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thelightsandtheroses · 6 months ago

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everywhere, everything | jm x female reader [au]

Summary: In recent months, the bar your family has owned for generations has changed. Now it can't keep a bouncer beyond one shift, attracts the 'wrong' crowd, and is an albatross around you and your cousin's neck. Your cousin's latest hire, Joel Miller, seems like he might just survive the shift and as time passes, you can't help but want to know him more. AKA the Bouncer!Joel fic Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence, RoadHouseBouncer!Joel AU, no outbreak, no specified age but reader has a cousin and inferred (not detailed) family deaths in the past, flirting, smut (p in v), Joel Miller is his chaotic self, mentions of death of a child (canon), many scenes set in a bar and mentions of alcohol or drinking, your standard lolabee flangst and introspection, reader mentions music, singing and playing guitar. Notes: So much appreciation for encouraging me to write this fic goes to @trulybetty for listening toand supporting my ideas and @rhoorl. Watching the new Road House movie at the same time as starting TLOU games led to this idea I couldn't let go of. Fic title isfrom the Noah Kahan song of the same name.

It’s starting to weigh on you.

You see it in your cousin more though; the weariness in her eyes as the local gangs come in and inevitably cause trouble. Both of you know where it comes from, the reasons behind it, why it’s so much worse for your roadhouse than anywhere else in the town.

Most days, you want to leave and sell up. Sometimes a fight is too much, it isn’t worth the cost, there’s too high a loss, too tiresome a battle. Everything your cousin possesses is tied up in the bar though. It’s not that simple for her and you won’t walk away from your family. You can’t.

The two of you cannot be the ones who let decades of your family’s legacy just wash away to nothing.

That was why your cousin had started with the bouncers in the first place. The two of you can only afford one, but it’s a small building, a small town.

“This one will be different,” your cousin says with a firm nod and smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just know he will. He’s new in town, he starts tonight and he - when you meet him, you’ll see what I mean.”

You don’t say that she said the same thing about the last bouncer - what was his name? Dave, or Frankie, or something like that. You’ve stopped learning their names now - it’s pointless when they never last longer than a few days.

The bar is still quiet; tinny music coming through the speakers as you finish unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher.

“Are you playin’ tonight?” she asks.

“Might do. If the crowd let me,” you say, smiling at your cousin gently. It’s a joke now; the bar hasn’t been safe enough in months for that.

It used to be your favourite thing about this place; the music, the ability to perform songs and transport yourself to what could have been, what could be. It might not be Nashville, or the Sofi stadium, but it’s the closest you think you’ll ever get to feeling like a real musician. And now you don’t even have that.

“Good, they will. It’s going to be a good one tonight, you’ll see.”

The new bouncer is called Joel but your cousin calls him by his surname: Miller.

He’s quiet, not like the other one. Instead of stalking around and flexing, Miller sits in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool and staring into a cup of coffee as though it would answer all his queries about the universe.

You feel bad about the coffee; you should have warned him that it’s truly awful, pointed him in the direction of the small diner ten minutes away that serves some of the best coffee in the whole state. You think your own coffee isn’t too bad either; perfected and tweaked over years to figure out the perfect combination of beans and grind to bring the best out of your worn moka pot.

“Next time, I’d go for water,” you say lightly as you approach his side of the bar. It’s still quiet for this time of the evening but the trouble doesn’t usually start until after ten anyway.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m not sure we can even legally call this coffee. I think there’s more caffeine in the Kahlua.”

“You have Kahlua?” Miller asks.

“It’s a very old bottle, I really wouldn’t risk it.” You try and remember the last time someone ordered a drink with it here but it’s hazy. The Bar doesn’t exactly attract people for its cocktail list anymore.

“Pity.”

“I can get you a water if you’d prefer. Or something else?”

“It’s fine.” You notice Miller has pushed the cup slightly away from him though. He eyes it with mild disgust and you feel suddenly even more worried for him. If he can’t handle the coffee, he surely won’t be able to handle the patrons.

“You’re Joe, right?”

“Joel,” he corrects instantly.

“Joel, right. Sorry.”

“Are there that many of us passin’ through, that you don’t learn the names properly now? Is that why your boss calling me Miller?” He doesn’t know who you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t know it’s your family’s legacy here too and you’re not just a bartender. This place matters to you.

“It’s only your first shift.”

Joel sighs and meets your gaze. His eyes are deep brown and you take in the slight salt and pepper to his stubble, the surprisingly comfortable looking plaid flannel he’s wearing. At the same time, you notice the stoniness in his posture, the wariness in his eyes.

He isn’t spoiling for a fight because he lives for them, not like the other bouncers your cousin has hired.

You’ve already realised that Joel Miller fights in an entirely differently way to his predecessors. You can tell his biggest battles aren’t the ones in a bar like this. Without projecting too much, you think they’re probably inside his mind. No one has haunted eyes like that without a story. You’re a bartender, you can just tell.

“What have you have been told about this gig? Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“I know this place has some troubles,” he says carefully.

“I’ll say.”

You remember when things were different in the town, in the bar. It wasn’t like this back then. It used to be for families. Your aunt once joked that your dad’s cooking could bring the entire town together. It’s been a long time since the place was known for a family meal though.

You grew up with laughter and joy inside these walls. Now, it feels like it must have happened somewhere else entirely. This bar is still where you ran in after being asked on your first date ever, where you opened your SAT results, studied while the bar was closed, had every family significant gathering or event you can remember.

This isn’t just a job for you.

“How long have you been here? No offence, but you don’t seem the type -”

“It’s my family’s bar. Your boss you mentioned, she’s my cousin. The two of us run it these days, well I mean, I only help out. It’s her bar now more than mine but it’s been our family’s place for generations. We’re what’s left.” All that’s left.

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Of course, Miller.” His words weren’t meant with offence but he had still managed to pick at your vulnerability that you don’t truly belong and cut at your soul.

Your family never thought you’d keep up with the bar, your cousin was the clear front runner to inherit it and you supported that. You wanted to leave your hometown, that had never been a secret and your childhood bedroom had been covered in posters and postcards for exciting and different places.

Once, you dreamt of Nashville, of music venues and guitar calloused hands playing idle melodies as a tour bus drove you to your next city across a starlit sky.

Life had different plans for you thought.

“This town didn’t used to be like this,” you add, “We’ve had a lot of bad luck and - the whole town is suffering. You wouldn’t have recognised this place if you passed through even just a few years ago.”

”I’m -“

The door to the bar crashes open before Joel can finish his sentence. You notice the first of the regular troublemakers walking in and warily look around the bar. You can tell by their posture, the look on their face exactly what type of night it’s going to be.

“Looks like your work will be getting started soon, Miller. I’d drink up.”

He might just survive his first shift. That’s annoying - you have five bucks counting on him either walking out or be stretchered out like any of the bouncers by the end of the night.

You try and pay attention to your surroundings. It’s sensible in your line of work. For so many people that line between a good night and becoming the worst version of themselves is wafer thin and you’re often the first line of defence, you’re the one who has to say when someone’s not being served anymore.

Your cousin is in the back office, trying to sort out the multitude of paperwork that comes with owning a bar or business that nobody ever thinks about.

He’s calm, polite even for the most part.

He doesn’t escalate the situation, not like some of the bouncers who have spent a shift here recently. Mostly he sits and observes. His calmness is almost disconcerting and contrasts sharply with the danger in his posture, the readiness to move he’s concealing.

There hasn’t been too much trouble so far tonight; a mild fight which was easily taken outside but you can feel the tension in the air.

“Can I get ‘nother whiskey?” Robert slurs. He’s a regular to the bar now and has a particular penchant for not being able to handle his alcohol, being very resentful at being cut off, and worse of all never has enough money to cover his bill or damages.

“I think you’re done for tonight,” you say lightly.

“Nah, I say when I’m done.”

“Not according to the liquor licence,” you snark back.

“Look, just pour me -”

“You’re done.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Robert slams his fist down on the bar.

“I think it’s time to go,” Joel says politely, suddenly standing next to Robert in the bar. You’re not sure if he’ll last as a bouncer here but you’ll give him points for stealthiness. You hadn’t even heard him approaching.

“I think -“ Robert starts before pulling a sloppy punch. Joel easily dodges it, raising his eyebrow incredulously at Robert.

“C’mon, now, it’s time to go.”

He places a hand on Robert’s shoulder and guides him out. You’re struck that he didn’t escalate the situation - that was the last bouncer’s mistake. What he hadn’t counted on was what Robert is a mean drunk and often gets a second wind of energy.

Joel walks back up to you at the bar. “The way people talk about this place. That wasn’t so -“

“That, Miller, that was nothing.”

You watch as another troublemaker, Owen, walks in, all biker vest and swagger. It’s never a good night when he’s here. Usually his presence signals a full moon style night of fights, shouting and misery. He hasn’t been in for weeks to your joy; you’d heard a rumour he was in jail. Not any more though.

“Miller you see now the trouble’s really going to start. That wasn’t even your warmup.”

Sunlight streams through the window as you finish wiping over the table. It’s your favourite time of day in the bar. Your cousin is catching up on admin, sleep and supplier deliveries, the bar is empty and it’s just you, the stereo and sunlight.

You can’t help but lose yourself in the music just for a moment. You love this song, the beat, the lyrics, the way it ebbs and flows in all the right places. Music is magic.

You’re not in a rundown bar, not weighed down by obligation and memories and self-doubt. You’re not here, you’re somewhere else. In a city, in a crowd, on a stage or even just dancing around somewhere else. You’re lighter and freer and desperate for the song to continue just a little more as you spin around, humming along with the lyrics.

You hear the door open and turn around quickly. You heard about the diner getting robbed a couple of weeks ago. You should have locked the door.

Miller’s there, some light discolouration to his jaw from the one punch he didn’t dodge, but otherwise intact.

“You seem surprised to see me,” he says.

“You’ve cost me five bucks,” you reply simply.

He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I could hack it*?*”

“The odds are the odds.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your money.”

“Yep, that five bucks was my ticket out of this town,” you joke.

“Not sure that would even cover a bus ticket,” he replies dryly.

“Maybe the coffee for on the bus?”

“Maybe.”

“So, day two,” you say awkwardly, swinging your arms around you and then immediately wondering why on earth you did that. You busy yourself by turning down the speakers.

“Yep,” Miller says casually, sitting on a bar stool.

“Have - are you hungry?” you ask, suddenly conscious that it’s lunchtime and Joel not doubt has another difficult day ahead.

“I could eat.”

”It’s nothing fancy, because the kitchen’s not open, but it is homemade - well, it was. I froze it but it’s defrosted and it’s really good. Also, frozen food still retains its nutrients well, and in the case of cake, freezing it makes it even better.”

“I see.” Miller pauses, “It’s not cake, is it? I don’t think I can eat frozen cake before a shift. ”

“No,” you argue, “it’s Tuesday, that’s what we’d do on a Wednesday! Today it’s lasagne.”

Miller smiles then. It’s a good smile. Slightly crooked and his eyes crease a little, the way you always associate someone smiling when they mean it. His deep eyes are momentarily lighter, there’s a change in him.

You want to tease more smiles out of this man, want to identify each and every changed in his face or the way his hands tap against the old bar. You want to keep him like this, bask in the glow that you’ve bought that expression to his face.

“Lasagne sounds great,” he says after a moment.

“Sure, okay, Miller. Coming right up.”

“Call me Joel. Please.”

“Okay, Joel.”

You like how his name sounds against your teeth, the way he smiles once more when you say his name.

It becomes a habit. Joel survives shift after shift and inevitably turns up to the bar early the following day when you’re there.

He’s lasted longer than fourteen bouncers now. He might just make it. He’s quiet, yes, but you’ve seen the violence in his movements when needed, the way he tries to be polite and then it’s over, then it’s a line. There’s something that compels and terrifies you about the violence he holds, its contradiction because he speaks to you so softly and how can a man be capable of both?

“You need a second bouncer,” he says one morning as you’re trying and failing to sort the back door out.

The employee room in the bar is a barely functioning space. Cliche after cliche with the cheap red IKEA futon, mismatching furniture and chairs and elderly microwave and kettle. The air conditioning has never worked in the room and now the back door is jammed too.

