#that man decays in my brain at all times | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

not-neverland06 · 20 days

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Hey! Love your writing and love Flux!! I was hoping to request a kind of angsty/fluffy fic with the worst!wolverine where the meet her in the void and maybe Logan knew her just not very well and he’s finally letting himself open up and be close with her (likewise with reader/flux towards logan) and they get into an argument or maybe logan has a nightmare and he ends up stabbing her with his claws and maybe the aftermath of him beating himself up and sabotaging the new relationship until reader finally snaps him out of it and says it was an accident and she still loves him?? Thanks!!

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

a/n: I want to thank you for this request because I've been having the worst writer's block in the world. I was worried about having to go into another unofficial hiatus, but this made something in my brain click together and I knocked it out in two hours. my life is yours 🙏🙏 Summary: You know him. Or, you knew him. And you never blamed him for what happened in your world. It wasn't his fault that everyone you loved died and you barely escaped with your life. But you never actually thought you'd have to see him again. You don't know what to do when all these feelings resurface with his appearance.

No one truly knew who you were back in your universe. After the horrific incident at the mansion, you had run. You’d run as fast and as far as you could from the slaughter of your friends. You’d barely escaped with your life, and from the amount of blood and gore they’d left behind, most people just assumed you were dead.

It’s not like anyone cared about you. Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been the real heroes. But it didn’t matter because they were still mutants at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many people they saved. How many lives they positively changed, no one would ever see past the fact that they were mutants.

Being one of the newer members of the recently disbanded X-Men gave you enough anonymity to get through daily life without being recognized. It did not, however, protect you from being sucked into the shit fest that is the multiverse.

You’re not sure what it is about you that just attracts bad luck. You don’t know if it’s some hidden power that’s a part of your evolution. You’re just apparently perpetually fucked. The TVA had determined that you were interfering with the proper flow of your timeline or some bullshit.

Now you’re here. Stuck in the void with nothing but decay and drunk former superheroes. If you have to watch one more Captain America ‘rally the troops’ you’re gonna kill him yourself. You’ve considered switching teams and joining Cassandra Nova at times. If only so you don’t have to deal with Johnny Storm and the rest of the dipshits.

You get along with Laura, at least. She likes to tell you about her Logan and you like to dodge her questions about yours. She doesn’t need to know that not every version of Wolverine has a golden heart and story worthy of tears. Yours was a fuck up, plain and simple, but you never thought the incident was his fault.

As much as others tried to push the blame on him. The people who raided the mansion were determined. There was no other way that day was going to end up. You’d just have one less X-Man. But people always love a martyr more than a victim.

After a couple of years, you get used to the monotony. Your days are only occasionally broken up by dodging Cassandra’s henchmen and trying not to get sucked up into the soul destroyer. Other than that, you spend your nights getting drunk with Gambit and pretending you know whatever the fuck he’s talking about.

“Laura! I managed to find some chocolate!” You run into the hideout looking for the girl. It’s rare to find good food that isn’t already a month past its expiration date. You weren’t planning on sharing the candy with her but you figured she’d smell it on you and it’s not worth the fight.

Instead, you stop short as the familiar blue and yellow uniform you’d always try to force on him comes into view. He’s stealing Gambit’s liquor and you know that’s not going to go over well. What you don’t know is why you are so sure that this is your Wolverine.

You’ve never had a Wolverine in the void. Not once. This could be any one of the hundreds of thousands of variants. But you see that look in his eye. That familiar watery gaze shows just how much he hurts, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

“Logan?” You breathe his name out in disbelief. Bypassing the Deadpool standing nearby. You’ve dealt with enough of those in your time down here. He takes a step back, fixing you with a distrusting look.

He keeps the bottle of alcohol clutched close to his chest like he thinks you’re going to take it. You track the movement and you scoff. “Right,” you shake your head and stop short. “Of course, the only thing you care about is still getting fucking drunk.”

He glares at you, taking a step forward like he thinks it might actually intimidate you. “Do I know you, bub?” He reaches forward, probably to jab his finger in your chest. You drop your gaze to his outstretched hand and narrow your eyes.

The material of his suit fluctuates, pulling back and rippling over his arms like liquid and not spandex. He doesn’t notice the manipulation of matter until it's his skin you target. It melts off his adamantium bones and he stares down in horror.

You know he's scared because he’s watching his body dissolve but he’s not feeling any pain. You could make it hurt, but that’s not what you want. You just want to see if he’ll remember you now. If there’s anything half-decent left in that alcohol-rotted brain of his.

“Flux,” he grits your X-Man name out through his teeth like it hurts him to say it.

You nod and his skin and suit go back to normal, like you’d never tampered with it in the first place. “You do remember me, then?”

“Thought you fucking died with the rest of them.” Your face drops before you feel an astonished smile on your face.

“You know, it’s a comfort to know nothing about my world has changed. You’re still the same spineless dick that left us all to die.” You shake your head and storm out of the hideout. You don’t know how long they’re planning on staying but you pray they leave soon. If you have to deal with him longer than a week, you’ll just kill him.

You step outside just as Laura’s coming back from the bonfire. She greets you with a stiff smile and you wonder what’s got in her in a mood. It only takes a glance over her shoulder to find the reason.

Logan is sulking by the fire, nursing yet another bottle of whiskey. He’s drinking it like water and even with his healing, his liver should have turned to mush by now. “I can see why you didn’t tell me about him,” she mutters as she passes by you.

You know she tried to be quiet but you can see the way Logan’s head tilts slightly towards you. He’s heard her and you know it has to sting just a little.

You glance down at the leaves under your feet, eyes glazing over as you feel the guilt sink into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt him, technically, just reminded him who you were. But you still feel bad for what you said.

You’ve never blamed Logan for what happened. And if you did, you would be a hypocrite. Because you survived too, and you left them all behind. You ran like a coward. You could never blame him when you failed to save them just the same.

You take in a deep breath and steel yourself. You’ll just apologize, walk over there, and explain to him you didn’t mean what you said. You know he’ll be a dick about it. Claiming he doesn’t want your apology. You’ll just leave him alone after.

You’re about to step forward when he barks out a gruff command, “Don’t fucking stare at me like that. I don’t want your company.” He turns back to the fire and takes another swig from his bottle.

You roll your eyes and walk towards him. “You can be as miserable and self-pitying as you want, just let me say one thing.”

His head whips towards you so quickly you’re surprised you don’t hear it snap. “I’m not fucking pitying myself,” he grits out. You quirk your brows in amusement, glancing towards the bottle in his hand and the clear way he’s sulking. He turns his attention back towards the fire, intent on ignoring you again.

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” you tell him. You ignore the warning look he shoots you, taking a seat beside him even if he doesn’t want you to. “I-” you choke on the words, struggling to admit to yourself what you’ve never wanted to.

“Don’t.” You know it’s meant to be a warning. But when you look at him and see how completely broken he is, it sounds more like a pathetic plead.

But you need to say this. As selfish as it is, you need to say this to someone., Need to unload this guilt you’ve carried for so long. “I was there, Logan. I could have saved them and I didn’t. I fucking ran.”

“Kid, don’t do this-”

“Jean was still moving,” you blurt out. You feel the way your heart speeds up at the admission. Your fingers shake and the air around you stills.

His face drops and he slowly turns towards you. You’re afraid to look at him. You feel like a bunny staring down the snout of a wolf, there’s no escaping this. You’ve created this trap for yourself.

“What?” He demands. His voice has lost that tremor of vulnerability. Instead, he sounds like he did when he first found out what had happened to you all. That same deadly level of calm that makes you want to bolt again.

“She,” you stare into the fire until your eyes burn. You don’t know if it’s from the light or the smoke but the pain focuses you. “She was shaking on the floor. There was blood everywhere and she could barely breathe. They had gassed us with something. None of us could use our powers, it’s the only reason they got a one-up on us.”

You can feel yourself slipping back into that moment. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin. It seeps into your suit and makes the material cling to you. Your gut is split open and the only thing holding your intestines in is your hands.

Jean is in front of you. Her hands are twitching by her sides. There’s blood pouring out of her lips, dribbling down her tongue and cheeks. Every breath is a rattle so deep you feel it in your bones.

Each inhale sounds like someone dragging glass through the membrane of her lungs. Her chest rises and sinks shallowly as she gasps for air. She’s practically convulsing, eyes twitching every which way.

The gas has faded from the halls. The people have left, satisfied with the carnage. You’re alone, surrounded only by the blood and bodies of your friends. None of the others are moving. Some of them are so mangled you can’t even tell who they are anymore.

Jean’s eyes lock onto yours. The only anchor she has. And you can see it, the frantic, wounded animal gaze on her face. She knows she’s dying. She knows there’s nothing she can do about it.

You can only stand by and watch as your friend dies. You could be her comfort. You could be the last face she sees before she dies, distracting her from the sight of her dead fiancee behind her.

But what do you do?

You hold your guts in your stomach and you run. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at any of them. You can hear her croaking behind you. And even when you’re out of the mansion, when you’re in a hospital somewhere getting repaired and Logan’s on a rampage, you still hear her.

You feel something heavy on your arm and it’s like you're being forcibly dragged out of a trance. Logan’s looking at you with something you’ve never seen before. But it’s something you’ve always desperately craved.

It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you. For the first time in a long time, you feel that ache of guilt ease away ever so slightly. It doesn’t disappear, but you’re sharing the burden with someone else and it’s a relief you’ve desperately craved.

“You’re not a bad person for leaving, kid.” He swallows roughly and you place your hand over his. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with the touch, slightly flinching away from it, but he doesn’t move. “If you hadn’t, you would be dead.”

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I never blamed you for what happened.” emotion is so thick on your tongue and in your throat that the words come out a whisper. “Their deaths weren’t your fault, and what happened after wasn’t.”

He clenches his eyes shut and jerks his hand out of your grip. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost him. “I slaughtered them.”

You scoff, “They slaughtered us!” You nearly shout, anger bubbling hot in your gut. When you heard about him killing those who had hunted down your friends, you’d celebrated. And when you heard the way the public was crucifying him, you realized that no matter what you did they would never love you.

You would always be nothing more than a mutant to them.

“And the people who didn’t hurt them? The innocents I killed?”

You don’t have anything to say to that. You just stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder as you pass by him. “I never blamed you, Logan.”

You don’t see Logan again after that. At least, not while you’re in the void. What was left of your little resistance was sucked up into the purple cloud of death. Only you and Laura are left with the carnage.

Logan and Wade have disappeared to who knows where. It stings, to be on your own again. Sure, you have Laura, but she’ll never understand the pain of what happened to your universe.

As much as it hurt, at least with Logan, you had someone to share the pain with. You could share your burden with him. You feel lonely and cold. Like there’s a part of you missing. You finally figure out what that ache is when the TVA comes to collect you and you see him again.

He’s standing behind Wade as he enthusiastically tells you and Larua all about his world. But you can’t take your eyes off Logan, or the tentative smile on his face. Whatever had happened during that fight with Cassandra Nova had changed him, for the better.

You smile back at him and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after years.

Apparently, whoever this world’s Flux had been, she was fucking insanely rich. And dead, which sucked for her but was great for you and Logan.

It’s not hard for you to fake some government identities and explain that you’d been mistakenly marked as dead. It’s apparently pretty common in this universe. Superheroes are blipped out of existence all the time. You couldn’t get all of her assets as some had been liquidated, but you did get her giant ass house.

You let Logan and Laura stay with you until they decide where they want to go. It’s better than living with Wade and his coke-fiend roommate. Laura finds her groove pretty quickly, it is her world after all. But you and Logan struggle to figure out what to do with yourselves.

Neither of you has an interest in being X-Men again, and it seems like they’re not incredibly present in this world either. You also hadn’t been the best of friends, even before everything went wrong, back home.

You’re not strangers, you’re not friends, you’re that awkward place in between. Each day is another opportunity to get to know each other. The progress might be slow, but you know that you’re getting closer to something real.

It’s why you don’t feel any qualms about running into his room when you hear him shouting. You burst into his room and the door slamming against the wall isn’t even enough to wake him up.

He’s writhing around in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist while sweat beads down his forehead. The noises he’s making remind you of a wounded animal. There’s something heartbreaking about this.

He doesn’t get peace even when he’s sleeping. It makes you hurt for him. You want to smooth over the aches and pains he carries and burden yourself with them.

The thought snaps you out of your reverie and you’re shocked by the revelation. You’d been growing closer to him, but you hadn’t thought you were growing this close. You feel so strongly for him, but you’re not ready to put a name on what it is that you feel for him. You just know that right now you want to make him feel better.

You approach the bed cautiously, taking a seat beside him. The bed ripples and jolts underneath you as he tosses and turns. You place a gentle hand on his arm and shake, “Logan,” you whisper. You don’t want to startle him too bad.

But he’s not responding to anything. It doesn’t matter how much you shake him or call out his name. Finally, you can’t handle it anymore. You get on your knees, sitting over him and bringing your palm down across his face as hard as you can.

In a second he’s shooting up. You don’t even notice his hand until you see the way his vision clears. The visceral panic fades and something is aching in your gut. “Oh god, no no no,” he says the word so many times it stops sounding real.

You look down and see the blood dribbling down his palm, the claws buried in your stomach. It’s almost funny, how perfectly aligned they are with the scar that already lived there. The reminder of your friend’s death being erased and reformed by Logan’s hand.

He pulls his wrist back and you quickly snatch it up. “Don’t!” You shout, jaw clenching against the pain. “Don’t pull them out, I’ll just bleed out.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You know he’s worried, that’s why he snaps at you. But it doesn’t help the way you feel yourself fighting back tears.

He sees them drip down your cheeks and his face drops. His other hand, the one not in you, comes up and cradles your cheek. “What do I do?” He whispers, and he sounds more desperate than you do.

You know he doesn’t want another death on his hands. But there’s something beyond that. He doesn’t want to be the reason you stop breathing. There’s a startling clarity when you’re slowly dying.

He cares about you. Just as deeply as you do for him. You can’t make him go through this pain again. Can’t let him suffer alone, not when he’s made so much progress. “Slowly,” you tell him, guiding his claws out inch by inch.

It’s hard not to black out. You’d barely felt it when he’d gotten you the first time. You think it’s because of how fast and sudden it was. But this, having them oh so slowly slicing through your insides is the worst form of torture.

