into.

When your teeth dig into his side, he hisses, his right hand cradling your head as the other curls tightly into a fist, your face pinching up as you bite beyond the first layer of flesh and taste the liquid against your tongue.

He pulls you away eventually, looking down at you with a newfound expression.

This was love—not the lust you were used to seeing.

The rest of the evening is quiet, his pace gentler before he brings you to a slow orgasm, coming inside of you nearly seconds after with a soft moan, persistent that the wounds needed to be cleaned immediately after a few moments of rest.

He tapes it away with a gentle care after cleaning and applying an ointment to fight away any possible infection, snorting at how fatherly it all seemed, even helping you situation your top back on.

“At least we spared the rug,” You break the silence, “guess you aren’t as messy as I thought.”

“Oh, I can be,” He assures you, noticing the scabbed up bit of your lip that had become victim when he’d bit into your, biting down to silence yourself. Just a small movement and the wound reopens, completely unintentional but he sucks the blood away from your bottom lip in a soothing gesture before he kisses you soundly.

You only hoped the bliss would last.

–

Eventually, the implosion comes. But, instead of gradual—it was all at once.

Tommy’s birthday was supposed to be a quiet affair, something at home, between the three of you, not having time to celebrate during the week on his actual birthday like you had planned—but eventually Tommy finds himself antsy and Joel senses your annoyance as he keeps finding excuses to slip away or cancel. He encourages Tommy to go off on his own, leaving you both sprawled out on his bed after a rousing round of sex that leaves you both sweaty and breathless, resting your arm against his chest as you stare at him, “What’s up with him lately?”

“He’s good at acting, isn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a reason he keeps to the books, you know—why I do my job alone.”

Your eyebrow raises in a silent effort to urge him to continue.

“When I’m angry, you’ll know—” That much was obvious, having been on the receiving end plenty, but Tommy—it was unnatural to see anything but his kind, bright smile.

“He’s my brother—but there’s plenty of shit you haven’t seen yet. And I think it’s unfair that he’s actin’ like things are normal, like he can keep that act up, but something’s gotta give—”

“So what, is he like…a psychopath or something?”

Joel’s silence is telling, jumping up from your spot as you settle on your knees.

“He’s a fucking psychopath?”

“No—no,” Joel excuses, your face contorting into a mix of confusion and amusement.

“You took a long time to answer that.”

“He has episodes—periods of time where he ain’t himself. I can’t explain it and my parents refused to take him to the doctor—you know, backwoods folk and all. If we had a problem we toughed it out.”

“So, he’s got anger issues?”

Joel shakes his head, lips pursed into a tight line.

“He’s killed a couple people—by accident. Least, that’s what he calls it. Tried killing me a few times, too. I’ve always been good at talking him off that ledge, thankfully. M’not trying to turn you against him but I’ve grown up around him, I know how to handle it.”

It was a lot of information to consume at once, still naked in Joel’s sheets as you adjust to sit more comfortably, a small peek at the scar near his ribcage as the sheets shift down.

“He’s lucky we do what we do—he’d probably be in jail otherwise, I’m just telling you because—“

“If it came down to me and him, you’d choose him.”

Joel pauses, his face softened as his lips downturn.

“It’s okay,” You shrug, “Let’s just hope it never comes to that.”

Truthfully, Joel wasn’t sure anymore.

After years with Tommy, he’d grown tired. It was exhausting, fighting between the battling personalities that lived within his brother.

“C’mere,” He beckons, your nose scrunching up as you grin, fitting your face between his waiting hands as he pulls you back over him, kissing you slowly.

A gentle calm before the storm.

–

The arguing is what wakes you first, not the roar of the truck, voices trailing toward the barn.

The bed is empty too, not a single remnant of Joel in sight.

But, you hear him. Loud, angry.

By the time you’re outside the barn is already closed, illuminated by the light inside as you pry the heavy door open, several underdressed with only a shirt to cover the underwear clinging tight to your skin, bare feet digging into the dirt as your feet scuff against the cement and the door falls shut behind you.

“She doesn’t need to know, Joel!” Tommy’s voice cracks, a slight slur to his speech.

He’s drunk, clearly.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tommy—one night and you pull this shit? It’s exactly why dad had a tight leash on your ass for so many years—”

“Need to know what?” You ask suddenly, breaking through the tension as your head peeks around the corner, both of their heads whipping toward you, Joel moving subtly to block the body that you spot on the table, eyes widening.

It had always been something you and Joel had managed together—Tommy had never shown an interest, didn’t seem to care, but this…

“I’m just tryin’ to carry my weight ‘round here—is that why you like him more?” Tommy asks suddenly, his eyes glazed over and dark as you step forward.

“I invite you into our home—give you a place to stay. I—I stuck up for you when he wanted to throw you out and you chose him? My own fuckin’ brother?”

“He’s drunk,” Joel states blankly, almost dismissive of his rant.

“No—no, let’s show it off, Joel.”

Tommy comes at you with a knife, slicing it down the middle of your shirt as you struggle against him, ripping the fabric away and showing off the healing scar on your chest.

“What happened to no attachments, Joel? No baggage?”

As Joel moves toward Tommy to remove the knife, he lunges at Joel and pushes him out of the way, leaving you with a clear view of the woman laying on the table, an eerie resemblance to yourself as your eyes widen, stepping toward the table as you glance over the body—unmoving, still. She was already too far gone, with no signs of what Tommy had actually done to her.

Your head snaps up at the brawling brothers, screaming for the attention to break through their rage, Joel burying his knee into Tommy’s back to subdue him.

“Why her?” You ask him—Tommy, looking directly at him as you point to the lifeless body.

“Get the fuck off me—” He argues through gritted teeth, attempting to shake his brother off him.

“Why—her?” You stress again, walking forward to crouch in front of him, uncaring of how your body was bared to him in your vulnerability.

“Thought I could give Joel his own version of you to play with—but she wasn’t cooperating. That what you wanna hear? I had you first—motherfucker won’t let me have a single thing to myself.”

“Let him up,” You instruct Joel, backing away slightly.

As Tommy stands, you approach him, his face tight and unrecognizable.

He reeked of alcohol and sweat, a stench of something else that made the bile in your stomach rise, “I never chose, you both had me. You would continue to have me, but this—Tommy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ lecture me, not you,” He bites.

You stare at him with a growing sadness, “You’re drunk—really, really drunk. You’re gonna sleep this off and you’ll regret everything you’re saying right now, I know it. I know you.”

Something seems to snap in Tommy—attempting to rip away from Joel as you scramble toward the floor.

Tommy gets a solid right hook in, something that, if any normal person would have delivered would have left Joel unphased, but Tommy had his advantages, similar in size and stature to Joel, it was barely a fight as Joel dropped to the ground, hitting hard enough that both of you freeze, a slow ring of blood pooling from his head as your chest clinches in a mix of anger and resentment, but your body flinging into flight mode, fleeing while Tommy has distracted by the possibility that he killed his own brother.

Unfamiliar with the place you scramble to hide, unsure if running off would help after your last try, squeezing into a closet buried in the back corner behind a pile of yard tools and mowers, watching as Tommy dropped to the ground.

You could hear him mumbling to himself—a mix of self-assuring words and back and forth conversation, as if someone was responding to every word he offered.

“He’s dead—yeah I killed him,” He mumbles, “if I—if I chop him up, chop her up. Fuck,” His head whips over his shoulder, realizing you were gone, “gotta find her—but Joel, deal with him first.”

Your eyes widen at the firsthand witnessing of exactly what Joel had admitted to you—like some kind of bad omen of what was to come, you sunk down into the darkness and hide yourself away, watching as Tommy roamed around for tools, not a moment of hesitation as he intended to follow through on his plans with Joel’s lifeless body awaiting it’s demise.

It feels wrong, tossing a bone saw aside carelessly as he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, flailing tools around wildly, a knife clattering so far away that it lands near your feet, small enough to wrap your fist around as you grab it quietly, awaiting Tommy’s approach to Joel.

Sometimes takes over, not entirely yourself as you crawl from the spot you were hidden in and lunge at Tommy, planting the knife between his shoulder blades as pressed the blade against his own brother’s neck, his blood curdling scream ripping through the barn as he dropped to his knees.

