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yuwuta · 10 months ago

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JUST KEEP LOVING ME THE WAY I LOVE YOU LOVING ME — SATORU GOJO

pairings. satoru gojo/reader

content, warnings. non-curse au, doctor au (reader), ceo au (satoru), no real content warnings, fluff, satoru is nothing but a romantic at heart

word count. 3k

notes. this exists in the post-completion au of a larger universe/incomplete fic of mine, that i will hopefully finish someday lololol but this is way easier to write than that so here you go 🥳

“There are four chairs worth a collective seventy-five hundred dollars in this office, so, pray, tell, why is your ass on my desk?”

Satoru grins at your words, too distracted by taking in the sight of you to take into consideration the underlying threat. It’s been far too long, almost three whole days since he’s last seen you and, god, you look good. He knows if he said that you’d roll your eyes and insist that there’s nothing good-looking about your worn-in business attire and lab coat that was in desperate need of laundering, but it wouldn’t change his opinion: you always look good, and Satoru really fucking missed you.

Which is why he doesn’t say the words, but makes sure to throw a deceivingly charming wink your way so that you get the message anyway. As expected, you still roll your eyes, but he doesn’t mind; you look good doing that, too.

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” you question, closing the door behind you when you fully step into the room. You make pace towards your desk, attempting to get to the other side, but this is exactly why Satoru chose to lean against it instead of sitting on any one of your very expensive and comfortable chairs—because this way, he’s in the perfect position to intercept your path and pull you to fit neatly between his legs before you can even think about reaching your office chair and ignoring him.

He pulls you by the loop of your lab coat, but his hands quickly find their way to your shoulders, unpeeling the white layer just enough so that your blouse is exposed to him, and he can slowly rub his palms against your arms and shoulders with just enough pressure to hopefully release some tension. You won’t let go of all of it, but that’s alright, because Satoru’s got other methods for taking care of you.

“Hi,” he calls, smiling gently down at you, “I missed you.”

This close, Satoru can see the exhaustion clearly in your eyes. There’s more, too: frustration, guilt, worry—and it takes everything in him not to coo and pull you into his chest and do his best to shield you from the world forever.

There’s a beat before you speak, a small sigh, that’s quickly painted over with a tired smile and a remorseful, “I missed you, too. I’m sorry for being so short, the interim chief has been getting on my last nerves, and—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Satoru cuts in, leaning forward to press a reassuring kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax under his touch. “I know you’re busy. I just missed you.”

It’s not easy to share you with anything or anyone, but Satoru knows that even on the hardest days, you love your job, and that so many people need your brilliant mind. What he does mind is when people make your job harder than it needs to be, and he’s been getting an earful about this new interim chief from just about everybody—you, Kento, Yuuji, Ieiri, even some of your favorite scrub nurses have indulged him in the gossip about the newest common enemy—and he doesn’t appreciate that someone is putting extra stress on his baby. So, even if it is a makeshift massage in your office and distracting you from your paperwork, Satoru will do what he can to help you relieve tension.

You reach your arms to wrap them around his shoulders, taking a half step closer to him, peering up at him. Satoru loves when your arms are around his neck like this; he can’t quite pinpoint why—maybe it’s the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him, the way you’re perfectly nestled under his view, the feeling of being wrapped in you. He does his best to close the loop of your intimacy, resting his hands on the small of your back and pulling you impossibly closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax into his touch.

“You’re sweet,” you smile, rubbing your thumb against the shorter hairs at the back of his head. Satoru feels himself melt into you, too. It’s been too long since you’ve been this close, three whole days too long. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, baby,” he smiles, stealing a gentle kiss. Satoru loves this the most, loves the feeling of your lips on his—and it’s definitely been too long since he’s kissed you, so he makes sure to do it again, and once more after that for good measure.

But it’s not enough. He’ll have to take you home, sit you on the couch so he can kiss you all night and make up for the lack of kisses and touches and youness he’s been deprived of these past few days. But first, he’ll have to pull you away from your work, and that’s not easy work.

“Come home,” he muses, leaning his forehead against yours, “We can order in, and share your favorite bottle of wine, and watch a movie.”

You lean up to kiss him briefly. “Every time we share a bottle of wine, we end up making out and not watching anything.”

“Do we?” Satoru feigns innocence, “I never noticed. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, though.”

“Satoru,” you whisper, quiet but firm, with a smile that lets him know you want to, but you can’t. It’s a tone that Satoru knows all too well, and isn’t particularly fond of. “I have charts to finish.”

“Finish them tomorrow,” he steals another kiss, “Or pawn them off on Kento,” another kiss, “Or Yuuji. Residents always need more experience—isn’t that what you and Ieiri always say?”

You let him kiss you again, and again, and again. Each time a little longer, a little warmer, a little less innocent than the last, growing from a little, to a lot, to all-consuming. Satoru hums when he feels your nails raking through his hair; an unfortunate move, as the sound pulls you back to reality and away from him in a decrescendo of kisses.

“You’re really good at that,” you laugh, voice soft.

“At kissing?” Satoru dips his head down to taste your laughter against his lips, “Thanks, I’ve had a lot of practice with a very pretty girl.”

“No,” and you’re laughing again, louder this time, and Satoru counts every little giggle as a victory, “You’re good at... seducing me without saying you’re seducing me.”

“Oh, that?” he grins, tucking his pointer and index finger under your chin to meet you in a knowing kiss, “Yeah, that’s a talent of mine, too.”

You let him steal one more, and Satoru doesn’t take it for granted. “Come home,” he whispers against your lips before slotting them in yet another kiss, “I miss you.”

And he can feel it when you finally break, sighing into the kiss, and melting into his touch completely. One more, he just needs one more kiss to seal the deal, and then—“Fine,�� you concede, “But I get to choose where to get dinner from.”

“Of course, sweets, whatever you want,” Satoru grins, pulling back to kiss your forehead again, “Now—shall we? If we order in the car, we can probably pick it up on our way home.”

He’s in the home stretch now, but he’s not completely free: if you catch a glimpse of your work, or someone comes in to find you, or your godforsaken pager beeps then all of his plans could come crumbling down before him. The key to transitioning from the “you’ve agreed to come home with him early stage”—if you can count 9:45pm, coming off of a 17-hour work day as early—to the “we are actually leaving this hospital and nobody can stop us phase” is swiftness. This time period is critical, and Satoru is ready for the sprint.

He shimmies your lab coat all the way off of your body for you, checking for the weight of your pager in your right pocket, before hanging it on the back of your chair. He shoos you to grab your coat, and makes sure you don’t get within three feet of this side of your desk—taking your purse out of your locked drawer and closing an open file folder in the time it takes you to slip out of your heels and into your sneakers, and by the time you’re turning back around, Satoru is already there next to you, with your purse in one hand, and his other hovering on the light switch.

He makes sure you’re out the door first, and flickers off the light with a satisfied grin. His baby was coming home early with him, and there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend time pampering you.

You must truly be more tired than you know, because you make no protest when he slings an arm over your shoulder on your way out of the elevator. Usually, you chastise him for any PDA within hospital walls, but tonight you let it be, even leaning some of your body weight against his as you walk. Satoru’s not complaining at all, maybe he’ll try his luck and sneak a kiss on your cheek.

He decides to go for it, leaning over for a kiss, when you suddenly pull away, turning and patting against your side. Confused, and disappointed, Satoru pouts, “We’ve really got to work on this fear of affection you’ve got going on, sweets. It’s the leading cause of makesatorupout-itis.”

“We’ve been over this—you can’t just add “itis” to the end of your words to make them diagnostic,” you giggle, “I was looking for my keys.”

Satoru’s frown deepens. “You have the fancy reserved doctor parking space, they can’t tow you. So, we can take my car home.”

“No, we cannot, because I do not trust you to wake up and drive me back tomorrow morning.”

“Then I’ll get you a cab in the morning, or—even better, I’ll call Ichiji to pick you up.”

“Ichiji is still in Paris,” you remind him. Satoru purses his lips. He did ask Ichiji to stay with Megumi. Damn it.

“I have other cars, you can drive one of them in the morning.”

“And park it where?”

“In your fancy reserved doctor parking—oh, okay I see the flaw there,” Satoru pulls back. You find amusement in his disappointment, but he doesn’t think there’s anything funny here.

He shakes his head. He should have taken a cab from his office, but this is okay, a minor setback, nothing he can’t think around. “New plan: we take your car, and I’ll come by to get mine tomorrow. Easy peasy.”

“Yours will be towed by then.”

“That’s fine,” Satoru shrugs, “I can afford a tow fee.”

“Satoru,” you call, reaching your free hand up to place your palm against his cheek, “We both drive home. It’ll be thirty minutes, tops. Forty if there’s traffic, but if you stop pouting and we leave now, we should be fine.”

Satoru sighs. He knows that’s the most reasonable plan of action, but the simple truth is that he doesn’t want to be away from you right now, even to go the short distance home. He’s already spent the last few days without you, and even though this is calling it in early for you, he only gets maybe four hours awake with you before you’re off again. Thinking about that makes him miss you again already. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care.

“Oh, Dr. (_____), hey!” Yuuji’s voice is an easily distinguishable interruption to your petty argument, and Satoru’s sulking, “Perfect timing—I’m glad I caught you before you left. Is it okay if I ask you to sign something before you go?”

You easily warm up to the younger boy and agree, fondly making conversation with Yuuji as he scrolls through some documents on his tablet. And just as you’ve finished scribbling your signature along the screen, Satoru has a bright idea.

“Hey, Yuuji, you can drive right?” Satoru questions rhetorically, already reaching for his wallet and car keys, “Great! Here’s two grand, it’s all yours if you drive this car home tonight.” Satoru smiles widely, shoving his keys and some cash into the pocket of Yuuji’s white coat.

“What—really? Awesome! But, why—”

Satoru dismisses his disbelief with a wave of his hand. He steps a bit closer to Yuuji, just enough to lean into his ear and tuck a couple more bills into his pocket, “And between you and me, that’s an extra three grand if you finish up a couple of charts for my lady so she can sleep in tomorrow. Not a bad deal, right?”

“Sure, no problem!” Yuuji salutes, “I’d do anything for Dr. Almost-Gojo. Plus, if I’m busy working for her, then I don’t have to babysit cells in a dish for Dr. Gakuganji.”

“Atta boy,” Satoru ruffles his hair, “Catch you later, Yuuji, I’ve got a hot date to get to. And tell Nanamin I say hello!”

You elbow Satoru shallowly, a silent warning to keep his voice down, and a verbal chastising of, “It’s Dr. Itadori and Dr. Nanamin to you.”

“More like Dr. Nanameanie,” Satoru laments, resuming the position of his arm around your shoulder, “I’ve left him six calls this week! He’s so cruel—he knows I have to leave next week and he’s depriving me of one on one time. I think I’m gonna have to sneak into his office at lunch tomorrow and confront him.”

Despite his crass words and dramatics, you laugh, and so, Satoru smiles. He finally gets that cheek kiss right as you two reach your car, bending down to plant one for you at the same time he steals your keys from your hand and banishes you to the passenger seat. He’s not much of a driver himself, despite his excess amount of cars, but you’re his baby and you deserve to be driven around no matter the case, but especially when you’ve spent all day taking care of other people.

Plus, on days like this, if he’s real careful and smooth, you fall asleep in the car and he gets to carry you inside. He makes that his goal for the next thirty minutes, and he succeeds in twenty, confirmed by your soft snores just as he pulls into the curbside pick-up spot of your favorite restaurant. He retrieves the take-out as quietly as possible, before making the rest of the journey home, taking the time to glance over at you during red lights.

Satoru loves the way you look when you’re asleep, loves to see you well-rested, but something even more dear to him than that is a fact that Nanami let slip in the aftermath of a dinner party he’d hosted about a year after you two had started dating: “She never sleeps outside of her bed, for as long as I’ve known her,” he muses, nodding to your sleeping figure on Satoru’s couch, “Not even in the on-call rooms during our 72 hour shifts. She must... she must really trust you, Satoru.”

(He also recalls the awfully strong grip on his shoulder and subsequent shovel talk Kento gave him a moment later. Not that Satoru ever had anything but pure intentions with you, but the threat of breaking Kento’s best friend’s heart was more than enough to keep his commitments in check).

Satoru peers at you fondly in his arms, held bridal style with the takeout in the grip of a pinky finger, glancing up only to nod and thank his doorman for pushing the penthouse button for him. Satoru prides himself on many things, but the one thing he always holds in his highest regards is you: call him cocky, but he thinks he’s quite good at caring for you, that there’s nobody else fit to look after you the way that he can; and knowing that you feel safe in his arms is the highest honor he could achieve in this life.

He sets you carefully on the couch once he steps inside the apartment, and places the food on the coffee table. He debates whether or not he should wake you up now; he hates to, but he knows you need to eat, and, selfishly, he wants to cash in on those few hours he has with you to hear your voice.

He’ll dish out the food first, and then wake you up to eat, he decides. He leans down to kiss the crown of your head, eyes flicking to your face, and pausing at your neck, where your engagement ring rests crookedly against your skin. You must have had an emergency surgery today, he thinks; your schedule for today was originally just to round on post-op patients and attend some meetings, but you knot the ring into your chain when you have to scrub into the operating room.

Carefully, Satoru reaches to undo it from the chain, and slips it back onto your ring finger. It looks pretty against your skin when it’s around your neck, but personally, he thinks it looks best this way, the sparkle of the aquamarine against the halo of diamonds fits perfectly across the width of your finger, just the way he had it made to be.

Satoru bends down even further to kiss the back of your hand, before laying it to rest on your stomach. He might need to bribe Yuuji to take care of some more work for you, you two really should get a move on that wedding planning, and you’re going to need at least a week off to fly and visit his grandma’s pastry shop in Osaka for cake tasting.

He smiles at the thought. He doesn’t feel so bad about waking you up now—wedding talk seems like the perfect way to end the evening if you ask him; there would be no sweeter sound than hearing how you imagine the start of the rest of your lives to be.

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busanboykoo · 1 year ago

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Champagne Confetti ⋆ j.jk

summary ⋆ “you won't regret me, champagne confetti” or maybe just jungkook wants you to tell him what you want him to do to you.

pairing ⋆ racer!jk x reader

genre ⋆ smüt, a little plot, fluff?

warning ⋆ püssy whipped!himbo!kook, they’re so in lovvve but jungkook is much more in love!! fingëring, reader is pathetically horny, messy make out with reader’s püssy, puthay eating. squirting??? lover jungkook always, cüssing & overstimulation oh and mention of his brow piercing cause why not?!!

notes ⋆ ok so i just got back to writing smut aaand it’s been a while so wait for me until i improvise back to what i used to right!! and also a huge thanks to clover lover @dollfaceksj for beta-ing ⭐️ ily!! thank u sm <3 — word count ⋆ 2.5k !!

“I want you.”

These three words were the one that put you under this situation.

Right under him as he settled himself between your legs. Everything about now felt hot. The AC is on full power but the heat you’re feeling is hotter than anything.

Your brows are cinched when Jungkook places his hand on your thighs, the rough skin of his palm on your soft skin smoothly, pressing and kneading on the flesh. He is comfortably kneeling between your legs, his control face now relaxed.

“Tell me what you want.” His eyes flick between yours and down to your exposed and soaked panties in return, biting on his scarlet lips. Your skin feels tingly, your forehead beginning to create a sheen of sweat. Your room is getting hotter and hotter and the AC is not helping at all.

You’re so quiet, not even sounding like the minx you were mere seconds ago. “C’mon, baby,” Jungkook encourages, wanting to hear you loud and clear for him.

You want him. You want everything all at once.

