#<- kind of not what's happening here but to be on the safe side?
Note
AHH UR SO RIGHT, fucking him over his bike, his pride and joy, while he gasps and moans while blubbering on how good u make him, how good it is.
AHHH him in leather too, he'd look so fine with a leather jacket bro omfg (≧▽≦) the way he'd tremble when you'd bite his neck, marking him up all from his neck to his shoulders as he tries to he quiet, embarrassed that he's feeling this good with you railing him over his precious bike
Maybe he's known as the "bad boy," the complete opposite of you,, and nobody would expect the two of you to even speak to each other,, but here the two of you are, both of you pretty much trembling from overstimulation and how good you're both feeling aahdbsksbdjs
It's such a good idea omfg ahdhshdbs ur brain is so good it's amazing
-pera
"in an open match, 【 pera 】 has invited WRIOTHESLEY to play . . .
dress for the slide
✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!male!reader, sub!ftm!wriothesley, modern au, sex against a motorcycle, vaginal fingering, PIV sex, dirty talk + teasing + lowk praise, lighthearted bickering (mid- and post-coitus), slight breeding kink, creaming, creampie, alluded aftercare .
A/N : i know it technically wasn't an invitation, but . . ye<3 + fun references of dad!wrio with sigewinne <33
"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."
Wriothesley is not an arrogant, prideful man. He is humble; he tips generously at restaurants, holds the door open for anybody coming up behind him, greets people—you especially—with a kind smile.
The scars marring his body, the thick leather of his jacket and pants, the spikes and chains worn like jewelry, accessories—it’s intimidating, sure, but on him, it’s hardly such.
Little children—they bound up to him, pulled as if by a magnet. It’s adorable, it’s endearing; and Wriothesley takes it all in stride, smiling that toothy grin of his and giving lollipops and candies from God-knows-where. (He’s got a pocket in his jacket just for sweets.
It’s why he always smells like sugar, beneath his frosty cologne.)
And speaking of children... Wriothesley is so good with ‘em. He holds custody over small Sigewinne, for crying out loud! She’s quite popular in school, too; while she's certainly a ball of sunshine on her own, her father certainly seals the deal for her—especially when he drops her off and picks her up in that hot ride of his:
a goddamn motorcycle.
Now, you’re not exactly an expert in the things: all you know is that it looks badass, and it makes Wriothesley all the more ruggedly handsome to you.
And, well.
It just so happens that, now, you’ve got this ruggedly handsome, sugar-frosted man all for the taking, spread out across the seat of that damn bike. He’s got his usual get-up on for when he rides—leather jacket, torn jeans, simple tee—, his hair a mussed up mess from where he took off his helmet. The helmet is resting precariously on the back seat, a support for Wriothesley’s body as you kiss him silly.
“Hah—wait, wait,” he’s pushing you back, breathless, his leather, fingerless gloves accentuating his fingertips, the short, bitten nails of his. His cheeks are tinged pink, and he looks good enough to eat—to devour.
You hum, tip your head to the side to nonverbally ask, What’s up? but Wriothesley’s twisting around just-so, just enough to grab his helmet. He passes it off to you—with, to your delight, shaking hands—, and asks, “Can you put this on the ground?” You raise a brow, taking it anyway to do as he asks, and he continues, sheepish. “I—ah, I don’t want it to fall.”
You laugh, then, corralling back up to him once the helmet’s safely deposited on the grass (and not the pavement, thank you. You’re not a monster, letting something as sexy and sleek as that helmet risk getting scratched up).
“Oh?” You lean back in, making like you’re about to kiss him again—kiss him proper, now, without worrying about the precarious balance of his beloved helmet—, but you dip down at the last second to press hot, searing kisses across his throat. “Why would it fall?” you continue, chuckling at the soft whimper that falls past his lips. “Unless you’re thinking about something naughty.”
He goes silent; the motorcycle rocks, just a little.
You pay it no mind, though. “Dirty, dirty boy,” you coo instead, lapping at the heavy thrum of his pulse. He groans, strong, leather-bound hands coming to wrap themselves around your biceps, yet he makes no other noise besides the quiet sounds of each exhale.
Soon enough—because it seems Wriothesley truly is intent on keeping it zipped—, your mouth has landed on the softest, most tender part of his neck. You hone in on it like you’re some type of mosquito blood-sucker, lips wrapping around his skin and sucking, suckling, working your tongue over it until it blooms a pretty shade of purple.
You tire quick, though, of the lack of vocal reply from your lover. “You can’t tell me you haven’t fantasized about this already,” you murmur, suckling a new mark opposite of the first one you’ve set prominently, “about me, about me fucking you jus’ like this...” You slide your hands up from his side to cup his jaw, thumbing at the subtle stubble as he looks up at you with such icy-blue irises.
You don't expect Wriothesley to nod. “I do,” he adds on, to really fluster you.
“I—ah?” You hiccup, pause, bite at the side of his neck mere inches above your first mark. “Gimme the deets.”
(It’s fun, to be immature like this.)
He huffs above you, gentle laughter shaking you from where you suckle bruise after bruise after bruise, leaving him looking like he got mauled by a bear, or whatever. (Your possessive heart soars at seeing your claim spread across his skin, where even his jacket collar can't cover.
Everybody will know he's yours.)
“Stop talkin’ like that,” he grumbles—the effect lost by the way he laughs—, “you sound like a teenager.”
“A horny teenager.”
He barks out a true laugh at that, the sound spilling into a soft moan when you suck at the slight hollow of his throat, the area oversensitive because of the scars. “You're insufferable.”
“And hard,” you murmur, rolling your hips down into him. The motorcycle creaks at your movement, but, this time, it stays still—perfectly still. (You thank Wriothesley for the care he gave his bike, going as far as to invest in a good and proper kickstand.
He definitely didn't imagine this when buying that, though.)
It's time to up the ante, then (to really test the give of the product.)
“Lemme fulfill those dirty fantasies of yours, sweet thing,” you coo, suddenly dropping the pretense of light-hearted teasing and diving right on into adopting that tone of voice you know makes Wriothesley utterly helpless in his arousal.
Yet, “Sigewinne rides on this with me—” he tries to say.
“So?” You dip down, hot breath fanning against his lips. His eyes cross to follow your descent, trained on your mouth getting closer, closer. “I’ll clean it.
“Besides,” you continue, rubbing the tips of your noses together. His own breath tickles your face. “I want you to be reminded of this. Every time you go on a ride, you’re gonna be thinking about this—about me, about the way I ruined you right here, right on your precious lil’ bike.
“You’ll always be reminded of this.”
You don't expect the way he mutters, all breathless off of nothing but the pleasant ache across his neck from the hickeys and your dirty, dirty words—it’s a simple, a quiet but gruff, “Good.”
“Good?” You tip your head to the side.
Wriothesley only huffs again, pulling you closer with the hands he's moved to your shoulders. You swear you can feel the grooves of his gloves through your own shirt. “Good,” he repeats, easy confidence dripping from his voice. (You want him to drip with something else.) “I want to remember.”
And, really, the grin you give is downright ridiculous, this love-sick, dopey thing that has no place in such a charged environment; but Wriothesley shares it with you, your own private smiles, and then he's surging forward and pulling you down to meet him in a desperate kiss, one all tongues and teeth.
“Now quit talkin’,” he drawls, licking at the roof of your mouth, “and make g-good on that promise.”
“Promise?” You chuckle, dark, a play out of Wriothesley’s own book. It doesn't fit you, really—you, the epitome of a good boy, a handsome sonuvabitch who has grandmas tripping over themselves trying to marry off their granddaughters. (“Oh, isn't he charming, sweet Cecily?”
“Grandmama, I’m a lesbian.”)
“I didn't promise you anything, Wrio,” you coo, but your mouth and hands are hardly on the same wavelength; as you tease him with your words, dripping straight sin, your hands are unbuckling the heavy metal strung across his hips, thumbing down the fly ‘til you get your fingers wedged right between his thighs. “Maybe I should have you beg, hm? Beg to be ruined right now, right here on the same bike everybody sees you ride around town in.
“Oh,” you murmur, then, an idea springing to your mind as your fingertips press to the throb of his cock even through his briefs, “isn’t that an idea?” He whimpers, the sound so soft, so—so unbecoming, if you didn't know Wriothesley the way you do. “E’rybody’s gonna see you ridin’ this, and they're not gonna have a damn clue, are they? They're not gonna know the way you spread yourself so eagerly across her pretty seats—” you tease him by calling the bike a her, knowing how peculiar Wriothesley is about personifying the thing.
He nods, hips humping desperately into your fingers. The whole time, he's making these other soft sounds, and you're taken, over and over again, by how lucky you are to have such a strong man at your mercy. “Please,” he begs. “Quit talkin’, and fuck me.”
Snickering, you bump your palm against his mons, saying, “But you love it when I tell you all the things I’m gonna do to you.”
Unable to even deny it, he groans, deep and throaty. “I do,” he acquiesces while you take away your hand and help lift him enough to shimmy down his jeans and boxers both, “but I’d love it better if you'd do more than just talk.” You leave the fabrics bunched mid thigh as you stand him up proper and spin him around, pressing him gently into the leather upholstery.
It’s quick, after that, to curl over the heft of him, to nudge your fingers back down between his bare thighs to tease at this thick cock, his throbbing cunt. He's soaked, off so little, and it's easy, too, to slide in one, two, three, working him open in soft, gentle movements that stretch him without a biting burn.
“I’m ready,” he bemoans, shimmying his hips ‘til he bumps against your own erection, tenting at your own pants. “Fuck me!” His hips move, tantalizing, teasing, and you find, unsurprisingly, that pre-cum is seeping through the fabric of your boxers.
“Fine, fine,” you murmur, pressing your fingertips against his g-spot for the first time today, the spot swollen beneath your touch. He mewls, chasing the pleasure, and you give it to him readily as you dig your cock out from your fly, barely pushing your pants down enough to rest just past your balls.
Now that your cock’s out, you slide your fingers from his wet, loose heat. (It never ceases to amaze you, how loose a cunt he gets when he's sufficiently aroused. He opens so easily for you, sopping off of nothing but some words, some foreplay.)
No matter how wet he is, though, you're still careful to further slick him up with lubricant. You dip into him just-so, just enough to slather his hole and cock both in lube. He starts, slightly, at the starkness of something cold against where he's most hot, most sensitive. “Ah.”
Grinning devilishly against the nape of his neck, nosing down the high leather collar of his jacket, you drag out your fingers, terribly slow; and, only when you're sure Wriothesley is well aware of just where your hand is, you slather your own hard cock with the mess of lube and his slick.
“Ready?”
He huffs. “I’ve been ready, babydoll.”
You laugh at that, nudging your cockhead up and into his loose hole. The resistance is hardly evident—really, his body gives so easily for you—, your cockhead popping in in that perfectly saccharine way that always makes you groan low, makes Wriothesley whimper high in his throat.
“So open for me, babydoll,” you coo—his own word against him—, one hand dropping from his hip to brace against the seat of the bike. It hasn't gotten truly unsteady yet, but you always like to err on the side of caution when your beloved is involved. (Plus, you’re really not keen on having to buy a replacement bike for him.
A year’s salary alone probably couldn't buy a bike as souped up as his, the years Wriothesley put into the thing paying off beautifully in the long run. That damn bike's been around longer than you’ve been his boyfriend.)
Your cock slips in quick, easy, smooth, sliding right in down to the hilt, where you pause to let him adjust to your size. And, like clockwork, he shuffles his hips side to side against your one-hand hold and breathes out a low, whistling breath, says, “Okay.”
With that simple word—that small phrase, really—, you’re drawing your hips out slow n’ slick, the sound frankly obscene in the quiet around you. His bike doesn't so much as creak this time, either: it’s silent but swaying in time with your thrusts, barely noticeable and not at all that important, supporting the weight of you both and the heft of your next tender thrust.
Nosing at his sweat-damp hair, you drawl, “Look’it you, sweetheart, all open n’ pliant for me on my cock. You’re takin’ it so well, pretty thing right on your pretty bike.”
“Baby—” he starts to say something else, but he gets cut off with his own moan, your thick cock budding up against his g-spot. You feel him froth around where you're balls-deep in him, and you slide your hand from hip to mons.
“Want my hand, Wrio?” you ask, fingers brushing the mess of black curls sprouting from between his thighs.
He nods vehemently, his bangs splayed across his sweaty forehead. God, if anybody walked by, drove by—they’d get an eyeful of your Wriothesley, fucked silly and hot by your cock; they’d get their heart’s content of punked-out Wriothesley, leather gloves and leather jacket spread across leather upholstery, his accessorizing chains rattling off with each thrust.
But Wriothesley is yours and yours alone; you wouldn't dare share the sight with anybody else. As such, you curl yourself further over his stretch-out, prone body, breathing hotly against and moaning against the blushing shell of his ear.
“There we go,” you murmur, taking to circling the throbbing head of his cock with a gentle finger. He mewls into the air, his head almost limp on his shoulders. “There we go.”
“F-feels good,” he moans as he tips his head into yours. “So good.”
“Yeah?” you ask, rhetoric, switching from circling to stroking him, your pointer and middle finger lightly squeezed on either side of his straining erection, moving forwards n’ backwards in gentle undulations. You swear you can feel his heartbeat in each throb of his cock, driving you to give it to him better, sweeter. “I can feel you throb for me, sweet thing: are you already that close?”
No longer trusting his voice (which is a shame, really, considering how much you love to hear those ruined syllables pass from his lips), Wriothesley can only nod, letting his head loll even further forward ‘til he’s practically curved over the seat of the bike. You follow him all the way down: you, wrapped over his curled back; and him, head pillowed on his crossed arms. A shimmer of sweat makes itself known on the sleeves of his jacket, the leather of it catching the sun. He’s devolved to helpless moans.
While he trembles beneath you, around your cock, you hone in on that perfect angle—the angle of your fingers stroking him off, the angle of your cock bumping against the spots deep in his cunt that never fail to pull Wriothesley apart. “There we go,” you repeat, your own words coming out muddled with the pleasure threatening to pull you under, instead. “‘m gonna cum in you, gonna fill you up ‘til you can’t take anymore—y-you want that, baby? Want me to breed you while you cream my cock—”
“—yes!” His voice is shot to hell, this raspy thing that’s somehow thrice as gruff as normal and equally as hot, as absolutely, resolutely ruined. “Yes, yes! Breed me, w-wanna be bred...” He tapers off with a whimper, cunt beginning to tighten up around you as his orgasm threatens to pull him under with you—no longer just apart, but wholly wrapped in you, safe and protected.
“Cum for me, then—mm—, Wrio, Wriothesley—”
He whimpers, again, and you barely catch a whisper of your own name in the intelligible mess before you’re cumming, too, your cock pulsing with each involuntary squeeze of Wriothesley around you. Even as blood rushes through your ears, though, you’re whispering sweet words—nasty words, each one making him whimper n’ whine—, your fingers—long-trained, by now—keep up the gentle strokes of his cock until he’s too sensitive to go on. You withdraw them slowly, even as you’re still pumping him full with cum, even as his cock is still helplessly twitching and cunt still milking you for all you’re worth.
Coming down from your highs, then, is a slow, drawn out thing. You stay seated to the hilt, but you tease at the way his cunt’s spread open around the base of your cock, your fingers coming back covered in opaque white. He whines and weakly kicks his leg back, but you only laugh, bringing his cum up to your lips, tongue darting out to lick it clean. You groan—more-so for show, to get a rise out of your boyfriend—at the taste, and he seems to finally find his voice at that.
“Quit it,” he says; and, damn, did you do a number on his voice. It seems to have dropped an octave, all syrupy-slow and gruff in that way he always gets post-coitus. “‘s nasty.”
“I’m nasty?” Laughing, you nuzzle your cheek against the back of his head, cat-like in your affections. “You begged for it.”
Wriothesley groans. When he attempts to lean up, you help by wrapping your hands around his abdomen—surely leaving a patch of saliva somewhere on either his tee or jacket—and prop your chin on his shoulder... all while you’re still balls-deep.
“Hi,” you say, grinning. You can feel his eye-roll.
But he says “hi” back anyway, letting his head fall back onto your own shoulder. He tilts his face towards you and meets your gaze with a satisfied sort of smile.
“Well?” you ask. “Did I live up to your fantasies?”
He nods. “And more,” he adds; but then he’s pulling off of and away from your cock, leaving you no time to dwell on it. “I starkly remember you saying you would clean my bike.”
“I did.”
“Get to it then.”
You grumble, though, tugging him back into your with the bear hold you’ve got wrapped across his torso. “You and the bike,” you finally correct, “and you come first. C’mon.”
Whether or not you actually get to cleaning that leather upholstery, well... Wriothesley may be driving Sigewinne to school tomorrow while sitting on a barely-there, all-dried patch of his and your cum.
i got rlly carried away . . this was 3k words before i even knew it >< . . but: was this inbox from february? ye. does my pera anon still show their face? idk ! if ur still here, this is dedicated to u, honey <33 i know this may feel shallow of me, but i really do miss u guys when u disappear (；′⌒`)
#ㅤ✦【 INBOX 】#ㅤ【 pera 】#i love adding in subtle stutters whenever the sub gets a bit too confident<3#reminds 'em that they're not all that (~￣³￣)~#male reader#x male reader#top reader#sub wriothesley#wriothesley smut#wriothesley x reader#wriothesley x you#anddddd#sub genshin#genshin smut#genshin thirsts#since the og ask was just a thirst tbh . .#genshin x reader#genshin x you#trans nsft#also no. he did not give birth to sigewinne. she was adopted#!! the br//ding stops at the k/nk . .
221 notes
·
View notes
Note
sumn about dionysus’s daughter and percy being obsessed w each other irks be in so kind of way, can i req something about it???
I would come back from death for you .｡*♡
— percy jackson x daughter of dionysus!reader
warnings: none, i think
a/n: ok, here comes my confession. I don't know if this is something that counts as "obsession" as such because there are different types of it. I wanted it to be a more tender or cute obsession. I don't know, maybe I'll explore more but with a darker side.
The emotion was devouring him from the inside out. He knew he would be leaving in a few days, and even though he'd rather fight Hades himself than give his life on a silver platter, Percy couldn't help struggle with the thought of not being in your arms again.
— I'll go with you — you said, even though you knew it wouldn't happen. — I don't mind dying with you if it's the only way to keep us together.
Really, he wouldn't mind too, but he knew he had to keep you safe. Dionysus would never forgive him if anything happened to you, and to be honest, neither would he. You'd stay; that was the right thing.
The best deal he could get for now was to be together as much as possible until the day came.
You didn't say it, but it had become an obsession for each other. barely at night could separate to go to your respective cabins, and of course, not counting those times when you or he would sneak away to spend more time together. Some campers watched, they knew what was going on but still turned a blind eye because who were they to judge? Besides, it suited them to maintain the discretion or Dionysus would truly be in a bad mood, as having Percy Jackson as a son-in-law was enough for him.
That night, you had already turned off the lights, only the moonlight accompanied you, and you let out a deep grunt that turned into a gasp when you heard a knock on your door, you squinted your eyes and then heard two more knocks, three in total.
Obviously it was Percy, and you quickly got up before anyone could see him in front of your cabin. As soon as you opened, he slipped in between the door and closed it by pressing his heel. When you smelled the worn sunscreen on the curve of his neck, you let out a sigh; it was as if during the time you hadn't been together, you had been slowly holding your breath, suffocating without him.
— I missed you — he murmured, squeezing your body a little tighter. He placed a kiss on your shoulder and leaned back to look at you.
— It's only been an hour since dinner, Pers — you said, and he smiled at the nickname taking your hand to walk with you towards your bed. in the end, you were the only one to sit on the edge of it because percy stayed watching your bedside things, fiddling with and looking at your makeup.
— I'm leaving tomorrow — he said, still with his back to you as he struggled to read the label of a lipgloss, the one that suited you so well and that he never feared smudging when he kissed you.
Your heart raced. —Tomorrow? But...