“You bitch,” He groans, shouting out in pain as you remove the knife and sink into his spine, a few seconds of struggle before he slumps to the ground, his eyes dragging toward your shaking frame, bloodied hands rubbing your hair away from your face as you stare down at Tommy’s face, his lips parting as he gasped for air but instead find blood dripping from his mouth.

You drop to your knees, the air stolen from your own lungs but for different reasons.

Both of them dead, within a matter of minutes and it was all your fault.

“Fuck, fuck–” You cry, slamming your fist into cement, but quickly startled by the rousing beside Tommy, almost blaming it on a break in your psyche before Joel is mumbling your name, pressing his fingers into his temple as blood coats his fingers, a sizeable gash on the side of his head as he sits, slowly picking apart the sight before him.

“Oh, honey—what did you do?” Joel asks, glancing down at Tommy’s lifeless body and up at you—surprisingly, there wasn’t an ounce of anger.

“He thought—he thought you were dead, he had a knife at your throat,” You rambled in a panic, “He kept saying he was going to chop you up—chop me up. I don’t know, I fucking panicked.”

Joel remains wordless, staring into the deep abyss of blood pooling on the floor.

“I’m so—I’m sorry. I’m,” The emotion is like a tidal wave, “Joel—I panicked. I swear—”

Joel grimaces against the sharp sting of pain as he reaches for your face, his blood covered hand pressing against your face, fingertips wrapping around the back of your head as he forces you to lock eyes with him.

“Look at me,” He demands, waiting until your eyes lock on him, “This is the part where you promise—and I mean promise, that you won’t fuckin’ run off.”

“No—never. Never, not,” You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to blink away the thick tears, “Never again, Joel. I promise.”

“We handle this together,” He explains, “I’ll protect you but you have to say it.”

“Anything,” You nod, leaning forward on your hands to move closer to him.

“Say you’re loyal to me—that you’ll listen and do whatever I ask, without question.”

“I am—I am. Joel, I’m loyal to you. I love—I love you. I need you to know that.”

Joel sighs, head bowing.

“I would have chosen you over him. I couldn’t admit that to myself earlier, but I’m telling you now. Tommy’s always been a manipulator, I tried warnin’ you. Months ago.”

You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last.

“I won’t run. I promise, Joel.” You assure him, because with Joel you felt that protection.

A silence falls before you speak again.

“What happens now?”

“You follow my lead, that’s all I need.”

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

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boneblushed · 2 days ago

Text

Is it enough?

synopsis All these people think love’s for show, but Rafe would die for you in secret.

a/n a late lil Christmas blurb for all the pre-Euro Trip Rafe lovers out there (aka me). Hope everyone’s enjoying the holidays !! 💗

You prefer the Outer Banks over Christmas break.

It’s when the salt air quiets and the tourons dissipate, the pavements pleasantly bare with cold asphalt unblemished. You’re certain to recognise everyone you see in December; you don’t have to perform when you’re out and about, the details of your personality are already firmly embedded. You prefer this, like to smile at that member of your mother’s book club, or that convenience store owner that’s watched you gain inches over the years.

You like recognising the people you make eye contact with. This is easier to do during the winter months, when touron tarnish isn’t diluting the street strollers and beach crowds.

Or so you think.

You’re celebrating the start of Christmas break at the Shake Shack with Topper and Kelce, when this pretty girl you don’t recognise walks in with Rafe and his younger sister.

You use the split second before he spots you to take inventory of his figure. He’s without that Kildare Island cap he likes to wear—always backwards; you’re chagrined that even you remember this little detail—his dirty-blonde locks overgrown and a little damp. He’s just showered, or something. Maybe gone for a swim. A fleeting image of Rafe Cameron’s chiseled torso enters your brain.

You blink. The heat in your cheeks makes you frown on instinct.

Topper must spot him at the same time you do, because he straightens and shouts, “Oi! Cameron!”

Rafe turns toward your table, his blue eyes brightening as he takes the three of you in. Behind him, his younger sister Sarah smiles politely. You watch her lean close to the mystery girl beside her, whisper something inconspicuous that makes her eyes pull right toward you. You smile back, though it’s more grimace than anything particularly deferential.

And then you fix Topper with a pointed glare, because your poor skin has suffered enough warmth for the day. “Topper,” you hiss, “why would you do that?”

“Uh,” Topper balks, looking to Kelce for help. (He provides none. He’s far too busy staring at the girl on Sarah’s left.) “Because he’s our friend?”

“Your friend,” you mutter irritably. You’re still feeling the after effects of shirtless Rafe in your head.

“No way!” Rafe exclaims then; you refuse to look up at him as he walks over, but the amusement in his voice is recognisable as ever. “How’re you guys going?”

He says ‘you guys’, but he only means you really. He’s more pleased than he should be about a rendezvous outside of school hours.

He walks slow, allowing his gaze to fall over you in paces. He’s already forgotten why he came here in the first place, his only goal now to get close enough to spot that freckle on your lower neck. He thinks about kissing it often. Not to mention, it’s winter, so any bare skin on display is a privilege. Light-wash jeans and a singlet with a cardigan pulled over it; he discerns the sliver of waist exposed between them, smells your lavender perfume and feels a jolt in his ribcage.

Kelce straightens slightly as he nears, clearing his throat. “Not bad.” He’s adopted a deeper timbre than you’re used to, enough octaves lower to earn a look of bewilderment. “You?”

“Not bad?” Rafe echoes, sending you a meaningful glance. “You guys have gotta do better than that.”

You narrow your eyes up at him. “Worse now that you’re here.”

“Funny, my afternoon’s gotten way better since I saw you.” Rafe grins. “What’s that saying again? Opposites attract or something?”

You frown harder at that, as if that’s somehow possible. Rafe aches. He’s going to get a smile out of you even if it fucking kills him.

“Anyway,” you say then, ignoring his jibe. “You seem busy, so we’ll let you get back to—”

“We’re not busy,” Rafe interrupts. He reaches behind him and grabs a chair from the table adjacent, sliding it forward and sitting down beside you.

“Rafael.” You sigh. “You can’t just—”

But the sound of Kelce’s chair scraping linoleum causes you to falter; he’s up and out of his own seat before you can continue, grabbing two more chairs and gesturing for Sarah and the mystery girl to join you.

You turn to him, confused, but he’s only got eyes for the pretty brunette that’s taking a seat beside him.

“Oh, thanks,” she says kindly. She’s almost blushing if you squint. “You’re Rafe and Sarah’s friends?”

“Barely,” you reply just as Kelce says, “mainly Rafe’s.” He sends you a pointed look before adding, “we all go to the Academy together. How do you know the Camerons?”

“We’re cousins,” she replies with a smile. “I’m Manon.”

“Manon,” Kelce repeats, slow, in that perplexingly low timbre. “I’m Kelce. How’re you finding the Outer Banks?”

“Good,” she says, still smiling. They haven’t stopped staring at each other since the conversation started.

That’s when it hits you. Your pretty eyes widen, and the corners of your mouth pull up into a pleased expression.

He’s totally crushing on her. Having known him for the better half of his formative years, you’re pretty sure your mind has gathered every single one of his tells.

The way that he’s scooted his chair closer to Manon’s, almost imperceptible. The fact that every word she says has his gaze pulling to her pink lips. They’re still having a conversation, but their eyes aren’t quite in it. Topper’s talking too, Sarah piping up here and there, but you’re taking in Kelce’s features and coming up with a plan.

Rafe is silent too. He hasn’t spoken a word since he noticed your features brighten. His chair’s pretty close to yours too, to be fair; he’s finding it hard to concentrate with your face a kissable distance away. The frown he brought to it has long since dissipated, the smile that reigns making his hands feel rogue, a little reckless.

He has a want to touch you that’s maddening. His only goal now is to keep you smiling that sweet smile.

Besides, he clocked Kelce’s eyes on his cousin the moment he made it over to your table. He’d recognise that look anywhere. It has that same helpless quality that your mere proximity brings him.

He throws his arm around your chair, pulling it closer to his. “Gross,” he murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear. “Could they be any more obvious?”

Your shoulders are touching. You try to focus on everything but the static bare skin on skin elicits.

“Personal space, Rafael,” you grumble weakly, sending him a reproachful look.

