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letoasai · 1 year ago

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Vlad- Alternate Obsession

Simply if Vlad hadn't been so obsessed with Maddie. How priorities might have shifted.

Daniel was dead. Great god almighty… He was dead. Half dead. Whatever. That didn’t matter. The little details were just there to make a horrible situation more tolerable. For one brief moment, Vlad hoped he was wrong. Hoped that this was merely exposure to ectoplasm or a sign that Daniel would become liminal faster than previously predicted, but no. He was sure. Daniel was dead.

He watched as Daniel’s ghost sense was triggered, the teen coughing a second later. He looked around warily, holding himself rigidly. He was alert, but inexperienced enough to not realize Vlad was right in front of him.

“Daniel, my boy!” Vlad greeted, finally untangling himself from Jack and Maddie’s latest tirade on being validated in their research. “How is school?”

It wasn’t uncommon.

He was Daniel’s godfather after all, and had done what he could to be present for both Daniel and Jasmine since they were born. The children were exempt from his contempt and his affection for them was genuine but he’d never feared for them until this moment.

Vlad tried to block out as many memories from his college years as he could. After his accident and subsequent half death, he had raged for a while. He’d been in despair, learning to mourn himself while handling abilities foreign to him. He had to learn things from scratch opposed to normal ghosts who knew things instinctively.

He’d only briefly lost track of Jack and Maddie after his hospital stay but the urge to look them up again had gnawed at him. He had notebook after notebook filled to the brim with his own research on ghosts and ectoplasm but he would have been remiss to shun their research just because he couldn’t stand the sight of them. It was Jack’s blunder that had changed him after all.

The pair had gotten married, and had a baby girl, but Vlad found himself more interested in their labs than their domestic life. The fondness he’d felt for his best friend, and the passion he’d once directed at Maddie had died with him.

Jasmine had been a bright spot, and a wonderful distraction in those early visits. A small child also kept the Fentons busy enough that he could slip into their labs undetected. Copying their work and altering their inventions to ignore his own ecto-signature was essential. As far as he could tell, they’d never suspected a thing.

Daniel coming along had been a blessing, even if it had confused Vlad at the time. Jack and Maddie loved their children but they were always complaining about not having enough time for their research. It had always been to Vlad’s benefit but adding a second child into the mix would only draw out their parental duties.

However it baffled it, it benefited him. He only had to offer his jovial congratulations and time went on.

Vlad…was aware that he was not who he once was. He’d either lost something when he half died, or gained something. He wasn’t sure. He was no longer naive. He’d done things in the last twenty or so years. Not all of them he was incredibly proud of. He had amassed a fortune, but it had seemed the natural progression of things at the time. He’d been young, desperate and dead. He’d need money to further his research so money needed to be acquired.

He’d had medical bills…. Then he had ambitions.

He might have been something of a thief, a criminal, but he’d never hurt anyone…to his knowledge…

It was easier on his conscience when it was only stealing from Jack and Maddie. That felt like recompense for what Jack had done to him. He’d had a working portal a full four years before the Fentons.

He’d never said a word about it and delighted in the secret of it. His wealth of knowledge was greater than theirs. When the pair had recently called him, gushing about their achievement, he’d been skeptical, but he’d seen Amity Park’s newspaper articles on the ghost of a lunch lady at Casper High, and the poor picture quality of a white haired menace that chilled him.

“Hey Uncle Vlad.” Daniel greeted him with a smile, but his eyes were wary and stressed. Dark circles were beginning to form. “School’s, uh, good? Same old bullies. I gotta read Pride and Prejudice. Aced my last math test though.”

Vlad hummed and nodded. “That about sums up my memories of high school as well.” It pulled a smile from Daniel.

“And a ghost sighting! To think we’d find one so close to home! We’re pulling out all our weapons out of their testing stages!” Jack’s voice boomed, overly excited at their find and completely missing the way his son shrank back.

“A stake out might be in order.” Maddie said, a smile in her voice. Her excitement was more contained but was very real. “Who knows, we might be there to capture the next one.”

Vlad made a show of rolling his eyes and focused on Daniel. “What is freshman math anyway these days?”

“I’m taking geometry.” Daniel said, latching onto the topic. “I got the hang of it pretty quickly. So far at least.”

“You always did have a head for numbers.” Vlad said conversationally.

“Vladdy! Come take a look at the newest prototype!” Jack was beaming, far too excited over the notion of ending a creature that was already dead. Vlad didn’t care for the sparks of fear that settled in his throat. An ending after the end was final, and terrifying.

“Jack.” Vlad laughed good-naturedly. “Surely there’s time for that later. I did just arrive. I’d love to speak with Daniel for a while. High school will pass by before you know it.”

Maddie just sighed, perhaps nostalgic. “It sure does. It won’t be long before Jazz is graduating.”

“And entering into the ghost hunting business!” Jack declared.

“Oh, Jack.” Maddie just laughed.

“Where is Jasmine?” Vlad asked, his need to check on her…sudden.

Maddie looked thoroughly. “Oh, hm.. She’s…”

“Tonight’s the night she tutors.” Daniel said, sounding exhausted. “She’ll probably eat dinner before coming home.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Maddie smiled, but she was already distracted with the toaster she was dismantling.

Vlad hummed, oddly relieved. As the children had gotten older, their well being came into question more and more. “Well… Jack, you and Maddie seem to have your hands full this evening. Why don’t i take Daniel to dinner? I’d love to hear about his freshman year anyway.”

“Can we get Nasty Burger?” Daniel perked up.

Vlad snorted. “Not my first pick, or my second, but why not?” He’d eaten more burgers than he could count in college.

“Really!? Yes!” Daniel grinned, “I’ll grab my hoodie, be right back!”

“Danny sure loves your visits.” Jack laughed loudly.

Maddie just hummed, still focused on what she was doing. “Don’t spoil him.” She said vaguely.

“You won’t have to worry about a thing.” Vlad said, already turning back to the door. "I'll take care of him." By the time he got there, Daniel was behind him, practically pushing him out the door.

“Let’s go, let’s go.”

Vlad felt himself relax once he had Daniel in his car. He would definitely need to sneak back into the Fenton’s lab and grab whatever new information was available. He would also need to add in Daniel’s ecto-signature to their equipment before something automatically shot at him.

He needed to address this. He couldn’t let the Fenton’s mistake harm anyone else. He’d shut their research down if he had to. He'd shut his own down if he had to.

He cringed at the thought.

“Daniel, wait.” Vlad said after he’d parked in the most secluded spot the parking lot to Nasty Burger provided. “Before we eat, i would like to talk to you?”

“Yeah? Sure.” Daniel said. His tone was light and playful. Normal. The color however, drained from his face. “Do i even gotta bother to tell you to call me Danny again?”

Vlad smiled faintly. “I quite like the name Daniel, you know? That’s not however, what i wanted to talk about. Let me be clear, this conversation does not leave this car. Not by you. Not by me.”

“Oh, uh. Yeah? Yeah, of course.” Daniel said, turning sideways in his seat to face him. “What…are we talking about?”

“Ghosts.”

Daniel sighed. “C’mon Uncle Vlad. Don’t i get that enough from mom and dad?”

Vlad shook his head and reached out to grab Daniel’s shoulder. “No, listen to me. It’s safe to talk to me, and i will not ask about… whatever accident you must have had-” Horror was all over Daniel’s face. Enough time hadn't passed for him to mask his reaction to his death. “But i understand, Daniel.”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Daniel muttered and winced when it didn’t sound the least bit convincing. For just a split second, he turned invisible. He probably hadn’t even realized he’d done it. Most would assume their eyes were playing tricks on them.

Vlad leaned forward and opened the glove compartment, pulling out the article of the ghost attack on Casper High. “You’re not in trouble. Not with me.”

Daniel only glanced at it before looking away again. He’d seen it already no doubt. “It’s not what you think.”

“I’m very sure it is.” Vlad said softly. “I know all too well what ectoplasm and trauma can do. I can sense death around you.” He paused before pushing forward. “In time, i’m certain you’ll be able to sense it on me too.”

Daniel’s lips tightened, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what he heard and was proceeding with caution. “What do you mean?”

“We’ll get some dinner to go and we’ll head back to my house here in Amity.” Vlad said. “And i’ll show you my own ghost form.”

“Yours…” Daniel sounded winded. “When did you…?”

“Long before you were born.”

“My parents…?”

Vlad just tsked. “They were dear to me once, Daniel, but they are fools. No, they don’t know about me, and i will not tell them about you.”

“Don’t.” Daniel said, somewhere between agreeing and begging Vlad to mean what he said. The tremor in his voice told Vlad all he needed to know. He was well aware of how his parents would react. He was afraid.

“It will stay between us.” Vlad said calmly. “I won’t ask. It’s breaking all kinds of ghost etiquette to be so nosy but if you ever want to talk to me about what happened, you can. I can also help you adjust.”

“Can you?” Daniel asked immediately, the closest he’d come to admitting Vlad was right.

“I’ve never had to teach anyone to use ghost powers before, but yes, I think i can offer you some insight.” Vlad said. “Falling through floors?”

“Yes.” Daniel said with feeling. “I keep dropping things. My clothes…”

Vlad nodded along, all of it sounding familiar. “I know all about it. You just need to get used to it. Gain control over what you can do.”

Daniel swallowed, looking like he’d have a meltdown any second. “You promise?”

“I do.”

He inhaled slowly. “I…died.”

“Yes,” Vlad said softly. “I’m so sorry…”

“You’re…” He watched Daniel’s expression crumble. He didn’t have to ask why. How did you mourn your death when you were still half alive? It had taken Vlad years… “Sorry.”

“So sorry, my boy.” Vlad said, sounding choked up. “It never should have happened. Not to someone else. Not to you.”

Daniel bowed his head only seconds before he started to sob. It didn’t matter why. Was it stress? Was he starting the process of mourning? Was it the knowledge that he’d lost a piece of his family? It didn’t actually matter…

Vlad leaned closer as far as he comfortably could in the car and pulled Daniel to cry against his shoulder. It was all the comfort he could really offer. He couldn’t make it better, he could only put a band-aid on it. He couldn’t change the Fenton’s minds. Not for Daniel and not for himself. They were always going to be in danger, but he could listen. He could be everything for Daniel he didn’t have. He could let the boy cry. He was only fourteen.

God, at least Vlad had been in college. Daniel was a child…

“Does your sister have any idea?”

Daniel shook his head, hiccuping in an effort to catch his breath but he just cried still.

“At least she’s still safe. You and i will work up a few safety protocols and… i’ll stay in Amity Park.” The castle in Wisconsin had really been the height of his arrogance.

There was so much to teach the boy. Not just how to use his powers but ghost manners and taboos. He’d learned a lot himself in the last few years of having his portal up and running. Access to the Ghost Zone had made things a great deal easier on him.

Daniel wrapped his arms around him, clinging in a way he hadn’t since he was a much younger child. He hadn’t had any time at all to come to terms with his own death, but this was a start.

If Vlad needed to cook up a few excuses for getting him away from his parents, well… he’d been bored anyway.

Master List

~ It'll hit differently when Skulker shows up to hunt the halfa welp and is instead met with a fully grown, pissed off halfa in mama bear mode.

#Danny Phantom #Vlad is chill #alternate obsession #The Fentons A+ parenting #Child neglect

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heavensenteden · 3 months ago

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✎ unraveled by you | nsfw fic 🔞

☆彡

hi guys hehehe, I'm stuck with the visual novel brain rot so I wrote about casper cause beyond the bet was delicious and I craved more of him ;P

anyways, this is cross-posted from my ao3 account and dedicated to my wife who watched me write this in my psych class (your future therapist writes fanfic I know)

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62269831

word count: 3304

pls minors dni and dnr ⭐️

cw: crying, overstimulation, strap ons, sub!casper

👻˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

Sprawled across the bed, Casper clung to the sheets as if they were the only thing grounding him in this moment. His voice, hoarse and uneven, spilled out in helpless murmurs, each word trembling with longing. His half-lidded eyes flickered weakly, his mouth open as if he wanted to speak, but no words left his mouth.

He reached out, fingers curling into the empty space around him, searching for something—someone—but finding only the plush comforter on your bed. He couldn’t do anything while he was under you, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

The reaper’s skin was completely flushed, soft pink and red contrasting dramatically against his normally pale– almost white skin. He was exposed to the gentle caress of the air conditioning within the bedroom the two of them were currently in.

Your wandering hands glided smoothly over Casper’s soft, unblemished inner thighs, the sweat with the remnants of his previous releases, clinging to your fingertips. Every deliberate touch left him trembling, helpless beneath your teasing, his body betraying him with shivers of overstimulation. He’d unraveled beneath you completely, spent from four rounds of you teasing and making him cum, yet the aching emptiness in his untouched hole left him yearning for more than your hands or mouth.

"E-Enough..." Casper's voice wavered, hushed and hoarse, each syllable trembling with desperation.

As much as he adored you, your touch like fire across his skin, the way your presence consumed him wholly, he couldn’t handle another round of your relentless teasing. Not now. All he craved in that moment was to be pinned against the mess of your crumpled sheets and to be fucked, hard and fast, no space left for a single thought or breath. Your lips lazily pulled into a seemingly innocent smile.

"You've tired out, and I still haven't come once my little reaper…" you purred, flashing your underwear to him from beneath your small skirt, your fingers dipping down beneath the thin, soaked fabric as you shoved it to the side, pumping your fingers in and out slowly, ensuring Casper was watching every single movement.

A soft moan escaped as you shamelessly pleasured yourself right on top of him, teasing him once more without a care, and after a moment, you withdrew the same hand– glistening with your own arousal, and held it up to Casper’s mouth, gently pressing them against his soft, supple lips.

“Open please.” and he did. The sweet boy took your fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them, savouring the sweet taste from your pussy as if it was the world’s best treat, looking up at you with those pretty needy red eyes as he released your fingers, a trail of saliva left behind.