But you don’t heal like him. You have to close your eyes, focus on the pain, and forcibly reknit your skin back together. It’s a clever manipulation of your powers, but it’s a slow one. You could never take serious damage on the field because you wouldn’t be fast enough to repair yourself.

This is easy to repair. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. It feels like an hour before he can safely draw them the rest of the way out. The second he does, you’re sinking into his arms with a pained sob.

He clutches you so tightly to his chest you worry your back might snap. He keeps muttering apologies into your hair, hands desperately grasping at every inch of you he can hold. You’re too tired to say anything.

You realized you should have. You should have told him you don’t blame him. You were the one who snuck into his room. You should have been smarter. But it doesn’t matter how many times you tell Logan not to blame himself, he always will. And you were too tired to try anyway.

You only realize what’s happening two days after the incident. You figured he might need some space to process what happened. And honestly, you did too. It was awful and incredibly draining. You’ve felt fatigued ever since.

But when you try and approach him and he just brushes past you like you weren’t even there, you know something is wrong. You watch his retreating back with a disturbed glare. You connect the dots quickly, already knowing what he’s doing.

He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting another person he loves. He can’t handle a loss like that again, even if it’s not by his hands. He wants to make sure you don’t want him, that you don’t care for him. Like that might ease the pain and guilt.

But it wouldn’t. It would just make him feel worse. It would make you feel worse.

You don’t waste a second, following him up the stairs and barging into his room before he can slam the door shut. It bounces off the wall and he lets out a deeply irritated sigh. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just walks over to his nightstand and rummages around through the doors.

You know he’s not looking for anything. He’s just trying to ignore you long enough for you to give up. It’s not going to happen, he should know better.

You take a step further into the room and the smell of chemicals slams into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. It smells like he pumped Lysol into the vents. Your eyes dart to the bed and you sigh.

Your blood, you’d completely forgotten. He must have been cleaning it up the morning after. You can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the remainder. But this seems excessive.

“Strong nose,” he mutters. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud and you glanced over at him. “I can still smell it, even after cleaning.” He takes a seat on the bed and you hate the way his shoulders are slumped.

He’d seemed so much more comfortable with himself lately. It’s like one accident has undone all his progress. “Logan,” you start, taking a step towards him. He holds his hand up, still not looking at you.

It’s driving you insane. You wish he would just meet your eyes. You feel like you could change his mind if he would just see you. Maybe that’s why he won’t. He won’t let himself be happy.

“Look, that night just made me realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.” He gets up and slides something out from under the bed. It takes a moment for you to register what it is. A duffel bag, packed with all his essentials and what little clothes he owns.

He’s going to leave.

You act without thinking. Pure panic making your powers surge out. Logan grunts and the bag falls out of his hand. “Quit it,” he snipes, bending over to pick it up. But he can’t because it’s so heavy it’s making the wooden floor splinter and crack under its weight.

“You don’t get to just leave when things get hard, Logan.”

He stands up, hands propped on his sides. There’s a challenge in his eyes that makes you nervous. “Fuck this,” he scoffs and brushes past you.

It’s beyond manipulative to use your powers against him. But sometimes, someone is such a fucking idiot, they need a little outside help. You slam the door closed and the handle disappears, locking you both in his room.

He turns towards you with a fierce glare on his face. “Open the goddamn door before I break it down.”

“You can try,” you taunt, a nasty tone to your voice. You’re sick of this. You’re sick of running from what you want. You’ve been miserable and alone for years. You want to be happy. For the first time in forever, you want something.

And you want Logan to be happy with you. You can’t force him to feel the way you do. But you can stop him from actively preventing this. “Stop acting like a goddamn child and just talk to me!” You shout at him.

There’s a disbelieving look on your face. You don’t understand why he won’t let this happen. Why does he have to fight so hard against any semblance of happiness in his life?

“I’m going to hurt you. That is all I do. I hurt the people I love and I cannot hurt you too.” Your eyes widen in shock at his outburst. Beyond anger, there was so much fear in his voice it was almost enough to make you miss what he’d said.

“You love me?” You can see the realization dawn on him. The fact that he let slip why he’s so hesitant to be around you. You know he wants to leave, his eyes are darting around the room for an escape route, but you’ve blocked them all. You can’t let this go, not now.

“Logan,” you snap, demanding an answer from him.

“Fuck you,” he mutters, something vicious on his face.

He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to lash out and say something cruel so that this doesn’t happen. You know him because you’ve been him. He will take every possible route to get out of this if it means he doesn’t have to face his feelings.

You roll your eyes and take a step forward. You jerk him towards you and throw yourself on him before he can say something stupid. The kiss is brief, just enough to snap him out of this ridiculous headspace he’s in.

When you pull back he looks dazed, but he’s relaxed in your hold, sinking towards you. You grin up at him, “I love you too, dumbass.” You lean up to kiss him again but you dart back at the last second, a mean glare on your face. “Pull some shit like this again and I’m going to melt your dick off.”

You kiss him before he can respond, but you feel the smile against your lips. You can taste the defeat on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and tugs you into his chest. He’s not going to push you away and you’re not going to let him.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allllium ♡

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #the worst logan x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader

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suck-mein-pokeballs · 2 years

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One of those days when it feels like i was better off as an addict and I'm trying to tell myself that i was hurting people and destroying my body but I'm definitely still hurting people and destroying my body while sober so

#man sobriety is to me like keeping myself alive #i dotn see the point of appeal in it but it seems like its what i have to do so its what we're doing now #tw addiction #im not even craving or missing the sensation of being near blackout drunk all the time #i just it feels like i was better off and it was at least a little easier to handle my supid decaying mush of an asshole brain #it was actually a really good day #but i also felt at the edge of insanity the whole time lol

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stardustlixie · 4 months

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Okay hear me out...

Ot8 cuddling with the reader for the first time they have their head on his chest and his heart starts going crazy cause he's so nervous and he gets all shy and embarrassed ears getting all red 🤭🤭

Ugh I go crazyyy for shy skz

Okay that's all for now :))

~cookiecreates🍪

omg okay. super fluffy scenario. shy skz will actually decay my brain someday I adore them.

I'm gonna do this is a sort of hcs format so if that's not what you wanted, sorry!

chan

• shy baby. this man is a shy baby through and through.

• chan will always be someone to cherish his significant other and he will take everything seriously, every little milestone

• so early on in your relationship, you're at his place for the first time, you both hang out and watch a movie, he's no stranger to touch but you bet he's gonna be super surprised when your hands suddenly wrap around his frame and your head comes to rest on his chest

• the effect would be immediate, poor baby's heartbeat would quicken and all coherent thoughts will leave his brain

• you know how chan's blush starts from his ears before it can reach his face? yeah his ears will be suuuuper red. it's like he's frozen in time, you can see him gulping and you can't stop the laugh that escapes you.

• your giggles are what finally snaps him out of his daze "channie what's wrong?"

• "wha- oh. no. nothing." his arms wrap around your frame and their is a stupid dorky grin on his face the entire time. he does not pay even a second's attention to the movie, too busy memorizing how your cuddles feel to notice the screen. the boy is smitten.

lino

• you know he isn't a very expressive individual at first and it takes him time to open up, he's not the one to be super touchy either so you're very doubtful whether or not you should initiate anything.

• you see him getting jittery offstage after a concert, he must have been overwhelmed, you're new to this, to him, but he's your boyfriend nonetheless and the concern you're feeling isn't making this any easier.

• you drag him away from the staff and crowd and take him back to his hotel room before the rest of the boys, by the time you get him there you know for a fact that he's having a panic attack, he sinks into his bed and it doesn't matter if the most you've touched him is a few hugs to greet him, you wrap your arms around the boy's frame and pull him close.

• if it's two minutes or twenty you don't know, but you separate the moment you're sure he's calmed down, not wanting to make him uncomfortable

• "if you're fine i'll leave, sorry if i kinda over stepped your boundaries there."

• you're very surprised when he just opens up his arms, inviting you to lay down with him, and you smile at his nonverbal invitation before joining him.

• if the shy smile on his face didn't tell you better, then you'd think he's having another panic attack with the way his heartbeat is rising, you can feel it with your head on his chest. none of you says much, but words aren't really needed.

changbin

• one look at this man will tell any sane person that he is the best cuddle giver EVER, changbin is very affectionate, he is touchy. that's how he expresses his love

• but you're not really a very open person, it took him so long to actually get to the point of dating you so he's afraid he might do something wrong or make you uncomfortable if he rushed into his way of expressing adoration, so he mostly just settles for words of affirmation and don't get him wrong, he loves the small smiles and the words he gets in return, but he's craves physical affection nonetheless.

• but one evening he's sprawled out on the couch after a shower, and the power of a curly haired, bare faced binnie isn't unknown to anyone and boy is he surprised when he suddenly has his partner laying on him like he's a body pillow.

• changbin.exe has stopped working.

• his arms come up to hold you in place and you rest your face on his shoulder. "hey binnie", "hey baby" he chuckles, you can hear the surprise and the nervousness in his voice so you just dig your face into the croom of his neck and make yourself comfortable.

• felix has to hear him rant about this for weeks after.

hyunjin

• hyunjin isn't the type to date someone unless he's really invested, but he also isn't the type to do something in a rush. but the boy is very much touch starved.

• it's a painting date at your place, do the paintings you makes for each other go well? yes. but do you also end up smearing paint on each other for the sake of it? also yes. it's almost like a toddler playfight.

• you adore the boy, but he sucks at initiation, so it's you who initiates the kiss that turns into a make out session afterwards, that ends up with you straddling him, but instead of getting off when you separate, you just choose to lie down half on him and half on the bed.

• safe to say the boy is surprised, because it takes him a whole minute to process before his arms come up to hold you. his face is sooo red.

• "hey love. you're blushing a concerning amount." he just whines out a 'shut up' and makes himself comfortable, he never quite gets over the flustered state.

han

• hannie is not a man of patience, he is also not someone with a lot of time. that means you've been dating him for a month and you've been closer to fucking than you've been to spending actual quality time with him.

• which leads to this, you came here to find him working on his song, he gives you a quick greeting but you're not taking that, he's startled when he feels you taking his headphones off and giving him a pointed stare. "han jisung." "hey baby..."

• a minute later you have him beside you on his bed, a movie playing on the laptop he was previously working on. he whines about needing to finish the song but you just tell him to push you off if he dares. he doesn't.

• your head is on his shoulder and if you didn't know any better you'd think his anxiety was the reason his heart was beating so fast.

felix

• sweet sweet baby that he is, he's probably the one who initiated the affection, early on too. but considering your sort of closed off personality, poor baby was sooo hesitant when he did. you weren't very touchy, definitely not as much as him and he didn't want to ruin anything.

• so he was very careful with how he pulled you close to himself, face red the whole time. he was very close to losing himself in an abyss of overthinking when he heard you chuckle, "you're adorable."

• and when you wrapped your arms back around him was the moment you signed up for a lifetime of koala felix. good luck ever getting him off of you now.

seungmin

• he isn't very affectionate. we know. he expresses love with bickering and insults more than he does by normal means. so no surprise that personality trait is apparent when you're trying to solve a puzzle with him.

• "oh lord you're a fucking idiot!" he says when he finds you trying to make something funny out of a few of the thousand pieces of the puzzle. "you're dating said idiot though?" "you being my idiot does not negate the fact that you are an idiot" "whatever loverboy, admit you have a soft spot for me!" "nuh uh."

• maybe it's the way his curls fall over his eyes, or the way his glasses sit at the bridge of his nose, or the involuntary expression of concentration, but something prompts you to push him back on the couch and take a seat beside him, arms coming up around his waist to hold him in place.

• for the first time in his life, seungmin does not have something snarky to say, which surprises you enough to check up on him and find him blushing profusely as he stares at the floor, small smile playing on his lips. "you're real quiet now loverboy." "baby.."

• "huh, wasn't i a fucking idiot just now?" you giggle as you boop his nose, his hands coming up to wrap around your shoulders. "you're baby. for now."

innie

• you weren't even dating when it first happened, you were having a sleepover with the boys and you woke up shivering, in half sleepy wits you decided to snuggle into innie's side while he was asleep.

• he woke up before you, and was in awe when he found the home you'd made beside him, your face completely relaxed, quite comfy with your head on his chest apparently, half of your body was on top of him, so even if he wanted to, he couldn't move without waking you up.

• he just lay there smiling to himself until some of the boys woke up. you were later given photo proof of your sleepy actions by a very amused felix.

• and that's what prompted jeongin to confess.

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spencerreidswhore187 · 1 year

Text

False Confidence

Don't take yourself so seriously / Look at you all dressed up for someone you never see.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer and Y/N hate each other, they just don't realise they have been anonymously messaging for months.

Word Count: 2.8k

T/W: Mentions of murder and death

A/N: For @sackofpissandshit . I came up for the premise of this as a plate of prawns fell onto my head at work. Enjoy! ◡̈

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SherlockHolmes1887: You were right.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face; you replied immediately, the half-drunk coffee in your hand forgotten.

NapoleonOfCrime: Feel free to say that again.

He did.

Briefly, you looked up from your phone to cross the road. You were on the way to work having just received a message from Hotch. It sounded urgent.

NapoleonOfCrime: So what made you realise that, as per usual, I was right?

You had spent the better part of the night trying to convince him that Sherlock Holmes was in love with Jim Moriarty. You had met him online several months ago, on an Arthur Conan Doyle forum and have been messaging ever since.

He, except for the one and only Penelope Garcia, was your best friend. You told him everything. Except for who you are.

Early on in talking you both had agreed not to exchange names, tell each other where you lived or what you did for a career. You knew what SherlockHolmes1887 favourite film was (Star Trek), that he liked wearing mismatched socks and his mum used to call him ‘Crash’ because he would crash into things when he was younger. You knew that, like you, he had four qualifications, liked Sherlock Holmes and had an unhealthy obsession with coffee. You just didn’t know his name.

Your phone vibrated.

SherlockHolmes1887: “The greatest schemer of all time, the organiser of every devilry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made or marred the destiny of nations—that's the man! But so aloof is he from general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in his management and self-effacement, that for those very words that you have uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year's pension as a solatium for his wounded character. [...] Foulmouthed doctor and slandered professor—such would be your respective roles! That's genius, Watson.”