— Things have changed, Chiron told me — Sadness and anger evident in his voice. Percy wanted to set the world on fire with Leo's help just because he hadn't had a couple more days with you. Instead, he took your perfume in his hands and brought it to his nose to smell it. Trying to imprint it in his memory, at least, until he returned and could smell it from your own body where it mixed with thousands of other scents resulting in your characteristic one. The one that drove him crazy.
That idea made him laugh, in fact you were the daughter of the man who could made men crazy with a snap of his fingers, so Percy believed you had done something similar to him, the only difference was that he was happy with it. He would jump blindfolded out of the grand canyon for you if you asked him to.
After a minute, he understood that your silence wasn't exactly a good thing, and he ran his fingers over the other beauty items on your wooden dresser, before turning towards you putting his weight on the dresser.
— Everything will be fine — he was convinced, but the tears threatening to fall from your eyes brought him to his knees before you, so quickly that you held back a sob seeing him on the floor raising his hands to caress your cheeks as if you were something religious that he was worshiping. Her turquoise eyes shone in the moonlight with empathy and they let you know that you had never felt that kind of religious love for which you would die until you had him.
Ugh, you were so in love with each other that it was ruthless to separate you even for just a little while.
You bent down to kiss him, and he stretched his neck to reach your lips desperately, without wanting to lose any piece of you.
—It will take much more than death to keep me from coming back to you— he whispered inches away from your lips, and you smiled because you knew he was serious about that.
With time on your shoulders, you settled on the bed, and he cuddled with you until you fell asleep while he stroked your hair and kissed you on the cheek; you had never felt so safe in someone's arms.
And it was in the morning, just after their last kiss, that your body began to ache for him and his absence. You returned to your cabin, cranky and teary-eyed, looking at the mess he had left on your dresser last night and smiled, recognizing your boyfriend's quirks, but little did you know that all Percy was doing was looking for things he could carry with him during his quest. Things that were yours and reminded him of what he had to fight for.
—Nice hair claw, Percy— Piper joked with a pink spark in her eyes, and he smiled proudly.
Leo dramatically put his hand on his chest and sighed loudly. — Better no one get in HIS – our – way because someone's waiting for him.
“Yeah, better not” he thought.
#maría's shared dreams☆｡ﾟ✧#percy jackson x you#percy jackson#percy jackson x reader#percy pjo#percy jackson and the heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#heroes of olympus#hoo x reader#pjo x reader#percy jackson x y/n#percy jackson blurb#percy jackson fic#percy jackson fluff
269 notes
·
View notes
Note
can u write a fic of ivantill navigating their feelings after the kiss if they were both saved by the rebels
Till was annoyed. He was also feeling a lot of other things, undoubtedly, but annoyance was at the top of the list because why wouldn't they just let him see Ivan already?
"Can you please stop pacing?"
He paused mid-step and glanced over at Mizi.
"I just found out one of my friends who I honestly thought was dead has actually been alive this whole time and my other friend is currently being operated on after nearly giving his life to save me. Sorry if I'm a little antsy."
Mizi gave a small smile, undeterred by his bluntness as usual. Or what used to be usual. Till wasn't so sure what had or hadn't changed.
"He'll be okay, I promise." Even as she said it, her eyes were drawn to the closed door. They couldn't even hear anything through the thick metal. "You heard them; the wound was pretty minor. Just grazed his side."
Till pressed his lips into a thin line, hands curled into fists at his sides.
"Why did he do that?" he asked, barely louder than a whisper. Mizi stood up and crossed the hall, drawing him into a hug. He used to dream about this - having her undivided attention - but now it did little to ease the terrible pain in his chest.
Sniffing once, he hugged her tight. She didn't say anything, even as began to cry into her shoulder.
-
It was nearly two hours before the door opened and one of the healers - Mizi had introduced them but honestly Till couldn't remember her name; he had been kind of traumatized at the time, okay? - stepped out.
Till tried very hard not to focus on the blood staining the front of her shirt. "He's stable," she said.
"Okay, great." Till didn't even wait before trying to push past her; she didn't budge. "Come on! I just want to see him."
She smiled politely. "I didn't say you couldn't. Just try and be quiet, okay? He might be doze in and out, don't try to force him to stay awake."
Till pursed his lips. "I know," he grumbled. Mizi joined his side.
"Thank you," she said. With a shared nod, the healer left. Inside the room was the other healer; he quietly set a rag on Ivan's forehead before also leaving the room.
"He still has a slight fever," he explained. "If he asks, you can refresh the rag." He pointed to a bucket on the table with what Till could only hope was clean water.
Once he was gone, Till walked over to the bed and sat down. Mizi sat on the other side of the bed. Ivan hadn't stirred since they walked in.
He looked bad - terrible, even. His skin was even paler than usual, there was a bit of crusted blood still at the corner of his mouth, dark circles under his eyes.
But he was alive, and that was all that mattered.
"I'll just stay until he wakes up," Mizi said quietly, staring at him. "I just want to make sure he's okay."
Till had almost forgotten he wasn't the only one who had been wounded by what happened. He suddenly felt a little guilty.
"You don't have to leave," he said instead.
She smiled over at him; there was something about the look in her eyes that made Till feel exposed. He didn't like the feeling. "I think you two need to talk."
He didn't argue, even if the last thing he wanted to do right now was talk about what had happened. Any of it.
-
Ivan woke up about ten minutes later; he was groggy, as expected, voice hoarse and scratchy.
"Here." Till moved without even thinking, grabbing a cup he had noticed on the table a little earlier.
Ivan was too weak to even hold it. Till adapted quickly; he held the cup to his lips and tilted it back a little. Once Ivan was done, he set it aside again.
"So," he licked his lips. "I guess this isn't heaven, huh?"
Mizi laughed softly. "Not even close. But you're safe here, at least."
He sighed, groaning a little as he tried to sit up. Till moved quickly, gently grabbing his arm to help him. He wasn't even sure if he should be moving yet but he wasn't about to fight him; that just seemed like asking for even more trouble.
"I really expected to die up there," he said once he was settled, the rag fallen at his side. Till grabbed it, plopping it in the bucket for now.
Mizi pressed her lips together. "I think I'm going to go see if they have anything that'll be easy enough on your stomach," she said, gently touching Ivan's shoulder as she stood.
"I'm not hungry," he replied automatically.
She clicked her tongue. "Too bad; you need to eat to recover."
Without waiting for a reply, she swept around the bed and paused just long enough to squeeze Till's shoulder once before leaving the room.
The silence was almost suffocating.
"You weren't really choking me," Till blurted.
Ivan side-eyed him. "Of course not," he said slowly. "Did you really think I would?"
Till opened his mouth, closed it. "I'm not really sure of anything anymore," he admitted quietly.
"It was just a ploy," Ivan continued, looking away. "I don't know. I just needed them to believe it."
It was silent again for a few beats. Till stared at his hands.
"You could've killed me," he said eventually. "I didn't care."
He chanced a look; Ivan was still staring ahead at nothing, his mouth a tight line. "I would've never let that happen," he said and for a moment Till wasn't sure what he meant until - "I would've done anything to ensure your safety."
And that was the crux of it, huh?
Till thought of Ivan's hands around his throat, surprisingly gentle. He thought about his mouth. His lips. He had kissed Till like he was searching for something. Like he needed something.
"You kissed me," he said. It felt weird, finally saying the words.
Ivan snorted, shaking his head minutely. "I did." He side-eyed Till again. "I know it was selfish of me. I know."
"But if you could do it over again, would you still kiss me?"
Till wasn't even sure what had motivated him to ask. Ivan smiled; it was almost sad. "Probably."
He nodded. He wasn't upset. He wasn't even sure if he had been upset, in the moment, not for longer than a second. Mostly he had been confused.
But now that he had time to think on it, he wasn't so confused anymore.
"I never knew," he mused quietly. "I mean." He looked up, suddenly a little angry. "You never told me. You should've told me."
All that time he had been chasing after Mizi and a part of him had always known it was never going to happen. She had loved - she still did - love Sua.
Time wasted. He had never even considered...
"There was no reason to burden you with my own feelings," Ivan said evenly. "I'm selfish, maybe, but I didn't want to make things even more complicated for you."
Till breathed out through his nose. "You really think you were doing that for my sake?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice level. "You think you had the right to decide what was best for me?"
Ivan stared back at him, eyes as dark as ever. "I don't understand."
"You kept it from me," Till continued, pressing a hand to his chest, "because you were scared to say it. You were scared of how I would respond."
Ivan let out a humorless laugh. "We both know how you would've responded, Till." He sighed. "This is a pointless argument to have."
He still wasn't getting it. "No," he said, leaning closer. "We don't know how I would've responded because you never gave me the chance."
"Just like you gave the same chance to Mizi?" he shot back.
Till pressed his lips together. "That is not the same and you know it. Sua loved her back. It was different. I - " He paused, biting the inside of his cheek.
Suddenly the fight was drained out of him. Ivan eyed him warily.
"You what?" he asked, looking cautious and almost nervous. Till had never seen that expression on his face. He always looked so in control of everything. It was nice to be reminded he was really just human like the rest of them.
Till swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I think I could've liked you, Ivan. If only I had known."
Ivan stared at him like he wasn't really seeing him. "No," he said, too fast. He looked more scared, here, than he had up on that stage.
"Didn't factor that into your little plan, huh?" he asked; without asking, he pulled the rag out of the water and wrung it before leaning forward to gently scrub away the dried blood on his chin. "I don't think I ever really liked her, not in the way I thought I did."
Ivan was silent, his jaw clenched.
"I was just - I needed something. An escape. A dream. She was nice to me. Pretty..." Till sat back. "I think I just really wanted someone to care about me."
Ivan glanced at him briefly before looking away again.
"But this whole time I was blind to see I had that," Till felt his eyes burning. "Maybe you weren't as obvious about it, maybe you had your own way of showing it, but... that doesn't matter." He tossed the rag aside and reached for his hand; Ivan stiffened as he grabbed it but didn't pull away. "I would like to have a second chance."
Ivan stared at their hands. "You don't owe me this," he said, voice still carefully even.
"I'm not offering anything because I feel like endowed to you," he squeezed his hand, hard. "You know me well enough to know I wouldn't do that. Now stop fighting me on this and look at me."
Ivan lifted his head.
"Thank you, Ivan," he said, staring into his eyes - dark, yes, but warm, comforting and familiar - "for caring about me, even when I couldn't see it."
Ivan opened his mouth, closed it. He squeezed his hand back. If Till didn't know better, he would even say he was blushing a little.
Maybe he would always have a bit of regret for not really seeing Ivan earlier. Maybe Ivan would apologize many more times for kissing him without permission. Maybe he would try to apologize for hurting Till, even if he didn't. Not really. All the pain he had felt - the real pain - was cured the moment he had known he would be okay. Maybe they would still struggle a lot, have bad and good days, but maybe that was okay.
#alnst#ivantill#alien stage#ivantill fic#alnst till#alnst ivan#alnst mizi#mywriting#hope u enjoy anon!#ivantill requests/prompts are open to all btw#they rly help motivate me soooo
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Four Mistakes - pt 2
Thinking about doing a part 3...
Katie McCabe x Reader
Warnings: Mentions of Injury
It seemed like every step was a chore, even with Katie supporting your entire body weight. You groaned with every step. Katie was basically dragging you, at least that is what you felt was happening as you could barely lift your feet.
“I know y/n, I know it hurts but we are almost home.” Katie would reassure you, although you were pretty sure she was scared shitless and trying to keep you calm. Fun fact, you were anything but calm.
The 10 minute walk back to Katie's house felt more like 2 hours with how slow you felt you were walking, but you have to give Katie credit, she can most definitely drag a 60 kg 17 year old like there is no tomorrow. When we did get back to the house, Katie practically threw you in the back seat and jumped in the driver's seat. Driving like a mad woman to the nearest hospital, you took notice of her right hand. It could have been broken, it was swollen with dried and fresh blood flowing down her arm. It seemed as though she hadn’t really taken notice, it was the least of her problems to be fair.
“Don’t fall asleep on me back there, ya hear?”
“I’ll try my best” you whispered. Gosh, even talking hurt.
“You’re going to be just fine y/n. Ya gotta be.”
Katie pulled right outside the emergency doors and threw open her door to grab you from the backseat. Once you were safely tucked into her side, the both of you made your way to the entrance of the emergency room. Surprisingly, the emergency room seemed to not be as chaotic as they portray in drama shows. So a nurse was on us the moment we came through the doors.
“We will take her from here ma’am” she said while getting on my other side, “Tell us everything you know.”
“Um.. I.. He..” Katie stuttered out, as they transferred me to a gurney and wheeled me away.
“Ma’am, your hand. You are hurt, let me help you.” She said gently grabbing Katies right hand,
Katie recoiled a little bit, hissing at the contact, finally realizing that she in fact was in a great deal of pain. Her pain only became relevant now that you were in the hands of people capable of helping you.
“Ma’am, do you know who you brought in? Do you know who we can call? Can I please help you? I think you broke your hand” The nurse asked
“Um, she's my kid. I am the one who you would call.” She responded shakily
“Ok, good. Is there anyone we can call for you? You don’t seem to be doing ok.”
Katie thought for a few seconds before fishing out her phone and handing it to the nurse “Uh, yea me best mate. And yea me hand hurts help would be appreciated, if ya wouldn’t mind. Is she gonna be alright? What are they going to do?”
“We will not know until the doctor comes back, but we will let you know as soon as they come back. Now let's go over here and take a look at your hand.” The nurse said while leading Katie back into an examination room. She began to look at the hand in more detail before reaching over to grab some cleaning supplies and clean her knuckles.
“I’m Nancy by the way, what’s your name?” The nurse said after starting to clean Katies wounds.
“My name is Katie, do ya think my hand is broken?”
“Straight to the point I see. Well, we will need an x-ray to say for sure and what kind of treatment would be needed, but I am 80% sure you indeed have a broken hand Katie,”
“Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. Do I at least get a cool cast?”
“Of course, in any color you want. But let me go and put in for an x-ray and check up on the status of your child. What's her name? Nancy said while standing up
“Her names y/n, y/n McCabe” Katie responded tearfully
*****
A half hour had passed before another person burst through the emergency room doors.
“I’m looking for Katie McCabe? Where is she?” Viv asked the front desk
“She is just about to come back to the waiting room, looks like she just got her cast done so the nurse will send her your way if you will just have a seat ma’am.”
Viv nodded and turned around to look for an open chair perfectly positioned to see everything but not be so far away that she couldn’t hear if the nurse called your name. In the middle of her consideration, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her torso. She looked over and saw Katie, so she wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
“Hey, are you ok?” Viv spoke after a minute
“I don’t know, I will be once I see her. Viv… she was in bad shape… I …” Katie said before being caught by a wave of emotion.
“Hey. Look at me, she is going to be fine. She’s a McCabe, you all are a stubborn lot. Now lets sit down and tell me what happened”
*****
Katie was currently tucked into Vivs side, her leg bouncing in anticipation, impatiently waiting for the doctor to say your name.
“So, why did you have them call me instead of Caitlin?” Viv wondered out loud
“Well, Cait is out with Steph and Kyra. I didn’t want to ruin her night, and ya were the next person I could think of to help me.” Katie confessed. “Where's Beth? Ya guys are attached at the hip.”
“Ah, Steph called like 10 min before I got the phone call. She got invited to hang out with the Aussies.”
“God, that's trouble.”
Finally, your name was called, “Family of y/n McCabe?”
Katie and Viv shot up and made their way to the doctor.
“Hi, yea that’s us. Is she ok?” Katie rushed out
“Yes, y/n is alright. If you follow me, we will go back and see her. She is a little out of it because we gave her some strong pain meds, just a warning.” They said while walking down the corridor. They walked past a few more doors until the doctor turned left and went through the door.
“y/n, how are you feeling?” The doctor greeted you.
As they walked in the room, Katie was finally able to see you. You were sitting up and looking at the door with a dopey look on your face. She took note of all the physical injuries she could see, you had a black eye, a few stitches around your eyebrow and a cut adorning your lip. As well as a bandage around your right hand.
“I’m okayyyy. The funky juice ya gave me is makin me feel fuzy, but its all goooood becuz ya brought me Mum. Oh! And Auntie Viv!”
The doctor chuckled a little bit, “Mhmm, I sure did. They are gonna take you home soon, I just need to tell your mum a few things, is that alright?”
You looked flabbergasted, “pfffttt, of course. She already knows everything about meee”
“Alright, so I am sure you can see most of the damage. She has a few stitches in her face and quite a few in her hand. We have it covered so that nothing gets into her… incisions. You will have to come back to get all the stitches removed in about 2 weeks. We checked her torso area, and found that she has no broken bones, she did however have a few fractured ribs and severe bruising. That is the reason for the strong pain meds. I imagine she will be in quite a bit of pain for about a week or so because of that. Any questions?”
“Um, is there a way I can get you to send both my report and hers to our work? And I can take her back home tonight?”
“Yea, that shouldn’t be a problem. Just need a medical release so that we can send those over and those can be there by the morning. Yes, you can take her home tonight. We don’t need to keep her for observation, but if anything changes please do come back and we can take a look.”
“Ok, thank you very much.” Katie replied and then turned to you. “Hey kid, ya really gave me a scare there.” She continued, gently cupping your cheek.
“I’m sowry, I didn’t mean to” You replied looking tearful
“Hey, no. It’s alright, I… I just hated to see you like that, but you are alright now. Auntie Viv is going to take us home” She softly smiled before leaning in and placing a light kiss on your forehead. You leaned into her touch, closing your eyes briefly.
*****
You all had arrived home far too late for Katie’s pleasure. It was nearing 3 am when you stumbled through the front door.
“Hey, careful there kid. Lets not have to go back to the hospital, alright?” Katie said, worry laced in her voice
“I am like sooo careful, ya don’t even know. Now where is the boi??? I am in need of cuddles” You retort back, head swiveling in search of cooper.
Viv chuckled, as she grabbed your arm and pulled you into her side “God, she’s so high.”
“C’mon, we need to go to bed. Ya can sleep in my bed with cooper too.”
“Yayyyyy, now where is he??? And what about auntie Viv, where is she going to sleep?” you say, determined and confused.
Katie turned to Viv, “I actually did not think of that. We have practice tomorrow… Ya can sleep over obviously, I think Cait said something about spending the night at Stephs”
“Yea, that would be great. I can drive you both in tomorrow, you will have to talk to Jonas and the Physio. I can do that if it would make it easier.” Viv said while practically dragging you to Katie's bedroom.
“That would be great, I don’t know if I could talk about it again without breaking down. Would you mind taking us later, so everyone is on the pitch already, I don’t want the kid to be overwhelmed.”
“Yea, I will text Jonas now. I am in no shape to train tomorrow either, I am so tired.”
Viv helped you lay down in the middle of the bed, where you were now picking up cooper from where he was and placing him on your chest. Your quest of finding your furry friend now over.
As Viv was sending a message to Jonas, Katie got into the bed and pulled the covers up. Cooper moving off y/n’s chest and onto her own. You however, were sad that cooper had left you so you moved to your side and cuddled into Katies side sighing contently as Katie wrapped an arm around you protectively. When Viv had turned around, she chuckled.
“May I join the cuddle pile?”
“Of course, auntie Viv. Come on my other side, so that I am a sandwich!”
“What kind of sandwich?” Viv asked as she got into the bed, spooning you
“A love sandwich, silly” you said tiredly.
“My bad, now go to bed kid, you have a long day tomorrow.” Viv said as she felt herself being claimed by the warmth of sleep.
50 notes
·
View notes
Note
I would love to see Wrecker with Topaz in the winter! Warm soup, cozy fireside snuggles, and just sheer cuteness! 💕
Silent Night
Summary: After Wrecker and the Batch’s Medic are stranded in the middle of a winter wonderland, Wrecker decides to make the best of it.
Pairing: TBB Wrecker x F!Reader
Word Count: 725
Warnings: None
Prompt: Topaz - Affectionate Love
Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly
A/N: This one fought me at every turn. I knew what I wanted it to say, but I'm not sure I managed to make it as soft and sweet as I wanted. Oh well, Happy reading!
“You know, you’re pretty good at this, Doc.” Wrecker says with a grin as his gaze drifts from the fish he’s cleaning, to where the team medic is crouching next to a roaring fire.