The place is falling apart.

“Can’t afford it,” you reply nonchalantly. “We’re doing our best.”

“I know. But then someone could try and watch at the door, stop some of these people coming in.”

“I know. But no one’s coming in because they’re there so we can’t afford a bouncer. It’s uh, a catch 22. Can’t even afford to replace the damn -” You shove your weight against the door to no avail.

“I can fix that,” Joel says softly as you kick the door one more time.

“The gangs? That’s ambitious.”

“The door.”

“Oh, it’s just the weather and it always gets stuck now. Replacing it would cost-”

“I can fix it. I uh, used to be a contractor.”

“A contractor?” Joel hasn’t talked about his past much before. You know he has a brother, he’s the oldest and that he’s from Texas. Joel carries that

“Did you have to say that with the air of a cowboy in an old movie?”

“I wasn’t aware I did,” he replies, cocking his eyebrow in a way.

“What sort of contractor were you?”

“Building, just the general type.”

“Oh, okay. So you could actually fix the door?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“How do you get from contractor to bouncer?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d expect so.”

Joel squirms awkwardly. You’ve watched him easily apprehend aggressive gang members shouting the vilest things to Joel and move them outside. You’ve seen him barely blink over ill drunks spilling their souls on his shoes. You’ve seen him so strong and resolute.

He looks at his watch which, for the first time, you notice is broken and then at the ground.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you say, “you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

He keeps coming back, night after night and things start to change. It’s small, a fixed door and then a window catch replaced, the fact the gangs start coming around less. It’s change but the quiet type of change you only discover through previously entrenched routines.

You’ve spent time cataloguing his details, each scar or line, the way he takes his coffee (black, but a two to one ratio of sugar that makes you wince a little). Joel Miller has a sweet tooth.

You’re used to Joel now, you like talking to him in quiet moments in the bar, before or after shifts as he hangs around just a little longer. You tell him about the town, about how it was growing up, he lets it slip he’s from Texas, mentions a brother, Tommy, and you want to unpeel his secrets more and more.

You proudly place the slab of cake in front of him. Rain hammers against the windows and roof, creating great echoes as it sounds like the bar will come down around you. It’s unseasonal, the rain, an omen of quiet days. Today you don’t mind.

“What’s the occasion?” Joel asks, looking at the cake curiously.

“It’s a Wednesday.” You take a bite of your own slice, savouring the flavours, the delicate balance of sponge and icing. If you can say so, it’s a pretty great cake. You really have improved over recent months and while this was experimental, you’re happy with the result.

“Ah. Say no more.”

“Also, congrats, you’ve officially been here for eight and half weeks.”

“I pass probation then?” Joel looks around dubiously, clearly concerned your cousin or others will suddenly pop out in some surprise party or sense of occasion.

“Pretty much passed that by coming back on day two, but that’s my cousin’s domain. I just pour drinks.”

“And provide frozen food to the bouncers.”

“Only the ones who come back. Besides, it’s defrosted. I can take that cake back you know.”

“No, don’t you dare.” Joel takes a large forkful of the cake. “So why the cake though, sweetheart?”

“You, Joel Miller, are officially our longest standing bouncer.” You clap lightly in mock celebration as he cocks an eyebrow in response.

“What an honour,” he replies sardonically.

”You’re welcome.”

“Do I need to make a speech?”

“I think it was the speech that bought the previous record holder down.” Clint had lasted forty-five minutes after that speech. It was a bad night - a particularly nasty gang fight.

“Hubris,” Joel says lightly.

“Exactly.”

“Not bad for a contractor turned bouncer though.”

Joel laughs. “You going to tell me that story one day?” you ask, hoping your teasing expression hides how genuine your question is.

“Maybe,” he says. “You’ve not hit my records yet.”

“That a challenge?”

He shrugs and walks towards the door to ready the bar for opening.

You hand Joel the frozen peas wrapped in an old cloth. After the commotion, your cousin’s closed the bar early. It’s hard to recover the night from a scene like that and you’re pretty sure the broken table and glass amount to some sort of safety violation at the least.

“Thanks,” Joel says gruffly.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I'm fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Joel looks at his cracked knuckles and raises a finger to the cut on his head, lightly touching it and observing the blood that comes away on his hand. “’m fine.”

“You hit the bar.”

“Standard night on the job.”

“You hit it with your head.”

Joel shrugs, nonchalance and mischief at once.

“How’s the idiot?” Owen had come in with the intention of causing trouble; something about the rival gang, or his girlfriend, or something that would never justify his trail of destruction. Joel had maintained his usual rules; polite, carefully moving Owen outside the bar, even as he tried to fight back. You’re not sure how it went so wrong, how instead of getting Owen outside suddenly there were more of the gang, broken tables and chaos.

It’s been weeks since a night like that. It makes it feel brand new, the hurt starker somehow.

“He needs to go to hospital,” you say, wrapping your jacket around you after you lock the bar door, keys heavy in your hand.

“Oh.”

“He’ll be fine. His friends are taking him. You probably need the hospital too, I’ll drive you.”

“’m fine.”

“You’re not. Get in the damn car, Joel.”

“I’m -”

“The car, Joel. Don’t make me start calling you Miller again.”

Joel holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” you say with a sweet smile.

You drive in near silence but once you’re both in the hospital waiting room, he talks. He talks more than he ever usually does.

“I didn't need to come here,” he grumbles.

“Are you on the lam?”

“What?” He asks incredulously.

“You seem reluctant to be in a hospital that takes down personal information. It’s a reasonable question.”

He sighs, pinches between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not on the damn lam. I just - I just don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think a lot of people do. I guess it’s an occupational habit with your work.”

“I patch myself up usually. Last time I was in one of these places, it was … I was …”

“Joel, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You reach for his bloody hand and squeeze, unsure if the blood on it is from his own split knuckles or the fight. The violence of his body contrasts so much with the man you talk to, the friend you’ve made.

“When I told you it was a long story, how I went from a contractor to this �� it’s, I don’t know.”

You shift so you can face Joel and try and model your best supportive expression. Joel and you talk about everything now, but he’s guarded and this is the first time he’s volunteered this story to you.

“We can talk about it later.”

“I had a daughter,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him. “And then I had a chance, a second chance to - but it’s been a mess. I’ve been a mess. I’ve got a lot wrong.”

So much of Joel Miller makes sense to you know and you can understand the sadness that crosses his eyes sometimes, the reluctance to talk about his past.

“Haven’t we all?” You pause. “I’m really sorry about your daughter, Joel.“

“I don’t know how to make it right now though.”

“I think,” you say gently, “all you can do is try. For what it’s worth, you’re making a difference here, you’re making a difference with me.”

“Really?” He glances up at you, suddenly years younger and as you nod a slight smile light up his face briefly.

“Why don’t you tell me about her? If you want to.”

He smiles. “I do, but not tonight, but I will.”

“Joel Miller,” a doctor calls.

“C’mon, you’re up.” You squeeze Joel’s arm before standing up.

The balance has shifted and something’s changed.

The bar changes gradually like the way spring teases itself for weeks. It’s all subtle shifts, blossoms of hope and shoots of a future you didn’t dare think of too much. The bar might survive, your cousin is smiling again.

And then there’s you and Joel. Joel, who still pops in to talk to you even on his days off. Joel, who you sit out with after the bar closes and drink beer and play guitar to the stars.

“You should play here,” he says, taking a sip of his beer, “you’re good.” “You’re better. I can’t play guitar like you.” “Nah. Just had more practice at best. Your voice is pretty, so pretty.” “Oh, I’m not so good at playing. I’m better at singing,” you say. “Four basic chords are about my limit on the guitar.” “Don’t do yourself down.” “Trust me, I’m not.” You pause. ”Joel, you could - you could play with me. If I ever played here. it’s probably stupid.” There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’d like that.”

You’re accustomed to his presence, his low but grounding voice, his calm demeanour throughout all chaos.

He’s told you more about his past now. About Sarah and how her loss tore him apart for years, and also about the foster daughter he took in, Ellie. He won’t tell you much about Ellie though, except they stopped talking around about the time he became a bouncer. He once asked you if you would do anything to save the life of someone you love and you said yes. He nodded and moved on. You think it’s connected, you’re not sure.

You’ve worked at a bar long enough to know when it’ll be a bad night. There’s an electricity in the air, a tension that is so tight anything could snap it. You look over at Joel to see if he’s picked up on the same energy.

He’s sitting on the stool, observing quietly, but you notice the slight furrow in his brows. He looks at you and his mouth twitches into the smallest of smiles, but there’s anxiety in his eyes.

“I heard that Owen’s gang declared war on the Rattlers,” you say in a low voice. You don’t like Owen, or his friends, but the Rattlers are worst. Owen’s gang is the typical cliched grouping of a small town that’s become lost. They drink too much, throw punches without thinking and cause trouble. They’re not evil though.

The Rattlers are.

“Didn’t hear the Rattlers came through here,” Joel says in a low voice. “I heard of their reputation at a previous gig.”

“Their uh, second in command, is that the term? Anyway, he’s had a thing with someone in town for years. On and off. Guess it’s on again.”

“They cause trouble when they’re here?”

You scoff. “This was starting to feel like -”

“It still is, it still will. Let me do my job,” Joel says firmly.

You want to trust him; you do trust him. It’s the Rattlers that worry you, the feeling in your gut that this hard sought over peace is threatened, the deep and terrifying fear that this bar can never change. Not now. Not even with Joel.

Joel smiles at you, the picture of reassurance. “Owen might not come in here. This is hardly a welcome environment for his group anymore.”

“Joel,” you say nervously, “I just … I have a feeling.”

Joel doesn’t laugh or dismiss you; he straightens up and nods.

You’re not sure how things fall apart so quickly. One moment the bar was quiet, then Owen was there and before Joel could get him to leave, the Rattlers were here too. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was what they all wanted.

“Evening, unfortunately I need to ask you all to leave tonight,” Joel says politely, standing from his barstool. “I’m afraid the business is at capacity and we have a private function on.”

“Well,” Owen begins.

“Leave.”

“Look, Miller, it’s not -”

“I’m not asking, Owen.” Joel’s voice is low, deadly, the tone he uses when polite words fall flat, when it’s time to not be nice. “That goes to all of you.”

Owen falters slightly at the sound of that, you wonder if he remembers how things went the last time Joel used that voice.

“Y’all got a function on?” one of the Rattlers asks you. He’s covered in tattoos and is wearing a leather vest with numerous patches with no other top underneath. You wonder if he based his outfit on the existing tropes, if he’s intentionally as cliched as possible or if it truly is just an unspoken truth now. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail that highlights his receding hairline and a puckered scar that runs from his brow to his nose.

“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. While we, uh appreciate the desire to visit, I’m afraid Mr Miller is correct.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. It doesn’t look so-”

“Please,” you say quietly.

For a moment you wonder if it will work, you’re on bated breath as the Rattler steps back and moves to say something to his gang. However, that’s the very moment Owen smashes a chair on his back and hell breaks loose.

“Oh, thank you so fucking much for that,” Joel says in an irritated voice, immediately pulled into action to try and get the situation outside, away from the patrons, from you.

You step backwards, hoping the protection of the bar will be enough.

People are running out of the bar as the chaos unfolds. It’s a flood of sound,

Someone pushes Owen onto the bar, pummelling him as you try and back away. “Please stop,” you say.

Then a flash and searing heat.

That’s when you hear Joel swear, you notice his eyes have darkened, his entire demeanour has changed.

Your vision is blurred by something and you can feel a sharp pain on your face along with something sticky and hot when you touch it.

You shut your eyes, willing the events away and allowing yourself to crouch under the bar and wait for the noises to stop.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re fine.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise but we do have to close early today.”

There’s a pause, noise around you and then something cool on your face. “I need to see the damage, okay? It’s me, it’s Joel, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You open your eyes to see Joel crouched in front of you. He’s holding a damp cloth that is already soaked in red.

“You’ll need stitches, I’ll drive you.” Joel moves your head gently and nods. “Your eye looks okay; can you see normally?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

”Fucking - it was Owen, he grabbed a glass from the bar and instead of hitting the rattler - ”

“Got me.”

