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motherofagony · 10 months

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FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn.

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink.

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem.

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks.

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck.

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that.

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

—

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water.

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash.

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no.

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you.

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven.

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you.

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it.

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control.

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove.

You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see.

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.”

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit.

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust.

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you.

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us au #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #fire walk #my writing #joel miller one shot #motherofagony

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songmingisthighs · 2 years

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Ignominy

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ch. xviii - it's gonna be slutty

hybrid!san × human!reader

tw : explicit sex; unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, risky behaviour

buy me coffee ?

everyone wants to belong, it's basic human need to connect with people around them. what happens when you're responsible for someone who belongs to two worlds but at the same time belongs to neither ? worst part is, what happens when it's your ex ?

You never knew how much of a big deal it would be for you to experience your first halloween as a career woman. And you never knew how much of a headache it was.

Usually, you'd be ready at 4 pm, pre-gaming with one of your best friends, whichever is least busy at the time (so not Hongjoong). But you found yourself changing out of your work clothes into your costume (which you had to admit was a lingerie corset top that you paired with black leather pants and boots for convenience) in your office lobby's bathroom and then having to skitter out to avoid being recognized.

But it was all worth it as not even an hour later you found yourself downing an erotically named shot of alcohol you got from a random patron. For the third time that night.

"God, having bobs must be amazing," Hongjoong said as he stared straight at your boobs. Seonghwa smacked him on his shoulder but Hongjoong just waved him off whilst maintaining eye contact with your boobs as if they were in a staring battle. You rolled your eyes at him but smirked cockily because his statement was fair. "What made you say that my dear dear friend Kim Hongjoong?" you asked in faux innocence. His left eyebrows raised at the tone of your voice as he prepared his answer, "The fact that you can use them as currency at a bar and especially on drunkard's holidays while Seonghwa, Jongho, and I have to whip out our wallets," he stated. Jongho leaned down to talk directly in your ears after he heard Hongjoong's answer, "I thought he was gonna say we'd have to whip out our dicks because I'm pretty sure that'll get us kicked out instead," he joked which made you almost choke on your drink.

To escape the boob conversation, Seonghwa ushered Hongjoong and Jongho away to the toilet so they could relieve themselves before it got dirty(er).

You nursed your now empty shot glass in your hand, twirling the leftover liquid around, seeing how it catches the light. There were no specific thoughts in your head other than the realization of how good it felt to drink after a day of hard work, it felt like a reward you deserved.

"I hope you remember that you're still working tomorrow,"

It was like an automatic response. You weren't even surprised that you immediately recognized the voice even in such a crowded place. That voice has become the trigger to a lot of negative feelings to the point that your first response was to sigh. You turned slightly around to give your boss a tight-lipped smile, "Thanks boss, but I can handle a little poison from time to time," you sarcastically said. "I'm just trying to look out for you because you seem like you're here alone," he sighed, taking a step closer to you to lean on the bar near you. You let out a slow sigh, preparing yourself mentally to converse with San, "Well I'm not. My friends went to the toilet and I didn't want to join them because I don't plan on seeing men peeing in a line. I saw Mingi earlier so.. I'm guessing you're here with your friends too." San pursed his lips and nodded slowly. He then pointed at the VIP section with his thumb, "Wooyoung wanted to get together with some of his other friends," San stated.

Much to your disappointment, San, dressed in his three-piece suit, sat down on the empty bar stool next to you. You had to use all your strength to not roll your eyes at him and remain neutral. It was a festive night for fuck's sake, you'll be damned if you're going to spend it whilst pouting. No way. So you decided to play nice with the man next to you. Worse comes to worst, you'll buy him a drink with an extra something in it. Most likely your spit. If he pisses you off, bar top cocktail.

"What are you supposed to be, though?" You asked, eyeing his... Not costume. He blinked for a second, looking down at his outfit in confusion, "Well... Christian Grey?" he answered sheepishly but in a questioning tone and you couldn't help but scoff at his pathetic attempt at... Whatever he was trying to do. Honest to God, you don't know this man anymore and you couldn't understand him.

Deciding that maybe you should stop talking about his abysmal costume, you decided to steer the interaction somewhere else. Thinking, you knocked your shot glass twice before shooting him a question. "Want a blowjob?" you asked him with a straight face. San almost choked on his own spit as his eyes widened and red rushes to his ears. He began sputtering like an idiot, not knowing how to respond to your offer. It wasn't until a bartender came to give you a shot glass with whipped cream on top and you placed it in front of him that you finally cracked a smirk, "Kahlua, Bailey's and whipped cream, I present to you: The Blowjob." San stared at the shot glass in front of him for a solid ten seconds before looking up at you slowly with a scowl on his face. At that look, you couldn't help but laugh at him genuinely because you found it too funny. "I'm sorry, I just had to," you said in between laughter. Usually, San would hate if people laugh at him, but seeing you looser like this (maybe because you both were not in the office and maybe it's because the alcohol is taking its relaxing effect on you), San only felt his heart thrumming in his chest lightly, like a happy little patter. He even managed to take drink the shot you got him and much to his surprise, he didn't hate it. Soon enough, you both found yourselves downing three more shots each, trying different dirty named shots and even ranking them.

When the music changed, your eyes widened in recognition and you immediately jumped out of your seat, "I love this song, I'm gonna dance," you told him before running off. You barely took a step away when San took your hand in his and stared at you worriedly, "By yourself?" You rolled your eyes at him because he was trying to act all protective when you think he shouldn't have which is annoying. "It's a dance floor, San, not a mosh pit. You should join in too, let loose," you simply said before pulling your hand out of his grasp. Once again, he felt his heart clench as he lost physical contact with you. His eyes followed your figure and while you weren't far, he was still worried. San wanted to join you to make sure you were okay, but he didn't want to make it seem like he was trying to play a protective character. He hesitated for a moment but soon his hesitance melted away completely when he saw a slimy-looking guy approach you from the back with his crotch swivelling and smirk etched permanently on his face, eyes zeroing in on you like a hungry hungry predator. San felt something burning inside of him and his chest vibrating as he was growling without even realizing what he was growling. At the speed of light, San found himself zooming towards you who were swaying to the beat of the song in utter bliss, not knowing what's going on. He immediately slot himself behind you, glaring and baring his teeth at the guy, making sure he understood that he and his advances are not wanted. Luckily, the guy was easily intimidated in his drunken stupor as he immediately waddled away to bother someone else without a half-hybrid ex-boyfriend protecting them.

San was pulled out of his thought when he felt your arms reached back, one hooked around his neck, caressing the short hair at the back, and the other resting on the side of his left thigh. He stiffened up almost immediately, not knowing what to do as he didn't expect you to do that. Well, did you even know that it was him you were being touchy with?

His question was soon answered however when you leaned your head back and stared up at him. Your eyes flicker in surprise momentarily and San was fully expecting you to push him away but instead, you turned to look at him with a hand on his chest, keeping him at an arm's length. "Guess you're not as rigid as I thought you'd be," you smirked, slowly resuming your swaying. San felt his heart quicken seeing you in such a state; maintaining eye contact with him while the light made you look like a glowing seductress. Years passed and yet you still affect him so much. Usually, San didn't like how much you affected him, how you made him feel again. He was so used to being numb and having you around trigger feelings in him and it usually made him uncomfortable. But this time, with you like this, he felt butterflies and warmth spreading in his body.

San rolled his eyes at your remark, "Are you calling me soft?" he scoffed. You shrugged at him whilst changing your moves to be a little more prominent, your body rolling close to his every so often and it was so close that San could just pull you completely against him. "I don't know, am I?" you smirked, taunting him. San's eyes immediately darken, his pupils dilated as the warmth in his body grew to a fire. To your surprise, San leaned down whilst simultaneously pulling you against him, making you gasp slightly, "You don't know how... Rigid... I can be," he growled right into your ears. Your eyes rolled back at the sound of his honey voice and the vibration in his chest.

Right at that moment, with the alcohol clouding your judgement, the dark ambience, and San saying the right things, you decided to throw caution to the winds and let your mouth loose. "Actually, I do know, " you started, right leg slowly slotting itself on San's left hip, causing him to instinctively held it up so your crotches were on each other, "And I also know that you didn't bring me to orgasm last time," you poked. Usually, San would get upset whenever someone brought up his accident, but this time it felt different.