The light from the orange flames gives her an almost ethereal look, and Wrecker has a look away before he gets too distracted. “Well,” She admits as she clears a space of snow, as best as she can, and pulls the tent out of his kit, “Mom and dad divorced when I was a kid. And while mom had a nice house, dad wasn’t so lucky. So his weekends were usually spent camping.”
“So you could probably clean this fish then?” Wrecker asks, as he glances at her curiously.
She smiles sheepishly, “Well, dad did show me how, but you’re doing a wonderful job.”
He grins at her, and sets his knife to the side, “Well, as it happens, I’m done anyway. You have everything set up?”
“Yep. Just toss everything in the pot.”
Wrecker does as she instructs, and watches as she adds a few packets of seasoning, as well as some dehydrated vegetables, “I’m guessing your dad had you doing most of the cooking?”
“Yeah. Well, he wasn’t very good at cooking, really. So it was either learn to cook, or me and my siblings were going to end up with tapeworms or something.” Wrecker sits on the flat rock that she found…somewhere…and starts cleaning his knife.
“You know, you don’t talk about your family often.”
She glances at him, “Well, there’s not really much to say, is there?” She drops the contents of a second package into the pot, and then sits next to Wrecker, “My family is just average.”
“I’m not sure what an average family is,” Wrecker points out, “Though I bet Tech could tell me.”
She laughs, “Right, right. Well, there’s mom. She was a housewife up until she and dad got divorced, and then she got a job at the local elementary school getting me and my siblings free tuition. Dad was a firefighter who had a gambling issue. And then there’s the kids, my other brother, me, and our younger sister.”
“Well, you’re a doctor. What do your siblings do?”
“My brother is a chef at some big name restaurant on Coruscant. My sister is trying to become an actress, though she’s only really starred in commercials.” She shrugs, “Like I said, normal. Your family is so much more interesting.”
He laughs, “That’s one word for them.” Wrecker finishes cleaning his knife and stashes it away, “Are you comfortable?”
“Hm?”
“It’s kind of cold.” Wrecker points out.
“Oh, I’m alright. The fire is helping, and Hunter insisted I wear cold weather gear for this mission.” She hesitates, “Do…do you think-?”
“I’m sure they’re fine. Tech is there, after all.” Wrecker drapes an arm over her shoulder and tugs her against his side, “We’re the ones who have to camp outside in the snow.”
She smiles shyly, “I’m not worried.”
“No?”
“I have you here, don’t I?” She asked with a small, almost flirty, smile.
Wrecker’s heart flips nervously, “I…uh…”
She tilts her head, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Nah, Doc. I’m just…I’m not Hunter or Crosshair, I’m not used to flirting.” Wrecker admits.
“I’ll stop, if you want.”
“Well now, I didn’t say that.”
She laughs, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, “I like you, Wrecker. You’re fun and you make me laugh and you make me feel safe. I’d like to go on a proper date with you, if I can.”
Wrecker blinks at her, “You…you do?”
“Yeah, if it’s alright.”
“We don’t really…there isn’t much time for proper dating-” Wrecker stammers, “And I don’t get paid-”
“I do get paid, and, well, it doesn’t have to be a big thing, Wrecker. I just want to spend time with you.”
“Well, in that case, can’t this be considered a date?” Wrecker points out.
She looks startled for a moment, and then she beams at him, “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” She lifts to her knees slightly and presses a light kiss against his cheek, before she settles next to him again.
Wrecker presses his hand against his burning cheek, a wide grin that he isn’t even trying to stifle.
Being stranded here isn’t as bad as it could be.
#star wars#tbb#vodika vibes 500 followers celebration#tbb wrecker x reader#wrecker x reader#star wars fanfiction#x reader fanfiction#f!reader fic#answered asks
35 notes
·
View notes
Note
God that must be so hard and nerve wracking for Carmilla. Finally knowing what happened to the baby she lost and feeling slightly relieved cause now here was her baby safe and here in her arms again where she belonged damnit but they were all in hell and her baby had already lost an eye and had to fight every day...
But also...how are Clara and Odette handling the news that they found their baby sister and just who she is?
Carmilla takes a few days to determine if she wants to inform Odette and Clara about what she'd gleaned following the most recent Extermination. In the first place, her girls had been working overtime extracting all the angelic steel left behind near the Hotel; it's a veritable treasure trove this time, and they'd been so excited to get started. Second, Carmilla needed time to process recent revelations herself, and figure out how to delicately broach the subject with her eldest two.
How is she supposed to tell her daughters that their sister, whose existence they'd barely even registered back on Earth, had quite literally come back from the dead? Not only that, they'd missed an entire childhood together; growing, playing, bonding, fighting, and loving one another -- all things Clara and Odette had the opportunity to do. How is Carmilla supposed to just go up to them and say, "Surprise! You remember that child I was pregnant with when we all died? Well, she's still around! She's an ex-Exterminator, killed hundreds of our people, and I don't even know if she wants anything to do with us!"
Would Odette even accept her? Clara is usually the more open-minded of the two. That's another question she can't answer. With how many times Vaggie's "sister" Exorcists have tried to kill them over the years, would her other daughters even want to have anything to do with Vaggie? She thinks they would...Clara the most likely of the two...but they are fully grown women with their own thoughts and feelings. She wouldn't blame them if they...well, they'd have every right not to want that kind of relationship with Vaggie, at any rate.
Carmilla is still stewing in these thoughts, having practically worn a path in the middle of her bedroom floor by walking back and forth so many times, when she feels a vibration in her pocket. Pulling out her phone, Vaggie's name flashes prominently on the screen, like a fresh piece of graffiti on the side of a building. She almost drops her phone in surprise, but manages to keep it together. She taps the answer icon in trepidation.
"Ye-yes?"
"Carmilla?" Vaggie's voice on the other end sounds so...tired. Carmilla recalls she's been home for a few days now, but she wouldn't have been able to tell by the sound of her voice alone. Her tone is so...ragged and laced with anxiety; a spitting image of her own, if she's honest.
"Vaggie! Umm, yes! How can I help you?"
There is a definitive pause, one that makes the distance between them seem more metaphysical than real. They are just across the city from each other, but in every other sense, Vaggie is undoubtedly existing in her own plane of reality right now. She seems so much farther away than Carmilla could possibly reach by foot. It must have taken her a lot to call Carmilla. The arms dealer puts her patience to the test, and waits intently for Vaggie to find the words to voice what she needs to say.
"Carmilla..." Vaggie finally starts, a voice much shakier and insecure than she remembers; a far cry from that determined, brave girl that challenged her at her compound all those days ago. "Can I...come over?"
Carmilla's heart jumps into her throat. Her ears start ringing, and she almost needs to sit down on her bed before she collapses.
"Yes!" she says, flinching as she sounds a little too eager for her own ears. There's no helping that now. "Of-of course! Whatever you need, mi querida. My door is always open. When do you want to come by?"
"Ummm," Vaggie hesitates, as if she fears she's asking too much. "Is right now okay? Are you...busy?"
Odette and Clara will be back soon, but that is the furthest thing from Carmilla's mind at the moment. She'll deal with it when the time comes.
"No, that's perfectly fine! Absolutely, I'll be here! I'm not going anywhere today."
Vaggie sounds a little relieved, but also like she hadn't expected her question to be answered so quickly, so freely. Carmilla hopes she doesn't sound too eager...but she is. How can she not be? This is her daughter, for goodness’ sake, her child, wanting to see her.
"O-oh-okay!" Vaggie says, a little more eager this time. "Gi-give me an hour? And I'll...I'll be there."
"Text me once you're close by," Carmilla says, trying to push away any further doubts and hesitation from her mind. Vaggie wants to come over. She needs to be strong for her. She needs to keep it the fuck together. "I'll come out and get you this time."
"Okay," Vaggie responds. "Thanks...thank you, Carmilla."
Vaggie hangs up. Carmilla stiffens. She stands up, putting her large hands over her face, wiping her forehead down to her cheeks from the stress of it all. Vaggie is coming back, coming here, right now. She tries so much not to freak the fuck out.
Now to figure out what to do about Odette and Clara.
#hazbin hotel#carmilla carmine#vaggie#vaggie hazbin hotel#odette hazbin hotel#clara hazbin hotel#fan theories#ask#anon#vaggie carmilla related au
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
i have literally nowhere else to put this i apologise for the spam. the absolute best thing to come out of s3 trent is without a doubt the fucking earnestness... like in s1-2 he always came across as a very self-assured kind of guy, who knew how he came off (ie: intimidating) and enjoyed it. but seeing that paired with him being silly + completely relaxing in certain company??? pulling ridiculous faces at vodka + scrunching up his nose when he smiles @ colin + making the most ABSURD 'i really wanna say something right now but i feel like im interrupting' noises ive ever heard in my fucking LIFE??? its like. he is cool as shit and he is self assured AND he can make dumb fucking sherlock holmes jokes and dance ridiculously. its like!!!! he's lame but he's also not bc he's exactly as confident in being lame as he is being cool. do u see the vision. he has killed the part of him that cringes!!!! its just.. that unshakeable self confidence that u see in his fucking swaggers into frame includes all of himself + his different moods and eccentricities and that's just so based to me idk. unironically live ur best life wear the loudest combination of prints and patterns and primary colours uve ever seen in ur life while espousing the virtues of extended museum hours!!! contain multitudes! get silly with it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
#ted lasso spoilers#combined with james lance's hc abt trent's past its just. like!!#the growth from 'i can't be what you want me to be so im going to be Better than them + tear them down'#-> 'i know my reputation so im going to lean into that + be ruthless + intimidating' ->#'actually fuck this? fuck this! im just gonna be me and if anyone has a problem w then L To Them I'm Actually Living'#also this is just my hcs at this point but like. i do think ted helped a lot w the latter part of this process in so much as. ted embodied#someone who was Visibly weak + vulnerable and had no armour/no sense of self preservation#(the opposite of trent's persona) and made no effort to change anything abt himself to prevent attack. obviously ted has a lot of social +#class advantages that make that less risky for him than it would be for others but like. u get the drift#and i THINK. seeing how without that armour/facade ted was able to be rlly direct + earnest w connecting w ppl#like asking an interviewer 'what do u love?' and rlly genuinely wanting to know the answer#and bc TRENT was specifically in the position of 'i could fucking destroy u rn and u wouldn't put up a fight'#that kind of. shifted his perspective a bit? like. damn what would that say abt me if i wrote a hit piece on this guy rn#i disagree VERY strongly w the idea that trent's more positive character development moments happened ONLY bc of ted (i don't think that's#true for anyone in the show tbh) BUT i think ted's presence at a pivotal point in his life was what helped him confront the fact that#at this stage in his life all his intellectual armour was doing was making him into someone Mean rather than just incisive#like. 'is this a fucking joke' is not cutting journalism. u get me??#and arguably that's a fine and even safe choice to make when ur younger and have no support/reputation backing u up#but after decades? its like man wtf are we doign here if were literally just living preventatively#smth smth i hope i am not just a tumblr blog to u but a blog who is inventing the brain chemistry of a sitcom side character#w each new episode they watch. trent crimm is my best friend irl i know he would have scorching hot takes abt each new season of survivor#and would earnestly heckle the jury and final 3 alike
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fighting Fair
Joel doesn’t know what or who started this fucking thing, but he’s finishing it. Tonight.
Tags: impish activities, soft dom!joel sorta aggressive joel, forced proximity, cock grinding, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie (always), teasing, dirty talk, almost somnophilia (they’re sleep-teasing each other unconsciously) sexually frustrated morons, good ol' fashioned "we have to get naked and share body heat to stay warm" trope
A/N: I had to drag myself kicking and screaming into writing this fic that put me through the fucking ringer!!! Thank you @theywhowriteandknowthings @merz-8 and @beefrobeefcal for the general fic help and encouragement! And I think also @noxturnalpascal and @tightjeansjavi and ESPECIALLY @notjustjavierpena who talked me through this fic a couple weeks ago and gave me the push I needed to finish it when I was stuck. You guys all rock ❤️
It’s too cold tonight, even indoors and with a fire burning. He moved the large sectional couch as close as he could safely get it by the fireplace, gave you his jacket, and you’re still hoarding the blanket. Joel tries to gently tug on the blanket that you’ve wrapped around your body, see if maybe you can spare to lose a few inches of fabric. You don’t budge. Joel sighs, “Y’can share, ya know.”
“This is sharing.”
“It’s not, actually. I’m the one sharin’ here. I gave you my coat, you can quit hoggin’ all the blanket,” Joel tugs harder on the blanket, it’s old and kind of scratchy, worn out by the years. “C’mon. Let up.”
“You can have this much,” You mumble, giving Joel a small amount of the fabric.
“How generous of you,” Joel mutters sarcastically before pulling the blanket entirely off of your shoulders. “Thank you. S’very kind.”
“Hey,” you whine.
“Yeah, I know,” he says. He covers his body in the blanket, making sure to cover your legs and feet as well. His hands brush over your own and he winces at their ice cold temperature. “Jesus, girl. Gimme these,” he mumbles, taking your hands into his own and holding them tightly. “Hands feel like icicles.”
“This fucking sucks, Joel,” you complain.
“It does,” he agrees. Joel’s been dreading this point in the year. He’s eased up on his ‘no fires’ rule for the most part, but fire doesn’t help when it’s as cold as it has been. Tonight, he’s grateful you spotted this old house from afar, even more grateful it has a fireplace. But it’s especially cold tonight, maybe even nearing below zero temperatures. Even with a glowing fire and a shelter preventing the chill of the wind piercing you to the bone, he’s not sure that’s enough to keep you both warm. Joel shivers, “This shit’s not workin’.”
You shake your head no. It’s not.
Joel’s not quite sure how to offer up his idea. It’ll be fine, or at least, it should be fine. What needs to happen is you and Joel need to get cozy and share body heat, the real way, with both of your bodies completely bare and pressed against each other.
Most of the time, you and Joel fall asleep separately. Occasionally, however, Joel will wake up in the early hours of the morning with your body inexplicably tangled in his, your head laying on his chest. The first time it happened, Joel was annoyed. “Get off of me,” he grumbled. “Not your fuckin’ teddy bear,” You whined in response, and when Joel tried to move you from him you clung to his body tighter. “Jesus,” he mumbled to himself.
After about the fifth or sixth time of waking up with you clinging to his body, he stopped trying to fight it. In fact, he even started to hold you closer, stroke your hair. Sometimes he’d wake up holding you, other times he’d wake up with your arms wrapped around him and your tummy pressed against his back. It was nice, mostly.
Mostly. You have the most uncanny ability to tease Joel in your sleep. Your hand will mysteriously travel from his side up to his chest, your thumb rubbing over his nipple. Other times, it’s your leg that brushes against his crotch. Or your ass, wiggling against his morning wood. After you wake, he’ll leave you alone for a few moments to quietly take care of himself, stroking his member to the thought of your naked body, your soft curves and smooth skin. Sometimes he’s not able to sneak away in the mornings and he’ll be hard as a rock and miserable the entire day. It’s unbearably frustrating. He’s never brought this tendency of yours up to you and he never will, because you’re not doing anything intentionally, at least he thinks. Though, there was one time after a particularly excruciating night of teasing, he thought he saw you smirk as he left to take care of himself. It was probably nothing.
That’s what he’s worried about. Your body, naked against his, teasing him. His arousal won’t be so easy to hide without the protection of clothing, not to mention he may not even be able to fall asleep. It’s not gonna be an easy night, but it’s the only option at this point.
Joel clears his throat, “We’re gonna try somethin’ different tonight,” he starts, “An’ we’re not gonna talk about it. Ever.”
“Okay,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this.
“You trust me?” he asks. You nod. “Good,” he says, “We’re gonna share our body heat. An’ it works better with skin to skin contact, which means we’re both gonna get naked and close under the blanket, but we’re not gonna talk about it. Not tonight, not ever. Can you do this?”
“I can,” you tell him. You’re not totally surprised by Joel’s idea, but you’re glad he was the one who brought it up. Truthfully, it’s been something you’ve been thinking of doing with him for quite some time now, since the weather’s been getting so cold. You’ve pictured it, rubbing your bare feet against his legs for some warmth. He’ll probably kick you away, complain that he’s cold too. You’ll tell him too bad.
“Okay,” he mumbles awkwardly, “Okay, s’good. I’m gonna turn around and get to it then, f’ya wanna…”
“Yeah, got it.”
You and Joel separate, he places the blanket at his end of the couch as he begins to unbutton his flannel. You remove his coat from your body then shimmy off your pants, leaving them crumpled on the floor. You catch a glimpse of Joel’s back, the firelight dancing on his toned and broad muscles, the scars and stretch marks decorating his skin like art. Quickly, you avert your eyes and begin to remove your shirt. You don’t notice Joel stealing a peek at your body, the blush creeping up his cheeks when he sees your bare breasts.
“Ready?”
“Mhm,” you mumble, but you’re anxious. You’re not sure how it happens, but you’ve been waking up with Joel here and there. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night with his limbs inexplicably wrapped around you, his chin resting on your head. The first time it happened, you were confused. You tried to shrug him off of you, but Joel only held you tighter, sleepily mumbling in an annoyed tone.
After about the fourth or fifth time of waking up with him holding your body, you stopped trying to fight it. In fact, you’d back yourself into him, even scratch his forearms to relax him. There’d be times you’d wake up being spooned by him, other times you’d wake up spooning him, with your arms wrapped around him and your tummy pressed against his back. It’s nice, mostly.
Mostly. Joel has this inexplicable habit of teasing you in his sleep. His hand will mysteriously travel from your side up to your breasts, his thumb catching on your nipples and rubbing them softly. Other times, he presses his cock against your ass, nudging you and gently grinding against your ass. When you wake, you find somewhere quiet to touch yourself, rubbing your clit to the thought of his body, his warm eyes, the groaning noises he’ll make when he stretches in the morning. Sometimes in the mornings, you can’t sneak away and you’ll be soaked all day, miserable as your core pulses and aches for him. It’s god awful, unbearably frustrating. But you’ve never brought this tendency of his up to him and you never will, because he’s not doing anything intentionally, at least you think. Though, there was one time after a particularly excruciating night of him teasing your nipples, you felt him touch you a little more intensely, like there could have been conscious thought behind the action. It was probably nothing.
This is what you’re worried about. His body, naked against yours, teasing you. It’s gonna be a difficult night, but you know it’s the only option.
Joel reaches for the blanket, spreads it out as he inches back towards you on the couch. “You can lay on your side like that, facin’ the fire,” he offers, and you follow his suggestion. Joel slots himself behind you and tucks the blanket around both of your bodies, then pulls you closer to his body. “Yeah, good girl. You got it. M’gonna hold you tight like this,” he tells you.
Good girl. His words send desire flooding your veins. Sweet talking in your ear, his hands holding you close and tight. God, this is trouble.
“Just need to scoot a little closer, like–” you back your ass into his crotch, “M’just so cold, Joel.”
Fuck. Joel can feel his growing arousal pressing against your ass. “I know you are, hon, just–don’t move like that on me,” He keeps you as close as he can against your body, pressing the length of his arm against your torso to keep you warm. His hand brushes against your breasts, thumb caressing your nipple. You gasp.
“Need you closer, though,” you mumble, wiggling against his crotch once more. His length hardens fully, prodding against your ass. His breath hitches, “Ignore it,” he grumbles, now annoyed. How many hints does he have to drop? Or are you doing this shit on purpose?
You’re annoyed too, honestly. He’s not directly groping you, but his fingertips have not left your nipples, lightly grazing over them and setting your skin on fire. Do you need to spell it out for him, what he’s doing to you? Surely it’s intentional on his end. Has to be.
There’s a moment where you’re quiet and so is Joel, both of you tired and confused and sexually frustrated with the other. Maybe you’re looking for a fight, but something’s gotta give. Fuck it, you’ll be the one to instigate. “Ignore what, Joel?” you ask, voice incredulous and laced with sarcasm.
“I’m–my–fuck,” Joel stammers. He feels your body move with your stifled giggles. “Knock it off.”
“It’s all for me, isn’t it Joel?”