“Yeah. It’s deep but um ‘”

“I’ll live. I’m okay. Don’t need hospital.”

“Huh, you trying to prove a point here? How annoyin’ it is when someone who needs hospital won’t go?”

”It’s fine, Joel.”

“You’re hurt,” he says and he looks disappointed.

You feel a burst of shame, you should have defended yourself better.

“I’m going to call your cousin and tell her what happened and then I’m driving you to hospital. No arguments, okay?”

You try and smile weakly in acquiescence which seems to only make Joel frown more.

His hand lingers on your shoulder slightly as he hands you the seatbelt after bundling you into his truck. He moved quickly, closing the bar, making a hushed call in the corner to your cousin and then immediately guiding you out, a clean cloth placed in your hands to hold against your cut.

There’s a nodding dog ornament on the dash, something that doesn’t seem like Joel at all.

“Ellie,” he says quietly as he notices you looking at it. “Keep the pressure on that wound, okay?”

He turns out of the bar.

“Didn’t seem your sort of ornament,” you reply placidly.

“She called it Ernie, I - that kid.” Joel sighs heavily.

“You could call her,” you say, braver in the wake of your injury.

“I would. But she doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me.” He mumbles something else you can’t make out.

“You’re a good person, Joel. She -”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you say, “trust me, I know bad men, but you aren’t one of them. Owen? The Rattlers?”

“The bar’s pretty damn low there.”

“You know the town I live in.”

Joel chuckles mirthlessly.

“I was going to play tonight,” you say quietly, “I thought it was time. That’ll teach me.”

“You could still play, maybe tomorrow though.”

“It would be harder with the blood right now.”

“Just a tad.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Of course.”

You wonder if he’s trying to return a favour, whether he’s the sort of person who just can’t feel indebted to someone else. Now you’ve bled on his car too, now you’re even?

He looked worried though. You think about the way he sounded too, the forced calmness when he checked on you.

You’re friends.

That’s normal, right?

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “You shouldn’t have got hurt.”

“Joel, it’s … you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s not on you.”

“I should have -”

“Miller,” you say sharply, “it’s not on you. Not one bit. Do you think I can bar Owen for good now?”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon so.

“Good, well that’s something, isn’t it? Almost makes it worth it. Do you think it will scar?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

You pause. It’s vanity, you know, but the idea of this leaving a permanent scar on your face hurts worse than the injury itself.

“That’s not ideal. I-it’s stupid.” It feels so foolish to be worried about a scar when things could be so much worse, for your own vanity to say ‘well, now, you’ll never make it as a musician or star’ or to focus on your looks. It’s normal, it’s human, but it makes you feel guilty.

Joel looks at you carefully and he places a warm, solid hand on your hand that is not holding a compress to your face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” he says in a low voice. “This won’t change that. It couldn’t, okay?”

No-one calls you beautiful. There’s been half-hearted claims of your ‘hotness’ with exes, of your friends’ encouragement when you make a particular effort in your appearance, but nothing like this. Nothing that feels this sincere either.

He takes his hand away as the doctor joins you. You can feel the heat lingering like butterflies as the doctor attends to your wound.

Joel stays with you the whole time.

You hear the guitar before you can see him. Soft, melodic chords that reach a crescendo as you walk closer to the small cabin style house he’s renting. You’re not sure if it’s a complete betrayal of the trust from when you dropped him off after his hospital trip weeks ago, but you need to see him outside of the bar.

“Hey,” he says in surprise when he sees you. He places the guitar carefully down before standing up to greet you.

“I’m sorry to just turn up, I hope it’s okay.” You awkwardly clasp your hands and wring them together. “I was passing through and I thought - I thought I’d say hi.”

This is a complete lie; you are not passing through at all.

You’re wearing your favourite outfit and you sprayed an extra two spritzes of your best perfume on this morning. In fact, you have made considerable effort when you think about all of this.

“No, it’s great. I’m happy you stopped by.”

“You’re good. The guitar, it was … really good. I’ve not heard you play that before.”

“Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s really good.”

“Nah, not really.”

You frown, hands on your hips and he raises his own hands in defence.

“Can I - do you want a drink?” Joel indicates inside the cabin and you nod enthusiastically.

“That would be great, thanks Joel.”

There are three cabins in the area that a local businessman rents out. Joel’s cabin is the closest to the woods, the one that’s slightly hidden away. Inside it looks like a typical rental; the slightly shabby furniture and neutral demeanour that feels void of any character, the aged kitchen stove and units, an abundance of wood furniture.

There are touches of Joel too though. There’s a vinyl player and box of records on the coffee table, a plaid blanket over the sofa and a couple of photos on the fireplace mantle. You think they might be Sarah, maybe Ellie, but you don’t want to pry.

This changes things. It’s not the bar, neither of you are at work, or hanging out outside after a shift. This feels more personal, more intimate. This is Joel Miller, the real Joel, the one you can’t hide your feelings for now.

You do have feelings for Joel.

It’s funny, when he started you wanted to keep him at a distance because you expected him to leave like everyone else, you thought the bar was beyond help. You wondered if you were beyond your dreams. He’s helping bring you back though.

It’s his calm demeanour, the wry expressions and dry humour, his plaid shirts and the way when he smiles, which is rare but you’ve seen it, his whole face softens and lightens up. It’s electric.

You think about him all the time; reading articles you try and remember to bring up at the bar, when you hear a song he’d like. Joel’s found his way into your life and you don’t want to let him go.

He’ll leave though. The bouncers inevitably do, most people in your life do. You just don’t want that with him. You want him to stay.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks.

“Why?”

“You have that serious thought face on.”

“I have a serious thought face?”

Joel scoffs. “So, what’s up?”

“I just - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Joel frowns then. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, c’mon I said I’d get you a drink, right?” Joel indicates the sturdy wooden table and you sit obligingly. “So I’ve got a choice of tea, well It says it’s tea anyway. Uh, some whiskey, beer, water …. I’m out of coffee.”

“That should be illegal.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“I might just leave now.”

“Wouldn’t blame ya.”

He’s close to you now and you feel emboldened by the fact you’re here, you’re with him and he’s not pushing you away or looking like he wants to leave. Maybe, just maybe this is a great idea.

“Now I think about it though, I’m not sure that I’m thirsty after all,” you say boldly.

“Oh no?” He leans in closer, hands hovering just over your waist. “Look, you don’t want -”

“I do. I do want.”

Joel swallows. “Really?” He’s looking at you as though you’re something mythical, something intangible he could lose at any second. There’s reverence in his eyes and it’s overwhelming and beautiful at once.

You nod. “I’m not the only one here who - I’m not though, right?” There’s a hint of nervousness in your voice now, a sense that perhaps this isn’t the great idea you thought it was just seconds ago. It’s like whiplash. This is why you should just focus on music instead.

“No,” Joel says softly, “you’re not.”

His hands, hands you’ve seen both acts of violence and hold your injured face so gently, skim your body. Joel’s hands, like him, are contradictions. He steps minutely closer, a little more into your space and oh so welcome.

He smells like soap and coffee, with the faint hints of autumn you noticed around the cabin and there’s something magic in this Joel Miller. Something in every sense of him, the way he touches you, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin and sound of his voice that instantly draws you closer, that makes heat pool in your stomach.

He kisses you and you reach for his hands, entwines them together. He stops, concern mounting over his face. “You’re injured, I should have -”

“Doesn’t hurt,” you say softly, drawing him close again.

You’re a mess of hands and lips, a clash of sensations and finally, finally this is happening you think as h guides you further into the cabin. Towards his bedroom.

He guides you past the kitchenette, down the narrow corridor to his room.

You want to drink him in, absorb every detail of his body and commit it to memory.

There’s a ragged scar on his abdomen, a light scattering of stories across his body from other bars, other jobs, other Joels.

There are other details you want to remember though, especially the look in his eyes right now, heavy with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. You’ve heard the words before in similar settings but it’s been clear to you it’s the lust, it’s the ‘right’ thing to say. You know when isn’t meant, the lack sincerity signalling a paint by the numbers dalliance at best.

Joel’s voice is fervent though. Honest. He means this.

The majority of your clothes are soon discarded, both yours and his in a combined mess on the floor.

Your hands are running through his hair as he guides you onto the bed, as his fingers hover over the edge of your underwear.

He pauses, just for a moment. You wonder if it’s recognition of the line you’re both about to cross, if it’s to give you the space to confirm that yes, you still want him, to offer an out just in case.

You reach for his face, run your hand down his stubbly cheek. You’re trying to sum up your thoughts, to bring everything you want to say together into a neat sentence.

You smile and gently say, “I want you, want this. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d want me. Been driving myself crazy thinkin’ about you lately.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you show me what you thought about?” you ask.

He smiles as his fingers finally reach beneath your underwear, carefully pulling them down and then gently gliding his finger.

You’re wet, almost embarrassingly so, you think, for just making out.

“This all for me?” He asks with a devilishly teasing tone.

You don’t immediately answer, just smirk as he teases up to your clit and traces circles around it, smiling as you finally make a groan of contentment.

He slides a finger inside you, lazily moving it within you, finding that spot that makes you moan, adding another finger.

You feel close already, but he withdraws his fingers and then, looking at you, brings them to his mouth one at a time in a move that makes your cheeks heat up.

He moves to his bedside drawer, fumbling for a box of condoms you suppose. You’re still lost in catching your breath, in replaying the last few moments, in anticipating what’s about to happen.

He kisses you before positioning himself and you ready yourself for him.

You’re entwined, adjusting yourself for the feel of him, the weight of him. Hands interlocked with his as he finally moves, as he meets your kiss once again.

He adapts quickly, noticing micro=movements or sounds and changing his rhythm to draw every one of them out, to bring you to the edge once more.

You’re both a mess of rushed breaths, a chorus of names and gasps, ebbing and flowing to tease each other apart.

He’s everything and nothing like you expected. Hoped for even.

The feeling builds in your stomach, the rush of pleasure building almost unbearably.

Finally, finally you get your release. The ripples of pleasure ride through your body as the two of you lie together, boneless, catching your breath.

You usually feel a need to say something, to fill a silence, but it’s comfortable. You roll over, daringly placing an arm over Joel’s chest and leaning close. He pulls you towards you, kissing your brow lazily

You can feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.

You feel like you could stay here forever.

Instead though, you’re practical. You excuse yourself to his bathroom to clean up.

You take in your reflection; the telltale signs of your exploits feel so visible to you as you freshen up.

He’s not in bed when you return. You pull your clothes on and head back into the main room of the cabin.

Joel’s wearing his jeans and not much else, humming as he concentrates on something by the stove.

“I promised tea, didn’t I?”

“We did get sidetracked.”

“Well, that was welcome,” Joel says. His voice is so much softer than you’ve heard it in the bar. There’s a vulnerability leaking through with each moment you stay here. It’s two sided, you can feel your own edges softening, a desire to open yourself even more to the man in front of you.

“I agree.”

The kettle boils and you watch Joel making the tea, try and not lose yourself in the broadness of his shoulders.

“So …” you break off, swinging your arms nervously and then wrapping them around yourself.

Joel hands you a steaming mug. “So,” he says. His voice is calm though, relaxed and somehow that helps.

“That wasn’t exactly what I thought was - I didn’t turn up for this specifically, you know? It wasn’t intentional.” Not that intentional.

“Would you have been wearing a trench coat if it was? Seduce me properly?” There’s mischief in his eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That a fantasy or something, Joel?”

He laughs. “Maybe, maybe it is.”

“Okay then. Logging that for another day.”

“Oh really?” Joel’s smile warms his entire face, it softens each feature and it’s something you never want to stop seeing.

It feels like you’ve known him so much longer. You feel comfortable in his house, you feel comfortable around him.

“So we’re opening back up at the weekend,” you say, “Got any plans for this time off?”

“Nope. You?”

You shake your head. “How about that?”

“Hmm, that’s not right. We should do something about that. Let me take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?“

“People still do that, right?”

“Yes, but - I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll uh, defer to your recommendation, seeing as you know this area more.” It hits you then. Joel doesn’t have roots here and the bar, except for the Rattlers, has improved. What does this town, what do you have to offer?