Your phone buzzed again. You silenced it as you walked into the BAU elevator.

SherlockHolmes1887: I reread ‘The Valley of Fear’ last night.

You were about to reply when a voice cried out.

“Hold the door!”

Instinctively, you stretched your arm out between the closing elevator doors.

The person entered beside you.

If you had known who had asked, you would have let the doors shut.

Dr Spencer Reid leant on his cane, drumming his fingers against its metal top as the elevator moved upwards. He had recently been shot in the leg on a case. You would never tell him but when that gun fired, you thought you were going to be sick. Your heart ached. It made you hate him even more.

“Reid,” you said, staring forward. You refused to look at him.

“L/N,” He replied.

That was the most words you’d exchanged in days.

When the doors finally opened again, you both headed towards the round table, where the rest of the team was waiting.

You and Spencer were the last to arrive.

It’s not like him to be late, you thought.

You took a seat between Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan - you were sat as far away from Spencer as possible.

“Now that you are all here,” Hotch began, pulling you from your thoughts, “let’s begin.”

Penelope connected her computer to the screen; there was a picture of a body. The flesh was rotten, decayed from what was evidently years hidden away. Your eyes are wide as you saw it: a long cut, rough and jagged, stretched from neck to naval. You recognised this signature.

“The Brooklyn Butcher,” you said, interrupting the silence.

Hotch nodded.

It was a case that had occurred six years ago and ended up going cold.

Spencer recalled, “Eleven women, all under the age of twenty-five, all with red hair, went missing and then their bodies always turned up three days later with a long knife wound across their torso.”

“The only body,” you continued, “that was never discovered was Sharon Lewis’. The first to go missing. The wife of Mitch Lewis, the prime suspect during the investigation.”

“Why wasn’t he arrested?” Derek asked.

Spencer answered before you could, tucking a strand of his brown hair behind his ear. Why did you want to run your hands through his hair?

“There was no evidence. The police’s only theory was his wife was his first kill and he killed all the other victims who resembled her in an attempt to relive the thrill of the kill.”

“He had an alibi for Sharon Lewis’ disappearance,” you added.

“Correct - they also never found her body. They couldn’t prove their theory without her body.”

“Well,” Hotch said, “they have now.”

“Sharon Lewis, aged twenty-four, was the first victim in the Brooklyn Butcher killings. Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.”

JJ leant back in her chair and pressed her pen to her lips, “So the cut was postmortem?”

“According to the coroners.”

“But that was not the case for the rest of the victims?”

“No,” Hotch replied.

“Our UNSUB gained confidence in his kills.”

Lewis was likely his first-ever kill. You wanted to message Sherlock and ask him what he thought. He was intelligent beyond belief, you were sure he would add valuable insight to this case but you couldn’t tell him. Then he would know you worked for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. You couldn’t let him know that. He couldn’t know who you were. What would he think then? When he knew you were more comfortable around dead bodies than real people.

“How was the body discovered?” Spencer asked.

Hotch had that dark look in his eyes, the one he got when an UNSUB scared him. You hadn’t seen that look in his eyes since Haley died.

“The body was left on an empty police vehicle parked outside a station in Brooklyn. There was a note attached to it.”

Penelope clicked a button on her laptop and the slide changed to a screwed-up piece of paper nailed to the shoulder of the body.

Hotch read it aloud, “You have three days before I kill another. Happy hunting, the Butcher.”

He stood up from his seat, “Selene Harker was reported missing twelve hours ago. We leave for New York now - wheels up in twenty. Penelope, you’re coming with us.”

She smiled nervously, you gave her a discreet thumbs up.

Everyone stood up from the round table and headed towards the door, you had grabbed the handle when Hotch stopped you.

“L/N, you need to stay here.”

You froze, confused.

He continued, “Reid has not been cleared to fly by his doctors yet and I need you to go through the old Mitch Lewis interrogation clips, find out whether he told any lies. Stay in touch.”

With that he left the room, leaving you there with Spencer before you had a second to protest.

You weren’t really sure how you did it, it’s an ability you’ve had since you were a kid. It’s how you were flagged by the FBI. You could tell when people lied. Everyone has a tell and, like the lie-detecter you are, you knew how to spot it.

When you and Reid had first met, three years ago, he had told you all the statistics about lies: “Did you know,” he had said, “10% of all lies can be defined as exaggerations, though 60% of all lies are considered to be deceptive.”

You remembered how you had nodded, anxious as it was your first day.

“Of all liars, 70% of them claim to be willing to do it again. Every week, Americans tell 11 lies. In a study of 11,366 lies told by 632 people over 91 days, 75% of them lied between 0 or 2 times per day.”

“You know a lot,” You had laughed.

Reid seemed kind. You liked kind people; you dealt with a lot of horrible people growing up.

“I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187.”

That was the first time you and Spencer had ever spoken and it was the last time you ever spoke like friends.

You spun on your heels to face Spencer.

“You leave me alone and I’ll leave you be. Understood?”

“Understood,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes.

“God, you are so infuriating.”

“I hate you,” he retorted.

You noticed the way his jaw tensed.

You grinned, “Lie.”

Spencer groaned and left the room. Through the window, you saw him take a seat at his desk.

Laughing, you walked into Penelope’s office and pulled up the police footage.

You were three hours into the Mitch Lewis footage and he had told three lies.

The first was that he did not know what happened to the other victims. Although, this could mean he had read about the case online.

The second was more interesting. Lewis said he was at the pub when his wife disappeared. Even though there was security camera footage to confirm this, he was lying,

The third made your head spin. He said he didn’t kill her. True. He said he didn’t know where she was. Lie.

You paused the interrogation and contacted Hotch to tell him what you had found. He replied telling you to take a break as they searched for Mitch Lewis.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you reached for your phone and messaged Sherlock.

NapoleonOfCrime: Hi.

He replied almost immediately.

SherlockHolmes1887: Hey.

NapoleonOfCrime: So you read ‘The Valley of Fear’ in one night just to try and prove me wrong?

SherlockHolmes1887: If that’s how you want to interpret it :)

NapoleonOfCrime: And?

SherlockHolmes1887: And…they are very much in love. It’s almost blindingly obvious.

NapoleonOfCrime: “It has been an intellectual treat for me to see the manner in which you have grappled with this case.” The definition of enemies to lovers.

SherlockHolmes1887: Enemies to lovers?

You don’t think you ever smiled as much as when you did with him.

NapoleonOfCrime: It’s better you don’t ask, or else I’ll be sending you links to Moriaty x Sherlock fan fiction.

SherlockHolmes1887: What are you doing right now?

Your fingers danced along the tiny keyboard on the phone screen.

NapoleonOfCrime: Work. You?

SherlockHolmes1887: Work.

NapoleonOfCrime: How is it?

It made you nervous that he didn’t reply instantly.

NapoleonOfCrime: Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to figure out what you do or who you are. I like the mystery.

SherlockHolmes1887: Horrible. But it’s not really work that’s the problem. There’s a girl.

It hurt a little to know there was a girl, of course it did, but you didn’t mind. What you cared about was how he seemed distressed.

NapoleonOfCrime: If you want to share, I’m a good listener.

He typed for what seemed like an eternity.

SherlockHolmes1887: We, her and I, have worked together for years. She’s smart and funny and beautiful. So beautiful. But she hates me. I messed up when we first met, I was so nervous around her that I just ignored her. Whenever she tried to speak to me, I would walk away or just act like she wasn’t there. And, now, I am finally more confident, she can’t even be near me without glaring in my direction at least once.

You yearned for someone to talk about you that way. No one had ever told you that you were beautiful. You didn’t need someone to tell you because you didn’t believe it, it’s just that sometimes, on the inevitable bad days, you want to feel wanted.

NapoleonOfCrime: I’m sure if you explain it to her, she will understand - you said she’s smart. I can see why you like her.

SherlockHolmes1887: Yeah, I fell hard.

I fell hard.

You recalled what Hotch had said, “Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.”

You recalled how the cut was messy and hesitant whilst the rest were neat.

You recalled how it was done postmortem whilst the rest were the cause of death.

You ran out of Penelope’s office, straight to Dr Spencer Reid.

“Spence,” you shouted.

You were both alone in the room.

Spencer looked up from his phone. It was strange, to see him on a phone. You had always thought he was the type of person to hate technology. Instead, he seemed thoroughly invested in whatever was on his screen.

“Who are you messaging?” You asked, acting causal.

“No one,” he said.

Lie.

“A girl?”

“No.”

Lie.

Spencer’s face had gone bright red. It was cute; it made you smile.

Why did it make you smile?

You decided to change the topic before your face went red.

“Do you have the coroner’s report?” You questioned.

He dug through the many files covering his desk and held it up for you to see.

Blunt force to the frontal lobe, that confirmed your suspicions.

You stared into Spencer’s brown eyes.

“I know what happened to Sharon Lewis.”

You explained how it must have happened. Sharon was reported missing by her friend at 19:37. She was supposed to be meeting her a 18:00. Mitch Lewis was at a bar from 17:30-20:01, this was confirmed by camera footage. This means that Lewis can’t have kidnapped his wife. Or, perhaps, she never went missing. She tripped getting ready to see her friend and fell down the staircase. She would have died upon impact.

Spencer nodded in agreement with your theory.

“When Lewis got home and saw his wife’s body sprawled out at the base of the stairs, he saw an opportunity…”

“He dragged her downstairs to the basement, explaining the deep scratches on her back noted in the coroner’s report.” You said, “Lewis worked in construction, he had a table and tools down there, he said so in one of his interrogations. He placed her on that table and cut her. He butchered her. And then did the same to others to try and recreate the high of killing his wife.”

“We need to call Hotch.”

Four hours later and Mitch Lewis had confessed and was in police custody.

Derek and Emily had found Selene Harker chained to the very same table Lewis had carved his wife like a cold slab of meat.

The team was on their way back from Quantico.

You found Spencer sitting on a bench outside the FBI building. Spinning the silver ring your grandmother gave you around your index finger, you sat down next to him.

You both stared forward, at the road.

You were glad that you weren’t the only one who was affected by cases like this. You were glad that you weren’t the only one overwhelmed by empathy. Your mother once told you that empathy without boundaries was self-destruction but you were just glad that after so much time in this field, you still felt something.

Spencer eventually broke the silence.

“It scares me, Y/N, how easy a life can end.”

Spencer clutched his cane so tightly that his knuckles went white.

Gently, you eased one of his hands off it and held it in yours.

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears. It was deafening.

“You know, when I was a kid, I was always tripping over things. I walked into doors, tables, you name it. My mum would call me ‘Crash.’”

He laughed dryly whilst your world began to crumble around you.

You dropped Spencer’s hand.

“Sh-she called you what?”

Spencer turned to look at you, confusion and worry were etched across his face, “Y/N? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

It’s not that you were upset, in fact, you felt almost the opposite of that.

Your voice was steadier than you expected when you spoke.

“He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson.”

“Y/N?”

“He is the organiser of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city.”

“It can’t be.”

Spencer held his face in his hands.

“Disappointed, Sherlock Holmes 1887?”

You said it mockingly but you were terrified of what Spencer would say.

“No, Napoleon of Crime. Not even a little bit.”

True.

“You told me to explain how I felt to that girl so here goes. The first thing I noticed about you was your smile. I saw it from the other side of the room. And, Y/N, it was contagious. Just looking at you made me smile. You are so beautiful and so intelligent and I have wanted to tell you how desperately I liked you since the day we met.”

He cradled your cheek with one hand.

“And now I know that this whole time, as well as being the person I can see myself falling in love with, you are my best friend, my favourite, my person.”

“I hate you, Spence,” you say just before you kiss him.

Smiling against your lips, you hear him whisper, “Lie.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #mathew gray gubler #mgg #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jennifer jereau #penelope garcia #light angst #enemies to lovers

936 notes · View notes

daikiswife · 1 year

Text

Headcanon: Dating a black Bimbo

notes: Hey hey! English isn't my first language so sorry if it's not perfect!

synopsis: Just, what if Dabi and Shigaraki had a Black Bimbo girlfriend~

warning: fluff, nsfw, cursing, semi-public, degrading, dry humping, cock drunk, pussy drunk, breeding kink, reader is part of the lov.

Tomura Shigaraki

First of all, your relationship is a true definition of "opposites attract". Shigaraki is the quiet type and he's outstanding only when he has to. When you're bubbly, extravagant and kind of loud sometimes.

but somehow you both get together

he likes the way you dress, and even if he doesn't say it out loud, he still wonders why a girl like you would date him

"so how do I look ?"

he stares at you for so long without saying anything, you are way too hot for his poor brain "Take a picture it'll last longer~" you say with a smirk on your lips. "stfu. That skirt is way too short, you hoe." you stick your tongue out to him "yeah yeah, you like it though~"

when you started dating, due to his quirk. he was very uncomfortable with touching you.

but you're touch starved and you need his hands ALL. OVER. YOU.

so he bought some digital artist gloves, spending his time squeezing your waist, thighs and ass no matter if people are watching or not

he'll slides his hand between your thighs, lightly strocking your covered pussy.

he also likes to kiss your neck slowly going down reaching your deep-cut biting your perky nipples through your shirt

he LOVES when you get your nails done make it long af he loves it "next time you should do them in baby blue... it would suit you"

he will definitely pay for your nails.

if you take him shopping he will complain all day about how much he wants to go home to play video games

but if you want something, he'll pay for it.

"Baby, what do you think of this one ?" he lazily raises his head to look at you "You look like a whore" "okay I'll take this one then~"

once again Shigaraki loves your style so he doesn't mind if what you're wearing "too short" or "too revealing", he likes it

but if someone dare look at you in some disgusting ways, he'll decay them without thinking twice

Don't look at his girl like if she was a piece of meat.

Shigaraki is very possessive

he likes to have you close when there's a lot of people around

so you're often on his lap, even during meetings

but you're such a tease, always trying to get him hard when you're supposed to sit still

pretending to find a more comfortable way to sit as you just press his covered cock with your ass

but your actions have consequences

and Shigaraki is not the patient type.

at the second that the two of you will be alone, he'll bent you over any surfaces and shoves his hard penis inside of you

"Aw look at you" he cooed "you're moaning like a dumb slut on my cock~"

he'll go rough on you, making you moaning and screaming. letting everyone around earing you "that's it baby, scream my name let them know who you're belonging to~"

Dabi

From fuck buddies to lovers in blink of an eye

You get under this man skin ngl

He loves your style, that what's peak his interest in you, but now that you both are dating he can't stop noticing the looks of others on you.