Casper’s lust-filled eyes followed your every move, dark and hazy with desire as your hands traced along his trembling thighs. The salty-sweet liquid trickling from his tip glistened in paths down to meet the thin sheen of sweat clinging to his flushed skin. With a teasing smirk, you let your pointer finger glide through the sticky trail, drawing soft patterns that left his thighs quivering under your touch.

Just when your hand was about to reach Casper’s leaking cock, said male's legs jolted slightly, squeezing his legs shut to somehow stop your hand from touching him anymore.

"N-No, no.. No more.." He whimpered, his sweat-matted hands clenching tightly onto the sheets as he shuddered. You tilted your head calmly, removing your hand out from in between his thighs. You lifted your fingers to your own mouth, licking the cum right off the tips. Casper’s head hung in shame; his embarrassment was obvious, even when you could not see his reddened cheeks.

You cupped the reaper’s chin, tilting his head up toward you, leaving no room for protest as your gaze locked onto his. “Are you really sure you want me to leave you like this? Sensitive, needy, and so, so bothered?” you cooed sweetly, the words dripping with mock innocence. Soft kisses followed, starting at his temple and trailing down, your nose brushing against his heated skin with deliberate tenderness until you were nuzzled into the crook of his neck, lingering, waiting for his answer.

Casper let out a shaky sigh, his back arching instinctively into your touch. His body betrayed him, trembling from exertion and burning with unfulfilled desire.

You couldn’t help but savor the sight before you: the reaper’s lip quivering, his thighs trembling, and his hands reaching aimlessly for something to ground himself. Droplets of sweat ran down his temples, his body flinching and twitching at even the slightest touch. He was utterly, beautifully wrecked for you. Perfect.

“P-Please... Sunshine, I…” His voice faltered, the plea dying on his lips as his chin remained firmly in your grasp, holding him exposed and vulnerable.

A sly smile tugged at your lips as you trailed your nose back up, lightly grazing his ear before nipping at the sensitive lobe. The sharp intake of breath you earned was music to your ears. “Please... what, Casper?” you murmured, your voice dropping into a low, sultry rumble that sent shivers down his spine. Each word carried with it the heat of your breath, ghosting over his bare neck.

Casper’s arousal spiked, a desperate whimper escaping his lips as his hips bucked forward, grinding helplessly against your thigh. God, he wanted it so bad, but the thought of having to beg made his chest tighten and his pride rebel. Yet, the way you teased him, the way your words wrapped around his resolve, made him wonder how much longer he could hold out.

Your intimate moments were always a balanced mix of merciless pounding and brat taming or soft, tender love-making. Dominance shifted fluidly between you depending on the mood, but this? This was something entirely different.

The blend of teasing caresses and sweet nothings thrown into the mix left him desperate for you, caught between the soft cruelty of your restraint and the aching need building in his body. His cock and chest, evidence of your torment, leaving him trembling and needy for more.

“Y-You know... Sunshine…” His stammered words hung in the air, his voice cracking with frustration and embarrassment. Lowering his head in shame, he tried to hide his flushed face as you finally let go of his chin. But the moment was short-lived. As soon as his hips shifted, seeking relief, you caught him, your hands firm as you forced him still. Despite the heat pooling in your core at his boldness, you weren’t about to let him get away with it.

Your fingers brushed through his damp, white locks, the strands clinging to his sweat-slick forehead as you cocked a brow, feigning obliviousness. “Oh?” you mused, your tone laced with mock innocence. “Maybe... if you ask nicely, I’ll remember what it is you’re talking about.”

A teasing smile curled your lips as you leaned in, planting a soft, deliberate kiss just behind his ear. The reaper shuddered, clenching instinctively as though imagining the fullness he craved so badly.

He knew exactly what you were doing. He knew what you wanted.

And as much as he hated the thought of giving in, he couldn’t wait any longer. Not with the way his body screamed for release and your every touch ignited him further.

I... I want you to... fuck me... hard." His voice cracked, hips grinding desperately against the sheets, the raw need in his words sending a thrill through you. Your once innocent smile quickly morphed into something far more mischievous.

"How exactly do you want me to do it?" you asked, your voice low and teasing, your hands firmly gripping his hips, holding him in place.

You leaned in, your breath hot against his ear as you spoke, your words wrapped in seduction, coaxing soft throbs and twitches from him. Every teasing second was a slow burn, building anticipation.

"J-Just do it already... fuck—Sunshine!" His whine was desperate, eyes squeezed shut as he wriggled in your grip, hips grinding helplessly, overwhelmed by the mix of pleasure and frustration. His voice faltered on your nickname, caught between longing and the overwhelming need for you.

"Hm, well, since you've been so good for me, my love, I suppose I'll give you what you want." You pulled back just enough to let your breath cool his heated skin, watching him tremble in response. The tension in the air was palpable, and his body was already on edge.

"On your feet. Now." The command was sudden, firm, and a part of him loved that. He struggled to rise, his legs trembling as he shuffled across the bed, knees buckling under him, but he didn't dare touch himself. He knew the consequences, your endless teasing would make him wait longer, and he couldn't bear that.

As you rose from the mattress, you made your way behind him, your hands steady as you pushed him forward with one swift motion, pinning him against the bed, bent over for you. A soft whine escaped his lips, and his cheek pressed into the plush surface of the bed, eyes closed tight, body instinctively reacting to your dominance. You wasted no time shedding your underwear, letting the fabric drop to the floor in one smooth motion.

"Stay. Be good for me, baby. Won’t you?" you purred, your lips brushing gently against his neck before stepping back, grabbing the belt-like contraption. The click of it snapping into place as you tugged on the buckles and straps, nestling against your hips, made him shiver—not from the cool air lazily blowing from your AC unit, but just from the anticipation of what was to come next for him.

Once you were ready, your gaze turned back to him, scanning him for any sign of discomfort. You wanted this to be just as much about him enjoying it as it was for you.

"Do you need any more preparation, baby? Or do you feel ready?" you asked softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his hole, applying gentle pressure that made him tremble with pleasure.

"N-No, I’m ready... please, please, Sunshine..." His plea came out as a desperate groan, his body arching, pressing back against you, seeking more. He could feel the artificial cock pressing against him, making him tremble even harder.

You kissed his neck again, soft and sweet, before turning his face toward you, claiming his lips in a kiss that left him breathless.

"Get ready. I might go a bit more rough than usual," you warned, teasingly pressing just the tip inside, feeling him shiver under your touch. His breath caught, soft groans escaping him as you pulled out again, heightening his frustration.

"Yes, yes..." His voice was barely a whisper, a breathy whimper as you continued to tease him.

Slowly, carefully, you eased into him, the gentle pressure sending waves of heat through him. He gasped, his body still, frozen in the moment, mouth agape in silent ecstasy. You checked in with him, making sure he was ready for what would come next, and when you got the green light, you gave in to the brutal pace, each movement building to an intensity neither of you could hold back.

You let out a low, satisfied snicker as incoherent curses spilled from Casper’s lips. His grunts and groans echoed around the room, weakly tugging at his wrists, trying to escape your hold. But you didn’t relent, your grip on him unyielding, halting any movement.

"Is this... ah– what you wanted, my little reaper?" you breathed, pressing deeper into him, the thick length of you creating that delicious friction against his needy hole.

"Keep your back arched for me... Yes, just like that, good boy." Your eyes glinted with hunger, watching him obey, his ass pushing back against you with each thrust, the rhythm never slowing, never faltering.

Casper couldn’t form coherent words, he could only nod fervently, his moans and whimpers spilling out, each sound a perfect response that stroked your ego. With every thrust, his cheeks slapped against your thighs, the rhythm of it a sensual symphony. Each movement drew out a desperate moan, his body trembling as his drool dripped down his chin. It felt so good, and you knew deep down that no one else could make him feel this way.

"S-Sunshine... fuck, augh... Mmph!" His voice cracked, his desperate sounds only pushing you to thrust harder, deeper, fucking into him mercilessly.

You latched onto the tender spot at the base of his neck, biting down and sucking on the fading bruise from a previous round. You knew exactly where his pleasure points were, and using that knowledge, you broke him with ease.

A strangled cry left Casper’s lips when you hit the spot again, his eyes snapping wide open, the flood of pleasure making coherent thought impossible. He gasped and shuddered as you stroked his sweet spot with the tip of your cock, the sensation pushing him closer to the edge. A long, desperate cry of pleasure tore from him.

With a soft laugh, you shifted positions, pulling Casper off the bed for a moment. No longer was he bent over; now, you had him laid back, surrounded by a fortress of pillows and plushies against the headboard. You leaned in close, teasing him, your hips snapping against his with a brutal rhythm, thrusting deep into his already leaking hole.

"Did I find it?" you whispered, taunting him as you thrust once, twice, three times. Each hard push earned a pleading, broken sound from him, those sweet, desperate noises you loved. You knew you were getting closer, the sounds of his pleasure telling you that you were breaking him down, bit by bit. This was too good.

Tell me how it feels when I do this," you murmured, thrusting deep into his hole, hitting his prostate with a force that made him gasp.

"Ugh... Ahh..! S-Sunshine! Please, keep d-doing that..." His voice trembled, turning his head to the side, covering his face with an arm as his cheeks flushed a deep red.

“Let me see you, my little reaper... be a good boy for me, won’t you?” you cooed softly, coaxing him to move his arm away from his face. You reached out to intertwine your fingers with his, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his hand. For a moment, you slowed, grinding into him with sweet, deliberate movements, drawing soft moans and gasps from his lips.

“Mm… S-Sunshine, please... I’m so c-close...” His breath hitched, his body trembling as you held his hand, your other hand slipping under his thigh to support the new pace you set.

The pounding resumed, deep and steady, aimed directly at his sweet spot. Casper’s legs shook with each thrust, his body a mess of pleasure as he cried out your name, breathless and desperate.

"You’re so needy, my little reaper... you like it when I fuck you, don’t you?" Your voice was soft, almost teasing, as you watched him melt under your touch. His legs trembled more, his body quivering with every deep, satisfying thrust that hit him right where he needed.

"Gonna come... Hah... Hah... Sunshine!" His voice cracked, his body shaking violently, tears slipping from his eyes as they mixed with the sweat on his flushed face. A sob escaped him, raw and broken, and it sent a shiver up your spine. Forget what you'd said earlier—this sound, the sobs mixed with pleading moans, was your favorite. You had broken him completely, his body now a vessel for nothing but pleasure. Your thrusts grew erratic, but you never lost your aim, always hitting his prostate.

"M-Me too..." you whispered, breathless, eyes fluttering closed as you focused on the sound of flesh against flesh, the wet squelches, and the way his body responded to your every move. The pressure in your own body mounted, your hips moving faster as you neared your release.

Casper came first, his body spasming violently from the overwhelming sensation of cumming for the fifth time that night. His back arched up off the bed as a long, desperate whine echoed throughout the room. His cum spilled from his tip, pooling onto his toned stomach. You didn’t stop, though—your pace remained frantic as you fucked him through his final orgasm, watching as his body twitched and shivered from the overstimulation.

“F-Fuck, Cas, I-I’m so close, baby...” you moaned, breathless and frantic, your body tightening as you felt yourself teetering on the edge. Casper’s cries only pushed you further, the overstimulation driving you wild.

Your hips faltered, and you finally came, your body shaking as you rode out your orgasm, your lips parted and slightly red from biting them.

Both of you were breathless, unable to move, lying there in the same positions for a moment, letting the aftershocks of your climax pass. Casper’s body collapsed back against the pillows, and you took a few moments to catch your breath. With shaky hands, you unlatched the strap from your hips, carefully undoing the straps and buckles before placing it at the end of the bed. You slumped down beside him, exhausted, your body still humming with pleasure.

You nuzzled your nose against Casper’s neck again as you had both returned from the bathroom to the freshly made bed. "Sorry, sorry, I must've gone overboard. You've never collapsed like that before." You chuckled softly, your voice warm with concern as you gently massaged his sore body, moving from his legs to his back.

Casper grumbled, shifting slightly to face you as you finally settled beside him. "No... I liked it. My ass hurts, though," he muttered, sounding both sheepish and a little embarrassed as his face grew red.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, even in his frustration. There was something endearing about his pouting expression, and the way he tried to hide it only made him more irresistible. His usual sleepwear now that he lived with you — a black tank top and shorts — clung to his toned body, and for a moment, you just took him in, appreciating the sight of him beside you.

Casper, feeling your gaze on him, buried his face into the pillow, his cheeks flushed in a mix of embarrassment and pride.

"Oh, c'mon," you teased, your voice playful. "You're such a baby, Cas. Can I not appreciate your cute face and body?" You slipped under the covers next to him, pressing your chest gently against his front. Your arm snaked around his waist, pulling his body closer to yours, the warmth between you soothing your souls. With a heavy sigh, he lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a longing softness that made your heart ache.

"Just don't say those things out loud..." he muttered, his voice low and shy.

You smiled brightly, tilting his chin up gently so you could kiss him. The kiss was brief but filled with tenderness, and just as you pulled back, you murmured against his lips, "Whatever you say, my little reaper ."

Casper's eyes fluttered shut, a soft yawn escaping his lips as you nestled into his neck, your favorite spot. You felt his body relax against yours, his breathing steadying as he began to drift into a peaceful daze. You closed your eyes too, content and wrapped up in the warmth of the moment.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice soft and sincere.

Casper, already half asleep, smiled gently. He shifted slightly, his hand reaching out to hold yours. "Love you more..." he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion, but never lacking affection. As you both lay there, tangled in the sheets and each other’s warmth, you drifted off to sleep together, grateful that he had hacked into your laptop all those months ago.