“Are you going to leave?” you ask suddenly, the anxious thought you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

“Leave?”

“When the bar’s open, when there’s no trouble.”

“There’s always some trouble.”

“Don’t. You know what I mean.”

Joel sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “Usually, I would.”

“But this isn’t usual?”

He points his hand at you and adds, “I don’t make a habit of this. I don’t …. Usually, yes I go in and out of places and I don’t stay long.”

Your heart sinks. “I understand,” you lie.

“I think, I think maybe there are some reasons to stick around here though?” It’s a question, not a confirmation. It strikes you then that maybe Joel feels just as exposed as you do.

“I think there could be,” you say.

“Good. I’m glad.“

The bar looks like the Rattlers never came through here. Everything is neat, clean and in its place. There are no broken chairs or tables. It seems almost impossible for how short a time ago it was.

Joel helped, you realise, he helped your cousin bring this place back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, “I can cover the bar if you need -”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure.”

You pause and run your hand over the smooth, clean bar surface. You think of Joel, of the conversations over so many nights about music, about what makes you happy. “Can you still cover the bar for a bit?”

“Sure.” Your cousin pauses and hesitantly puts down the crate of soda bottles. “Is everything -”

“I want to play tonight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to stop waiting right for the right moment, right? Just do it,” you say.

“And this has nothing to do with a certain bouncer?”

“No,” you say, thinking of the scar on your face, the battles you’ve won and will win in the future. “It’s for me.”

You can feel his eyes on you. It doesn’t make you feel nervous or under a spotlight though as you carefully sit on the stool.

It’s almost as though it’s just the two of you. Another night after work under the stars and messing around with a guitar. Or outside his cabin, thick flannel wrapped around you as you both play.

The bar feels safer somehow. It’s funny considering the recent Rattlers attack. Maybe that’s why - they came in and they tried to wreck the place, you were caught in that crossfire, but you survived. The bar survived. And the locals are back, the locals you wanted back. If you shut your eyes, it almost feels like before when your family ran the place.

It’s different though, because it’s your cousins. Because even though it might not be on paper, it’s yours too. Your legacy. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You don’t want to feel cynical about this town.

You look at Joel and smile and then you start playing.

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

#joel miller x reader #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us #tlou fic #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us

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cursedcatvibes · 5 months ago

Text

WORLD RECORD!

re4r!incel roommate leon x roommate reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: Incel leon who thinks he’s above women and thinks he’s an alpha male. he’s an absolute piece of shit too.

tags/warnings: 18+ minors DNI! Smut, many many mentions of misogyny. He literally can’t find the clit. P in V, he wrapped it before he tapped it! Incel 😧. quick mention of abuse but it’s not super relevant to the plot. not proofread!

a/n: not much to say other than i cringed so bad trying to write leon’s character, but i was committed, i looked through incel forums on reddit and even got chronically online real quick. also i’m on vacation! so i’m not able to write as much as I want! :( i’ll probably post small drabbles but i will most likely have another full story up in a month considering I cranked out a whole 7k page fic and then now a 3k one. DONT QUOTE ME! Also maybe agent leon x agent reader next. @gettingsilly (my sweetheart who was so hyped about this! here you go my love!)

songs:

pussy - rammstein (highly recommend them)

behind blue eyes - limp bizkit (fun fact; this was the og title of the story!)

rape me - nirvana (this was going to be a non con but i changed my mind)

norwegian wood - the beatles (literally burns the woman’s house down cause she don’t want him😭)

happy reading!

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

Handsome. Is the first thing that came to mind when you first opened the door to greet your new roommate, Leon.

The rent was getting out of hand these days and you figured it was a way better deal to split the rent instead of living paycheck to paycheck damn near.

The only downside were the horror stories about roommates and even just random strangers too. It made you feel a bit queasy, but what else could you do, a recently single woman and at the ripe age of 25, technically you were in your prime for all types of creeps and weirdos to try and pull something, especially if you live alone.

So you bit the bullet and put up a craigslist ad, putting it at the back of your mind for now while you went back to getting rid of your ex-boyfriend's belongings.

You only remembered about it when someone responded to it and after a few messages back and forth you gave the address to him and told him he could move in tomorrow. Feeling a bit proud of yourself for even being able to organize such an arrangement.

The first thing you noticed was how absolutely built he was, he definitely went to the gym and it made you feel a little insecure for a brief moment, before you stepped to the side to allow him to enter. “Welcome to your new home!” You beamed, happy with what you’ve done to the place. Completely missing the way his eyes ran up and down your body lewdly.

He only wanted to have a girl roommate because he figured she would give it up easily or at least flaunt her body off to him, much to his dismay you were wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, not a single ounce of skin showing where he could sculpt your body out. “Prude.” Is what ran through his mind.

“Thanks.” He replied stiffly. “Where is my room at?” Leon asked as he looked around, he was kinda pissed off you didn’t show him any goods. He hated girls who didn’t show off their body, but he hated girls who showed off too much, thought they were just whores looking to get some attention.

So what if he catcalled them? Obviously they were dressing like that for attention and got all pissy when he gave them that attention.

You were oblivious to Leon’s degrading thoughts, too focused on trying to make sure he didn’t try to kidnap or murder you. When he spoke about where he would be staying you perked up and showed him the room while also giving a quick tour of the apartment.

You were even sweet enough to help him unpack all his things once they were all brought in! He owned some interesting objects, a bit uncomfortable to watch him unpack as he had a whole box dedicated to just sex toys. Fake pair of tits that were way too big to even be comfortable on a woman, fake mouth, fake ass, and multiple fake pussy’s. That wasn’t even the worst part of it.

It got all too freaky when he pulled out hentai figurines that had little to no clothes on, all in lewd poses with lewd expressions on their faces, more specifically ahegao. You could feel the initial attraction from him sizzle down to a mere speck of a flame.

How could someone just own all this stuff so casually, flaunting it like it was a toy race car collection? But Leon didn’t care, fictional cat women were so much better than real women. They couldn't reject him or deny him sex. (Because they quite literally couldn’t, they're inanimate figures.)

He had the straightest deadpan expression on his face and you got the heebie jeebies thinking about what he could’ve possibly done with all these weird toys.”So,” You cleared your throat awkwardly, suddenly feeling like every object of his you touched was just icky. “Where did you say you lived before this?” You asked curiously.

Leon glanced over at you, wondering if you were gonna pull your hoodie off and finally show him your tits if he answered all your questions, he was growing frustrated. Dammit woman! Show him something! He thinks this is the longest he had gone without jerking off or watching a porno. If you weren’t gonna entertain him sexually why were you still bothering him?

“My mom’s. She said something about me needing to move out because I'm too old.” He grumbled out, this gave you a major ick, didn’t this guy say he was 27? He wasn’t struggling to get money when clearly he can afford expensive sex toys and other items. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” You replied quietly, to which Leon grunted in acknowledgment.

Once you finished the box you were unpacking you decided the best course of action was to just walk away from this conversation. “It seems like you can handle the rest on your own, I don’t really wanna break any of your computer monitors and stuff.” You said as you stood up from the floor and brushed your hands against your pants.

“Okay.” Leon hummed, disinterested in conversation. All he really wanted to do was hurry up and set his computer up so he could jerk off in peace. You leaving his room was a bonus. He didn’t want to be downright rude and kick you out, after all, he is totally a nice guy. Plus he got the opportunity to stare at your ass as you walked out, he could see it jiggling underneath your sweats which was enough to rile him up.

You wish you could say it improved from there but unfortunately it did not at all. It only seemed to worsen. Like who the hell is watching porn from the moment they wake up to the moment they fall asleep. It’s all just yucky. The loud and over exaggerated moans that were definitely done for performance and not real.

The only time Leon would leave his room was to eat or grab some water, he always looked so dazed too, it made you wonder what he was doing in there, you’ve never seen him go to work so it made you curious.

Leon on the other hand was always so dazed or flustered in the face from the amount of jerking off he does all day. He once ran his dick dry enough to start cumming clear, rubbing himself raw damn near. It’s not like he tried not to get laid, he definitely did. But it never worked.

The way he carried himself was creepy, flaunting the fact he was a nice guy who could give a girl a good time. News flash! If you have to say you’re a nice guy, you're definitely not. Girls often avoided him in middle school and that followed him throughout highschool and even college. So he naturally drifted towards animated women.

He was hot but his personality quite literally sucked, it's like he would attract women because of his looks and as soon as he started speaking they lost interest. But you? You still greeted him every time he came out of his room with a polite smile on your face, offering to cook him something but he always declined because the mere thought of having a woman do something trivial such as cook for him like a traditional woman should, made him hard on the spot.

He had the normal views on life, such as all men do. Women are baby makers, they belong in the kitchen, they should treat their man like a king. It’s not like anyone could change his opinion either. He’s so far into the rabbit hole that his other incels praise him like he was a god, thus only further bursting his massive ego.

You didn’t think much of Leon, not in a harsh way, you just didn’t really know that much about him because you two never spoke like that. All you did know was that he watched porn, maybe a bit too much that was considered normal. It's not like you're shaming him because you watch porn too, but you have some decency, a bit of dignity and pride.

Yet your opinion of him instantly sours when one day he comes out of his room, which reeked with the smell of cum and sweat, the room was humid too, which confused you when you first noticed it. He wore an angry expression on his face as he stomped, yes, like a toddler would, towards the fridge to guzzle down a can of soda.

You, sitting on the couch mindlessly scrolling through your phone waiting for the time to pass on your off day, you planned to go to a club and slut yourself out to help remind yourself that you’re in fact hot and your ex missed out. Yet when he slammed the fridge door closed that caught your attention, perking your head up like a puppy.

“Uh, you alright?” You asked aloud, watching his eyes snap towards you with a frustrated huff. He figured if you put up with him this long then you must see the same misogynistic views he does about women. “No!” He scoffed out, dragging himself to sit on the couch next to you, like directly. Knees touching and everything.

This piqued your curiosity, maybe you could learn something about him? “What’s wrong?” You questioned as you shut your phone off, sitting up a bit straighter now, putting some distance between the both of you on purpose by grabbing a throw pillow.

Leon then started to rant and you’ve never been more disgusted and horrified in your life before. “I’ve been talking to this really hot chick and we were hitting it off, even had phone sex once or twice but when she asked me who my ideal woman was she ghosted me! Like what's wrong with saying women belong in the kitchen, or doing laundry, or even just cleaning. Women are only here to serve us alpha males.”

Your nose scrunched up while your face morphed into genuine horror mixed with disgust. Is this seriously his mindset? It must be a joke or something of the sort because no way in hell. “Is.. is this a joke?” You asked, feeling puzzled as you looked around for a hidden camera. Out of all the people you got stuck with, you got stuck with an incel of all people.

Leon stared at you with the most serious face he could muster, he wasn’t kidding, in fact he was getting a bit upset that you were thinking he was joking. “Women are what's wrong with this world! You’re all too soft and so ditzy. You all think men’s feelings are a joke.” He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and you swear you can make out a dried cum stain on his clothes.

You felt so sick and also tickled, you’ve never heard someone or have been around a real life incel before and unfortunately this one came in the form of a super hot guy that wasn’t looking so hot anymore

“Ew..” You stood up from the couch and stuck your tongue out slightly. “Is that how you see women? No wonder why she ghosted you, you’re a fucking incel.” You scoffed out, to which Leon got offended. “So?! What’s wrong with that?!” He shouted, the tips of his ears turning pink. It was different being scolded by a woman in person rather than over the phone because he knows they can't hurt him physically but rather verbally. Plus it’s much easier to insult someone online versus real life.

“Do you actually hear the words leaving your mouth?” You questioned, staring him down intensely. Leon tried not to shrink in on himself, it reminded him of his mom telling him that he had done something wrong and now he was in trouble. So he doubled down and sat up straighter too, staring up at you.

“Yeah, and what about it? Why do women get so butthurt over every little thing?” Leon grunted out, rolling his eyes like a little kid would. You were just astonished that he was willing to keep going even after being confronted with the fact, but you weren’t oblivious to the way his ears were turning red from embarrassment. “Fine, if that’s how you’re gonna be.” You murmured as you sat down on the coffee table right in front of him. His eyes follow your form curiously. If he was being honest the only reason why he actually moved in with you was because he thought you were really hot from your profile picture and even the photo you sent of yourself to prove that you were real, per his request. He jerked off to both photos for hours. (Plus his mom really did kick him out.)