Dabi takes any occasions he has to smack your ass and boobs

"Okay I'm leaving see you later baby" you say and he looks at you "not with that skirt. go change yourself" "wtf no! I love this skirt!" he sighs "babe, I can see your bright pink thong from where I am. it's not even covering you ass properly."

like this man will do it in public with a proud smile when you'll turn to look at him

"look baby I got some new nails~!" "you really do like scratching my back, ain't you~" "wha- ITS NOT ABOUT SEX !"

Dabi is not really fond of nails, like he doesn't like it when it's too long and he will never pay for it

but he will definitely pay for nipples piercings

"oh no... I've break one of my nails..." he smirks "oh no you'll not going to require my help to masturbate anymore~"

Dabi is possessive and oddly jealous

if he sees you speaking with an other guy he'll come calmly, grabbing you by the hips, backhugging you while sending death glares to the poor guy.

when the guy is gone, you'll look at him with a disapproval look "What ? At least he's alive."

he loves making sexual jokes obviously but there's those moments when he's looking at you for a short time and his only thought is "damn I love this girl..."

"You're really pretty you know that ?" he says, dragging you on his lap "where did that come from?" "shut up, just take the compliment"

He's really weak for your touch and when I say weak, it's an HEAVY "weak".

And sometimes no matter where you are, you'll be ending with him between your thighs, your legs wraps around him while he fucks you deep and hard against a wall

his lips busy biting your neck and giving you hickeys, holding back his moans

shhh... I know princess~" he whiper next to ears, biting you lobe lightly "But you have to keep it down, people will ear you~"

he'll keep fucking you, filling you with cum before letting you go "You're such a good girl~"

Then you'll both join the meeting like nothing happens

and he'll smirks like an ass seeing his seed slowly running down your thighs

note: I'm sorry if the NSF isn't good I'm not to write those in english :(

#anime x black!reader #black!fem!reader #black coded reader #dabi x reader #dabi x black!reader #bimbo reader #black bimbo #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x black!reader #mha x reader #mha x black reader #mha headcanons #bnha x reader #bnha x black!reader #bnha lov #league of villians x reader #bnha headcannons

1K notes · View notes

tinalbion · 5 months

Text

"You Reap What You Sow" ||

Part 2

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Cooper "The Ghoul" Howard x fem!Reader

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄! Mentions of death, decapitation, abuse (physical and mental), implied (but not mentioned) sexual abuse, manipulation

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 4.5k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You had a bounty on your head and a familiar Ghoul has taken that bounty, so upon catching you, he escorts you back to the compound you escaped. Will you be able to convince him to let you go, or will it be for nothing?

You were already exhausted with the sun so high up, causing your skin to feel as if it was melting, but you continued to make your way through the wastes beside your bounty hunter friend, and he hadn't been in a particularly friendly mood today. When you tried to ask him something, you were mostly met with silence, so you just dropped it altogether and continued to walk. As the sun began to sink again, you had distanced yourself from the Ghoul, wishing you had more of a plan to escape from his hold.

Sure, he hadn't tied your hands together and pulled you along forcefully since you'd given him no reason to, but that didn't mean he wouldn't end up doing so at one point or another. He still kept a watchful eye on you and made sure to match your pace, ready for anything that was to happen.

But neither of you was prepared for when two strange men approached you both from the left, catching you off guard as you hid behind the Ghoul for safety. He looked down at you, confused as to why you'd seek comfort and safety from him, but he hadn't given you a reason not to.

“‘Scuse me, but we want that,” one of the men, the taller one, pointed directly at you. “Heard there was a bounty on her, and we ain't one to turn down some caps.”

The Ghoul scoffed and stared at them, obviously not amused. “She's already taken, as you can see, and I ain't got time to deal with lowlifes such as yourselves. Finders keepers.”

You tugged on the sleeve of his decaying duster and caught his attention. “Those two belong to the Condemned, the compound Axton is a part of, where I ran from. He probably sent them to kill you since you brought me this far, keep the money for himself…” You wouldn't have put it past the asshole, but You did recognize the two men even though you couldn't place their names or occupations.

Upon hearing this new information, the Ghoul lifted his head and stared at the two men, reading the situation. “Well, my little friend here says you work for the asshole who put the bounty out, and I normally don't have a problem with disposin’ of those who stand in my way, but now I feel downright disrespected with what's goin’ on here.” He placed his hand gently on the hilt of the gun and watched them both start acting nervous, their eyes darting back and forth from each other to the bounty hunter.

“Look, either way, Axton is getting his little whore back, so–”

With speed you'd never experienced firsthand before, the man's head had exploded. Blood, brain matter, it all shot out and projected far as his now lifeless body crumpled to the ground. You jumped, your hands still holding onto the Ghoul's coat as his gun shifted over toward the other man.

“Now, you got somethin’ to say against all this, or are you gonna run back to your compound and tell your man Axton that I better get what I'm owed?”

The man looked terrified and slunk back until the Ghoul had placed his gun back into its holster, then he looked down at you. “You're okay, girl, stand up,” he instructed, and you obeyed him. “C’mon, let's get you back before anything else decides to irritate me.”

You stuck close to the bounty hunter and although you could have easily done that yourself, the fear of seeing people that were under his pay, people that you've seen speaking with him, it caused you to freeze in the moment you needed to be clear-headed. As silly as it seemed, this man who was going to turn you back to where you ran felt like more of a safer option.

“Mister Bounty Hunter… please, I'd rather not be given back to him…” You said, your expression was sullen.

“Look, sweetheart, I ain't got much of an option right now, these chems you see me inhalin’? These keep me from goin’ feral, you understand? And that's where the bounty comes in, a man’s gotta survive one way or another. I got more important things to worry about right now, as awful as your situation is.”

You did understand, you wished you could have done something to make both your lives easier, but there was only one way to do that, and it would be easier said than done. Before you spoke up further about it, you felt a hard tug at your ankle and you went flying to the ground.

You fell hard and let out a yelp, the Ghoul spun around and watched as the man who you both thought retreated had roped you by your ankle and was struggling to completely bind your legs together. You had been thrashing around, kicking and screaming at the man as you landed your foot against his jaw, but he reacted quickly and punched you in return. You were slightly stunned, but you had thrown your bag off your back and reached for the pistol in your pack, then shot him square in the neck. There would be no time wasted, you weren't one to take it lying down anymore.

The Ghoul had stared at the scene in interest, a smile grew across his face as he walked over and rolled the limp body off your legs. “Well, seems like you're a little killer, huh?” He chuckled and removed his knife from its sheath, then cut you free of your half-tied bindings with one quick thrust of the knife upward.

“I do what I can to get by, much like yourself,” you said, your voice a little shaky. “Thanks…” You stood up and dusted yourself off, then looked around before you grabbed your bag, gun still in your hand.

“You're a curious one, you know that?” The Ghoul said, staring over at you. When you didn't answer and only greeted him with a puzzled look, he scoffed. “Had a gun the whole time and you didn't think to use it on me?”

You looked away and slid your pack on, then you looked back at him. “Told you, I don't got a shot against you.”

This made him laugh, he let out a belt of laughter and shook his head. “Been on this planet for over 200 years and yet I can still be surprised.”

His back faced away from the seemingly dead merc, but you took notice of the movement a little too late. The man lashed out toward the Ghoul, but you leaped at him and pushed him out of the way, your gun still in your hand, but the way the man threw himself had knocked you back. He plunged a knife deep into your shoulder, and you let out a howl of pain.

“Can't wait to see what he does to you, you bi–”

You brought your gun up to his head and blasted him. He dropped heavily into your lap, his blood splattered all over you, the ground, and your gun.

You were shaking as the Ghoul got you to your feet, but you clung to him as if your life depended on it, you were just so tired of Axton and the bullshit he constantly put you through, and it finally caught up to you. You sobbed as you buried your face against your captor's chest, just wanting to live a life without Axton, but he'd haunt you until one of you died.

“I'm sorry,” you groaned, the knife still lodged into your shoulder as you bit your lip. “Dammit.” You sniffled, wiped your face, and slid your pack off your shoulder carefully, hoping not to aggravate your wound.

“Why’d you do that?”

“What, kill him?” You asked in confusion, tears still welling in your eyes while you dug for a stimpack.

The Ghoul scoffed and looked at you in disbelief. “You pushed me out of the way, you fool,” he admonished. “You ain't got healing like I do, why'd you do somethin’ so stupid?” He placed some pressure on your wound and grabbed the stimpack from your shaking hand. “Breathe in,” he instructed.

You did as he told you and that's when he administered the stimpack, then you winced at the pain of him pulling the knife out, but immediately holding the wound to slow the bleeding. You looked up at him with a small smile despite all that. “Thanks.”

“Don't pull nothin’ like that again, you hear me?” He began to help you dress the wound as expertly as he could, though he was a tad rusty with having to deal with mortal wounds.

“What, you'll still get paid regardless. I'm only gonna get worse when I'm back there…” You looked down at the ground and felt the closeness you both shared, but you didn't comment on it.

He was the first to pull away, but it took him longer than expected. “Come on,” he urged. He had nothing more to say, he had to think.

More time had passed and you finally stood before the poorly constructed walls of the compound, and you were visibly distraught. “Mister, please,” you said as you turned toward him. You were no longer afraid to release the tears that threatened to fall. “I can't, you saw just a small sliver of what he's capable of, he will beat me senselessly, string me up. I just wanted freedom…” You looked back at the compound and tried your best to remain composed. “What if we take them out? All of them? I know the combination to his safe, I know where everything is stashed, I could help you.”

The Ghoul stood there in silence, listening to your words, words of desperation and bargaining. And as much as he wanted to simply ignore it, he knew he couldn't. Not anymore. You'd stuck your neck out for him, you'd not given him any trouble as he escorted you back, and somehow you managed to grow on him. How, he had no idea, but the sound of killing all these bastards seemed more than satisfactory. Killing them all so they didn't hurt anyone else like you, take their earnings, it all seemed fair, especially after sending someone to take him out and keep the caps for themselves.

“Even if I were to entertain the idea, sweetheart, there ain't a guarantee you'll make it out of there. I can handle gunshots, you're gonna be a walkin’ corpse riddled with holes.”

“I know their shifts. I paid attention when I was keeping track of when and who would be where. I can make it happen, I promise. Just please, help me take them down and you can help yourself to whatever you want.”

The Ghoul looked away from you and brought his attention back to the compound, his eyes stared into the area as he mulled over your words. He let out a sigh, hung his head, and smiled a little. He was going to do this for a smoothie, a human, and for what? Maybe it didn't sit well with him that you took a stab wound for him, that he felt like he owed you for something you didn't need to throw your life on the line for. After what seemed like a good, long while, he turned back to you and sighed. His eyes wandered over your face as he recalled his past, something he tried not to do regularly, and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth.

Again, he just sighed. “You better come through, you hear?” He warned, his hand raised and his finger pointed at you. “But if anythin’ happens, I ’spose you could call me Cooper…”

Your eyes lit up and you stared at him in awe. “Like…Cooper Howard…?” You gasped and smiled so wide you thought your cheeks would hurt.

He scoffed. “Yeah, that's me, just don't go tellin’ people, you understand?”

With a burst of excitement and a lapse in judgment, you threw your arms around him despite feeling the sting of your wound, and you hugged him. He didn't realize how big of a deal this was to you, your heart soared with delight at the news, and it was almost like an old part of your life was here, comforting you in tough times. “Oh, I'm definitely loving our chances now.”

The Ghoul just sighed and patted your shoulder awkwardly, wanting to support you in his change of heart. “I hope I don’t regret this…” he whispered to himself.

The ringing in your ears was causing you to squeeze your eyes closed as you tried to focus on anything other than the sound, but it gradually increased and you did your best to try and remain out of the crossfire as you hid behind one of the walls inside the compound.

You and Cooper had gotten halfway through the building already, both of you easily working together when it came to taking down the men you knew so well, but you felt nothing except a growing sense of freedom the more men fell. You'd grown up with a lot of them, sure, but none of that mattered once they had begun to follow Axton's orders and put you in harm's way. You wouldn't admit to it, but the satisfaction you felt when they would fall to the ground as they bled out almost was too wicked for you to take any joy in, but deep down, you relished it.

According to your memory, you and Cooper had taken down about fifteen of them so far, and you only had fifteen– bang– fourteen more to go. Axton would be holed up in his pathetic excuse of a ‘panic room’, which you knew the code to, so he'd be the best to save for last. You peeked around the corner, your pistol in hand as you looked for any more on this floor.

“I think they're all running up to protect their stash now, they're gonna be crowded in a room on the top floor. Axton would want all his riches to be the top priority, the greedy bastard.” You stepped out and pushed on with the Ghoul right beside you, following your lead as you guided him through the compound.

“There any coverage between us and that door?” He asked, his gun still raised as he looked over at you.

“Yeah, there's a double wall up there, no doors,” you replied and paused when you saw someone cowering in the corner. You gasped and ran to that person with a relieved expression.

“Oh my gosh, Toby?” You knelt beside them and placed a hand on their shoulder.

Cooper was about to interject, afraid to take up too much time dwelling on checking on survivors, but the person known as Toby looked up at you and their expression was shocked. It was a Ghoul, just like him; not yet feral. Toby smiled and stood up, greeting you with a tight hug.

“Oh, you're back, you're back! I thought you would have been killed, or worse!” Toby sobbed as they hugged you, pulling you tighter and tighter.

“Toby, you have to get out of here, go outside the compound, and stay hidden till we come out.”

“You're doing it, aren't you, you're finally taking him down?” The Ghoul looked relieved and terrified, and yet the smile that spread across their face spoke volumes.

You smiled in return and nodded. “Yeah, Cooper and I are, now come on, go, I'll find you after, okay?” You gave him one last hug and pushed on with Cooper by your side.