Before you know it, San was hauling you away to the bar, slapping some cash on the counter, and calling for the bartender. Initially, you thought you had upset San by bringing up the past, you thought he was angry. "San, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" you were unfortunately cut off by San pulling you into him by the back of your neck, forcing your faces so close to each other that you could taste the sweetness of the liqueur he downed on his breath, "I'm finishing what I started five years ago," he declared confidently.

His words penetrated your mind deeply as suddenly everything became a blur. You remembered San closing the tab you and he made and you looking around for your friends and only managing to catch glimpses of them here and there, you didn't even remember checking out your coats. It wasn't until you heard San telling the driver that he'll give him double the fare to punch it that you realized you were in a taxi. "No, let's just go to my place, it's closer than yours," you blurted out once your brain has re-synced with reality. San smirked at your eagerness and nodded at the taxi driver as a signal for him to go. Once the car began moving, San pulled your body close to his as he ducked his face to start peppering kisses around the skin of your neck and collarbone, "You're a horny, desperate whore, aren't you?" he chuckled darkly, seemingly taking pride in your state. You bit your bottom lip to hold back a groan, not wanting the driver to hear what you were both doing in the back despite being sure that he DEFINITELY knows what was going on.

As San preoccupy himself with marking your skin with his sharp teeth and incessant sucking of his lips, your hands found purchase on his person; one hang was enjoying the feeling of the hair on the back of his head grazing against the skin of your palm as the other slip into his coat to clutch at his suit jacket. Out of the corner of his eyes, San was watching how your body reacted to him, to his touch, to his work on you. It pleased him to feel your chest heaving, your breath stuttering at the feeling of his mouth teasing the perfect spot, your thighs rubbing together to both create friction and hold yourself from completely jumping his bones in a car that belongs to neither of you. San loved the sound you were making and the scent of your increasing arousal was just addictive to him. All he could think of his how much he wants more of it. More of you.

A gasp escape your lips before you could even stop yourself when you felt San's hand slipping between your legs, thumb slowly rubbing against your clit. The pressure felt enthralling and adding to the fact that you were so close to getting what you want but you have your clothes getting in the way, it just made your pleasure even more pleasurable, it made you desperate. San's lips vibrated with his laughter when he saw you throwing your head back in embarrassment after your slip up, "Pathetic," he stated, catching your attention, "You're so horny that a little stimulation riled you up this bad. You ARE just a horny horny bunny, aren't you?" he taunted. Your bottom lip quivered, wanting to answer him but the stimulation in your pussy made it impossible for you to string a coherent response. Seeing this, San didn't let your mind do much as he moved faster with his finger and his lips traveled up to nip at your earlobe.

Just as you were about to tell San to just rip the crotch of your pants, the cab stopped and the driver announced (rather uncomfortably) that you both had arrived. Both you and San moved at the speed of light; you got out of the car and him paying the driver carelessly, handing him some bills without looking and telling him to keep the change. You quickly pulled San to your apartment building, throwing a simple "hi" at the security guard as you and him scurry away as if you both were on fire. As you got into the elevator, you made haste and took off your coat and proceeded to push San's off of his body. Thankfully, the elevator arrived at your floor before you decided to just strip naked in a public area.

It felt like a race between you, your libido, and your patience. You desperately needed to get fucked and the buzz from the alcohol only allowed you to focus on that. You didn't even have the patience to make sure that San was right behind you (which thankfully he was) and you only acknowledged his presence when you were inputting your code into the keypad of your lock. He had pressed himself so close to you, you swore you could feel the warmth of his dick from his dress pants pressing against your ass. His hands were roaming around your body as his teeth busied themselves with tugging at the shell of your ear.

As soon as your door opened, you and San stumbled inside, taking off your shoes in the process. While San was slower with his moves, what with having to lean down to take off his shoes and put them away properly, you on the other hand had expertly taken off your boots and simply thrown them away somewhere you couldn't care less. When San was finally able to store his shoes away, he came to find you only in your corset top, bunny ears, and panties, your pants, your coat, his coat that you had yanked off from the taxi, and bag had been thrown away haphazardly around the place but you didn't seem like you were even thinking about them. You were looking at him, slightly heaving, but with a lust-filled look. San stood off not far from where you were with a smug look on his face; a smirk adorning his sharp features followed by a chuckle that made your spine tingle and core ache. "You really are an impatient whore, aren't you? You've even made sure you're fuck ready," he said, pointing at your panties that matched your corset. You rolled your eyes at him as you slowly took several steps back, closer and closer to your room, "Of course, I WAS planning on getting absolutely fucked out of my mind by anyone." It seemed that San didn't like your words as his face dropped to a scowl and he immediately rip his tie and suit jacket off, leaving the tie in his grip as he stalked closer to you. "So you were about to seek release from anyone willing? Carelessly?" he growled which made you smirk. "Yes, you were not even on my choice list. I actually had my eyes on a guy in the dance floor but you were just so easy to get," you taunted, lying in the process about the other guy just to see what San might do.

With a last huff, San dashed forward to grab at your body with a firm yet careful grip. He pushed you into your dark room, not caring about the darkness and before your body hit your bed, San set his eyes on yours with a menacing glare that only made your pussy throb, "I'll make you fucking forget that guy."

All of a sudden, you found yourself bouncing off your bed and San pouncing on top of you, careful to not crush you but close enough that you could feel San's breath and his hand moving to unbutton his shirt. His chest rumbled as he let out a chuckle, eyeing you in your position under him, "Oh, I'm going to have so much fun," he said. San quickly pulled your arms above your head to tie them together with his tie. The knot didn't seem professional but it was tight enough that you weren't able to completely get away but you knew that if you tried hard enough, you could break free. But what's the fun in that?

You were about to taunt him when you felt the fabric of your panties ripping and the air hit your naked core. You gasped when San's hand made contact with your pussy as he delivered a slap to it. "Hey! You ruined my sexy pair!" You whined, trying to bite your moan down when he placed his thumb directly on your pussy lips. San flitted his eyes to you momentarily before returning his gaze directly at your pussy, making you momentarily shy which caused you to try to close your legs. However, San wouldn't let you as his strong hands placed themselves on your knees and spread them open widely.

From your knees, San's hands carefully and steadily travel down to rest at the junction of your thighs, his thumbs going back to your pussy lips to spread them open gently to expose more of you to him. You felt your breath hitch as you watched his moves, realizing that it felt familiarly intimate. With one last look, San let out a warning, "Don't cum yet."

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head once San began eating you out like a madman, The way his tongue lapped at your flowing juices suggested obsession and addiction over hunger. The scent you exude overpowered San's senses and this was even more than what he expected when he had his taste of you in the cab. The moans you let out when his lips nibbled your little bundle of nerve, every sharp breath and every high-pitched noise made San's dick twitch. All he wanted was to have you, claim you as his, he wanted you as a whole so he didn't have to part with the feeling he was having. Out of all the feelings you had ever given him, this was his favourite.

You on the other hand were a moaning mess. Out of your own pleasure, you reached down to grip San's hair despite your hands being tied together. But as your fingers made contact with San;s hair, he snapped his head up, detaching his lips from your cunt which made you whine in protest. "Keep your hands where I left them, slut and if you disobey me again, I won't let you cum at all tonight," he growled, glaring at you with so much authority and demand that it made your heart skip a beat. With eyes widened, you nodded in obedience before lifting you arms up again, trying your damn best to eep them there as to not piss San off. Although he seemed to be perfectly fine with your hips moving on their own accords, grinding against his face, smearing your arousal on his chin. You were sure that you were dripping at this point but San didn't seem too care much. Heck, if you could read his mind, you'd notice that he in fact wish he could drown in it. When you peeked down at him, you noticed that San seemed to be enjoying himself just as much as (or even more than) you. Whilst feasting on your cunt, he was humping your bed simultaneously. His hips gyrating and swivelling as he pressed down on the soft mattress to seek pleasure.

Your thoughts broke when San sat up abruptly to yank his pants off. You stared at him slowly baring his glorious, naked self in front of you. But nothing could prepare you when you finally see his cock once again. When he let his penis free from its confinement, slapping on his stomach in its rigid glory, you couldn't help but bit your bottom lip and let your legs spread even wider invitingly. The lines of his toned body accentuate every curve he has and even through the darkness, you were able to appreciate his beauty. He, who has become more mature and more beautiful over the years and you yearn for him. Or at least, you yearn for his body.