Leon went to question you in hopes of turning the table around to make it backfire on you. Yet as his mouth opened to make another snide remark about women you spoke up first. “Let me be the first one to tell you this, and I mean this too.” You paused as you stared right into his eyes. “No woman is ever gonna have sex with you if you have this mentality and mindset.” You watched his eyes widen a bit and felt some joy come from it.

Leon balled his hands up into fists in genuine anger, a deep part of himself knew she wasn’t lying but the other part was so adamant on her being wrong. Obviously she didn’t know what she was talking about, women never do. “You’re a liar. You’re just jealous.” He scoffed out, narrowing his eyes into thin slits.

You were absolutely not lying.

Far from it actually.

The closest Leon had came to a pussy is on a computer screen, let’s face it. No woman on earth would wanna sleep with such scum such as him, not even prostitutes themselves want to take on such a tedious task. They’d rather kill themselves or have their pimp abuse them than sleep with him.

“Really, name 5 women you’ve had touch you in a romantic way.” You countered, staring into his eyes with an intense expression. Leon opened his mouth to try and smugly name a woman until he realized the answer was 0, he had no names because no one wanted him like that.

It was a blow to his ego and it showed on his face. If he wasn’t such a loser with terrible opinions along with his shitty personality then you would’ve felt bad but you didn’t. It was his own fault.

“That’s not fair.” He grumbled, staring up at you with a slight hurt look on his face. He wanted to get back at you. Make you regret and eat your words. How? Well that problem was quickly answered as he grabbed your wrist and pinned you beneath him on the couch. A yelp leaving your mouth at the sudden movements.

“What the—“ You were suddenly cut off by Leon’s hand slapping over your mouth, he smelled of cum and sweat, it made you wanna gag and throw up on him. “I bet I can make you cum so hard you’ll forget that you were mean to me.” He hissed, his fragile ego was broken because of you!

You furrowed your eyebrows before rolling your eyes. “Whatever.” You said underneath his palm, voice coming out muffled.

Leon smirked and moved his hand off your mouth, gazing lustfully at your body. He seemed confident but on the inside he was screaming at himself. He’s never touched or seen a woman in such an intimate manner in real life. This wasn’t a screen this time.

He gulped and hooked his fingers on the waistband of your sweatpants, he was determined to make you cum if it was the last thing he ever did.

Once he removed your sweatpants he found you commando beneath it. His breath caught in his throat, your mound was glistening beneath the light in the living room. It wasn’t even wet because of him, but he was dumb enough to not know the difference. He stared in awe before looking back up at your face when you cleared your throat awkwardly. “You gonna stare or what?” You questioned.

Leon shook his head before putting his hands on you, gently rubbing your inner thighs. Making you think that for a brief moment he might actually know what he was doing, right up until he pressed his thumb against your lower lips and started rubbing them.

Completely missing your clit.

He felt so aroused and a bit cocky now that he was touching your pussy, his eyes laser focused on your face to see if it was feeling good. He even tried dirty talk too. “Yeah? Does that feel good? I bet it does.” Literally hyping himself up.

You found it hilarious and decided to nod, stifling a laugh as you let out a fake over exaggerated moan he hears in his crappy pornos. Leon let out a soft groan at the sound, his hips bucking up into the air while his cock twitched.

Now, Leon had seen enough porn to know that he needed a condom and lube, obviously they never showed the actors prepping the girls' pretty cunts, they just stuck it in. Spoiler alert, foreplay is hot! None is not.

While Leon ran to his room you took the opportunity to finger yourself, even if you were sure he wasn’t packing much you wanted to be somewhat prepared for a small stretch, you groaned silently, throwing your head back in pleasure, clearly favoring your hand over Leon himself.

When you heard his footsteps you quickly pulled your hand away and watched as he excitedly took his pants off. Wow, so much for knowing how to pleasure a woman. It was funny to watch him struggle to keep it together when he kneeled back between your legs.

“I’m gonna put it in now.” Leon announced, squirting a generous amount of lube on your cunt before (attempting to) rolling on the condom. (You definitely had to help him. The last thing you wanted was to get knocked up by some dimwit.)

He put some lube on his cock, jerking off a bit while looking down at your pussy. Not your face. When he stopped masturbating he slapped the tip of his dick against your clit a few times, your body jolting in pleasure at the sudden sensation.

This immediately boosted his ego and you were in awe he was able to make you feel partially good. He was just daydreaming of how tight and warm your hole was going to feel. His dick wasn’t that big either, it was average length, average size, average balls. Just.. underwhelming and average.

“What’re you waiting for?” You murmured, snapping him out his trance briefly before he cleared his throat. “J-Just trying to brace you for my cock, it’s big right?” Leon questioned, feeling a bit insecure but he wanted you to make him feel better, feel like a man. That was a woman’s purpose after all.

“Yes (no).” You sighed out breathily, keeping up your act, dragging your nails down his body gently, causing him to shudder and nod with a smug look on his face. He pushed himself in fairly easily, considering your ex-boyfriends cock was much bigger and overwhelming, accidentally clenching down around Leon’s sad excuse of a penis which riled him up, thinking you had came.

You definitely missed his dick and now was stuck with some crappy one attached to a misogynistic freak. A soft sound of discomfort left your lips and Leon took it as a sign that you were enjoying it. You must love it! He was so confident in himself!

So confident that after 5-6 thrusts he spilled inside the condom, talk about a minute man. He was a millisecond man. His whole body spasmed from euphoric bliss, he had never cum this hard in his life before, burying his face in your neck, sloppily kissing at your skin because he couldn’t kiss for the life of him.

You were stunned someone could cum so quickly, that had to be a world record or something. Quickest man to cum after sticking it in or some random ass title, you hadn’t realized you had zoned out about the Guinness record book until Leon pulled his cock out from inside you, feeling good about himself.

He was panting softly from the intensity of his orgasm, leaning back against the couch to gaze at your pretty pussy, he wanted to eat you out too, wanting to show you he was good orally too.

“Was it good? Did you cum too?” Leon said as he stared into your eyes, wanting to hear you sing his praises and take back your harsh words that hurt his feelings. Almost like a puppy waiting for its owner to praise them for pissing outside the house instead of inside.

You grabbed your clothes and put them back on, smirking as you stared him dead in the eye. “No, I didn’t cum.” You snickered as his face dropped, kissing his forehead quickly. “Sucks to suck, Leon.” You said casually, getting up to go to your room and nap.

Leon sat on the couch stunned beyond relief, his cock kicking against his thigh as he watched you.

He swore under his breath that you were lying and you did cum, after all, delusion is key, and delusion is what made him become your roommate to begin with.

#leon kennedy #re4r leon #resident evil #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut #incel leon #misogyny goes crazy in this one #writing ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#leon kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader

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multiwreckedmess · 8 months ago

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February Filth Fest Day 22

Prompt: Masturbation Pairing: Gymrat!Yeosang x fem!reader WC: 1,760 Summary: Yeosang has an embarrassing problem. Have you ever heard of a core-gasm?

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Yeosang or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. By clicking the “Read More” you agree that you are of age to interact with my works.

TW/CW: Male masturbation, sort of subby Yeosang, lots of praise for yeosang, yeosang called handsome and big boy, reader called “hot” and has breasts. tbh not much to warn about.

Yeosang has started wearing two pairs of pants to the gym. It’s not really a notable change to anyone, simply adding some compression leggings to a pair of sweats or loose shorts wasn’t revolutionary fashion. If anyone asked, he’d planned to joke that it was “pump cover” or something like that. As if the problem was that easily explainable. No no, the problem had only started recently, as he worked to define his abs further. Yeosang wanted to fulfill his title of the “statue of Ateez '' to perfection. It was the addition of hanging leg lifts, pushed into the workout by his trainer, that were the culprit. Meant to better define his v-cut and improve his posture, it seemed the exercise provided other less welcome effects. In particular and perhaps most curiously, was seemingly spontaneous orgasm. Almost always on the 2nd to last rep of the final set, as Yeosang trembled and fought against gravity, he’d feel the familiar dangerous twinge in his core. Unable to stop it, endorphins would flood him as warmth spread into his underwear. The first time it happened he jogged to the locker room to change, horrified at the thought that he’d pissed himself. It wasn’t, he hadn’t. Instead sticky white clung to him as he peeled back his clothing. Embarrassing. And then it happened again, two days later. And it kept happening, not every time but enough. Enough that Yeosang had to wear two pairs of pants to hide the stain as it soaked through. “I like those pants!” You remark as you pass Yeosang who is drinking feverishly from his water bottle. Track pants with snaps up the sides to the very top, mostly unfastened, allowing the fabrics to billow between his legs. “Very ‘Magic Mike’ if you wanted to just rip them off. Heeeyaw!” You mimic the motion and giggle. Yeosang chuckles and nods, but you’re already halfway to another machine. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as you work in between sets together. Energetic yet reserved, friendly but solitary. In a way you remind him of Wooyoung. You have more of an ass though, and certainly more of a bust. He chides himself for noticing, it’s indecent of him to ogle, but it’s hard to miss how the tight spandex hugs every curve so beautifully. “The way you’re staring at me I’m gonna think you want to fight me or fuck me,” you blurt in passing from machine to machine. Yeosang’s ears go red and he stammers. “So sorry,” his eyes burn holes in the floor. “I was just spacing-” you’d already moved on to your set, but he keeps going, keeps apologizing and stuttering and blushing. For some reason he can’t stop himself from it, having so egregiously breached so many unspoken rules of the gym recently, he rambles on like a kid in a confession booth for the first time. Pausing mid set, you laugh, startling him. “You’re actually really cute for a gym bro.” This stops him, looking up at you again incredulously. “I’m not aiming for cute!” Your eyes are kind, “oh? So you’re just naturally flusterable?” You ask as you giggle. Yeosang’s mouth flaps open and closed, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Okay handsome, I’m going to go finish up on the treadmill if it’s all the same to you.” It’s your turn to stare as Yeosang finishes up his workout, rounding out with leg raises. He’s really beautiful when he does each exercise, nose crinkling with effort as his muscles shake. Closing his eyes and knitting his brow, his pouty lips begin to tremble, jaw slackening. All of his muscles seem to seize at the top of the leg lift, eyes flying open as he lets out the most pitiful whine. Yeosang’s expression changes from pleasure to panic as you look at each other. He starts to try to scuttle away, tail between his legs as he strategically speed walks to the locker room. The room has never felt farther than it does as Yeosang feels you breathing down his neck. The sanctuary of the men’s locker room where he can clean up the mess he’s made both literally and figuratively. Maybe even cancel his membership as he sits in a stall. A small hand with a firm grip gets his shoulder as he reaches the door. “Did you just cum?” “Don’t ask that so loud,” he whimpers. “Someone could hear you.” “Who? The teen at the front desk with his headphones in? There’s not exactly a ton of people here right now. But wait,” you shake your head, “you didn’t answer, did you cum?” Feet stuck to the ground by a supernatural magnetic force, Yeosang nods shamefully with a high pitched whine. “It just happens sometimes, it’s not- I’m not a perv.” “But you aren’t even hard,” you start to wonder aloud, eyes locking to the crotch of his pants. Yeosang is fully flushed, beat red from his chest to the tips of his ears. “I know, it’s so-it looks like I-” Yeosang stutters, his cock twitching in interest so suddenly he jolts a bit more upright. It’s a small comfort that if anything you look fascinated by him instead of horrified or angry. Your hand migrates down his arm, tracing a vein from his bicep to his wrists where he fears you can feel his pulse pounding wildly. “Show me. Can you do it again?” Yeosang’s eyes roll back as blood flows into his rapidly engorging member. If the post workout high didn’t have him dizzy, this certainly did. The husky purr to your tone melodically curling around his ears. It’s the opposite reaction that he’d never planned for. All of the time he’d rehearsed in his head what to do if someone noticed but never had he thought about if a person wanted him to do it again. He starts to shake his head, he’d only ever done it once a workout. “You wanna see me cum?” “I’m sorry if i’m being too forward but I’m-I’m interested,” you stammer, the weight of your question finally hitting you like a ton of bricks. “I thought you-sorry if i misread-” It’s Yeosang’s turn to panic, eyes wide as his hands spread open palmed in front of him. “Ah! No! I’m-I’m-you’re-” he gulps, mouth dry as the desert. Brow furrowing he doesn’t even register the decision he makes. It happens so fast. He tugs you with him, back pushing through the locker room door, into a stall. “I’ve only ever done it once like that but I can-” “I could help!” You offer as you watch him tug his first layer of pants off his body. There’s a large splotch, not obvious on the black fabric from afar but mere inches away its hard to miss the shiny dampness of the area. Instinctively you reach forward to touch him, already at half mast and growing. Yeosang nearly yelps, “no! If you do I’ll-” the blush on his cheeks darkens, “you’re really hot.” You smirk, “okay then handsome, I’ll watch.” Unceremoniously, Yeosang tugs the second pair of shorts and his boxers down to his thighs, the mess of cum and sweat still coating his pubic area and cock. Purple and blue veins run prominently up his member all the way up to the flare of his red tapered tip. He pulls his tight black tanktop up enough to expose the muscles of his torso. Taut abs, defined vlines and muscles you didn't even know the name of all on full display as he drags his fingers up the underside of his shaft. “God you’re beautiful,” you murmur, sinking to your knees in front of him. His eyelids flutter and quads tense, the refractory period is much shorter than he thought. “Ah! Ha, you-you-too,” Yeosang gasps and giggles at the same time, leisurely pumping his cock. “Your tits are really-oh my god- from here- they’re so-” he shudders and gasps, a weak spurt of precum erupting from the tip. You scoot closer to better admire him. His hands are just as veiny, large around his equally girthy member. “Where’d you hide all that?” He whines a tiny high pitched sound from the back of his throat. You can see his abs tense and kick his diaphragm up as a wave of endorphins hit. Almost a direct opposite of his ripped physique, the vocalizations that escape him are small and squeaky, the product of both pain and pleasure. “You like it when I call you handsome? When I tell you how big and thick your cock is?” “Ghnughn- yes,” he chokes back a moan. The praise immediately goes to his head, his grip tightens and pace speeds up. “Moan more for me, you sound so pretty.” A guttural groan escapes from him as he shakes, followed shortly by a hiccuped inhale. “I’m close.” His cock is almost purple with engorgement, precum flowing out of the tip easily. Hips working in tandem with his fist, the sounds of his whining and mewling that flood the bathroom are unmistakable. “Hurry, cum. Cum for me,” you urge him, scooting just a bit closer, close enough to feel the warmth of the air around him. “Shit- wha-where-” “On me on my face on my tits, wherever you want, big boy, coat me in it.” The twinge of desperation in your voice sets him off. He’s beautiful when he cums, head tilting back to expose his muscular neck and sharp jaw, drawn out high pitched whimper is the cherry on top. A forceful jolt of release erupting forth from him and coating your cheek, hot and sticky. The next spurt drops from your jawline to your tits which is quickly followed by another volley aimed squarely at the center of your chest. Yeosang’s vision swimming he could swear he still saw you slowly rubbing the liquid against yourself, lifting a finger to your mouth to clean it with your tongue. The thought makes him nearly black out, hand slamming into the wall of the stall to catch his balance. “Which locker is yours?” Your breath is hot on his ear. He didn’t even know you’d stood up. His head swims again under the spell of your proximity. “117.” “Wait a sec before you come out, it’ll look less suspicious.” He nods, and collapses back onto the toilet, he needs to collect himself anyway. The entire encounter feels like a fever dream, it’s not until your note falls out of his locker that he starts to concede maybe it wasn’t.