“I know right?” Rafe teases quietly, the grin on his face audible. “Manon may as well sit on Smith’s lap, huh?”

You try for a frown. “You know what I meant.”

“It’s different with us,” he says.

You turn to him then, raising your eyebrows. “How so, Cameron?”

A pause then, the closeness of your faces becoming painfully evident. Rafe’s gaze pulls down to your lips, the arm that’s resting on your chair pressing into your back. Your surroundings blur. How does he always manage to get you into such compromising positions?

“Just is,” he murmurs back, his voice rougher now than it was a second ago. His eyes are still on your lips, this maddening pressure bubbling up through his chest. “Mrs Cameron.”

“Ha ha.”

The jibe is enough to pull you out of your reverie, and you roll your eyes, giving him a shove in his chest. He doubles back dramatically, rubbing the space your hand pressed with a pleased grin.

“So have you guys ordered yet?” Rafe asks, drawing back into your space like a magnet.

“Nah,” Topper answers. “We’d only just arrived when you got here.”

“And we aren’t doing anything after,” Kelce adds, only really looking at Manon as he says it. “So we should grab ice-cream too, if you guys are keen. We’d love to help show you around.” He turns to you then, this pointed, pleading look on his face. “Right Y/n?”

“Uh.” You balk. “Yes?”

Your gaze moves to Topper and Sarah, who have struck up a similarly cozy conversation. They’re sitting pretty close together, all eye contact and Topper’s hand on Sarah’s chair back. Your heart drops.

“As long as it’s okay with Top and Sarah,” you add quickly, forcing them to re-enter discussion. “Top—don’t you have that thing later? With your mom and dad?”

Topper doesn’t seem to pick up on your cues, his hand sliding along the chair’s top rail. Sarah leans back into it. In your stomach now, you aren’t sure your heart has any further to plummet.

It’s easier to ignore Rafe’s patchouli and spice cologne when Topper’s indifference is so obvious. You find yourself at odds with wingwoman-ing Kelce and keeping Topper and Sarah as far away from each other as possible.

And you at a distance from Rafe, obviously. No grazing touches and lingering eye contact permitted.

“Uh… oh, the dinner?” Topper replies, furrowing his brow. ��Yeah, but it’s only 1.00pm Y/n. Plenty of time before I have to head off for that.”

You grimace. “Right.”

Rafe frowns slightly as he looks over your features, bemused. There’s been a shift in your demeanour, but the culprit evades him.

He watches you glimpse the sliver of space between Topper’s chair and Sarah’s. Oh. The need to pull yours closer to his intensifies ten-fold.

“If that’s settled, we should order,” he says quickly, jumping up out of his seat. He looks down at you expectantly, resisting the urge to offer up his shoulder for you to take.

He’s learned that some things are ‘too much’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. When it comes to you, too much isn’t actually part of his vocabulary.

“You coming, sweetheart?” He adds, his eyes still on your figure.

You meet his gaze. It’s softer than before. An emotion you can’t quite put your finger on passes between the two of you, a gentle something that warms your insides.

“Uh,” you balk again. “Me? Why?”

“Need your help. Don’t know anyone else’s order,” he says. Anyone else, like it’s obvious he knows yours.

Your eyes widen. That gentle something intensifies to hot molasses. “Neither do I,” you reply, almost defensive.

“I’ll get the classic,” Sarah says then, trying not to smile. She shares another look with Manon, who adds, “and I’ll grab the veggie.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, nodding as you stand. “Classic for you too, right Top? And the double for Kelce?”

“Nah, I want the veggie,” Kelce responds, sending Manon a wink. “Reckon it’s time I tried something new.”

Manon’s ears grow pink. “Good choice,” she says, her smile widening.

You can’t help but smile too, turning to face Rafe. And he’s grinning down at you in tandem, this mischievous glint in his eye, and you almost forget that you’re supposed to be vexed as opposed to enamoured.

Almost. You turn back toward the table, creating space between you and him. Rafe aches, again. There’s longing like static in your physical distance.

“Alright,” you say, sounding more amused than bewildered. “Coming right up, I guess?”

You make your way toward the front counter, Rafe falling into your step seamlessly. Once you’re safely out of earshot of your friends, he ducks his head closer to continue your conversation.

“So,” he says seriously. “How’re we going to play this?”

You frown up at him, confused. “Play what exactly?”

“Smith and Manon.”

You balk. “What? Like… set them up?” You steal a glance back at the table, where Kelce and Manon’s chairs have scooted impossibly closer. The unimpressed look on your face softens, a pleased smile transforming your features. “I don’t think they need our help Rafael,” you say, gesturing toward them. “Look.”

Rafe turns too, taking in the scene. “Shit, you’re right,” he responds, grinning. “We’re going to have to keep these good vibes going.”

“You’ll be an expert at those,” you say, raising your eyebrows. “‘Good vibes’.”

“For you, always.”

“For them, Rafe.”

“If it’s you asking,” he reiterates. “Always.”

Your traitorous heart stutters. To compensate, you roll your eyes and turn to face the counter. He moves in tandem, shoulders side by side, elbows almost touching.

“What can I get for you guys today?” The server asks absentmindedly, fiddling with the iPad in front of her.

“Uh, can we get—”

But Rafe’s quicker than you are, repeating the order with ease and adding your own at the end of it. He knows to order your burger with extra pickles and sauce, tacks on the shake you love to dip your fries in when you’re starved. And he pays for the whole meal before you can so much as grab your own card, leaving the server impressed and you perplexingly pissed off.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you say stubbornly, watching him slide his wallet back into his pocket. “We’ll Venmo you.”

“What? No way.” Rafe looks down at you then, all handsome and sincere. Your heart stutters again, a forgotten car engine reborn. “It’s on me, seriously.”

“Rafe.”

“Venmo’s gonna kill the mood, trust me,” he says. “We can’t go back to the table and talk finances. That isn’t romantic.”

“Maybe not for Kelce and Manon,” you reply, frowning up at him. “But Top and I will. You don’t need to pay for our meals.”

“Top got me some beers a few weeks ago, so I owe him.”

Bold faced lie, but Rafe doesn’t particularly care. He wonders whether you realise that you stand closer to him when you’re vexed.

“And me, Cameron?”

“You?” He echoes.

You fold your arms across your chest defiantly, furrowing your brow. Rafe tries to command his gaze, willing it not to fall with the movement.

He fails miserably.

“I—I’ll Venmo you,” you clarify. You aren’t sure why you’re faltering.

“You know I can’t let you do that, sweetheart,” he replies helplessly, his voice lower now.

You sigh, beleaguered. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re impossible,” Rafe returns. “I’d be beyond fucking disowned if anyone found out I made you Venmo me for a burger.”

“It’s polite,” you say stubbornly.

“It’s not polite when what’s mine is yours.”

You balk. “But it isn’t.”

“Course it is,” Rafe replies matter-of-factly. “Has been since freshman year.”

“When we met?” You ask, bewildered.

“Aw.” Rafe cracks a roguish grin. “You remembered.”

“You know what—”

“Y/n, I’m kidding,” he adds quickly, sounding amused. “Not just when we met. When I told my mom I was going to marry you.”

Your cheeks warm, the tips of your ears on fire. “Like I fucking said… impossible.”

“Anyway,” he continues, faux-sombre now. “Today isn’t about us. It’s about Smith and Manon.”

He turns back towards the table, gesturing for you to do the same. As you do, your wrists brush against each other, the pulses within them syncing. The skin-on-skin lingers. “What should we do after lunch? Beach?”

You nod slowly, returning to the task at hand. Trying to ignore the feeling of Rafe’s rough forearm on yours.

“Beach,” you agree. “Let ‘em walk ahead a bit, head to that monument where the lookout is.”

“Great idea,” Rafe says, that mischievous glint in his eye returning.

“And… have you guys shown her the old Church yet? We can drive up there and point out all the old boat wrecks.”

“Well, Smith can,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows at you. “We can pretend we don’t know shit.”

“Even better,” you respond delightedly, grinning up at him.

“And how d’you propose we spend the evening, sweetheart?”

You pause, furrowing your brow in thought. “I know,” you say after a beat. “Star-gazing. We can take some blankets to that park at the end of Clover, you can see Orion’s Belt from there.”