“Dammit, just–shut up,” Joel stiffens as he feels his face and neck begin to warm. “And mind your business. S’not for you. S’not for anyone,” he lies, cringing internally for his defensiveness, definitely overcompensating. He rolls his eyes, knowing he was right. Five minutes into sharing body heat with you and it is not going well at all. You twist your hips once more. “I said ignore it,” he grumbles, his hand finding your hip and holding it firmly in place. “Not rub your ass on it. Now sit still. You’re testin’ my patience.”
“I can’t help it, Joel. I’m just trying to get comfortable,” you lie.
“Yeah, whatever. You’re gettin’ me in trouble is what you’re doing. Now for the love of god, quit it.”
Ten minutes go by without an incident, and Joel is focusing on trying to sleep with your naked body pressed against his. He’s certainly beginning to warm up but at what cost? He’s breathing in your scent, feeling your warm skin under his hand, which is hard enough to deal with. And then you fucking do it again, because his fingers are still lightly touching your sensitive nipples. “What did I just say?” Joel flips you on your other side so you’re facing him, then holds your jaw between his fingers. “Look at me,” he tells you. “Knock it off. Quit your squirmin’, quit wigglin’ your ass on my–” You can’t hide the grin that forms on your lips at his accusation. You purse your lips in an attempt to hide the amusement you’ve garnered from your payback, but Joel sees it. “Why’re you fuckin’ with me?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You know exactly what you’re doin’. Why are you fuckin’ with me?”
You shrug, “You started it.”
“I never fuckin’ know what you’re talkin’ about,” Joel complains through a deep sigh, exasperated.
“The teasing,” you explain, “You snuggle me and end up teasing me, playing with my tits and whatnot. You know what you do,” you accuse, “So I’m getting you back. Fair’s fair.”
“So you get worked up and you retaliate by givin’ me a hard on. Charming,” Joel grumbles, “And you’re one to talk about wanderin’ hands. Do you know how many times I’ve woken up with your hands in places they shouldn’t have been? Shouldn’t even be fuckin’ sleepin’ together.”
“You never complained about it before,” you retort, referring to the accidental snuggles that take place between Joel and yourself.
Joel wears a confused expression for a moment, then glares at you. He narrows his eyes at you, completely misunderstanding what you meant. In his head, he’s thinking that you’ve just admitted all of that accidental teasing–it has been fucking intentional on your part. He knew it! “Before? You’re tellin’ me this is a hobby of yours?” he spits, “I knew you had ulterior motives with that late night cuddlin’ of yours. You’ve been gettin’ me hot an’ bothered on purpose, haven’t you?”
You sigh, “No, I’m talking about—” and then you realize, if Joel thinks you’ve been intentionally getting him worked up all this time, he’s been doing the same shit to you to retaliate. “Only because you did it to me first,” you accuse.
Joel scoffs. “I don’t believe this,” he scoffs, “I don’t care who started it, I’m finishin’ it right now.”
Your heart pounds as desire pools in your gut, a warm, sticky feeling. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talkin about,” Joel whispers in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. “I’m gettin’ you out of my system once and for all. You’re fuckin’ ridiculous. We’re done with this.”
Joel shifts his arm, reaching for his cock. You watch as he wraps his palm around his member, thumb swiping over his red and swollen tip. His soft belly bulges against his arm that’s pressed tightly against himself as he strokes his member slowly, patiently. When you reach for his cock to replace his hand with your own, you’re in disbelief as he swats your hand away. “Joel,” you whine, confused.
“Was never really teasin’ ya, by the way. Think you’re a little selective in that way. Seein’ and hearin’ what you want to.” Joel accuses in a gentle tone as he continues to massage himself, “And even if I was, you don’t fight fair.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, sweetheart, all that shit you do to me, I’m gonna do right back to you,” Joel reaches for your leg, grabs the back of your knee and hikes your leg over his hip, pulling you closer and exposing your pussy to him. “Not going to go easy on you sweetheart, you sure you want this?” he asks, giving you an out. But you nod anyway, your tummy fluttering with desire as your mind begins to race, wondering exactly how he’ll retaliate after being pent up like this for so long. “Good,” he says.
Holding his cock in his hand, he guides the tip to your center, collecting the slick pooling at your entrance and taps the thick head against your clit. He pulls you closer and begins to drag himself through your folds. “Joel,” you gasp, “What are you doing?”
“Tryin’ out your modus operandi,” he breathes. “Isn’t this whatcha were just doin’? Rubbin’ up on me?”
“I wasn’t–mmmm,” you hum as he continues to rub the head of his cock against you, “Wasn’t like this.”
“You’re full of shit,” Joel groans as goes up and down, up and down, notching his tip ever so quickly inside of you to gather your increasing arousal and dragging it through your folds, paying special attention to your clit. You’re pulsing, clenching around nothing as he teases you agonizingly. “You’re makin’ a fuckin’ mess. S’all for me, isn’t it?” he taunts you, using your words from earlier. “God, you don’t take much at all. Soakin’ me, sweetheart.”
He notches his tip inside you to collect your wetness once more and you cry out, “Just fuck me.”
“You’re not gettin’ it,” he breathes, “Told ya, you’re gettin’ your comeuppance.”
You feel like you’re gonna burst. He rubs the head of his cock over your clit in circles, listening to your whines of displeasure when he pulls away from you to focus on his own pleasure. When presses himself against you again, he focuses his tip only at your clit, your slick helping him to slide up and down with ease. When he begins to roll his hips for added pressure, you bite into his shoulder to contain your cries. This is agonizing and so fucking delicious all at the same time.
You adjust your hips, simultaneously reaching for Joel’s cock to guide him to your entrance. You need him now. “C’mon, now. You mind your manners,” he chides you, “S’not any way to get what ya want.”
“Please, just fuck–need you inside me.”
“Sure thing,” he says in a honeyed tone. He replaces his cock with his fingers, leisurely dragging them through your slick folds before dipping first one, then two fingers inside you. He finds that delicious spot inside you, but curls his fingers lazily, not yet providing you with what you need. You’re throbbing, aching, hungry for more.
“Joel, not–”
“Shoulda been more specific, then,” he interrupts. Bastard. When you try to argue, Joel flips you on your back and guides his cock to your entrance, notching his tip in you again, this time not leaving. You whine eagerly, wrapping your legs around him and pressing your feet into his ass, trying to pull him closer. You need him inside you, now.
“Not all at once,” Joel purrs as he enters you at a glacial pace. He pushes inside you gradually, letting you feel every inch of him, stopping momentarily to adjust the blanket over his shoulders to keep both of your bodies enveloped in warmth. Joel bottoms out inside of you and pulls back out, then enters you again, so fucking slowly. You’re not sure how he manages to tease you while fucking you, but he’s doing it. You just need more, need it faster, harder, more. You reach for your clit, but Joel pins both of your hands under one of his own as he fucks into you. Tears of frustration begin to build in your eyes. “You can cry all you want, sweetheart,” he coos, “You made your bed. We’re not done with this yet,” he continues, “But, maybe if ya sweet talk me, apologize for startin’ somethin’ you couldn’t finish…”
“M’sorry, Joel,” you apologize quickly. All your fire, your mischief, Joel’s now extinguished like a flame.
“I knew you’d be sorry,” Joel murmurs. Knowing how badly you need to release, Joel snakes his other hand between your thighs and circles your sensitive clit with his thumb ever so lightly. Torturing you, taunting you with what you could have and never giving you more.
He’s fucking you at a steady pace now, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. It’s not enough. The wet, gushing sounds of your cunt and the way Joel’s skin feels against yours has you feeling dizzy. Joel’s savoring the way you’re squirming under him, straining your wrists against his locked grip. He knows you’re aching for release, but he’s determined to teach you a lesson, even if that means torturing himself.
Yes, as pleasurable as this is for Joel to watch you fuck around and find out, it’s misery for him too. Fucking his fist with the tip of his cock kissing your pussy was no easy task, and neither is holding back from how he truly wants to fuck you. Because, truthfully, he wants to fucking ruin you. Show you just what he thinks of these stunts you’ve been pulling. Show you just what he thinks of your wandering hands and your innocent ‘adjustments’.
“Please,” you gasp, “Just make me come, Joel.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. M’not feelin’ particularly generous at the moment.”
“Please,” you whine, “Been needing y–this for so long.”
“Ahhh,” Joel hums, “And the truth comes out,” he groans as he rolls his hips against you, “S’that what all of this is about? Been needin’ me?” you nod quickly, “Tell me how long you’ve been needing me.”
“Fuck, Joel, I don’t know. Forever,” you cry, “I need to come now, please. Need to come on your cock, fuck.”
“F’ya said somethin’ earlier instead of toyin’ with me like you’ve been doin’, we wouldn’t be in this mess, sweetheart.”
You don’t know how much more you can take. Tears of frustration trail down your cheeks, each of his thrusts hitting deep and massaging your insides, intentionally, powerfully.
Joel’s right there with you, struggling as well. He wants nothing more than to keep fucking you without allowing you to finish, having never seen anything before so erotic and beautiful as your squirming, writhing body. Your soft body, those sweet noises, that frustrated face of yours. And it’s all at his hands, he’s the one responsible for turning into this mess.
“Fuck,” he whispers through a shuddering breath, “Not gonna–”
“Joel,” you cry, the only word you know anymore being his name.
“Let’s be done with this,” he decides, fucking finally. He circles your clit steadily now, finding a pace and a pressure that has you letting out breathy gasps and moans as your orgasm approaches. “Want you to come for me,” he says.
His words are all you need. That warm, sticky feeling in the pit of your stomach builds quickly and releases almost instantaneously, sending pleasure erupting through your veins. You feel it everywhere, the back of your thighs, deep in your gut. Wave after wave of pleasure rocks your body as Joel’s thrusts quicken as he fucks you at a now frenzied, sloppy pace he chases his own release.
“Fuck,” he hisses, coming with a deep, stuttering moan of your name. His muscles jerk and tremble as his cock pulses inside you, painting your insides with thick ropes of his spend. He pulls out of you groaning, his hot, slick release making your thighs sticky. He places a gentle kiss to your lips and then to your forehead, the action a stark contrast to his previous demeanor. All's right with the world now. Sexual frustration solved.
He takes his place behind you again, pulling you close to his chest for the last time and making sure the blanket is covering you both. You’re certainly warmed up now. A little too warm, even. But you’re not complaining.
“Still not talkin’ about tonight,” Joel reminds you, “Ever.”
“Nope,” you agree.
Another quiet moment passes. For shits and giggles, you rub your ass against his crotch. “But I take it we’ll be doin’ this again, won’t we?” he says, defeated as you continue to tease him.
“Definitely.”
“Good god,” Joel sighs, “Get back over here, then. You drive me fuckin’ nuts,” he adds, pulling you back for round two. He was right, it’s a long night ahead of him.
#strang3lov3#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller#the last of us#pedro pascal#the last of us hbo#pedro pascal joel miller#pedro pascal the last of us#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal smut#joel miller one shot#Joel miller x reader smut
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader
Chapter 4
Word Count ~ 4.5k
Rating ~ Explicit
CW ~ minor blood and violence, sexual content
Also available on AO3
taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher
Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok
You’ve only barely begun to recover from the wrung out feeling of ultimate bliss when you hear it: the warning klaxon, followed by the sound of tires screeching to a halt. The aggressive roar of truck engines. Doors opening in rapid succession. Loud voices and boots pounding on pavement.
The doppelgänger jerks upright, sliding off the bed and wrenching the curtains to one side to peer down at the scene unfolding on the street below. “They’re here,” he says, and for the first time you detect something like fear wafting from the imposter.
A flood of relief washes over you. Someone had alerted the disposal unit. It wasn’t too late to save lives after all.
You search for your discarded clothing, hurriedly sliding the retrieved garments back into place. Francis’ copy looks at you.
“They’ll know you let me in.”
“Yes,” you agree distractedly, hastily shoving the hem of your blouse back beneath the waist of your skirt.
“They’ll know,” he says again, more firmly this time, moving in front of you, one hand closing around the wrist you’ve yet to refasten the shirt cuff upon. “They’ll know about me.”
You stare at him, realization kicking in. The others were safe. You, however, had no such guarantee. “Are you going to kill me?”
“I should. You’re a liability.” His grip on you abruptly relaxes. He’s merely holding you now. “Your organization will punish you for this.”
You shake your head, trying to hastily tuck your hair back into place. “Not once they hear my explanation.”
The intruder scowls. “What defense will you offer? You knowingly let a replicant into your precious building.”
“I…” Your confidence wavers as you begin to consider how your actions will appear. He’s right. There’s no excuse for what you’ve done. You’ve not only failed at your assigned task, you’ve betrayed your own kind. An unforgivable crime.
He seems to read the slight panic on your features, his voice gentling. “Suppose we make a deal,” he says.
You look at him warily. “What kind of deal?”
“I make it look like you were attacked while you tried to fend me off. Make up some doppelgänger appearance when they ask you. Don’t tell them about Francis’ death. You get to live. I get to go down the fire escape, avoiding extinction.”
A life for a life, in essence. The elevator was temporarily disabled the second the alarm was pushed, but it won’t take the team long to sweep each floor. You were running out of time.
“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.
He turns your arm over so the underside is exposed, thumb pressing firmly just below the hollow of your elbow. “This will hurt,” he cautions. The only warning you get before you see it: that thing inside of the milkman breaking through, emerging. A sickly gray-green digit topped with a sharp yellow claw. He drags it right through the fabric of your shirt, right through your skin. It burns. A blossoming line of red appears, your lifeforce weeping out of the laceration. You feel lightheaded and nauseous.
“Don’t look at it. And don’t let it get on the carpet. We need to leave, now.” He steps back into the milkman’s shoes, not even bothering with the laces. You follow him to the front door, exiting the apartment. Locked again. You hear voices echoing in the stairwell, the heavy tred of the suited disposal unit pounding on the steps.
“Remember what I said.” The imitation’s knuckles graze your cheek, the touch almost tender. The injured arm cradled against your chest is throbbing. “I’m going to knock you out. It will help further disguise what happened.” The voices are getting louder. They’ve finished on the second floor, making their way to the third. The doppel’s fingers curl around the back of your neck, his mouth brushing yours hurriedly before your head is slammed against the wall, sending you hurtling into a void of darkness.
***
There is a debriefing after the incident.
No casualties. The residents were safe, excluding Francis, of course. You have a lie ready to account for his sudden absence. You say you’d heard him mention something about an emergency visit to a sick relative in a neighboring city as he’d dashed out the front door earlier that day. A phone call to his employer wouldn’t match this story, of course. You weren’t sure what family the man even had. None that would corroborate your fabrication, certainly. You were just hoping that your claim about him needing to leave abruptly very early in the morning without contacting anyone was convincing enough. It’s all you can think of on the spur of the moment.
The director, a severe looking middle aged man, frowns over the lenses of his glasses at you. You keep your hands folded tightly in your lap. Your stitched wound is slowly healing, the ache now a sort of dull throbbing that you’re consciously aware of from time to time. No apparent signs of infection, the surrounding skin clear.
“Your track record, up until now, has been impeccable.” The older man’s voice brings you out of your reverie.
“Yes, sir.” It’s true. For six months you’d performed your role as doorman perfectly. Never failing to detect a single doppelgänger. Protecting the innocent.
“Still, this is not a transgression that can simply be overlooked. The consequences of your misjudgment could have been dire.”
You’d stated that you’d realized the person requesting entrance was really a copy only after the door had been opened, catching an error on the paperwork at the last minute. Intervening, attempting to stall the intruder. Injured and knocked unconscious. You knew nothing more after that.
“It’s suspicious that none of this alleged false documentation has been retrieved at the site. Strange also that you’d been carried all the way to the third floor. We also have no record even remotely matching the description of the doppel you’ve given. How do you account for these discrepancies?”
“The replicant stated they were a new resident moving in to the vacant apartment on the third floor. It seemed plausible that there hadn’t been a chance for them to be featured on the day’s list yet. It’s hardly the first time someone’s name hasn’t been placed as it should be. The subtly incorrect DDD logo was the tip off I unfortunately picked up on too late, sir.” You pause, clearing your throat. There is virtually no moisture left in your mouth and you find it suddenly parchment dry. It’s difficult to speak, your nerves betraying you. “The replicant must have taken the paperwork with them in order to conceal the evidence. And I was knocked out immediately after being cut. I don’t remember anything after that.”
His lips press into a thin line. Your force yourself to maintain eye contact. This was your explanation and you could not falter. “Even so. You failed to follow protocol. And you failed to contact the disposal team.”
“There wasn’t time to dial the phone number. Not even time to sound the alarm. I simply reacted on instinct. I was hoping to…”
“To what? What did you think you would accomplish? You, a mere unarmed woman?” He drapes the last word in contempt. You flush, squirming in your seat at the insult.
The suited man sighs heavily, closing your file folder. “You’re going to be suspended without pay for one week. Then I expect you to return to work. Your temporary replacement is…less than ideal. Let me be clear, though: if anything else happens, you’ll be terminated. No debriefing. No excuses. Understood? This is your final warning.”
You nod, saving your sigh of relief for when you’ve exited the office. The air departs your lungs in a loud rush. You’d done it. You’d actually managed to talk your way out of it.
Your thoughts immediately shift to Francis’ doppelgänger.
He was out there, somewhere. The safest move would be to travel, to just flee the area entirely, but you doubt he’ll leave. He’s still here.
You can feel him.
***
You drive to your house, to the home of your childhood. An inheritance from your great grandparents, passed down through each generation. Outside of the city. Quiet. It’s a relief to see green again. The air smells clearer, too. No waste from factory smokestacks or concentrated exhaust from automobiles. A light scent of grass and summer wildflowers. You roll your window down, inhaling deeply. It’s the best you’ve felt in a while. Since before the incident.
Francis. Your good mood departs just as quickly as it had arrived. How terrible a person you are. Lying to save your own skin. To protect the doppelgänger that had killed your beloved milkman. Putting innocent lives at risk. You had no right to feel anything even resembling happiness or contentment. You should turn the car right back around and return to the office. Confess your sins and receive whatever punishment would be decided for you. Imprisonment, certainly. Perhaps a life sentence to match the life that had been stolen from the third floor resident.
You trudge up the steps of the porch, sinking down onto the topmost stair, your head resting against the post of the railing. There are strips of paint peeling, you notice. You’ll need to sand them down before you apply more stain. Something to occupy you during your week off. Distract you from your own misery.
You close your eyes and listen to the hum of insects. There is another scent in the air now; something damp. The sky’s clouds were white and fluffy looking, but you know those can change in an instant. You think there is a storm approaching.
Perhaps you will wait it out. Just rest here and see what happens, studying your surroundings. There are birds singing in the vacant field that hasn’t known crops for many seasons. You only tended a much smaller one close to the house. Some vegetables. That was all. More often than not the local wildlife took a sample, but you didn’t mind sharing. You should have a look before you head back inside later on, see if there is anything to harvest.
It’s comfortable here. The sun is at the perfect angle. You still have plenty of shade. Warm enough to warrant rolling your shirt sleeves back. Catching sight of the scabbed, sutured line marring your forearm. You trace the mark. You think about the copycat tracing your cheek. That final kiss before he’d knocked you unconscious. It made so little sense to let you live. Had some remnant of Francis’ psyche influenced him somehow? Urging him to spare you?
Your eyes slide closed and you drift off to sleep still mulling this over.
***
In the dream you are standing in the nearby orchard.
You know it is a dream, because in reality these fruit trees are no longer tended. Yet here you are, standing beneath the crooked branches of one peach bearing specimen. The many smooth emerald leaves shield you from the sun.
Francis is beside you.
Or not-Francis. You cannot say which it is. The smile is as you remember. The perpetually tired eyes. He reaches for one of the velvet skinned fruits, plucking it easily and handing it to you.
The texture is exactly as it should be. Not too firm and not too soft. Ripe and ready to take a bite from. You do so, your teeth sinking into the soft yellow flesh. A burst of sweetness on your tongue. The excess juice drips down your chin. You offer the peach to the milkman but he doesn’t accept, instead moving to take a taste of it from your face, first doting on your lips before he laps at the dribbling trail. You clutch his shirt and his kisses become rougher. Pushing you gently to the ground. You drop the fruit and your hands become full of his shirt, his hair, the soft earth beneath you. His mouth plants kisses along your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. Hand dragging down through the floral patterned button front dress you’re wearing.