"I have to have you," San said as he slowly crawled back on top of you, one hand on his dick, working himself a little more as he prepared to enter you. As he moved, the light from your living room managed to catch his form and there you saw a sheen on the tip of his dick. You exhaled shakily, feeling the need to have him in your mouth so you could have a taste. But the throbbing in your pussy said that it needs San inside it, it wants to have his cum inside it and it wants every last drop. You licked your bottom lip and intentionally let out a pornographically pathetic-sounding whine that made San's cock twitch, "Then fucking have me, San. Make me finally cum after five years of waiting."

In a blink of an eye, San had pressed his tip at your entrance. It was surprisingly heavier than you remember and the pressure alone was already giving you stimulation. "San," you called out to him, eyes meeting his that has been looking at you the whole time. "Please," you pleaded, eyes glistening from being overwhelmed with pleasure. It was all it take for San to crash his lips on yours, melding them together as he pushed in. You were sure you were squealing into San's mouth when you finally feel his whole length and girth entering you at a painstakingly slow pace. You could feel every ridge of his cock from the smooth head down to the bumps of the vein decorating it. It wasn't an exaggeration when you say you could draw San's penis precisely from just having him inside your pussy. It felt like forever before you could finally feel his hips meeting yours before you felt the tip of it pressing onto your cervix. As your chest heaved at the feeling, San's eyes rolled back as he let a shuddered exhale of his breath and his arms give out momentarily, letting his body experience the overwhelming comfort of your warmth around him, not realizing that with him filling you perfectly, the weight of his body completely enveloping you was turning your brain into mush.

It was you who made the first move, hips lifting upwards to create some friction inside you. The more you move, the more you crave. But with San's body weight on top of you and your arms being tied above your head, you couldn't do as much as you want. "San, please," you whined out of frustration, "Please, I need you to fuck me!"

Slowly, you could feel San starting to move. His hips began rutting into you as his arms slowly anchored his body all the while his lips found purchase on your chest, peppering kisses on the skin and occasionally leaving marks and a trail of saliva in random paterns. As much as he wanted to take your corset off, your pussy was incapacitating his brain.

Moans started leaving your mouth when San began picking up the pace of his hips. With his body no longer anchoring you down (much to your disappointment), San was able to move more freely. The initial grinding turned into his penis dragging in and out of your pussy so deliciously. "O-oh fu- fuck," you gasped when San angled his hips slightly as he thrust in, accidentally hitting the spot in you that made your spine tingle. "Again, please," you begged, eyes closing to bask in the pleasure he was giving you. Just as your eyelids closed, San clicked his tongue and grabbed your chin, forcing you to open your eyes again. "You better keep your eyes open, I want you to see me making my mark in your pussy," he demanded. His words sent a wave of pleasurable shock into your pussy and he could tell that you were affected by his words from the way your pussy immediately clench.

Much to your surprise and disappointment, San slipped himself out of you. You gasped in annoyance and were about to give him a piece of your mind when he pushed you up and back against your headboard, arms were uselessly thrown up. His hands firmly pushed your legs open and up against you as if he was folding you in half before hastily reentering you in one fluid movement. The impact was quick, clean, and effective as it caused you to see stars.

San wasted no time in fucking you with his hands anchored on your knees to keep your legs wide open for him. His hips snapped just right and the new position allowed him to reach even deeper in you, much deeper than the deepest "deeper" you thought you had in you. San was thrusting in so ferociously with so much power that you basically turned into a mere ragdoll. Your body was rocking with the impact, head hitting your (thankfully) cushioned headboard as your arms fell onto San's shoulders. The man before you was grunting as he focused on his work, trying to do what he had promised from the beginning.

It was a good thing that San ate you out prior to having him fuck you like such. You knew you would still feel sore the next day, but both your arousal and his truly helped his movements.

Soon enough, you felt the building pleasure slowly reaching its maximum point. At this point, you could even feel the initial taste of your incoming release. "S-San, I- I'm so-o- so close," you managed out, head lolling forward to rest on San's shoulders, eyes shutting tightly to try to focus on the feeling of you slowly tipping over. You couldn't see it, but you felt San nodding, "I'm gonna cum in you," he said, letting you know his plan to which you couldn't complain one bit. San managed shift your legs slightly in a position you couldn't muster for the life of you. Whatever he did, it managed to made you scream in pleasure. You couldn't care less if your neighbours heard you at that point, you were finally getting a quality dick and you deserved it 100%. The sound of you being so loud stroked San's ego as he began hitting you with more force but less frequency. Each hit was precise and served as a tall-tale sign of him wanting to completely feel your release.

Luckily for him, it only took him two more harsh thrusts into you before your pussy gripped onto his dick like a vice, your legs involuntarily closing in and trapping San's body in its place while you experience the most intense and the best release you have ever experienced in your life that it made your toes curl.

San tried to thrust in a couple more times, wanting to feel your tightness around him before he released his load but he wasn't able to. Despite that, he couldn't really complain, not when he could feel you being filled completely to the brim by him. The warmth of his release and your mixing made his cock twitch inside you and the twitch of his cock was enough to make you whine from overstimulation.

The both of you stayed in that position for a bit, unable to do much else other than try to catch your breaths. San was the first one to pull away though. He did it in steps; starting from reaching back to pull his tie off of your arms, allowing them to drop limply to your sides, then his body, allowing more air to be accessible to you, and then finally he pulled his softening dick out of you, making you shudder from the friction. As San dropped to the other side of the bed, you slowly sat up to go to the toilet, trying to fight your fatigue in favour of cleaning yourself before letting sleep take over you.

Despite the darkness of the room, San was able to make out your disappearing figure. When you disappear into the bathroom in your room, one thought dawned on San's head, a thought that made him crack the first genuine smile he gave himself in a long, long while.

He didn't hurt you. You both had sex and he didn't hurt you.

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@justbaozi25 @idjitscentral @angelicyeo @jackinmyarea @cutie-wooyo

@glitterystarlightmeow

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sweaterkittensahoy · 5 months

Note

Hi! For the reverse prompts:

Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss for jackharding sounds sooo funny bc jack genuinely does not mean to and does not care while chick just follows him around avoiding his responsibilities.

Bonus his men knowing damn well what chick is doing and where he is and just letting him be (like imagine blakely and douglass walking into a random diner and seeing chick tucked in a booth and the three just staring at each other for a beat before dougley walking right back out) while the other families are spitting mad asking where he is

Jack's new-ish at this, but he's not a fucking idiot. When his boys bring him back a man who matches the general description, he holds out his hand. "Wallet."

"What? You need one?" the guy asks. He stares at Jack, and Jack stares back. The man snorts after a moment and takes out his wallet. He holds it out. "Say please."

"Fuck you," Jack replies and takes the wallet. He opens it and finds the driver's license. "Neil Harding," he reads. He looks at his boys.

"He goes by Chuck," says Winks.

"I go by Chick," says Neil Harding.

"Why?" asks Lemmons.

"Who cares," Jack says before Neil Harding can say anything else. "Winks, Lemmons, get fucked until I'm no longer mad at you."

"So, we're fired?" Lemmons asks, all cheeky grin.

Jack wishes he could threaten it, but Rosie's his best lieutenant, and he's desperately in love with Lemmons, and Lemmons and Winks are both actually competent most of the time. They just don't understand how you do a kidnap properly. Jack hopes Hambone and Brady are having a good time on their honeymoon, but he also needs them to get back sooner rather than later.

Winks and Lemmons leave Jack's office. Neil Harding looks around, then sits on the leather couch along the left wall. He reaches inside his suit jacket and pulls out a cigar.

"You mind?"

"You care?" Jack asks.

"Not really," Neil Harding says.

Jack picks up the pewter ashtray he keeps on the windowsill. He carries it over and sets it on the side table next to Neil Harding's elbow. He pulls out his cigarettes as Neil Harding lights his cigar and takes a long drag.

"So, you're the Irish Fox," he says, snapping his lighter closed and tucking it back in his pocket.

"And you're not Chuck Harding," Jack replies. He sits in the chair across from the couch. "Am I gonna get the Moose after me?"

Neil Harding's smile falls away and is replaced by a sharp smirk and a sharper gaze. Jack's known his name for years. Everyone in the business does. He'd been Slick Chick when he'd been younger, able to talk his way into any room despite his low connections and fluffy hair the color of a backyard hen. It's been shortened to Chick in the two decades since, though Jack doesn't know how or why. If his father knew the lore, he hadn't written it down or said it out loud before getting shot in the back of the head by Chuck Harding.