You still can’t erase the memories of him racing half an hour ago. How his skillful hand gripped the wheel, how his thighs flexed as he controlled the gas pedal or how he kept his jaw clenched and eyes focused on the foggy road with a stern yet soft, ‘hold on tight’ when he sped up before drifting for the hundredth time.

The ‘whoo-hoo’s and applause from both of your racer friends and their partners was a bonus — and him winning first place made you want him to do every sinful thing to you.

You want Jungkook so bad all over your skin. Want him to kiss you, want him to bite on your skin, bruise you with weeks-lasting love bites. You can’t just fathom the need that’s circulating through your blood.

A soft squeeze on your ankle makes your thoughts focus on Jungkook again, who is staring at you with need and desire. “Speak up, baby. Need to know what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours,” he taunts.

“You’ll do what I want?” Your voice is barely audible for you, airy with lust. You’re feeling the wetness of your own cunt between your thighs and you’re one-hundred percent sure Jungkook can spot the dark spot on your panties beneath your skirt.

Jungkook just gives you an eager nod.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he whispers while leaning to give you a soft but calculated peck on your lips. “Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.” He sounds so confident, smirking against your lips when your breathy whimper surfaces out.

Jungkook always likes being on top. He makes weird excuses saying he wants to see how pretty you are when you break under him. He’s just whipped to see you in pleasure, fighting to fill your lungs with air and crying when you cum.

“Wa-want you to touch me.” You don’t like how your voice cracks, making Jungkook’s stupid smirk grow more. You’re so pathetic when you’re horny.

You hate it. He loves it.

“Touch you where?” he asks, coaxing his head a little. Oh, so, he’s teasing?

“Jeon, please.” You blink, your throat drying up without even getting started. “Need you s’much, I want to feel you!” Your voice raises to a higher pitch.

Jungkook thinks you’re very lucky he is way too needy or it’s would have ended up making you cry just by torturing and teasing. So, Jungkook pushes your legs further apart, making himself much more comfortable.

“Gonna start all the way from here.” He presses his finger against your covered clit, adding pressure. Your legs twitch, almost closing but his body stills you. “How about that?”

You just give him a weak nod, too overwhelmed from the sudden touch against your sensitive spot.

Jungkook starts to slide up and down your clothed pussy, making your panties grind against your folds, his index finger now coated with your arousal. “Words, pretty girl.”

You mewl when he adds even more pressure.

“Yes, please,” you moan, head falling back against your pillow.

Jungkook swallows the urge to just undress you and fuck you sensless. He needs to get you ready so he won’t hurt you. But mostly, he wants to taste you first. And so, your boyfriend removes his jacket from his body and tosses it somewhere across the room.

Latching his fingers from your sex, making you cry and annoyed with the sudden disappearance of his touch and your pleasure. “This needs to go.” He runs his fingers to your hips before he tugs your panties and skirt down to your ankle, chuckling when you quickly push them off, before tossing them aside by yourself.

“Easy, baby. I’m not going anywhere without making you cum,” he states, getting back to where he left you.

This time he doesn’t tease you, he just keeps your gaze locked with his as he settles himself between your legs on his stomach and drapes your left leg on his shoulder. He pushes your other leg further before pinning it with his strong grip.

You take a deep breath, ready to be blown to the sky and see the stars he wants you to. He starts kissing your inner thigh, his eyes still locked with yours.

“Jeon,” you threaten, wanting him to stop his silly games and finally go down on you. But your boyfriend just giggles, eyes squinting and brow piercing twitching.

“But it’s so fun to see you like this,” he persists, making your chest tighten with impatience.

“I swear, Jun— aah!” Your threat is short-lived when Jungkook wraps his lips around your pearl, making you jolt forward and almost sit up.

Starting off gently, his wet muscle just presses against your clit, not moving but just letting his saliva smear and trail its way to your pussy.

“Hmm, move.” You don’t understand why he won’t listen to you. He asked what you wanted and now that you’ve told him, he decides to pull this stunt?

Jungkook just watches you with a knitted brows, his jaw tensing from the position he’s set now. He decides it’s enough and starts to move his tongue in an ‘eight’ motion. You spread your thighs wider, silently begging for him to give you the pleasure you want.

He leans back, admiring how your slit leaks. You prop up by your elbows and your cheeks start to heat up when Jungkook just stares at your sex.

“No,” he says when you start to close your legs, feeling shy all over again. “Keep ‘em open.” He brings his index and middle to your folds before parting them, exposing your cunt to him.

“You’re staring weird!” You try to defend, attempting to swing your legs off his shoulders but he’s fast enough to roughly pull you back by your ankle and pin the other back.

“No. I'm admiring what’s mine.”

His words reach your ears and it makes you mentally roll your eyes. You want to play who-said-so but you also don’t want to end up being left without a blinding orgasm pending.

“Kook, please, that’s enoug–” You can’t even finish your words again when he’s back at your leaking sex. Rougher, more eager.

“Oh, God.” Your back arches, making Jungkook’s suction on your pussy disrupt which causes him to groan. You swear you can see the stars on the back of your eyelids now. He roughly pushes your body down by your pelvis and huffs a ‘stay still’ before grinding his nose into your sensitive folds.

Jungkook makes his way down to your slit, his tongue circling your tight hole. Your short but deep breath has his dick twitching under his leather pants, making the fabric even tighter than it is.

“Yes, yes! Yes, please, Kook.” Your gasping voice only makes it harder for him. His hand, the one that was pinning your leg to the bed, slides down to palm himself.

“Mhm.” He moans to your cunt and you cry out, your fingers tangled in your hair, trying to distract yourself from the sudden stimulation but it ends with you giving yourself even more pleasure.

He brings his hand from his pants right back to your sopping sex, fingers replacing what he couldn’t get in his mouth, sucking and fucking you both with his skillful mouth and finger.

This is extreme, everything becomes too much. More than what you can take. “Jungkook,” you sigh, throat drying up much more and only silent mewls leaving your lips.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, middle finger circling your entrance. “This all you wanted or still want more?” He’s so good with his words, it makes you cave.

You sound so brittle when you speak and Jungkook bites his lips to sustain the moan. “You’re gonna give up on me, baby?” he asks, making your nipple ache underneath your bra. “I haven’t fucked you probably yet and you’re gonna pass out?” It’s like he’s boo-ing you.

“N-no.” You try to catch your breath.

“No?”

“No.”

Jungkook grins, he’s gonna fuck you up.

Your eyes squeeze shut when he pushes to digits at once. “That’s it, yeaaah.” He places a kiss on your nub as a reward, and it is indeed a reward.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!” Your voice is sharp and thin when you cry, tears filling your waterline and rolling down your temples. “Kook!” you cry out when he’s knuckles deep like he’s searching for something that’s his.

“You can take it, they’re just my fingers.” You’re in the middle of losing your life and he says that. For fucks sake. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” Jungkook interjects and starts moving his fingers. He pulls them out to the tip of his fingers then pushes them back deep to the hilt.

“Shoulda brought the vibrator today,” he gruffly says and if it wasn’t for his fingers buried in you, you would have given him a sassy eye roll. “Wish you could see your face, you’re so pretty.” He leans in again, giving your pussy a wet smooch so loud that it fills the room with a wet kissing sound.

Nothing like this was planned today but now look at you, under him, withering away.

Your hands shake as you try to find anything to hold on to that could help you brace yourself from the orgasm that’s approaching you. “Jung— Jungko…?!” You’re wailing at this point, crying and yelling at the same time.

Jungkook’s nose flares as his hand picks up its pace, making a ‘come here’ motion that has you on edge. “You’re gonna cum,” he tells you as if it’s not obvious, helping you by securing your shaking hand and bringing it to his hair. “Hold on to me.”

He’s going to fucking kill you.

“I’m gonna… I’m gon— hgnh!” you grunt, eyes screwed shut and pulling on Jungkook’s locks. “I’m here, hold on to me.” If it wasn’t for your own boyfriend cradling your legs and restraining them, you would’ve kicked him in his face and bruised him badly.

Your lungs tighten once again and stars explode behind your closed eyelids as your orgasm washes over you.

The worst part is — Jungkook hasn't pulled his fingers out yet. “No, please, Jungkook, it's too much!” You try to sit up, hands leaving his hair and wrapping around his wrist.

“Jungkook, I just came, it’s too much. I can’t.”

But your whines fall upon deaf ears.

“One more.” He is determined to pull one more out of you but you just shake your head. “Please, baby, one more and then I’ll stop.”

You moan when he repeatedly curls his fingers in your pussy and something inexplicable in you bubbles this time. Nothing like before.

“Stop, wait…” Your sweaty fingers on Jungkook’s wrist try to remove his hand from your aching cunt but he just shoves your hand away from him. And that reminds you how you almost forget that he is much stronger than you.

“Stop pushing me away,” he grunts this time, finger fucking you tougher than he ever has. You’re practically shaking whole. “You asked for it, so take it—”

You can’t make out what he says after that, your ears ringing louder and eyes blinded by the orgasm that hits you.

“Fuuuck,” Jungkook moans, keeping his hand buried inside you, slowing his pace when you cum. You’re not aware of anything until he pulls them out of you.

“Didn’t know you could do that.” He ogles at his shining fingers, your arousal drenching his fingers down to his knuckle and making a mini pool in his palm.

It takes you a hot solid minute for your eyes to clear, tears subsiding and now hearing what’s around you neat. You prop on your elbows and watch his doe eyes stare at his fingers then back at you before chuckling, truly amazed.

“You squirted all over me, baby.” You can’t help but give him a broken smile. “And I did that,” he adds, proud that he caused this mess.

“Looks like a fucking champagne confetti.” With your silence taking over again and your whole face and chest burning, your boyfriend shows you his hand as if you don’t believe him. “You don’t believe me? Look.”

Your eyes widen, cheeks warming up once again. “Kook, stop!” you whine and his laugh echoes through your bedroom wall.

Right after you both subside from your laughs, you watch Jungkook bring your skirt from the floor and wipe the mess you made — your slick nectar all over his nose to his chin. Even on the ends of his dark bangs, causing a few strands to stick to his forehead.

Once he’s down, your boyfriend lifts himself up and you can’t help but notice the bulge under his leather pants. You start to shift your spot from the bed but stop when you hear him ask, “What’re you doing?”

You don’t speak much, glancing down to the tent below his pelvis. “It’s fine, you should rest.” He smiles, leaning and touching your cheek stained with dried up tears.

“But—”

Jungkook just shakes his head. “It’s fine, princess, I’ll go take a shower and deal with it.”

You frown, get up from the bed and rise to your feet before you wiggle yourself out of your top. You catch Jungkook staring at you shamelessly.

“You know, I’m so lucky to have you.” He starts to pull his cum-drenched shirt from his body. “You’re so fucking pretty and sexy, it’s crazy.” Jungkook admits he just fell in love all over again when he sees you like this — bare and naked in front of him.

“Let’s go shower.” You stick your hand out for him to take and he happily intertwines his fingers with yours before tugging you into the bathroom, you giggling like an idiot and Jungkook grinning like a moron.

And well, let’s just say, the night didn’t end like that, with a simple shower, but an intense fuck session under the shower’s faucet.

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started. Joel clears his throat.

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!”

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult."

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips.

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person.

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it.

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs.

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!"

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees.

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?"

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree.

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover.

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses.

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire.

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground.

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says.

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize. You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks.

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off.

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway.

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark.

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window.

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop.

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.”

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary.

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half.

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating.

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head.

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?”

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave.

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.”

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you.

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest.

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space.

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves.

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin.

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says.

“From what?”

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him.

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap.

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel.

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask.

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says.

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room.

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back.

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands.

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel.

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully.

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm.

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael.

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night.

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down.

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips.

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish.

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses.

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #dark content #cult leader!joel miller #cw age gap #cw dubcon #cw age difference #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #dark joel miller

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help-itrappedmyself · 2 months ago

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Pairing Thing

You guys remember that poll I put up a while ago, to help me pick a pairing to try practice writing romance/flirting. Well, this is that. It did not go where I had planned it too, and I'm not sure if it counts, but take it anyway.

Tim has reached his last nerve with their new hire. Tim surges toward Danny, intent on getting some answers out of him. Danny stumbles back at his approach, but Tim just reaches out, one hand grabbing ahold of Danny’s tie and the other pushing flat against Danny’s chest. In another quick second, Danny finds himself pressed against the wall of the classroom.

Then, Tim loops the tie fully around his hand, tugging Danny’s face towards him. Danny’s breath hitches and his eyes go out of focus for a moment, lost in the sensation.

This makes Tim falter. The moment causes Tim’s mind to blank, forgetting to speak, and pausing as only one thought crashes circles. The thought circles around a few times before it starts to slip out of Tim’s mouth.

“You…” The word comes out angry, but Tim can’t quite make himself keep going the way he had planned a few moments ago. Tim looks Danny up and down, and Danny can do nothing but flush at the scrutiny, and the inevitable realization Tim comes to. Danny braces himself for the vitriol, but when Tim speaks next it is nothing but a murmur.

“You like this.” A murmur in a voice that has turned into honey and Danny can do nothing, eyes slipping shut involuntarily.

“Do you not care that it's me that's eliciting this reaction? I thought you didn’t like me.” Tim wonders aloud, and Danny can hear a tone in the voice that threatens to elicit shivers. A tone of sharp curiosity that concerns Danny more than anything. Danny’s eyes flutter back open, locking with Tim’s.

“I don’t like rich people.” Danny mutters. “It’s nothing personal.”

Tim, very slowly, lets the tie slip from his fingers. Danny is tempted to sigh in relief but before the sigh can become reality, Danny feels those fingers slide to his throat. The second they reach the skin there Danny’s breath hitches on a gasp.

A dark smirk graces Tim's face and the grip on Danny’s throat tightens for just a moment, just long enough for Danny’s eyes to flutter. Danny practically whimpers, chin tilting up subconsciously, exposing more throat to Tim.

As the grip loosens again, Tim leans forward to whisper into Danny’s ear. “Tell me, Danny. Would you respond to anyone this way… or is there something about me that encourages this reaction?”

At that, Tim’s arms fall to his sides as he takes a step away. Danny blinks after him, dazed and confused.

After a few moments of nothing but them watching each other, Tim straightens and squares his shoulders. “Are you going to answer the question?”

“Tim.” Danny chokes out, a lump in his throat that was oddly hard to work around, and no true idea what he was going to say next. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he stood straight, no longer leaning on the wall. Trying to buy time, he tried to fix his shirt and tie as best as he could, but after a moment of fumbling with it he gave up.

Tim was still standing there watching him, face a mask of indifference.

Danny had the thought that he didn't need to answer Tim. He also didn't need to be here anymore, and so he turned to leave.

But when he got to the door it wouldn't open. He glanced back at Tim, who didn't seem to have moved, before trying everything he could think of to get the door to unlock.

After a few moments, Danny sighed deeply, resting his forehead against the door for a count of three before turning back around to face Tim again.

“What have you done?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I locked the door.” Tim responded coolly. “I have full control of this building, you know?”

Tim walked back to his desk and sat down behind it. “ Now, I had some questions for you regarding your purpose in Gotham, why you chose to work with us at Wayne Enterprises, that kind of thing. But I find myself increasingly interested in your answer to my previous question.”

Danny swallows roughly. “Look, you're just going to have me on about it either way, why does it matter?”

“It matters. Answer the question.” His eyes are hard and unwavering. Danny knows that he won't get out of here until Tim gets what he wants.

“It's because it's you, okay.” Danny spits the words out, hoping if they sound harsh enough, the content would be ignored in favor of the tone. “And I think this may count as some form of sexual harassment.”

His hopes plummet as Tim starts to smirk.