👻˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

#a date with death #adwd #adwd casper #adwd grim #adwd mc #a date with death casper #two and a half studios #casper x mc #casper x reader #grim reaper #grim reaper x reader

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americankimchi · 1 year ago

Note

Do you have any tips for writing Obi Wan or any meta in mind with his characterizarion?

hmmm sure why not! i'll give a few tips on how i'd write obi-wan. mind you this is how i interpret the character, so ymmv.

i truly do not like it when fics have obi-wan voluntarily leaving the order. like it's so out-of-character for me in my head that the premise of the story + the writing would have to work triple-time to get me to stick around. now if he's been removed from it by an EXTERNAL SOURCE (not the order. i cannot stress this enough: the jedi kicking obi-wan out is so jarring to me i'll leave the fic in an instant) or somehow unable to return to the order for whatever reason, all is well.

not a prodigy, but a genius. obi-wan is an incredibly intelligent person with an absolutely staggering knowledge base in a wide variety of topics, but all that knowledge was earned through blood, sweat, tears, and time. he sat down with his game face on and put in the work. that's also why he makes an excellent teacher: he knows what most students will struggle with because he struggled too, and knows through experience how best to overcome them. i headcanon that it contributes to why he's such a good negotiator: he's really good at stripping down information to the essentials and communicating that information effectively and efficiently to others because of his intense study habits.

humble, but not ignorant of his skills. it's pretty impossible to fully divorce yourself from pride in your achievements, and i don't think it's healthy to not feel any pride at all, so i think obi-wan has a very clear understanding of his skillset and how best to use it. i don't think he'd be ignorant of how good he is at something, especially since the direct consequence of his aptitude led him to being a member of the jedi council. pretty hard to be blind to your strengths when you're being asked for your input on topics that directly draw from that knowledge.

averse to healthcare. listen i enjoy obi-wan whump just as much as the next obi-wan stan (the desire to put him in the cosmic salad spinner comes with the territory, i fear) but as a character who grew up in an environment that deeply cares for the well-being of all, and knowing that you cannot help others unless you yourself first have the ability to do so, i can't really see him ignoring injuries outside of combat scenarios. like on the battlefield he's got more pressing concerns than a pesky little shrapnel wound or five, but once the battle's over?? he might not be first in line to the medics but i can't see him avoiding them entirely. an army without a general is working at a sharp disadvantage and i don't think he'd risk his men by neglecting his physical health in that manner. note that i said 'physical'. make of that what you will :)

duty. obi-wan is the definition of a paladin. he takes an oath and by the force he's going to keep it. train the boy? absolutely, qui-gon. whether or not anakin chooses to respect that training is another matter, but he did definitively get knighted! refuse to kill anakin? listen he's handed vader his own ass to him twice post order 66 and each time he did it he did it nonlethally. that takes skill. that takes dedication. exile yourself to tatooine for 19 years and then decide fuck it, we ball, and die after Once Again Deciding Not To Kill Anakin Skywalker? step aside casper, there's a new friendly ghost in town. every time obi-wan commits to something the man COMMITS. you GOTTA respect that grind.

flirty but in the sense that he's going to match the energy someone brings to the table. like he's a negotiator. he knows how to read people and figure out the Vibes. if he thinks the other person will be 1) 100% receptive and 2) will respond with a delightful wit, why the hell not? obi-wan's highest stat is charisma and he's got expertise in persuasion. whether they're allies or not does not factor into this equation. he can have a little flirtation with morally dubious and potentially hostile characters. as a treat.

this has nothing to do with his character but i firmly believe that he and quinlan vos had at LEAST a fling when they were padawans. there is zero evidence to back this up aside from a few comics where they were being goofy teenagers together but i stand by this. it is an unshakeable aspect of obi-wan to me that has only gotten worse with the kenobi show.

no matter what, no matter how terrible or devastating or downright apocalyptic it gets, obi-wan kenobi will never fall to the dark side. never. it won't be easy, but that is a line he has never, and will never cross. i will not hear any "obi-wan touched the dark side during the theed generator fight" slander. if that was true tell me why the force theme was playing during his moment of triumph!!! Would John Williams Lie To Us Like That?? to our face?????

anyways i could go on forever about obi-wan because he is My Ultimate Blorbo but this post is getting super long so i'll leave it there. hope this helped even a little or at the very least was entertaining for you to read <3

#anon #ask #star wars #obi wan kenobi #long post #THIS TOOK. SO LONG TO ANSWER IM SO SORRY LMAO;;;;;;;

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berriblossom · 1 year ago

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Cold hands and warm love

[Date with Death : Casper x Reader] [i am positively obsessed with this man that he's making write again| spoilers for endings#3 btw and the story.]

There's something so oddly soothing watching Casper sleep with Azrael in his arms, all snuggled up without a care in the world. His ghostly white locks sprawled against your shared bed sheets. His eyes ever so softly flutteribg against his pale cheeks, the rays of sunlight dance across his face, almost creating his own personal golden hour.

You chuckled at the idea. Casper wasn't a huge fan of super bright things. Even when you managed to convince him to walk outside your apartment with you, he dons a pair of black shades and scowls at everything. Now that you think about it, he's even more like a black cat than anything, rather than a sign of bad luck but rather for his sassy attitude and his dislike for certain things.

As you quietly watch from your desk, with your pet sitting in the empty sunny spot of the bed, you think back to how long its been since tou winning the bet and being a somewhat embodiment of life while your sweet little now former Grim Reaper is the opposite.

Goodness, one small picture shouldn't hurt? Besides, Casper can't argue with how many not-so-sly pictures he has taken of you randomly as of late. Even changing his profile pick of you sleeping with Azrael while you napped on your bed after work. He tried fighting it off, saying he mainly picked the picture because Azrael looked so good in it while you just happened to be there....no other reason...(he said this while fighting off a flustered face while gazing back at the picture. He then denied making it his lockscreen too.)

You picked up your phone and began to open the camera feature and angle the camera to get the best picture possible. Hell you even move from the desk to hover slightly over Casper and your pet to get the best angle. "Stay right there pretty boy....just perfect..." you mumbled while snapping a few silent pictures. You went to adjust his snowy hair to move from his beautiful face. Just as you touch his cool face, sleepy red eyes flutter open and the iconic pout appears on the reapers face.

"Sunshine....what are you doing? Why do you have your phone like that..." Casper's eyes flutter as he fights off the sunlight beaming through the blinds, all while his sour pout turns into a playful one. Your pet scatters away while Casper tries to snatch your phone away to see the sneaky pictures you've taken of his sleeping figure.

"Ah ah ah! Nope, absolutely not pretty boy, if you can take pictures then so can I!" You shuffle off the side of the bed while Casper jumps up to grasp your hand and to get those pictures. You tease and weave yourself away from him and the bed, sitting on the edge you laugh at how pouty and upset Casper is.

His frustration only exceeded when you decided to flash him the adorable and beautiful picture of him in his sleeping form. As casper has told you before, reapers do not need to sleep or eat. But the idea that he was so comfy in your blanket and bed, cuddling Azrael closely. It just made you want to tease your little reaper to bits. Though sadly your teasing and fun was put to an end.

Suddenly, you felt two strong cold hands wrap around your torso and squeeze you gently. You could feel Caspers lips against your neck as he mumbked for you to please delete the picture. As adorable and pretty as he could be in those moments...the little rat decided to try and tickle you to get you to give uo your phone.

Luckily you were quick enough to slip from his grasp again(heh get it) and make your way back to your bed while cherishing your sweet victory. "Sorry casp, but you look too good! I might make this my profile picture on the chat room too!" His frustrated groans on embarrassment only fueled your decision.

"Sunshin pleeasseee....just....atleast make it your lockscreeb to while your at it...since you can't stop looking and staring at me. Just can't get enough, silly mortal.." ah his ability to bounce back is incredible as ever. But still it was fun while it lasted. Casper came to join you on the bed while bringing you back close to him...somethibg about "being warm." But you did not mind.

You'll never mind, your soul brings him warmth, his perfect heater if youll say. You chuckle as he scrolls through his camera roll whie trying to find a picture of you(an god awful one) to place as his profile picture on the chatroom. Yeah its going to be a long day. But you never minded.

#xoxokuki💜#kuki's writing #xokuki writes #xokuki blog #date with death #a date with death casper #a date with death #casper x reader #date with death x reader #date with death grim #i named my pet Bobi hes a hunny teehee

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willgrahamscock · 1 year ago

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My cat is bleeding from his mouth and I need everyone to gather all their good vibes and send it to my boy Casper he’s not doing well at all I’m rushing him to the vet right now. He doesn’t deserve this pain, no animal does.

He’s just a silly little boy I can’t even look at him without sobbing he’s next to me covered in blood

#I don’t wanna post him covered in blood it’s so scary #I’m going to sob all the way there

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home-of-renn · 2 months ago

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Fenton’s right there—in the corner of the hallway, crowded between a row of dented lockers and his two ever-present shadows—the same as every other morning.

He’s still here—alive.

Dash swipes Fenton’s arm into a vice grip—he’s real; flesh and bone and blood that rushes to the surface of his skin, blossoming into patchy, mottled bruises. The sight of it has his hackles lowering—the white, crescent bite of blunt fingernails. His shoulders sag with each relief-filled breath. His grip loses strength and nearly falls to his side at the sight of the marks left behind by every single finger on his trembling right hand. The chill that runs up his spine whenever Fenton gets too close dissipates just a little, just enough for the faint trembling to cease.

Fenton is here—alive.

He has nothing to do with the bones buried beneath the twisting tree that had sprouted from nothing deep within the woods that lined the edges of Amity Park. He has nothing to do with the swaying branches that grow flowers the colour of Danny’s clear blue eyes, nor the roots that glow a sinister green as they coil their way around the carefully buried remains of a boy who had once been their age, laid to rest with a model rocket wound beneath one arm and a hazmat suit—charred and faded—tucked beneath the skull.

The flowers had held no scent and the swaying branches had made no sound, but its silvery leaves had offered shelter from the rain. Its gnarled trunk blocked the biting wind and its roots coiled protectively around the remains from which it had sprouted. The ground around it flourished, with moss carpeting the base of its trunk, growing healthy and vibrant, with mushrooms that grew in bioluminescent clumps that chased the shadows with a haunting glow.

It was a foreboding oasis not meant to be disturbed—a place that he and Kwan hadn’t meant to stumble upon.

But none of that mattered now. Not when Dash now knew for certain that Danny still cowered in the corners of Casper High’s crowded corridors. Now that he knew that the half-smudged writing childishly scrawled onto the base of the model rocket couldn't have possibly spelt out the name of the boy he'd known since his first day of school.

Not with the irrefutable proof seared onto Fenton's pale, freezing flesh.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp #dribble drabble #Home of Renn #dash baxter #corpse AU #creepy danny fenton #somethings wrong with danny fenton #uncanny valley

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theglamorousferal · 8 months ago

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Sorry if you already answered this but I can't stop thinking about DPxDC Samantha al Ghul and I just! Would love to hear your thoughts. Please tell me everything about this AU because I love it so much!

I mostly just have notes on it so far, I haven’t really come up with a plot quite yet, but here’s what I have so far!

Sam is the older twin, born 13 minutes before Damian.

While Damian was more skilled with the sword, Sam's skill lay in long range and poisons. She likes blow darts and meteor hammer, but when they learned guns, she excelled.

She spent a lot of time with the poison master learning about the different plants in the garden. This is where she gets her love of plants. She becomes a poison specialist.

They got separated on a mission at age 8 somewhere in North America when she let go of his hand and fell to a river below so he could pull himself up and survive.

Damian kept trying to get missions nearby to try and find her body, but was unsuccessful.

She got swept downstream and wandered onto a beach on a lake by a lake house that the Manson's were staying at.

They took her in and she went along with whatever they wanted because that's what you did in the League to escape punishment, especially if you weren't the heir.

Pamela was happy to have a little girl she could dress up and seemed to have impeccable manners.

Eventually she realized when they went to the Mason's home in Amity Park, that she had more freedom, that she wouldn't be punished for speaking up and wanting things for herself.

Sam became more comfortable asking for things from the Manson adults. She adored Ida, she was a wonderful adopted grandparent, much better than her bio one. Jeremy found out about her interest in plants and for her 10th birthday gifted her the greenhouse.

One day at after that birthday, she took off with her allowance that she had been hoarding and went to thrift and craft stores and locked herself in her room and figured out a wardrobe that she felt suited her.

Pamela was ecstatic that little Samikins was interested in fashion and helped her find ethically sourced outfits that she could wear to galas. She thought that all these dark clothes was just a phase and so allowed it, but became shocked to realize that it's just how she was going to be.

That school year, she met Danny and Tucker when she started at Casper Middle School. They ended up assigned together on an English assignment. They meet at Tucker's house to work on it and Sam ends up leading the group and they become close.

When Danny becomes Phantom, she trains him as best she can without revealing that she was raised by assassins. The boys don't really ask questions, they just think of Sam as tough and that she probably got into fights before she met them.

That's about all I've got for now. Again, I have ideas, but not really a plot to go with it. Feel free to take and run with it!

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dcxdp #dc x dp #samantha al ghul #demon twins au #with a twist

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bagerfluff · 11 months ago

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Maid Boy

Sub/Bottom Casper x Top/Dom Male Reader

Prompt - Maid Costume

Warnings - Eating out, blowjob(reader receiving), cum swallowing,

“Is this really what mortals do to show love?”

Casper asked. You smirked, “yes love, and you're doing a great job”, you said. Casper glared at you, Casper might not know about mortals as much as you did.

But he was sure that this wasn’t how mortals showed love. What was Casper doing? He was cleaning your floors with a rag, in a maid costume.

How you’d get the maid costume, Casper didn’t know.

But now he was wearing it, how you got him to agree to his he’s never known. You smirked as you sat in your chair, this was the best view on the world.

The stockings held Casper’s legs perfectly, the skirt was just short enough to show Casper’s ass, which was adorned in lace underwear. Casper even had a matching lace bra.