"I believe you mean the Bucks," Chick says. He takes another draw off his cigar, then taps the ash into the ashtray. "You're, what? Third generation? Your grandfather got your family going, then your father moved you up the ranks--my sympathies, by the way. He was always willing to listen and made choices based on facts."

"Appreciate hearing that," Jack says. "But I'm still worried your guard dogs are going to snap at my heels."

Chick glances at his watch, then at the phone on Jack's desk. "Egan and Cleven will hold still for three hours before striking. But it's been about an hour, which means they know it's you."

"No doubt," Jack agrees. He nods towards his phone. "Feel free to call them and give them the okay. Or you can let yourself out."

"You don't seem worried I'm going to get revenge for this," Chick says.

Jack stands and flicks his own ash into the ashtray. "You could have done that when they grabbed you, but you let them walk you in here without touching them."

"They're boys," Chick says. "And besides, I wanted to be the first man to say he'd met the elusive fox."

Jack snorts and shakes his head. "I've got the same name as my father. What's elusive about that?"

"You don't go to the shows. You don't see pictures. You don't go out to eat. No one's spotted you out and about in a year."

Jack stubs out his cigarette and meets Chick's eyes. Chick's watching him with that same sharp gaze, but the smirk is gone. His face is sincere and serious. "I wasn't supposed to take this job until I was thirty," he says. "And there are some fellas who like to take out the young ones."

"Chuck Harding's a big fan of that," Chick says. "Your father's the eldest he's ever taken out."

"Which I'd like to pay him back for," Jack replies, the anger rising up in the sudden wave it always appears. "By taking everything he has and leaving him poor and alone and friendless."

"Your boys were nothing but polite," Chick says as he stands. "And I know they're not your usual snatch team."

"They're on their honeymoon," Jack says.

Chick huffs a laugh. "Disgusting. What kind of mob man shits where he eats?"

"From what I hear, your Elks."

"Bucks," Chick corrects, and there's a smirk on his face again, but it's softer this time, almost a smile. "What about you, Jack Kidd, Irish Fox. You like to shit where you eat?"

Jack shakes his head. "I suppose I am your type," he says. "Half your age and blonde."

"And leggy," Chick adds, and now it really is a smile, and it's a hell of a smile. "But before we decide on the wedding china, how about I call the Bucks and get them on Chuck Harding? They've been working an angle to make him think he's made a new friend who actually works for me."

"You'll hand me Chuck Harding when you've put a guy in already?"

"I want him out of the way because he's sloppy and rude. You want him ruined because he took your father. Your reasons are better and get me the result I want."

Jack considers the option. He licks the corner of his mouth when he catches Chick staring. "And however will I thank you?" he asks.

Chick outright beams. "Wrap your legs around my waist one time, and we'll call it even."

Jack meets that sharp, confident grin and feels a grin of his own. "If you think you can keep up."

#jackharding #mob au #jack kidd #chick harding #lemmons and winks are kings at chop shop work and taking bets #terrible kidnappers #masters of the air

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idabbleincrazy · 11 months

Text

An excerpt from the Clex wip (for some reason this is being written, at least for now, in first person pov switching back and forth between Lex and Clark), set somewhere between Blank and Ageless:

Lex's POV:

So many starts to conversations that ended before they really went anywhere. So many opportunities to get closer, to rid ourselves of the distance between us, to bring to light the secrets that stained and strained our friendship. But then, that was why I was usually the one ending them, wasn't it? Even when I was the one who started it. Pulled away, put the walls back up, slipped that mask of cool indifference back on, before he could get too close. Because if he did, how could I resist?

How would I be able to walk away, sane and whole, if he closed that gap? If he bared his soul, spilled all his secrets, how could I keep him pure? That beautiful, innocent, pristine farmboy, would only be tainted if he got that close. Too young, too naive…I would have ruined him. I still might.

I could count the number of people I have ever cared about almost as much as I care about Clark on one hand, with three digits left to spare. I would call it love, if I thought I still had the ability to feel that particular emotion. I've tried for nearly four years to keep him at arm's length. Tried for four years to let myself have the one thing I wanted even more than my father's approval. Four years of yearning, dreaming of thick, black hair, and piercing green eyes. Haunted by pouting lips that could drive angels to sin, and hands big and strong enough to catch them when they fell.

Will I ruin this perfect, flawed, creature once I have him in my arms? After he has saved me countless times since that first life-changing, life-ending…life-startingl…day on the bridge, could I take the chance that I won't destroy him? Can I really resist the chance to find out? Even a saint's patience has its limits.

How many trips to Suicide Slums have I made, finding just the right shade of green eyes, the right pair of plump lips, shoulders just broad enough, to make the endless need go away, just for a little bit? Just long enough to pretend I didn't ache every time Clark walked through my door. That I didn't want anything more than to push him down onto the leather couch in my office and despoil that paragon of perfection. Tan, dark haired men aren't too hard to find, if you know where to look, if you have the right connections, and the wallet big enough to back it up. So eager to please, to kneel, to worship the Luthor cock. But none of them, not one, close enough to his perfection to sate my hunger for his presence.

@@@@@

For @leatafandom

#sneak peek sunday #clex

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docholligay · 2 years

Note

Given that your SM universe's Mina also has an insane sheisty power that is essentially cracking someone open against their will to manipulate them I'm curious about what she would do with it if she was somehow stranded in your OW universe

It happens. You get cocky.

You get cocky, and then you get careless, and then you get stupid, and then you’re holding yourself up on the edge of a pub counter, holding your throbbing jaw.

In fairness, no one had ever caught her before. How could they? It was the stuff of fairy tales and fantasy novels, and she was just some cute little Japanese girl. (Always a girl, never a woman) So kawaii and all that. No danger here. Tee-hee, look at my little backpack charm, tee-hee, my skirt comes to my thigh, tee-hee, I bumped into you, tee-hee, your wallet’s gone and you can’t stop thinking about your dead mother. A deep bow and a thousand pardons, guy-going-into-the-office-sama.

Lucky for Mina, said assailant hadn’t considered the optics of giving a solid right hook to the cute little Japanese girl who’d so innocently touched her arm as she walked by, and was currently reaping the rewards of her correct impulses. Even her companions were asking her what the hell was wrong with her.

You only have a moment. Think. Decide.

“She reached into me--”

There was a man coming up next to Mina, asking her if she was all right.

“Bloody cracked bitch!” A man’s voice, laden with anger, filled the pub. He wants to hurt the woman in the leather jacket, the one that felt so--

“Right, and no use beating the mental! Lena, we ‘ave to go. Now.”

It was good advice for Mina, probably, too. She was still a little shell-shocked from the accusation. Get out of my head, she’d screamed before she hit Mina. She knew, somehow. No one has ever known. Not even people who should.

How?

Mina bit down, hard, on the side of her mouth and tasted the salt and iron as big tears dripped down her cheeks and she looked up at the man next to her.

“I--oh, sorry, sorry.” She bowed, hands pressed together. Easy to tell immediately which of the Japanese girls she needed to be in which place. “So sorry.”

She looked over at Lena. She shouldn’t have, but she did. A dark-haired woman, probably related based on the shapes of their noses, the pattern of speech, and the general way she seemed to be trying to keep Lena from getting murdered by two large men, was shuffling her toward the door.

Lena met her gaze immediately, past the two men.

“You know what you did.” Gritted teeth, almost a hiss, but Mina still heard it perfectly. “Liar.”

Mina had scared her. It hadn’t, strictly speaking, been her intention, but it hadn’t not been her intention, either. She had simply been curious. Some people, you see and you know there’s something inside of them, something to crack into. Most people’s sorrow, their pain, their happiness, their delight, was all very boring, but Mina had seen the light on her chest, and known.

Cold. It had been so cold. So cold and so lonely, like being a ghost. Cold. Cold like lightning.

She had reached in, and the thing inside Lena had bitten Lena, but it had also bitten Mina, too. That was the only reason Lena got the drop on her, she reassured herself. Could never have happened otherwise.

But how had she known? Most people blamed themselves, or a news article, or some passing media, for the rush of feeling Mina brought out in them. They can’t imagine a simple touch, they can’t see the other Mina, Venus, reaching inside them and flipping through their mind. Only Seers ever knew, and usually not even them.