You'd finally made it to the last floor, and you were both greeted with heavy gunfire. You pressed back against the wall with Cooper on the other side, and he looked at you as he counted down on his fingers from five. After it ended, he spun toward the door and just began to blast the mercenaries, all shots landing where they were supposed to. You followed in behind him and tried to keep up, taking down any stragglers with your pistol as you kept it aimed high. Whenever you shot another, they'd look at you in horror, realizing that you were finally fighting back. Some of them seemed to know it would have happened eventually, others seemed betrayed that it was you, but you wore the same expression as you gunned them down.

Remorseless.

You’d been counting down, naming each one of the men in Axton’s employ as you shot them, remembering their faces, recalling all the times they’d done you wrong. With each bullet put into them, you felt lighter, a heavy burden was released from your shoulders. But you knew you needed to get to your main problem before you would feel any semblance of comfort. But now that you thought about it, you felt comfort being here with Cooper, which was an odd thing to say considering he was there initially to bring you back to this hellhole. But you’d both grown on each other, though he would never admit to it, but you hoped that he would after all was said and done.

Once the last man had fallen from a shot to his leg, Cooper walked up to him as he crawled away, then stepped on the wound and stepped down hard, and he laughed as the blood came pouring from the wound while the man cried out. The Ghoul didn’t let up as he leaned closer to the man.

“So cowpoke, where’s your boy, Axton, huh?”

The man who you knew as Luther had looked up, horrified to see the hand cannon he held pointed directly at his face. “L-L-Look, he’s in there,” he pointed to the right where his room had been, “I don’t got nothin’ to do with what he did to her! I swear!”

Cooper looked over at you for confirmation, but you looked away from him, your face filled with unwanted recalled memories. All of his men stood by and turned a blind eye to the things he’d done to you and many others, you wouldn’t soon forget. Cooper turned back to the bleeding man and smirked slyly.

“Seems that she says otherwise, partner, guess it ain’t your lucky day,” he said with a faux frown as he raised the gun to his head and shot without hesitation. He walked back to you and stood beside you, looking at you in silence for a moment. “You ready to take on this son of a bitch?”

You swung your pack around and dug for your box of ammo, filled your gun, and then looked into the Ghoul’s eyes. “I’ve been ready. But you gotta be careful, he’ll have heavy weapons on him, so don’t let him get you off guard.”

“You don’t gotta worry about me, sweetheart, I think I already established that.” He reached a gloved hand toward your face, and it lingered there for a moment as it hovered near your cheek. Cooper decided against it and sighed, then looked back in the direction of the room.

You wondered what he wanted to say to you, but maybe it wasn't something meant for right now, instead, you two had something to deal with. You walked toward the room and typed in the code you distinctly memorized despite not being allowed inside, and the door swung open to reveal Axton with a large turbo Plasma rifle, the only one in his collection. He pointed it directly at you with a smile on his face.

“Shoulda known it was you,” he scoffed. “After all I gave you here, a place to stay, food to eat, safety?”

“You didn't give me anything other than scars inside and out,” you spat back. “You had this coming, whether it was from me or someone else. You get what you get.”

His eyes darted to the Ghoul and he let out hearty laughter. “Oh, this is even better, what, employing a Ghoul to help you? Always were obsessed with them.”

“They're friends! Toby is my friend!” You yelled and shot off a round straight at him, but he immediately dropped and dodged it before it could hit him. He just laughed at you and shook his head.

“Always were a lousy shot. So, Ghoul, she employed you, promise you that you'd get whatever you want in here?” He waved around the room and scoffed again. “She lied. She ain't shit, and neither are you.”

“Well, actually…” Cooper said with a playful smile on his face, “I was the bounty hunter who planned on turnin’ her in but after seein’ so much of who you are? Gotta hand it to the little lady, I ain't impressed with how this is goin’.”

Axton just laughed and shook his head. “Oh, so you're betraying me, too? Damn, what did she do, give it up to you to get you to change your mind–”

Cooper let off a shot that hit him in the shoulder and blood spurted out, but he didn't go down, not yet. “Better watch your mouth, boy,” he warned.

Axton groaned but laughed and shook his head. “Oh man, she did, didn't she?! It's all she's good at anyway.”

“Enough!” You screamed out as you began shooting at him, not taking into account that you should have kept a level head of things. You tried to hit him, but he shot the plasma rifle at your feet, which caused you to stumble back and fall on your ass.

Axton laughed and grabbed a pistol, then aimed at you to finally silence you, but Cooper easily shot it out of his hand, causing it to stumble and fly off somewhere. He ran up on the man and slammed his foot hard into his stomach, and Axton lost his footing and fell. Cooper didn't give him time to recover, instead, he ran up and kicked him again, this time across the jaw.

Axton let out a yell and spat blood out onto the floor, but he was just laughing, and as he looked back at you, sneering. “You think this is gonna make things better? I own you,” he said as he pointed at you, “and you ain't gonna finish this.”

“She might not, but I will,” Cooper said as he held his hand cannon up to his head.

“No!” You shouted, your hand reaching out toward him as you stared at the Ghoul. Your face was soft as you looked at him, and sure you hadn't known him long, but the lengths he was going to just to protect you… it meant more to you than you could put into words. you walked up to Cooper, who stared over at you quizzically. “I wanna do it.”

Axton just laughed again. “You're gonna do it? Better off letting the Ghoul do it.”

You swung your gun around toward him and aimed directly at his forehead as he sat on the ground, trying his best to pick up his pride. “I don't need anyone to do my job for me, Axton, you think I'm weak? But I'm not, I've taken out more of your men than you've taken out bounties. I'm better than you in every way.”

This got the man howling in laughter as he sat there below you, staring up at your gun. He felt that you wouldn't do a damn thing, and you would just fall for his ways again. You would let him live and he'd take you as his captor once again. “Sure, sweetheart, whatever lies you fed yourself, you can keep on believing them all I know is I'm gonna fucking kill you–”

Your finger pulled back, the explosion of his head and brain matter splattered everywhere, and his body fell back. No more words, no more threats, no more danger. You stared at the man who once beat you, hurt you, did unspeakable things to you, and you finally felt that weight release from your shoulders. Your body suddenly felt weak, you stumbled and almost fell, but Cooper was there in an instant. His arms enveloped you as he lowered you to the ground so you could take a moment.

You stared down at him and huffed. “Only he can call me that,” you spat and continued to stare down at him.

Your eyes didn't leave the scene of Axton's decapitated body, it felt too good to be true, like a sick dream that you'd wake up from. But your companion placed a hand on your cheek, pulling your attention away from the gruesome scene and made you face him. There was contentment in the way you looked up at Cooper, a small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you stared up at him.

“I did that, right?” You asked him in disbelief.

Cooper gave you a small smile. “Yeah, you did ya little killer, c’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

“What about your pay? There are chems too, you’re gonna need those, please, get what you need. I’ll be okay… I’ll sit over here, you grab all of what you can.” You wandered over to the corner and sat down on the floor, away from the large pool of blood slowly making its way around.

You waited for Cooper to grab all that he could and gathered a large amount of chems, caps, and whatever else he could fit into his pack, then he sauntered up to you and grabbed your hand to pull you to your feet. “Alright then, I got all I could hold, got some for you too, you ready?”

You looked over at him and seemed taken off guard by his question. “What do you mean?”

“Well, are you comin’ with me or not? Didn’t think you’d wanna stay here.”

Your eyes stared at him for a good while, but you weren’t sure what to say now that you were here, and now you had the opportunity to leave. “Really? You’d want me to go with you?” You asked softly.

Cooper scoffed and looked off at the destruction you both caused. “I ain’t gonna leave you here alone, sweetheart. Not gonna lie, you’ve grown on me, and as much as I’ve done in this lifetime, I ain’t that much of a monster.”

You couldn’t help but laugh and look around the room, then back at him. “I guess that’s the best choice I could ever ask for, huh?” You asked softly, smiling wide. “So… you really mean it?”

Cooper turned around and shook his head with a smirk. “I mean if you’d rather stay here, then-”

You grabbed him and pulled at his shoulder, causing him to turn to face you. He looked surprised, but his eyes widened when you pulled him into a soft kiss. He didn’t pull away, he just stared at you as you pulled away from him, but you seemed much more reserved now.

“Sorry… but yeah, let’s get going, if that’s still on the table…”

The Ghoul just laughed and reached up to ruffle your hair. “Well, it ain’t all canned peaches and marmalade up here, but I ‘spose havin’ you as company will lighten it up a little.”

You placed your gun in your pack and sighed as you slipped it over your shoulder, but the smile you wore after kissing Cooper was one that you’d wear for quite a while. “I think I can agree with that.”

#tinalbion writings #cooper howard #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout series #fallout show #cooper howard oneshot #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard imagine #fem!reader #angst #angst with a happy ending

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joeloverture · 5 months

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comeuppance | qz!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader summary: [post outbreak] when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it. warnings: (18+ mdni) qz!joel, age gap (late 20s/early 50s), written with hbo!joel in mind but with game!joel lore, guns, mentioned executions, misogynistic names outside (and in!) a sexual context, canon-typical violence as in murder (joel kills a soldier 'on-screen'), reader is a little shit but joel is worse, darkish & dubcon, spanking as a punishment, gunplay, attempted boot humping, degradation, humiliation, one kick to the cunt, mean!joel, orgasm denial [no use of y/n] word count: 2.7k a/n: this is my (admittedly late) submission for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! my prompt was 'you can't hide forever'. the genre was technically dark but joel himself isn't scarily dark here. thank you so much to aly for, once again, bringing this fandom together with her challenges. it's a steep task but she does a great job every time! and even more thanks to @joelsdagger and @lovesickonmybed for helping me brainstorm! (i have half of a brain without my wonderfully creative friends).

It only takes one deal gone south to fuck everything up.

You know the compass is already ticking that way the moment you and Joel, your longtime smuggling partner, enter the abandoned warehouse. Much like everything else in the Boston QZ, it’s falling apart. The corrugated metal walls are pitted with rust, and old blood is caked all over the floors. In another life, it might’ve been a slaughterhouse, but there’s no real way of knowing. It’s been long enough that any signage has deteriorated. The building’s state of decay, however, isn’t what messes things up.

It’s the singular man that walks in from the opposite side of the atrium.

FEDRA’s favorite executioner. Slitted eyes far apart, thinned out lips, and graying black hair. Rarely seen away from the gallows, only recognizable to you from all of the nightmares you’ve had of his face being the last you see.

If it were drugs, you’d think nothing of it. FEDRA soldiers buy quietly from you all of the time – but they have no need for guns that they don’t already have.

Joel steps forward, merchandise in the duffel bag over his shoulder, none the wiser. A knot ties itself in the base of your throat. You’re too busy trying to figure out what to do, what to do, what to do that you barely even realize that the soldier has a gun aimed right between your eyes until you’re looking right down the barrel.

Your hand jerks to your holster, drawing your pistol in one swipe.

“Drop your fucking gun!” he barks in your direction. It clatters out of your hands. “Don’t you dare fucking move.” Your hands fly up as you take a step back, nearly stumbling into a nearby crate. “Joel Miller and his bitch,” the man sneers. “What a lucky find. You two have quite the bounty on your heads.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Joel says, face completely blank.

“Easy for you to say,” the guard says with a nagging smirk. “Your little cunt here already did. Pretty fucking dumb not to check who you’re selling your merchandise to, huh?”

Joel tenses, ultimately huffing through his nose. “Can we get this over with?”

“I’ll make it easy, Miller. Come with me alive so I get paid, or come with me dead so I still get paid.”

Joel’s fingers twitch behind his back, and after almost three years of working with him, it’s impossible not to pick up on the subtext. Keep him busy. His hand is already reaching for the revolver in his back pocket.

“Turn the other way. I can make this worth your time,” you say. “But you’re lucky if those sons of bitches you work for even offer you half the reward they’ve posted for us. Dragging the bodies from Area 5 to the closest checkpoint… you’d have your work cut out for you.”

“Yeah fucking right,” he spits. “You two have been running around free for too damn long. Causing too much trouble. Not anymo–”

The man’s mouth freezes around the words by the time the bullet soars throat the canvas fabric of Joel’s duffel bag and through the man’s jugular. The soldier’s hands claw for his throat while he gargles on the blood as he begins the descent to the ground. New blood, still pumping directionless from the split artery, joins the old.

Much like him, where he’s slumping against the ground, chest moving until the very end, your hands clutch at your own throat. “We need to go,” you say, knowing the rest of FEDRA will come looking for the firefight at any second now. Joel doesn’t move. “Joel!” You reach out to tug his sleeve, but he doesn’t react. “Jesus– move!”

Joel turns to face you, gun still hanging from his hand. His fingers flex around the grip. “What the hell were you thinkin’, little girl?” You can hear his breathing, amplified from how close he is to you. His once inexpressive face is now red, lips curled, skin tight like a crushed soda can.

“I– what?”

“Not vettin’ your buyers. First fuckin’ thing I told you all them years ago, wasn’t it? Gotta check so you don’t sell shit to the wrong guy, yeah?” He stalks closer to you – you stumble back.

Not vetting the now dead executioner, whose blood is currently creeping up to the soles of your boots. Your mistake, yes, a potentially catastrophic one that you’ll definitely never make again after this, but he’d been on your ass about finding buyers and after an entire day of burning bodies, the last thing you wanted to do was go asking around about the ‘John’ in search of guns that you’d talked to over the radio tower.

“We’re alive, aren’t we?”

Joel finally jerks his sleeve away from your grip. Your hand falls slack by your side, burning from his fire stoker touch. “And you oughta count your fuckin’ blessings for that. Dumbfuck of a girl, gonna get me killed,” he spits. Spittle flies across your neck.

You flinch – and not because you’re scared. You’ve never seen him like this before. You hear noise in the distance, the moving of FEDRA trucks, no doubt. “Joel! We can do this later – we need to fucking go–”

“Then you better start running,” he says gruffly.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You sprint out of the atrium, cursing as your bloodied soles carve tracks behind you. A stack of crates blocks the door, which you vault over and shimmy your way through the broken glass panel. The hallway ahead of you is dark, and you have no idea where the fuck you’re going, only that you can’t stop. Each impact of your foot on the ground is like being struck by lightning, carbonating the racing blood pumping through your body. More glass crunches behind you, and a shock of terror pierces you when you hear Joel’s snarls filling the corridor.

There’s a metal cart in your way, which you send whirling in Joel’s direction. He grunts, presumably hitting him in the stomach before it goes clattering on the ground. You make the most of the diversion, hurtling forward and lurching through a cracked door.