“Francis.” You reach for his face. It’s wrong. Something in the structure of the nose. So subtle it could easily be mistaken. The teeth suddenly bared in a smile that’s unfriendly. A grin of triumph. It isn’t Francis. You’ve been duped by an imposter.
The skin ripples. His eyes become bloodshot. You struggle to move. Your wrists are pinned at your sides. Sharp teeth nipping at the skin of your throat. A wolf ready to destroy its prey.
The thunder awakens you.
You jolt upright, massaging your stiff neck as you glance around hurriedly. The sky is a mass of gray clouds now, the natural illumination of the heavens notably dimmed. The air is laced with the scent of petrichor. You rise and the first drops of rain fall, pattering on your bare arms, sinking into you hair. Another disgruntled warning rumble, louder this time. The interval between that and the next shortening. You’re about to turn and enter the house when you see a figure standing nearby, on the outskirts of the side yard.
It’s him. The imposter that took over Francis.
The normally pristine, starched uniform is dirt stained, collecting souvenirs from the unpaved road leading to your house. The bowtie around his neck is loosened, draped around the unbuttoned shirt collar, the first several buttons of that work shirt similarly unfastened, revealing the white undershirt beneath. He’d never bothered retrieving the hat, the uncovered thatch of thick chestnut hair now tousled. Your fingers curl around the railing for support as he begins walking towards you with determined strides, closing the distance rapidly. The thunderstorm’s namesake harbinger sounds again. A flash of lightning. The rain is no longer a faint scattering of drops, now falling in an earnest deluge.
You both manage to escape being drenched, finding shelter beneath the porch roof in the knick of time, the imposter halting just in front of you. His chest is rapidly rising and falling, as if that brief exercise he’d just participated in was taxing him. You know that’s not the reason for those panted gasps for air, your own body mimicking that movement.
“Francis,” you say, but the name is drowned out by the growing ire of the storm.
He moves then, pressing you against the weathered clapboards near the living room window that overlooks the front yard. He cups your face between his hands and his lips crush yours. You respond without hesitation, kissing him back. Not giving yourself time to think about what you’re doing; to recall the dream you’d just had where you’d been destroyed by one of his kind.
“How did you find me?” You gasp when you part for air.
This utterance is barely audible, threaded between the next two bouts of thunder, muffled by the sound of the downpour. He slides his fingers against the harsh furrow on your arm. “I could sense where you were. Tracked you…” The words drowned out once again. His mouth moves close to your ear. “What did you say to them? What happened?”
“They bought it, for the most part, I think. The director is suspicious, though. I got suspended for a week.”
Another flash of lightning. It was foolish to remain outside any longer. You invite him in, struggling to fit the key in the lock, your trembling fingers not cooperating. His hand closes over yours, steadying you. The door surrenders, swinging inward.
It’s dark in the living room. You switch on the nearest lamp and toss your keys on the table.
“I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t know if you still do that, or…” It was unknown what the doppelgängers consumed for nutrition. Perhaps it would be different now that they could occupy a human body and not merely disguise themselves as one.
“I do. But that can wait.”
“Did you know that would happen? You being able to trace my whereabouts when you cut me?”
“No. It’s uncharted territory. Like so much of…this,” he murmurs.
“You need to call Francis’ workplace. Explain to them that there was a family emergency. That’s the excuse I gave for the sudden absence. The DDD has been looking for you. Well, for him,” you correct yourself.
“They’ll expect me to return at some point.”
“Yes.”
“So you’ll let me in. To dwell there. And what of my brethren?”
“I can’t let them in. You know that.” You swallow nervously. “You can’t harm anyone. If I let you inside, you have to promise me you won’t. You got what you wanted. You got to be one of us. There’s no reason to hurt anyone else.”
A large clap of thunder makes you jump. The doppelgänger moves closer to you, tipping his head to one side thoughtfully. “You think I’ll cooperate?”
“We had a deal. I let you escape. I lied to protect you.”
“And I let you live. Both ends of the bargain fulfilled. There is no obligation beyond that.”
“You don’t want to hurt me.”
“Are you quite sure of that?” One arm circles your waist, drawing you against him. His fingers sift through your hair, tugging your head back slightly. “These hungers for the flesh are so distracting. How your kind manages them…” His voice trails off and his lips touch yours.
The light flickers and dies. You’ve lost electricity, now standing in the darkened room cradled by the deceiver.
“<i>The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep</i>…”
You inhale sharply, thinking of the Bible on Francis’ nightstand. Reading scripture like any good devout soul, learning verses by heart. That memory resurfacing now.
“Francis.” You know it’s no longer him, not in his purest, human essence, but this evolution still holds traces like this that you can’t help but hold dear.
“I’m here, sweetheart.” His hands slide down over the curve of your buttocks as he kisses the corner of your jaw. You guide him towards the nearby couch, watching him sink into the cushions before you climb into his lap, your shoes sliding off and falling to the hardwood floor. You run your fingers through his hair, your mouth ravaging his. It’s the parts of Francis that you love that you’re adoring, you tell yourself. Not the pretender, but the fragments of the man inside he still carries with him. That is what your fingers caress and your mouth cherishes. You unbutton his shirt the rest of the way, then reach for the belt buckle, jerking the leather strap free from the metal, all while your lips and tongue work in a frenzy over his.
The rain and the thunder becomes white noise, a nearly muted sound in the background as you unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper, the metal teeth parting to reveal white briefs. You touch his erection through that thin material, feeling the hard, thick line of it and he hisses, then groans somewhere near your neck.
“Yes, love, that’s what I need…”
You shove your hand beneath the elastic waistband and you make contact with feverish flesh. Another groan from the imposter. You sweep over the head of his cock, realizing he’s circumcised, smoothing leaking precum over the dome before you wrap your fingers around the shaft and begin stroking up and down. He moans into your mouth. It’s not the best angle, your hand a bit squashed awkwardly between your bodies. You slide off his thighs to sit beside him, never breaking contact, still pumping his prick, rolling your fingers over the crest as you reach the top, thumb dragging over the frenulum with each pass. Your tongue dances over his and you feel the arousal leaking from your own sex, soaking your panties.
Another glob of clear fluid oozes from the tip and your mouth waters. You want to taste it. Want to feel him in your mouth.
Your lips abandon his and he frowns, confused until he sees your head bowing over his lap, your body shifting as you engulf his turgid member. Another hissing sound of pleasure as the slightly musky flavor hits your taste buds. You haven’t fully taken him inside yet, only reaching close to halfway, applying suction as you move across that shallow expanse, allowing yourself to become accustomed to the length and girth of him. His fingers touch your head, not applying force, just resting there. You release his cock with a wet popping sound, stroking your saliva over his erection before taking him into your mouth again. You push deeper this time, forcing your lips closer to the base of his cock, to the nest of dark pubic hair. Your throat protests and you gag, the fingers on your head now tightening, pressing, urging you on.
“Sweet girl, that’s it, you can take it. All the way. Fuck.” The curse is something you’d never imagine coming from the milkman’s lips, but you find yourself aroused by it, the depravity of what you’re doing erotic. Your head bobs, dipping lower each time, eliciting an obscene wet squelching sound as his prick collides with your throat. There’s a higher pitch to his sounds of pleasure now. His hips lift to meet you, shoving him in as deep as he can reach while your nostrils flare, searching for a greater air supply.
Your nails dig into this thigh. The loosened belt buckle jingles with each thrust into that moist cavity you’ve provided. The fingers in your hair loosen, allowing you a brief respite. You withdraw and cough. A thick trail of saliva connects your lower lip to his glistening cock. Your fingers massage through the slick and he hums appreciatively. Your lips feel slightly numb, tingling from the stretch. There’s a burning sensation in your abused throat, a soreness when you swallow. But the discomfort is bearable. You want to do this. You want him to feel good.
You suck in a lungful of air and then begin again. You hear the replicant’s breathing becoming shallower, more rapid. He’s getting close. You redouble your efforts, moving fast and deep.
“Sweetheart, you’re going to make me…it’s so fucking good…”
His hips snap up and an acrid spill of semen floods your throat. It catches you by surprise and you choke around the pulsing erection. It’s a copious amount of seed that spills over your retreating tongue. You swallow down the last of the bitter fluid, straightening, dragging the back of your hand across your spit drenched chin.
“That was…you…” The creature is speechless. You can’t help but feel a little pride over that. He captures your lips, mulling over the taste he’s left there. “I want to taste you,” he says, and your pussy throbs. “I want you to cum inside my mouth.”
He moves off the couch, kneeling in front of you. Shoving at your skirt. You hurriedly hook your thumbs over the edge of your panties and drag them down, feeling how wet the crotch is as they drag across your legs. Scooting closer to the edge, spreading yourself open for him.
His face moves forward and his tongue parts your folds. Laving down to gather a sample of your arousal. Humming with approval at the taste of you as he focuses on your clit. A long, slow drag over the sensitive nub. You whimper. His thumbs wedge along either side of your sex, stretching the pink flesh further open. His mouth covers your cunt and he sucks and your thighs try to close, the sensation overwhelming.
“Oh sweetheart, you’re delicious.” Slurping on your clit now. You thread your fingers through his hair, caressing his head as his tongue flicks across the hooded button. He doesn’t need guidance this time. Everything is the way you like it. Dividing attention between your clitoris and the entrance of your pussy. Pushing that muscle inside, fucking you with his tongue, alternating with lapping at your bundle of nerve endings. You wish it wasn’t quite so dark. You want to see his eyes. You know he’s looking at you even if he can’t discern much in the dim gray light filtering in through the windows. Watching your reaction even as he feels it in his mouth. Hears the pleading, the needy gasps and moans, the whining that begins the closer you get to coming apart in his mouth.
He moans, too, and the vibrations of that sound add another layer to your pleasure. A finger makes its way inside you. Violated by a second soon after, thrusting while he sucks your clit. You climax, panting his name over and over, your fingers frantic in his hair, your pelvis quaking as your grind yourself against him.
Eventually your movements lessen. He eases back and your quivering legs draw closed. He rejoins you on the couch, his mouth on yours, gifting you a taste of yourself.
Then you sit quietly, listening to the diminishing storm outside. The rain drums on the roof and taps along the gutters with a soft metallic sound. Your face is tucked into the doppel’s shoulder, one hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, his arm curled around your shoulders.
You shouldn’t enjoy this. Any of this. You should be afraid, disgusted. Instead you feel oddly calm. Safe in his arms, even though you certainly aren’t. These alien beings were masters of deception and manipulation. You know better. It was foolish, what you were doing. Dangerous—for you, for everyone else.
But you’re convinced more than ever that some part of Francis is still buried within. The goodness of him negating the evil of this imposter.
“I’ll make the call in the morning.” The first words spoken in a long time. Your head lifts. “And I’ll move in to the apartments.”
“Just you. And you won’t harm anyone.”
“You ask for too much.”
“I’m giving up everything for you. Risking my job, my life, the lives of the people I’ve sworn to protect. My heart. My soul,” you finish with a whisper. “I don’t think you understand how many things I’m sacrificing.”
“I’m not human. It’s impossible for me to. There are no words for them in our language because they simply don’t exist.”
“But you want to be us. You should understand…”
“I will make the call and I will move in. Beyond that I am not promising you anything. Except…I do not want you harmed.” He reaches for your arm, tracing over the healing wound he’d inflicted. “I will try to prevent that, at least.”
A small concession, perhaps, but an important one nonetheless. If he was willing to spare you, maybe you could convince him to spare others.
Teach him the value of a human life while taming the monster within that wears the face of the man you love.
#francis mosses#francis mosses x reader#francis mosses x you#milkman#milkman x reader#milkman x you#thats not my neighbor
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
I'm a feminist obviously || Joel Miller x Reader
I'm a feminist obviously
But I wouldn't really mind him savin' me
And I know that I'm fine without a man
But I think I would like his protection - Prison for Life (Olivia Rodrigo)
Warnings: protective!Joel, he calls you baby girl, reader gets attacked by an asshole guy. Mentions of a fight. Low key dark Joel because he ain't letting that slide. violence, blood, cursing.
a/n: I heard this on tik tok and it just SCREAMS Joel miller sooooo. A good protective Joel fic <3
The town of Jackson wasn't exactly fond of you and Joel. Let's just say the rumors that started when you first showed up have spread amongst the town members and well, no one cares that they're just rumors.
Safe to say that when you walk through the town center that you aren't just imagining people whispering and staring you down as you walk past them. The only thing you can do is roll your eyes and keep going.
Please, like everyone in this town is free of blood on their hands.
The small general store worker refuses to meet your eyes as you pay for your groceries.
"H-Have a nice day." He says timidly as you stare at him stone faced. At this point you don't even try to change any ones mind. Still at least this kid isn't shooting you a dirty look. You nod and head out the door.
"Is that the Miller's bitch I see." Just your luck. Out of the corner of your eye you see Elijah Davis. Resident Jackson asshole.
Though most people who had a distaste for you and Joel, they stayed out of your way. Elijah was different. He was stupid. See Elijah used to be the big man in Jackson. Self proclaimed best hunter, best shooter. A real tough guy. Always led patrols and that kind of thing really got to his head.
When Joel came around well, they may not like Joel but you can't deny his skills when it comes to survival. Joel brought home the biggest catch, he shot down the most clickers. He saved the most lives and Elijah turned bitter. He just couldn't give it up
"I'm talking to you."
"Fuck off." You hiss at him. You turn so fast he flinches and it makes you smile.
"Seriously, this shit is getting old. Go cry to someone who gives a fuck." On most days he was all bark and no bite but today was different. You feel a harsh tug on your arm as you're pulled into a small side alley. He jams his forearm into your neck and pushes you against a wall.
"I'm getting real sick of you. Acting tough when all you are is Joel millers toy. Bet you keep his bed real warm." He spits angrily. The pressure on your neck gets worse as black dots swarm your vision. You drop your bag and claw his eyes as hard as you can.
"Fuck!" He screams as he lets go of you. Land on your feet but the lack of air causes you to wobble.
"Eat shit." You kick him hard in the side and he tackles you to the ground.
The left side of your face erupts in pain as he punches you hard. He doesn't let up and you do your best to defend yourself the way you learned back in the QZ.
"Hey! What the hell is going on here?" Elijah freezes as he hears the voice of Tommy Miller. Though you've got a bust lip and blood spilling from your mouth you smile.
"You're screwed now." You knee him hard right in the balls and he topples over in pain. Before Tommy could pull you off him you get in one last kick to the jaw.
"That's enough, both of you." He gently pulls you back as someone else pulls Elijah up from the ground. He's still groaning in pain and man is that music to your ears.
"What happened?" Tommy asks as you wipe the blood away from your mouth.
"He attacked me, I defended myself." Though Tommy was Joel's brother he was also Maria's husband and Maria didn't like violence inside the walls of Jackson. She meant business. She even scared Joel a little. You bend down to pick up what's left of your groceries and stuff them in your pockets.
"Look, I know how it goes, I'll pay the fine or work extra hours blah blah, See you Sunday for dinner." Your face aches as you walk.
The only thing you want now is a warm bath and a nap. You don't hear Joel as you walk inside and for once that's a good thing. Ellie appears at the back door ready to show something when her face scrunches up.
"What the fuck happened to you?"
"What?!" You hear Joel's voice come from behind her and you sigh.
"Thanks Ellie." Joel storms in the house.
His eyes frantically looking around until they land on you. Particularly on your fucked up face. His eyes turn dark as he orders Ellie to go outside. She leaves but not before mouthing Good Luck to you. He's like predator the way he walks up to you. His mouth twitching as anger swirls in his eyes.
"Who did this to you?" He gently tips your head up. It scares you how calm he is right now.
"Joel he was just being-"
"He? It was Elijah wasn't it." He growled lowly.
Sighing you know you can't hide it from him forever. He clenches his jaw and leaves to go to the medicine cabinet. With a clean rag he wipes away the dried blood and patches you up as best he can. Unfortunately most of your injuries will just have to heal on its own.
"M'gonna go take a bath." You stretch your arms out and wince slightly as you tilt your neck. Joel clocks it immediately.
"You need anything baby girl?"
"No, I'm okay." He kisses the top of your head and waits for you to go upstairs.
Once he hears the water running he grabs his rifle and leaves. It's like the townspeople can see the steam coming out of his ears. Joel's got a murderous look on his face as he storms through the town.
"Joel!" He glances to see Tommy chasing after him but he doesn't stop. He goes right to the little town hall and storms into Maria's. She looks unamused as he slams the door open.
"Where is he?!" Joel slams his hands on her desk.
"Doctors, pretty beat up and still crying about it." She doesn't even need to ask, she knows why he's here.
"I'm gonna kill em."
"No you aren't."
"If you think-"
"Joel!" Maria stands and stares him down. He's angry, seething with rage at the thought of that punk little shit laying a hand on you.
"I know you're angry, so am I. He's to blame here and he will be punished to the full extent of the law." She says calmly.
"So what? He gets thrown in jail for a couple days? Has to do extra patrols? Give up dessert?"
"I know you're angry, but don't do anything you'll regret. I can't protect you from the law forever Joel." She can't lose Joel, he's a valuable member of the community and he's family.
He clenches his fists and nods his head. Tommy appears and walks out with him. Trying to talk him out of what ever plan he's got brewing in his head. He knows that Joel won't back down that easy.
"He hurt her, I warned him that if he ever touched her he was a dead man." Joel smirks as he passes the doctors. Outside is Elijah bandages all over his face and a scared look in his eyes when he sees Joel.
Count your days motherfucker.
Joel disappears for a week. Out on a supply run alone and god did it make you nervous. He kissed you sweet before he left. Promised he'd come back. His fingers traced your face. Trying to be as gentle as he can around the sore spots.
"I love you." He mumbles quietly, "You know I'd do anything for you." You hum and kiss him again.
"I know," You can handle yourself, you've proved that time and time again you know how to protect yourself.
But with Joel you don't always have to. Knowing he'd burn down anything in his path for you means the world. Because you'd do the same.
You see Elijah once or twice in town while Joel's gone. He's on double patrol duty before his trial. Then he just, disappears. At first you don't notice it but then you hear whispers around town. A patrol went out with 4 and came back with 3.
When Joel comes back you tell him. Elijah's trial was yesterday and he never showed. They went to his room and he wasn't there. All his things were but he wasn't.
He was just, gone.
A few days later Tommy comes knocking on your door.
"Joel here?" You nod and call Joel down.
"It's been a week and no one's found Elijah. So it seems his trial is postponed indefinitely."
"Okay, thanks for coming to tell us." You squeeze Joel's hand and he just stays quiet. Tommy looks at Joel and deep down all three of you know exactly what happened with Elijah. But there's no proof and Tommy isn't going to turn over his own brother.
"Dinner next week?" You ask and he nods.
"I'm sure Maria would love to catch up." When he leaves you turn to Joel.
"Joel...If they ever found out-"
"I don't care."
"I do!" Your voice raises for a second before you stop yourself from shouting.
"Joel I won't let you jeopardize anything for me."
"Well that's too damn bad." He gets up and walks over to you. He cups your face and stares at you with an intensity you've never seen before.
"Baby girl, he hurt you." Joel would risk it all for you. Death, prison, anything. He kisses you gently as to not hurt your still healing lip.
"Nobody messes with my girl."
In a world like this you need to be able to survive, to fight and to make the hard decisions. But sometimes it's exhausting. Constantly protecting yourself wears you down. You know you can but you don't mind the idea of being protected by someone else.
You know you should hate the violence, the fierceness of his actions and words. But you don't. How could you when he's all you ever wanted.
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
late night talking 2
here is the long awaited part two to late night talking (aka cam girl!yn and nerdrry)!!!! I v much hope you guys like this part as much as you liked the first :)))) enjoy!
read part one here
word count: 7.5k
content warnings: smut (oral - f receiving, fingering, dirty talk, riding, mentions of squirting, size kink, daddy kink, mentions of sex toys and bondage, minor edging)
patreon
masterlist | talk to me
. . .