The girl currently getting bodily thrown against a wall and out of the pub didn’t look like a Seer, but then again, what did they look like anyway? Were Michiru and Rei so much alike?

How?

Mina caught her glace as she straightened up, wiping away a tear with the napkin she was offered, and as Lena got thrown out of the place, their eyes met again.

Mina gave her a toothed smile. A whispered word.

Later.

#I can't decide if Mina and Lena would be the greatest team or if they would hate each other but probably yes #Actually no I think Lena would hate MIna but Mina would just be like 'whatever man'#'don't hate the player hate the game'#'What game?? YOU are doing this! For fun!'#Fareeha loves her because she's a brilliant strategist with Lena's quickness and her attention to detail #Also because Fareeha is among the many that's like 'why am I suddenly thinking about my mother's betrayal?'#I don't know that I think anyone else would catch her #honestly the only reason I have Lena catching her is a) It's fun but also b) getting slipstreamed made Lena work differently in some ways

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manawari · 1 year

Text

Count on me (ch. 1)

Things packed — check. Bags ready — check. Clean apartment — check. Everything was completed. All that was left for her to do was leave the building and make her way to the bus station. Lee Ju-hee was going to come back to Busan to be with her family. And she was going to end her career in the hunting field for good.

The Double Dungeon incident was one thing, but the dungeon involved with Kang Tae-shik was the last straw. Ju-hee realized she could no longer handle seeing people fight for their lives. She wished to be at peace.

Live the way a person should.

Ju-hee knew gates were not for her, though she joined our of obligation because she was awakened and the fate of innocent people had weighted on her shoulders. She remembered witnessing her cousin get killed by beasts, which the memory still haunted her to this day, and told herself to not let the same way happen to others.

Ju-hee shook her head and took a deep breath. She reached for her backpack to sling it over her shoulder and pressed her thumb to pull the handle up and walked to the exit. She shut the door behind her and turned around when she suddenly met two people clad in suits.

"Hello. Are you Ms. Lee Ju-hee?" One of them asked.

She blinked, though she answered reluctantly. "Uh, yes. That is me."

"My name is Ahn Sang-min," the man introduced himself with a cordial smile. "We are from the White Tiger Guild. The Guild Master wishes to speak with you, if you do not mind."

White Tiger Guild? Guild Master? Ju-hee was bewildered. Nonetheless, she went with the two men who worked for the White Tiger Guild, one of the four most powerful guilds in the country.

She was silent during the whole ride. At this point, she was supposed to be at the station where there would be bus that was taking her to Busan, but it seemed her plans got twisted because of the fact that an S-Rank wanted to meet her.

When the car pulled into the front of the building, Ju-hee was then escorted by Ahn Sang-min and was told to leave her things on the car. She obliged and only brought along a handbag where it contained her phone and wallet. It was her first time to set foot into a building of a guild. It even made her heartbeat increase. Surely, she hadn't done anything to capture his attention. . .

The doors of the elevator parted when they arrived at the right floor. Ju-hee followed Sang-min out and walked across the hallway; clutching on the leather strap of her bag to cope with the increasing trepidation, the ginger glanced at the older man in front of her, sensing a pleasing vibe from him. She always thought that those who worked in the four biggest guilds were strict, but she found herself comfortable with this one.

Sang-min reached out to the door handle and twisted it to push the door open, unfolding the sight of the guild master's office. He stood aside and gestured her in. Ju-hee drew a lungful of air and stepped inside where she was greeted by the sight of a man with a white shirt whose sleeves were rolled up to present his muscular arms and had orange hair spiking in various angels, along with trimmed sideburns.

It was the Guild Master Baek Yoon-ho.

He was studying the piece of paper in his hand when he noticed a new presence in his office. He looked up and met her with his fiery eyes. Ju-hee felt strangely intimidated, or perhaps this was her first ever encounter with an S-Rank hunter upfront.

"You must be the B-Rank healer," began Baek Yoon-ho.

"I— I am!" Ju-hee stammered. "Is. . . Is there something you wish to tell me, Mr. Baek?"

The guild master set the paper down and placed his hands down on the desk. His face formed into an amicable countenance. "I'm offering you to have a contract with my guild."

" . . . Pardon?"

"I've heard about your skills as a healer, as well as you're one of the hunters who had been involved with the Double Dungeon incident. And lastly, I have heard about another incident in a dungeon where you've encountered an assassin?" He explained. "Is the latter correct?"

Ju-hee nodded. "Yes, Mr. Baek."

"In that case, I'm sure you had gone through such a tough time in those dungeons, so I decided to recruit you and become a healer in the White Tiger Guild." The guild master said. "The guild will look after you as much as you look after the hunters."

Ju-hee's grip around her bag clenched. Me? Going into dungeons again? No way!

No, she was supposed to come home to Busan. She told herself that she would no longer get involved with monsters. She told herself that she would be having a new life where it didn't have to involve terror.

I can't do this.

"No," she said. "I'm afraid I cannot join the guild, Mr. Baek."

Yoon-ho blinked. "You won't?"

"My last dungeon encounters had wounded me enough. I don't think I can bear going through another one." Ju-hee explained. "I hope you understand, Mr. Baek. Hunting is not for me anymore."

"Why not give it one last chance, Ms. Lee? I believe you can handle this one as you will no longer have to go through difficult situations." Yoon-ho said. "You will notice the difference between your past dungeons and the dungeons you will enter once you become a part of my guild. Trust me, not everything will be the same."

"With all due respect, how can you be sure? Every time I think about gates, I see my teammates dying. How can you assure me that I won't see the same thing happen in front of me?" Ju-hee said. She was aware that she was losing her formal tone, but she didn't think she was able to resist anymore. "I even thought I was going to die. So tell me, Mr. Baek, is my life going to change for the better if I accept your offer? Will I still able to experience the brighter side of life if I work in this building?"

At first, Baek Yoon-ho was silent. Ju-hee stared at him in bravado this time as she waited for his response. So once the S-Rank cleared his throat, he opened his mouth. "I understand what you are feeling, Ms. Lee. But I wish to ask you something— are you certain that you are prepared to turn your back on everything? You know, not every hunter is lucky enough to be approached by a guild master into their guild."

"I'll ask you this one before I can answer your question, Mr. Baek," Ju-hee continued. "Can you name a single thing I will gain if I accept? Yes, I am quite flattered to be approached by an S-Rank, but I wish to know the result."

"You will find new courage, Ms. Lee. You won't have to feel an extreme fear in the gates when my hunters are known for looking out for one another, and I might even assign you to a suitable party." Yoon-ho answered. "Is my answer adequate for you, Ms. Lee?"

"And if something bad happens to me?"

He interlocked his fingers together. "You are free to go. I will hold myself accountable for whatever it is that might happen to you. And if you'd like, I won't hand a contract to you in case you've changed your mind."

Partially, Ju-hee was surprised that Yoon-ho was easy to negotiate something with, for all she thought that guild masters tend to be cold when things wouldn't go on their way. Nonetheless, she should be glad that she didn't have to end up arguing him just to accept her terms. Since Yoon-ho was willing to hold on to his word, Ju-hee thought she should do her part in return.

I'm sorry. Her hands loosened on their grip.

"When. . . When do I start, Mr. Baek?" Ju-hee asked.

"How does tomorrow sound for you?"

She nodded. "I will be here tomorrow."

Farewell to her plans. . .

Farewell to the bus she would not get to ride to go to Busan where her family lived. Farewell to her supposed surprise that she was going to stay with them for good. Farewell to the new life she aimed to have.

Because in this unexpected twist, her new life was to continue being a healer while now working under one of the most powerful guilds by an equally powerful hunter.

Ju-hee wasn't sure what she should react. Her emotions were in shambles, scattered in her mind as she struggled which one to pick. She wondered if she truly made the right decision to accept instead of fighting for what she wished to have. Sure, working on a magnificent guild like White Tiger must've been a dream among many, but there was something inside of Ju-hee that she couldn't seem to grasp.

She didn't think she had the right to consider herself lucky. Rather, she was only seeing this as her last shot of entering the gates, so if she almost faced death again, that was now the final straw.

Ju-hee wanted to give up. Courage had become a dangerous thing for her.

At this, nothing seemed to excite her anymore as she woke up and stared at the date on her phone bluntly. First day at the White Tiger Guild. Ju-hee managed to get up from her bed and got dressed in her hunting attire, which was the same outfit she wore in the C-Rank dungeon. She made her hair into a French braid and once she was done, she was ready to go.