Rafe doesn’t miss the fact that you don’t tell him off for the pet-name, not in that exasperated way you normally do. He realises that playing Cupid makes you more happy than he initially thought it would.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that he was your very first victim. Spending time with you like this—like friends—is just as pleasing as teasing you into oblivion.

Not to mention, your proximity is far more apparent when you’re excited. Rafe wonders whether you realise how often your hips touch, your forearms, the soft knuckles of your index and thumb.

(You do. Rafe’s signet ring is as cool on your skin as it is devastating.)

“You know where else you can see Orion’s Belt?” Rafe asks.

“Hm?”

“From the very end of our boat dock.”

You turn to him then, eyes wide. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding,” Rafe replies slowly. You’re closer now than you were before, as if that’s somehow possible. “Used to lay out there with my mom all the time. She’d point them all out to me when I was a kid.”

“There’s more?”

Rafe nods. “Ursa Major and minor.” His freckles aren’t dissimilar to the constellations he’s describing. “The Big Dipper too, if we’re lucky and there’s no clouds.”

“Kelce won’t even know where to look for them,” you murmur, quietly bewildered.

“Doesn’t matter,” Rafe replies, his voice low too. “He just has to point at random shit and sound confident.”

You let out a bemused laugh. “S’that what you do with all the girls you take home, Cameron?”

He grins sheepishly. “Guilty. Only cause I know it doesn’t count with them.” He pauses then, ducking his head to eye level. “Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure I know every constellation there is when it’s you I bring home.”

—

Mission set Kelce and Manon up is a roaring success.

After a very enlightening lunch—where Kelce and Manon flirt shamelessly while the rest of you make hushed small talk—the six of you head down to the beach before Topper takes his leave for dinner.

And though by then the two lovebirds are well acquainted enough to be left to their own devices, they continue to insist on your company under the guise of maintaining pleasantries.

If you go, Kelce feels the obligation to go too.

If Rafe does, or Sarah for that matter, Manon’s far too polite to ask you and Kelce for a ride home.

Not that Rafe’s complaining or anything. He’s been afforded the luxury of your presence and he’s basking in it. Everyone around him seems to think his love’s for show, but quiet admiration in the name of company is just as valuable to him.

Setting up your best friend with his cousin, for example, putting his own feelings on pause so you aren’t obligated to act abashed.

So true are his efforts that they’ve led the five of you back to Tannyhill, the sun low on the horizon and amaranth dusk painting the walls in shadow.

As it isn’t yet dark enough to justify star-gazing on the dock, Kelce and Manon have situated themselves on the couch, looking far too cosy with bare shoulders pressed together.

Sarah’s retreated to her room, so you and Rafe idle at the stairwell, unsure.

“Uh…” Kelce turns to you over his shoulder, a hopeful look on his face. “Has Rafe given you a tour of the place yet?”

“Ye—” You falter, Kelce’s eyes widening pointedly. “Oh um, no. Don’t think so.”

Manon shifts sideways then, glancing back at the pair of you. “Rafe should then, no?”

Rafe’s trying his best not to look too pleased. He looks down at you to find that your gaze is already on him, that unnameable emotion back and torturous as ever. “I should, yeah. C’mon.”

He places his hands on your shoulders to guide you up the stairs, exerting this rough, sure pressure that leaves you a little dazed.

“So transparent, huh?” He murmurs, the smile on his face audible. “Sickening.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you whisper back, equally amused.

“Touchè.” He lets go of your shoulders then, pushing open a door on his left. The heat of his touch lingers. “Here, this is my room.”

You walk in slowly, cautiously. To enter his private space feels oddly sacred.

What’s mine is yours, echoes his voice on your head. You find yourself continuing forward before you’re able to stop yourself.

Scruples of purple light spill through his window, illuminating the flannel comforter pulled over his bed. There’s two bedside tables and a chest of drawers decorated with memorabilia, a wooden desk holding his computer propped up against one corner.

His en-suite door is ajar, shadowy dusk illuminating his toothbrush holder. And all you can smell is his woody cologne, all musk and citrus and spicy patchouli.

You didn’t realise how familiar the notes were until they registered. Less sacred, more home. It’s terrifying.

You grapple for purchase on something you don’t recognise. Walking around his bed to inspect his belongings more carefully, you find yourself face to face with baby Rafe immortalised.

“Fuck off,” you exclaim, letting out a delighted laugh. “How old were you in this, Rafael?”

You’re holding the photo frame that sits on his bedside table, your pretty eyes alight with mischief.

Rafe needs a second to recalibrate. You’re in his room, in the flesh, and Rafe really really needs a second to recalibrate.

“Four,” he answers finally, flashing you a sheepish grin. “I was a chubby kid, huh?”

“A chubby cute kid,” you reply, raising your eyebrows. “What happened?”

“Gained a few inches.” He walks toward you until he’s close, until the difference in your height and his is painfully obvious. “A whole lot of inches.”

You look up at him then, the dim lighting deepening the blue of his eyes. “A whole lot of audacity too.”

“And love,” he murmurs.

“Rafe,” you warn quietly.

“You’re in my room, sweetheart,” he replies helplessly, the timbre of his voice roughening. His gaze is darker now, mirroring the amaranth hues of nightfall. “You’ve gotta cut me some slack.”

Your eyes widen. “Doesn’t mean you’re allowed to look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to kiss me.”

A pause. Rafe’s Adam’s apple bobs dangerously in his throat, the small distance between your figures shrinking. “Fuck, Y/n,” he says finally, stepping back from you in a daze. “Is it enough?”

You furrow your brow at him. “What do you mean?”

“Knowing that I’d kiss you… that I’d do anything for you. Is it enough?”

You swallow. The pulse on your wrist falters. “I… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Rafe murmurs back. “Cause it’s enough for me.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction

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toxycodone · 2 days ago

Note

you should most definitely do a ‘dad’ curly body inspection fic,,, I mean whart who said that…

ship. captain curly x favorite crewmate reader

cw. power imbalance, fauxcest, you call curly “dad” but he’s not your dad.

“You’re not uncomfortable, are you?”

It’s a rhetorical question, really. You know Curly would brush off any protest from you. Anya’s busy with something. Apparently Daisuke slipped, fell, almost sent a nail straight through his foot—you didn’t pay much attention to the excuse. What followed after was what caught your favor.

“And to help her avoid getting behind schedule, I offered to conduct your body inspection in Nurse Anya’s place.”

You remember yours eyes widening in disbelief. It seemed like a joke at first. A weird one at that, but not something you’d put behind him.

“Guess you should call me Nurse Curly, huh?” He winks to punctuate the sentence.

And so it wasn’t a joke.

You’re here now. In his quarters, of all places. It’s definitely bigger than the broom closet Pony Express is legally obligated to provide you with as room and board, but not much so. Definitely less than captain-like.

“So,” He claps his hands together, smile bright as ever. “Shall we get started?”

Your captain’s eyes are bright, shining with enthusiasm. The predatory gleam that hides beneath them doesn’t go unmissed.

You simply nod. You’ve been here before, done this before. Anya’s inspections aren’t extremely invasive. Mainly just to ensure you’re in proper working order. Pony Express doesn’t take any chances when it comes to personal health as they want to avoid lawsuits, but also, any notation you’re unable to complete your tasks gives them excuse to dock credits.

They’re a necessary part of your routine health checkups. Nothing to be afraid of. Honestly, having Curly conducting it is good, right? Maybe even better than Anya, when you really think about it. He’s the most trustworthy one on the ship. The one who’s almost like family. It still feels awkward calling him dad the way he likes, but it’s starting to grow on you. You can trust him. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.

“This is just a routine checkup. Don’t think too hard about it.” He’s putting on those blue latex gloves. He must be serious about this. “I know it’s unorthodox for me to conduct this, but it’s a favor for Anya. Captain’s gotta fill in to keep this ship running properly, y’know?”

You hums in agreement. He takes a few steps forward. You never really realized just how large Curly is. His presence is imposing, a stark contrast from his personality. The sheer closeness of him is intimating. You wonder if he notices that too.

He then asks for you to take off your shirt. You oblige. Hesitation shoots through your fingertips, but it’s brushed away by a shake of the head. This is typical. Routine. With shaky fingers, you relinquish the garment.