“Well we could continue this meeting as normal if you would prefer.” Tim opens the folder he had placed on his desk after Danny walked in. “I will never bring it up again if you’d like.”

Danny sighs, then goes over to sit back down in the chair in front of Tim’s desk.

“Can we just continue the meeting?”

“Of course, Danny.” Tim winks.

#fanfiction #my writing #batman #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #tim drake #dead tired #dead tired ship

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cravingrickgrimes · 9 days ago

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CHAPTER THREE | ❝IN THE DIM LIGHT❞ | FINAL

rick!grimes x male!reader (smut) top!rick x bottom!reader

multi chapters / not finished word count: 1185

summary: You and Rick hadn’t moved from the car since you got on your knees. But after an hour, he asked you something that you made your heart skip a beat.

<- <- CHAPTER ONE

<- CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE:

“We should head back.” You put simply, by this point, the two of you were in the back seats laying down. Your head was nuzzled cozily against ricks chest. You liked the feeling of his chest rising and falling. You liked the fact he was even letting you lay on his chest. You liked how strong it felt on your head.

“We should.” Rick agreed, but you knew he wanted something more.

“We should.” You repeated to him, you moved your head to stare up at him now. He had one arm slung behind his head, giving you access to more of his natural scent. Seriously, you thought, how does someone smell so good? “But maybe this will be the last time we get to go on a supply run together.” You said exactly what he was thinking, and you knew it.

“Agreed.” He ran a hand through his hair; then cupped your face. “How would my darlin’ like to really feel me inside of him?” That just about got you rock hard again. So far, you had only given him pleasure. But the mere thought of him giving his cock to your body was making you feel like you were on fire.

“I think your darlin’ would really enjoy that.” You mocked as you sat up and straddled him. He flipped you over with his overwhelmingly strong arms and had you pinned against the back seat on your back.

“You’ve given me enough for today. Just…” He trailed a thick finger up your arm. “let me please you this time.” He tore your shirt off with his bare hands.

“Rick!” It was the first time you spoke his name and damn it felt good in your mouth. Just like he had. “That was my only shirt.”

“Don’t worry.” Rick soothed. “I brought spares.” In that instant, Rick grabbed both of your legs and hauled them onto his shoulders. He took your jeans off with insane speeds that made you almost scared for how rough he would be with you.

You felt exposed under his gaze, you could have sword you felt something as his eyes traced what was behind your underwear. He brought his middle and index finger to your mouth and commanded: “Suck.” You had gotten used to following his commands on sucking things. So you did just that.

Unlike his cock, his fingers were dry. But that was what felt good about sucking them. You knew that every single bit of lube on his fingers was your saliva.

He forced his fingers deep down your throat to collect enough spit. When he was pleased with what he has gotten on his fingers, he kissed your forehead and without a warning, inserted his long, large fingers inside of you. You gasped.

“I’m so sorry darlin’.” He whispered in your ear. His tongue flicked against your ear as if to distract you. “I’ll have to prepare you for the real thing.” That got him chuckling. You chuckled too, it was nice, a mutual laugh. “It’s going to hurt, okay?” All the humour drained from his voice and you almost shuddered at the way his breath went cold against your cheek.

“Okay.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you, but, this is what’s needed if you really want me.”

“I do.”

“That’s good, darlin’.” His fingers, slick with your spit, went deeper and you almost whimpered at the way he dug his fingers into your g-spot. ”It feels good, doesn’t it?” He let out a strangled groan. He felt you soften under his grasp. “That’s it.”

In truth, you were being calmed down by his presence alone. But also because of the way his neck muscles contracted with every thrust of his fingers. “I’m ready.”

That got his attention, he pulled up from your ear and stared down at you. You couldn’t not notice his large arms pinned beside either side of your head. You gulped under his heavy gaze.

“You sure?”

“Promise. I need…” You were so hot and flustered now you couldn’t muster the words.

“I understand.” He shot you back one of his signature smiles. You felt him fumble around for his lazily put on belt that he buckled back on right after he was done shooting his cum down your throat. It didn’t matter anymore, the belt was back off, and you were certain you were ready for him.

“You ready?”

“As i’ll ever be.” You almost moaned back.

“Okay.” A pause. Then, you felt all of him. You didn’t expect him to put it all in at once. But lord it felt good. It felt too good, like you would never feel anything better. He stared down at you, his eyes snapshots of hunger. His wavy curls fell in front of his face now.

He brought his lips toward yours and slammed them into yours. They were softer than you had expected, but then again, so was he.

His tongue tasted exactly how you expected. Even that tasted amazing, so much so that you let him invade you mouth. You focused on his cock slipping inside you, then slipping out. You had already memorised all of his veins. His balls slapped so loudly against your backside that you were scared of it attracting walkers.

He pulled his cock out and entered you again. Rick started slow as he pushed the first inch inside of your hole, then, he slammed the rest into you so fast you barely had any time to whine his name. It felt as good as the first time. Maybe even better.

You wrapped your legs around his strong back and pushed him further into you. You wanted every single inch. It felt so good to hear him groan above you. To know that you were making him feel like this was a feeling indescribable.

His pace quickened, and by now, you welcomed the change in pacing. Mostly because you liked the way sweat clung to Rick’s body. Especially when you were so close to him. “Do you feel good, darlin’?”

As soon as he spoke he changed his pace from rough and quick to slow and methodical. It was as if he knew your hole more than you did. He hit each and every single corner of you. His hips moved with passion and precision. You could feel your g-spot pulsing hard. You were close. And you told him exactly that:

“C-Close.” You managed to get out in quick pants.

“I understand baby.” With that he moved his cock inside you in a way that hit your g-spot and only your g-spot. You moaned so loud you knew you would have to deal with walkers before you could come back. Your nails scratched onto his back and felt the ridges of muscles.

All in one second you ejaculated so far and hard it shot up Rick’s neck and fell down on your stomach.

At the same time, he pushed all of his inches inside you and made a face you knew you would memorise. You felt his sperm fill your insides. He stayed inside you, just staring into your eyes.

#rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes #fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #gay #gay men #gay rick grimes #andrew lincoln #twd smut #heavy smut #top rick grimes #bottom reader #male reader

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seinahirai · 10 months ago

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『 After Hours 』 (Bada Lee x Reader)

summary: you accompany bada in the practice room while she stays late practicing a choreography, which leads to something more

word count: 1.8k

contents: not proof read, established relationship, smut, practice room sex, sub!reader, dom!bada (well, bada gets slightly submissive at the end but she’s still on top), bada checking up on you during sex (she’s a sweetheart), bada and reader taking care of each other, tribbing

authors note: i was going to keep writing consistently but i broke my arm and got unmotivated lol but i’m back now! i was working on a vampire!bada fic before that happened so lmk if you wanna see that

Bada was in the practice room, going over a dance she choreographed for a new K-pop group. Bada already memorized the whole thing, but being the perfectionist she is, she decided to go over the whole dance a few more times before ending her late practice session.

You were there in the corner the whole time, clapping and cheering her on when you felt she needed it. You had made yourself a comfy little resting area on the floor with blankets and pillows so you weren’t sitting on the stiff, small sofas on the other side of the room.

That was mostly where you were the whole day, aside from occasionally skipping out to grab food or use the restroom.

Bada enjoyed your company, and she appreciated that you spent your day off accompanying her as she practiced.

Typically, she would barely even eat when she was caught up with practice, but with you there to make sure she has eaten all three meals and taken breaks often, she found that she was way more energetic. Perhaps she should bring you more often.

You were on your phone, scrolling through your feed when you hear the music stop. You look up from your phone and see Bada walking towards you, and you can’t help but notice how attractive she looks with her hair tied up and her shirt pushed up over her shoulder, exposing her sports bra and toned abs.

Bada notices you staring and chuckles softly, laying down next to you as she gives you a peck on the cheek.

“Like what you see, baby?” She teases, giving your cheek another peck.

“I love what I see.” You reply, giggling as she kisses you.

You gently reach your hands to the back of Bada’s head, bringing her closer to you and her face rests on your chest. Bada’s arms immediately wrap around your waist, squeezing you tightly.

You softly coo at how clingy she’s being, your fingers reaching to pull out the hair tie she had in so you could run your fingers through her hair.

You knew how tired she must be after such a long day—especially since you experienced it all first hand—and Bada gets especially clingy when she’s tired.

“Bada, don’t fall asleep on me.” You say, smiling softly as she buries her face deeper into your neck.

“I won’t,” She mumbles, rubbing her hands up and down your waist. She loved how soft and warm your body was. “I’m just enjoying the warmth of my girlfriend before I pack up.”

You decide to let her rest for a little bit, pressing a kiss to her forehead as you lay your head back down onto one of your pillows.

After a few minutes, just when you thought Bada as fallen asleep, you feel her pressing soft kisses onto your neck, her hands slowly beginning to roam your body.

You raise an eyebrow, looking down at her.

“All of a sudden?” You ask, a hint of amusement in your tone.

For a second, Bada doesn’t answer, simply pressing more kisses onto your neck, working her way down to your collarbone.

“I just got the urge,” Bada murmurs, stopping for a second to look up at you.

“I mean, we’re here alone, pressed up against each other. Might as well take advantage of it.” She says, bringing her lips back to your collarbone, this time she sucks on your skin, no doubt leaving marks.

You moan softly, your hands resting the back of her head as she continues leaving marks on your soft skin.

“Baby…what about the cameras?” You ask, taking a quick glance at the cameras in each corner of the room.

Bada sees the slight look of nervousness in your eyes and chuckles, reaching down to take your hand in hers.

“It’s 12 in the morning, the cameras are off, baby.” Bada says, bringing your hand to her lips to kiss it softly. “I wouldn’t suggest we do this if there was a chance anyone would be able to see.”

You blush at her actions, nodding softly as you lay your head back on the pillow in order to give Bada better access.

However, instead of going back to kissing your neck, she pushes herself upwards, now straddling you as she looks down at you.

Her eyes were soft, resembling love more than lust. That was usually a hint that Bada wanted to take her time with you and make sure it was slow paced and intimate. It made sense, after a long day of work.

Bada brings her fingers to the edge of your shirt, pulling it up and over your shoulders, tossing it aside. She does the same with your pants before repeating the same process with her own clothes.

You’re both left in only your underwear, and she leans down to bring you into another long kiss full of tongue and passion.

While Bada kisses you, she slowly runs her hand down your bare body, stopping at your panties.

She teases your clit a few times through the fabric, making you whine into her mouth.

You feel her smirk as she moves her hand inside of your panties running her fingers up and down your folds slowly.

You feel her spreading your wetness around your folds, running her fingers over your leaking hole a few times before slowly pushing them in, making you moan out, though it was muffled by Bada’s lips on yours.

Bada parts her lips from yours, instead bringing them to your nipple, her tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as her fingers begin pumping in and out of you, making you gasp softly as your eyes squeeze shut.

Your hips grind against Bada’s hand, and you can feel your slick wetting Bada’s fingers and dripping down your cunt.

Your wetness only make it easier for Bada to thrust in and out of you, her movements becoming faster.

You reach your hand out to grip onto the blanket beneath you, your other hand coming to the back of Bada’s head.

You moan loudly, breathy and high pitched, and it makes Bada grin. She loved it when you moaned like that, it was a reminder to you and her of who was making you feel so good.

You let out a particularly loud moan when you feel Bada’s fingers brush against your sweet spot, stuttering out a curse.

You’re about to tell her you’re close when she suddenly pulls out, releasing her mouth from your nipple and sitting up.

You whine at the loss of her fingers, but Bada quickly silences you with a quick kiss.

“Shhh, I wanna taste you, baby.”

She grabs onto your thighs, scooting herself backwards slightly so she can come face to face with your pussy, spreading your folds as she admires how beautiful your needy cunt looks.

“You have such a pretty pussy.” She says, licking a up trail from your pussy to your clit.

You moan pathetically, breathing heavy and shaky breaths as Bada begins lapping at your clit, bringing her fingers back to your hole.

As she thrusts into you while sucking on your clit, you quickly feel your orgasm getting closer again, and Bada can tell by the way you clench around her.

It only motivates Bada to go faster as she presses her fingers up against your G-spot. That was all it took to send you over the edge, squeezing your thighs against Bada’s head as you cum all over her lips.

Bada doesn’t hesitate to lap it all up, holding your trembling thighs in place as she cleans all the cum from your pussy.

After a few seconds, you feel your muscles relax as you breath heavily. Bada lifts her head from your cunt, pressing one last kiss to your clit before lifting her body back up so she could pull off her boxers, moving to pull your panties off fully once she was done.

She notices the tired look in your eyes, cooing softly as she reaches her hand up to your face, caressing your cheek softly.

“You okay, baby?” She asks, caressing your thigh with her other hand. She knew you were probably tired from staying this late with her, and you probably wanted to get home.

You nod softly, placing your hand over hers. “I’m okay, love. I can go one more round.” You say, moving her hand to your lips to kiss it.

Bada smiles, nodding softly. “Alright, baby.”

She moves her hands to your waist, turning your body to the side and hooking your thigh over her waist.

She begins to grind her pussy against yours, keeping a steady pace as she throws her head back, groaning at the feeling of your cunt against hers.

You let out a whine, grinding your hips against hers as well. You didn’t even realize how wet you are already until you hear the lewd squelching of your wet pussies rubbing against each other.

Bada moans your name, seemingly becoming desperate as she begins grinding faster.

“You feel— so fucking good,” She pants, reaching her hand out to interlock with yours as her hip movements begin to stutter slightly, signaling she was close.

You continued your grinding to help Bada’s orgasm come, and a few seconds later, you feel her squeezing your hand.

You opened your eyes just in time to see the beautiful view that was Bada cumming.

She let out small whines, her eyes shut tightly as she rides out her orgasm, huffing out deep breaths as she comes down from her high.

You give Bada’s hand a soft squeeze, which makes her open her eyes.

She looks absolutely beautiful, and you tell her that.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” You say, smiling at Bada as she lays down next to you, pulling you into her arms.

“You’re prettier.” She says, holding you close to her chest.

Any other time you would usually go back and forth on who was prettier, but right now you were spent, closing your eyes and listening to Bada’s heartbeat that slowly began to calm down.

After a few moments of silence, Bada speaks again.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” She says, smiling cheekily even though you can’t see her.

You roll your eyes. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“Hmm, yeah.”

“Screw you.”

“You just did.”

You raise your head from Bada’s chest to glare at her, which makes her chuckle.

“Let’s just stay like this until we have enough energy to clean up and leave.” You say, and Bada nods.

“I should bring you here more often if this is how it’ll end.” Bada says, running her fingers through your hair.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, this was exhausting.”

After a few more seconds of silence, Bada speaks up again.

“What if we added more pillows—“

“Bada.”

“Okay, sorry.” She giggles, kissing your forehead.

#seina swan !#bada lee x reader #bada lee smut #bada imagine #bada x reader #swf2 x reader

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hughiecampbelle · 6 months ago

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Little Death (Frenchie Oneshot)

Character/s: Frenchie, Butcher, Hughie, M.M.