Ju-hee took a cab to the building. However, when she told the driver where she was going, he was quite shocked. It must be because she worked in such a pristine guild. She wondered if other hunters felt the same. To work in a prominent guild meant higher salary, as well as an exchange for risking one's life.

But at least that was something she must look forward to. Ju-hee would probably be able send more money to her family once she got her payment.

The taxi dropped her off in front of the building and drove away the second she shoved the door shut. The healer made her way to the entrance where the employees were already busy with their work while chattering harmoniously. Ju-hee decided to look around and caught a familiar face across the floor.

"Mr. Ahn!" She called and strode toward the man.

Ahn Sang-min turned away from his employee and met her eyes. "Ms. Lee Ju-hee. Such a pleasant day to see you."

"Likewise. And, may I ask for a little assistance?" Ju-hee waited him to nod before proceeding with her question. "Do you know which floor should I go?"

"Ah. The hunters are located in the fifth floor." Ahn Sang-min replied.

Ju-hee moved her hands to her front and bent forward. "Thank you, Mr. Ahn!"

Sang-min chuckled. "Alright, I bid you good luck with your first day at the guild."

Ju-hee nodded and flashed him a brief smile before heading to the elevator. She managed to accelerate her pace before the doors were completely shut, which she ended her chest heaving at the run. Looking around, it seemed everyone else was an employee, and not a single hunter was seen.

It can't be that I'm late, aren't I? Ju-hee shook her head. The guild master didn't mention any specific time, but as long as she arrived early.

Her fingers tapped on her lap as she watched the number at the corner. Once the number four became five, the elevator stopped and the doors were hauled aside to give way. Ju-hee entered a new floor and began to walk around. Everything was clean and quite bland due to the walls being painted in beige and the floor not having a single mark.

Do hunters not stay here for a long time? She wondered. Ju-hee let out a groan. In hindsight, she should've asked Ahn Sang-min which room she would enter once she arrived in the fifth floor, so that way, she might've—

"You're here already."

"Eek!" Ju-hee yelped. She spun around and was met with the owner of the voice. "M— Mr. Baek!"

"Call me 'Guild Master' now," said Yoon-ho. "You're working in my guild, after all."

"Right! Guild Master Baek!" Ju-hee cleared her throat as she regained her composure. "I. . . I don't know which room or hall am I supposed to go."

Yoon-ho let out a chuckle. "My apologies. I was about to tell you the major things yesterday, but you immediately left."

Ju-hee flushed. "I'm very sorry, Mr— Guild Master Baek. I didn't know our conversation wasn't done yet."

"It's alright. Now that you're here, I'll take you to the party you'll be hunting with from now on." Yoon-ho gestured her to follow him. "I already told them that they'll be having am official healer."

"They don't have a healer?" Ju-hee raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. But a few months ago, they used to have one until the healer decided to quit." Yoon-ho answered. "Sometimes, there's a healer who accompanies them, but he only joins depending on his availability as he's not a permanent member of the guild."

"Why? Not being a permanent member, I mean."

The corner of Yoon-ho's mouth twitched. "That's just how he is."

Ju-hee's lips slightly parted. She didn't know that there were hunters who could be like that despite being involved in big guilds. Perhaps Yoon-ho must've tried to recruit the healer, who kept refusing until he gave up.

Yoon-ho eventually led her to a hall where it was filled with cacophonous prattles, particularly from the hunters who wore armors. The largest one was boasting about how shiny his new armor was and even showed his broad sword. Some were in awe while others seemed to be disinterested.

The S-Rank hunter cleared his throat. "Hunters!"

The hunters instantly stopped and turned to their guild master. Ju-hee suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder.

"I'd like to introduce you to a new addition of our guild. Lee Ju-hee, a B-Rank healer." Yoon-ho declared. "She will be with you all from now on."

"Aw. . . " One of the hunters whined. "Do we even need to have a healer? We've already conquered dungeons on our own and none of us have left severe wounds since our last healer resigned."

"Quit complaining. Have you forgotten how important a healer is?" Yoon-ho glared. For a second, Ju-hee caught his eyes glow and his aura changed. "I don't want to hear any objections, got it? Make the newbie feel welcomed. You will be summoned to conquer a gate in five minutes."

"Yes, Guild Master!"

A small wave of shivers ran down Ju-hee's spine as Yoon-ho walked past her. Is this how strong an S-Rank's aura can be? She knew that such hunters were very powerful, but it seemed the true feeling was different when somebody actually encountered one.

"Hello!"

Ju-hee looked over and saw a young woman, partly around her age, with emerald green eyes. She had raven black hair and was fair-skinned. She had a feather-like ornament on the side of her head that curved past the top of her head and wore a white shirt with poofed sleeves and a pair of golden wing-shaped pauldrons on her shoulders, black leggings, and a pair of knee-high white boots. She also had a short yellow staff on her hand.

"Hi?" The new healer of White Tiger Guild said.

"I'm Park Hee-jin!" The hunter said her name. "Please to meet you, Ms. Lee."

Ju-hee let out a smile. "Call me Ju-hee."

"Okay," Hee-jin smiled back. "It had been a while since our guild had a new recruit. What made you apply for the guild?"

"I didn't. Guild Master was the one who offered me a place."

The hunter widened her eyes. "That's amazing. . . "

Ju-hee chuckled.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

" . . . We usually encounter C-Rank and B-Rank dungeons. Sometimes it's an A-Rank, but that doesn't happen often, so you don't have to worry about anything much." Hee-jin said as they headed toward the gate. "Just trust your instincts, Healer Lee. We won't let you get burt and you won't let any of us suffer from wounds."

Ju-hee nodded. "Got it, Hee-jin."

Park Hee-jin was the only person she had conversed with ever since she showed up. She was a mage, which explained the staff she carried, and was also a B-Rank just like her. It was quite nice to meet someone who was in the same rank as her. And not only that, Hee-jin was kind and friendly, the most welcoming hunter out of the group whereas the others hardly bat an eye on her.

Ju-hee found her hands clenching, as if bracing herself, when she walked inside of the gate. It had not been less than a week since that debacle happened. And it had not been less than a week since she said goodbye to her friend, whom she informed about her returning to Busan, either. The strong smell of mana felt like it was yesterday. The stone ground, the thick walls, and the tunnels and holes around the dungeon, lurking whatever creatures waiting to attack the raid.

You can do this, Ju-hee! The healer encouraged herself. It's too late to turn back now. . .

The hunters were in vigilance. Ju-hee walked close by and made sure to not be separated from them. It seemed to her that she was the only one who was showing signs of dread because despite being alerted, her fellow hunters were relaxed, which made her feel ashamed of herself since she had gone through dungeons before.

"Halt!" Kim Chul, the raid leader, brought his fist up. "I think I saw some movements. Be prepared or else you'll be toasted and no one is going to help you."

Hee-jin rolled her eyes. "No need to repeat the same sentence every time we go on gates."

"Ms. Park, as this group's leader, I must remind you all, especially when we've got a newbie." Kim Chul shot a glance at their healer. "Stay back as possible, would ya?"

Ju-hee could only do was wish the ground to swallow her. Hee-jin had briefed her about the hunters in their party, and said that the most arrogant of them all was Kim Chul, who was often on his high horse and believed he was better than the rest of them. So, Ju-hee would have to tell herself to not listen to him.

"Where did you see it?" A hunter asked.

"Somewhere over there." Kim Chul pointed at the hole that was larger than the rest. He brought out his shield and unsheathed his sword. "We'll attack in three, two, o—"

"ACK!!!"

Everyone's eyes diverted to the owner of the scream and spotted a hunter, whose leg had caught up on a claw that came from the nearby hole. Another hunter rushed up and ripped the hand apart. Screeches resonated from the darkness and that was when the monsters appeared — a bunch of goblins with long claws and thin frames, yet were swift to jump out of their hiding spots.

Ju-hee felt her breath clog on her throat. The others immediately got into battle.

"Healer!"

Ju-hee snapped out and whirled her head to the wounded hunter. She instantly knew what she must do, so she took off toward him and avoided getting attacked. Suddenly, she caught a claw reaching out to her, but a strike of yellow light clashed with the monster. It came from Hee-jin.

"Go, Healer Lee!" The mage exclaimed and faced another goblin with her staff to eliminate it.