Curly seems to drink in the sight of the newly exposed skin. Or is he just studying it? Doing his job? That’s it.

Your captain seems to notice the way you shuffle awkwardly under his gaze. He places a hand on your shoulder, giving you a comforting smile.

“It’s okay to be embarrassed. I know it’s awkward, but it’ll be over before you know it.”

You nod. Then he steps closer, curiously eyeing your chest. His hands reach out to touch you, only hesitating for a split second, before ghosting up your ribcage. You hold back and noises. Anya touches you too, this isn’t odd, per se. However, it’s usually with you lying on a medical bed. And with a medical gown on, at least.

She also doesn’t smile in satisfaction like that. Your eyes don’t linger on Curly’s face long.

He has the audacity to be demure at first, maiming some guise that this contact is supposed to be professional. His hands prod your sides, then your stomach area.

“Is there any pain when I touch you here?” Finally, there’s a line ripped from Anya’s script. “Or any pain elsewhere I should be aware of?”

You shake your head, then give a brief answer. Curly nods, then moves to take a couple notes on the clipboard set on at his desk.

There’s a sense of relief at the back of your mind, happy he’s taking this seriously.

He moves on. Now Curly’s hand move up your ribcage again, cupping your chest, thumbs stroking over your areolas and nipples—causing them to harden at the contact.

Your cheeks flush. Good God, your captain should not be touching you like this. Anya has never done this. And you shouldn’t be fucking enjoying it, either. You jump when he gives one a flick.

Curly seems to notice this. He lets out a soft chuckle.

“Seems your reflexes are in good shape.”

Well, there goes any notion that this is purely professional. He gives a last squeeze to your chest, then removes his hands. Curly takes a couple steps back, then starts to circle around you.

“Your pants.” He makes the request almost sheepishly. “Can’t keep those on, unfortunately…” You want believe his shyness, that he wants to preserve your modesty, but he just can’t. It’s out of his hands. But that would be too obvious a lie.

You shuffle those off too. His presence is behind you now, his eyes definitely glued to your ass and thighs. He is, however, scribbling something down on a clipboard. So he has to be doing some sort of work, right?

“Underwear, too.”

Wait. What?

You glance over your shoulder at him, brow raised in confusion. This isn’t part of routine, and you’re not dumb enough to fall for it. Curly’s still standing there, smiling as if he didn’t say anything remotely weird.

“Just being thorough.” He answers before you can ask. “Do it for your captain’s sake? Please?”

Curly’s choice in words is particular. He doesn’t often feel the need to flex his title as captain, but he’ll pull rank when need be. This is one of those times. An indirect reminder of who’s the one with power here.

And so, you oblige. Fingers link under the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down. You’re exposed fully in front of him now. After a few seconds of silence (which you’re sure is spent by Curly committing your body to memory), he places a hand on your shoulder, urging you towards his neatly made bed.

“On the bed, please.”

You’re sat down before you can protest. Curly pushes you onto your back, slowly guiding your thighs open.

There? Of all places, he’s looking there? Panic shoots through you, and it’s not just because there’s a grown man taking advantage of his role getting on eye level with your pussy. It’s the fact he’s going to notice just how wet you are.

His pupils dilate when he gets full view of you. Your thighs are spread wide open by Curly’s thick, gloved fingers. They’re warm despite the barrier and press into the supple flesh. The way he grabs you is as if he’s trying to restrain himself.

Curiosity beckons him on. Still ensuring your thighs are pressed open, Curly allows one hand to delve between your thighs and explore.

He cups your mound with unexpected gentleness, relishing the warmth. You have to hold yourself back from grinding against his hand. Wetness leaks out of your hole at the contact. It’s sick. Totally embarrassing how you’re dying to felt up by your captain, as dubiously consenting as it is. You close your eyes, an attempt at avoiding any eye contact Curly might sneak in.

One thumb carefully traces up your slit. A breathy gasp is elicited from your lips. Curly’s own breathing, the only sound in the room you can make out aside from the ship’s constant humming, is shaky. His thumb gathers wetness without even needing to press into you. Your clit twitches at the contact, causing your hole to flutter, clenching around nothing.

God, you hope he notices. Hope he slides a finger in. Fuck all the professionalism, the way he tries to mask his feelings for you by constantly infantilizing your and calling you his family. You want to feel those thick digits spreading you open. Then his cock, which you’re sure is far more girthy. Maybe if you took him down to the base, rode him like he deserved, he’d see you for the grown up you really are. Could he still call you kiddo after you made him moan your name and milked him dry? You doubt it.

“Alright, I think we’re done here.” Curly retreats from your form, as if you suddenly combust into flames. “You can go now.”

Huh?

You snap from your fantasies, looking up at Curly. His broad back is facing you now, hunched over as he picks up your clothing. You’re clouded by a mix of feelings—relief, confusion, anticipation for more—but you start to dress as he asked. Something sits wrong in your stomach about all this, but you’re unsure if it’s nausea or butterflies.

“I think we’re all done here. I’m gonna write up that report for Anya.” He ushers you out of his quarters with a sense of urgency. The delusional part of you admires how serious he takes his work, but that unmistakeable tent in his pants alludes to this inspection being cut for less professional reasons.

“See you at dinner, kiddo.”

And you’re back in the hallway, left alone with your thoughts.

#captain curly #mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #captain curly x reader #cw fauxcest #mouthwashing curly

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carbonfiction · 1 day ago

Note

Hi! How do you think Logan would feel about a girl that confesses that it’s difficult to orgasm without using her vibrator?

Okay so im a girlie who very much has this issue😭

But I feel like (and i think this has probably been said by others) he would very much see it somewhere between a teaching experience and a challenge? In that he would be practically conducting lessons to get you off without it. Adamant that you aren't broken for needing a toy, just need to learn what really feels good for you.

And its not like you could've confessed to someone with any more experience than him.

Its not that you can't cum by your own touch, it just.. Takes far too long. The pleasure once warming your belly seeming to Disapate the longer you play; it just.. doesn't feel as good. Your fingers, compaired to your vibrator, dont seem get you there how you like. In fact, Its more likely that your hands get cramp than get you off sufficiently.

So, cut to having admitted your little.. predicament to him, Hes sitting you down on your bed, back against his chest, in front of a mirror and asking you to show him. Cooing in your ear softly about how 'He needs to see what you usually do, needs to see how he can help you combat this' because lets be honest? A vibrator isnt always the most discreet.

Logan is eagerly watching how your fingers swirl around your clit with his head over your shoulder. Planting soft pecks to your neck while making mental notes of your speed and pressure. He's simply letting you take the lead with your own body until your whining, frustrated huffs panted from your chest as you feel the stiffness of cramp begin to grow in your joints.

Then and only then does he take over; really let the lesson begin. With one large hand placed over yours, touch knowing and guiding as he promts you to relax. To watch as his fingers begin their deft movements atop of yours.

And to your surprise, it actually feels really good.

Your pussy makes slick, sloppy sounds beneath your shared touch and paired with the little moans you let out Logan can feel his cock press solid against your back. But now isnt for him, now is for you and to make you orgasm comfortably without the use of a toy.

"Feel good?" he questions quietly. When you hum a little moan back he kisses the juncture of your neck, facial hair a pleasant rub as he mumbles out against the skin. "Just gotta keep goin like that alright? Keep on touching by yourself"

His hand between your legs pulls off but never leaves your body, his grip soft on your plush thigh or your tummy as he talks you through with gentle praise.

Hushed groans and whispers of 'doin so well' 'you got it, nice and steady' 'look so fuckin pretty like this'

He observes the concentration in your face, how your lip bites under your teeth. Your moans growing in volume, stomach muscles beginning to tighten at the steady pleasure.

This time you dont feel the telltale stiffness of cramp, only the growing throb of your puffy clit as you round it in presise circles.

"L-logan" you whine desperately, struggling to maintain your pace for the pleasure bubbling through your veins.

"Gettin' close princess?" he honeys cockily, lips pressing a kiss to your jaw. "Gonna make yourself cum?"

Moments later you do shatters from a quickened slick swipe against your nub. This pleasure different as it flows through you, back arched over his chest.

"There you go, good girl" he praises, lips still on your jaw, keeping you close. "Knew you could do it.."

Im so bad at closing out my thoughts/fics/drabbles ohmygod.