Word Count: 1,396

Requested: hello!! I love your work!! I would love to request frenchie and the following prompts! “Gauze” “caution” “I don’t owe you anything” - anon

A/N: I hope you like it my love!!! I'm not the happiest with it. I've rewritten it three times, but I think it's just one of those fics where I'll never truly be satisfied unfortunately. Regardless, I love the idea! Thank you for requesting!!! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜

I don’t owe you anything, you spat, blood dribbling down your chin. Timidly, he slides a pad of gauze across the sink, leaving it between you. The first aid kit sat open on his lap, exposed. You reach out only when he’s let go, unwrapping it. Your head pounds. The wound on your forehead wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. For that, you were grateful. It pulsed, wet and red and throbbing. You pulled your sleeve over your hand, pressing into it. He reaches out to help, but you flinch. He forgets. That’s dangerous. I don’t owe any of you anything, you clarify a little louder. You’re sure they’re all listening. The walls are thin and that group, who hadn’t stopped arguing since they showed up, were all too quiet. The angry one with bloodshot eyes rammed the butt of his gun into your head. If only it’d been his bare fist. Not after, with a gloved hand, had he punched you upwards, your jaw bruising as you spoke. You grabbed the wrist of his coat. This one, meek and empathetic, ordered him to stop. The both of you to stop. They were guests in your home, they were supposed to act like it. He wasn’t going to force you to do anything you didn’t want to. You’d had enough of that for one lifetime. I know you don’t. His tone is gentle. Understanding. You stood, careful, cautious in the tiny bathroom, taping the bandages over the opening. What did they see when they looked at you?

You rinsed your mouth, watching the water circle the drain, pink and gooey. His knee touches you, the fabric worn thin, and you can’t help but turn rigid, still, until you can back away into the corner. Until you can make sure he is nowhere near you. He raises his hands, surrendering. I did not mean- he stops, unable to finish the sentence. I know, you say too quickly. You knew his type, his kind. Always testing the limits. Pushing the boundaries. Believing themselves different from the rest. They could try all they wanted, they could think all they wanted, they all ended up in the same shallow graves.

You were famous in all the wrong places. Death for hire. There were no signs or symptoms. There was no real reason for their sudden deaths. It was instant. It was painless. It was effective. No marks or bruises, no bullet holes or brains bashed in. No weapons necessary. It's been a long time since you took a job. There were plenty of opportunities, plenty of people looking, you just didn't want to be found. Fell off the grid. No family, no friends. It was easier than you'd like to admit. It was effortless. One day you were there, the next no one had heard from you. You didn't take calls or emails. You didn't have a phone. Customers would drop off letters, notes, envelopes of cash with names and descriptions. You'd do what you needed to. They always paid well. There was a sick sort of satisfaction. Your part was easy. Sometimes you put on a show. Got dressed up. Slid beside them at the bar. Took them to bed. They adored you. Other times, it was on the subway, the bus, in the middle of the crosswalk. Your job was done. The world went on spinning. That's just how it goes.

Little Death. La Petite Mort. That’s what everyone called you. I assume you know what I can do. He nods. They all did. It was Frenchie who'd seen you first. You weren't angry or fighting, you weren't cagey. You were very still, sitting in the middle of your cell, knees to chest. There was something underneath that. Perhaps it was defeat or shame. In the moment, it caught him off guard. Now he understands it's just who you are. Who you've become. Who were you before? Cindy opened the doors and everyone fled. You were cautious though, pulling your sleeves over your hands, your arms, keeping yourself small enough to slip by without getting caught, without hurting anyone. He wanted to follow, but it was too late. He never forgot about you. Afterwards, he asked M.M. and Hughie to dig up every file from the Sage Grove Center. You'd be useful, he just wasn't sure how important you'd turn out to be.

So why aren't you afraid? You sat at the edge of the tub, him on the toilet, the two of you staring at one another. He smiles and the act strikes you across the face. You are not so scary. He shrugs. Nine years ago, almost ten, they injected you with Compound V. You were a teenager, placed in their care by people who loved you. There were no physical changes. No outward deformities or abilities. They assumed it was mental, but you couldn't read thoughts or move things with your mind. Called you a dud. A failure. If that was true, wouldn't that mean you could leave? You begged one of the nurses, please. The words scratched your throat, tore their way from your mouth like barbed wire. Please, I won't say anything. I won't tell anyone. And then you grabbed them by the wrist, making them drop your dinner tray. They dropped, too. A pile of lead wrapped in skin. You'd never forget that sound. Someone heard and they followed. They went to pull you, drag you from the cell, punish you, but they found the same fate. There was a pile of bodies before anyone realized it wasn't on purpose. Lamplighter watched the security cameras. You never fought any of them. They found no weapons on your person after a strip search. All they did was touch you.

Ten years. Ten years of bodies. Ten years of testing. They'd learn. You'd learned too. It only worked skin to skin. Clothing, fabric, gloves, all of it could be a lifesaver. Any part of you. All parts of you. They still found ways to hurt you. Some favored cattle prods. Others went the old fashioned way, pointing a gun between your eyes until you took down an entire room of other patients. You chose to live and for that you would always be considered selfish. Who do you want me to kill? You ask, your eyes cast down at the blood drying on your shirt. No one ever wanted your company. No one ever wanted to get to know you. It was what you could do that was of interest. It is not that simple, Petite Mort. You roll your eyes. It is that simple. You move abruptly. Sitting to standing, learning into him, your faces inches from one another. His eyes widened despite himself. He is scared.

They all are.

You can say no, he says again. You're overcome by nausea, dizziness. Maybe you had a concussion. Maybe it was what he'd said, the name he whispered. Get out. You look him in the eyes and repeat yourself, but he doesn't move. Get out! You pull at his jacket, pushing him through the doorway. His friends all freeze. Get out! Leave now! You know your neighbors will complain about the screaming, but you don't care. You're furious. Frenchie tries to calm you down, but you're hysterical. This is what they wanted. This is why Vought let you live so long. Because they wanted you to be their weapon. You could kill anyone. Everyone. You were collateral. An emergency fund. An option when they were all out of options. You weren't going to be used anymore. You weren't going to be a pawn in Voughts game. Not anymore. You got out. You were free. You couldn't go back there, you couldn't put yourself in danger like that again. They would recognize you. You would never see the light of day again. They'd let you rot in a cell like all those years. Before you slam the door in their faces, Frenchie tries one last time. S'il te plaît. We would never let anything happen to you. You've become cold, stone-like, the same shell of a human being he recognized from that first day, that first moment. There is not getting through to you. Not now, at least. The conversation was over. He must let it die.

You were not going to kill Homelander.

#requested #frenchie #frenchie x reader #frenchie oneshot #frenchie drabble #the boys #the boys drabble #the boys oneshot #the boys x reader

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pocketsizedq · 1 year ago

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You're going to be a good dad!

Request:Dad Turcs where he isn’t a dad yet but his wife is pregnant. I don’t have anything else specific in mind.

Word Count:853

Alex had just gotten home from practice to find you laying on the couch which was now a more of a daily occurrence to find you as that was the only place you could get comfortable now being in your third trimester with your guys first kid which you both found out at a recent appointment that it was going to be a little girl. He was stoked about it.

He carefully closed the door making sure not to wake you up as he knew you had a hard time finding rest so far into your pregnancy. Alex started to remove his shoes, putting them on the rack by the door while doing so, laying his keys in the dish by the door before making his way over to your sleeping figure. The boy slowly squatted down to become face to face with your sleeping one slowly reaching his left hand up to gently rub his thumb over your cheek bone with a soft smile on his face.

He slowly brought his hand down to rub your exposed swollen stomach. Alex could feel his smile wide even bigger when he felt his little girl kick his hand but he did have a small worry that it would wake you up so he looked back up at you to notice you were still fast asleep so he places a gentle kiss on your forehead still with beaming.

Alex continued to rub your bump gently watching you sleep just admiring his beautiful wife and the mother of his child. He would every now and then place kisses on your nose which slowly woke you up from your slumber. You slowly start to stretch which scares alex little which makes him stand up and remove his hand from your bump.

“Oh Princess, Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to if I did.” He spoke softly to you trying not to scare you while gently running his fingers through your hair watching you rub the sleep out of your eyes trying to get your eyes to adjust to the light.

You slowly shake your head letting out a yawn saying “when did you get home?.” He helps you sit up brushing your hair out of your eyes, squatting down resting his hands on either side of your knees.

“Not too long ago baby. Have you eaten yet?.” still having the soft tone he was speaking with before to which you shake your head yes but then spoke up “you know i can always eat again. This little girl keeps me hungry.” He lets out a soft chuckle at your response kissing your head before pulling out his phone.

“What do my girls want to eat?” He spoke, pulling up doordash on his phone, moving his glazes from his phone to looking at you, putting his other hand that was not holding his phone on your bump gently rubbing your stomach.

“Hm..” you think for a moment before saying “Tacos.” which was honestly funny as that has been your main craving throughout your whole pregnancy to the point that Alex has made you Taco at three in the morning just to make you and the baby happy which he would do anything to keep you both happy.

“I should have known it would be tacos.” He softly chuckles before saying “same place baby?” to which you answer with a nod as you now have a go to taco place since finding out you were pregnant which was a family owned business that made amazing brisket tacos.

Alex puts in the order in on doordash after doing so setting his phone down turning his attention to you saying “it has been ordered. Now baby, what do you want to do?” You carefully stand up to which he quickly takes your hand into his hand helping you stand up putting his other hand on your bump.

“Let’s watch a movie in bed and cuddle?” you questioned him looking up at him to which he spoke “sounds like a plan babygirl.” Alex helped you to the bedroom noticing that your clothes that you had on were actually his.

You had on one of his plain black tee shirts with a pair of his gray sweats to which he found you absolutely adorable in them. He helps you lay down in the bed before handing you the remote making his way to the closet to get into something more comfortable.

After Alex got changed into something more comfortable he made his way back to the bed getting into the bed on his side and noticed you had put on a random romcom which made him chuckle but he doesn't say anything about it.

He made sure you had everything you needed before he got into bed so Alex pulled you into his arms holding you close to him kissing your head gently rubbing your bump with a smile on his face so happy you were the one carrying his baby. He just held you close whispering sweet nothings into your ear while you guys wait for your tacos to arrive.

#alex turcotte x reader #alex turcotte #alex turcotte imagine #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagines #trevor zegras blurbs

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cozymoko · 1 year ago

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PERFORM, FOR US.

word count: 1.9k

WARNING(S): slight yandere themes, suggestive behavior

Yandere! Ice Skater x Pianist! Reader ❄

It's freezing, both outside and in. But it's winter so that’s to be expected. While a smooth, chilling breeze nipped at the skin of many, warm blankets shielded the bodies of many more. And before they knew it, the Winter Olympics were just around the corner.

Your fingers twitched above the monochrome keys, itching to play whatever dared enter your mind. A faint hum had just barely buzzed past your sealed lips, reaching the curious ears of the man sitting before you.

This year’s theme: Soft Wonderland

It was strange, you thought so too. But that didn’t stop you from giving it your all. The way you played piano was something otherworldly, and you were just as lucky to have such a skilled skater performing it.

The skater in question was seated directly to your right.

You reached out and lightly flicked his exposed forehead. “What’s with that look; is there something on my face?” Your question was rhetorical, even dripping with a hint of sarcasm; yet it flustered him all the same.

VINCENT hastily shook his head, placing a pale hand on his reddened skin.

You opted to ignore the look of admiration that had painted his sharp features. It didn’t suit him. Not at all. On television, he was a blessing to the eye. Gifted a cold exterior and a face to match. Most of his fans viewed him as the reserved, prince-boyfriend type, who’s protective and well-composed no matter the circumstance. If not for his previous interviews, you could even say he seemed unapproachable.

Ugh, they couldn’t be more wrong.

Vincent Yves Beaumont is a star in the making. Thief of Hearts and Trophies galore. A real gentleman, who's real easy on the eyes. A prodigy, successfully obtaining more than a handful of awards at the young age of twenty-two. Born in France; raised in Belgium, fluent in at least three languages. That in which has gained him quite the fanbase.

He was amazing, in the eyes of the public. Made to be something phenomenal — a star. Vincent was…he was…

A big fucking baby.

Even now, he rubbed gentle circles into your thigh with the smooth pads of his thumbs. His arm was propped against the edge of the piano-polished frame while his chin rested upon the base of his free hand. He was close, incredibly close. So close that you swore you felt the richness of his cologne tickling your nose: Cinnamon with a hint of pine. The faint remnants of mint mingled within his scent subtly. It was pleasant, but you distanced yourself anyway.

A quick glance at the clock was enough to send your heart spiraling. You only had an hour, sixty fucking minutes, to record all the edits you made on the sheet music before Vincent’s big performance. Although after having an inner monologue, mid-session at that, you truly anticipated nothing less.

“Se concentrer! Nous avons peu de temps.” You scolded.

'Focus! We don’t have much time.' Those were your exact words, in French at that. Despite it being your first (and his), you only used it when he managed to annoy you. Unfortunately, that was arguably his favorite pastime.

Why did this irk you so? One might ask. And luckily, there’s a simple answer to this unbelievably idiotic question. It’s the Olympics for crying out loud and this childish fucker was going to be representing you! Sure, you didn’t doubt his abilities; he had quite the talent. But still, you never worked well under pressure. You have a whole reputation to uphold!

You were a composer, after all. A damn good one at that. For only being twenty-six, you easily retained the talent of someone well into their sixties. You spent most of your early twenties frolicking alongside plenty of well-renowned figure skaters; Vincent being one of them. You had won a handful of awards along the way, along with plenty of generous deals.

Meaning, that everyone had high expectations for you.

A soft chuckle breezed by your ears. It was deep but just the right amount. If you hadn’t known better, then you’d say your viable hysteria amused him. Hmph, What a sadist.

“I am,” He grins earnestly. “I promise.”

Maybe you’d believe him, just this once. You were even tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But when he snaked his arm around your waist, all your hope when flying out the window. Then again, you didn’t have much of it anyway. “Vincent, get off of me you pervert.”

“Noo, You’re my lucky charm, I need you in order to perform well tonight.” The brunette whined into the crook of your neck, his nimble fingers toying with the fabric of your wool sweater.

Vincent shifted practically all his weight on you, causing you to go tumbling off the side of the wooden piano stool. You wrap your arms around him for support, refusing to acknowledge the sinful sound that slipped past his rosy lips. For fucks sake, he acts like a virgin.

Then, as if he couldn’t get any closer, leaned in and gently ran his tongue along the shell of your ear - like a cat in heat. Vincent’s pretty lips tug into a subtle smirk, purring, “If I win first place, will you reward me, Mon cœur?”

Never mind, definitely not a virgin!

Your heart was drumming against your chest, cheeks flushing at the man’s proximity. Fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!! What were you supposed to do? He’s getting far too close for this to even possibly be appropriate, not to mention he called you “his love”.

You shrug him away weakly, just barely maintaining your composure. Vincent slightly loosened his hold on you, only to meet your gaze. Half-lidded eyes, blessed with long and full lashes. His chin rested on your chest, his hair tickling your exposed clavicles. His cheeks adorned a deeper shade of red, as though just the sight of you was managing to rile him up. This alone was euphoric.

“Please, [Name].”

God, he looked shameful. What a perv.

Using all of your strength, you push him out of the room, slamming the door right in his face. “Go get dressed, damn it!” You managed to scream through rigid breaths. This was no longer your problem — Vincent was no longer your problem. This was an issue for Hualing — his makeup artist; or Enlai — his stylist.

For that fact, you were grateful.

“Fuck, I only have thirty minutes left!”

After dropping the CD, you hailed a cab to take you back. Your lungs were screaming for air; your back practically collapsing in on itself. At this point, you were positive that the only thing keeping you from quitting it all was a shit ton of stress and adrenaline. But just as you were about to unlock the door, a loud DING echoed through the hotel's vacant halls.

Hesitantly, you opened it.

MR. ALWAYS ON TIME (VINCENT’S COACH):

Hey, [Name]! Just so you know, Beaumont won’t be the first performer today….

▷ delivered 19:34

To your delight (and vexation), Vincent would be the third performer of the night. “Gee, thanks,” You replied. That definitely would’ve been great to know earlier.

That evening, you were able to put those extra minutes to good use. You’d cleaned up rather nicely, compelling those around you to compliment your attire. They’d never guess you were an absolute wreck not even forty-five minutes ago.