You felt your dick get hard just looking at him.

Casper turned around, showing you his ass. You smirked and got off the chair, kneeling down behind Casper. You reached forward and placed your hand on the curve of Casper’s ass.

Casper gasped and turned his head, “What are you doing?” Casper asked, slightly annoyed. You just smirked, groping Casper’s ass in your hand.

Casper groaned, keeping his mouth shut. You moved your hand to his lace, moving it away from his hole. You saw his dick throb and his hole clench around nothing.

You could see the lace get darker from Casper’s precum. “How beautiful”, you said. You leaned closer to Casper, staring at his hole with intentness.

You brought your other hand up and held both of Casper’s cheeks in your hands. You leaned down and licked Casper’s ass. From the top of his hole to the bottom.

“Hhmmm~”, Casper moaned as you started to eat him out. Casper leaned down on the floor, head on his arms as the rag was still clutched in his hand.

You licked around up and down Casper’s hole. While teasing his hole, only sticking your tongue in a bit before pulling out. “F-fuck~”, Casper moaned, moving his ass back onto your face. You raised one of your hands and brought it down on Casper’s ass.

Smacking him.

“Ahh~”, Casper moaned loudly. “I’m in charge”, you said sternly. Casper whimpered but stopped moving. “Th-then, f-fuh-fuck me”, Casper groaned.

You smirked, sticking your tongue in Casper and fucking him with it. “Nngge~, y-yes~, ahaha~”, Casper moaned as you fucked him with your tongue.

You fucked Casper with vigour, while humming your dick onto the ground. Once you felt Casper clench around your tongue you reached down and started rubbing Casper’s dick.

“Ah~ ah~ ah~”, Casper moaned as he thrusted into your hand. You smirked and fucked him till he came onto the floor. You pulled away and leaned back, undoing your pants to pull out your dick.

Casper turned around and stared at you.

You smirked and pointed to your erect dick. Casper crawled over to you and took your dick into his mouth. “Good maid”, you groaned as you gripped Casper’s hair.

Which looked extra good with the head piece. Casper moaned around your dick, causing you to moan as you moved Casper’s head. You watched as Casper the Little Maid sucked your dick.

Looking the most beautiful as he did so.

“Fuck yeah”, you groaned. It didn’t take long for you to cum, eating out Casper made you pretty close. When you came you slammed Casper head down to take all of your dick.

Painting his throat with your cum. You let go of Casper’s hair, letting him lean up and look at you. You smiled as you watched cum drip out of Casper’s mouth.

Casper glared at you, finally seeing through your plan. “Don’t lie, you liked it”, you said with a smirk. Casper looked away from you, knowing that you were right. “My little maid, taking care of me and my house”, you said.

Making Casper want you to fuck him, without your tongue.

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r0-boat · 8 months ago

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Thank you for coming to this dream and God damn it was terrible...

Thank you for sitting through the whole thing 😭

Anyways I streamed a date with death again Loved it! And I got bit by inspiration

So here we go!

Adwd

Casper really likes your hands...

Cw: masturbation (solo), ruined orgasm (sorry Grimmy), dirty boy thinks dirty thoughts.

Warm and soft.

Three words echoing in his head ike a mantra. Ever since your late night visit on that full moon night your fingers grazing against his gloves as you take the flowers that bright beautiful smile on your face.

Laying in his own bed even his soft axolotl plushie that he desperately holds tight can't sue them to sleep. Even as Casper tries to glue his eyes shut he just can't keep that vivid vision of those hands grazing against his glove out of his head.

So small, so gentle.

It was almost hard to believe that this hand belong to the person causing him so much distress and happiness. Letting out a sigh awaking from his fake slumber he stretches his hand out.

"I wonder how small your hands will look against mine." He mutters.

'fuck What am I doing? And daydreaming about a mortal.' Casper clenches his teeth placing Azrael aside he puts his head in his hands. As much as he doesn't want to, He couldn't stop.

If he intertwines his fingers with yours, would you feel heavy or light? Would you squeeze him or pull him along with your carefree and delightful smile? Your thumb rubbing against the back of of his hand.

Speaking of, You did say you wanted to touch him, And when he did touch you through the soul experience explain he was cold.

And from how warm you felt it it was good. Other worldly good. He wonders how it feel for your fingers to touch him. Your warm body pressing fully against-

Fuck...

The tightness in his pants there was no mistake in it.

Oh Gods if you were to know there was no telling what you would do, what you would say. And that thought just made him throb.

There was no way he was going to sleep now.... And the cold shower before didn't help at all.

Cussing under his breath He pouted looking at Azrael, using his free hand to turn him around before finally sliding his pajama bottoms down.

His cock springs free, any waste no time wrapping his hand around it's shaft. Living humans were much warmer than he expected, which makes sense, because He never experienced a warm body like this, normally humans would be already cold when he got to the body before harvesting the soul.

His thoughts running free his eyes squeezed shut imagining you were here with him, That cheeky smile as you wrap your hand around his cock.

That made him buck his hips.

Oh what he wouldn't give to feel that warmth around him. He has to know, he simply must know how soft and gentle that hand would be.

Would you go slow? Or fast?

No you would go slow. His hand moves slowly rubbing up and down making sure his fingers brush against the tip of his cock.

You would get a feel for him first... Perhaps you'll be amazed at how big he was.

Understandable for you to feel so shy he was pretty big... Oh, he would give anything to hear that from your lips.

But then you'd give him that signature cheeky look before going faster. Those beautiful gorgeous eyes full of life and lust and other dirty things you think about gazing into his as you speed up drinking in every reaction he makes.

He arches his back letting out a silent moan as hand getting faster making sure to give himself a little squeeze.

And before he gets close you will stop. Leaving him with nothing, leaving him wanting more.

Casper was getting close He could feel it but then he stops his hand, letting out a little whimper as his hand cups his balls. As his cock twitching and throbbing from a ruined orgasm calms down. He has never done this before, He's only ever vaguely heard of something like this but it was just something he knew you would do. And god damn he loved it.

#adwd #a date with death #adwd casper #otome x reader #adwd x reader #adwd grim

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irregularcollapse · 4 days ago

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Painting at left is 'Costume Surprise' by Frederic Stanley for The Saturday Evening Post (1921)

I saw the above painting this morning, was gripped with a mighty urge, spitballed a few things with darling @angelfruittree, and then bing bang bong a certain number of hours later, vomited this out.

Buck/Bucky(/Marge?), pre-relationship and pre-canon, 2.3k words

It's 1934 and Gale is 15 years old, and since moving to Casper he hasn't left the town, so even though he knows it's a little bit of charity when the Spencers offer to take him with them to Green Bay on Mr. Spencer's business trip, Gale works on his dad until it's agreed that he can go. He'll be making himself useful anyway, helping out with Mr. Spencer's meetings and carrying what needs carrying. There's a college in Green Bay too, and Gale still has some schooling left but it's something that people his age are thinking about.

The hotel in Green Bay is the swankest place that Gale's ever been in, and he gets a cot on the floor between Marge's bed and the wall, and her parents are very clear about them not being alone in the room together. The days are fine, and Gale carries Mr. Spencer's blueprints and folios all over town, and the nights are fine as well; they eat dinner in the hotel, and Mr. Spencer gives them a quarter each to go to the pictures. Casper might not exist at all any more, with its scrimping and dust and water-thin meals.

When Marge gets wind of the hotel's Halloween party, she grips into Gale's arm and says, "Oh, wouldn't that be swell?”

She’s wistful for her sewing machine, and for more time to get their fancy dress organised, but compromises with a pair of moth wings and a mask from a five-and-dime. She thinks that Gale should be a Spanish matador in black and red, or an Old West outlaw with a bandana over his face, or a Roman centurion in a tunic and sandals, and he can’t meet her eye as he murmurs, “I don’t know I can afford all that, Marge.” She doesn’t miss a beat, and her pretty smile doesn’t even flicker, and she’s bracing and sweet as she tells him, “We’ll pull something together.”

Marge orders him to close his eyes, hiding something behind her back, and he’s got no reason not to trust her; he thinks it’s a hat at first, when she fits the wig on his head.

“Look at that,” she says, laughing and impressed. “You make a fine girl, Gale.”

It’s always been the way, that when Marge says jump, Gale says, how high? and it’s an easy option, one that more than a few fellas have fallen back on at parties Gale has been to, because all it takes is a dress borrowed from a sister or a friend. Always gets a few laughs, which might be nice because although Marge giggles at all Gale’s jokes, not many other people seem to. They aren’t in Casper anymore, anyhow.

Mr. and Mrs. Spencer do chuckle at seeing Gale all dolled up, and Mr. Spencer says, “Now you girls look after yourselves, and watch out for those boys trying things they shouldn’t.” Walking down to the party, Marge links their elbows together the way Gale has seen her walk with her girlfriends, but once they’re in the ballroom, kisses his cheek just below the domino mask which matches her own.

She goads him into dancing because they don’t know anyone there, and both of them are gasping laughter as they try swapping the lead and Gale can’t give it up properly, and the wig almost knocks off his head when he doesn’t duck enough to spin under her arm. Marge orders them a couple of Cokes at the bar, and both the bottles have straws poking from the top, which sets them off laughing all over again.

Gale is leaving the bathroom when he collides with the clown. He’s tall and broad and wrapped up in black-and-gold polka-dots with a big silly ruff at his neck, and even with his own mask, his costume is somehow lower effort than Gale’s.

“Holy—My mistake, miss. Gotta look better where I’m goin’,” the clown blurts, steadying Gale with a hand on his arm. He blinks, eyes stormy-blue and squinting as he grins. “I mean, look what there is to look at.” His leering is obvious, definitely drinking his fill, and Gale’s snorting a laugh before he can stop it. That only gets the clown’s grin stretching, opening like he’s seen something he can’t quite believe. “Hey, get a look at that dress. What do they call a pretty thing like you?”

“Gale.” There’s a chuckle in it, and a surge of fluttering in Gale’s lungs, the kind that comes whenever there’s a chance to do something a little dumb and dangerous.

“Gale.” The echo comes not from the clown, but from Marge, leaving the women’s powder room just a door down the hallway, and the clown looks three places seemingly all at once: Marge, then the door behind Gale with the sign Gents painted on it, then back at Gale in his pink satin and pearls.

“When you gotta go,” Gale says to the clown through the bubbling laughter, and takes Marge’s hand to tug her back to the party.

“Gosh, he looked ready to drop to one knee,” Marge hisses at him, delighted, and when Gale turns to check over his shoulder, the clown is watching them walk away with a slack jaw, bathroom urgency all forgotten.

The clown finds him later sitting on the wall drinking another Coke while Marge takes a turn with a wooden soldier who started stuttering when Marge asked Gale if he’d mind her dancing with another man. The soldier’s hands are definitely staying where Gale can see them, and even from a distance he can tell that Marge is getting a kick out of making a stranger nervous. Smelling whisky first, then smoke, Gale turns as the clown plops into the chair next to his own and says, “Wouldn’t have picked you for a wallflower, Gail. ‘S that a nickname? Is it Abigail, for company?”

“Who’s askin’?”

“John Egan. I just want to know what name to put on our marriage certificate, dollface.” Gale can’t hold in the guffaw, because it’s one thing knowing how other boys try pitching woo, but a different thing entirely to hear how stupid it is up close. He’s never been this ridiculous with Marge, surely. The laughing doesn’t turn John off, evidently, because he just leans in a bit closer and keeps on smiling under his patchy teenage moustache, and leers, “Say, you got a great laugh. Best laugh of any girl I’ve met.”

“That so?”

Quickly, Gale learns that John is 19 years old and up from St. Paul, where he goes to college and is on the baseball team—him and the shortstop, second and third base, the catcher, and centre fielder snuck out of where they were staying because they’d heard this band was hot and the girls would be pretty.

“I think the guys who told us that were selling things a bit short, though,” he says, and Gale knows he’s supposed to be flattered by the compliments and impressed by the sports talk, but all he can think to say is, “Uh huh.” All he can think to say is, “Uh huh,” when John asks him to dance as well, and when Gale can’t give up the lead properly, they’re both laughing just how him and Marge did. Gale catches Marge’s eye as they spin past each other, giddiness and giggles sparking in the pretty brown and around her lipsticked mouth too, and he snorts a little when she winks at him. Gale hasn’t had liquor before, but when people talk about getting jazzed and squiffy, maybe this is some of the feeling: like there’s bubbles all inside him, like everything is funny, like he could lift off the ground and fly. It’s a game, a dangerous one, but John seems to like him and keeps on talking, not talking at Gale but talking to him and taking it in stride that Gale doesn’t have much to say in return.

They dance a few numbers, and Gale sees Marge with a pirate and a cowboy and a sailor—she blows him a kiss as she twirls past with a devil—and the crowd is thick and pressed close around them, bumping along with the beat, when John leans in a bit too close to Gale’s mouth. The punch is a reflex, and connects hard enough given the limits on the space, meeting square with John’s jaw and deflecting his attempt at a kiss.

“I got a girlfriend,” Gale says stupidly.

“And a helluva right hook, for a little lady.” He’s taken his hand from Gale’s waist to rub at the blooming red spot on his face, and Gale can see what he said gaining meaning behind John’s eyes, and his whole throat starts tasting like the smell of oil. “Huh?” is what John says next, squint of his eyes this time because his brow is furrowing, and then the band leader is calling a countdown and a drumroll and the horn section is blowing and everyone around them is taking off their masks. Gale sweeps off his mask and wig in one, and John is still holding his other hand. He drags up from his punched jaw to his own mask, pushing it back into his hair, and the face he reveals isn’t any of what Gale had been starting to think, has seen on other boys and men around Casper and his own dad—John’s face is all screwed-up confused, mouth-open astonished, but there’s not even a fleck of anger.