If Harry were to describe the joy he feels when listening to Y/N discuss her day with him over the phone, he's sure he would never shut up.
At first, he'd been nervous about what they would talk about. Did she expect them to have dirty, filth-filled conversations? What if she charged him for it? Harry would undoubtedly shell out the money, too embarrassed to explain he had different expectations, but it's not what he wanted — not by a long-shot.
Admittedly, the first five or 10 minutes had been rocky. After chatting exclusively through direct messaging on Y/N's cam site, it was a little difficult to get used to transferring those conversations to the phone. She was used to relying on witty jokes with emojis, he was accustomed to having more time to thoughtfully write out responses. Talking one-on-one limited both of those things, ridding them of their comfort blankets. But once the ice melted, names were exchanged, and Y/N's breathy giggle sounded through the receiver, Harry was a goner.
"Wait, so how is it that we live in the same city?" Harry questions as he pulls at a loose thread on one of the throw pillows on his couch. "The odds of that are like... slim to none."
"Well, you'd know, you have a degree in computer science," Y/N replies teasingly. "I'm pretty sure the homepage tries to cater to your location. It's kind of weird and freaky if you think about it for too long."
"That's... kind of horrifying."
She hums, "I know. But if I hide my feed from the homepage, I'd have to solely rely on my regulars."
Harry doesn't want to be a dick so he doesn't say anything in response, but he wishes she could. He despises the fact that there are local creeps watching her every night, even if that includes him. Quickly, he tries to shove down his possessive nature, knowing he doesn't quite have anything to be jealous of — she's her own person.
"Don't worry, I have a baseball bat by the door." she jokes, but it doesn't land the way she intends. Her mouth twists into a wince when Harry remains silent on the other side.
"Just want you to be safe, hm?" he says gently, "I know you can take care of yourself, but... you know what I mean, don't you?"
"Are you trying to say that you care about me?"
He huffs, a surprised puff of air leaving his lungs.
"Yes," he finally forces out, anxiety beginning to claw at his insides, "Of course I do."
A beat. The nerves have grown nasty fangs and nails, but then—
"I care about you, too."
Harry has to squeeze the pillow so a girlish squeak doesn't escape his mouth.
. . .
From: Y/N🎀
my boss made me stay late today so I don't think ill make it home for our 6 pm phone call :( can I call you later?
Harry tries not to pout as his eyes scan over Y/N's text for a second time. Ever since their initial phone call a few weeks ago, they unintentionally set up a daily schedule where they'd chat as soon as she got home from work. Usually, they spoke up until she started her stream, but she took Fridays off since there weren't as many people logging on to watch. All day, he had been looking forward to getting her for a few hours without any interruptions.
(She often keeps him on the phone as she eats dinner or picks out a lacy set of lingerie. The latter makes him feel special, like he has some sort of behind-the-scenes look of what happens prior to her logging on. It also happens to thicken up his cock a fair amount.)
To: Y/N🎀
I'm sorry he's doing that to you on a Friday. You're right, he's a dick.
Call me whenever you're able. I'll be around.
In an ideal world, maybe Harry could pick them up some dinner and he could meet her at the office, so she could eat while she finished work. Or, he could even take her out to a nice restaurant after — but beyond the very obvious restrictions of their relationship (or maybe it was just a friendship with virtual benefits?), Harry was deeply insecure. They were both lonely people, he knew, and they were simply reaping the benefits until someone better came along for her.
His phone buzzes, ripping him from his self-deprecating thoughts: thank you<3 you're the sweetest, staying in on a friday just so you can talk to little old me!!! x
A snort leaves him. He can't remember the last time he had actual social plans that involved leaving the house on the weekend. Friday nights were almost always reserved for playing video games with his friends, baking a new recipe he found on Pinterest, or, that one time where he tried to teach himself how to knit a little sweater for Beatrice.
(It went terribly and Beatrice ended up having more fun with the ball of yarn anyway.)
The thing is, Harry knows he's a nerd. He's pretty much the picture of a dorky, grown-up introvert, with his thick-rimmed glasses, computer engineering job, cat, and pathetically lonely social life. How on earth could Y/N not see that?
(Maybe she does, and she's just taking advantage of him. He doesn't foresee that being a possibility, but his anxious insecurities take him there every now and then.)
He spends his time moseying around his apartment while he waits for her to get home. By the time he's done baking espresso brownies and tidying up the kitchen, making sure to place the tray high enough so Beatrice can't get into them, he hears his phone vibrating on the countertop. A jolt of energy and happiness zips through him when he sees her name splayed across his screen, immediately pressing answer and putting her on speaker.
"Hiiii," she sings into the receiver, and he can already tell she's traipsing around her own home, "You picked up fast."
"Told you I'd be around whenever you wanted to talk."
"You're too good to me," she says, though he has to lower the phone the second he hears noisy crunching on the other line, "Sorry, I literally just got in. I'm eating Cheetos for dinner."
"I thought you were gonna order in from that new stir fry place," Harry replies, thinking back to her mulling over the idea last night.
"I was, but then I had to work until 7 pm, which meant I didn't get home until... what time is it? Oh, it's already 8:15! There goes my entire Friday night!"
He smiles gently at her dramatics, though he understands. "You can still order, babe. They don't close until 10."
"But I just opened this bag of Cheetos."
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "You can use one of those handy clips to close it so they don't go stale."
"I don't have any of those."
Harry shakes his head as his eyes scan over the small bowl of them on his kitchen countertop.
"Put the Cheetos down, Y/N. Order the stir fry. You deserve it."
A sigh passes through her lips. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. You had the longest week and you just had to work after hours on a Friday."
"Alright, fine."
He hears the light tapping of her fingers against the phone screen, which only leads him to believe that she's actually doing what he's requested of her for once. He busies himself with cozying up on the couch, throwing a blanket over his lap as Beatrice jumps up onto the cushion next to him.
"Okay, done," she says a few moments later. "So, speaking of deserving things. I got you something."
"You got me something?" Harry asks with furrowed brows.
"Mhmm. I saw it online and wanted you to have it— well, it's for both of us, actually, but that's besides the fact. Anyway, I need your address so I can send it to you."
Harry's brain begins to glow with possibilities, completely unsure of what she could possibly have gotten him.
"Is this just an excuse to stalk me?" he jokes, making her snort.
"No, Harry. Send me your address, please. It's a present."
He quickly removes the phone from his ear, pressing the speaker button and opening up their text thread.
"Fine, I'm sending it to you now," he murmurs, typing out his address, "But it better not be something weird."
Y/N snorts and for a moment, it's quiet. Harry's used to silent lulls in their conversations, especially because they'll sometimes be on the phone together for hours. He occupies himself with gently petting Beatrice's coat, making a mental note to brush her orange fur out after they hang up tonight.
"Harry?"
Y/N's voice rings softly through the receiver. Focused on scratching the top of Beatrice's head, he lets out a distracted hum, assuming she's just making sure he's still there.
"We live 10 minutes from each other."
It takes him a moment to digest what she's just told him. At first, he thinks it's a joke. There's no way the girl he's been watching every night for the past few months lives so close to him. But when she doesn't follow it up with a "just kidding!", he realizes she may be telling the truth.
"What?" he finally chokes out, his posture straightening slightly. Could they have run into each other without evening noticing it? Passing by one another on a busy street, Y/N walking home from work while Harry stops at the grocery store?
"Yeah," she breathes out in disbelief, "You live on Beekman, right? I'm three streets over."
"This is insane," he blurts out. "You're not messing with me?"
"I wouldn't do that."
Harry's unsure if the conversation has taken a turn of shock or tension. There's an obvious question lingering between them, but he's too scared to bring it up. He's too scared to even think about it.
Meeting in person... it seemed like something they'd never get close to doing. Harry was never positive about where their dynamic would lead, but in the back of his head, he did fret about the lack of endgame. He assumed she would get bored of him one day — why wouldn't she, when she's this gorgeous, fun, care-free person, and he's the complete opposite?
"Are you okay?"
Her question rips him from his cycling thoughts. Beatrice climbs into his lap, absorbing the anxiety radiating from his chest. He clears his throat.
"Yeah. Sorry. I'm just... that's crazy."
"It is," she agrees. "I guess... well, if you're comfortable with it, maybe I could bring you your gift sometime. Instead of mailing it."
Harry and Y/N both know that this discussion is no longer about whatever thing she bought with him in mind. It's a proposal — a leap of faith that she's leaving in Harry's court, allowing him to call the shots. It's a terrifying place to be.
"Would you want that?" he asks breathily, nibbling on his bottom lip.
"I would," she replies almost instantly. "But only if you want that."
She's making the jump, and she's doing it whether he's ballsy enough or not. If he says no, she'll continue living her life as the happy-go-lucky person she is. It's scary — it's so, so scary for him, because for once, he doesn't know how things will end up. He can't calculate the answer. He can't premeditate or plan it out.
But maybe she's worth it. So he jumps, too.
"Are you free tomorrow?"
. . .
Y/N thinks she may throw up.
She's contemplated every excuse to get out of tonight — not because she doesn't want to meet Harry, but because she's never, ever done this before. It's entirely out of her comfort zone, understandably. Was she being insane, meeting up with one of her subscribers? She doesn't think Harry gives off serial killer vibes, and he's more than just someone subscribed to her stream, but was it possible that he would put in months of work, talking to her on the phone every day and listening to her chatter on and on about her day, just to do something awful?
What if he expected... more? From her, not just physically, but as a person, too. They still haven't revealed their faces to one another, so she knows tonight is bound to be a lot. Which brings her back to her previous point: Was there an excuse she could blurt out to cancel?
She thinks about it all day, barely getting any work done. Though she and Harry typically exchange far more texts during the day, the tension and nervousness between them both is apparent. He messaged her good morning and they spoke a bit when she got to work, but neither of them seemed as talkative as usual.
Finally, when it's time to head home, she's somewhat relying on Sam to ask her to stay back and work later — but of course, the one day that she wants him to, he left early, calling an end to his day hours ago. With a grumble, Y/N begins the short trek back to her place.
Last night, when she was apparently much higher on courage, she and Harry had decided that 7 would be a good time to meet up. He offered to go to hers if it made it more comfortable, or even getting dinner or something in public. Y/N appreciated it, but she didn't find it necessary — she wanted to be able to leave at a moment's notice if she needed to, plus, on the bright side, she really wanted to meet his cat, Beatrice.
When she gets home, she has 30 minutes before she has to be over at his. She decides to change her outfit, nitpicking at her wardrobe and figuring out what's the best way to say, "I've really enjoyed our virtual conversations over the past few months and I have a crush on you, but maybe not because we've never met before. Also, if you could just forget how we *technically* met so we could attempt to have a real shot at a relationship, maybe, that could be cool."
Sighing, she lays back against her bed. This is crazy, right?
This has to be crazy.
. . .
Harry thinks he may have lost any and all inklings of sanity.
"Beatrice, is this crazy?" he wonders aloud to his snuggly cat. She's currently tucked into her favorite corner of the couch, nuzzling the pink sherpa blanket his mom bought him for Christmas last year.
He logged off from work an hour early today to give him some time to clean up his apartment, wanting to make sure it was spotless for Y/N. They halfway decided that they'd eat dinner together, but he wasn't sure if she had any dietary preferences or allergies, so he figured getting take-out from the local Chinese place they both like would be the best option. (How awful would that be, if he tried to cook her a romantic meal and instead gave her an allergic reaction? Harry shudders at the mere thought of it.)
He spends far too long standing in front of his closet with a sleepy Beatrice in his arms, trying to figure out the best outfit to wear. Typically, he's in a pair of sweats or athletic shorts at this time, but that felt too casual.
"What about these?" he asks Beatrice, grabbing a pair of his favorite mustard yellow trousers. "You're right, they're too much. We want to appear cool. Right?"
She simply meows in response.
He hands are shaking when his phone dings, signifying an incoming text from Y/N: on my way!! see you soon :). He lets out a nervous yelp, pulling at his hair as he throws himself into his closet. Based on what she told him last night about living close by, she'll be here in around 10 minutes, so he settles on a cozy sweatshirt and a pair of loose fitting jeans.
That'll be fine, right?
God, he needs to find someone else to talk to besides himself and his cat.
He's pulling on a pair of his favorite wool socks, haphazardly jogging between the bathroom and his room to finish getting ready. He applies an extra coat of deodorant (just in case!), spritzes on some cologne (his sister got it for him a few years back, she said it seemed like 'his scent', whatever that meant), and runs a hand through his messy curls, trying to make his hair look sort of styled. To this day, he's not really sure how to style it, instead just letting it air dry every time he showers.
His eye catches the time as he traipses back downstairs. It's 6:58. He wonders if she'll be early or late. What if she doesn't come at all? What if she just decides to stand him up, because... because this is insane. This is insane behavior.
And then... his phone dings.
here i think!! sorry im really bad w directions and I walked here lol
. . .
Every single part of her anxious brain is telling Y/N to turn around and go back home. This a terrible idea, she frets, picking at her nails and swallowing tightly, Turn around. Turn around, turn around, turn around—
"Y/N?"
Her head snaps up. In complete honesty, she assumed she was standing in front of the wrong townhouse — she really is bad with directions, so she's slightly shocked when the door in front of her opens, revealing a very attractive man.
"Harry...?" Y/N asks, testing out the way it feels to call him his name in person. With a slightly bashful facial expression, he nods.
"Do you— did you want to come in?"
She nods, suddenly feeling how cold the evening is. The later hour brought a chill to the air, one that feels like it has a promise of snow. She hopes she's wrong since she really doesn't want to walk home in freezing temperatures, but thoughts of the weather are ripped from her mind the second Harry politely guides her in.
She toes her boots off at the entryway, gently placing them next to his own pair of Adidas sneakers. She can feel him behind her, only because the front hall is too small for someone to pass by — but if she's being honest, she doesn't think she minds his hovering warmth. All she wants to do is turn around and analyze him.
She doesn't know what to do — she's being awkward, they both are — so she turns around, not wanting to just welcome herself into his home.
It turns out, he's far closer than she had originally anticipated. Nearly bumping into his chest, she gasps in surprise, lifting a hand to her heart like she's an actress in a bad scary movie. It makes Harry chuckle breathily, melting the ice ever so slightly.
"You alright?" he asks, "Sorry, it's a bit small in here. It's just me and Beatrice, so I don't need much room."
"Beatrice!" Y/N remembers with wide eyes. "Where is she?"
Harry hums, taking the opportunity to brush past Y/N. She swallows, inhaling his spicy vanilla scent in his wake. It sends an involuntary shiver down her spine as she follows him to the living room.
"Here she is," he coos, scooping her up from the floor and into his arms. Y/N's heart warms at the sight of a tall, attractive man holding a sweet kitten. "She's been very lethargic all day. Think she likes the winter just 'cos she gets more snuggles out of it."
"'s cute," she mumbles, biting her lip. Her eyes flicker to Harry's face. She seems to be more enamored by his appearance than hers. She wasn't expecting him by any means to fall to his knees and praise her for her beauty, and supposes it makes sense considering he's seen far more of her than she's seen of him. She's somewhat lost in those thoughts when she accidentally blurts the words out, her eyes going wide:
"You're cute."
Harry glances up, his cheeks glowing a pink hue almost immediately. "Sorry?"
Well, can't back down now, she thinks to herself. Swallowing, she forces her mouth to form around the words again. "You're cute," she repeats. "Sorry. That just kind of came out. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, this is just.... y'know, the first time I'm seeing you."
He clears his throat and bites his bottom lip, almost as if he's trying to hide a smile creeping at the edges of his lips.
"I think you're beautiful," he says softly, and the compliment makes her heart glow in her chest, "I didn't want to mention anything about appearances, 'cos I know maybe you were expecting someone different, but—"
"What do you mean?" she asks with furrowed brows. "I didn't have any expectations."
"Well, that's good. I guess I just wasn't sure if you were anticipating someone... else."
It takes a second for the words to click in her brain. Then, with a wrinkle between her eyebrows, she reaches out to lightly grasp at his elbow, willing his attention to shift from Beatrice to her.
"Harry, do you not find yourself attractive?"
It's a loaded question for any other first-time-meet-up, but at this point in their relationship, they've divulged a ton of information. She doesn't necessarily feel like much is off limits anymore.
Harry shrugs, mentally weighing his answer. "I mean, I think I'm just... fine."
"Fine?" Y/N repeats. "I'm not bullshitting you and I'm sorry if this makes you feel weird, but you're one of the most attractive men I've ever met."
He scoffs, allowing Beatrice to jump out of his arms. She leaps down to the floor, as if she's also feeling the intensity of the conversation and wants to be as far away from it as possible. With his hands now free, he sits down on the edge of his blue L-shaped couch, Y/N following suit. She sits across from him, watching as he wrings his hands together in his lap.
"I feel like that's probably a lie, you—"
"I told you I'm not bullshitting you."
Her response makes him laugh softly. "Yeah, but your whole career is based on, like... being attractive. I mean, look at you — you've definitely met more good looking people than me."
"Do you think I often meet up with people I meet from my streams?" Y/N asks, tilting her head to the side with a mocking smile. He knows she doesn't, because they discussed this multiple times before. "I don't know anyone in real life. Not from there, at least. You're the only one."
Harry shrugs his shoulders. "I guess it's just a little surprising."
"There's nothing to be surprised about," she reassures him gently. In an act of courage, she doesn't think much before her hand lands on his knee, giving it a light squeeze. "I want to be here. With you. I care about you."
A smile curls at the edges of his lips.
"So," she says, leaning back against the plushy cushions of his couch, "What were you thinking for dinner?"
. . .
Once the awkward tension melts between the two, it's as if they've known each other forever.
They order food and talk about everything and anything while Friends plays quietly in the background. Secretly, Y/N is over the moon — she never could have imagined things going this well between them.
It's only when she yawns loudly, feeling exhaustion begin to seep into her bones that she realizes how late it is. When she glances at her phone to check the time, her eyes bulge.
"Harry! It's 1 am, you should've kicked me out ages ago!" she exclaims, sitting up. With furrowed brows and puffy, sleepy eyes, he turns to look at her.
"Didn't even realize it was that late," he mumbles, suppressing a yawn of his own. "By the way, I would never kick you out."
She shakes her head with a small smile and rises from the couch. "C'mon, walk me out."
He nods and follows her out of the living room, back down to the hallway where she left her coat and shoes. With his arms crossed over his chest, he leans his hip against the wall, watching as she gets ready to leave. He wishes there was a way he could ask her to stay.
"Text me when you get home, alright?" he says lowly. Once she fits her boots over her feet, she straightens, nodding her head.
"I will," she murmurs. She can't help it when her eyes quickly flit down to his lips, a zip of anxiety firing through her chest. She so badly wants to kiss him. And, as if they're both elongating their goodbyes, he clears his throat before toeing his own shoes on.
"I'll walk you to your car."
"Oh, I walked here," she replies, stuffing her arms into her navy puffer jacket.
Harry furrows his eyebrows. "You walked?"
"Yeah, of course. We're only, like, 10 minutes away from each other, you know."
"Babe..." Harry sighs, the pet name nearly making her drool, "Didn't you see there's a huge snowstorm slated for tonight? They predicted a few inches by midnight."
Y/N's eyes widen. "Really?"
He laughs lightly before nodding his head. He gingerly wraps his hand around the doorknob to the front door, pulling it open just enough to where Y/N can see massive snowflakes falling from puffy clouds above. It's freezing, a cold chill making her shudder just from the quick peek outside.
"Fuck." she mutters, pulling her jacket closer to her body.
"Stay," he blurts out, glancing down at her shorter stature. "I... you can sleep in my bed and I'll sleep down here. I just don't want you going out in that. It's late."
The nerves are apparent in his shaky voice, but nonetheless, Y/N's nodding her head before he even finishes what he's saying.
"Okay." she breathes. "Can I borrow some pajamas?"
"Yeah, of course."
She follows him up to his bedroom, where he pulls a pair of sweatpants and a vintage tee-shirt out from his dresser. The room is clean, unsurprisingly so — if she's learned anything about Harry tonight, it's that he takes good care of his space, which she considers to be a great trait. His bed is made, his nightstand free from dust and only donning one of those fancy sunrise alarm clocks and a reusable water bottle.