You greeted his coach with a curt nod, before sitting a few seats down from him. Due to your reputation, others were quick to offer you seats closer to the front. And there was no chance in hell you were going to decline.

You learn back in your cushioned seat, blasting soft classical music over the booming voices of those around you. From what you knew, Vincent should be on any minute now and ready to—

“AHHH!!!”

You sigh, “I spoke too soon.”

Squeals that mimicked pigs and spoiled children tore through your ears (and sanity). It was loud, so loud that not even your headphones could withstand its volume. You reach to massage your temples, peeling your eyes open to try to focus on the man before you.

Once on stage, he bowed to the judges before adjusting his posture, allowing the bright stage lights to catch the purple shimmers decorating his uniform. His smile commanded the audience’s attention; seemingly genuine with deep dimples pooling at its sides. Full, ebony strands parted and combed out his eyes.

Cat-like, hazel eyes flicker over the vast audience; left to right, side to side. In search of something - or rather someone. The star was quick to find you, watching him with a certain regard that made his heart flutter. He felt light, under your gaze. It burned him, like a flame nipping away at frostbitten fingers. Hungry, craving more than what should suffice.

A feverish smile tugged at the corners of his rosy lips, one he didn’t bother to hide from the public. Vincent still acted like a young schoolgirl in your presence. Despite meeting you all those years ago. Despite being your fan as long as he can remember.

“Now for the star you’ve been waiting for, the heartthrob of a century…Vincent Yves Beaumont! ”

Gliding along the sleek ice like a Blue Jay spreading its feathered wings. Vincent’s movements showed a feeling of contentment and even bliss. Each quad looked like mere child’s play as he landed them, perfect without the tiniest flaw. Each turn was perfect as though he was programmed to perfection. Each and every axel he executed pulled a series of silent cheers from the crowd.

The skater nearly rolled his eyes, for he couldn’t finish his choreo fast enough. He didn’t want to pretend like he enjoyed being down here, at least a hundred feet away. He didn’t want to compete for something as insignificant as a medal when he could have your love as a prize instead. But he did it in a heartbeat…for you.

Nothing mattered if it wasn’t for you.

If not for you, this career meant nothing.

The fame didn’t matter if you weren’t experiencing it with him.

He wanted you - No, needed you.

And he’d fucking have you too.

You hum in realization as the last three lines of your song carried through the wind. Vincent’s performance was coming to an end. Landing his final quad loop, smoothly transitioning into a back-counter triple counter. His choreo had ended, and with it your song. He bowed once more, drowning in a sea of applause that engulfed the stadium.

Roses, Peonies, whatever you could think of was thrown in the ring. Yet, Vincent didn’t bother to acknowledge one. His eyes were locked on you, yours on him. You gave him a friendly wave, and to your surprise, he did not reciprocate it. That in itself was weird.

Now, you may not be a genius but the look in his eyes was far from normal. Everyone’s precious star, Vincent, was staring at you like a lion watching its prey. If you hadn’t known any better you thought he’d be already trying to pounce on you at that very moment. Hah, and you’re not wrong! He could hardly strain the animalistic urge to take you home and finally make you his.

That’s when it hit you, you’ve never seen him lose a competition. So that “deal” you made earlier was getting closer and closer to becoming reality. And something told you he wasn’t going to let you go~!

“Fuck me, bro.”

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tanith-rhea · 2 years ago

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Only Pretending #7

Word count: 2.9k Author's note: Ok... this one has been a long time coming, I know, and I'm SORRY!!! Life's crazy and I'm unreliable. I hope you all enjoy it because I sure did a thousand changes on this one and maybe a plot point or two in the structure, so... my fingers are crossed so hard that there's no blood running through them. I want to thank @alder-saan for the support and feedback, I wouldn't bring that particular thing up too much until you helped me realize it is more important than I think and the reader doesn't have the same context I do. Kisses!

Larissa’s lips were cool, but her tongue was warm and wine-sweet, and soon enough all your senses were her. Her skin was hot when your hands went to her face and neck, slowly slipping to her shoulders underneath her robe. She hadn’t worn perfume yet, so her scent was slowly fading shower products and her. She was all-consuming. Your thoughts, senses and yearning were all hers.

She stood up with your face in her hands, never leaving your lips and dextrously sat on your lap. She towered over you, there was nothing else but her, and you knew there would never be something after her.

“Do you think we have time…” you started, out of breath and a little broken. She was planting long, reverent kisses on your cheeks, eyelids and forehead, stopping on the crease between your eyebrows and smoothing it away. You wanted all of her now, it was so much it didn’t even count as want; you needed her.

You felt the press of her smile and a warm puff of air as she chuckled.

“It depends on how fast you can shower and your thoughts on arriving fashionably late,” her voice was an amused rumble as she distanced herself a bit.

You would never make it in time. You knew it, but you also couldn’t let go of her. Her thighs underneath your hands were the definition of power, you felt dizzy thinking of them squeezing your face until your vision faded and all you could taste was her.

With a frustrated growl, you grabbed her ass and pulled her impossibly closer, resting your forehead on her chest. She had the audacity to chuckle at you and her fingers started a soothing pattern between your shoulder blades.

“What’s so funny?” you half grumbled.

You felt her laugh a bit more before saying, “Nothing. You’re just adorably impatient, I didn’t think you had It in you.”

“Didn’t last night prove I had?”

“You were far too considerate and kind, last night.”

You lifted your face to look her in the eye, unable to mask the tiniest of smirks.

“So, if I’d had my way with you, you’d have been surprised?”

“What makes you think it would be your way?” she cocked a brow and returned your smirk.

“I don’t know…” she gasped when your fingers sunk into her flesh, her expression quickly changing to show how affected she was, “But I seem to remember you being very pliant yesterday.” You kissed her lips chastely, feeling the electric sparks from Larissa’s pent-up desire around you.

Her fingers on your shoulders would likely leave prints. Good thing you’d be wearing a blazer over your top. You planted one last quick kiss on her lips before nudging her to let you up. She did so with an eye-roll to unsuccessfully hide her almost pout, and you had to bite your lip not to smile too much before leaving for the bathroom.

When you came back, Larissa was sitting at the vanity, doing her make-up. She was wearing a long-sleeved, silver mermaid dress that hugged her body just right before loosening lightly just below her thighs. She had a darker shade of her signature lipstick on, a burgundy red that almost mimicked the colour of your three-piece ensemble and wore silver jewellery and heels the colour of her nails and lipstick. She looked exquisite.

You knew she was watching you in the mirror while you let your robe fall to the ground, exposing your bare back and lace panties. You smiled to yourself at her audible stillness and started dressing. First your trousers, then the blouse, which you turned to give her a better view of you putting on, and deliberately buttoned up the slowest possible, eyes fixed on its buttons and your skin. When you looked up, her eyes were on the same track as yours had been, just as you finished covering your chest.

“Do I have something on me?” you pretended to search your top, looking for possible stains and the like.

“Do get over yourself, girl,” Larissa faked annoyance.

“Girl? I’ll have you know I’m almost thirty!”

“Don’t remind me,” the humour in her voice pulled you in, going over to her and sitting on the narrow bench.

“What? Not keen on getting old?” you didn’t mean to sound so soft.

“I am already,” her small smile had fondness but also something else in it, her searching eyes dissecting your every reaction.

“Would you like me to call you Miss Weems?” you breathed, hand tracing the bare skin of her clavicles, up to her neck.

You’d never heard her growl before. It was addicting from the very first time. She reached for your knee and waist and swiftly brought you to her lap.

“Do not ruin my make-up,” she warned, matter-of-factly, before deftly undoing your trouser buttons and pulling down its zipper.

“What are you doing? We have a party in fifteen minutes!” you could not care less about the damned party as her fingers unceremoniously slid inside your clothes and between your folds.

You gasped and gripped her shoulders with white-knuckled desperation. Her gaze bore holes deep into yours, watching every faint bat of your lashes and twitch of your eyebrows.

“I think we’ll be done by then,” she murmured in your ear and sucked at the lobe while two fingers dipped into you.

You didn’t realize before how wet you were from simply teasing her, but as she moved inside you with ease and brought her fingers to your clit, they were drenched.

She kissed and sucked the skin from your jaw to the base of your neck, lowering to your chest, exposed by the low cut of your top. You reached for her hair, dying to weave your fingers into her updo, but she gripped your wrist with a nimble movement and held it behind your back.

“I remember someone saying something about a party?” her mock pensive expression as she stroked at just the right speed was infuriating and intoxicating at the same time. You had imagined being at Larissa’s mercy many times, but if this small demonstration already had you undone, you might not survive her full attention for a night.

She kissed your sternum and quickened her fingers; you felt your thigh muscles spasm and lost control of your hips. She left your hand to hold you in place and took advantage when you arched your back in a breathless attempt to relieve tension to nuzzle her way underneath your loose blouse. You made a sound that was half a whimper and half a gasp as her lips closed around your nipple, warm and sure, and she hummed. She made soothing circles with her thumb on your hip and chuckled when your head found the vanity’s mirror and pushed it, inclining the entire thing and knocking several make-up supplies over.

You huffed, indignant that she found mirth in your suffering, so close to release but kept at bay by her bursts of speed interrupted by sudden gentler touches.

“Larissa, please,” you mewled, propped back into your elbow, every cell of your body howling for relief.

“Begging already? It’s been five minutes, dearest,” she released your nipple only to give it a peck before coming up to stare dangerously into your eyes.

“Please, this is torture…” your voice was little more than a whisper.

“I remember you having no qualms torturing me,” she growled, pinching your clit lightly. It was too much, and your eyes watered as you squealed in surprise. “Standing there with almost nothing, tracing fingers on what’s mine-“

“Am I?” you battled to get the words out with almost no air.

“I would think it’s a bit obvious,” she circled her fingers on your hood, the way she noticed that made you melt.

“Then take care of me…”

You could almost feel the thunderous flash in her eyes strike you as she lunged for your lips and kissed you hard. There were no more soothing thumbs or gentle touches. Her hand gripped your hip forcefully against the vanity and her fingers pressed hard and fast until you were choking on the little air you had and screaming Larissa’s name.

You couldn’t say for how long you came. The first thing you saw when you came back to your senses was Larissa licking her fingers and cleaning the lipstick around her lips. How she could look so put together while doing it would be unfair if it wasn’t her, but she was perfect, so, what else to expect?

“I’m afraid you ruined your knickers,” she noted in a sweet tone.

“Oh, fuck… I’m worse than a teenager…”

“Hardly, dear. I would help you clean up if we had time, but someone did exactly the opposite as I told them to and now, I have to start again,” she faked annoyance as she reached into the mess of things above the vanity and ignored your indignant huff, only smirking as you went to change your panties.

She’d be the death of you.

While putting on the garnet ring and earrings you brought to match your outfit, a thought occurred to you.

“What do you think we trade jewellery?”

“Hum?” she walked over, surveying you from head to toe and back up, swallowing once she got your face again.

“You have silver, I have red… we could colour coordinate our outfits by swapping.”

“You just want to wear my neckless, don’t you?” that might be part of the reason, yes. But it was a very beautiful diamond choker, thin and simple but also screaming ownership — honestly, that was the main reason behind it all, for everyone to know you wanted nothing more than be hers (or that you were, weren’t you?).

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

When both of you were ready — Larissa having done your make-up while teasing you for looking “like my sweet little pet” with her necklace — you joined the party.

You had no idea when all those people arrived, but the foyer was packed. Some of the guests you were introduced to earlier were around. Mr Itt and his wife, Gomez’s brother, Fester, who seemed to be talking with a very intriguing woman of appearance quite similar to his, and grandmama’s sister, Miss Sloom. But mostly strangers, strange ones at that. It was incredible.

You spotted mummies, gorgons, sirens, and all manner of outcasts. Some of whom you had no idea what they identified as.

“Wow, so they weren’t lying!” a strange drawling voice sounded from the side and a broad-shouldered, smiling man made his way through some people to get to you and Larissa. “When Phillie told me you were taken tonight I almost choked on my champagne.”

You guessed this man went to school with Larissa, and his convinced demeanour and attempt at an LA accent made you gag. Why were all her former colleagues pricks? Gomez was the only exception to the rule until now. If everybody else was like this, you couldn’t blame Larissa for liking the only decent person in the bunch.

“Samuel, how nice seeing you here,” you had to disguise your snort with a cough, “This is y/n, the woman I believe Ophelia referred to.”

“Ophelia?”

“Morticia’s sister, and also an old friend,” she explained easily.

“Pleasure to meet a real person,” he extended his hand for you to shake and looked ever cockier, somehow.

“For fuck’s sake, what is your problem?!”

Larissa and Samuel seemed surprised by your little outburst.

“Why do you have to be such a dick? I’ve never met you before and I can’t stand you already. Have you nothing better to do with your night? Is your sense of humour so underdeveloped that you have to resort to cheap commentary to amuse yourself? Are you what, twelve?” you took Larissa’s hand and started walking through the crowd, “Leave us alone, and don’t you dare open your mouth to talk about Larissa because I will find you and I will make you pee in fear like the toddler you act like.”

At your raised voice, some of the guests turned to look at what was happening, but you were already leaving towards the buffet table. You walked past Lurch carrying champagne glasses on the way and thanked whoever was listening for the alcohol.

“What was all that?” relief washed through your body as you heard Larissa’s amused question. She wasn’t displeased, perfect.

“I’m so sick of people from your school days acting like pig-headed kids. What was going on in the 80s that everyone seems to be a bigoted imbecile?”

Larissa only laughed, and close to her, you heard someone you couldn’t see snort.

“Not all of them were bad, you just weren’t so lucky to meet many good ones,” Larissa explained, “However, Samuel was always a bit extra. Wanted to be an actor when we were students, I believe.”

“Do you think he is?”

“With that accent? A very bad one, maybe,” a very distinct monotone joined your conversation. Wednesday, Enid and grandmama stepped closer. Enid and the Addams matriarch filling their plates with food and having a heated discussion about… animal abuse?

“You were listening?” you asked, you could swear she wasn’t around for the commotion.

“I listen to him every year, and every other one as well. I’m sorry, but principal Weems is being unnecessarily dismissive as per usual; they’re intolerable.”

“But everyone is to you, isn’t that right?” Larissa’s tone betrayed her meaning, and she looked very pleased with herself when looking at Enid just a few feet away.

Wednesday rolled her eyes but didn’t look Larissa in the face, instead chancing a… fond? Glance at the pair with her. It occurred to you that this was the first event outside the school where they were officially together.

“I guess I understand why you wanted us to come then,” you really did, you weren’t far from brooding in a corner as well if people would be so unsavoury the whole night.

“You two are exhausting,” Larissa shook her head, unable to mask her amusement, and joined grandmama and Enid.

You watched the people around for a beat, old acquaintances reuniting and close friends giggling, but both you and Wednesday weren’t the type to beat around the bush.

“How’s Enid doing?”

“Thank-you-for-what-you-did.”

You smiled — she did something close — and gestured for her to speak first.

“Thank you for talking with her. She told me,” Wednesday sounded surer this time, her posture seemed straighter, and her eyes were trained at the crowd, “I thought she wouldn’t come when I left. She was smiling too much and acting more excited than normal.”

“And is she ok?” you searched for her eyes, she wasn’t one not to rise to a challenge and looked at you pointedly, “I was afraid her parents would come somehow, your mother invited a lot of people.”

“I asked her not to,” she confessed, looking at Enid, whom you saw was making Larissa chuckle and grandmama cackle, “She’s the bane of my existence, but she seems to love me oddly enough.”

“Mothers and daughters,” you shrugged. It was good to be reminded that Morticia was just a person sometimes, “It’ll get better in a few years.”