The healer managed to get to the wounded hunter and found the nails were still intact on the flesh. Ju-hee's breath quivered at the sight of blood.

Yet, she shook her head and spoke. "First, I'll have to remove the claw."

"Just do what you have to do!" The hunter seethed. "Is it necessary to let me know?!"

Ju-hee gritted her teeth in a growl and grabbed the claw and pulled it out, causing the hunter to cry in agony.

"Shit! That's painful!"

That is why I have to inform you! Instead of speaking the words in her mind, Ju-hee hovered her hands over the streaming ichor and summoned her powers to mend the flesh together. She never got any complaints when healing someone before, and perhaps since the group must've gotten used to not having a healer in a few months, which was why.

But it was not like Ju-hee was going to tolerating such a behavior.

Being the only healer among them, she must do her best. Just like her previous raids.

The raid was a success. They managed to kill all the monsters and faced the dungeon boss, which was obviously killed by Kim Chul and few of his close comrades. There were four injured hunters in the process, but were then healed by Ju-hee, who had to run in the middle of the fight. And thankfully, Hee-jin was there to assist her. It was still exhausting, but the amount of relief was threefold when the raid was finished.

Hee-jin yawned as she stretched her arms above her head. "That was strenuous. I'm feeling quite thirsty. How are you feeling, Healer Lee?"

"I'm good. I don't see any difference between this one and my old raids." Ju-hee said. "You also fought well, Hee-jin."

Hee-jin chuckled. "That was nothing!"

"What are you going to do after this?" The healer asked. "Do you go back to the guild and wait for another call?"

"Yes. And while there's no call, we can do whatever we want." Hee-jin said. "Say, what do you do to spend your free time?"

Ju-hee bit her cheek. "I don't think I have any. It's my first time working in a guild."

"That's fair." Hee-jin nodded.

"What about you?"

"Sometimes, I train. And other times—" Hee-jin suddenly paused as if she saw something in front of her. "Guild Master Baek!"

Ju-hee looked up and saw the master of her guild. Baek Yoon-ho stood in front of them with one of his hands tucked in his pocket. He faced the two young women with a genuine visage and spoke;

"How was the raid?"

"It was successful, Guild Master," answered Hee-jin.

"Glad to know," Yoon-ho nodded. He turned to the healer. "How did you feel, Ju-hee?"

Ju-hee pursed her lips at first. "Well, it was very challenging and some hunters had complained about speeding the healing process even though they had terrible wounds."

"Idiots," Yoon-ho grumbled and sighed. "Don't mind them. If they keep on complaining, then feel free to let them be. And oh!" He glanced down on his pocket and pulled out a folded envelope to hand it to her. "Here's your paycheck."

"A— already?" Ju-hee widened her eyes.

Yoon-ho let out a grin. "It's your first day, right? I thought this will do to reward you for your hard work."

Hee-jin gasped. "Take it, Ju-hee! It's not often that our guild master is generous."

The S-Rank cleared his throat.

"Sorry, Mr. Baek."

Ju-hee stared at the envelope for a few moments before taking it. The amount of money weighted quite a ton in her hands. Yes, she was looking forward to the salary, but she did not expect that she would receive it earlier than she thought.

"Th— thank you, Guild Master Baek!" Ju-hee tucked the envelope to her chest and bent down in gratitude. "I promise to never fail you."

Yoon-ho let out a chuckle and placed his hand over her head to pat it. "I know you won't."

Ju-hee smiled at her guild master's words. To think this was how big his faith was in her. . . It was almost unbelievable for a powerful hunter like him to recruit her by himself. At this, it made her want to remain working in the guild.

Two days had passed since she had joined the White Tiger Guild. Hee-jin was still the only person she was closest to while the rest were too stubborn for her to deal with. It seemed they were not used to having a healer yet. Even in minor wounds, they refused to be aided by her. Ju-hee ended up letting them run with unhealed wounds.

They were more handful than the previous hunters she used to raid with.

Han Chi-yul had probably retired after that incident. Ju-hee wanted to see him, but she was nervous to see his reaction since she told him that she was going to retire as well. But perhaps some other time. . .

As usual, she arrived in the building early. When she got inside, Ahn Sang-min called her name.

"Ms. Lee!" He strode toward her, waving some papers in his hand. "Do you mind doing me a favor? I have a dire emergency at the hospital today. My niece is sick."

She nodded. "What is it, Mr. Ahn?"

"I want you to hand these to Mr. Baek," he handed her the papers. "And if he asks, tell him that I was needed somewhere and that was why I didn't have time to inform him."

"No worries! I got you, Mr. Ahn." Ju-hee smiled and took the reports.

Sang-min reciprocated the smile. "You are a kind person, Ms. Lee."

With that, the two exchanged their farewell and Ju-hee made her way to the elevator. Yoon-ho was probably in his office. She speculated that he would only join raids if the gate was an A-Rank or a dungeon that needed emergency. She remembered it was the White Tiger Guild who had gone into the double dungeon after the hunters had contacted the association.

And knowing she was now working in the guild itself, it was quite a coincidence for her.

The lift brought her to the right floor and Ju-hee walked across the hallway. It was always empty. Hunters and other employees hardly came here unless it was urgent matters. She finally reached the door where the office was located and moved her hand to the knob, twisting it gently to let herself in.

She didn't know if it was a good idea to come without knocking or if she should've just waited for his answer. But it was too late for her now, Ju-hee had already stepped inside and started to amble to the desk.

And all of a sudden, she was greeted by a laughter.

The guild master seemed to have a visitor. Ju-hee saw a man who was seated on one of the chairs in front of the desk. Yoon-ho had a broad grin on his face while he listened to his guest's chatter.

Must be a friend of his. She thought and took a step backward. Maybe I should—

"Mr. Lee!" Her guild master noticed her presence. "What brings you here?"

Ju-hee clutched on the papers in her hands and cleared her throat. "Mr. Ahn had asked me to bring these to you because he got an emergency at the hospital."

"I understand," nodded Yoon-ho and took the papers she had handed to him. "Thank you."

"New employee, hyung?"

Ju-hee turned to look at the man. He looked rather young, judging by his slightly spiked hair that was swept to the back and narrowed to the back of his neck; he wore a jacket above a red hoodie and also a shirt and a pair of washed out jeans. His face was genuine.

"No, she's the new healer of our guild. Byung-gyu, this is Lee Ju-hee." Yoon-ho said. "Ju-hee, this is Min Byung-gyu, a close friend of mine."

Byung-gyu's eyes met her blue ones and he smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, new healer."

Ju-hee saw his outstretched hand toward her. She took it and let out a small smile. "Thank you, Mr. Min."

"Now that you are familiar with each other, do you have to be elsewhere, Ju-hee?" Yoon-ho spoke.

"Yes! So I'll, uh—" Ju-hee dipped her head. "I shall be going ahead, Guild Master."

Once she received a nod, the healer walked out of the office.

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"Alright! Wait here for a moment, everyone." Kim Chul declared as he and the rest of the hunters were gathered in front of the gate. "Guild Master said that someone is going to join us in today's raid."

Ju-hee's eyes lit up in curiosity. She turned to Hee-jin and leaned closer to ask. "Do you know who it is?"

The corner of Hee-jin's mouth was tugged into a grin. "You'll be surprised if I tell you."

"Come on. It wouldn't hurt to tell me." Ju-hee grumbled.

"Fine. He's another healer like you, but a much higher rank."

"A-Rank?"

"Nope! More than tha—"

"I'm here! Sorry to keep you all waiting!"

Ju-hee turned her head and saw someone coming toward them. The person went past her, though she still managed to get a glimpse of the healer. He wore a green armor with a brown hood and a mace in his hand, but if it wasn't for his spiked black that was swept to the back, Ju-hee would've seen him as a stranger. But when she saw his face, her eyes widened.

"Min Byung-gyu?!" She failed to resist her gasp.

"You know him?" Hee-jin looked at her in bewilderment.

"Uh, yeah! I saw him at Guild Master's office. But I didn't know he's a healer." Ju-hee remembered Yoon-ho mentioning someone who was not a permanent member of the guild, yet only participated based on the vacancy of his schedule.

. . . And she did not expect that she had already encountered the freelance healer.

Hee-jin chuckled. "Yeah, Min Byung-gyu is a healer. An S-Rank healer."

"S-Rank? Healers can be S-Ranks too?" Ju-hee widened her eyes.