Dead fucking end.

An office, by the looks of it. Desks all over the place, leftover tasks still pinned on cork boards from outbreak day, chairs on their sides. You hear Joel huffing and puffing behind you, and fear forks through you. You fall to your hands and knees, crawling underneath the labyrinth of desks and tucking yourself against a wall, carpet-burned hand to your mouth to muffle your breathing. Your chest avalanches with every single breath.

“You ain’t off the hook,” Joel says, voice getting closer with every word. You can hear the thump of his boots against the carpet. See the spread of his shadow roaming across the wall. You squint through the seam of two desks. He's looking over his shoulder when you haul yourself across the room to the next closest desk.

You look around for anything that might get you out of this long enough to slip back out of the door. If you can make it back to the apartment, maybe he can cool off on his own walk back. You reach up for a stapler and take a brief second to peek over a filing cabinet before flinging it against the wall. It snaps open, spilling decades old staples all over the floor.

“Only a clicker’s fallin’ for that,” he tuts at you. His boots land on the floor again, one, two, three steps closer to you. You wince, balling your hands into fists.

All you can hear is the thrashing of your own heart. You scooch away from the desk – maybe if you throw something small at him, like a pack of sticky notes, it’ll be enough to abduct his attention long enough for you to slip by–

“You can’t hide forever,” Joel goddamn coos at you. You see him bending at the waist, scoping out the undersides of desks, seeking you out–

You crawl out from under the desk and book it to the door.

Stupid. Fucking. Idea.

Joel hauls you back by the belt loop, laughing as you cry out. You try squirming away, kicking at him, but his other arm wraps around your torso. It hits you then that you have no idea what he might do to you. You’ve trusted him with your life before, but what would he do when you risked his? You’d always been too scared to find out. He spins you, slamming you over the desk. You cry out as your chest meets the wood. His hand drags your wrists together, pinning them at the small of your back.

“Let me – the fuck– go!” you yell at him, trying to bend your elbow at the right angle to nail him in the chest.

He tightens his grip so much that you can barely move an inch. “Made your fuckin’ bed, gotta lie in it, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at you. His hand grazes over your ass, and you stiffen as he looms over you. He is just a man. Your mind spins to the worst-case scenario. No, no, no, no–

“How about an… old-fashioned corporal punishment to set ya straight?” Within the next second, he’s yanking your jeans down your thighs.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Joel–” you exhale, breath shuddery. “Knock it off–”

“No panties? I was gonna be nice and spank ya over them…” Joel frowns at you. “Poor baby. ‘S gonna sting real bad.”

You snap at him, “What, you want me to go to the local QZ Victoria’s Secret?”

Joel swats, hard, across your asscheek.

You’ve seen how intense Joel’s brute strength can be. You’ve just never been on the receiving end of it. A cry pushes out of your throat, and you hunch over the desk as you struggle helplessly against Joel. Tears spring at your eyes.

Mercifully, Joel runs his calloused palm over the smarting skin. “Shh, shh, shh, shh. ‘S okay, Jus’ gotta teach ya a lesson. Make sure it sticks.” He strokes the nape of your neck as you whimper into the desk.

You tense up in preparation for the second hit, but, if anything, it just makes the impact worse. It prickles your other cheek, leaving your knees shaky. And God help you, your clit twitches. Twitches. Your thighs are already heating up, and you can’t help but squirm in a good way underneath Joel. A single tear slips over your waterline, and you have to tilt your head into the shoulder of your shirt to wipe it off. You don’t want him to see you weak – not that weak.

The next spank makes him grunt from how hard he swings his palm into your backside. “Joel!” you shout, pain nearly splitting you in two. Your feet raise off of the ground as you prop yourself up on the desk, kicking uselessly at his shins. All he does is chuckle at you.

Horror sinks like a cinderblock in your stomach when you realize that your hole, leaking slick, is practically fucking winking at him. You thank the darkness. It’s about the only good thing about this place.

“You don’t like that?” he mock-pouts at you. It’s enough to make you throb. The opposite, you’d say if you could.

A series of spanks follows, but at least these are lighter, and in rapid succession. Still, you jerk with each impact, squirming so that your fingers dance in his grip. “Stupid little girl. Thought you could sell our shit to a FEDRA bitch and get off scot-free? Really thought you could get away from me, huh?”

You try clamming up, desperately attempting to close your legs together. You squeeze your thighs together, relieved at the pressure – and then you hear a resounding click behind you.

You still.

Joel’s gun, still fucking hot from the bullet it’d fired right into the executioner’s throat, traces up the small of your back… all the way to your throat. “Could put one right here,” Joel whispers, more to himself than you. “Show ya what happens to girls that don’t follow orders.” He jams it into your skin, and you hiss at the pain, at the bruise it’s sure to leave. And in spite of it all, you fucking gush. God, you’re fucked up.

He wouldn’t kill you – he needs you more than you need him. But common sense isn’t enough to prevent the thrill, the arousal smiting your body from head to toe.

“I’ll reconsider if ya give it a kiss.” He nudges the barrel carefully against your lips and you stop breathing for a second, maybe two. “Go on. Give it some lovin’. Suck it like a cock. I know you’re good at it. Hear all the guys you bring over.”

You whimper at the thought of Joel listening to you getting your hook ups off – at the thought of him fisting his own cock while he listens. Obediently, you part your lips, slowly, ever so slowly, taking the gun down your throat. It fills your mouth up in such a strange way – all hard edges. It’d be freezing cold if not for the fact that it’s a weapon of death, a scythe in its own way. One press of the trigger, and you’d be just like the guard. You suck even harder at it, eyes rolling back in your skull. Your thighs twitch, stripes of slick running down your thighs.

Joel reaches between your legs, grabbing at the meat of your inner thigh to spread you open. Instead, he gets a handful of the arousal that’s been pooling between your legs since he first bent you over the desk.

You freeze, pausing your ministrations on the pistol. He himself freezes before he drags his hips over your folds. His finger pads hover over your swollen clit before he properly rubs you once, and then twice. Your hips cant into the closest thing – his hand.

Joel makes a disgusted noise and swats your leaking pussy before shoving you forward and stepping back. You’re panting, properly fucked out even though he’d barely touched you. Cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, face hot. He looks you up and down, brows furrowing with revulsion. “Horny fuckin’ bitch. Creamin’ all over me. That long since you got action that a spankin’ and a gun in your mouth is all it takes to get you riled up? Pathetic.” He shoves the gun back in his pocket, still shining with your saliva.

He wipes your wetness all over your leg, grabs the back of your collar, and drags you to the floor in one foul swoop. You fall on your hands and knees again, ass still stinging from his treatment, lightheaded from how needy you are. Even his brutal treatment makes you whimper.

You reach for his calf, pulling yourself up to brace your dripping cunt against his boot. You rut against it, not even fully cognizant of your movements as you roll your hips, praying that he lets you have this if nothing else. Your orgasm, wetting his boot thoroughly. Your scent, clinging to him on the walk back to the apartment. You buck into the boot, moaning as the toe bumps against your clit. It might be enough, if you could just do it one more time–

Joel tears his shoe out from underneath you, face pinched with aversion. “No!” you cry, still grabbing for his calf. You fall onto your back, legs spread and panting. Your ass needles from his spanking. The ceiling tiles spin above you.

The same toe you’d been humping kicks into your cunt, and you yelp, curling in on yourself. Another tear slides down your burning cheek as you reach down to cup your sore pussy. Even that pressure feels like touching a live wire.

Joel looks down at his shining boot and makes a disgusted noise. “Does humiliatin’ yourself always get ya dicked down?”

He turns around, already walking away from you without a care in the world. The gun grip pokes out of his pocket, taunting you.

“Pull your goddamn pants up and get a move on. Curfew’s soon.”

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #writing challenge 2.0

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iovetecchou · 1 year

Text

My Heart ⧸ Bram Stoker

༞ Contains...! a pinch of fluff, angst and smut (holy shit), unintentionally plot-heavy, strangers to friends to lovers, realization of feelings, being in denial of said feelings (from bram), confessions, self-loathing (from bram), reader offering bram the love he deserves! consent, kissing, making out, nipple play, soft touches, praise, needy!reader, oral (receiving... obviously, considering that- nvm) face sitting...

Bram uses "mo chroí" as a term of endearment for the reader, which essentially translates to "my heart" the title of this fic- woah, shocker!

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 5,873 words.

"Y/N, get my boots!"

"Y/N, where is my lunch?"

"Y/N! I don't have all day, you know."

This charade was getting old.

You were at Fukuchi's beck and call. His little servant and it made you sick. You didn't choose this life for yourself— no, you never would have done this to yourself.

You were a Hunting Dog at one point, but it felt so long since your glory days. The moment you witnessed what Fukuchi did to your former colleague— Tachihara, your fate was sealed.

You had two options: join the Decay of Angels or die, like all the sorry souls before you— and all the ones to come.

Well, you chose the former. But being a part of the Decay of Angels is not what you pictured. You were a glorified secretary to Fukuchi. You had to tuck your tail between your legs day in and day out.

Swallow your pride and follow orders.

You loathed it with every fiber of your being. However, you would be lying if you said nothing good came out of this arrangement.

There was Bram, your last-ditch effort for hope.

You hadn't thought much of the strange coffin Fukuchi hauled around. The same casket that inevitably caused chaos. You knew it couldn't be the coffin but rather— what was inside the tattered wooden box that caused disarray.

One day, curiosity got the better of you. Fukuchi was in his living quarters, presumably resting as you finished your tedious paperwork for the day. It was already past midnight by the time you finished up.

You stood up from your desk, stretching your limbs before trekking toward Fukuchi's office. Usually, you would place the paperwork atop his desk and then go on your merry way. That is what Fukuchi permitted you to do, at least. But tonight was… different.

That unruly coffin propped up against the furthest wall in the darkest corner of his office caught your eye. Most people who worked under Fukuchi's thumb would not have given it a second glance.

But you? You could not take your eyes off it.

The gold cross plating that decorated the outside of the coffin caught the light the second you creaked the office door open. The glimmering plating caught your eye. Beckoning you to come closer- drawing you in.

Before your brain could catch up, your feet carried forward, inching closer toward that dimly lit corner. All you could think of was, what could be inside that tattered box? That same question flickered in your mind for weeks, and you were finally about to get your answer.

Your trembling fingertips grazed over the smooth finish on the casket. They danced over the golden cross before trailing lower. Your persparated palms felt each flank of the coffin before you found the groove you were skimming for.

You took a sharp intake of breath. Fukuchi would kill you if he saw you right now. You thought, before diminishing that idea from your mind. Face it, he was going to kill you eventually. So you might as well continue with your plan. You got this far. There was no turning back.

It took all your might to drag the weighty wooden door of the coffin open. But once you did, your breath hitched.

It was… a man? A pretty one at that. This strange man was most definitely sleeping. He had prominent veins running along his lashline, you noted. His hair was pure white, long, and all out of place, nearly covering half of his visage. He also had two identical scars adorning his pallid cheeks.

He was mesmerizing, statuesque.

Maybe this man was artificial? He was as still as could be, and you found it tricky to disclose if he was breathing. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no warmth radiating from his frame. You could not control the way your fingers rose to his form. Ghosting over his face, only a few centimeters away from grazing his cheek.

"Who are you?"

A gruff voice pulled you out of your trance. You stumbled back, watching in disbelief as the mysterious man before you opened his lids, revealing the most bewitching crimson eyes. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you struggled to find the words to respond to him.

"Hey… I asked you a question."

The alluring man before you sounded more annoyed this time. His eyes never once left yours. It intimidated you more than you would have liked to admit.

"I'm nobody, really! I'm sorry for disturbing you—I'll be going now."

You babbled, smoothing your shirt down nervously before turning on your heel. You wanted nothing more than to leave this office and forget this night ever happened.

"Stop."

His compelling voice ceased you in your tracks. You should have just left, but you didn't. Instead, you obeyed his demand.

"How long has it been since my last awakening?"

You quickly turned to face the stranger in the corner of your boss's office.

"Huh? Last awakening…? I'm not sure I understand what you are talking about. I'm sorry."

He gave you a pointed look. Finally, he let his eyes wander over your frame before ultimately letting out a deep sigh.

"Tell me, do you possess a legendary treasure? It Contains musicians in a box, the size no bigger than a fist, a wireless radio."

Your eyes widened. This man considered a wireless radio to be a legendary treasure…? Just who was this guy?

"Um… I don't own one of those. I do, however, have my phone to listen to music. If… that's what you are interested in?"

Before he could question the foreign words you just uttered to him, he watched as you pulled a peculiar device from your pocket. You unraveled your earbuds, trekking dangerously close to this strange man.

Slowly, you position the earbuds in each of his ears. Making sure they were in place, all the while crimson eyes followed your every movement. Before he could ask you the meaning of this—music surged through the strange gadget, flooding his senses with pleasant beats.

You watched as his demeanor softened upon hearing your playlist. He closed his eyes in contentment, letting the melody overcome him. You were confused, to say the least. Not only was this man trapped in a coffin, but his only wish was to listen to music?

"Are you… a goddess?"

You couldn't help but giggle at his terminology. Your laughter pulled his lids open once more.

"Far from it… I'm Y/N, and you are?"

"So 'nobody' does have a name after all. I'm the King of the Dead, Bram Stoker."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, as you slightly tilted your head in confusion at his fascinating introduction, politely putting your hand out to shake his own.

"We cannot do that. I assumed you were aware of my… circumstance?"

Your grin wavered, more bewildered than ever at his words. Bram let out a drawn-out sigh at your expression. The realization of your cluelessness ultimately dawned on him.

"Pull this sheet from off me."

Bram sounded peeved as he gestured down toward his chest with his gaze alone. Hesitantly, you did so.

Your hands trembled, nails digging into the tattered raven cloth that concealed Bram moments ago. You could not accept what you were witnessing.

Bram was missing over half of his body- most of his frame was replaced by a large sword. It plunged through his whole being. All that remained intact was the upper half of his torso and head.

"Horrid, right? This is what my old enemy, Fukuchi, did to me."

Before you could control it, tears spilled past your lash line. Staining your burning cheeks. Bram looked taken aback as you wept for him. His mouth slumped open as he quizzically observed you.