“Hello, there!!” Enid chirped when she joined you both and went to hug you again. That was the standard Enid greeting, you came to understand after only a small number of weeks working at Nevermore. And it was a blessing to the world, her hugs somehow had the quality of a bear’s without being deadly — most of the time.

“Hi, dear, how are you?”

“Oh, you know, basking in the glory of being right,” she smirks tightly to contain her previous smile, tossing her hair with a quirked brow, “I just convinced Dorie to walk to alligator to the swamp twice a week. She told me he’s been in the cellar for decades, the poor thing!”

“Dorie?” you didn’t know anyone else lived in the mansion.

“Me, silly, Eudora Addams,” grandmama joined the circle, “This ridiculous girl says it wants to go outside and pestered me enough that I just figured why not. Anything to shut her up,” she shrugged, faking annoyance and with a last look towards Wednesday, the woman left.

“She likes you,” Wednesday, in turn, seemed mystified.

While you were talking, Larissa had apparently wandered off. Surely, she would have told you if she was going somewhere, so being stolen by an old associate was the most logical reason you could think of.

Excusing yourself of the girls, you started searching the party for tall and stunning, but she wasn’t there. It was easy spotting her in a crowd since few matched her stature and Lurch was the only one whose shoulders you could see above the bodies.

You decided to look in the rooms around, going from the dining room to the drawing and then the study. Nearing the door to the last, you heard a muffled conversation, and a particularly irate voice caught your attention. Larissa’s temper was unmistakable.

“You have to be kidding me! You are the entire reason why we didn’t work out!” you heard her spat. Apparently, she was having a discussion with a previous… lover?

The second voice was too low for you to understand what it said, but the hairs at the nape of your neck told the tale quite accurately. You knew exactly who was behind that door and wouldn’t keep standing there hearing them talk like a nosy aunt thirsting for gossip.

However, when you opened the door you didn’t expect to see the woman who had you reduced to a breathless mess kissing another person.

Tags are as follows: @anti-bright-places, @pro-weems-places, @the-bagel24, @regalbootie, @tundra1029, @thoroughly-confused-kiwi-blog, @lilsmeaux, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @alder-saan, @jelly-frogss, @enchantressb, @imean-its-just-me, @lvinhs, @iloveyall-18, @kimiinou, @jeweleegrey (still not tagging, WHY???), @a-queen-and-her-throne, and last but not least, @one-pining-queer!

Chapter Eight

#larissa weems x reader #principal weems x reader #principal weems #larissa weems #wednesday #wednesday (netflix)#female reader #fake/pretend relationship #teacher!reader #normie!reader #smut #fluff and smut #upping the rating

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notjustjavierpena · 2 years ago

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Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did - Part II: Wasp

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A cute summer romance has started! Enjoy chapter two!

Summary: Joel helps you restore your grandparents' house over the summer. You trip on a stepladder.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love

Word count: 2.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/120864268

Chapter Two: Wasp

The school’s summer vacation wasn’t around just yet, and so you found yourself spending a few days working on the front of the house alone or with Joel. He came by with Sarah whenever they were free, but Sarah mostly just did her homework whilst he cut the grass, drank lemonade, swept the stone path to your front door, took a look at the water tap at the back of the house, wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his gardening gloves… He was always eager to help you with whatever you had in mind as a project that day, but not scared either to tell you that the weather was great for painting the facade of the house.

So that is what he and you are doing. Sarah is at school still, but you don’t mind a moment with him alone.

You stand on your tippy toes on the stepladder that Joel assembled for you a few weeks ago. Weather wise, you are in a drought that makes coating the house in wood protection perfect because it’s not going to be raining for a few days (Joel’s words). On the side of the ladder, a bucket of the varnish hangs on a hook which you are continuously dipping the paintbrush into.

You have gotten clear instructions on how to use the brush, nearly getting scolded for going up and down in the beginning until Joel had grabbed your wrist to make you go from side to side instead. You had let out a sir, yes, sir, and you had been able to hear him roll his eyes at you with a chuckle.

“Looks good, like I taught ya,” Joel says as he walks up behind you, holding the ladder in place as you paint along the boards. You hum quietly in agreement, a little lost for words as his face is level with your thighs and his hands are level with your calves. He could so easily reach out if he wanted to, but you haven’t felt his hands on you yet despite several opportunities, which has made you hyper aware of how one-sided your crush is.

“I’m not completely hopeless, Miller,” you say as you continue working the brush from side to side. You’re glad that you didn’t wear a dress with the way that the soft summer breeze that rustles the leaves on the trees would have pulled at the skirt, exposing you more to him.

“I’m just making sure that you know how to do this, so you can do it yourself a few years from now,” he replies, tapping his fingers on the warm metal of the ladder. He goes silent for a moment, but you don’t notice him staring at your exposed thighs in your shorts, because you have your back towards him.

“That’s fine, but I won’t have any trouble finding someo—“ you’re just about to dip your brush into the varnish again when you spot a wasp close to your face. Your mouth falls open in a squeak, and you automatically take a step back to get away from the insect, “Joel, I’m allergic to wa— Ah!”

Your movement has made you fall backwards. You feel your ankle twist due to stepping too close to the edge of the step you’re standing on, causing you to lose balance and reach for the stepladder’s side, but you simply swing backwards to your right instead of saving yourself from the fall. You squeeze your eyes shut then tense up as you prepare for the impact of the ground.

It never comes though.

Instead, you’re caught in a pair of strong arms due to Joel’s dangerously fast reflexes. He has you in his arms, bridal style, looking down at you with big eyes as if he cannot wrap his mind around what he has just done. He doesn’t let go of you though, and the wild eyes that he is giving you almost has you courageous enough to kiss him right then and there, just to see if they’d widen even more or find peace. It would have made Sarah laugh, cringe visibly too, but mostly laugh at how cliché it would have been.

You’re pulled from your thoughts again shortly after, because despite how bad you want it to be fireworks, sugar and pointed toes, you can hear the buzzing of the wasp close by. It makes your heartbeat spike even more.

“Wasp! Wasp wasp wasp! Joel!” You slap Joel’s shoulder to make him notice, panicking at the thought of being so close to the stupid animal. Joel frantically grabs you tighter and carries you away from the spot where you had been working and you listen carefully before confirming that the buzzing is gone. Whew. Your EpiPen is inside the house in a kitchen drawer, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell him where it was before it would have been too late and he would have had to call emergency services.

“Perhaps a pretty decent idea to tell me that you’re allergic to wasps before we started working outside in the middle of summer,” he huffs, but his tone isn’t angry, but more concerned as well as flustered, “Must’a been your bright colored top. They like that, don’t they?”

It’s your turn to be flustered, steadfast in holding your gaze at his eyes and not let it drop down to his mouth like it often did. You are too close to him to hide when your eyes start to roam around his handsome features.

“Uh, Joel—“

“What?” Joel furrows his brows.

“Put me down, please?” You are blushing.

“Oh,” Joel splutters, but soon easily bends down a little to place your feet back on the ground.

It isn’t easy for you though. You wince as soon as your right foot hits the grass, making you nearly tumble to the ground, but Joel quickly supports you so it doesn’t happen, and you grab the front of his shirt. Perhaps emergency services aren’t such a bad idea after all.

You frown despite the opportunity to lean your whole frame into Joel’s strong body. He has an arm wrapped around your waist, so you can stand on one leg without tipping over. You take the time to stretch out your leg in front of yourself to look down at your foot and carefully try to rotate your ankle. Pain shoots out from your joint, and you whimper under your breath.

“Don’t let go,” you warn him anxiously. You notice that you have smeared varnish over his t-shirt from gripping it as you had nearly fallen.

“I won’t,” he absentmindedly rubs your side soothingly but it doesn’t make your heart rate drop.

“Oh no, I got varnish on your shirt,” you point out.

Joel gets a line in his forehead when his expression switches to confusion. He blows air out of his nose in a humorless laugh, “That’s your worry? Sweetheart, we should get that foot checked. Head too, maybe.”

The nickname seems so natural. You slap his shoulder again, but then remember that he has your whole body at his mercy; your legs will disappear from underneath you if he moves, so you decide not to protest too much.

“You can take my car,” you say but he already objects.

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m putting you on the front seat of your own tiny car. We can take my truck, and you can lie down on the back seat,” he doesn’t even give you room to argue, just leaves everything as it is in your front yard and crosses the street with you in his arms.

“You’re overreacting,” you want to have the last word, and Joel gives it to you, because he says nothing in return, focused and determined instead.

When you reach his old truck, he puts you on the bed to go fetch his keys. It gives you just a moment to process the way that your skin feels on fire where his hands have been, and you hope that no one at the emergency room wants to test your blood pressure or pulse with him in the room. You already start practicing a polite way of telling him to get out.

When Joel returns a few moments later, he unlocks the truck and turns on the engine before fetching you again. You allow yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, trying not to look too interested in the way that one of his hands rests comfortably just underneath where your bra sits against your skin.

“Uhh,” Joel quickly turns on his heel as Sarah clears her throat, having arrived home from her walk from the bus stop to their home. You nearly bump your head into the roof of the car as Joel spins due to him being too startled by his daughter’s sudden presence to notice the space around him.

Sarah has on her school backpack, clutching the straps as she approaches the two of you. She raises a brow, “What is going on here? Should I leave again?”

You hope Joel doesn’t drop you at that.

“Nah, it ain’t like that,” he shoots her insinuations down a little too fast.

“Definitely not,” you add just as quickly to save face, and then reach out for the door handle from your position in Joel’s arms, “I’m just a klutz, think my ankle might be sprained or broken.”

“Oookay, whatever you say,” Sarah says, but doesn’t look very convinced with the way she grimaces as she removes her gaze away from you for a moment. When she regains her composure, trying not to make disgusted teenage eyes at her father, she goes on, “So should I wait up?”

“Probably not, s’not serious enough to be prioritized,” Joel says as he crawls half way into the truck’s backseat to place you down on it. You look up at him with a hitched breath, nod when he asks ‘this okay?’ with his eyes.

He pushes himself back and out of the car again by gripping the roof of the vehicle, turns to Sarah then leaves you with butterflies in your stomach.

“There’s still leftover pizza from yesterday,” you hear him say to her, and she replies with whatever. Knowing enough about her by now, you know that she will probably be cooking her own dinner.

She knocks on the window to wave at you before leaving, “Hope it’s nothing too serious!”

After waiting three hours to see a doctor at the emergency room, you are now the proud owner of a sprained ankle. It’s a conclusion that you could have made yourself, but Joel hadn’t wanted to take you back home and had argued that it was better to be safe than sorry. There had been no point in arguing about it because Joel is as stubborn as a mule, even now that the doctor is confirming your suspicions.

“Plenty of rest, ice packs, pillow under when you sleep,” the doctor tells you as she taps away on her computer to log your condition. She smiles softly at you and urges you not to try to put on your shoe again, “I will let a nurse wrap your foot soon, so just relax for now. Just regular ibuprofen for any pain or discomfort. I’ll make sure the nurse gives you a dose before you leave too.”

“Thanks,” you say as you scoot back onto the examination table, already determined to put your foot up. Joel sits on a chair with his arms crossed over his chest, resting his chin in one hand, and has his legs spread out in front of himself. He looks tired but he did carry you all the way through the hospital.

The doctor turns towards the two of you on her spinning chair, “So it’s no more house work for you the coming week. You’re lucky it wasn’t bad or your boyfriend may ha—“

“Not together,” you and Joel say in unison. You try not to be offended by hearing him say something you’ve just said yourself. At the same time even.

“Well, nevertheless, you’re lucky that it isn’t bad enough to have been four to six weeks of rest,” she says a little sheepishly.

You laugh softly at her comment, nodding in agreement, “Oh yeah. I’m terrible at sitting still.”

You don’t tell her that you feel lucky because four to six weeks without seeing Joel would have been torture. This is good. You don’t have to stop seeing Joel, and knowing his stubbornness, you guess that you’ll be allowed to watch him coat the rest of the house with varnish because the dry weather calls for it.

You guess right, spending lazy days on your porch with cool drinks and a nice view of Joel’s tall frame on the stupid stepladder. He had insisted that you stayed inside, but you’d told him it wasn’t going to happen. That was fine, but only if you had your EpiPen next to you.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #my writing #the last of us fanfiction #dilf!joel

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redbullgivesyouwingedkuriboh · 1 year ago

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Since y’all liked me getting beaten down by GX characters so much, here’s:

Yu-Gi-Oh ARC-V Characters ranked by how easily I could take them in a fight

same rules apply: fisticuffs only and my personal feelings about the characters do not matter

also since ARC-V is WEIRD AF when it comes to characters this will be characters that are exclusive to ARC-V. so no repeat of Asuka. We already know I bite harder than she does.

without further ado, here we go:

Reira Akaba. No shit. is literally a baby. if I was a baby kicking kind of person I could punt her into the sun. However as I do not kick babies I am more inclined to wrap her in a lil blanket and put her in the corner.

Yuya Sakaki. Bitch. One good step on his toes and he’s going “reaction shot?!” I pull on his stupid fuckin goggles and snap them back onto his face. he’s down. count to ten.

Yuzu Hiragi. Canonically the bracelet girls really suck at holding their own at any given moment. Yuzu is the weakest physically because she has never seen war or hardship to the level of the other three. I could take her in four seconds. pigtail tug time.

Yuri. The second weakest physically of the Yu boys. has been coddled by Leo for years. probably sparred with Sho at the academy to make himself feel better about having 0% body weight from muscles. eat shit you purple motherfucker.

Dennis McField. not only would I beat him, I would enjoy doing it. I’d love to curbstomp that motherfucker off a boat, except he already did that to himself. physically he is a fuckin twig and I am five feet seven inches of pure unadulterated god complex. he’ll wish I turned his ass into a card.

Reiji Akaba. the scarf works to his detriment. I do two laps around him holding the end of that thing and suddenly his face is turning blue and he’s calling for papa. unfortunately for him I have zero mercy.

Rin. again, the bracelet girls are notoriously bad at being strong independent women. we literally don’t see Rin for most of the series because she got herself kidnapped off the cuff. that being said she could probably hold her own against me, but I think she’s too sweet for that.

Z-ARC. We’ve established I bite. even outside of human form, if you look at him, he’s got a fuck ton of exposed veins, both as regular Z-ARC and Yuya Z-ARC. chompy chompy motherfucker you’ll pass out from the blood loss before I can kick your ass properly.

Yugo. Canonically relies on his motorcycle for fuckin everything. lost to Yuri because he rolled a nat one on his constitution saving throw. even though he’s probably physically in shape from motorcycle stuff I could flick him in the forehead and he’d be whining like a baby. If I got the first shot in, I’d have a 99% chance of winning. If he got to me first it would go to about 60%. again, I bite.

Leo Akaba. Here’s where we get into characters that have a greater than 50% chance of beating me. Leo is canonically ripped and also has zero emotions. I would only win if I got close enough for a nut kick, but there’s only one person who wants to be that close to Leo Akaba and it sure as hell ain’t me.

Sora Shuin’in. Holy fuck who let their feral cat off its leash. Sora is literally insane and I am requesting backup. He’d shove that lollipop so far up my ass that I’d be able to tell whether it was lime or green apple. I live in fear of Sora suddenly materializing in my room

Ruri Kurosaki. Remember how I bite? She bites harder. She puts up with No Shit and also has No Fucks To Give.

Serena. No further explanation needed. I fear that explaining it further would cause Feral Child #2 to burst into my brain and start kicking.

Yusho Sakaki. Sweet mother of blue eyes white dragon. remember how I said my personal feelings don’t matter? now they do. smash. next question. wait what were we talking about?