He hands them to her, "I'll give you some privacy."
She nods with a small smile, murmuring out a thank you. Once he shuts the door behind him, she quickly sheds her own clothing and folds it neatly before pulling on his clothes. A moment or so later, he knocks politely, waiting for her to let him know if it's okay to come in.
"You're good," she calls out. He twists the doorknob open and stands in the entryway with a spare pillow and blanket tucked beneath his arm.
"I'm gonna change and head downstairs, but let me know if you need anything."
They stand there, looking at one another as if they're waiting for the other to say what's on both of their minds. When the silence remains, he flashes her a tight smile and turns around.
"Wait!" she exclaims, mentally cringing at the high-pitched tone of her voice. "Will you stay for a bit?"
Harry's shoulders visibly deflate. Once again, he bites his lip, as if he's trying to hide a smile.
"Yeah. I can stay."
They move silently but it's like they've performed this dance a million times before. She watches as he peels back the blankets on his bed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He turns the light off before smoothing over the cotton sheets, as if he's making sure they're suitable for her to lay in.
"Lemme just throw some sweats on," he mumbles, striding over to his dresser, "Get comfortable, okay?"
He excuses himself to the bathroom, where he slowly undresses himself and pulls on a cozy pair of sweatpants. He typically sleeps naked or just in a pair of briefs, but he would never even dream of doing anything remotely like that with Y/N in his bed.
Fuck. Y/N's in his bed.
He swallows tightly and tries to ward off the anxiety bubbling in his chest, taking time to wash his face and brush his teeth. When he's elongated the process enough, he returns to the bedroom to find her laying down and curled up in his blankets. It's almost as if she knew what side Harry typically sleeps on, opting for the one that's always empty.
"Are you comfortable?" Harry asks quietly as he moves through the dark, dumping his clothes from today in the hamper. She hums softly, a pretty sound that makes his length jump in his sweatpants.
"Your bed is nice." she murmurs. He chuckles and gets in next to her, leaving enough space between them so he doesn't crowd her space.
"I'm glad you think so. Want you to sleep well tonight."
Despite the exhaustion permeating from both of their bodies, Y/N finds it difficult to get completely comfortable, to the point where she could fall asleep. She can't help the excitement buzzing in her bones from being next to Harry — her fleetwoodlondon tipper.
"Are you still awake?" she whispers.
He doesn't answer immediately, which leads her to believe he's already fallen asleep. But then, he shifts onto his side, tucking his hands beneath his cheek to face her. "Mhm. What's wrong?"
She shrugs. "Nothing. Just not sleepy enough yet."
"Do you want me to talk to you about computer engineering? That'll knock you out in seconds."
She giggles, flipping onto her side and mimicking his position. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she assesses his features in the darkness of his bedroom — the slope of his nose, his two slightly overlapped front teeth, the dull sharpness of his cheekbones.
"No, but you can talk to me about other stuff."
"Hmm," he says, placing his hand down against the mattress between them. Instinctively, she reaches out to intertwine their fingers together. His heart speeds up. "What was that gift you were supposed to give me tonight?"
Her cheeks redden and she's grateful he can't see the nervousness that pops up on her face.
"It's not important." she rushes out.
"That's not an answer," he sing-songs, giving her hand a squeeze, "C'mon, tell me."
"It's embarrassing now."
He quirks an eyebrow. "Embarrassing?"
She nods.
"How so?"
"Well... it was more so for when we didn't know we lived close to each other. Before we decided to meet in person."
"Okay...?"
"I got us Bluetooth sex toys." she blurts out with a warm face. The heat from her shame travels down the length of her body, making her sweat beneath his gaze. "Um, I got a cock ring for you and a vibrator for me. So we could control them for each other. I bough them the day after you, um, told me what to do on my stream. It's stupid now, and I'm sorry if that's crossing a huge boundary since I know we haven't done anything like that in a month, so maybe you've changed your mind—"
"I haven't changed my mind." he cuts her off. "I still watch every one of your streams."
She swallows harshly. "Really?"
"I never miss one," he admits. "And the fact that you thought of me like that and... got us those is... it's really hot, Y/N."
Her core throbs. It's the first time she's heard him talk like this not over text or private messaging. She squeezes her thighs together as she bites on her bottom lip, attempting to slow her breathing to a normal pace.
"You think so?" she breathes.
"Yeah."
Even without a single light on in his bedroom, she can feel his intense gaze on her. Unhurriedly, she moves her leg closer to his, wiggling it to fit between his thighs. He welcomes her touch without a word.
"I really liked when you dominated me that night," she whispers. Perhaps it's a confession that doesn't need to be verbalized — he knows she adored it not only because she asked for it, but because she came in record time, too. Since that evening, he hasn't stopped thinking how he watched her hole clench around her fingers because of him. She moaned his name — or rather, his honorific — over and over again. Every time he's gone to jerk off without watching her stream, it's all he's needed to think about, blurts of cum spraying his stomach not a few minutes later.
"I liked doing it." he murmurs. She begins to move her foot up and down the length of his calf, the feeling of her soft skin making him shiver.
"What else did you like?"
The tip of his tongue peeks out to lick over his lips. What a loaded question — he likes just about everything she does, but that was a guaranteed cop-out of an answer.
"I liked hearing you call me daddy," he confesses lowly. "Liked watching you. Thought about you bouncing on my cock and finishing that way."
She hums, closing the distance between them without even realizing it. Their chests are pressed up against each other's, her puffy nipples now stiff peaks beneath the soft fabric of his tee-shirt. He can feel himself thickening up steadily, though he's sure he would've gotten hard just by sleeping next to her.
"I think I would let you do just about anything you want to me," she admits, nibbling on her bottom lip, "You turn me on so much... I don't even think you realize it."
He huffs in disbelief, snaking an arm around her waist to gently tug her impossibly closer. He gives her hip a small squeeze as a test — he's been thinking about throwing her around like a doll for months on end, but her comfort is his top priority, always.
"What does 'anything' entail?" he asks. He knows he's asking for trouble now, that there's no returning from this. There's no way that this night won't end with him balls deep inside of her, thrusting his cum into her pussy until she's squealing and pushing him away from overstimulation.
"Well, for starters, you can take me however you want," she says, trailing soft fingertips down his chest. She stops at his abs and he breathes in sharply, willing her to continue her journey downwards. "From behind, me on top... wherever and whenever you want. Don't care if we're in public, either. I'd love to show you off and make sure everyone knows I cum for you."
He groans, head tilting back slightly from her possessive words. "More," he demands gruffly.
"Want you to use all my toys on me... tie me up, press a vibrator to my clit until I can't see straight anymore," her fingers meet his hips, lightly feeling over his cock underneath his sweatpants. "Have you watched the shows where I squirt?"
"Of course I have, pretty baby."
Her chest warms at the nickname. As if it's a reward, her hand dips beneath his sweatpants, gasping in mock surprise when she finds that he's not wearing underwear. Better yet, he's hard and aching for her.
"I have no doubt that I'd squirt for you."
She punctuates her sentence by wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, giving it a cursory squeeze. A short, low groan sounds from his chest before he's grabbing her arm and giving her a sharp look. Alarmed, she quickly removes her hand.
"I'm sorry. Was that too much? Did I misunderstand?"
"Not at all," he mutters, getting up onto his knees. His other hand finds her free wrist, raising both of her arms above her head. She gasps out in surprise. "I just think it's cute that you think after watching you get off for months, you think I wouldn't want first dibs on this pussy."
Y/N giggles, relief flushing through her chest at the knowledge that she didn't do anything wrong. Keeping her arms propped up with one of his large hands, he uses the other to tug her sweatpants down. Just like him, she's decided to go underwear-free this evening.
"You're glistening already. Dripping down to your cute little ass."
His words make her swallow harshly. She knew from that one conversation that he was an expert at dirty talk, but hearing it in person was an entirely different game. One that she surely would never forget.
He uses two of his fingertips to spread her labia, breathing out fiercely at the sight of the strings of arousal. With his fingers in a v-shape, he watches as the pretty ribbons snap each time he moves his digits up and down, issuing a light massage to the skin between her lips and thighs.
"You're so much prettier in person." he murmurs. "I've watched you cum so many times, but... nothing compares to the real thing. You know that, pretty baby?"
A pathetic whimper falls from her swollen lips. "Stop teasing, daddy."
His heart thuds at the name. It's a weak spot, especially hearing it come from her. Watching her hole pulsate around nothing, he decides he wants — no, needs — nothing more than to lean forward and wrap his lips around her pearled clit. Her taste is heady and delicious and he's instantly hooked, especially when she curls her leg around his shoulder, pressing her heel into his back to pull him closer. She moans loudly as he sucks messily, his eyes rolling back when he feels the swollen bundle throb in his mouth.
"So good," she whines, "'s so good daddy, fuck."
He can tell that she needs minimal prep, but his suspicion is only proven right when he pushes a finger inside, her hole immediately sucking him in. He prods at her g-spot, eliciting another mewl from her pretty mouth. He thinks he could cum just from this — from sucking at her clit and fingering her deep inside, feeling her thrash around beneath him as her orgasm builds.
"Fuck— wait, wait," she pants out. Harry instantly stops, removing his hands and mouth from her. He looks up with concerned eyes and she smiles a hazy, gentle grin, pushing her hand through his messy hair. "Can you edge me? I wanna cum on your cock, daddy."
He thinks he may faint on the spot.
"Whatever you want, pretty."
She laughs breezily when he surges forward once more, nudging the tip of his tongue into her wet hole. She gasps as he thrusts it in and out, lifting his free hand to rub circles into her sensitive clit. The sensation of her pussy clenching around the width of his tongue is almost too much to handle for both of them.
He waits for her to tell him when she's almost at the edge, but it doesn't take much more. Soon enough, she's panting and pushing him away, whimpering out that she's nearly there.
"Can I ride you, please?" she nearly begs, her eyes widened and watery, "Please, need to feel you deep inside."
He chuckles at her desperation, sitting up on his heels to thumb at her bottom lip. He pulls it and lets snap back.
"Only if you give me a kiss, baby."
She scrambles onto her knees, billowing forward to press her lips messily to his. It's wet and hot, especially with the heady taste of her arousal on his tongue. He groans when she begins to suck at it, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm as he gives her hip a squeeze. When he breaks their kiss, he presses a quick one to her nose before maneuvering her body so she's straddling his waist. She rolls her hips urgently, his cock spreading her labia deliciously. It's a gorgeous sight — one Harry never wants to forget.
"Put me in." he instructs, folding his hands behind his head.
With shaky hands, she lifts up slightly, granting herself just enough room so she can lower onto his length. The second the tip pops through her tight walls, they're both moaning loudly, her eyes fluttering shut. Harry forces his to stay open so he can memorize the way she looks taking him for the first time.
"Take your time," he murmurs, breaking his dominant persona for a moment, "Don't force yourself, pretty baby. Give yourself a second."
"I can take it," she pouts, grinding down against his pelvic bone. She whimpers, her hand flying to her stomach. "Fuck— fuck, I can feel you in here, daddy."
"Told you, silly girl," he says with a smirk, his hands finding her hips with a squeeze. "Take your time. Don't need you getting hurt."
This time, she listens to him and allows herself a few moments to adjust. Once it doesn't feel like he's punching through to her cervix, she bounces once in experimentation, just to make sure she can really, truly take it.
"Why didn't you ever mention— oh— that you're fucking massive?" she whimpers out as she begins to bounce up and down. He laughs, though it quickly gets cut short when he begins to properly feel the tightness of her pussy.
"Guess it never came up." he mutters through gritted teeth.
His hands remaining on her hips, he helps her maintain her rhythm. He swallows harshly as he watches her breasts jiggle in time with her dropping up and down, never once allowing his cock to shift.
"'m gonna cum soon," she babbles out. As if on cue, Harry feels her hole pulsating around his length, making his eyes roll back.
"Show me," he demands, steadying her hips with his hands. He starts to thrust up into her, watching as her jaw falls slack from the slight but sudden switch in position. "There you go, baby. Take daddy's cock like you were made for it. Cum all over me."
He never doubted it, but god she's good at taking directions. Within a few seconds, she's clenching and coming all over his cock, whiney mewls falling from her lips as her orgasm washes over her. She moans out his honorific repeatedly, just like she did all those months ago. The sight and sound of her sopping wet pussy sucking in his length is enough to send him to his own peak, abs clenching as he fucks up into her, filling her to the brim with his warm come.
"Fuck, take it pretty girl, there you go," he groans loudly.
When each of their orgasms eventually taper off, the only thing that fills the room is the sound of their haphazard breathing. Gently, she lifts off, her hands pressing down against his chest. She feels his mess slowly seeping out of her.
"'m sorry," he runs his hand through his hair, realizing that he finished in her without discussing it. "I should've asked—"
"No, it's fine. I'm on birth control. I wouldn't have wanted you to finish anywhere else." she admits bashfully, her cheeks rosy in a post-orgasm flush. "It's just... uncomfortable once it's over."
"Of course. Let me grab a towel to clean you up."
She nods graciously as she gradually flips onto her back. Harry returns a moment later, wiping his length clean before nestling between her thighs to wash the evidence of their sex away.
"Thank you," Y/N mumbles sleepily. "No one's ever done this for me before."
Harry scoffs. If he wasn't so exhausted, he would have pressed for more details, insisting that this wasn't something worth thanking him for. Instead, he simply tosses the towel in the hamper and gets back underneath the blankets.
"Can we cuddle?" she asks quietly, lifting her head to look at him. He smiles, extending his arm so she can nestle into his side.
"C'mere, pretty."
. . .
The next morning, Harry wakes up with Y/N tucked into his chest. They're still naked, but the warmth of her soft body feels incredible. So much so, that he wonders if he's stuck in some sort of dream.
He realizes it's not when she begins to stir in his arms. When she bats her eyelashes open, her eyes puffy with sleep, she smiles gently.
"Morning."
Harry matches her smile. In a leap of faith, he leans down to press a kiss to her lips. Even after last night's events, he's unsure if this is appropriate. He's not sure if it was supposed to be a one night stand type of situation, but considering she didn't get up in the middle of the night and leave, he entertains the idea that it may be a bit more than that.
"Good morning," he returns, watching as her face glows from his brief kiss. "What time do you have to be at work?"
She groans and it immediately makes him feel guilty. She leans up onto her elbows, the edge of the comforter hiding the peeks of her nipples as she glances at the time. It's already 8:10.
"I'm supposed to be there at 9," she replies, laying back down against the pillows. It looks like the wheels are churning in her head as she mindlessly fits her fingers between his.
"What are you thinking about?" he murmurs lowly, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"Calling in sick," she admits. "Is it ridiculous that I don't want to leave?"
He chuckles, though a wave of relief washes over him. He had been thinking the same — he wanted to make her breakfast and have him in his bed all day, lean over and pepper kisses all over her face and watch as she wrinkles her nose in that cute way she does.
"Not ridiculous. We've spent months talking to each other, think we deserve some time together," he says, "In fact... if you call out, I'll do it, too."
"Really?" she asks with raised eyebrows.
"Sure. I have weeks of paid time that I've never used."
She grins and nods her head, "Okay. Yeah, that sounds good. Could we hang out all day? Maybe watch some movies and snuggle with Beatrice?"
"That sounds perfect, pretty girl." he replies, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. He sits up and grabs his clothes from the floor, pulling his sweatpants on before he heads down to his home office.
"Wait!" she grabs his arm, pulling gently. He quirks an eyebrow and looks at her expectedly. "Could we... do you think we can maybe use those toys I bought us?"
The warm flush that flowers over her cheeks makes his heart squeeze in his chest.
"Anything you want, baby," he murmurs with a small smile, "Anything you want."
#:)#hope u guys liked#it's mainly smut ig#or half smut???#not sure#writing#nerdrry#harry styles#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fan fic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#harry styles smut#harry styles one direction#one direction#harry styles blurb#harry styles imagine#harry styles x oc#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x fem!reader#harry styles x reader#harry styles writing#harry styles one shot#harry styles oneshot#harry styles one-shot#harry styles fic rec#harry styles rec
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Extended Family
DCxDP
An Au where, Maddie is Damian and Danyal, Biological mother besides Talia, Basically Talia and Maddie(+Jack) both grew up in LOA and were very best friends(lovers?? at some point including Jack). Talia wanted a natural birth for her son, as she was not really fond of the idea of a test tube baby. so she asked Maddie a favour to become a surrogate. which Maddie happily accepted. because of her experience with Jazz and Danyal's birth, Talia was sure Maddie can give birth to her son safely.
This was approved by Ra's Because he deemed Maddie as someone that could be trusted due to her becoming one of the most strongest and smart assassins in the LOA(He was fond of her, like really really fond.) So he accepted his daughter proposal for Maddie to become the surrogate.
And then Damian was born, Jazz and Danny basically loved Damian and would not go anywhere but the baby's side. Jack loved taking care of Damian due to Maddie and Talia not knowing how to take care of a baby with physical affection.(basically house husband behavior,).
As the kids grew they become closer through the years until you know, it wasn't safe for them in the LOA anymore so they helped Damian escape first to his Bio dad's place(They did let him pick though, if he wanted to stay with the fenton-nightangles or go to Bruce, he chose the latter because if something happened to them he'll have connections.) and then Maddie and Jack escaped with their children in a random town named Amity park. which turns out was a hotspot for Lazarus pits or Ectoplasm. (They decided to change the name cause everytime Jack hears the word pits he started laughing).
The children of course never severed their communication throughout the years. And Bruce never asked about his life at the LOA so he never introduced his half siblings.
Damian hated his older brother, Danyal with all his might. if you asked him to choose between his Half-sister Jazz or Danyal. He'll choose Jazz in a heartbeat.
He hated him, because of his foolishness and absolute neglect of his surroundings, making him a easy prey amongst people who wants to take advantage of him. He disliked Danyal's poor choices in life especially now.
The youngest wayne stood in the middle of one of the many hallways of his highschool as he stared at a certain, black haired and blue eyed girl, who was waving at him ecstatically, he contemplated if he should fight the girl head on or just run and escape.
Obviously in this situation he would pick the most desirable option to make sure his day wasn't ruined by his older brother, so he picked the latter. Damian dashed through the hallways, making sure to lose the girl before the third period started. He slowed down as he looked warily at his surroundings his back against the storage room incase he needed a hiding place from that test tube spawn.
When suddenly a pair of arms phased through the door embracing Damian as he tried to escape.
The girl giggled as she kept her hold on the older boy who tried to get her off him. "Hi uncle Damian!"
she greeted as she finally let go making space for the boy to take a step back.
"Danielle. Why are you here, Did Danyal send you to pester me?" He glared at his niece, as he kept his guard up.
"Kind of, mama sent me here to check up on you." She explained "You kinda went MIA when you stopped answering his texts and calls."
"This is absurd, I can take care of myself. him thinking something happened to me for not answering his calls is offending, I am not like him." Damian stated as he finally lowered his guard. And started to walk away expecting for Elle to follow to which she did.
"Eh.. You know him, His just paranoid he always is" Elle exclaimed as she looked at her schedule. "What's your next class Uncle?"
"Math."
"Ooh Yey! We're classmates, let's sit together!"
A groan left Damian as Elle chuckled and continued to look at her class schedule beside him, Peaceful quietness welcomed the two as they walked to their shared class.
——
"Do you have a apartment nearby?" Damian asked as he stood up from his table waiting for Elle as she packed her notebooks, only filled with doodles from both party.
"Nope, Mama requested that we move here for easier transport but i didn't wanna bother with all the moving stuff." Elle explained as she finished tidying up. "Beside I can just fly back and forth, what's the use of my powers if I can't abuse em."
"Your logic is as worse as Danyal." Damian exclaimed as they both headed out the door. "Follow along. you'll be staying at my manor this week."
"Why?" Elle asked suspiciously
"Because, It is a tiring job to use your flight ability for something so stupid." The boy explained.
"Is that really all?"