“Christ,” he says, and gives a whistle. “And to think, I was fallin’ in love.” Gale’s grin comes back so wide he thinks his face might be splitting with laughter.

“Sorry to disappoint, John.”

“Are you kiddin’? This is terrific. You could be a goddamn spy! Workin’ undercover to bust crooks; you sure convinced me. Fuck, is there egg on my face.” He’s swearing now, and drawling broader, and there’s an ease in his stance that wasn’t there a second ago, but he’s still holding Gale’s hand. “I’m sorry, for tryin’ to—but hey, that’s some dress you got on there.”

“It’s my Sunday best.” John guffaws at that, leaving his mask pushed into his curls to chuck Gale on the shoulder. “It was last minute, I borrowed it from—”

“There you are.”

“Marge.” Gale wraps his arm around her shoulders, wig and mask still dangling from his fingers. She’s smiling up at him with a raised eyebrow and an unspoken question, so Gale says, “This is John Egan. He’s bein’ a real good sport.”

“Madam Butterly herself.” Marge trills a laugh at that, and counters, “Moth.” John whistles again, an impressed sort of note.

“Shakespearean. You got Mustardseed and Cobweb floatin’ around as well? Hold on,” he breaks in, dropping Gale’s hand to snap his fingers at them like he’s remembered something, “maybe this is why they made us read all those old plays in high school—to warn us not to talk to pretty girls at masked balls. It might turn out to be a fella with a great-lookin’ kisser.”

“See?” Marge rasps, knocking her hip against Gale’s, their skirts whispering together for a moment. “I told you that you make a fine girl.”

John is shocked to learn they’re still in school, and starts calling them you crazy kids. He tells them a bit about the town, things to see and do, but they’re hitting the road tomorrow, Gale explains to him. John thinks that’s too bad, but then remembers that he’s headed back to St. Paul on the bus in the afternoon anyhow. He buys them a couple more Cokes, and tells them stories about pulling all kinds of pranks at college, and dances with Marge for the last song of the night, and starts to invite them on to somewhere else before he checks his watch and says, “Ah, nuts. I’ll turn into a pumpkin if I don’t make tracks now.” There’s someone yelling, “Bucky,” and John turns to look who, sending back a wave before saying to Gale and Marge, “You kids look me up if you’re ever in St. Paul. Or Manitowoc—who knows, could be another semester and I blow the whole thing and flunk out. See ya, dollface. Thanks for the kiss.” He taps Gale’s jaw with his fist, a lot sweeter than how Gale hit him, and then he’s gone in the crowd.

“Wowee,” Marge says, and Gale has to agree.

It’s 1940 and Gale is 21 years old, and all his possessions fit inside the single suitcase that he’s unpacking in an Air Force Flight School dorm room in Texas. He has an address in his pocket, for a ladies’ dorm at a local college, home to Marjorie Spencer. Gale had been thinking he’d never see her again, after the Spencers moved away during his senior year. His roommate’s name is John C. Egan, and Gale is telling himself that John is a common enough name. It’s too many coincidences. Too many dangerous, hopeful things.

“Gale W. Cleven,” someone says while Gale is stacking books at the edge of the lone desk in the room, and when he turns around the clown is standing in the doorway, only he’s wearing the same flight cadet uniform that Gale is and he’s a lot more grown than he used to be. His moustache has filled in more, but only a little bit.

“John,” Gale says. John holds out his hand and crosses the room in barely three strides.

“Call me Bucky. Good to meet you, Gale. Say,” he rolls on, dropping Gale’s hand after shaking it and snapping his fingers like he’s remembered something, “you look sort of familiar. We haven’t met somewhere before, have we?”

“I—”

“No, Christ, you know what it is? You look just like a guy I used to know back home—Buck, we called him. You ever been through Manitowoc, Wisconsin?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. Hey, you can still be Buck. Need an Air Force nickname, don’t you?” He chucks Gale in the shoulder, and doesn’t know that it’s an echo across six years. “What kind of a name is Gale, anyway?”

#mota #mota fic #clegan fic #mota fanfic #clegan #margebuckies #cleganmarge #phlegmatic fic #this is quite sillygoofy but i think it came out cute

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moodymelanist · 2 months ago

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too good to deny it

happy @sjmromanceweek 2025 everyone! I'm so excited for this event to be back and we're kicking things off with some Nemerie 🫶🏽

Summary: Nesta has never kissed anyone before, and when she gets asked on her first date, Emerie takes matters into her own hands.

Word Count:

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Emerie

Emerie was suffering through her statistics reading when her roommate barged through the door in what looked like a state of panic. “Emerie. Em.”

“Yeah?” Emerie asked, looking up from her textbook at the sound of Nesta’s voice. She hadn’t known Nesta very long — they’d only been living together since the start of the semester, and this weekend was her last chance to get some decent studying in before midterms started in earnest — but judging by the look on her roommate’s face, this was something serious. “What happened?”

Nesta shrugged out of her backpack and sat down hard on the edge of her bed. “I think I have a date this weekend?”

“What?” Emerie asked, fully sitting up at her desk now. “What do you mean you think?”

“Well…” Nesta trailed off with a sigh. She kicked off her white sneakers before shifting back onto her bed in an attempt to make herself more comfortable, and Emerie turned around fully in her desk chair, statistics studying be damned. This was way more important. “You know that guy who’s been driving me crazy?”

“Which one?” Emerie questioned. She’d heard Nesta complaining about a guy in her bio lecture, but there was also the guy in her political science lecture that drove her nuts, too. “Bio lecture or poli sci?”

“Bio lecture,” Nesta confirmed. Emerie wracked her brain for the guy’s name — it was something that reminded her of Narnia. Caspian? Casper? Something like that. “Apparently he was flirting with me the entire time.”

“What an effective method,” Emerie replied dryly, pulling a soft laugh out of Nesta. It made something go a little warm and fuzzy in her chest, but she pushed it aside the same way she’d been doing these last few weeks. “So he’s been pulling your pigtails all semester and now he wants to get serious?”

“I guess so?” Nesta answered hesitantly. She seemed uncertain, which was rare for her; in the short time Emerie had known Nesta, she didn’t tend to show anything other than a very healthy dose of self-confidence. “I mean, I don’t know. He asked me to go to dinner with him on Saturday and I said yes and now I’m kind of… panicking.”

“You? Panicking?” Emerie responded, raising both of her eyebrows. Nesta didn’t do panic, which was generally pretty helpful, but now that she was actually showing something like human weakness, Emerie didn’t totally know what to do with it. “Why? He’s just some guy.”

“Okay, but I don’t do just some guy,” Nesta said. She curled into herself a little bit and Emerie frowned, not sure what to do with that, either. “I haven’t done… any guys, actually.”

Emerie just blinked; she actually had no idea what Nesta was going with this. “What do you mean? Guys must ask you out all the time.”

“Not really,” Nesta told her, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

Okay, now Emerie was really intrigued. She closed her textbook and got up to come sit on the bed next to Nesta, their thighs nearly pressed together because of how little room existed on their twin XL mattresses. “Nesta. What are you talking about?”

“You’ve met my mom,” Nesta said, and boy, had Emerie ever. She’d thought her family was bad, but watching the way Mrs. Archeron bossed every member of Nesta’s family around had managed to put even her uncle to shame. Emerie had been a little worried that Nesta would be just as bitchy as her mom, but thankfully that hadn’t been the case, and they’d turned into fast friends instead. “Everyone back home already knows how insane she is. Even if I’d been allowed to date, nobody wanted to deal with her.”

“Oh my God,” Emerie said back. She privately thought it was dumb to pass up on the chance to call Nesta Archeron your girlfriend just because her mom sucked, but maybe she had more brain cells than the guys in Nesta’s hometown. “So you’ve never—?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, no.” Nesta looked away, her cheeks going even pinker. “I’ve never even touched a guy other than dance classes, and that definitely doesn’t count.”

Emerie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could someone as gorgeous as Nesta be freaking out about something as simple as this? Emerie didn’t have that much experience with guys — she’d figured out what that strange swooping feeling in her stomach when Jade from Victorious came on her television screen meant early, thank you very much — but from the little she did know, it wasn’t really that hard dealing with them. She imagined it would be even easier when you looked like Nesta, with her icy eyes, bronze hair, and general air like she knew exactly what she was doing and you’d be dumb not to go along with it.

“It’s not that hard, really,” Emerie replied after a second, still reeling. Her first date with a guy on the lacrosse team had been pretty mediocre, but she hadn’t realized the reason she’d been so bored was because she’d wanted to catch the captain of the girls volleyball team’s attention instead. “You just have to laugh at their jokes and put your hand on their arm a little.”

At Nesta’s dubious look, Emerie added, “I’ve seen your Story Graph, Nesta. I know you know how to at least do that.”

“Okay, okay,” Nesta responded with a sheepish smile. “But what if he wants to kiss me?”

“It’s not as hard as it seems,” Emerie answered. “I mean, you’ve seen movies.”

“Of course I’ve seen movies, Em.” Nesta rolled her eyes and Emerie laughed. “But it’s not like I’ve actually done it myself.”

Emerie scrambled to find a response that seemed normal enough. “You can just practice on the back of your hand. Or maybe your arm?”

“Wouldn’t he be able to tell?” Nesta asked, biting her lip. Emerie tried her hardest not to notice how pink they were. “I don’t want to look like I don’t know what I��m doing. Or worse, kiss like a golden retriever. My sister says her boyfriend does that and she hates it.”

“Okay,” Emerie said slowly. She wasn’t completely sure how to respond to that, but she’d do her best. “We don’t have time to unpack the golden retriever thing, but I promise you won’t kiss like that.”

“Okay, but how do you know?” Nesta said back. “You can’t promise that.”

“Just kiss me and I’ll tell you,” Emerie blurted out before she could stop herself. She had to physically shove her hands under her thighs to stop herself from clapping her hand over her own mouth and make the situation even more embarrassing; she’d already done the worst, so now she just had to shut up until Nesta laughed it off.

Nesta didn’t laugh it off, though. She just narrowed her eyes like she was actually considering it, and Emerie nearly bit off her own tongue when Nesta said, “Are you sure?”

“I mean, only if you want,” Emerie replied, hoping it didn’t come off as desperate as she thought it did. Her heart was pounding so loud in her chest it was a miracle Nesta couldn’t hear it with how close they were sitting. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Nesta responded. She looked at Emerie expectantly and added, “Well?”

Emerie quickly shifted so she was facing Nesta properly, leaning on their cinder block wall for some more support while Nesta did the same. This close to her, Emerie could see Nesta had the faintest dusting of freckles across her skin that looked like they trailed down under her shirt, and Emerie hoped Nesta didn’t hear how thickly she swallowed.

“Okay, so…” Emerie trailed off before summoning her courage. She wasn’t going to squander this opportunity, and if Nesta decided to use this knowledge to her date’s advantage, at least Emerie would have the memory. “Pick a side to tilt your head so you don’t bump your nose.”

“Like this?” Nesta asked, tilting her head to the right so far it was a miracle she didn’t strain her neck.

“No, no,” Emerie answered with a little laugh. She reached out to touch Nesta’s face without thinking about it, her cheeks going warm as she tilted Nesta to a better angle. “Like this.”

“Okay,” Nesta breathed. Her eyes looked incredibly blue this close up. “Now what?”

“Just lean in,” Emerie told her. She thanked whatever god was listening that she’d happened to brush her teeth when she’d come back from her discussion section earlier this afternoon. “And close your eyes.”

Nesta didn’t so much as lean in as she aggressively pushed her mouth in Emerie’s direction, but Emerie certainly wasn’t complaining. Nesta’s lips were soft and full against hers, and she could faintly taste the spearmint lip balm that Nesta liked to use. Emerie was fully expecting this to just be a peck, but to her surprise, Nesta’s lips parted and suddenly her tongue was licking at Emerie’s lips.

Emerie gasped a little, surprised, and that was all it took for Nesta’s tongue to slip inside her mouth. She tried to show Nesta how good it felt to slide their tongues together, how to move their lips to form a semblance of a good rhythm, but who was Emerie kidding. Nesta was clearly a natural, and Emerie was one hundred percent benefitting from that right now.

“Um,” Emerie said once she realized just how long they’d been kissing and pulled away. She didn’t know what to say but she didn’t totally know what to do with the strange silence between them. “So. Um. That’s how you kiss.”

Nesta studied her for a few moments before her look turned knowing. Emerie wasn’t sure whether she should be afraid of that look or not, but wow, was it doing things for her. “Right.”

“Right,” Emerie repeated, still at a loss for words. Her lips were still tingling from where Nesta’s had been pressed against them a minute ago, and she had to fight the urge to bring her hand up to touch them. “So. Yeah.”

“I’m canceling my date,” Nesta announced suddenly. Her lips were an even darker shade of pink now from all the kissing, and it was really distracting. “We’re doing more of that.”

Emerie had to mentally rewind the last few seconds to make sure she hadn’t misheard. “What?”

“I said we’re doing more of that,” Nesta repeated firmly. She leaned forward so their lips were just barely touching, and even that was enough to make Emerie a little crazy. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“No,” Emerie said quickly, and then immediately realized how Nesta might interpret that. “I mean, yes. I want to.”

“Good,” Nesta said back, leaning in to press her lips firmly to Emerie’s.

This time when they kissed, they were both smiling too hard for it to really count, but Emerie didn’t mind.

#sjmromanceweek2025 #nemerie #nesta archeron #emerie #emerie of illyria #nesta x emerie #emerie x nesta #moodymelanistwrites #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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sylusjinwoon · 1 year ago

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{ 112 }

the question.

lies of p.

(p)inocchio x fem.reader

anonymous asked: you know that part from casper 1995, where casper and cat are dancing then he leans in and whispers "can i keep you?"