Shun Kurosaki. kinda lost the plot on Yusho but we’re back on track now. Shun canonically took out armed guards by Batmanning his ass up a wall. There’s posters up for him that say “lost dog” and the caption is just “if you find him please keep him”.

Yuto. Everything that Shun is + Ruri taught him how to effectively bite.

Noburu Gongenzaka. he is actually ripped and wears cement shoes for funzies. he could probably just stomp once and my shaky joints would give out on their own. bye.

Yoko Sakaki. canonically beat the stuffing out of people in her past life and I would let her. angry mom energy means I barely make it out alive. smash. wait— shit—

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w-wren · 2 years ago

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Bunny hybrid Y/n x Genshin boys

Featuring :: Albedo, Thoma & Kaeya

Summary :: Just some moments of the three genshin guys with their bunny hybrid girlfriend

Warning :: non-proofread, slightly suggestive…ig?

Word Count :: 1273 words

Since 2023 is the year of the rabbit, I came up with this random idea. Still, if you’re reading, I hope you enjoy!

Albedo

• This man will carry out all kind all sorts of experiments on you. He’ll probably come across a random flower on the street, and go like, “Hmm, I wonder what will happen to Y/n if she eats this?” Of course, being the sweet heart he is, he’ll make sure he takes care of any side effects of his experiments.

• Having a strong passion for drawing, there’s no doubt that he’ll have you pose for all kinds of drawings. Even some…sussy ones. 😏 Your face turned as flaming red as Klee’s bombs when you came across one of your boyfriend’s sussy drawing of, ahem, a certain body part of yours 😏 😏 😏

• As a lover of dessert himself, he often suggests activities such as baking / cooking together. Not having much experience in cooking, he relies mostly on the recipe. You’ll see him spend 90% of the whole baking process reading the cook book. He’ll probably use his alchemy equipment to measure / contain the ingredients, I mean, accuracy counts for a lot, right? (Author-san has never cooked before hehe)

○♥︎♡

“So… 10.57g of sucrose, and 0.25g of sodium chloride…” Albedo murmured as he flipped through the cook book. Listening to him, your face just went like ??? “Uh… Bedo? We’re going to bake Sucrose???” The alchemist chuckled a little before he explained, “I’m referring to sugar, not our friend Sucrose.” “O-oh…” Your face immediately flushed red. He gently stroked your soft cheeks before bending down to kiss you on the forehead, “It’s alright darling. I’ll avoid using alchemy terms in the future.” “Mmm…”

After some slight struggling (You dropping the flour onto the ground, you adding too much salt thinking it’s sugar, you dipping your fingers into the bowl to taste some of the batter etc etc) in which your boyfriend just sighed and resolved for the both of you, the both of you were able to put the cake into oven quite quickly.

“Bedo, how long more does it need to bake?” You whined for the who knows how many times. Your ears drooped and a small pout appeared on your face. The man pecked at your huffed cheeks, “Darling, the timer says 25 more minutes.” You groaned, “That’s soooo long!” “Mhm…” “H-hey! B-bedo!” You gasped as your boyfriend suddenly straddled you closer to him, kissing the exposed parts of your breast. You felt his warm breath ghost your sensitive skin as he whispered silkily, “Well… Since we still have another 25mins to wait, I might as well keep the both of us entertained~”

Thoma

• Since you were part rabbit, so you eat carrots, right? That’s why this male wife came up with all sort of carrot dishes for you, like dango which dough is made up of flour + carrot juice, and filling is sweet carrot paste. He only started serving you regular food when you told him, “Uhmm… Thoma, I actually eat other foods apart from carrots too, so you don’t need to make me special food…” His face went blank after that…

• Apart from cooking, Thoma also excels in knitting, which is exactly why challenged himself to knitting you a winter hat. That turned out much harder than expected because he just couldn’t get the measurements of your ears right! “T-Thoma!” You would gasp and whine every time his hand / the ruler touched your sensitive ears. When he finally completed knitting your hat, you refused to wear it! 😫😫😫 “B-but love, you’re supposed to wear it! It’s a hat!” He protested with a small pout. “I might ruin it if I wear it! I don’t want waste your hard work!” You argued. Not wanting to argue with you, the hat officially resigned from being a hat.

• Thoma had a girlfriend and a lot of friends, but another group of companions always gets his special attention — the stray cats and dogs in Inazuma City! He makes them clothes and feeds them. Hearing him blab about those animals everyday, it took a lot of persuasion for you to believe that you were Thoma’s favourite and most adorable animal.

○♥︎♡

“Loveee, I promise! Maru doesn’t bite!” “Fine-” Despite having agreed to pet Taroumaru, you immediately withdrew your hand the moment the shiba barked at you. “He was just saying hi!” Thoma tried to persuade you, but you refused to listen. Being the smart dog he was, Taroumaru had his ways of persuading you to give his furry head a stroke.

“A-ah!” You yelped as the shiba leaped out of Thoma’s arms and pounced onto you, knocking you over. He then proceeded to licking you. “H-hey! I-it’s ticklish!” You couldn’t stop giggling as the dog’s tongue lapped against your skin. Seeing Taroumaru enjoying his time, your boyfriend couldn’t help but feel jealous. He knew how childish it was of him to get jealous over a dog, but you’re his girlfriend!

“Good boy, let Y/n have a rest.” Thoma lifted Taroumaru off you before he himself bent down over you, leaving hungry kisses all over your body. “Thoma…” You whined, looking up at the male. “Maru’s had his turn, so now it’s now my turn to enjoy you!”

Kaeya

• Being half rabbit, you were quite tiny, and he will not stop teasing you about your size. You’d hear him go like, “Hmm? Where are you, I don’t think I can see you?” when you’re right in front of him until you get pissed off.

• Another prank he likes to play on you was serving you stir-fried radish with sauce instead of your favourite carrot. After the dark sauce was added, the radish looks convincingly like carrots coz you can’t tell the colour. After falling for that prank once, you always tried to exercise caution when eating that dish cooked by your boyfriend, but you always fell for it anyways. Who could you blame for getting overly hyper whenever a dish looked like carrot?

• After finding out that you were afraid of water, he will unhesitatingly suggest activities like swimming and bathing together. He found it adorable to see your ears fall flat against your head as you trembled slightly. But hey, at least you got to spend time with your lover and get your regular bribe of carrots.

○♥︎♡

“K-Kaeya…” You whispered in protest when your boyfriend filled the bathtub up with water and dragged you into bathing with him. You were not going to stepping into that torture tub (bathtub) again! “Aww, but you agreed earlier…” Kaeya was trying so hard to hide his smirk as he said that. “Y-you promised me that there was only going to be half a tub of water!” You retorted, face turning slightly pink as you watched your boyfriend who was already starting to strip himself. “Hmm… I might have poured to much water in…” Kaeya murmured, voice filled with pseudo innocence.

“A-ah!” You yelped out as Kaeya dropped you into the bathtub. You grabbed for the man’s shoulders as you felt your ass slip on the bottom of the bathtub. Compared to the freezing coldness of the bath water which sent shivers down your spine, he felt so warm! “Now my little bunny wants me, huh?” Your boyfriend smirked as he pulled you into an embrace. You made a little “hmph!” sound. If it wasn’t for his genius idea, you wouldn’t be here freezing! He pressed a kiss at the base of your right ear, before praising, “You’ve been a good bunny today, how ‘bout carrots for dinner?” Your ears immediately straightened up in excitement as you pouted, “F-fine… You’d better give me more this time!” “Of course babe.”

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owl-with-a-pen · 3 months ago

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[Haven't dropped a fic sneak peek in a while. And yes, despite the word count, this is just a peek. Very self-indulgent fic on a Supergirl-verse Legion origin story for Brainy, starring a certain descendant of Nia's that I have yet to write for. For anyone interested, the fic is under the cut. 😉]

Querl Dox was easily the strangest Coluan that Nura had ever seen. With his washed-out blue skin and frazzled hair as stark as her own, had she not dreamt of him beforehand, she never would have placed him as a native of Colu.

The three circles on his forehead glowed dully – some kind of transdermal implant, she suspected. A body modification? They weren’t uncommon on this side of the galaxy, although Coluan mods were never usually so exposed.

He didn’t wear them as a mark of pride, that was for sure. They looked cumbersome on his thin frame, odd ends of wiry hair thrown overtop in a vain attempt to disguise them. It could have been how he held himself naturally, she supposed - hunched over like a moody teenager trying to mask his face from the world.

No, that was exactly what he was. A teenager. Maybe pushing late adolescence by now, just like her. Not that age meant much to a Coluan, all they really cared about was intellectual maturity. Still, Nura thought it would be a few years yet until he fully grew into those implants.

Maybe they were an aid of some sort – not that he’d ever admit to it.

Nura smirked. Not yet, at least.

He hadn’t moved since she’d started watching him. Comfortably unobservable from behind a screen of one-way plasma glass, there was no way he could have known she was there. It wasn’t until Mon-El and Imra entered through the main doorway that he'd known he had visitors at all.

He didn’t so much as glance in their direction. Instead, he remained perched on the edge of the single bed he’d been granted, head bowed towards his knees, the glow of his implants reflecting back against his face like a ghostly shadow.

This was the make it or break it moment, as Mon-El had once called it. The part where an offer went one of two ways. While many wayward teens would have jumped at the chance to join their ranks, appealing to potential Legionnaires wasn’t always so easy.

After all, this was the first time that initiation would be conducted from a prison cell.

Nura followed Imra and Mon-El’s progress in a trance-like state, her mind dipped halfway into the future as her visions spun duplicates of the very conversation being had. She hummed along to the tune of the words yet to be spoken, mouthing Mon-El’s opening line, reciting it from memory.

“So,” Mon-El said casually, stopping in front of the cell that housed one Querl Dox. He caught Imra’s eye. “Interplanetary grand-theft auto, huh? I’m told you souped up some very nice engines for some very bad people.” He cracked an easy smile. “What were you trying to be, some kind of mechanic?”

Silence followed. Querl kept his head down, hands wrung loosely by his knees.

Mon-El wasn’t deterred quite so easily. “No, you’re right. Your talents would be wasted on something like that.” He folded his arms, widening his stance. “We don’t see too many Coluans this far from home.”

That got a reaction. Nura was just able to catch it beneath the shroud of Querl’s matted hair - a twitch of the lips as he bared his teeth at the ground.

“Although, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Mon-El continued, feigning ignorance. “With a family like yours, I’m sure it’s better you keep your distance, right?”

A sound rumbled from Querl’s chest, something that could have passed as a laugh if it hadn’t been for the jarring robotic quality. He rubbed at his wrist idly, scanning the floor beyond his cell. “So, you figured it out,” he muttered. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

Mon-El pulled a face. “I mean, maybe a little. The whole blue thing nearly threw us off. Although, I’ve got some second-hand experience with your family. Indigo was one of your relatives, wasn’t she?”

Querl stiffened. “A distant relation.”

“Right.” Mon-El nodded along. “Like Brainiac.”

Querl flinched, meeting Mon-El’s eye for the first time. Behind that shock of white hair was an alarmingly dark expression, one that bore into Mon-El with an intensity that twisted Nura’s stomach into knots. She’d known mostly what to expect from Querl Dox, and she’d warned her friends as much. If Mon-El hadn’t been listening to her then, he would certainly understand the might of the mind sat before him now.

Querl wasn’t just some moody teenager. With one wrong word, he could become their most formidable enemy to date.

It won’t happen like that, Nura reminded herself. This would all be fine. It had to be. She’d seen it.

Sort of.

Imra took Mon-El’s arm, making out as though she was offering him a steadying hand. Nura could read between the lines. She disapproved of Mon-El’s method – she was probably giving him a psychic reprimand in the same gesture.

Imra Ardeen was a woman of few words during most first-contacts with Legion potentials, but that didn’t mean she was just some impassive tag-along. If anything, Imra’s job was the most critical to their success. While Mon-El did the talking, she was already reading the thoughts of their would-be recruits, acting as a living lie-detector to ensure the validity of their intentions. That job was made a little more difficult with the psychic shielding fitted to any standard U.P prison cell, but not impossible. She was well enough acquainted with the mind from her broad studies on Titan to read a person’s expressions just as easily.

Mon-El sighed, nodding almost imperceptibly in Imra’s direction. He scratched his jaw, clearing his throat. “Look,” he said levelly, “if you think that’s why we’re here, it isn’t. It’s just, I notice you’ve hopped between a lot of jail cells these last few years. Petty crime, mostly. Wrong place, wrong time, right?”

Querl narrowed his eyes.

“Except,” Mon-El hastened, “if you’re a Brainiac, that makes you pretty damn smart. Smart enough to know how not to get caught.” When Querl didn’t say anything to that, Mon-El relaxed, smiling knowingly. “Yeah,” he murmured, “thought so.”

Querl’s nostrils flared in irritation. Mon-El was playing on some very dangerous territory to dangle something like that over Querl’s head. Implying he knew something that Querl didn’t – well – it was the surest way to piss off any Coluan. Nura held her breath.

“Thought what?” Querl spat, teeth clenched tight.

If Mon-El felt ill at ease, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned. “This cell,” he said, “it’s Coluan force-shield tech, right?” He drew an outline of the cell walls with his fingers, marking all four edges as though preparing to take an old-fashioned photograph. “A few years outdated by science police standards; they probably should’ve gone for the upgrade.” He winked. “Even with power dampeners, your intellect is still unmatchable, especially with home advantage. You could break out at any time. But you don’t. For the same reason you got caught in the first place.” He tipped his chin forward seriously. “Want me to keep going?”

Querl scoffed, though Nura could hear the strain in it.

Mon-El didn’t need much encouragement. “Okay, well, the last ship you souped up was being used as a getaway vehicle for a string of interplanetary robberies. The most recent robbery, the one that got you and the rest of your little crew incarcerated – huh - it’s pretty interesting. Your ship gets into a chase with the science police, and in the process, it ends up on a collision course with a civilian air-car. Your ship has shielding, it’d be fine, but that civilian ship would’ve been blown out of the sky. No survivors.”

Querl’s glare was practically poisonous.

“Weird, then,” Mon-El continued amiably, “that before both ships can collide, yours experiences a total power loss. Stalls and starts falling mid-flight, giving the authorities the opportunity to snag your ship before it can do any damage. Now, they’re saying it was an engine malfunction on all the official documentation, and maybe that’s true. But I’m thinking with your skill, there’s no way that engine went in faulty.” He crossed his arms behind his back. “Do you want to know what I think? I think someone tampered with it in a way that would’ve been totally imperceptible to the rest of the crew. Because the person that did it not only built it, but wouldn’t have needed to touch it at all.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Querl muttered. He made a flippant gesture to his cell. “Because if you are, then I think you’ll find I’m already in the right place.”

Mon-El shook his head slowly. “See, I don’t think you are.” He stepped forward, just as Imra did the same. “My name’s Mon-El, and this is Imra Ardeen. We represent the Legion of Superheroes. We’re a pretty small organisation right now, but we’ve built up something of a reputation here on Earth - as well as the rest of the United Planets thanks to some of our newest members. We have a set of rules, but the most important one is to put the needs of the people before our own. To protect life. Never kill.” His lips quirked. “I’d say you displayed that admirably.”

Nura watched wide-eyed from her invisible vantage, knuckles pressed tight against her lips. She’d seen the outcome of the day’s events a dozen times over in her dreams, but even that wasn’t enough to quell her anxiety. Something felt wrong. She just couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

As though in answer to her fears, Querl drew back, enough that he could look Mon-El squarely in the eye. His hair fell away from his face, drawing around the edges of his implants like a display curtain. “Mon-El. Yes,” he breathed the word slowly, his dark eyes glistening with knowledge far beyond his years, “I know who you are.” He cocked his head suddenly. “It always causes a stir when someone breaks the boundaries of spacetime. You are from the past. From a dead world. The sister planet of Krypton.” His lips curled with disdain. “Daxam.”