"Ofcourse not, As your uncle it's my job to keep you energized and unbothered, But as your mother's brother its my duty to annoy him for thinking i was in danger. so I'm basically taking you hostage at the manor." Damian grinned, as he took his niece's hand to make sure she doesn't get lost through the maze of hallways
"So basically kidnapping? I'm in."
——
"Master Damian, welcome home." Alfred greeted as he opened the front door. "And who might you be?"
"Hello Alfred, This is Danielle your Great-granddaughter." Damian said, making Alfred raise his eyebrows slightly before returning to his relaxed state.
"Well, nice to meet you Lady Danielle" Alfred greeted with a smile, as he shook her hand.
"Please call me Elle, Alfred" Elle brightly smiled
"Very well then Lady Elle." Alfred chuckled.
"Is father home yet?" Damian asked
"No not yet master Damian, you two may go to the living room as I prepare the guest room for Lady Elle." Alfred exclaimed as he headed to the kitchen to finish what he was doing.
Elle looked at Damian, Damian looked at Elle.
"I can feel my phone vibrating from my bag." She laughed. Her mother Danny was certainly going to be sad that his little brother kidnapped his daughter for a Uncle and niece Hangout.
#dpdc#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#dp x dc prompt#dp x dc fanfic#dc x dp crossover#dpxdc fanart#dc x dp#dpxdc#danny phantom crossover#dcdp#Danny is nonbinary
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
List of random dialogue prompts
“I was never a morning person, but then I started waking up to your face and you know… Maybe mornings aren’t that bad, after all.”
“Why are you mad?” “I’m not mad, I just think you can choose better people to kiss.”
“I fucking hate you.” “No you don’t. Take that back right now.”
“You know I’d do anything to have you stay by my side, right? Anything.”
“Oh, fuck. Do that again.”
“You look stupid as all hell right now.”
“I want to believe you, but I don’t know if I can.”
“You’ve given me so many reasons to walk away.” “Then why don’t you walk away? It’s not like I’m keeping you hostage here.” “You still don’t get it, do you? It’s because I love you.”
“…Damn it all to hell, if I don’t get to have you tonight then I’m never going to be able to have you.”
“Let me call you mine, just for tonight.”
“I think you and I make an amazingly stupid pair.” “I know! Our two brain cells combined together make for quality entertainment and a unique kind of stupidity.”
“I’m going to have so much fun with you.”
“Oh God, yes, right there— oh my God, just like that, please don’t stop.” “…Can you stop that? You’re making it sound like we’re in a porno and now I’m highly uncomfortable.”
“Bet you they don’t make you sound like that, do they?”
“Fuck, you’re such a wreck, and because of me, too.”
“Can you stop moaning? I’m trying to help you relax but you’re making it hard for me to concentrate.” “Sorry, your hands just work a little too good.” “I’m going to pay for a masseuse next time if you keep doing this.”
“You are driving me insane and I’m this close to losing my shit because of you.”
“Is hating me your only personality trait?”
“Never scare me like that again!”
“Oh, don’t worry. I have every plan to make you submit to me.”
“I’m not even gonna lie, I’m just so fucking obsessed with you.”
“That could be us.” “That is us.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you— slow down, you’ll get what you want soon enough.”
“I want you to remember every single second of this.”
“Bet you they can’t make you feel the way I do.” “Bet’s on.” “Wait, what? That was not my intention—”
“Hm, but I think I like having you spread out like this. Such a gorgeous sight.”
“Come and get your fix.”
“…You’re an addiction I never want to quit.”
“I had nothing to live for, but then you came into my life. So thank you.”
“Why’d you— why’d you do that?” “B-Because I promised you I’d do anything to keep you safe.”
“I swear if we get caught then I’m actually going to kill you.”
“You think I wanted this to happen?!”
“Just when I was about to give up…”
“I trusted you with my life.” “Well, I’m sorry but you’re clearly very gullible.”
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same as I do, then I’ll leave you alone.”
“You know, maybe you should bet on something else the next time instead of betting on someone’s fucking feelings.”
“You’re such a dork.” “Yeah, no wonder you’re so in love with me.”
“Does me doing all these things not account for anything?” “I never asked you to do those things for me, though, did I?”
“You nearly foiled our plan, you idiot!”
“I… I think I’m happy.” “You think? So you’re not one hundred percent certain?”
“Who’s laughing now?” “…Clearly not you. You’re crying, dear God.”
“I’m tired of being on the sidelines.”
“You actually came back.”
“Christ on a fucking bike, I could kiss you right now.”
“That was a bold move.”
“We’re going to be late, all because you couldn’t stop scrolling through that damn phone of yours while taking your damn sweet time to shit!”
“Kinda sucks that I can only have you like this.”
“I fell in love, so hard, and so fast, but a part of me knew it wasn’t going to last.”
“Your heart’s always on your sleeve.” “Only around you, because you’re the only one who knows me so well. Too well, in fact.”
(pt. 2) | (pt. 3)
#long post#dialogue prompts#random dialogue prompts#otp prompts#fluff prompts#angst prompts#smut prompts#prompts#romantic prompts#romance prompts#47 is PERSONAL HAHA (it’s me lmfao I’m the shitter 🫡🫡)#suggestive prompts#writing prompts#i had this list in the drafts for sooooo long lmfao
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
Ficleting Together Start:
cw: internalized abelism as issues with therapy and mental help, injury
Jason had an imaginary friend. He hadn't always. He wasn't like most children who had one when they were just learning to understand the world around them. He hadn't even had one on the streets when he was so desperately lonely for anyone to offer him kindness. No, Jason hadn't had one until he had become Robin— until he had become magic.
He didn't actually think his friend was so imaginary.
Bruce and Dick did, though. It was actually the first conversation that they had that didn’t end in shouting in months. Jason had listened to the whole thing through a vent on the other side of Bruce’s study. There were concerns of him regressing. Apparently it was something that could happen to traumatized— and fuck he hated that word, traumatized— children when they finally got somewhere safe.
Dick thought Jason would benefit from therapy. Worse, Bruce agreed. It turned out that went Jason took part in the shouting match it could be so much worse.
“I’m not crazy! I don’t need to see a fucking therapist!” Jason screamed.
He wasn’t helping his case, he knew that. But he wasn’t crazy! They couldn’t lock him up. He wasn’t crazy. It already felt like he was locked up. The study felt suddenly small. The lights too bright. The furniture too big. Bruce and Dick were too big.
“Jay-lad, that’s not what we’re saying,” Bruce tried.
“I’m not talking any pills!”
“No one is talking pills, Jay,” Dick said. He stepped forward, reaching a hand out.
It would be comforting. Jason knew that. Dick’s touch was always comforting.
He gave great hugs.
He wasn’t like—
Jason ran.
Jason bolted out of the room and past Alfred and out the door and into the woods that surrounded Wayne Manor. He ran past trees and shrubs and rocks that all looked the same. He ran until his legs were burning and he couldn’t catch his breath and—
The dirt, damp from the fall rainstorms gave under Jason’s feet. For a moment he was standing on nothing. It felt just like when Bruce had said that he had arranged a therapist for Jason. It felt like his world had fallen out from under him. And then Jason was falling, tumbling down the rock face that up the small hillside that Jason had been running along.
He screamed as something in his leg snapped, the noise was cut short as his head bounced against the rock and snapped his jaw closed. Even when he stopped rolling, the world swam around him. Jason closed his eyes and tried to stop himself from hurling. It was close. Jason lost time counting his breaths through the pain.
And then they were there.
Jason knew it, he always knew it.
It’s why he didn’t think they were imaginary.
He couldn’t help the sob that ripped from his throat as he felt their presence settle against his side. “I’m not crazy. You’re real. I know you are.”
Jason didn’t hear their response. It wasn’t like they spoke. But Jason could feel their response: a rumble of reassurance, a bubble of wry humor that Jason didn’t understand, and an undercurrent of worry.
“I’ll be okay,” Jason said. It had started to get dark. When had it started to get dark? “I’ll be okay.”
A cold sensation pressed against his brow.
He could close his eyes for a little longer.
He’d be okay.
“Jason! Oh god, Jason. Bruce! It’s over here! Please be alive.”
Jason whined as hand touched his neck.
Murmured Romani filled Jason’s ears as his world went black.
---
The voted prompts were Danny/Jason, soulmates/bond, Eldritch. This isn't going where I thought it would, but that's the fun of it! I might just tack all the parts onto this thread an not do an update thread since this shouldn't be too long (famous last words) but we'll see. I have at least two scenes that I know I want to do.
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! This might be a weird request but what about Gale, Halsin and Astarion with a s/o who's super cute and friendly and overall just a gigantic sweetheart who also happens to canonically be horrifyingly powerful. Like potentially even more destructive than Gale and the orb. Enemies who know their lore turn and run just at the mention of them and their name strikes fear into many hearts but then the camera pans over and it's this short sweetheart of a person. Literally this post basically
Thank you so so much, I really love your writing! Also Happy Holidays sweetie! ☺️
I love this idea!! I made it headcannons so it wasn't too long to read! REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! Please ask more, I love writing things for people <3
REQUEST HERE
Headcannons: Astarion, Gale and Halsin with a super cute friendly S/O who's horrifyingly powerful
Warnings: None, this is just indulgent FLUFF, Minor Spoilers for Act 1 and for Gale and Astarion's Lore
Astarion
You were always sweet with Astarion, and only made him feel comfortable and safe.
After he told you he was a vampire, you accepted him despite everyone else telling you not to!
When you told him you could beat Cazador, he didn't believe you at first because of your sweet nature.
The first time he realized you were a legend was when you guys raided the Goblin Camp to save Halsin.
You initially told everyone your name was Tav, so nobody really knew who you were.
Every Goblin met their end with a swing of your weapon, gutting them before they blinked.
It scared your companions, honestly.
When you got to Minthara, you told her your name was (Y/N), and she backed away from you.
Astarion was confused until Karlach, Wyll and Lae'zel spoke of your legendary moniker.
Wyll may be known as the "Blade of Frontiers" but you were known as "The Walking Death" and that was thrilling for Astarion.
Every monster, creature and being met their demise when face to face with you.
Astarion was a slave for 200 years, only knowing the bare minimum from Cazador. But knowing you were on his side, and under his thumb, that thrilled him!
Once you apologized about lying to your companions, they all welcomed you in their arms, especially Astarion.
As he slowly falls in love with you, he realizes that he likes knowing his significant other is not only powerful and showed no mercy, but showed him life through another lens.
You show him that love doesn't make someone weak, but stronger.
You're powerful, and having you by his side makes him feel unstoppable as well.
He is very grateful for you. You will pull him from Cazador's clutches and stay with him through it.
Despite your sweet nature, you kicked ass. You saved everyone you could, which annoyed Astarion. But he loved you despite it, and always will.
After all, why would he run away from the first good thing to happen to him?
Gale
He was also confused about who you were right away. As a scholar he spent most of his time in books, rather than the battlefield.
Honestly, his mind was distracted between the Netherese Orb in his chest and Mystra.
When you pulled him out of the portal, he was struck by your kindness.
Then he was struck by your beauty when you fought valiantly for your companions.
He was excited seeing someone so powerful near him, and honestly fell harder.
After telling you what Mystra did, you told him you'd kill her.
He laughed you off, until he saw what you could do.
Now he's worried he won't have a goddess to worship.
Your battle prowess is astounding, and he can't help but admire you as you shout commands to your companions.
You always were gentle with Gale, soft touches and sweet nothings between you two.
He always finds it difficult to associate you with your title.
"The Slayer of Man and Beast" he's heard Lae'zel and Shadowheart call you.
You always chuckle and tell them "soon you'll have to add gods to that"
Now he's even more worried about his goddess
Over time, he considers you his goddess. After all, you've protected and respected him much more than Mystra ever had.
When he tells you about the Netherese Orb, you shrug him off.
"Nothing will keep me from you, not even a bomb."
Wow
When you two are alone, he caresses your muscles and your hands. He's in love with the idea of his significant other being this battle-worn individual set to protect him
Throughout your adventure, you remind him that you would protect him with your life.
"All for little old me?"
"Nobody will stop me from protecting you. No monster or goddess."
Man you really hate Mystra for hurting Gale so bad.
You dream about smiting her and protecting Gale in your arms.
While adventuring, you always keep Gale by your side. Everyone teases you for it until you shoot them a warning glance.
You're so so good to him. You take hits for him, heal him in battle, and heal him in the privacy of his tent.
"You're too good to me." He muttered once, eyes closed.
"You've never been treated right. It's my personal duty to make sure you never doubt yourself ever again." You replied, kissing his eyelids.
He just fell harder.
Halsin
He actually knew who you were before you saved him.
When you said your name, he bowed his head in respect.
"An honour to put a face to the name" He said to you.
You told him you loved how big and safe he was.
"You're the one who would keep me safe, little one."
He wasn't wrong. You've saved him multiple times throughout your adventure.
You were very sweet with Halsin, always leaning against his arms and closing your eyes when you sit together in camp.
He found it amusing, seeing such a feared individual be so innocent and kind with him.
In his 350 years of existence, he's never been so captivated by someone like you.
When he tasked you with eradicating the Goblin Camp, he enjoyed seeing the fear in Minthara's eyes when you said your name.
Despite being a druid, he knew that with life also came death. He accepted your past.
He found the juxtaposition of your personality endearing.
One day, he was in wildshape lounging around as a bear. You laid on him and spoke about different topics regarding your life.
In that same day, he saw you obliterate 20 goblins on your own.
He never thought he'd be aroused by someone killing goblins, but you did that.
You also knew all the spots to scratch when he was a bear??
Yes that's the spot. Right behind his ears.
He liked seeing the way you treat your companions with such kindness.
You showed respect and compassion to those who you find deserve it. You helped people find safety, and feel safe.
It was beautiful, the way you showed such love to those who were close to you.
He always compared you to the ocean.
"Why the ocean?" You asked him once.
"You can be calm, bring peace. But you are also wild, strong in the most beautiful way." He replied.
He enjoyed the way you blushed.
One time, you asked him to wildshape and you rode him into battle. Nothing is scarier than seeing (Y/N) "The Tempest" riding onto a bear.
Even your companions were scared
Ever since then, you always did it. It was like couple bonding, somehow??
Gods, he loves his little tempest
Hope this is as enjoyable for you guys to read as it was for me to write!!
#fanfic#fanfiction#baldur's gate 3#bg3#halsin x reader#astarion x reader#bg3 gale#gale x reader#halsin#astarion#astarion ancunin#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#gn reader#gender neutral reader#gender neutral y/n#headcannons#reader insert#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate halsin#baldurs gate gale
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Ellie wasn't born a Halfa
So! Jason just found something weird. Or rather. Someone.
A little girl, no more than 6 or 7, crying behind a dumpster in an alleyway. Now, as unfortunate as it is, this isn't that strange a sight in Gotham. Kids are always running away from home, getting lost, being left homeless after a mugging gone wrong, but this time was different.
Because the kid was glowing.
When he found her hiding behind the Dumpster, a medical gown being the only thing she had to protect herself from thr frigid Gotham Winter, he didn't hesitate to give her his Jacket and take her to his nearest safe house.
(Actually it took a little while to convince her to accept the Jacket, and even longer to get her to agree to being taken to his safe house, but they got there in the end.)
When he had finally gotten her set up in a side room of the Warehouse, with the most comfortable bed and thickest Blankets he could find, he tried asking what had happened.
"Daddy lied." She said. "He said he loved me, but then he made another kid and said he didn't care about me."
And, once again, it was unfortunately not that uncommon to see runaway kids from neglectful homes, but the way she said it raised some flags in his head.
"...and, how did you end up in Gotham?"
"I ran. He said I was a spare, and that scared me."
Well, that was even more horrible than he had anticipated. What kind of monster tells their kid that they're a spare?!
"And, I'm sorry if this is a touchy subject but why are you glowing?"
She just buried her face in the Blankets and shook her head.
"Alright then, that's fine. You can tell me when you're ready, or even not tell me at all, I'll accept either or".
For the next few weeks, Jason juggled running his newly created criminal empire and raking care of the kid. He still hadn't gotten a name out of her, but she said to call her "Dp" instead. 'It's the best I'm gonna get', he thought.
It was only after a few more weeks, right before he was about to begin his Plan of confronting Bruce about the Joker still being alive, that she approached him and agreed to tell him everything. He was actually really glad that she finally seemed to trust him enough to tell him.
"Okay Dp, you can start wherever you want."
"...well, I guess I should start with my name..." She started, "...or rather, my lack of one..."
"What?" Asked Jason in a soft voice.
"I, I don't have a name." She explained, "Daddy never gave me one. He just called me DP-2."
"...what do you mean by two?" Asked Jason.
"It-It's my Experiment Number." She said, stuttering a little, "I'm not a normal person, I'm a Clone. I was made to be daddy's perfect child, but I was just the test run. He said that I wasn't needed after he made DP-3, and that all I was good for was spare parts."
Jason felt his throat dry up. Dp was a Clone? Of who? Who made her? What right did that guy have to reject her?! Who in their right mind would make a Clone and then reject the Clone?! How dare he!
The Pits perked up
He felt the Pits rising a little, but managed to push them down. Dp needed support, not the Pits.
"It's Okay kid." He said, holding her had reassuringly. "It's perfectly okay to be different. I accept you as you are, and I'm sure as hell not gonna abandon you that easily. Or, ever really. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."
She giggled, and hugged him. A thoughtful look crossed her face, and she pulled away.
"There is one other thing...you know how I glow sometimes?" She asked.
The Pits felt a sense of dread
Jason felt like he wasn't going to like this. "Yeah?"
"Well, when I said I was meant to be a Clone, I never mentioned who of." She explained slowly. "He's a kid named Danny, and when he was 14, he had an accident where he died and came back as a Half Undead."
No...
Jason really wasn't liking where this was going.
"When Da-Vlad tried to make me, he realized that those powers couldn't be cloned..." She paused here, seemingly gathering the courage to continue. "...they needed to be added afterwards."
NO.
He didn't. He had better not have, for his own Fucking Sake, he had better not have done what Jason thinks he did.
"So one day, he took he down to the Lab, and he put me in a big machine." He voice broke a little. "He locked me in there, and then I think...that I died..."
...
For once, Jason felt completely in tune with the Pits. He was going to Kill that guy.
...
Sorry if this feels a little rushed, I kept going back to add or change parts of it.
Basically, Vlad realized that you can't Clone a Halfa. So, he made a workaround. He just stuck his first Viable Clone into a Portal, and let the machine Kill her. When he realized that it worked, he knew he had no use for Ellie anymore aside from spare parts.
And he told her as much, Vlad is a fucking asshole.
Ellie, of course, got scared and ran away. She ended up in Gotham, and was adopted by Jason right at the start of his Criminal Career.
When Jason finally hears about the rest of his kids' Backstory, he decides that Batman can wait his turn. He needs to go Kill that Vlad Bastard.
#Dpxdc#Dp x dc#Dcxdp#Dc x dp#Danny Phantom#Dc#Dcu#Dani Phantom#Danielle Phantom#Ellie Phantom#Ellie is younger#Vlad decided to try his experiment the moment she was old enough to feasibly survive#The Pits are not seperate from Jason#They are actually his Ghost Half (aka his emotional half) shining through#Jason is a Halfa#He doesn't know that though#After they finish their conversation Jason asks Dp if she wants a name#She says yes and eventually he calls her Stella#Or Ellie for short#Cause she is his little starlight#Danny is unaware that Ellie exists#I wonder what happened with him#Maybe he is living his life back in Amity?#Maybe he is on the run because the “real danny” showed up with Vlad claiming that he had been replaced by an Imposter Ghost#And his Parents instantly believed him because Vlad is claiming that he has been no contact for so long trying to save “the real danny”#Maybe Jason finds a second glowing kid hiding behind a dumpster?#And maybe he realizes that this is his daughter's older brother?#Is that what happens?#Well maybe it is#But that's between Me and my crippling inability to finish my Part 2's
1K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
feedcob-blog
Feedcob
mostlyliterally
sativa queen
videogimp-blog
Untitled
ikincielesyaalanlaryerler-blog
İsimsiz
sixthemusicalextras
Six the Musical Extras