Sorry this is so late. Lightly based on someone at some point saying “what if Yeosang cums when he works out.” I don’t remember where i saw this but whoever you are, yeah, what if?

#February Filth Fest #ateez smut #yeosang smut #ateez yeosang smut #atz smut #atz yeosang smut #kpop smut #yeosang x reader

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palequeeeeen · 4 months ago

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Are we, or are we not getting a Murder Drones Season 2?

So, the teaser for episode 8 states that the episode is the finale for the series. However, there have been quite a few different instances that would imply the existence or planned existence of a second season.

When the teaser for murder drones’ first season originally dropped, it teased ‘murder drones season one’, implying that there would be more than one season, and that this would be the first. If they had planned for there to only be one season, they would have/should have titled it something like ‘murder drones: the series’ or just ‘murder drones’ as they have done more recently.

There have also been different instances of the team behind murder drones mentioning this being the first season, not the only season. The most important instance of this is when Liam Vickers mentioned that season one was for the show to find its footing for future seasons, which is now a seemingly false statement.

At some point in the show's development, I believe around the time ep. 5 or 6 released, the language around murder drones changed, not mentioning it as being the first season anymore, and just being murder drones.

This was also around the time or just before Glitch started to take on more shows, like The Amazing Digital Circus and Lackadaisy. They started to imply that murder drones would only have one season around this time.

Now, most of my thoughts are just speculation, but I think that after the success of TADC and Glitch taking on a few other shows, they had stretched themselves too thin, and something had to give.

I'm not saying all the other shows that Glitch is making ended Murder Drones. This could have been the plan from the start, and they were using the wrong wording early on and gave us all false hope. But, I think that there is the possibility that Glitch had to let murder drones end earlier than everyone would have liked.

Again, this is all speculation, could be totally false, and probably is. Don't harass any creators associated with Glitch, Glitch themselves, or any voice actors that work for them.

But, I do think that there is a small, very small, chance that we could still be getting a season two after all, especially if we end on a cliffhanger or downer ending. When Meta runner season 2 ended, i believe it was called a series finale at the time, but it got a third season two years later! It's very, very, unlikely, but we could keep our hope up for about a year or two before I say it could be gone for certain. This could also be a temporary shelving of the series while they work on the other shows, as some other people have pointed out. I could return in a few years with an anthology series or something. (I swear it's not the copium talking)

Again, don't harass Glitch or any of their associates. We definitely won't get a season two if we're asses about it. Besides, like Michael Kovach said in a recent livestream (I think?), N at the very least is probably gonna pop up again with how popular he is, so our boy won't be gone forever, and I think Uzi and V won’t be too far behind him.

#murder drones #murder drones N #murder drones Uzi #murder drones ep. 8 #murder drones theory #Copium #I might be in denial #I think I make good points tho

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starker-raving-mads · 9 months ago

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For You: Part III

›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹

It was two months since the day Peter Parker's life changed for the second - third - fourth time.

He'd gotten more sleep over the last month than he had in the previous two months. It was partly due to sheer, never-ending exhaustion. His life since taking on the mantle as 'the new Tony Stark' - a title he balked at, mind you - had become pure chaos. At first, it was a relief. The instantaneous knowledge that money was no longer a problem. May could quit her job and devote her time to FEAST, he could complete his honors-GED (which many of the Blipped teenagers had chosen to do) and immediately hop into online college courses at Columbia with Ned and MJ.

Immediately following that relief, though, was his face splashed across every newspaper, tabloid, blog, and TikTok page in America.

He would never say it, and he couldn't prove it, but he was 99% sure it was Pepper's doing. After her initial outburst at the lawyer's offices, he'd hardly heard from her. His lawyers - god, his lawyers - had advised that he shouldn't respond to any comments on the subject of Pepper Potts being snubbed by her husband for Peter's heir status. While she had no legal leg to stand on since Tony's will was air tight and definite, that didn't stop her from digging her claws into all the ways she knew would hurt him.

Every time he saw something outrageous with his face on it on an article somewhere, he had to remind himself that she was grieving and in pain about a perceived betrayal by her husband. Her husband, who was Tony Stark, who did not belong to him.

No matter that the man had figured out time travel for him, had risked the universe, had given him billions of dollars and the most coveted job in the entire world. Tony only gave him this because there wasn't anyone else better that he trusted, but Peter knew that didn't mean he was Tony's true first choice, and he had to squash every niggling feeling and whisper of a thought that said he was. It would only make it hurt more when all he wanted was the pain to stop.

He'd finally found a moment, though, where things weren't quite as bad. He'd recently reconvened with Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Rhodey and they had a steady if not solid pact. They were all unsure of the situation, still, and Peter didn't blame them. He'd been…questioned, more politely than Pepper had done, on how he and Tony's relationship had unfolded.

When he'd explained that he was 14 when he met Mr. Stark, Steve and Bucky both winced, apologizing for the disaster that was Germany but Peter shrugged it off. He really hadn't been hurt and it was a foundational moment for his and Mr. Stark's relationship. He couldn't bring himself to regret it.

After that, they'd had a few meals together, talked more about his life - and theirs, to an extent, though he was far more privy to them than they had been of him.

"He never mentioned you," Steve said, shaking his head, baffled. He held a cool beer in his hand, leaning back from the patio table they had gathered around at the newly rebuilt SHIELD headquarters in upper state New York.

"Oh he mentioned Pete to me all right," Rhodey disagreed before reaching over and ruffling his curls lightly. Peter liked Rhodey, liked how hands-on he was, how relaxed but also somehow by the book, liked his humor. He could see how he and Tony had been such good friends. "But he'd only told me about his 'brilliant new intern'," they all chuckled. "He really kept the whole Spider-Man thing close to the chest."

"I'd asked him to," Peter admitted, peeling the wrapper off of his bottle of lemonade. "First because I was still like so young, yo know? And then later, after a few - pretty major - mistakes I made, I guess he thought I'd proved I was finally ready to be an Avenger."

"Well I never heard Tony trying to recruit anyone," Rhodey commented and they all looked at him quizzically.

Peter let out a single huffed laugh. "Yeah, uh," he tried to keep down the blush rising on his neck. "You remember the day that Mr. Stark proposed to Ms. Potts?" Rhodey and Sam both laughed long and hard.

"Even over in Wakanda we saw that," Sam chuckled. "It was the Tony Stark special - a huge thing wrapped in a tiny, chaotic package. Not unlike yourself," he raised his eyebrows at Peter, who flicked his bottle wrapper at him.

"Pepper had no idea it was coming," Rhodey agreed before taking a long drink of his own beer.

"Yeah, well I don't think Mr. Stark had really…planned it," he grimaced. At their faces, he continued. "He'd taken me up to Stark Tower and gave me this speech about having graduated to the 'big leagues' after my last big wrap up," he shrugged. "He gave me the Iron Spider suit and said I was ready to be an Avenger." He frowned, rubbing at the glue and paper residue on his bottle. "And I told him that I just wasn't ready yet. That I needed to stay in Queens for a while more, be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Help the little guy, you know?" He raised earnest eyes up to the group and they all nodded, slowly. "So I asked him to just keep helping my identity to stay quiet," he shrugged.

"So, then what happened?" Bucky asked, long hair tilting with the rest of his head in curiosity. He didn't speak up often, but when he did, it was always because of something he really wanted to know.

"The next thing I knew I was being ushered downstairs to wait at the car for Happy," he shrugged. "I pulled out my phone and there on live broadcast Mr. Stark was proposing to Ms. Potts at a press conference." He chuckled. "It was - really, really weird."

He expected everyone else to laugh with him, but he was met with contemplative silence. He looked around at each of them before Rhodey finally met his gaze. "What?"

"I think," the older man said slowly, "that press conference was meant to be for your reveal as Spider-Man."

"No way - I mean," he shook his head as the rest of the guys started nodding their heads, agreeing thoughtfully. "He wouldn't propose to her just because - just because I said no to - "

" - to his proposal," Bucky finished.

It was another revelation that Peter could hardly bear the weight of. These things kept stacking and he wasn't sure how to balance all this knowledge he had, about the things Tony had done - and undone - for him. This one, though…this new information didn't hurt, not like the others did.

It actually made a strange amount of sense. At once, it both stung to feel like he was replaced with Ms. Potts so immediately, but also it was like the first fresh breath after being buried underground for so long to know that Peter's answer that day was so important to him that the only thing he could possibly trade it out for in equivalency was getting engaged.