#carbonrambles #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #logan howlett x reader smut #deadpool and wolverine #carbonasksforasks #logan smut

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minswriting · 3 days ago

Text

WINTER WONDERLAND - AARON HOTCHNER X READER

About: After a case in Upstate New York that ended on Christmas Eve, everyone was ready to head back home for the holiday. Except the flight was canceled due to bad weather, leaving you and Aaron to share your hotel for another night.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors Do Not Interact (MDNI), fluffy, soft sex, oral (f), winter vibes, established relationship, porn without plot, Aaron loves using pet names, you just love being loved

Word Count: 1,657 words

Being in Upstate New York during the holiday season usually would be quite magical. The snow, the holiday cheer of those around you, and the beautiful Christmas lights that decorated houses. But, unfortunately, the team had just finished a case that was quite gruesome and foul. Even in its gruesome state, the case had ended well and smoothly, saving a victim from being murdered. And now, it was time to go back to Quantico, Virginia. Except perhaps the snow outside may put a damper on plans.

You were looking outside the window of your hotel room after a long case when Aaron’s phone went off. “Oh,” Came Aaron’s voice from across the room. “Our flight’s been canceled due to the weather,” He exclaimed, glancing at his phone.

“That makes sense,” You replied, looking out the window. “It’s snowing like crazy outside. It’s gotta be at least three inches by now.”

Aaron hummed in response, wrapping his arms around you. “I sent a text to the rest of the team letting them know,” He murmured, resting his head on your shoulder.

You sighed in contentment, leaning into Aaron. “It must be sad you can’t spend Christmas with Jack,” you frowned, realizing it was Christmas Eve.

Aaron hummed in response, nodding his head. “Certainly,” He replied, letting out a small sigh. “But he’s staying at Jessica’s and she’ll ensure he has a wonderful holiday. I’ll video-call him tomorrow morning while he’s opening gifts and celebrate with him the next day.” Aaron then moved his hands to your hips, pulling away slightly so he could turn you towards him. “In the meantime, I think we have a day to ourselves, my dear.”

You let out a small chuckle as you looked up at Aaron, nodding your head. “I think we do.” You whispered.

Aaron gave you a soft smile, leaning in to press his lips against yours. “And I think I know something we can do to pass the time,” He exclaimed, still holding your hips.

“Yeah?” You asked, tilting your head with a knowing smile on your lips. “Like what?”

Rather than responding, Aaron simply met his lips with yours once more. This time, rather than a small kiss, it was soft but intimate, showing Aaron's need. You kissed him back softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands moved from your hips to underneath your sweater, touching the skin with his cold hands. You let out a small shiver while also welcoming the touch nonetheless.

Aaron broke the kiss to take your sweater off, revealing the fact that you were not wearing a bra underneath. He let out a hum of approval, his hands moving to cup your breasts before kissing you once more. He massaged the flesh, using his thumbs to rub your nipples. You let out a low moan into the kiss, feeling yourself getting wetter at the feeling of Aaron’s hands on your chest. You were glad that Aaron decided to keep it casual today and wear a sweater as well rather than his usual suit. He looked amazing in a suit but undoing the buttons was quite the hassle. You took his sweater off, revealing his beautiful abs and torso.

“You’re so handsome,” You said softly, running your hands down his chest.

Aaron gave you a gentle smile with a look of adoration in his eyes. “Thank you, my dear,” He murmured, his hands moving to your hips once more. “You’re the most beautiful person in the world,” He complimented you. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Your cheeks reddened from Aaron’s compliment, feeling yourself getting hot and bothered by his voice alone. “I think you need to fuck me now,” You said, smiling at your boyfriend.

“It would be my pleasure to do so, sweetheart,” Aaron replied, unzipping your jeans and sliding them down along with your underwear. You kicked off both of them, tossing them to the side. Aaron gently pushed you to the mattress, making you sit at the edge. “I’m going to taste you first though,” he exclaimed, going down onto his knees.

You opened your legs for him, your cunt glistening, as you laid back onto the mattress. Aaron didn’t hesitate to dive in, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. You let out a small whine of pleasure, a hand moving down to Aaron’s hair and entangling your fingers into it. “You always taste so heavenly,” Aaron murmured against your pussy before swirling his tongue around your clit. He wrapped his lips around the nub, sucking gently.

“Fuck,” you moaned, eyes closing as you threw your head back in pleasure.

Whenever Aaron ate you out, it was always amazing. The way he knew exactly how to please you never failed to bring you to the finish line quickly. He was either delicate with it, just like he is right now. Or he was messy, burying his nose in your pussy and practically inhaling it like it was his last meal. And god, that man was absolutely made for eating pussy. It didn’t take long until you were gripping the sheets with your thighs clenching around his face, your juices spilling onto his face.

And when you finished, Aaron stood back up, unzipping his slacks as he pulled them down along with his boxers, revealing his cock. He gave it a lazy tug before gripping your legs and pulling you closer to the edge of the mattress. Aaron took a moment to just look at you, taking in your beauty. You both looked at one another, appreciating each other silently. That was until you decided to break said silence. “Please,” you pleaded, looking at Aaron with lustful eyes.

“Please what, baby?” He asked, tilting his head. He knew exactly what you wanted, what you craved. But he wanted to hear you say it.

“Please fuck me, Aaron,” you practically begged. “Need your cock inside me.”

And honestly, who was he to deny your request? You were always so good to him. And you look absolutely ravishing. Plus, it’s Christmas.

Aaron didn’t respond as he just simply guided his cock to your cunt, gathering your juices before lining himself at your entrance. “Anything for you, darling,” he said before slowly easing himself into you, letting out a hiss of pleasure as he did so.

You gasped at the feeling, gripping the sheets below you. His cock, regardless of how prepared you may be, always stretched you out. He was thick and proud. When Aaron bottomed out, he stayed still, allowing you time to get used to his cock. He leaned down, one hand on your waist while the other rested on the mattress, holding him up. The two of you just looked at one another, his brown eyes looking into yours. Nothing else in the world mattered except this moment with him.

“You can move,” you said, voice soft as you reached up to caress Aaron’s cheek.

Aaron moved his head, pressing a kiss onto the palm of your hand before gently and slowly moving his hips. The two of you let out soft moans. “I love you,” Aaron breathed out, thrusting his cock in and out of you.

You moaned, a hand moving to his back. “And I love you,” you replied gently, looking up at him.

Sex with Aaron was always wonderful. You adored every time you guys did it because no matter the mood he was in, he would always prioritize your pleasure. Due to the stress of your jobs, more often than not, sex was always desperate, needy, filled with tension that had been built throughout the day. But secretly, you absolutely loved moments when it was soft. The way Aaron looked at you with all love and adoration mixed with lust, the way he’d take his time with you, ensuring that you know that you are appreciated. You loved the eye contact, soft kisses, the way that it didn’t matter if you guys finished because all that mattered was the closeness. You adored it all.

Aaron’s movements sped up a bit, getting into a nice rhythm as his cock brushed against your g-spot. You let out a whine of pleasure, your eyes fluttering shut as you threw your head back. However, Aaron didn’t seem to like that as the hand that was on your hip moved to your chin, making you look at him. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he breathed out. “Don’t look away.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered out, wrapping your legs around Aaron. “Feels so good.”

“I know, baby,” he whispered back, leaning down to press a kiss onto your forehead. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

Your only response was a moan, trying your best to maintain eye contact with Aaron but it was hard when his cock was hitting that one spot inside of you repeatedly. The heat was building in your abdomen, begging to be released. “I’m close,” you said, letting out a breathy whimper.

Aaron leaned his forehead on yours, his breath hot on your face. “Me too, baby, me too,” he replied, maintaining his thrusts.

It didn’t take long for either of you to cum. The way you arched your back, body shaking as you came around Aaron’s cock. And the way he let out a loud moan as he released his seed inside of you, thrusting his hips until he was completely finished.

And when you both were done, he pulled out but stayed on top of you, intertwining your fingers next to your head. “Merry Christmas, my love,” he murmured, gently kissing your lips.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back.