"How awful… I'm so sorry. I hate Fukuchi so much. Of course, he would do something like this…"

Your tears flowed as you covered Bram up with that worn-out black sheet. Your hands came up to cup his cheeks, caressing the paired scars that decorated them.

Your touch pulled a gasp from both your lips.

Your breath hitched the second you came in contact with the frigid porcelain skin of his cheeks.

And Bram felt dizzy upon feeling the warmth radiating from your palms.

He could not remember the last time he felt such a gentle touch. His mind staggered at the contact.

"Would you… Perhaps mind if we conversed for a while? It seems you and I both have a lot of catching up to do."

That first encounter between Bram and yourself was ages ago. But an unforgettable one at that. You two stayed up all night, filling one another in on everything.

Bram informed you all about his ability and Fukuchi's use of him. You told Bram all about how you ended up here and what went wrong.

That night felt like a dream, something you only could have made up in your subconscious. Each night, you stayed at work later and later. You waited for everyone around you to dissipate so you could see Bram again. Talk to him for hours, learn more about his life, memorize him.

Your secret meet-ups went on for months. You could care less about getting killed by Fukuchi if you ever got caught. All you cared about was Bram. He was your only fragment of hope in your sad excuse of a life. The closer you became, the more your feelings developed for him.

On the surface, Bram came off as aloof; bored, and uninterested in anything. But that could not be further from the truth. Everything Bram loved, from his human life, was stolen from him. The idea of ever feeling warmth or love again was drained from his mind. That was until you appeared.

After five months of sneaking around and spending your nightfalls listening to music with one another, sharing stories, and growing close, you ultimately acknowledged your feelings for him.

"Bram, I… I need to tell you something."

You nervously fumbled with the buttons on your shirt, not daring to meet Bram's enchanting gaze. You sat atop Fukuchi's desk as Bram quizzically stared down at you from where he was propped up inside his coffin, against the back wall; as usual.

"Hm? What seems to be the matter, Y/N?"

His tone was delicate, solely for you. Quickly, you shot up from the desk. If speaking was too challenging, then… You had no choice but to show him.

Bram observed as you hastily approached him. Your hands darted up to his cheeks, holding him delicately like that first night you met. But before Bram could ask you- once more, what was wrong, you kissed him. Bram gasped against your lips, crimson orbs blown wide as he peered down at you. He watched you intently as your lips molded to his.

He could not accept what was occurring. Again, that head-dizzying feeling washed over him as you pulled away from his lips. You hurridly relaxed your head atop his shoulder, leaving a small kiss on the side of his neck before whispering,

"I love you, Bram."

His mind slowly digested the pure and earnest words you uttered against his neck. Bram finally had something— or rather, someone grant him motivation, hope for his less-than-ideal living circumstances— and life itself.

Bram felt unloveable. How could he not? He was quite literally half the man he used to be. But, you… loved him?

Your face felt hot as the seconds ticked on by. You nestled your face further into the juncture of his throat and shoulder. Placing delicate kisses on his frigid neck. Your hand continued to soothe over one of his cheeks as your other hand came up to card through his slate locks.

“I… do not think someone as magnificent as you should love a terror like me. You… will be met with misfortunes if you involve yourself with the likes of me. It would be soundest if you forgot about me altogether. Turn back now, before it's too late.”

His tone was low, barely inaudible if not for the proximity. You removed your head from his shoulder, meeting his ruby gaze for the first time since your confession.

“You said that is what you think… but- is that what you want?”

Bram let out a sigh, lids fluttering shut for a moment. He swore that if he looked at you for any longer, he would succumb to you. Your devoted countenance was too much to endure for Bram.

“…No.”

You brought your other hand back up to his fair visage, soothing over the identical scars residing on his freezing cheeks.

“Then tell me, Bram… what do you want? I know this whole situation- with Fukuchi, was against your will. I know you do not care to hurt others or cause destruction. You are not a monster. You never could be in my eyes. I love you for who you are in here,”

You gently tap his forehead to emphasize your point. His eyelids fluttered back open at your hasty display.

Bram knew this was wrong. He should not feel so attached- so compelled to you. But, you overtook his mind; you were his solace.

Your voice was the most desirable melody. Bram wished he could record your tellings and listen to you speak, over and over until it branded his brain.

He undoubtedly loved you for as long as he could remember. You were the first to show him compassion, hear him, and care about him in god knows how long. Bram did not even think he was capable of loving again. But you were quite the anomaly. You crept into his soul, taking over his every thought before he could intercept.

Bram watched as your eyebrows rose in concern. His silence was making your heart pound rapidly against your sternum. The fear of being rejected by him bubbled up in your abdomen, making you feel queasy.

He let out one of his signature sighs before his strong voice sliced through your doubts.

"What I desire… is for you to kiss me, once more."

Without any hesitation, you gave Bram what he wanted.

You pushed your lips against his with more confidence this time. Your mind surged with delight at the pleasant sighs Bram let out in between kisses. Your heart was thumping out of your chest, and Bram could hear it. Loud and clear.

His hearing was heightened, after all. Any physical reaction or sound you let out, he caught.

You were completely lost in the moment. The only thing tugging you out of your trance was the feeling of your lungs burning for air. As you pulled away to catch your breath, your forehead rested atop Bram's. Your warm breath tickled his wet ruddy lips.

There was that head-dizzying feeling again.

Bram's eyes flickered over your melodic expression. He wanted nothing more than to keep you happy like this for as long as he could. He knew your time together was limited, but he did not have the heart to break it to you. (Quite literally-)

When Fukuchi had no more use for Bram, he would annihilate him.

It was inevitable.

Bram hated feeling so helpless. He had not bothered to put up a fight all those times his old enemy threatened to end his life if he did not comply.

But now, Bram had someone to fight for.

He wanted nothing more than to shield you from harm. Take you away from this wretched place and live a comfortable life with you.

That was nothing but a fairytale. A nice thought, but unattainable.

If only he could remove this sword, regenerate his body, and get you out of this mournful circumstance. Be the man he yearned to be for you.

Not a day went by when he did not fantasize about wrapping you in his arms, hugging you tightly to himself. Bram often dreamt about holding your hand in his, wondering what it would feel like to interlock fingers. The warmth from your palm would compliment his icy grip, he reckoned.

The feeling of your nose bumping against his own pulled him from his thoughts. You beamed brightly at him, caressing his cheeks in that gentle way he loved so much.

And in that moment… he lost all composure, succumbing to you entirely.

"I… love you, Y/N. More than you could ever fathom."

You grew bolder as more months flickered by. You began sneaking Bram out of Fukuchi's unsettling office in the dead of night, taking him back to your living quarters.

You did not have much to work with. Your room consisted of a bed and a desk. Thankfully, with your very own private bathroom connected. You tried to liven the place up as much as you could, but Fukuchi did not permit you to leave the premises very often. He only authorized your leave if he needed you to run tedious errands for him.

You'll never forget how Bram's face beamed brightly the moment he saw your safe space. A change of scenery was pleasant for him. He felt select, bearing witness to such an intimate detail of your life. The handmade stars and planets that decorated your ceiling caught Bram's eye almost instantly.

You explained to him that they were your only treasure remaining from your life when you were free. The first time you laid Bram to rest atop your bed, turning off the lights before making yourself comfortable beside him, was remarkable.

Your gaze was glued to his face, not wanting to miss his reaction when your little galaxy began to illuminate. Bram gasped softly as the stars and planets twinkled in the dusk. You could have sworn his eyes were sparkling as he gaped at the ceiling.

Since then, it was custom for Bram and yourself to rest atop your duvet, gazing up at your artificial stars as you talked endlessly. Sometimes, you would doze off, but Bram would wake you with a stifled cough and a call of your name before dawn.

He desperately longed to lull himself to sleep beside you, considering how much he valued his slumber, but Bram knew that was a dangerous game to play. If Fukuchi discovered what you both were up to, well, game over.

You cherished those precious seconds when you awoke to your lover's voice. Before reality sunk in... and you had to scramble up to sneak Bram back to his coffin. A twinge of guilt always twisted in your gut as you placed your lover back in his confinement.

But each time he gave you a gentle smile, reassuring you with the whisper of his voice,

"We will be together again once the sun lowers. Chin up, mo chroí."

Bram's crimson orbs lingered on your lips before trailing up, capturing your mesmerizing gaze. A habit your lover picked up on to signal that he yearned for a kiss.

Your hands came up to his visage, fingertips dancing along his earlobes as you inched closer toward his lips. Bram's eyes grew tenfold as you now caressed the tips of his ears, pulling a strangled groan from his throat.

The noise slipping from your lover's mouth caused heat to swirl in your core, heartbeat accelerating as you closed the gap. Your lips captured his with more intensity than ever before.

Bram would be lying if he said he could not feel your desire for more through the embrace. His mind went numb, ruby eyes fluttering shut and allowing himself to succumb to you.

You quickly pulled back, offering him a muted smile and a wave before closing the casket. Enveloping Bram in that lonesome void he despised so greatly.

That evening; as you lay in bed beside your lover, your mind was elsewhere— Bram noted.

"Something is bothering you, yes?"

He whispered, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to meet his gaze. Your faces barely centimeters apart.

"Bram, do certain touches make you feel… good?"

His eyebrows rose, lips curling into a pout; giving your question much thought.

"Good? Good, how?"

Ah, you should have known he would ask you to elaborate further. But what you were trying to ask was crass. Maybe it would be best if you—

"Would it be okay if I show you what I mean by… good?"

Bram noticed you were being bashful, piquing his curiosity even further.

"If that is what you desire… then yes, mo chroí."

Slowly, you sat up, positioning yourself in front of your lover. Bram's watchful gaze followed your every movement. His eyes trailed lower as your shaky hands came to fiddle with the two buttons of his tattered white shirt.

"Is this still okay?"

Breathlessly, Bram answered with a quiet,

"…Yes."

His mind raced as you undid the few remaining buttons on his shirt, followed by his torn overcoat. You pushed back the flimsy fabrics past what remained of his torso. Your eyes curiously observed his newly exposed flesh.

His neck was malleable, adams apple bobbing in his throat ever so often. His pale collarbones were prominent, complimenting his broad shoulders. You were surprised to see his lithe chest was still intact. His complexion was so fair; the only pigment that blotted his form were his rose-colored nipples. Right below his chest was where the sword resided, shrouded by a vacant void.

"Beautiful…"

You whispered, driving yourself closer toward Bram. One of your hands came up to caress his cheek, tipping his head to the side. Your breath tickled his neck as you placed chaste kisses on his throat. Your lover choked on a whine as your hands trailed higher.

Gently, you took one of his pointed ears in your grasp, rubbing the cool flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

"Does this feel good?"

You questioned. Your breath tickled Bram's throat, causing the hairs on his nape to stand. He could feel his composure slipping from your gentle touches.

"Considerably, yes."

Bram answered matter-of-factly, trying his hardest to keep his tone level. But you made it nearly impossible with how your teeth grazed his feeble throat. Experimentally, your lips closed around his neck, right underneath the spot where the skin of his earlobe meets his throat.

"Hah…"

Bram groaned, scoring his bottom lip with his teeth to keep any more obscene sounds from stumbling out. His reaction only encouraged you further. You moved slightly higher, kissing up toward his ear opposite from the one you caressed.

You nibbled on his lobe gently. Your warm tongue darted out, trailing up his sensitive flesh and pulling a whine from your lover's lips.

"Christ…"

His mind went fuzzy from the pleasure you granted him. Bram's eyes rolled back into his skull as you continued your assault on his erogenous zones. He secretly condemned himself for healing at an inhumane rate, wanting nothing more than for your marks to last. But alas, that was not feasible.

His crimson orbs fired open as he felt your thumb swipe over his nipple. His head slanted downward, attempting to get a better view. You handled Bram with much consideration, taking your time exploring every part of his form that made him tick.

You sneered against the tip of his ear as his rosy nipple hardened beneath your thumb. Your forefinger was quick to follow alongside your thumb. Pulling the pebbled bud with the pads of your fingers, twisting the sensitive flesh ever so slightly.

You left one last nip to his ear before sitting upright, desperately yearning to see his blissed-out expression. And you were not disappointed in the slightest.

His slate locks stuck to his cheeks and forehead from the perspiration. Bram's cheeks were flush as his mouth hung agape, drool seeping past his lips. Your lover unabashedly mewled for you as you continued your assault on his nipple.

You gazed at him intently, absolutely hypnotized by him. Seeing Bram in this state of euphoria was better than you pictured. And you imagined what it would be like to have him under you more times than you would like to admit.

Your fingers flowed over toward his other peck. You gently caressed his frigid flesh before tweaking his other nipple between your digits. Bram cried out this time at your ministrations. His head lulled back in pleasure as you crept your face closer toward his.

“Please, look at me.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Bram's ragged breath tickled your lips from how hard he was panting. But only a moment passed before his lids were peeling open once more.

You beamed brightly at him before capturing his lips with yours. Bram’s eyes stayed open; watching as you boldly swiped your wet tongue along his bottom lip. He happily complied, allowing you to explore his mouth further.

Bram’s mind was racing. You both had never taken things this far before. But it was exhilarating. He could not shake this tingly sensation that overlaid his form. Your touch sent shockwaves of electricity through him.

Only when you let a moan of your own out against his lips did he trail his gaze downward. Bram’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief as he watched your hips glide against the bed. You were rocking yourself into the mattress, almost on instinct; as you deepened the kiss further.

Your tongue traced over his fangs, treading with caution as the point of his teeth felt razor sharp with just the slightest bit of pressure from your appendage. You could feel your lungs burning, begging you to pull away and catch your breath.

“Mo chroí.…”

His voice was faint. Bram was still trying to regain his composure from that heated make-out session. Warmth crept up on you as you gazed into his ruby eyes.

You huffed, catching your breath as your hips faintly humped against the duvet.

“Would you allow me to return the blessing, Mo chroí?"

Your face heated up at his insinuation, not expecting such bold words from Bram.

"Y-Yes… but, forgive me for asking, how?"

Bram let out a deep sigh, muttering something under his breath. He averted his gaze from your own, seemingly struggling to find the words.

"Remove your garments and… sit on me. If you are pleased with doing so, mo chroí."

"Sit on you—?"