Did this mean that if Peter had said yes Mr. Stark wouldn't have gotten married? It made his head spin, but it also made his heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

Light enough to finally enter the last bastion of refuge that Tony Stark ever took comfort in.

His lab.

Despite being uninhabited for who knew how long, when the familiar glass doors slid open the air wasn't musty, stale, or any such thing. It was as fresh and crisp as it ever was. Off in the corner the long L shaped couch that he and Mr. Stark had often collapsed into opposite ends of, exhausted, lay half-made with fluffy pillows. The coffee pot was empty but clean, and every other available surface covered in notes either figuratively, having been decorated with papers scribbled on with hundreds of lines of equations and code, or literally, like the side of Peter's work station, where he'd dropped to a crouch to finish writing something out when he ran out of paper, mid-idea. He knew he could've just kept writing mid-air thanks to the lab's complete holographic setup, but it wasn't the same as having something solid under your hands.

There was pain in the familiarity of the lab but there was also a feeling of home he hadn't quite gotten the first time he stepped back into his and May's apartment. Plus -

"Hello, Peter."

"Friday!" He exclaimed, smile breaking wide across his face. With a pang, he didn't realize just how much he'd missed the AI until this moment.

"Yes, Peter?" the AI asked, voice warm and if he dared to think it, amused.

"Nothing, nothing, I'm just excited to see you again," he chuckled, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He started walking around the lab, taking it all in for the first time in what, to him, had been months. The longer he thought about that the more his brow furrowed. "Hey Friday?"

"Yes, Peter? Or would you like me to call you Boss as Tony had?"

"Oh! Um," he shook his head. "No, no Peter's fine, or whatever."

She hummed. "Would it be all right if I picked a name for you, Peter? Being able to distinguish between Boss and Others by a more specific title helps me with my internal hierarchy and understanding of individuals. If you would prefer I do not, though, merely say such."

"I mean if it helps you then, yeah, sure I guess."

"Thank you, Mini Boss," she said. He laughed again.

"You might wanna work on that," he smiled wide.

"Yes, I think it might take me some time, Father."

His eyes widened. "Father?"

"Hm, you're right," she said. "Boss was more like my Father, I suppose."

"Uh, yeah, definitely," Peter nodded. He gave her a beat to let her figure out what she wanted to call him as he walked over to his desk. He'd let her go through her process before he started asking the questions that sat burning in his mind.

"Would you be opposed to me calling you Mother, Peter?" Friday asked. He spun in his chair, smile wide again.

"If Tony was your Father, wouldn't he also be your Mother?" he asked, amused. "You know, having done 100% of your coding, and all."

"If one were to look at my original codebase as the only part of what makes me, me," she agreed. "However, would you not say that those that raise you are more worthy of such a title rather than just those that created you?"

He immediately thought to May and how, if he'd been younger when he came to her, he'd be calling her by that name.

"That's true enough, sure."

"And outside of Boss," she went on, "you are the individual most involved in my growth. So it stands to reason that if Boss is Father, then Peter is Mother."

"I - " he really didn't know what to say to that. It had never occurred to him that outside of Mr. Stark he was the one who interacted with Friday the most.

"If you would prefer I find a name not so closely connotated with females," she continued, "I can endeavor to do so."

"No, no, it's fine, Friday," he replied, quiet and in his head again. "You can - can call me Mother if you want." A not-so-small part of him felt absolutely, transparently happy that Friday considered him her parent. More than Mr. Stark leaving him the company, more than having all this financial security and ability to mess around with Tony Stark's labs, more than all of that - this meant something profound to him.

"I also thought," she said and that amusement was hinted at in her lilting Irish, "that it would be a nice subversive reference to the spacecraft from Alien."

He laughed out loud at that. "I love that movie, that's perfect."

He could feel her smile, then. "I know you do, Mother."

He slumped onto the stool at his table in the lab and finally asked his question. "Friday, can you tell me - why isn't the lab more different?"

"Different how?"

"Well it's just," he struggled to articulate the sentence, the feeling he was pulling at. "I was - gone - for five years. But it almost looks like this place never really changed?"

"I see," she said. "Boss spent a lot of time here after the Blip first happened, once he was home from Titan. He slept primarily on the couch in the corner and had me refill his coffee orders more than anything else. However, he never touched your things, Mother."

Peter frowned. "Why?"

"I could not say," she replied, tone ponderous. "Based on his patterns of movement, he seemed to specifically avoid your work areas. Though he did take a jacket you had left at her table to the couch. From my archival footage, he seemed to sleep with it, perhaps for warmth?"

It occurred to the teen, then, that Friday probably had thousands and thousands of hours of Tony on video and he could pull it to watch them at any time. The feeling of want was a fever in his blood and he asked, "Can you show me?"

"Of course, Mother."

Faint blue light lit up the couch and Peter walked over to it, seeing that more than merely just show him the video, she played it out in holographic projection. His breath hitched as Tony walked into view, Peter's hoodie in clutched in his hands. Staring down at it, he slumped onto the couch and brought the fabric to his face. Less breathing it in and more suffocating himself with it.

"I'm sorry," he heard muffled through Friday's speakers. "I'm so sorry, Pete."

Tony then curled up onto the couch on his side, face pressed to the hoodie, back toward the room. The projection cut off.

Peter didn't realize that he was crying until Friday asked, "Mother, are you okay?"

"I - " he tried to say, throat clogged with tears. "No," he admitted, jacket-covered wrist swiping away at his tears. He sniffled and sat where Tony had, finding his hoodie wedged between the cushions and the back of the couch. He pulled it out and, like Tony, smashed it to his face, breathing in the faintly lingering spicy scent of Tony Stark.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Friday said, speakers low, tone regretful. "I did not mean to cause you pain."

"You didn't, sweetheart," he shook his head, voice still clogged with tears. "I'm just sad."

"Why?" she asked, her natural curiosity shining through. Much like a child, she did not always know when it wasn't the right time to ask questions. But Peter had always liked indulging her and feeding her curiosity. The first few lab sessions they played 20 Questions back and forth until Tony would tell them both to shut up, though the amusement when he said it always shone through.

"I'm sad because Tony's dea - " he cleared his throat. "Because Tony - "

"It is okay, Mother," Friday cut him off. "I understand."

At that, he let himself fall back into the couch like Tony had. Above him, Friday dimmed the lights and stayed quiet, letting him cry out his grief in silence.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #iron man #peter parker #tony stark #peter x tony #spiderman #peter parker/tony stark #for you fic

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tallulahneale · 3 months ago

Text

Title: You play too much

Pairing: Vince staples x fem!reader

Summary: Home girl who loves to get ate but doesn’t suckie suckie and wants to prove Vince wrong.

Word count: 1k

a/n: Where are all the Vince Staples lovers at?!?!

Tagline: “I’m not selfish”

Friday night and all the guys on your roster had served their purpose. Eating you out. You enjoyed it more than any other intimate act. So with nothing to do, you hit up your homeboy Vince. You and Vince go back since kindergarten, kinda drifted apart during high school but y’all reconnected during college.

You check the time, 5:18pm. “It’s not that late and chick-fil-a has drive-in perfect!” You thought to yourself. You reach for your phone to call Vince, he’s a homebody so you know he’ll be down to kick it with you.

*Ring ring*

“Hello?” Vince answers.

“Can you pick up some chick-fil-a pleaseeee? I’m peckish and bored.”

“Hello to you too nigga. Get you some manners”

You pause. You know he’s serious and you don’t like that.

“…”, ignoring what he said.

“… y/n, I know you can hear me” he continues, sounding unbothered.

“I want ice tea this time please. Ohh and the new honey pepper sandwiches! Thank youuu”

“Why you always like this bruh? FYI, you need some salad in your diet…”

“Hey! Be Nice!”

“Says the person that can’t even say hello.”

This nigga always doing the most, you thought to yourself.

“You’re coming over anyway so I’ll say hello when you get here. Killing two birds with one stone.” You replied smartly.

“Whatever cuh, I’ll be at yours around 6.”

“Okay; thank youuuu! Byeeee!”

“See you so-“

*Click*

You cleaned up around the flat and went to freshen up. Changing into your nightgown, the one that kept granny pregnant and all her bills paid! It’s extra comfy and you didn’t want to tease Vince. Recently, he’s been calling you out on a lot of your bs and you didn’t want to hear it today. Plus you knew you weren’t going out, once Vince came you’ll probably watch movies till you fall asleep.

The buzzer rings and you press the intercom, already knowing it’s Vince. You look at your outfit one more time to make sure you look presentable.

*Knock knock*

You open the door and see the bag of food on your welcome mat.

“I know damn well he didn’t just drop my food on the mat like I’m a raccoon.”

Vince jumps out the corner, startling you.

“Vince! Don’t do that! You know how I be spazzing out!” You give him a hug, “How have you been?”

Vince picks up the bags and follows you in.

“I’ve been good you know. Just getting ready for the Black in America Tour and the new season of the show, you know the usual.”

“I hear that! I’m hella excited for all of it, you really deserve all and more!”, you beam.

“I really appreciate that and you too cuh. You the homie for real.” He said giving you a hug before settling down on the couch.

“You’re welcome. You can pick what to watch, I’ve just been watching re-runs and I’m bored of them too.”

“Alright, but don’t complain when I pick one of my favourite 80s show.”

You grab a plate and a tray for the food. Just as you set it on the table, you hear your phone ringing. You check to see Peter Peter pumpkin eater calling. Vince sees it too and shakes his head. “Here we go again”, you thought to yourself.

“Why are you shaking your head like that?” You ask, knowing he’s about to say the truth that you’ve been avoiding.

Vince stares straight at you with an unimpressed expression “Why you save his name like that?” He says.

“You know why V, don’t make me say it.”

Sometimes you feel shy talking about intimate things with him, maybe because you know he’s cute but he’s your homeboy and you want to respect that boundary.

“First of all, that’s weird because the story is about a husband whose wife cheats and doesn’t know how to keep her. Secondly, I’ve seen Marcus the muncher, Louis the licker and Simon the sucker all call you before. Y/N you are creative af but you’re still wrong for all that.”

“You bet not be judging me like you don’t have a list of girl names saved worse and anyway, why you be looking at my phone. Mind your business sometimes” you say, feeling heated and a bit embarrassed.

“I know you’re still doing the “get licked and get kicked” out. Selfish ass.”

“I’m not selfish!” You exclaim.

“…”

“… I’m not! Quit tryna get me to feel guilty. You know what, I’mma prove you wrong. Tired of you being all high and mighty.”

You go to sit down on the couch right beside him, staring shyly into his eyes. He looks back at you with an intense smouldering expression. You’re not sure what he’s thinking so you ignore it. You gently run your fingertips across his bare arms, tracing his veins which draw your attention more than usual. You wink at him again before looking away. You bend over, arching your back closer to his zip, slowly pulling down, you realise that his little big friend is awake. Just as you’re about to pull it out, you look up and whisper to him…

“I told you I’m not selfish.”

You smirk and sip your ice tea.

——The End——

#erik killmonger smut #vince staples #fem!reader #black reader #poc reader #smut #musician #seduction #Vince staples x reader #original character #tnblog #marvel #fanfic #oneshot #complete #fanfiction #lemon #x yn

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cafeinthemoon · 2 years ago

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King - Chapter V

Chapter 5

Title The Particle of the Sun

Fandom Shuumatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Previous chapters

1 . 2 . 3 . 4

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 🖤

Warnings: A not so subtle (and very problematic) threat from Poseidon involving pregnancy

Tagging @cloveradora @the-dumber-scaramouche @mikkies @sl33py-zer0 @nooneknows8976 (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: Finally a new chapter!! Yay! I wanted this chapter to be as long as the previous ones, but I thought I've already reunited enough information in these less than 3k words (hope you don't mind). About the story of the Particle: a curious fact about Poseidon that I discovered recently was that he was deity responsible for the Delphic Oracle alongside Gaia before Apollo was even born. I couldn't find many details about this, but my headcanon is that Poseidon still has the gift of clairvoyance, or extended vision, as said by himself here, and this will show in crucial moments of this story. I also found a way to explain the existence of days and nights under the sea and I'm very proud of my work in this :)

When you opened your eyes, you noticed a slight change in the shade of the curtains: the abyssal black was replaced by a softer form of blue, the same blue of the sea’s surface on a sunny day. There was absolute silence in the canopy’s interior, which only changed when you decided to sit on the bed.