And for the rest of the day, that was exactly what you guys spent it doing. Having gentle sex and whispering sweet things to one another. Because if you’re unable to go home, you might as well make the most out of being stuck in a hotel room during a winter storm.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminals minds x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds reactions #criminal minds aaron hotchner

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mattsstarlet · 20 hours ago

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pornstar!matt makes camgirl!reader film.

contains: smut (p in v), unprotected sex (creampie), sex tape, bigdick!matt, pet names, suggestive language.

note: i think this one might be my favorite so far. rereading it i think it may be a bit fast pace, sorry.

matt handed you his grey digital camera, all set up for you—just needing to hit ‘record.’ he had always been the one behind the camera or propping it up. needless to say, he had been thinking about what it would look like from your point of view, how good your sweet noises would sound up close.

“let's do something different tonight..." “yeah? you’re down?” “...’kay hold this f’me.”

a red dot flashed as you hit the button, a soft whimper leaving your lips as matt began to rub his hard length up and down your already dripping mess. gasping as he pushed in slowly, your brows knitting together as you felt the slight pain of him stretching you out. you can never get accustomed to his size, no matter the times you've done this.

“biiig….y’so big.” you whined out, clutching onto the device as he began moving his hips in and out of you. matt smirked, your gummy walls sucking him in like a vacuum. “you zooming in, baby? look how good your sweet cunt is swallowing my dick.”

your walls flutter around him; any slight dirty talk gets you going, and he knows that—he takes too much pride in it. your brain fogs up when he lays a hand flat on your tummy, feeling the bulge of his cock. “you feel that, sweet girl?”

sweet moans slip out of your lips, too full to think properly, surprised you can still manage to keep the camera up and steady, though this was also part of your job. his hips pushed in rougher, making you gasp once again.

“mm-hm…oh…can feel you…so, so deep,” you babbled incoherently, drooling making its way out of your mouth. watching him fuck you through the tiny screen forms a bubble in your belly, awaiting to be popped. you can definitely see this tape going up on his ‘exclusive members only’ list.

“can feel you gripping me, sweetheart,” he calls out, hand lowering until his thumb comes in contact with your sensitive clit. a smirk making its way onto his lips as you jumped up from the sudden contact. “gonna let me fill you up?”

you nodded eagerly, “uh-huh…please, please baby… gotta cum.” you begged, eyes brimming with tears. “i’ll let you fill me up, please.”

“f–fuck,” he panted, his own high coming after him. his thrusts become sloppy, feeling your cunt close around his cock. “show ‘em how good… good i make you cum—c’mon.”

you managed to zoom in, showing off the way he's deliciously fucking you. your soft whines getting louder and louder until a loud moan rips through you. thighs trembling as a wave of pleasure sweeps through you.

the way your walls spasmed around his cock, his own pleasure exploded, painting your insides with white strokes of his cum. he groaned, filling you up with his load until he was empty.

he reached over, taking the digital device from your weak hands and zooming into your puffy folds. pulling out, he captures the way he starts leaking out of you—his finger coming to view by pushing his cum back in.

you whine, feeling overly sensitive. matt chuckled breathlessly, his chest rising at a rapid speed. “sensitive? we just started, baby… still got your stream to do."

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nex-ture · 2 days ago

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5 star Hsr characters' reactions to you getting them a gift for Christmas!

I have 30+ reqs I should be doing instead of this, but I really love hsr and hi3 right now, so we have to cope.

Do yall want a 4 star version?

Fugue is still learning to live her life as a "new person," so when you hand her a box, she is taken aback. She wasn't able to get you anything. Are you sure it's okay if she has this? As she opens it, you can see a small light spark, taking the new and beautiful clothing out slowly and holding them to her body, as a small smile sneaks across her face.

"Thank you Y/N, I'm sure you thought about this greatly."

Christmas is not new to Sunday. It felt more like a penacony tradition than a holiday to him. So when you returned his present with one of your own, he seemed surprised but beyond happy. Opening the gift to see a Robin album that was compatible with the music player of the express, he swears he almost cried.

"I can use this in the train car, right? I'm delighted."

On Acherons home planet, Christmas was not a very popular holiday, but that doesn't mean they didn't gift each other still. Acherons hands slowly open the box you've handed her. A new sword cover for her blade, it's decked in red and white, standing out from her purple and black outfits.

"You put a lot of effort into this, I appreciate that, Y/N."

Argenti has always valued beauty above all else, beauty in looks and personality combined. His gift was nothing less than beautiful, but yours was nothing less of gorgeous. Hair clips, earings, and new sets of jewels, he could've sworn your reflection, made them even more beautiful, however. You must be a dependent of idrila herself.

"These radiate a dazzling glow of beauty, though they could not compare to you or idrila."

Living in his own version of Hell, Aventurine was not used to many christmas customs. Sure, he and his sister celebrated together, but presents were never involved. So he showed genuine shock when you handed him a gift, he had the money now, he could simply get it himself. Yet he was surprised to see the gift was a small drawing of his sister in it.

"Is this...hah, of course, thank you, Y/N."

As the new higher elder among the Vidyadhara, Bailu was jam-packed busy. But she always had time to talk to her favorite sibling! She considered all her friends and family as siblings, and you were no different. She enjoyed every present she was allowed to open on Christmas, but yours was her favorite. Ripping open the paper to see jewelry for her horns and tail. She just might be the prettiest high elder to date.

"WAOHH, NO WAY, Y/N HELP ME PUT IT ON, AND WE CAN SHOW EX HIGH ELDER DAN HENG!"

Black Swan was accustomed to all holidays and walks of life, Christmas happened to be one of her favorites, cause you always went out of your way to get her something sweet. Her hands gratefully took the gift you've given her, a new set of tarot cards? You shouldn't have. She'll have to add them to her collection.

"You must be the sweetest thing to grace me with such a gift, I'll be sure to use them on you later."

Blade is not one for celebration, but if it interests the rest of Stellaron Hunters, he can play along. Opening the last gift to himself as everyone watches. It was a small trinket from the Luofu, a place he is banned from stepping foot on again. Though it may bring back agonizing feelings, it gives him hope that one day, all sins will be purged, and those who deserve it will understand freedom.

"I don't understand your thoughts process, but your gifts are appreciated."

A refugee on the run, like Boothill, spending Christmas with someone else? Likely story. But still, he's glad he gets to spend this day with what little family he has left. Opening the gift to see a new, classic revolver. He's over the moon excited and already showing it off in battle.

"FUDGE YEAH, WE GOTTA GO FOR TEST DRIVE NOW, GORGEOUS."

The new Supreme Guardian, Bronya, seems to be holding a big celebration for the Christmas season, and you're right by her side. Opening her gift to see a collection of items left behind my her deceased mother, Cocolia. Tears fall from her eyes as she thanks you profusely.

"I wish she was still here, even after everything. Thank you for your thought."

Svarog and Clara awaited your appearance for Christmas time. When you come with multiple gifts in your hand, Clara is beyond excited. Opening up her new toys and clothes as she shows each off to Svarog. Thanking you and Santa Claus for such thoughtful gifts.

"Mr Svarog, Santa got me light up shoes! I've seen kids in the overworld wearing things like this!"

"Yes, Saint Nick must have marked you as nice this year."

Dan Heng has always been very to himself for the most part. He isn't one to openly talk about his feelings or the things he likes, but when you gave him a portable data bank, he might just have seen stars. He loved being able to learn more about the world and the things around him, and now he doesn't have to go back to the express just to study the things he likes? Maybe this'll give him a reason to sleep in his actual room for once!

"Thank you, Y/N, I'll be sure to put this to very good use."

With most days spent traveling and figuring out new things in the world, Dr. Ratio is not one for celebration, but he won't reject your wantings to celebrate. When you handed him new electric stationary, he was satisfied. It was something he'd felt the need to replace for a while but never got around to it. It turns out you listen well.

"My sincere appreciation, you'll have to help me later."

Rushing out of her house to meet up with you before a big celebration held on the LuoFu ship. Seeing you as her fave lights up, but what's this in your hand? Alcohol!? You know her so well! You'll definitely be drinking with her tonight. Feixiao cannot wait a second more.

"Is this for me!? Let's invite the other generals over and party!"

Another Stellaron Hunter down for a celebration. Firefly is beyond excited to celebrate the holiday with you. And in the corner of your eye you can see her giggling as Kafka puts the new hair bow you bought her, in her hair. Just cause she's a fighter doesn't mean she can't also look pretty doing it.