The tables had turned, and now you were the one feeling clueless. His eyes locked onto your gaze once more before he said matter-of-factly,

"Sit atop my face… let me taste you. It would bring me immense joy to bring you pleasure."

Heat surged in your core from his request. Your mind went blank; all you could do was nod in agreement. Not trusting your voice right now.

Your shaky hands came to your shirt, pulling it over your head slowly. Your eyes never once left his. You unclasped your bra next, feeling tempted to cover yourself- but you refrained. Your cheeks felt hot as you watched his crimson orbs hungrily consume the sight of you stripping before him.

He was quiet as your fingers came down to your waist. You leaned back atop the bed, lifting your hips and slipping off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You felt sheepish being bare before your lover for the first time.

Bram's alluring gaze continued to rake over your body. You were enchanting. Perfect, in every way, and all his for the taking.

"You are exquisite, mo chroí."

His soft words pulled you out of your head. Your worries and doubts slipped away as he stared at you lovingly, a heartwarming smile adorning his visage.

"Come here."

He whispered, giving you his grace to inch closer. You slowly positioned yourself on your hands and knees, crawling your way up his frame. You pushed yourself off your hands, spine straightening as your thighs trembled on each side of his face.

Bram could smell your essence from the proximity. He could not help the way his eyes fixated on your slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.

"Sit."

"But… are you sure? What if I hurt you—"

"Please, sit."

His plea for you only turned you on further. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, letting your lids flutter shut before relaxing your lower half. Your hands twisted beneath your duvet the second your pussy made contact with Bram's lips.

Your lover wasted no time darting his tongue out, experimentally prodding at your entrance. You whined from the cool wet sensation, knuckles turning white from how fiercely your hand twisted into the duvet.

Bram's tongue greedily lapped up your essence, groaning against your pussy from your taste. His head went fuzzy; being enveloped by you in this way was exhilarating. He was not well versed in such lewd acts, but he gave it his all to please you.

His lengthy tongue gradually began thrusting in and out of your dripping hole. Your hips bucked forward on instinct as he explored the deepest parts of you, picking up his pace over time. You could not control your hips as they continued to rut against his mouth.

It felt good— too good. You were unsure how long you would last with how faultlessly Bram pleasured you. You would be lying if you said you had not thought about being intimate with your lover in this way. But he surpassed your expectations; you were on cloud nine.

"Bram—!"

You cried out, only dragging your eyelids open when his tongue pulled out of your entrance, slotting to prod at your clit instead. You were shocked to find Bram gazing up at you. His ruby orbs were half-lidded, and his eyebrows were knitted in concentration as he flattened his tongue against your clit.

"F-Fuck… don't stop— please!"

You babbled, grounding your hips into his mouth as his lips circled around your puffy bud, pulling a gasp from your ruddy lips. He took that as a sign to explore further; gently, he suckled on your clit. Bram started slow, gauging your every reaction to make sure you were still feeling good. Hence, the reason his eyes trained on your face since the start.

Watching you reach nirvana because of his actions doused him with pride. Bram wanted to have you like this for the rest of his days. He hoped that in the future, he would be free of this sword-shaped nuisance.

He longed for his body, especially in moments like now. What he would give to grasp your waist, pull your cunt impossibly closer to his mouth. Letting you suffocate him as much as you wanted. His pointed nails would leave marks on your hips, no doubt. If Bram had his full body, he would be able to please you the way he knew he could. Bram yearned to have you under him one of these days, make love to you countlessly, and plug you full with his seed.

He let his fantasies play out in his mind as he sucked on your clit, with more force. Bram swirled his tongue around your nub between particularly fierce sucks, gradually finding a rhythm.

“Bram— it’s too much… feels so good, I think I’m gonna— ah!”

You hardly finished your train of thought before your orgasm crashed over you. Your body shuddered, hips stilling against Bram’s mouth as he worked you through your high. Your thighs twitched rapidly, locking around his face the moment you came.

You felt Bram moan against your messy pussy, provoking you to shake further from the onslaught of pleasure. As a few moments ticked by, Bram slowed his ministrations against your sticky clit. Gradually, drawing his lips off your puffy bud.

You took in a shaky breath as you began to regain composure. Slowly, you crept your body down the length of the bed until your head was level with Bram’s. You collapsed beside him, bringing a shaky hand up to wipe over his slick-covered lips.

“I’m sorry… I got you all messy…”

You squeaked out, embarrassment shooting up your spine as the reality of the situation crept up on you.

“Don’t apologize, I… enjoyed every moment of that. You taste so—“

“Ah! Don’t finish that sentence… I’ll simply die of embarrassment!”

You shouted, bringing your free hand up to cover your face from Bram’s devoted gaze. A deep chuckle emitting from beside you pulled you out of your shameful tizzy.

Bram was… laughing?

The sound of his laughter filling your room made your heart pound against your sternum. It was so foreign to hear him be carefree, but you fell in love with it. The perfect melody, you reasoned.

“I don’t ever desire you to die on my watch, mo chroí. So, I suppose I will keep my lips sealed— for now.”

You could not help the laugh that slipped past your lips from his playful tone. Seeing all the different sides of Bram felt forbidden. You could not even begin to describe how lucky you felt; to be the one who got to explore the deepest parts of him.

“For now, huh? What do you say we rest for a little while— I’ll be sure to set multiple alarms so we’ll be awake before dawn. I promise! I just want to rest with you for a bit…”

You let out between yawns, abruptly feeling very sleepy from that intense orgasm your lover granted you only moments ago. Bram offered you a small smile before ultimately caving in to you like he always did.

“As you wish. But please be sure to pull the covers up, mo chroí. Besides you dying, the last thing I desire is for you to catch a cold.”

You slowly sat up from the bed, slipping on your panties and an oversized sweater. You set a few alarms on your phone; as promised, before switching the light off. As you crawled back into bed beside Bram, your hands came up to peel the duvet back far enough so you could slot yourself underneath. Making sure to cover Bram with the plush blanket as well.

“Goodnight, Bram… I love you…”

You whispered against his neck, placing a small kiss there before your droopy eyelids sealed shut. You dozed off in a matter of seconds. Bram sighed in contentment as he felt your warm breath tickle the side of his throat.

He let his eyes wander along the glowing galaxy that stretched along your ceiling. Bram could not help but think back; to the first moment he saw the artificial stars and planets. Never would he have imagined you two would be here together in such an intimate and loving way based on your first encounter.

You were the first person to show him kindness in a very long time, and you continued to be that guiding light in his life from that day forward. In this makeshift galaxy, Bram believed you were the star that burned the brightest. His favorite one.

He turned his head toward you, placing a lingering kiss atop your head. Bram finally allowed himself to succumb to slumber, eyes closing shut. Dozing off without a second thought just before whispering out,

“I love you more, mo réalta.”

mo réalta = my star

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crumbledcastle28 · 2 years

Text

Joel Miller: Mint

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: Your joy was forever gone, your clothes, your warmth against him as he slept, the voice that sucked him in as soon as he saw you in that fucking dive--

Suddenly, his mouth was pressed against something warm, and soft, and minty, and real.

“Joel,” you whispered into his mouth before kissing him again, and again, and again. Your warm, perfect hands framed his face as you did, but he wasn’t strong enough to meet your face with his own. “Come back to me. Come on baby, talk to me.”

You weren’t gone. You were right here, warm-blooded, healthy, and his.

Warnings: Major death talk, a woman gets torn apart by clickers, Joel has a panic attack, kissing, slight allusion to sex at the end, this is pretty self-indulgent.

A/N: So, Episode 3, am I right?

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Joel Miller had done worse things than drag a screaming man by his pantleg back into Jackson, but he would soon discover he had few things quite as haunting.

The man wiggled in his grip--screaming and digging his nails and mouth into the muddy, icy gravel--as Joel made his way back into the small town.

“Take me back,” the man howled, throat clogged with flem and grief, “take me back to her. I can’t leave her.”

Joel kept on hauling.

“Joel,” the man was weeping now, sobbing through his beard. “Take me back to my wife. Please, my wife Joel, my wife.”

The man knew what he was doing, using that word.

That word.

That word cut through Joel like a hot knife, gliding along the insides of his belly and up his throat. Tha man’s wife was long gone, likely torn to pieces by the infected that had nearly gotten the man in Joel’s own hand, but Joel didn’t let him go. He didn’t let him jump down there with her.

Why didn’t he?

The man was silent for a few moments, his sobs the only proof he hadn’t slit his own throat, before his weeps became the sobs of grief that Joel was all too familiar with. The sobs that indicated yes, that did just happen, and I have no idea what the fuck to do from here.

“Please let me go,” the man finally whispered, and Joel dropped his leather-covered foot without hesitation. They had made it to the center of Jackson by that point--meaning a sizeable crowd was beginning to form around them, which Joel absolutely loved--and with one final look back at the defeated and lost man, Joel kept his march forward.

Forward to you.

It was barely noon--Joel was always better at the morning watch shifts than you--which meant you had to have been freshly showered and making yourself a late breakfast. Whenever you took shifts at night you always took the liberty to sleep in plenty in the morning, which gave Joel the opportunity to admire the woman who had him wrapped around her finger--literally and metaphorically. He could still taste the mint of your prized chapstick on his lips. You had kissed him particularly hard that morning, hard enough for him to fidget with his matching band more than usual. The weight of it was there when he left you, when the woman fell, and when the man jumped for her.

Estelle was her name, a beautiful name for a very not-beautiful time, yet a beautiful soul. Her screams pierced the air as soon as she slipped, silenced when she hit the ground, and ignited again as she was torn into.

Joel being the survivor he was acted on instinct alone when it happened, catching the man from the air as he jumped to join her in her fate, and proceeded to tow the decaying, lamented man back home.

The fear in Estelle’s eyes before her feet went out from under her, the rawness of her screams, and the acceptance of her final whimpers didn’t become yours in his brain until right then, his steps towards his home. The man’s cries to join her didn’t become his own until he had to close his eyes at the view of you in the window of your wooden home, taking a mammoth-sized book off of the shelves he had crafted for you.

“Joel,” you had said in reaction. “It’s just...it’s just a random Tuesday.”

He made his way over to you, wrapping you in his arms. “I know.”

He entered your shared home, stomping the snow off his boots on the welcome mat to let you know it was him as always, and breathed in the perfect scent that was your fresh-brewed coffee.

When had he started crying?

“Joel,” you said, still facing away from him and towards your shelf, “you’re early. Very early. I’m guessing things either went really well, or really--”

You cut yourself off when you turned to him, likely noticing the single stream of a tear etching its way down his left cheek, and his breath escaped from him at the sight of you. Your form shaped by your favorite pair of jeans, hair laid just how you liked it, and your favorite shirt fresh from the washer. His favorite vision of you, the happy one. The comfortable one. The “I’m-in-love-and-clean-and-fed-in-a-world-where-I-should-be-neither” look. The truest form of his wife.

His wife.

Take me back to my wife. Please, my wife Joel, my wife.

He couldn’t feel his legs.

“Joel,” he heard you say from somewhere far away. Surely that wasn’t you in front of him, guiding him to his feet, leading him to the sofa, squatting to your knees to look into his eyes, breathing into his face that perfect hint of mint. You were torn, fractured, snapped, shredded, devoured at the bottom of that fucking ledge. He was laying in the middle of the square, waiting for his organs to shut down from the cold. Waiting to join you.

He could see it so clearly--he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough. One more person he failed, one more gaping hole in his chest with no bullet to match. Except this time, you weren’t just another person, you were his everything. Everything. He shouldn’t have let himself fall. He never thought he’d have a wife, and maybe he was never supposed to.

Your joy was forever gone, your clothes, your warmth against him as he slept, the voice that sucked him in as soon as he saw you in that fucking dive--

Suddenly, his mouth was pressed against something warm, and soft, and minty, and real.

You weren’t gone. You were right here, warm-blooded, healthy, and his.

He exhaled a puff of relief, like reality did its best to punch him in the stomach so hard he couldn’t even respond, before saying, “I would bet on really bad.”

You laughed joyously before wrapping your arms around him so hard the breath he had just gathered escaped him once more, and more tears spilled from his eyes when he tucked his face into your neck. He must have been leaking them the entire time.

You held him closely, intimately. It was a hug only lovers could mold themselves into. You exhaled in relief before suddenly pulling away and shoving him so hard he fell against the back of the couch.

“Darlin’, what--”

“What the hell was that, Joel Miller,” you yelled. “You come home hours earlier than you’re supposed to, stare at me like I’m a fucking ghost, and collapse! I thought you were having a goddamn stroke or something, Christ.”

“Y/N, I--”

“You better fuckin’ explain,” you state sternly, “and quickly because Jesus Christ.”

He just stared at you, at that passion that always simmered underneath you finally boiling over, before smiling bigger than he had all day.

You scoffed before squatting down to meet his eyes straight on once more. “Explain. Now.”

He leaned forward, finally tracing the face he knew better than any other with hands rougher than it ever deserved, and spoke. Your eyes softened as he talked, tracing his features as they did, and your soft, lovely fingertips kept his eyes looking into yours the entire time.

“Once I came in here, I--” he began, clearing his throat as the emotion and panic struggled from the restraint he had planted on them, “--I only saw you falling, and me being dragged here. I realized how imminent that is. I could taste it.”

You swallowed, your own eyes beginning to mist, and brought your forehead to his.

“I’ve lost people,” he whispered, “so many people, and I’ve gotten back up. If I lose you, I...I won’t be able to. I’m going to go down, and I’m going to stay there. I can’t live in this world without you in it, Y/N.”

You swallowed harshly as tears escaped your own eyes. Your hands remained framing his face, rubbing his jaw and cheekbones with your fingertips, before you pressed your lips to his once more. It was that combination of the warmth and wet of your lips, the taste of your minty breath mixed with the unique taste of you, as well as the breaths from your nose that proved to him yes, you were here, you were real.

“My Joel,” you whispered against his lips, “you haven’t lost me. I’m right here.”

You bring his right palm to your left breast, right above your heartbeat, where he both heard and felt that familiar tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump.

“I’m right here.”

His misted eyes met your own, full of nothing but complete raw adoration, before you stood and tucked his face into your stomach, letting him fall apart.

He fell apart in your arms, weeping while clutched to your clothing, and once he was done, you covered his mouth with your lips, and put all the pieces of your husband back together.

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