It was strange that you were left to sleep there: you thought you would be sent back to the lodge after the wedding’s consummation, but you were kept in your husband’s chambers for that entire night. You were debating the reason for this when you noticed a tall shadow approaching the canopy’s entry, and a hand showed up between the fabric to open it.

When the curtains were separated, the morning light shone into the space, exposing the messed sheets and the tiny human cradled among them to the eyes of the Lord of the Seas, who kept observing you with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval, as if finding hard to believe that you needed such a long period of sleep.

Well, you had no idea of how long you’ve been there, but you found that absurd.

Does this man know nothing about the human nature? If he wanted me to wake up earlier, he could’ve just called me.

It was when you noticed he was dressed in a formal, bluish attire... and realized it was the first time you saw him properly dressed. That made you look at yourself and pull the sheets up to cover your torso.

Poseidon frowned at this attitude.

– Why are you doing this? There is no need for you to cover up now. I have already seen everything I had to see.

Your reply came in an impulse.

– I’m cold.

He stared at you for a moment, then pointed at the empty space beside him.

– Here.

You tried to leave the bed using the sheets to cover yourself but, once you were under his reach, he pulled them away, throwing them back on the bed and closing the curtains. You crossed your arms before your chest: staying undressed and disheveled in front of a god under the daylight and when he himself was wearing full clothes provoked a new, incomparable embarrassment in you.

– Come with me – he spoke it like an order and, before you could do anything, he took you in his arms.

Unlike you told him, you weren’t really cold, but the absence of the sheets caused you shivers that only ceased when you were on his lap, and for a moment you allowed yourself to relax, leaning your head on his chest. It was curious that, despite the sensation of complete unfamiliarity that surrounded every aspect of your relationship with that man, you were still able to find good things in them, such as this sort of safeness in his grip and the pleasure you experienced in his touch. If this was thanks to some spell or if you were just susceptible, you were yet to find out.

That time, you were carried to a dressing area: your husband stopped with you in the middle of a room with an infinity of clothes, shoes and other female accessories, ready to be worn; on a corner, there was a screen with hand painted illustrations of coral reefs and other marine concepts, similar to the one you had on your lodge and, beside it, an open door that led to a bathroom.

Poseidon put you down and turned to a rack at his left, taking a dress with him and giving it to you.

– Put it on and go wash your face – he instructed – I will be waiting here.

What you heard instead of this was Do not let me waiting.

You did as he said, entering behind the screen to put the dress despite what he said when you cover yourself up with the sheets, then cleaned your face and fixed your hair. When you went back to him, he held your shoulders and made you turn around; you didn’t need to ask what he was doing, for soon you noticed his fingers brushing your hair. After this, he took a shawl and wrapped it around you, then took your hair out of it. You didn’t think he believed when you said you were cold, but the message behind the gesture was clear: as much as he expected you to take his words seriously, he was able to do the same for his wives, so that you had all the reasons to pay attention to the things you said to him.

Poseidon brought his hands to your shoulders again, making you turn back to him.

– Still cold?

You made a negative sign with your head.

– No, my Lord.

– Good.

You thought he was going to take you out of that room, and maybe that was his intention, but he gave up on it when he touched your ears, making you flinch.

– They are a bit swollen. What happened?

– It’s probably because I slept upon them, my Lord...

You were going to say that they would stop aching soon, but he went to a vanity and brought a tiny pot of salve with him before you could open your mouth. Stopping in front of you, he took a bit of the product and spread it between his fingers, passing them on your ears, massaging around the earrings.

– It will soothe the ache – your husband went to put the salve back on its previous place.

You nodded.

– Thank you, Poseidon-sama.

His response was a sigh.

– You are so delicate it is impressive that nothing more than this happened.

That time, the impatience you felt bubbling inside you was too much, and you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

– My fragility seems to be an issue for you, my Lord. I’d like to understand the reason I was brought here, if possible.

For a moment, you congratulated yourself for finally speaking out, but as soon as Poseidon laid his eyes on you, you sensed your courage diminishing in an impressive speed: you looked away, your fingers griping on the shawl’s fabric with nervousness; you felt his hand surrounding your jawline, his thumb caressing the corner of your mouth.

– It is just something I had to do, dragonet. For my own sake. It is nothing you should be concerned about.

***

You had your breakfast with your husband on a small table placed at the chambers’ balcony, as large as a common, human house, with a privileged view of the white beaches through which you’ve passed to enter the castle and the furious waters that surrounded them, now showing deep, mutable shades of green under the light.

It was something that has been intriguing you since you arrived, but you haven’t had the chance to bring it out in your conversations with Alyssa: when Poseidon brought you to the balcony – in his arms – and you were exposed to that light, the intensity and the warmth of it on your skin were enough to make you think that, if you didn’t know you were under the sea, you could be easily convinced that it was the true sun.

You were sitting on a white chair while your husband took the place before you, having a beautiful breakfast prepared for two, with fruits, tea and bread, everything with excellent aspect just like the food that was offered to you at the lodge. You weren’t sure if you should start eating now or wait for him to do it, but Poseidon didn’t seem inclined in this sense. At the same time, your hesitation was noticed and questioned by him.

– I’m not hungry, my Lord.

– At least take some tea – he replied – It will help you to stay warm.

You obeyed, filling a tiny cup with the liquid in silence. A conversation then took place.

– Are you still cold?

– No, my Lord.

– You don’t seem tired now. Did you sleep well?

– Yes, my Lord. Thank you for asking.

He nodded in approval, then suddenly changed the subject.

– You seem curious about the illumination system of this kingdom. Do you think it resembles the sunlight?

Your eyes widened at this.

Such sharp eyes, those ones.

– Yes, Poseidon-sama. It’s something I’ve been observing since I arrived.

– It is because you are indeed seeing the sunlight – he continued, answering the mystery – This is a story I do not mind telling you. Long time ago, I was the responsible for the Delphic Oracle before Apollo. All my houses were placed upon the waters by that time, but I was planning to bring all of them into one, on the seabed. I offered my connection with the Oracle to him and demanded a particle of the Sun in return, just enough to make life possible for non sea creatures in the depths of the ocean. Apollo accepted the deal and ordered the Particle to behave as if it was still in the skies, and this kingdom have been experiencing days and nights since then.

Poseidon told that story while observing the surroundings, as if talking to himself; he spoke as if all of that happened yesterday, and you were hearing in stunned silence. As someone who wasn’t raised to praise the gods, you knew nothing beyond their names, and cared little about them and their acts; that was entirely new for you. But if there was something you were quick to realize when you met them, specially the one who married you, was that they never did anything without a reason, or without expecting something in return, so that the story of the Oracle made total sense to you. You weren’t sure why Poseidon was telling you something that probably happened in a time when none of your ancestors existed, but it was intriguing that a proud being like him would give up on such an important treasure as an Oracle in favor of another deity, no matter what he would receive in exchange for it.

Since he didn’t oppose to it, you questioned him about it.

– Forgive my ignorance in these subjects, my Lord, but is hard to believe that such exchange really happened.

Contrary to what you expected, your doubts didn’t provoke the slightest sign of irritation in your husband: instead, he held a smirk on his lips, observing you with a sort of pity for the said ignorance.

– You really know nothing about gods, don’t you, dragonet? – and, without waiting for a response, – When I passed the Oracle’s management to Apollo, I was not sacrificing a belonging. Instead, I was delegating a responsibility to a younger god, in a way that his work would increase and mine would diminish. I no longer own the Oracle, but I still have the ability of extending my vision; besides, Proteus, who is a prophet himself, still works for me. On the other hand, Apollo has gained experience over the ages, and with experience came power. The Particle of the Sun that he gave to me will be forever a sign of his gratitude, since I was the one who made him the offer.

Gratitude? Was he trying to teach you a lesson about this? But why?

You chose your words carefully.

– I understand you have a reason to tell me all of this, my Lord. But I fail at perceiving it.

Poseidon opened a genuine smile of contentment, and that was the most unsettling moment you had with him since the wedding: though you were now dressed, you were still feeling exposed, too close to him to try and escape, whether with your words or your feet. You observed his expression and realized it was the first time you were seeing the natural light touching your husband’s figure, a vision that enchanted and scared you at the same time: the rosy shade on his cheeks and lips, the golden shine of his hair, the blue of his eyes glowing between those long, white lashes, all of this on an impossibly proud, young face, that has been like this since the oldest past and would stay the same in the furthest of futures. To you, it was inconceivable that someone could be so beautiful yet so menacing.

But not only this was possible through his looks, but also through his words, given what he said to you next.

– Good girl, always saying the right things. But I would like to know if you are just as grateful. So, tell me: have you already thought of how you are going to thank me for granting you my favor last night?

Since you took too long to understand what he was talking about, Poseidon didn’t mind explaining.

– I did you the favor of not making you bear a child right in your first night as my wife, though I still think it is a strange thing to ask, not to say foolish. This is what I want to know: what will you do for me in return?

You swallowed. In fact, your husband’s agreement with such an uncommon request came too quickly even for you, who didn’t know him so well. Of course such generosity wouldn’t come for free.

You opened your mouth in an impulse, but held your tongue just in time, granting yourself a moment to think of a wise answer.

– I... What do you need me to do, my Lord?

Poseidon still had the same content smile on his lips, to which you felt some relief.

He’s still having fun with this. And, as long as he stays like this, I’ll be safe.

– That you are very clever, I already know, and your talent with words might keep me entertained for quite some time. It would be a waste if you would just stay with the common duties of a secondary wife, so I have a task for you: since you will not use your time to bear and raise any child until the next year, you will have entire days to go to my children’s training area and observe each of them. You will figure out each one’s most efficient technique and find weaknesses in them. Once you do it, you will develop a solution for that. Given you are a smart girl, I believe it is something up to you.

You had your hands on your lap, holding each other with all the strength they had to avoid trembling, but you had no guarantee that the same nervousness didn’t raise to your face. Yes, you wouldn’t become a mother, but that didn��t mean you wouldn’t have any contact with your husband’s children – that was the trap he has been preparing for you. And, by asking him what he needed you to do for him instead of thinking of something to offer, you easily fell into it.

I tried to examine the territory before making my offer, just like my father told me. But I should have known that what usually works with humans would be just useless while negotiating with a god. How stupid of me.

– What you will do to accomplish this is also up to you – he continued – Though I must warn you about the deadline: you will be given one year for this, nothing more. The counting will start tomorrow, by the morning, and will end in the next year, by a morning as well. By the end of this period, you will have to show me the results of your work. I will evaluate it and, if it is satisfying, your current condition, that is, of not bearing any children, will remain. However, if you show to be unable to fulfill this task…

Your heart ached, as if held tight by cold fingers, fearing what would follow those words. The table’s size was such that it allowed you to reach each other by touch, and that was precisely what your husband did: he stretched his arm over it to touch your face, making you startle despite the warmth of his skin. He brushed your hair behind your ear and you breathed deep, not daring move away.

– I still have to think of how things will be for you, dragonet – his voice was now a whisper; you looked at him and noticed an increase in his cheeks’ blush – But I cannot help thinking that you would look pretty with a rounded, swollen belly under your dress.

There was no need for explanations this time.

This offer, that sounded more like a threat, was absurd – not to say terrifying. But it was not the end for you: it was the beginning of a year full of work and discoveries, just like the ones that preceded it. And if you’ve already gone so far – entering that domain and staying alive, making a human friend where you thought you’d never see another human beyond yourself and managing to have your offer accepted by the Tyrant of the Seas – thinking of giving up didn’t make sense now.

I’m already in the bottom of the sea… What should I fear now?

You did your best to stand Poseidon’s gaze. He still had his hand close to you: you put your own upon it and turned your lips to his palm, giving it a soft, docile kiss.

– I will not disappoint you, Poseidon-sama.

And I will not disappoint myself either.

Chapter 6

#snv x reader #ror x reader #snv poseidon #ror poseidon #snv poseidon x reader #ror poseidon x reader #poseidon x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #record of ragnarok x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon

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