Nura swore under her breath. Out in the cell room, Mon-El nodded, a touch of defensiveness in his tone. “Yes—"

But Querl didn’t let him finish. “You profess these ideals,” he spat, “and yet you have built a monument to your hubris with this… Legion.” He sneered at them both, drawing his fire on Imra next. “You wear your Saturn identifier with pride, Titanian. Telepathy is a most valuable gift in the art of subterfuge.” He narrowed his eyes. “All I see here is a collection of powers you can utilise to meet your own ends. And nothing good comes out of that.”

Nura jolted towards the glass as another dream claimed her, Mon-El’s words flashing in her mind seconds before they touched his lips.

“Don’t say it,” she gasped.

But it was too late.

“I suppose you would know all about collections,” Mon-El said, the charm in his tone all-but gone.

Nura swore again. Mon-El might as well have just declared war.

“Visiting hours have ended,” Querl said, his voice tight. He lay down abruptly on his side, turning away from them both so that he faced the wall. “Do not come back.”

----------------

Nura waited impatiently at the view box door, stepping aside just before it pushed open.

“I think that went well,” Mon-El remarked as he and Imra walked through, brushing himself down with a casual air.

Imra rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t have engaged with his snark.”

“So, you agree it was snark!”

“It was a cover! I don’t need my powers to see that. It was all over his face.”

“This should be working,” Nura cut in, kicking herself from the wall as she stalked past them both towards the plasma glass view screen. She stabbed her finger at the Coluan still lying dormant on the other side. “I dreamed it. Querl Dox will agree to join the Legion. Today.”

Imra’s brow creased sympathetically. “I don’t doubt that, Nura,” she said gently. “It’s just…”

“Do you have any idea how it happens?” Mon-El asked. “A conversation starter—or a cheat sheet on what to say that won’t piss him off?”

“I could’ve told you that,” Imra muttered.

“You know that’s not how it works,” Nura sighed. “I don’t know exactly how it happens, only that it will. Besides, you two are always the ones that bring in the new recruits. It made sense.”

“Yeah, but that’s usually because we want to,” Mon-El muttered, flinching against another psychic reprimand.

Nura glared through the window, trying to make a clean study of their unwilling recruit. He’d rolled onto his back since Mon-El and Imra had left, his arms crossed smartly over his chest. To an untrained eye, it looked like he was in some sort of meditative state. Whatever it was, Nura was well enough acquainted with the unconscious realm to know it was mostly for show.

“Querl Dox is important,” Nura said, repeating her earlier words back at herself. Or, maybe they were her future words? Sometimes it was so hard to tell. She cleared her throat, raising her voice. “If the Legion is going to continue, we’ll need him. His intellect will save lives. And…” She stopped herself, clenching her hands.

“What is it?” Imra prompted.

Nura shook her head. “We don’t just need him. I think he…” She couldn’t say it yet; couldn’t betray his pride like that, not before he’d even met her for the first time.

There was a good way to rectify that, at least.

Nura sucked in a deep breath, pulling back from the window. “My visions are never wrong. Let me try and talk to him.”

“Go ahead,” Mon-El said, offering her the length of the hallway. “But I’ll warn you, he’s stubborn.”

Nura smiled grimly. “That makes two of us.”

#supergirl #losh #brainiac 5 #nura nal #mon-el #imra ardeen #legion of superheroes #supergirl fanfiction #i've been sporadically reading losh comics recently and decided it was time #i did not attempt to match this nura's attitude to any particular comic counterpart #i wanted her to feel like a descendant of nia's especially because brainy found her so familiar when they first met #and also wanted to incorporate the whole brainy had been arrested prior to joining the legion anecdote #there's been many legion origin stories for brainy in multiple universes so I wanted this one to feel right in context of the show #(oh and as always i've given show-imra her telepathy back because i find that telekinesis power-swap reprehensible)#so with that being said here's the sneak peek . this was written for no one but myself . you're welcome .#my writing

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callsign-jinx · 2 years ago

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Desperate times, desperate measures | ch. 5: Texas

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of death, alcoholic drinks, the whole squad not believing in Jake (poor guy), people having ✨feelings✨, jake's parents (yes, that deserves a warning)

A/N: changing the header until i decide what to do with the extra character that i have to eliminate and the one i have to add lol

It's okay if you like it and all, but please... a comment is also welcomed and if you reblog it? I'll kiss you on the forehead.

If you want to be added, comment down!

Masterlist

"There's no way you can keep it in your pants for a year," Bradley states, leaving his beer on the table. They're all sitting in one of the tables next to the darts at the Hard Deck. It's their usual. Nobody sits there.

Jake rolls his eyes, twirling the beer bottle in his hands. "I love some supportive friends."

Mickey laughs, not raising his head while he scrolls on Instagram. "Jake, you like sex. I would say you even love sex."

"Yeah, what about it?"

The wizzo raises an eyebrow and puts his phone down. "You're gonna live with a hot girl for a year, with all that implies, and not be tempted to get laid even once?"

"I can do that."

Is now Payback’s turn to show disbelief. "Man, chances are one day you open the bathroom door and she's there naked. That's gonna be frustrating."

Jake’s leg bounces up and down. No, he's not imagining you naked. Not a chance. "Guys, this isn’t about me, okay? This is about Emma. And if I have to be a fucking celibate monk for a year, I'll be."

"Sure thing, buddy," Nat says, getting up from her chair to get another drink.

"Are we going to ignore the fact that you had a crush on her once?" Javy asks, making Jake widen his eyes, surprised at how his friend just exposed him like that in front of the rest of the group.

"It was one time, and it was right before she dumped my ass.” Jake groans, looking away.

“For her to dump your ass, you must have been dating in advance, and if I remember correctly, you didn’t even make it to the restaurant.” Rooster jokes, high fiving Payback and Fanboy. These three are always trying to find ways to mess up with the pilot.

“I hate you all.”

A comfortable silence falls over the table, all of them thinking about the way Jake’s life has changed so much in only a few weeks. Jake has always been a playboy, a ladies’ man, he knows he’s good looking and he has no shame in saying it out loud. But now he’s married and has a daughter. He could go out and hook with whatever girl he wanted. However, Jake is better than that. He has made a promise. By law, and by his own promise, he’s devoted to you. Not in a romantic way, but he respects you enough to know that you don’t deserve any of that. And he can’t go around fucking the first girl he mets if you are going to focus on emma for a whole year.

“I’m taking the girls to my parents’ ranch next week.”

This time, the silence is deafening. “Your parents. The same parents you don’t talk with after you broke the engagement with that rich country girl?”

Javy’s words make everyone stare at Jake with open mouths. “You were engaged!?”

“Yeez, Nat, say it louder. I think even Cyclone has heard you from his office.” Jake should have known that this information would have been revealed sooner or later. But he wanted it to be on his terms—not like this.

Rooster pushes his drink away, wiping a few beer droplets from his mustache. “Dude, you were engaged, you broke it off, and you’re going to show up there with not only a wife, but your best friend’s daughter?”

With pursed lips and an unfocused gaze, Jake nods. He’s deep in thought, suddenly realizing that he is, indeed, going to rub it in his parents' faces about how he got married to another girl. Well, it seems like this is a win-win situation for everyone. “How I wish I could capture my dad’s face when he sees Page.”

“Does she know about this?” Bob asks this while cleaning his glasses.

Jake shakes his head. “I’ll tell her on the way there.”

“Can I ask a question?” Payback says, raising a finger once he sees how the corner of Jake’s mouth twitches in an attempt to suppress a smile. “And don’t say I asked one already.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you marry that girl?”

For a second, Jake thought that he was about to ask what his feelings were toward Page. And he was afraid to think about it. It wasn’t love, that's for sure. But that infatuation he felt is becoming something more… and he’s not sure if he wants to or if he should, allow that to happen. “I didn’t want to.”

“Was she hot?”

“Damn, she was.” Javy says, and Jake is really close to throwing something at his friend for his running mouth.

“Then?”

“I didn’t love her.”

The answer, as simple and logical as it seems, makes all the aviators in the table look at Jake with puzzled expressions, as if the words coming from his mouth weren’t his. “Oh, but you are able to feel love?” Natasha jokes, chuckling at her own joke.

Jake knows it’s a joke, but he feels hurt. “I’m gonna go home and start packing things. Page is gonna start posting pictures of us on her insta, so it would be very helpful if you could comment on them, saying good things and how proud you are of us,” he mumbles while getting up. Bob looks at Rooster, telling him with only his eyes that he should go with Hangman, but Rooster knows better. Jake needs some time alone. “Oh, by the way. I am as able to feel love as anyone, in fact, I have been looking for it longer than any of you. I would appreciate it if you stopped thinking that I only go looking out for girls to put my dick in them.”

And without leaving them time to reply, Jake leaves the Hard Deck.

“I have to confess something.”

Those are the words that Jake tells you once you’re on the road after landing in Houston, where his parents' ranch is. You didn’t imagine that those words would lead to him telling you how his parents wanted to marry him to this rich girl so they could save the ranch. Apparently, in the last ten years, the ranch has had more losses than profits, and this arrangement would have saved it.

Now, however, nobody knows how much time there is until they have to close the ranch and leave that life behind.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Jake.” You tell him, not knowing what more to say.

Jake shakes his head, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “Don’t be. I don’t want to marry without being in love.”

You can’t hold back your laugh. Ironic, isn’t it? He breaks off an engagement because he doesn’t want to marry without love, and here you are. Mrs. Seresin in the flesh, and not a bit of love between you two.

“Well, you know what I mean, Page.”

“I do, of course. But it seems like life has pulled the biggest uno reverse card.”

It’s a way of seeing it, Jake thinks. But if he had to choose between marrying you again or marrying that country girl, he would choose you.

Every single time.

“We have to play the lovey-dovey couple, right?” You ask, knowing the answer already, but somehow just wanting to keep talking with him. Either to kill time or just because way down you enjoy talking with him.

"Yeah, but I don't think that's a problem for you, Miss Hollywood." He teases, looking at you.

"Oh, so now that you know my intentions as an actress, Page is now Miss Hollywood?"

Jake thinks for a second, scratching his chin while the other hand stays on the wheel. "Nah, you're always gonna be Page for me."

You don't realize how your smile makes him smile too.

The ranch is less than an hour away from Houston, fronting the Brazos River. The house is bigger than you imagine, and just looking at it from the outside makes you realize that this is not a small ranch and that the house itself costs a few million dollars. White paint covers the gable wall in front of you, and it looks very new. Not even one of the tiles from the clay roof is out of place, making you rethink all the information that Jake gave you on the way here. Why would he lie to you?

But seeing the expression on Jake’s face tells you that he didn’t know that the house was in such a good state... as well as the rest of the ranch.

Why, then, were they so persistent in getting Jake to marry this girl for money?

When the car comes to a halt, an elderly couple walks out of the main house. The lady is a carbon copy of Jake. The same hair, the same eyes. Same smile. She appears to be the sweetest woman you've ever seen, but there's something in her eyes and the way she looks at Emma, who is being held by Jake, that makes you want to get in the car and drive all the way back to Houston to catch the first flight to San Diego.

Jake's father, on the other hand, gives you the creeps. Call it female intuition; call it whatever you want, but you don’t want to be alone with him. He has white hair, blue eyes, glasses, and stubble. From this distance, you’d say that he’s the same height as Jake, maybe even a bit taller. He looks like a good man, but the way his fist tightens around the silver buckle on his jeans makes you wonder how many times he has unbuckled that belt to hit Jake or his wife.

“Jacob, my son! We weren’t expecting you so soon,” Jake’s mother says, approaching Jake to hug him. The soft wind ruffles her golden locks and rippling the hem of her white dress, allowing you to see her brown cowboy boots.

“Hey, ma. Sorry for coming so soon. I don’t know when I’m going to be deployed, and I want you two to meet my wife.” He says, stepping back from his mother’s arms and placing his hand on the small of your back. “This is y/n, my wife. And this is our daughter, Emma.”

The heat that travels through your body from head to toe is not due to the hot Texan morning. He didn’t hesitate to call you his wife, or Emma, his daughter. Not even a second. It seems like he has finally come to terms with it.

“Your daughter? That girl doesn’t look like any of you. And since when do you have a wife?” Jake’s father yells, scaring poor Emma. You take her from Jake’s arms, trying to calm her down.

“It’s okay, baby girl. Don’t worry. You’re okay.” You whisper while kissing her head and rocking her in your arms.

“Dad, she’s Luke’s daughter. Luke and Anne died in an accident a month ago. We’re her parents now,” Jake explains, opening the car to look for Emma’s favorite toy: a soft rabbit plushie. It calms her every time. Jake plays with the toy for a bit, making the rabbit kiss Emma’s chubby cheeks, and once she’s laughing and making grabby hands to catch the toy, Jake smiles and turns towards his dad.

“Why didn’t you invite us to the wedding?” The older Seresin questions are moving dangerously closer to your small group. You take a small step back, an action that Jake notices. He grabs your hand in his, offering you some support. He said that his dad wasn’t an easy person, but you didn’t imagine that the first meeting would go like this.

“We married at the courthouse. No one came.”

“Why? Is she an immigrant?” He looks you up and down, clenching his jaw at the thought of his son marrying someone like that.

“What? No!” You protest, not understanding why his first thought is that you are illegal.

Jake takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s not an illegal, dad. And stop asking those questions.”

“I just want to know why my son married someone like...her.”

It’s impossible not to feel offended when someone refers to you with only a few words, but with a lot of meaning embedded in them. In his eyes, you’re not worthy. You’re not good for his son. And even though you don’t want to be worthy, because you couldn’t care less about their approval, it still hurts to be looked down on.

“I don’t think I have to give you any more explanations than the ones I gave you already. You want to know how we met? I can tell you. You want to know how she is way too good for me? I can also tell you that. You want to know how we were supposed to marry in a few months? Yeah, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you how I had to marry her early so we could adopt Emma. And the only reason I’m here is because I still have a bit of respect and love for you two and wanted to introduce you to my wife. She’s a famous writer and scriptwriter, and a wonderful, brilliant, and beautiful woman. She’s way out of my league, and if you have any other stupid commentary to say about her, I’m going to get in my car and drive away as fast as I can.”

You can feel both males having a stare-down, waiting for the other to give in. Both of them are too proud to accept a loss.

“If you make me leave, I swear to God, you won’t ever see me again.” Jake warns, opening the driver’s door.

Jake’s dad moves his eyes away, losing the battle. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t want to say those things. You know how stupid I can be.” He looks at you, takes off his Stetson, and nods. “I’m sorry, girl. I just want the best for my son, and I’m sure that you’re better than I could ask for. Come inside. It’s getting too hot for that little kiddo to be out here.”

You look at Jake, giving him the choice to leave or stay. He places his hand on your hip, bringing you closer to hear him whisper in your ear. “He won’t say anything else to you, but say it, and we leave.”

“It's okay,” you whisper back, caressing his cheek and acting like the loving wife that you were supposed to be. “Are you sure you want to stay?”

“Darlin’, I’ve been living with them all my life. But you haven’t. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles, his chapped lips contrasting with the soft skin of your hand.

“Don’t leave me alone with him, and I’ll be okay.” You reassure him, smiling.

“You’re not going anywhere without me.”

You don’t know if he’s aware of the words he’s saying, how they sound more real than they should be, or how it makes your heart flutter for a small second. You have to remind yourself that this is all fake, that he is only being nice to you because you two need to convince his parents that this is a real marriage, and that you are not going to divorce in a year.

This is going to be harder than you thought.

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