"AHH, does it look good? I have to wear it on our next mission"

Fu Xuans' work was busy, but she always foresaw time with you, but she didn't see this gift coming. As she opened it, she saw nothing but letters singing her praises. She giggled and smiled as she read all the sweet words you wrote, saying nothing but kind things about her.

"Do you really mean this? Thank you Y/N, I'll have to step up next year."

Hard working was one word anyone would use to describe Gepard. But that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve a break sometimes. Waiting for him at his family house to celebrate with his sisters seems to be the best gift he got this year, but you gifting him his very own helmet, one that stood out from the rest of the guards? He was over the moon excited.

"For me? Are you serious? This is incredible!"

Himeko, navigator of the express, she was stoked to celebrate christmas with the express, her family. So when her gift to you was nothing less of an engagement ring. Tears fell from her eyes. Her biggest dream was to get married, and she was now going to be living out that dream with the only person she wanted to love? This might be the best day of her life.

"What...yes, I will marry you 100 times over and in every universe.."

HuoHuo was used to spending Halloween with tail and the other judges, but when you offered to join, she was over the moon! She opened her gift to see treats for Tail and a sweet treat for her. She felt so bad that you went out of your way to get her something she liked so much, and even something for tail! If you ask Tail, she definitely cried.

"WAHH, THANK YOU SO MUCH Y/N, ME AND TAIL ARE SO GREATFUL."

Christmas was Jades favorite holiday. It was a day of money maming to her and giving gifts to people she needed to show care for. Your gift to her came to a surprise. You went out of your way to buy her something? How cute. It was a new pen collection, but it was still adorable to her, even if it did seem small.

"Thank you, sweetheart, but I'm sure you'll like my gift much more."

A top chef/medic like Jiaoqiu? He might just be the easiest to shop for. All he's wanted were new kitchen gadgets, and that's what you have provided. Even though this is what he asked for, for Christmas, he's still happy that you went out of your way to listen and buy these things. Jiaoqiu might be the luckiest Foxian on any Xianzhou ship.

"New pots and pans? It appears someone had their listening ears on."

General of the LouFu, Jing Yuan, is very excited about the Christmas festival. The ship is hosting, but he is much more excited to celebrate with you. So when you gift him a painting of his long lost and nearly forgotten friends, he knows tears will fall soon. The image of Dan Feng, Yingxing, Baiheng, Jingliu, and Jing Yuan standing tall in their youth brings him sadness and bliss.

"You must tell me where you got this done and how. This is wonderful."

Jingliu, currently banned for the LuoFu for past crimes, she does not have many people to celebrate this day with, but you're more than enough. When you gift her your time and you grace, that seems like more than enough for her. A day to stop moving around the cosmos on the hunt for the Aeon of abundance. Give her the time she needs, for this is one of her only days off in the year.

"I find gifts utterly pointless when I'd much rather spend the day with you."

The Stellaron Hunters celebration continues as Kafka opens up her gift. She's delighted to see new clothes and accessories you and the other hunters chipped in to buy for her. It feels as if she's throwing a whole fashion show the minute she gets her hands on them. She swears Christmas is her favorite holiday because she gets to spend it with you, but you swear it's cause she knows she'll get new clothes.

"This dress is gorgeous, I'm sure you all want to see me in it now, right?"

The cauldron master makes her appearance for this Xianzhou celebration. Hand in hand with you, as you hand Lingsha a gift during the festivities, she's delighted to see a plush bunny keychain. You must be paying close attention to her whenever she works her abundance magic.

"Is this what you got me? You're such a sweetheart."

Luocha, a traveling merchant from worlds far out, traveling around the world makes it very difficult to buy gifts, no? But for him, it must be worth it. As you gifts...pieces of Tayzzyronths, the Aeon of propogations body. He is ecstatic to see he has new parts to add to his collection within the coffin. Jingliu might be over the moon to hear about this, too. This will ensure their victory against the Aeon of Abundance.

"Is this what I think it is? How long have you been hiding such a vital piece from me? Never mind that, this must call for celebrating. Be a dear and call Jingliu for me. We have much to discuss."

Rappa views Christmas as a battle. A battle to who can gift the best gift. Her idea of a gift was to write you a song, and yours? Gifting her new DJ gear. This works out perfectly, maybe now she can play your special song on an even better set up! Wait...don't tell me that means you've won!?

"Hell yeah, Dazzling Ninja, aka Rappa, thanks you for your gift. But know this is not the end!"

Robin always seems to be busy, but she's never too busy for you on Christmas! This is one of her only days off. Please say you'll join her in the dream to celebrate! She ecstatic when she see's your gift to her is a song you wrote yourself. She thinks music is one of the most beautiful things, and the peep hole into a persons heart. You must love her more than she knows.

"You wrote this for me!? Y/N I might cry, this is wonderful!"

Ruan Mei is usually stuck in her lab working on the revival of Aeons, maybe even making herself on Aeon. Though it's always a delight when you visit her, dropping off food and goodies this holiday season. Her smile grows as you stay behind to talk to her and watch her work her Ruan Mei magic. She was never one for big celebrations, but she always loves hanging out with you.

"Thank you for your time this evening. You're always free to come back."

Taking care of the undercity is not an easy job, but Seele manages to get it done with the help of you and Bronya. Hopefully, one day, all their hard work will finally mean something. Until then, a festival held in both the under and over city is so surprise. Seeles praying you'll ask her to go, and when you do, gifting her gold, she thinks she might cry. One day, all this work will amount to everything.

"For me? No, you should keep it for yourself, time's are tough....Thank you, Y/N"

The final Stellaron Hunter on this list and the biggest party thrower, Silver Wolf! It's no surprise her gift is game related, but she still can't help but be excited about all the new things she'd going to play. Bragging to Blade and showing off her toys, even if he doesn't seem to care all that much. She knows his nods and your smile are enough validation.

"NO WAY, I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR THIS, JUST HOW WERE YOU ABLE TO GET YOUR HANDS ON IT."

The masked fool Sparkle is not the easiest to shop for...let that be known. It's hard to figure her out, but the one thing you do know is that she loves dolls, bombs, and mischief. Your gift ended up being a plush goldfish that was yellow and red, matching her in a way. She was ecstatic, it reminded her of Vita and her other masked fool accomplices.

"Is this for me? You shouldn't have, Vita and Sampo will be so jealous, heheh."

Topaz and Numby were just as hard to shop for. The only difference seemed to be that Topaz would be grateful for anything you got her. So, getting her a giant plush that looks just like Numby? She was beyond excited. She immediately had to show Numby and send pictures to her work collèges Aventurine and Jade. This day made her feel like she was on cloud 9.

"You got me this!? Is that Numby! Oh my Aeons. THIS IS AMAZING."

Welt is no stranger to the holidays, he used to celebrate every year with his son. Yet he must move on and celebrate with his nee family. You included. He enjoyed all his gifts, but yours was his favorite. Looking around in excitement as he opened the box to see illustrations of his "TV shows". Drawings of how you and the other nameless viewed his own history. It almost brought him to tears.

"This is lovely, can you help me figure out who is who, I'm a little lost on a few."

As a Cloud knight, Yanqing felt a sense of responsibility with this up coming Christmas festival. But that didn't make him want to soend it with you any less. So when he sees that you got him brang knew throwing swords, he cried. Tears streaming down as he hugged you, singing your praises for such a thoughtful gift.

"T-THANK YOU SO MUCH Y/NNNN, YOU'RE SO AMAZING."

Yunli was used to receiving gifts of all kinds, yet she always had to buy herself her favorite thing. Giant swords. So when she saw you carry in a box, almost as tall as you, her face lit up. When you gave her to ok to open it, she almost fell to her knees. It was the most beautiful and biggest sword she'd ever laid her eyes on. And it was all hers! There's no way she could find enough words to thank you for this one.

"THIS IS MINE? I'M GONNA TRAIN TEN TIMES HARDER WITH THIS."

#sunday x reader #aventurine x reader #blade x reader #boothill x reader #dan heng x reader #dr ratio x reader #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #anime x reader #x male reader #dan heng x male reader #sunday x male reader #hsr imagines #christmas #hsr x male reader #honkai star rail x reader

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