Iike omg imagine pino saying that?? I feel like it fits him so perfectly, an innocent little line cuz while it isn't the typical i love you etc, it just works for him :')

it was during those rare moments that you allowed your mind to wander, staring outside the windows of hotel krat as you kept yourself busy with your sketchbook on hand.

rain fell across the city of krat, painting it in somber hues of grey as your eyes continued to sketch the city. despite the tragedy that befell of krat, you still found it to be beautiful, and sketching it gave you a wonderful reprieve from your main muse.

from the corner of your eyes, you watch as the tall puppet with deep chestnut hair stood beside antonia, the kind lady of this hotel who allowed you to stay here along with the other guests. you were truly struck upon seeing someone so achingly beautiful, and that was when your fascination for the puppet spiraled into something you couldn't quite control.

you trail your eyes back to the pages of your sketchbook, flipping it back to reveal some sketches you had drawn of pinocchio. ever since the moment you laid eyes on him, you were inexplicably drawn to him. despite being a mere puppet, perhaps master geppetto's greatest creation yet, he appeared to be so much like a real boy. with chestnut hair that fell across his face, to the freckles that ran across the expanse of his skin like constellations, you could not keep your heart from pounding for pinocchio.

you were embarrassed to admit this, but pinocchio was your true muse. you adored sketching and drawing on your free time and saw it as a good hobby to pass the time with during these trying times, but you weren't expecting your fascination for pinocchio to go this far. each time the puppet would return back from his exploration through the dangers of krat, you would longingly sneak glances at him all while immortalizing his side profile within the pages of your sketchbook.

when pinocchio would notice you watching him, he would always meet your gaze. but you, feeling mortified at the thought of pinocchio ever seeing the details of your sketchbook, would always run away from him, not wishing to interact with him because god only knows how much your heart can handle.

he was simply too gorgeous for you.

it was silly, you knew that it was, since he was just a puppet. not only have you had a handful of interactions with him, but it seemed strange that your heart would pound at the mere sight of pinocchio. almost like you were... in love with him.

"is that...me?"

you could feel your blood turning into ice when a voice called out to you. it was a gentle voice, one that never spoke too often, yet the sound of it was enough to make a familiar warmth dust against your cheeks.

the secret you have been desperately trying to hide has just been found out by the person you kept running away from.

so caught up in your reveries, you look up to see pinocchio himself staring down at you. his sapphire blue eyes were a stark contrast to the stormy grey hues of the room, and you found yourself getting lost in them. it takes you several seconds to realize that he was still staring down at you and your sketch of him, which makes you panic even further.

"s-sorry! i don't m-mean to come off as strange or anything! i-it's just, you're achingly beautiful, p-pino, so that's why, i really really like sketching you! b-but i get shy so shy around you, that's why i'm always running away from you..."

your ramblings were not helping, and you were well aware of that. yet, you found that you just could not shut up, becoming even more flustered the longer pinocchio stared at you.

"i-i really am s-so sorry- ah?!"

you were abruptly interrupted upon feeling pinocchio's cold hand encircle your wrist, feeling him pulling you up into his arms with his strength alone. as your sketchbook fell against the marble floors of the hotel, you found yourself within his arms. your nose brushes against the cold skin of his cheek, and you look to your left to see pinocchio gazing at you. his blue gaze was unwavering as he held you in his arms, leading your hands around his waist before swaying with you across the hotel room.

you had to be dreaming, because there was no way you were dancing with pinocchio, the strange yet beautiful puppet who had stolen your heart.

you couldn't bring yourself to look at him directly, becoming even more flustered as you cleared your throat to ask, "w-where did you learn this?"

pinocchio twitches slightly, still keeping his hold on you before admitting, "lady antonia told me i should do this if i wanted to get closer to you."

"o-oh..." was all you could manage to say.

your heart was pounding wildly against your chest, your parted lips open in a dreamy sigh as you followed pinocchio's lead. being so close to him, you could see the painstaking details of his features, and you had an almost irrational desire to trace your lips against those endearing freckles, never stopping until you touched each and every one of them.

with a whisper of his name, you press a gentle kiss against his cheek, seeing pinocchio's eyes widen for the briefest of moments before sliding your eyes shut. as pinocchio continues to dance with you across the room, you press your head against his chest, hearing the gentle ticking of his mechanical heart. you were so happy that he was real, that he existed and was here with you now, dancing with you while setting your heart aflame with emotion.

"can i keep you?"

the gentle voice was heard once more, and you found yourself opening your eyes to meet with pinocchio's. he stopped dancing, remaining still as he continued to hold you in his arms. a gentle smile paints his rosy lips, and you found yourself falling for him all over again.

he was so achingly adorable that you couldn't help but tease him a bit, leaning in closer as your lips were a mere centimeters away from his when you tell him, "you may keep me as long as i get to keep you."

a.n. - they're in love, your honor 🥹 this is unedited, but i hope you readers don't mind this achingly soft story.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#lies of p x you #lies of p x reader #liesofp x reader #pinocchio x reader #pinocchio x you #p x reader #p x you #.stories

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pearlessance · 9 months ago

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Forgive Me, Father - Idle Threats [viii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel hears your confession and breaks all ten commandments in the house of the holy.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, reader has added backstory to progress the plot, mention of sexual assault, murder, canon typical violence, renouncing of god, desecration of a church, blood, brief daddy kink

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The following days are easier than any other you’ve had since leaving Jackson. It takes two days, but Joel hears your laugh again and feels himself release a heavy weight at the sound. Once, when the two of you are switching watch shifts, you sleepily mutter his name. And he goes to you like he always will—and you whisper an almost incoherent confession of your affection. “I love you, too,” you say, and he tries not to think about the way it makes him feel like a boy your age, hearing those words for the first time.

You move slower, and it’s not because of the extra weight strapped to your horses. Joel doesn’t say it, but he knows it’s because you’re afraid of returning to Jackson. Afraid of things going back to the way they were before this run.

In truth, Joel worries about it too. Worries about finding a new routine, worries about Maria and Tommy and Ellie, worries about what they’ll say. It won’t make him change his mind, he knows. Nothing would ever make him regret this selfish decision to keep you. But sometimes, in a too-long moment of silence, anxiety builds in his chest when he thinks of it.

But you still have several days before you return, and Joel intends to soak up this sweet, delicate time with you while he still can.

A little over halfway back to Jackson, you stop before the sun sets and make camp in an old, abandoned church. The very same one advertised on the billboard Joel had seen on the way to Casper.

Some of the pews are turned over while others have been broken apart and likely set ablaze in the pile of ashes in the center of the floor. There are no infected, but there’s a stone statue of Mary that looms ominously in the corner, covered in dust and cracked along its painted surface.

Joel feels uncomfortable here. Feels watched, judged. His skin crawls and he thinks about pushing on until you find some other place to rest.

The altar table has been left untouched, decorated with a yellowed, satin ribbon draped along its center. The bible lying on top is flipped open to a passage Joel knows well.

Corinthians 10:13

No temptation has seized you except what is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that which you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.

It’s bookmarked not with a scrap of paper but with a silver necklace tucked in its spine. A dainty thing with a cross dangling from the end of it. Joel picks it up, watches it sway between his calloused fingers.

And when he turns to face you, you’re standing in the middle of the center aisle and the setting sunlight casts a shadow across your face, making you look like some angelic being sent to him by God himself. “Did you ever come to one of these before the world ended?”

Joel nods, takes the necklace in his hands and finds his way back to you. “Quite a bit when I was a kid,” he answers. “My mom was pretty religious. We went to every Sunday service and sometimes the ones on Wednesdays, too. Even sent Tommy and I to the church's after-school program for young kids.”

He holds the necklace out to show you, and a shiver runs down his spine when you trace the cross in his palm, your touch electrifying. It’s just the smallest brush of your index finger, but it makes the air get caught in his lungs. “Pretty,” you say wistfully. “Do you believe in God?”

Joel jerks his chin in a silent demand and you obey wordlessly, turning away from him. He unclasps the necklace as you hold your hair out of the way. “I did,” he answers slowly, wrapping the silver chain carefully around your throat. “And then I didn’t.”

“And now?”

He secures it and runs his knuckles down the nape of your neck. No would be the closest thing to the truth, but it’s not quite it. Joel thinks about lying to save himself the shame but rejects the thought as soon as it comes. “I believe in you,” he says quietly.

Somehow this confession feels heavier than his declaration of love. Perhaps it’s because this is the thing he’s struggled with, this strange worship of Judas. You’ve come to him in pieces, a shell of a girl, a betrayer—and yet it’s your altar he crawls to. It’s you who holds the keys to heaven, who controls both his grace and his damnation.

Joel leans forward and presses his lips to your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He can feel your breath falter, and so he does it again. This time a kiss to your shoulder, right above the collar of your sweater.

His hands have a mind of their own as they find your waist. Joel knows this is wrong, knows how sinful it is, and yet he knows the only way to endure the taste of the forbidden fruit is to bite into it, to devour it, to consume it for as long as he’s able. He has spent so much of his life fighting, resisting, repenting—but maybe it’s time God asks for his forgiveness.

Your skin is smooth beneath his calloused palms. He slides them beneath your shirt, over your hips, up your torso. He pulls at the soft garment, and you lift your arms for him to make it easier as he pulls it off and discards it in the nearest pew.

And then his hands are on you again—this time tracing the edge of your jeans, pinky finger dipping slowly beneath the band around your waist, teasing. You’re panting now, chest rising and falling in quick succession. You say his name a little like a prayer and it brings a smile to his face.

“Shh,” he says. “Patience is a virtue, little girl.” But he wants you, perhaps even more than you want to be touched, so his left hand finds the button of your jeans and undoes it.

He moves slowly, and you stand completely still as Joel peels the too-tight jeans down your legs. You kick your boots off, and soon you’re standing in the middle of this crumbling church in nothing but a pair of baby pink panties and a white lace bralette, looking every bit the divine goddess he doesn’t deserve.

When you turn to face him, there’s a playful glint in your eye. “Let me try it,” you say. “One question, though. Is it forgive me, father? Or is it forgive me, Daddy?”

Two things happen inside him at once.

First, the crudeness of your words baffles him so completely that he laughs. Full-on laughs for the first time in twenty years. The vulgarity of it in a place of worship is somehow both amusing and horrifying.

Second, all the blood in his head rushes south. Because the word daddy in your mouth is the most erotic thing he’s ever heard, the dirtiest thing he’s ever heard, and Joel knows right away that he will never have the strength to process why such a thing makes him so goddamn hard. Doesn’t even attempt it.

He simply enjoys it instead. Allows it to drown him, consume him wholly. Accepts what is and what isn’t. Accepts that he is the most deplorable man that’s ever existed and it’s why he’ll never deserve you but it’s also why it’ll never matter. Because now…you belong to the most deplorable man.

The devil and his pretty, perfect Judas.

And then you lower yourself to your knees in front of him and Joel struggles to keep his weary heart from bursting from his chest.

His attempts at composure are blown to pieces when you press your hands together and look up at him through your lashes. With all humor bled from the moment, overtaken by a sudden hunger, you say, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” and something evil stirs inside him.

Something more than sinful. Something ungodly. Something blasphemous.

That cross is draped beautifully between your breasts, cleavage elevated by the angle of your arms.

Joel reaches out with both hands and runs them through your hair affectionately. “You look so pretty on your knees,” he says. “You got somethin’ to confess?”

You nod and a smirk graces your face. “I’ve been having wicked thoughts,” you say, voice taking on an innocent and girlish tone. “And…I’ve been giving into temptation, Father.”

“S’that right?” Joel licks his lips. His cock throbs in his jeans, desperate for your touch in a way it’s never been before.

He watches, transfixed, as you take your bottom lip between your teeth, taking your hands from the position of prayer and instead running them up his strong thighs. You slide them beneath his flannel, soft hands cool against his heated skin. “I’ve been letting a man touch me.” You’re whispering, but he feels each syllable down to his bones. “An older man,” you continue, pulling at his belt.

Joel finds you mesmerizing. Thinks you’ve ruined him. Completely, utterly decimated the man he used to be. “Touch you how?”

You don’t take your eyes off his as his belt clinks against the button of his jeans. “I’ve let him inside me, Father,” you say, pulling down his zipper at a torturous pace. “I’ve let him in my mouth, in my heart, in between my thighs.”

He never thought it possible, but his need for you grows teeth, morphs into some vicious, ravenous thing. Joel brushes his fingers through your hair, pulling lightly at the roots. “And what do you think you should do as repentance, sweetheart?”

Joel’s reminded of a siren’s song when you answer, “I think I should show a little extra devotion. Don’t you?” You pull his cock from his jeans, and the simple touch of your hand has him nearly shaking in anticipation. You break character for only long enough to giggle softly, wipe the back of your hand over your glossy lips, and say, “My mouth is watering.”

He smooths your hair back away from your face, admiring the way you look on your knees for him, just as desperate as he is. “Go’head, baby,” he says.

You don’t waste any time. You’re slow in your pursuit; tongue tracing the vein on the underside of his cock. Savoring, worshiping, devoting yourself to him and him only. You swirl your tongue around the head, licking up drops of precum.

When you finally take him into your mouth, you don’t stop until you’ve swallowed him whole, choking on it, nose pressed to the tuft of hair below his navel. It’s the most glorious thing Joel’s ever seen in all his life. And then you moan, and he can feel the vibrations of it down to his toes.

You pull your head back far enough, and your mouth leaves him completely, connected by nothing but strands of saliva. Your lips are already bruised and swollen, but they pull into the prettiest, proudest smile he’s ever seen, and Joel’s weak in the knees.

“Filthy little girl,” he says affectionately, hands still running through the silky strands of your hair. “Y’like that? Hm? You like that mouth filled up, don’t you?”

“Mmhm.” There’s so much love, so much worship in your eyes that he feels his chest pull tight. You take his cock in your mouth again, tongue sliding along the underside of it, cheeks hollowed out to take him in deeper.