"Well, not everyone. Byung-gyu is the only S-Rank healer in our country. But the reason why he's not as well known as the rest is because he doesn't like the idea of being famous."

"Ohh," Ju-hee nodded in understood. "Okay."

An S-Rank healer, huh?

And so, the raid began.

Now discovering that he was a powerful healer, Ju-hee sensed a different aura from him. Even if she stood a few feet away from him, as it was for easy access to aiding the hunters, she could already feel how strong he was for a healer. It was almost unbelievable for her to meet a person who had been awakened to be an S-Rank healer. Ju-hee was quite intrigued to see him in action.

She spotted one hunter, who had a bleeding arm while still trying to fight the beasts. Ju-hee's hands clenched. Hee-jin was not nearby to assist her through the battle. The B-Rank mage was occupied with eliminating the monsters as they kept pouncing at her. Ju-hee knew she must do what she needed to do rather than linger in fear.

You should not stay like this, Ju-hee. She pursed her lips.

Mustering every courage she had, Ju-hee rushed into the battle field. The way her heart was racing felt as if she was being attacked as well. She witnessed the bleeding hunter stabbed the monster before collapsing on his knees at the immense pain he had been holding in his shoulder.

Ju-hee managed to reach him in time and placed her hand on his upper arm to keep him from getting up further and moved her hand in front of the fresh wound. It was deeper than she thought. The flesh soon closed the crease between them to stop the blood from oozing out, but before it could complete its recovery, Ju-hee caught something from the corner of her eye. Her yelp caused her hand to jerk away and stared in utmost horror at the murderous gaze of the beast.

The size of a big cat, russet-furred, and blazing yellow eyes. It was hissing to the point its sputum was dripping from the thick fangs.

It was about to leap at her when the next thing Ju-hee knew, a spurt of blood rose from its body. It was a mace. And it was a weapon who belonged to none other than—

"Are you alright, Ms. Lee?" Byung-gyu asked her.

Ju-hee widened her eyes. She looked between the bloodied corpse and the mace in his hand. "Did you just—"

"Killed it? Yeah." Byung-gyu lifted his mace. Another monster screeched behind him, so he immediately smashed it on the head once it pounced up. His lips turned into a grin. "You can never be too sure that nothing will attack you while healing."

"You learned how to fight?"

"I figured I had to since—"

"Healer Min! Someone had lost a hand!"

"—and that's my call." Byung-gyu swung his mace to rest it on his shoulder. He glanced at her and said. "Finish healing the hunter and I'll divert the monsters' attention so you won't have to worry about getting attacked."

Ju-hee nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Okay."

As she returned to her task, the healer also watched the S-Rank rush into the midst of battle. So composed, so bravely. Ju-hee suddenly felt a tinge of envy at Byung-gyu for being able to do one thing she could not do. Even when she was newly awakened, Ju-hee was terrified whenever she saw monsters up close and had to deal with her accelerating heartbeat when rushing to someone.

But, who was she kidding? Byung-gyu was an S-Rank. His mentality was stronger than hers.

Not to mention, he could fight.

Ju-hee remembered someone telling her that she was capable of being a hunter too, yet she refused and took on the healer path. In that way, she was able to save someone instead of fighting alongside them.

She had healed over four hunters, one of which was Hee-jin, whom she had also given an earful for charging at a larger beast on her own. Kim Chul was hurt in the process too, but was healed by Byung-gyu afterward. And miraculously, nobody died. The dungeon boss was killed when all of the hunters banded together, also with the help of Byung-gyu, who also possessed the power to summon a spell book that had abilities to give hunters additional strengths.

Ju-hee practically slacked when she had gotten out of the gate. She could barely feel her bones and saw a nearby stack of plywood. She immediately headed toward it and plopped down, panting as her fingers clutched against her lap, clawing at the material of her leggings. This was the first time she had gotten to face the beasts closer than her last raids in the guild.

Especially that werewolf.

Her heartbeat accelerated at the memory. It was almost as if she saw the beast through the eyes of her deceased cousin.

There was no doubt that her initial thought was dying.

"Are you okay, Ms. Healer?"

She looked up and saw Byung-gyu, who was carrying a tumbler in his hand. "M— Mr. Min!"

"You look quite tired and still shocked at the same time," he said as he joined her on the spot. "Did something bad happen in the raid?"

Ju-hee shook her head. "Not at all."

"Want some water?" Byung-gyu twisted the cap of his bottle and offered it to her. "You might be thirsty after doing all that run and using your energy to heal."

"Thank you, Healer Min." Ju-hee accepted it and moved the edge of the bottle to her mouth, careful not to touch it with her lips. The liquid streamed across her tongue, it was cold and refreshing, and there was also a slight touch a pineapple in the water.

"It tastes sweet, doesn't it?"

Ju-hee snapped back to reality and moved the bottle away from her, realizing she might drink it all if he hadn't spoken. She cleared her throat and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Byung-gyu grinned. "I casted a small spell on the water that will help you gain your energy back, hence the pineapple taste."

"I— I see," nodded Ju-hee and handed the container back to him. "Thank you, Healer Min. I feel no longer as exhausted as I was before."

"Never doubt an S-Rank healer!" Byung-gyu winked and took a sip on his water. "So, Healer Lee, how did you become part of the White Tiger Guild?"

"Well, Guild Master was the one who recruited me. I was about to go to the bus station when two employees came for me and took me to the guild." Ju-hee explained. "However, I wasn't going to accept his offer already."

Curiosity lit up in his eyes. "What made you accept it then?"

"He said that I would find new courage if I work in his guild," she answered.

"Woah, I'd never thought hyung would say words like that to someone. Your skills must've impressed him a lot." Byung-gyu chuckled. "But if he said that you'd find new courage, then trust him. Yoon-ho hyung knows when someone has potential and he doesn't want that potential to go away."

"You and Guild Master are sure close with each other." Ju-hee commented.

"Yeah, we've known each other for quite a long time. He said that if I officially become a part of the guild, White Tiger will be on par with the Hunters Guild for having two S-Ranks." Byung-gyu replied.

"Then why haven't you become a permanent healer?"

He shrugged. "Being a permanent healer in a guild means I'm fully committed to raiding gates, but I don't want that. I still like the idea of living as a normal person."

Ju-hee smiled. Despite his level of powers, he wished to not lose touch of the average side of him, which amazed her. "I admire the way your mind works, Healer Min. If I wasn't recruited in the guild, I would've been living a normal life by now." She murmured.

"Well, do not be distraught by the change of events, Healer Lee." Byung-gyu said. He got up and shoved his free hand into his pocket, looking down at her with a grin. "Maybe your journey in the hunting field is not done yet, or that hyung's intuition is true."

"You really believe that?" Ju-hee blinked. "But. . . I was so afraid in the entire time!"

"Yeah, and that's fine. I was scared too when I first began to conquer dungeons." He told her. "Trust in yourself that you'll get through the same way healers believe in hunters that they'll survive — it worked well on me as I got used to the gates."

"Oh. . . Okay." Ju-hee said.

Byung-gyu put two fingers on his forehead and saluted before walking away. Ju-hee remained on her spot while her mind replayed his words — was her journey in being a healer was truly not finished? To think, she had been through so much, especially the Double Dungeon that had wrecked a quarter of her spirit, and yet. . . She was still standing.

She witnessed deaths, from which she had also failed to heal, and a lot of severe wounds in the hunters around her. Being healer had been the hardest task in her life. For her whole life, Ju-hee had never shared her struggles with someone.

And once she did, it was none other than the strongest healer in the country.

However, she didn't feel the same intimidation as she did when meeting Baek Yoon-ho. Rather, she felt like she was talking to someone in the same level as her. Perhaps that explained Byung-gyu's mindset about not wanting himself to the dungeons a lot — he had no sense of inferiority.

A small smile gradually formed on her lips.

"Healer Lee! It's time to head back to the building!"

"Okay!" Ju-hee stood up and rushed across the area to join her group, who were preparing to get inside of the van. She briefly saw Byung-gyu climb inside before she made her way to the second row where she ended up sitting next to Hee-jin.

#you heard about a power couple who fights together but what about a power couple who looks out for others together?#THAT'S MINLEE RIGHT THERE #supposedly a one-shot but then i realized i could not shove the entire development into a standalone #solo leveling #min byung gyu #lee ju hee #minlee #sl fics by lua

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