Joel feels your devotion with each soft lick, each swallow at the back of your throat, each ragged, choked breath. He knows he won’t last long. Your mouth is too hot, too wet, too sweet. And when you pick up the pace, bobbing your head, fingernails leaving indentations in the exposed skin of his thighs, pressure builds at the base of his spine like a fucking noose. “There you go,” he encourages. “Doin’ so fuckin’ good, baby. Shit —just like that.”

Your cheeks are flushed, and Joel’s once gentle hands pull tight in your hair, guiding your mouth down onto him. It only makes those delicious moans around his cock that much sweeter. Your thighs are clamped tightly together, and he barrels towards euphoria as he thinks about just how wet he knows you are, his dirty little girl.

“Fuck, baby—fuck. Hold on, hold on.” He pulls your head back, cock slick and glossy, covered in your spit. He’s going to finish just like this if he’s not careful. “Gonna be over too soon if you keep that up.”

“Please, Joel,” you say. “I want to taste it. It’s all I want. Let me make you feel good.”

Joel thinks Michaelangelo never would’ve sculpted David, had his existence overlapped with yours. Because in all the time of the universe, a sight has never lived as beautiful as the one of you begging on your knees before him.

What kind of man would he be if he refused? Joel wants to give you everything you could ever ask for. Wants to give you the world at whatever cost to his soul.

So, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your bruised lips around his cock again. You feel like heaven, or as close to it as he’ll ever be allowed.

He comes at the back of your throat with a groan and trembling hands in your hair. Hands that are all too aware that they hold something holy, something divine. “ Goddamn —fuck. Mm, yeah. There you go, baby. There you go.”

His cock throbs in your mouth, and you don’t stop sucking until he’s completely spent. And when you do finally lean back and stick out your tongue, he’s nearly hard again at the obscene way his come drips down your lips, down your chin.

Then you swallow, and Joel grins and rests his palm gently on your cheek. He uses the rough pad of his thumb to push the last few drops back into your mouth, and you suck it down greedily. “Gotta take it all, little girl. Make me proud, hm?”

And as soon as you’re satisfied, Joel’s pulling you back to your feet and pressing his mouth to yours in a ravenous kiss. He can taste remnants of himself on you, and it’s the most comforting sensation he’s ever experienced. It’s proof of your union, evidence of your devotion. A physical, tangible way to convince him he’s not alone in his sacrilege.

Joel lifts you off your feet, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He carries you to the altar table, lays you down, and pushes your knees apart. Normally, he likes to take his time with you. Likes to savor the way you taste, the way you feel. But he’s so hungry for you and you only that he cannot— cannot wait another fucking second.

But then you say his name and his every intention freezes. “You don’t have to,” you say, and it confuses him. You attempt an explanation. “I don’t want you to feel like you always have to make me finish, too. I just…I didn’t do it expecting anything in return. I want you to know that.”

You sound so sincere, so… benevolent. A far cry from the bratty little girl he first met. He presses a kiss to your temple and says quietly, “I’d never let my little girl go without. Not the kinda man I am, baby.”

He might be too old to go rounds with you, but he knows how to make you feel good. He’s real good at it, in fact.

Joel leans over and presses a chaste kiss to your clit, right over your panties. He delights in the way it makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds you make when he pulls the fabric to the side and slides his tongue through your wet warmth.

He presses your legs back, opens you further, and laps at your pussy like a man starved for you because he is. You taste like redemption, like home.

Your hands weave into his hair, tugging lightly, and Joel moans when you press his face against your pussy like he just can’t get close enough. He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks hard, tongue rolling over it softly.

“Fuck, that feels so good, Joel— God —”

A groan escapes him, lips vibrating with the sound of it. His cock begins to harden again, hanging heavy between his legs. He’s insatiable for you; returned to the needy, desperate stage of his masculinity he once thought he’d grown out of.

Joel quickens the movement of his tongue and slips a finger inside of you. Your back arches off the altar table and your hips grind against his face, smearing your slick down his chin, over his lips.

He hooks his finger inside of you and strokes the spot that makes you writhe. You look so beautiful he thinks you must be some divine being. It’s the only thing that makes sense in his head.

Your legs begin to tremble around his shoulders and that’s when he decides to pull away. Because he wants you to cum for him, wants to be the reason you shiver and shake—but he wants to feel it.

In one smooth movement, he pulls you to the edge of the altar table and sinks his cock into you deep.

“Oh my God,” you whimper. “Fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna—!”

“Wait,” he says, stilling the instinctual rocking of his hips. You’re so tight, so smooth and wet as your pussy flutters around his cock. He pushes into you to the hilt but doesn’t move, doesn’t give you the satisfaction. He moves his hands to your lower belly, applying just a little bit of pressure. He can feel himself inside you, can feel just how full of him you are. “Want you to cum with me, little girl,” he says. “Can you do that for me? Hm?”

Slowly, experimentally, he shifts his hips the smallest bit, thrusting into you and laughing maliciously at the way you squeeze your eyes shut and whine for more. “I can—can try,” you stammer. “But it feels so —”

“Shh, I know baby,” he says, thrusting into you again, a little harder this time. It feels euphoric, indulging himself in you in a place of worship. He can feel faith in the air like magic, faith in you, in himself, in the love you share.

He moves again, fucking you slow and deep. If it weren’t for the way you make him feel, he thinks he might last a little longer. But the taste of ambrosia lingers on his tongue and he can see the pulsing of your clit and feel the tension in your muscles created from holding yourself back from the edge of pleasure.

Pride swells in his chest. His perfect girl, doing everything he asks, doing anything to please him. It makes him feel holy, like maybe the only godly presence in the room is him.

This is what you’ve done to him. You’ve taken this shell of a man and turned him seraphic, turned him sacred through your worship. Emotion builds in his throat when he thinks of it, when he realizes just how lucky he is to exist in this same universe as you, in the same lifetime.

He kisses you deep and fucks you even deeper.

“Joel,” you pant, fingernails digging into the side of the altar table. The aged satin cloth has been wrinkled beneath your weight, hanging slightly askew off the edge. “Please, please, I can’t—!”

Warmth pools low in his belly. You sound so pretty when you beg. He presses one hand harder against your abdomen and uses the other to circle your clit. He can feel his cock move beneath his palm with each thrust and the sensation is the filthiest thing he’s ever experienced.

The pressure builds and builds and builds, and then finally —

“Go ‘head, baby. Cum for me,” he says, thrusting a little faster, rhythm faltering as rapture fills him like sunlight. Your legs tremble around his hips and your moans echo in the church as you find faith, too.

“I love you,” you say, and it feels like redemption. Like the opening of heaven’s gates.

Like forgiveness.

You come down slowly, and Joel’s completely spent with almost no energy left. Yet still he helps you dress, pulls your sweater back on, and buttons up those too-tight jeans.

You eat together, rationing what little food you have left to try and stretch these precious days out a little longer. You admit around a bite of hard bread that you’re exhausted from the day’s ride and he is, too. And so you work together to stack the pews in front of the church’s double doors, sealing yourself inside but more importantly keeping anything outside from getting in.

There’s a window at the back of the church in a room Joel knows was once used for confessional. He leaves it cracked just enough to hear the horses outside if a commotion is caused. And then he holds you in his arms and sleeps.

It’s the best sleep Joel’s gotten in twenty-five years, the sound of your voice echoing even in his dreams.

But halfway through the night, the sound of whinnying and rambunctious laughter can be heard, jarring you both awake.

You’re out of his arms and at the back of the church before Joel’s finished blinking his eyes open.

He stands to his feet, heart racing behind his ribcage.

Men’s voices, but far away. Several of them.

He watches you move quickly through the church to the window at the front, watches you carefully peak through the dirty glass pane.

Joel saddles up behind you and has never been more thankful that you skipped the warmth of a fire. Because fifteen yards away, there’s a group of men passing through. Some on horses, others walking casually beside them. They’re not subtle about their presence.

Maybe they don’t think anyone’s around. And on any normal day, they would be right. Except this day, Joel’s here. You’re here.

He picks up his rifle from the makeshift bed the two of you created hours ago.

You don’t move. You stay focused, transfixed as if you’re trying to see the minute details of their faces from this far away. You wipe the glass with the ivory sleeve of your sweater and it comes away grimy, covered in dust.

Joel knows there’s something you’re not telling him. Can feel the tension, electric and tight in the air, skin crawling with it. Your eyes are narrowed, focused on the sound of rambunctious laughter coming from the small group of men.

And then your spine straightens and all concern bleeds from your face, replaced in an instant with rage. Red, murderous rage. Joel thinks he’s only seen that sort of frenzy in his own reflection. Now it stares back at him, mirrored and bloodthirsty. “What is it?”

You don’t answer. The scrape of your knife against its sheath at your thigh strikes a terror in him he hasn’t felt in years. His stomach turns uncomfortably because Joel knows, he knows something isn’t right. Something is going to go wrong. He can feel it in his marrow.

“Stop,” he says. “Talk to me.”

It’s like his words don’t even register. You say nothing as you pull at the pews stacked in front of the doors. They scrape noisily against the hardwood floor, and Joel tries to find something to stop you, to get through to you—but that knife is still clutched in your blanched fist and he knows in your rage you’ll swing at him all the same.

“There are eight of them and two of us,” he tries to reason. “We have no ammunition, no bullets, no arrows. We have to let them—”

“Go?” You turn your frenzied eyes on him. “What’s now eight used to be twenty,” you say. “I won’t let them get away this time.”

“Then we plan for it,” he says, holding out a hand and taking a tentative step toward you. It doesn’t matter to him what your reasoning may be. Joel knows that sort of wrath, knows he’ll never change your mind. And he knows following you down this path of slaughter is bound to bloody his hands further, to taint his soul this time beyond repair.

But he made a promise to you. Nothing in this world will you ever face alone.

The problem is that Joel knows neither of you will make it out alive. Not in this. You got lucky back in Casper, and he’s got the knowledge and experience with age to know you won’t get lucky twice.

He can’t let you do this.

“They won’t get far, okay? Not in an area like this. We go home— tomorrow. We ride to Jackson and we’ll get there in a day if we don't stop. And then we’ll come back for them, alright? We’ll stock up and track them down. I swear to you—”

“You don’t know,” you say, voice shaking. “You don’t know what they did—!”

“So tell me. Tell me everything. Give me the knife.” He reaches for it slowly, carefully. You eye him like he might grow claws and an extra head if you look away for an instant.

You don’t trust him, Joel realizes. Not at this moment, not with this. “Joel,” you say in warning. “Don’t.”

He wonders what’s led you here. Wonders about who’s distrusting hands you once placed your justice in.

The answer comes to him the moment the question crosses his mind.

“I’m not like her,” he says. “Look at me, baby girl. Look at me .”

You do. And though that frenzied look lingers in your eyes, something in you softens and he’s grateful for it.

“I’m not Maria. You understand me? When I make you a promise, I mean it. I will kill them. All of them. But we have to be smart about this. We have to do it right. Yeah?” He reaches out again. “Give me the knife.”

You angle it higher, just out of his reach. For a second Joel thinks all progress has been lost because he moved too quickly, too carelessly. But then you say, “Swear it to me. Swear on her life that you won't make me let them go.”

On her life.

Not her death, but her life. A promise of certainty. An unbreakable oath. Because if he fails, if he shatters this trust, Sarah’s life means nothing.

Joel’s lungs ache. Everything hurts and his skin feels like it’s on fire because no one has ever seen him like this. No one has known exactly what to say, exactly which bruises to press.

He nods slowly. “Okay,” he relents. “I swear on her life that we will find them.”

Carefully, you hand him the blade, and as if giving it away had flipped a switch, you deflate.

Joel slides your knife into the side of his boot when you turn away from him and go back to the window.

He stands beside you, a looming presence at your back. Even though he wants answers, he doesn’t want to pry them out of you. And your silence allows him the space for his mind to wander into unspeakable places. Joel has seen firsthand the depraved, vile things that mankind spirals into beneath the weight of survival.

For a time, even he had sunk so incredibly low.

And because he’s seen so much, his brain is filled with gut-wrenching images, theoretical scenes of torture, corruption, and perversion. Each one is more brutal than the last. And in them all, you’re the center of it.

You watch the group of men through the window until the blue illumination of their flashlights disappears from view. And the moment they do, you’re slipping through the window in the back of the church.

Joel follows you, a million questions on the tip of his tongue. But he stays silent and does nothing but help you gather debris fallen from the trees in the wooded area behind the church.

Once, he picks up a curved stick, and as if you’d seen it from the back of your head, you say, “No. Not that one. If they’re too curved, the arrows won’t shoot straight.”

The two of you gather timber for over an hour. And when his hands are just as full as yours, you return to the church. Joel returns your knife and you attempt to teach him how to shave the stick correctly and to whittle the point of it into a weapon.

He’s not even half as fast as you are. For every arrow he creates, you produce three. It’s a slow, tedious process, but eventually, you begin to speak.

“It happened on the last run I did for Maria,” you say, eyes focused on the knife and wood in your hands. “I fell asleep one night. It’d been days since I’d given myself a chance to rest and it had finally caught up to me. I’d barricaded myself in a house and might as well have been dead to the world. Two of them found me. Didn’t wake me, didn’t try to kill me or anything. They just took my bow and my pack. My pack that was mostly empty, had nothing in it but a twelve gauge with two bullets, some cans of food, water, and those stale fucking barbecue chips.”

You shake your head dismally.

“Should’ve fuckin left it. But I…I was afraid. If I came back to Jackson without the one thing she asked for, what use was I? What kept me there?”

It pains him to hear you say it. He wants to tell you you’re wrong, that despite what Maria has made you believe, your worth is not tied to what you can do for her. But he doesn’t. Joel just lets you talk.

“I tracked them to a warehouse a few miles outside of Boise. Watched them for a while, memorized all the entrances, the windows. Even memorized their faces. They had two people on watch in rotating shifts. I didn’t want to kill them, considering they didn’t try to kill me. But I wanted my pack, and so I waited until four of them were talking during a shift change and slipped inside through the back.”

Your eyes darken, and Joel fears what you may say next.

“Didn’t go as planned. One of them saw me. Outed me immediately, of course. And I thought they’d kill me. Shoot me or something. But that didn’t go as planned, either. The leader was called Gabriel.”

Your hands around the arrow still and your eyes grow misty. You’re reliving it, as clearly as if it were happening now.

“He, uhm…held me down. Suggested the rest of them take turns with me.”

Joel feels something inside him shift. Feels a decision being made, feels murder begin to drip down his fingertips like water.

“They’d already had my shotgun and took the pistol I had tucked in the back of my jeans the second they ripped them off. I thought…I thought it was the end for me. Because even if I survived it, even if I made it through all twenty of them…I might as well have been dead anyway.”

He understands now, Joel realizes. Understands why you were so infuriated about a run for a pregnancy craving when the price was this. His mouth runs dry.

Your words echo in the dark church. “Had my knife tucked up the sleeve of my jacket, though.” A small smile graces your face as you turn the blade over in your fingers admiringly. “Was able to stop Gabriel before he got any further. They were…stupid. Arrogant. Came at me one by one because why would you need more than that to fight a little girl with nothing but a knife ?”

Now there are only eight of them. The main perpetrator perished, his blood stained so deeply into your jacket that when you’d returned to Jackson they’d had to burn it. No salvaging anything from your destruction.

Nothing but this vengeance, this promise to yourself to right those who wronged you. He forced you to break it for your own safety. And though a surge of regret and sorrow trickles into his psyche, he knows there’s still an unbroken vow remaining.

The promise Joel made to you.

“Some of them ran. I tried to track them but after a few days, I just…I needed sleep. I wanted to go home.” You go black to fletching your arrow, whittling the end into a sharp point. “I’ll find them one day. Then it’ll be me taking turns with them .”

You don’t say much else for the next two hours. And he doesn’t, either. He helps you sharpen the timber into arrows and when you yawn three times in less than five minutes, he gives you his flannel and lets you lay your head in his lap.

Joel smooths the tangles in your hair as you sleep. And when you begin to softly snore, he carefully shifts your head onto your sleeping bag and tucks the strap of his rifle beneath your arm.

When he slips out of the window in the back of the church, he latches it shut. He decides against taking a horse, worried it’d create too much commotion.

But he does take your serrated sawback knife, telling himself it’s poetic justice.

They’re only two miles away, stashed in a rundown grocery store that’s been picked over one too many times. Two men sit outside the door. Old habits die hard, Joel thinks.

One has his head tilted back against the stone wall, sleeping with an ease he doesn’t deserve.

Joel takes out the other one first. And he does it quicker than he’d like. He creeps up behind him silently, wraps one hand around his throat, and uses the other to cover his mouth. The snap of his spine reverberates through Joel’s hands, tingling from his palms down to his elbows.

The other wakes with the commotion but doesn’t even have the chance to scream before your knife is lodged in his neck so deep the sharp point sticks out of the other end.

Inside, the other six all rest as well. Joel wonders how they can do so peacefully, knowing they’ve given an innocent little girl fuel for her nightmares. A girl who’s lost enough, who’s sacrificed enough, more than anyone should—only to lose a piece of herself at their greedy hands.

He makes quick work of them. Even delights in the way life leaves their eyes. One by one, Joel uses your knife to slit each and every one of their throats.

By the time he’s finished, his hands are caked in blood, splatters staining the sleeves of his heavy, canvas coat, and all that’s left of the men who hurt you are eight corpses.

You’re still sleeping when he slips back through the window of the church. It’s a little ironic, he thinks, to return here to this holy place with an angel inside, all while covered in the stink of death.

Joel sits beside you, back pressed against a pew. His hands rest on his knees, blood still drying beneath his fingernails. He watches you sleep and thinks his damnation is worth it if this brings you a sense of safety.

Though he tries not to, Joel thinks an awful lot about Sarah. Thinks about how he failed her, how just a little more brutality could have saved her.

He’s spent years regretting that night, regretting holding on to the shred of humanity he had left when he should have been holding onto her. He makes a promise not to repeat the same bad habits. Makes a promise he’ll never let his naive desire for respite get in the way of his need to protect you, to keep you safe. He’s breaking the habit, the same as he did with Ellie, because Joel doesn’t think he'll ever survive a loss of such magnitude again.

It doesn’t matter what he has to become to keep you safe. Doesn’t matter the cost to his soul.

Your face looks peaceful but your fists are coiled tight beneath your head. As if even in your sleep you’re fighting something, always on the defense. He wonders if it’s a trait you inherited before or after those men, before or after your sister's death, before or after the accusatory way the inhabitants of Jackson look at you.

Joel feels something heavy rise up in him. Something akin to sorrow or grief. This deep, pensive heartache because it’s just not fair. You’re so young, so innocent, dealing with the same demons he still fights and sometimes loses to at age fifty-two.

He doesn’t want this for you. Doesn’t want you to become volatile, murderous, monstrous in the ways he has. Joel spent so much time pushing you away and he thinks maybe it’s because there’s so much of his anger mirrored in you. That staring it in the face felt too harrowing, too raw.

The longer he thinks about it the more pieces slot together in his brain. Your cruel words hurled at anyone who sets you on edge. Your inability to follow any direction that isn’t forced. The self-isolation, the distrust in even those you love most. That animalistic fight in you, flight and freeze be damned. The need to protect others before yourself—Joel, Ellie, Miley, even Maria.

You don’t deserve to live like this. Don't deserve eternal damnation or to experience the wrath of God for the monstrous things you result to when you feel all else is lost. Violence is the only thing that has never turned its back on you.

Joel’s melancholy manifests, a single tear sliding down his cheek. You’re just a little girl and it's not fucking fair.

He doesn’t want this for you. He wants you to live a full, happy, peaceful life. Not one spent out here chasing ghosts, trying to find your worth in providing for others. He wants you to be protected, to know you’re loved even when you lash out, wants you to know that he understands. Joel wants to be that for you. Wants to be the unwavering support you deserve, wants to be the thing that pulls you back from that ledge you’re dancing upon. Joel wants to be for you what he needed in the darkest part of his rage.

But to do that, you’re going to have to relinquish a little more of that control you hold so tightly.

When you wake, it’s gradual. You don’t startle or flinch at the blood on his hands. But your eyes linger there on the red stain for some time before you ask, “All of them?”

Joel nods once. “All of them.”

And then you’re crawling into his lap, straddling him, pressing your mouth to his, thanking him in the only way you know how. Your tongue tastes like sleep and ambrosia and sunlight, but when Joel cradles your face in his hands he leaves blood in the wake of his fingertips. The bright red is a stark contrast against the smoothness of your skin, the violence an antithesis to your innocence.

He slides his bloody hands into your hair when your hips begin to move. His cock hardens quickly as his body catches up with your intent, always needy and eager, always just waiting to join you in more than just soul.

While he unbuttons his jeans and slides his zipper down to pull his erection out, your mouth never leaves his. Even when you shove those too-tight jeans down your thighs just enough to make room for him. When you lift up on your knees and sink down onto his cock in one familiarized movement he can feel the vibration of your moan against his tongue, can feel the breath of air from your gasp as he settles in deep.

The stretch is blissfully painful, stinging in all the right ways. You rock your hips slowly at first, adjusting to the sheer size of him, adjusting to his all-encompassing warmth. Your fingers dig into his thick shoulders, desperate to keep your balance.

And then you lift just enough to come slamming back down, the friction setting his skin ablaze. Again, again, again —it’s hurried and needy and depraved. Your hips move fervently over his, seeking out what you know only he can provide.

Your eyes are squeezed shut when you pull your sweet mouth away from his. Joel watches you lean back and place your hands on his thighs for support, back arching, and somehow he finds himself even deeper inside you. You’re moaning and his breath is coming fast and he thinks you look more than just angelic from this angle. He watches you ride his cock and wonders if you were fucking made to do this.

Cheeks flushed, lips parted, his name on your lips. Is this what Eve saw in the waxy reflection of the forbidden fruit? Is this what she saw when she knowingly abandoned paradise?

Joel thinks it can’t get much better than this. Thinks the only thing that’s ever come close is the feeling of blood on his hands in the name of those he loves, in the name of you.

He wraps his hand around your throat, staining you even further red, and says, “I’d do anything for you. Anything .”

He thinks about the Ten Commandments, about how he can cross off every single one of them with just this act alone.

You shall have no other Gods before me.

No divine being has made him feel like this. No divinity has ever reached up through his ribs and squeezed a fist around his heart. Not like you have.

You shall make no idols.

He thinks about the way you look in his canvas coat. Joel has found his own form of peace through you, has found forgiveness beneath your tongue.

You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.

Your pace quickens. The obscene, wet sounds coming from the place you’re joined echo in the walls of the church. “Oh my God, Joel, I’m—I’m close.”

He knows you are. Can feel it in the way your pussy squeezes him like a vise, in the way your rhythm becomes sloppy and desperate.

Keep the Sabbath day holy.

Joel doesn’t know what day it is. But he knows he wishes he could stay here in this home you’ve made together within the bones of an old religion, wishes he could stay inside you. He doesn’t know if there’s anything more unholy than this insatiable desire.

Honor your father and mother.

He thinks about that day in the dining hall when embarrassment climbed Maria’s cheeks as you screamed in her face. Joel thinks she deserved it more than he realized that day. He thinks about the way you spoke to him in that watchtower, thinks about the way he’d had to drag you there by your hair, all while listening to every disrespectful thing that came out of your mouth and how a few short weeks later you got down on your knees and called him daddy.

You shall not murder.

He takes the hand wrapped around your throat and flattens it against your sternum. The blood is drying but still marks your skin in the shape of his fingerprints.

You shall not commit adultery.

Joel knows he’s supposed to be with a lovely, soft-spoken, age-appropriate woman but knows, too, that death would be kinder than the loss of you.

You shall not steal.

He was angry at first, about the strawberry scone. Mike’s wife is a kind woman who spends her time baking for the community. But Ellie likely never would’ve had the opportunity to try it had you not nicked the pastry. If it was always going to lead the two of you here, together, Joel would have stolen every last scone on God’s green earth.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

Lying seems a small price to pay for you, for your safety. He remembers telling Greg and Bonnie that you were running late the night you left him in the watchtower alone. He wanted to keep you safe then even without noticing that’s what he was doing. Safe from ridicule, from judgment.

You shall not covet.

He recalls seeing Abel’s hands on you, seeing his lips against your hair in a chaste kiss. Joel had wanted to kill him then, for touching what was his. He knows by taking you for his own, he’s taking you away from someone like Abel. Someone with a little more moral in their heart, a little less blood on their hands. But he doesn’t care because you’re his now and always.

Joel lifts his hips in tandem with yours, meeting each stroke, thrusting his cock even deeper inside you. Your legs begin to shake around his and Joel thinks damnation isn’t so bad. “Anything,” he repeats. “Lie, cheat, steal.” His hand on your chest slides up again, wrapping tight around your throat. “I’d kill for you, little girl.”

Your pussy flutters around him and your spine bends in the most beautiful arch he’s ever seen. It solidifies his belief in one very important thing, the last nail in the coffin that cements the two of you together eternally.

This filthy, sinful devotion is cosmic. Celestial. Unearthly. So much more than a bible and cross.

It’s worth it. It’s worth everything.

“You like that? Hm?” Your rhythm falters but his remains steady. “Like that I’d spill blood for you, s’that it? That’s what got you all wet, sweetheart?” Your moans turn saccharine— sacrilegious. “Pretty pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, baby. Such a messy thing. I’d kill anyone for my little girl. Anyone .”

“Joel, I—!”

He knows, he knows. Because he is, too. “Yeah, thaaaat’s it,” he says, drawing out each syllable. Your hands squeeze hard around his thighs and your muscles draw tight. “There you go, baby. Cum for me. That’s it. Sweet fuckin’ girl. Gonna fill you up. That what you want?”

You rasp out his name and the words yes, please, please, and it sounds like a fucking prayer. It’s a hypnotic litany. It makes him feel cherished, adored. And the sound of it spoken in worship in the house of God sends him over the edge.

Even though your legs tremble around his, you ride his cock relentlessly. Joel’s vision goes white and his hand on your hip squeezes tight enough to bruise. You feel so good, so warm and wet. You lift your hips and slam them back down until the oversensitivity becomes more than he can bear. His hand abandons the home it’s made around your throat and finds the small of your back instead, stilling you completely.

You lean forward, collapsing with your hands pressed against his chest. Joel wraps his arms around your middle and cradles you in his lap, all too aware of the divinity he holds in his hands. He presses a kiss to your temple and listens to your heavy breaths.

Some time passes. He’s not sure how long the two of you sit there with Joel still wedged deep inside you, basking in the afterglow. The sun rises outside and the songbirds of the morning begin to sing.

Eventually, you lift your head and whisper, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Joel doesn’t understand. He’s stolen something he was undeserving of, only to be loved back. If anyone should be thankful, it should be him.

It feels like a punch to the gut when you say, “For seeing me.”

Because he now knows no one else ever has. No one has ever seen your defiance as anything but a nuisance, has never seen you as more than a troublemaker, as a bad omen.

But Joel does see you. He sees right through all that savage fight to the little girl beneath, that soft, childish innocence you keep under heavy guard. He thinks he’s been able to see through it since the first moment he laid eyes on you.

It’s her he wants to protect.

Joel takes your chin in his hand and makes you a commandment of his own. “I will always see you.”

[part seven] [part nine]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @elliesr1fle @pascaltesfaye

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[masterist]

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #x reader #smut #joel miller self insert #idle threats #pearlessance #tlou

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