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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

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strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part eighteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

joel does his best to distract himself, and you, and time just keeps on going.

a/n: SURPRISE. did I think this was gonna be done today? nope. did I anticipate the things happening in part 18 and 19 to be one big part? YEP. is there gonna be another part probably on thursday or friday? ALSO YEP. (also I’ll be replying to comments on part 18 soon I swear!)

word count: 5.7k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, some intense sex, joel is trying to fix his problems the wrong way, mentions/depictions of ptsd, canon-typical violence, we love tess servopolous in this house 🤍

✨y’all should know the drill by now - @friskito-library for updates on new chapters and new works!✨

Tess stays long enough for you to scrounge up something faintly resembling dinner. Between the two of you, you put a decent dent in the whiskey bottle. She doesn’t really pry, doesn’t ask anything beyond if Joel is okay, if you are. You open your mouth to answer, and the bathroom door opens. He doesn’t so much as glance at the two of you before he heads towards the bed, falling sideways onto it and rolling onto his side, facing the window, away from you both.

“I don’t know,” you breathe out, reaching for the bottle. You can feel Tess watching you, that intense gaze of hers making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Joel caught him outside one of the Firefly buildings the other day. Split his knuckles on Tommy’s nose.”

“That explains it,” Tess sighs, leaning back in her chair. You slide the bottle across the table to her. “He was pissed as hell when he got home, all bloody and shit, wouldn’t tell me why.”

“It was like pulling teeth, getting him to tell me,” you say, glancing over at Joel’s prone form on the bed. You let your voice drop lower, just above a whisper. “My sister and I used to fight, but we never…” You shake your head, let your voice trail off. “It’s not the same, I know, but still. Did you have siblings? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”

Tess shakes her head, swigs from the bottle with a wince. “Nope, only child. Thankful for it now, but it was lonely, growing up.”

You push your hands through your hair, sighing. “I can only imagine.”

A strange silence settles over you, and your gut twists. Tess is the closest friend you have, you hate lying to her, and that’s all you’ve been doing since Nick left. It’s for her own good, you reason, but it does little to ease the guilt.

“One of us should try and talk to Tommy,” she says after a moment, and you lift a brow. “Try and talk some fucking sense into him.”

You chew your lip, nodding. “I mean, you’re the logical first choice, I would think. Tonight was supposed to smooth shit over between him and Joel to start, not make it worse. If I go now, he’ll just think I’m defending Joel. And if Joel even agreed to go, they’d both end up beat to shit, I think.”

“This could get him killed, Liv,” Tess says, and your stomach fills with dread. “These fucking Fireflies, they have no idea what they’re doing. I saw the beginnings of shit like this in Baltimore, and that was before it even got to the point of bombings and shootings. They don’t know what they’re doing, what FEDRA will do to them if they get caught. We can’t lose Tommy. We can’t.”

“I know.” You reach out, cover her hand on the table with your own. Her knuckles twitch beneath your palm, and you curl your fingers around hers, squeezing. “Try and talk to him when you go home,” you say, your voice low, still just above a whisper. “See if you can get through that thick Miller skull. I’ll meet you in the afternoon tomorrow, and we’ll go from there.”

She just nods. “You got a job tomorrow?”

“Radio,” you tell her, rubbing your fingers across your brow. “Now that Hartford’s bust, gotta start making some new connections, see what’s out there.”

Another nod. “Smart.” But you can see the concern on her face.

“It’ll be okay, Tess,” you murmur, squeezing her hand again. “Promise.”

She leaves shortly after, taking the mostly empty whiskey with her. A peace offering for Tommy, she claims, and you hug her tightly before closing the door behind her.

You turn the lights off, double check the stove is turned off, unplug the generator that runs it. Soft yellow light filters in from the street, the curtains you still haven’t replaced ruffling slightly as you shut the living room window, blocking out the noise of the street below. Soldiers on patrol, trucks rumbling past, ambiance that’s far too close to what you’d grown used to in Boston pre-outbreak.

Joel murmurs your name as you head towards the bed, shrugging off his flannel and tossing it onto the pile of clothes in the corner. You need to do laundry, you think faintly, sinking onto the edge of the bed. There are blood-covered clothes somewhere in that pile, things you should probably just burn instead of trying to scrub the stains out in the shitty QZ laundry.

As you lay back, Joel rolls towards you, slinging his arm around your waist, hand snaking right up your shirt and curling around your ribs. He presses a hot kiss to your collar as you let your fingers rake through his hair, feeling the rumble in his chest as he hums.

“Joel,” you whisper, scratching your nails against his scalp. He makes a little noise, shuffling closer to you on the bed. “Baby, are you okay?”

He goes still suddenly, muscles tensing in every place he’s pressed against you, hand squeezing your ribs. You try to roll towards him, your free hand reaching for his shoulder, but he pushes your hand away, lifting himself up and over you, one thigh sliding between your legs until the thickness of it is pressed right against your crotch. It makes you hiss.

“Joel—”

“Don’t,” he rasps, his other hand planted on the bed beside your head. You can’t help but arch up into him, your body always managing to react to him whether you want it to or not. “Let me make you feel good.”

“We should ta—” you start, but you’re cut off by a bruising kiss. The force of it presses you down into the pillows, one leg lifting to hitch over his hip, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. He drinks the air from your lungs, pushes his tongue past your teeth and tastes your mouth, lowers himself just enough that the friction of his body weight sparks your blood with lust.

“In the morning, we can talk,” he grumbles, moving his mouth along your jaw, nipping at your skin. “I don’t wanna talk right now. Not about that.”

“J—” you start, but you never get the rest of his name out.

You’re only wearing a thin tank top, the flannel discarded, and Joel makes the most of it, curling his fingers in the front and pulling, your breasts spilling out over the elastic. He wastes no time, lowering his head to one, giving you just the slightest edge of his teeth, his hand abandoning your ribs to tweak at your nipple, coaxing it to a peaked bud between his knuckles.

Back arching, you pull at his hair, hooking your other foot around his leg and forcing him closer to you, seeking out the friction of his body between your legs. He doesn’t give it to you, but instead lets his mouth wander across your chest, giving your other side the same teeth-and-tongue treatment while his hand moves down, fingers sliding along your stomach, diving straight under the waist of your sweats. The pads of his index and middle press down hard on your clit, and you keen, his name gritted out as he draws circle after circle, the pressure maddening in the best way.

He detaches from you just long enough to pull his fingers back, pushing both past his lips, tongue laving at his knuckles. As he does, you reach for your waistband, lifting your ass and shoving the fabric over your hips. It gets stuck, your legs pinned together, but Joel barely seems to notice. His mouth returns to your chest, bites nipped across your skin, while he wedges his hand against you, fingers curled and pressing into you in one fluid motion. He buries them to the hilt, and stops, letting you adjust, his mouth still paying close attention to your nipples. You’re sure your chest will be littered with bite marks come morning, but as he curls his knuckles, you don’t fucking care.

“Joel,” you manage to rasp out, one hand buried in the back of his head, keeping him against you. “God, fucking fuck, please, can you—” The words are cut off with a moan as he scissors his fingers wide, pressing against that spot that makes your vision white out.

“What, baby?” he mumbles, his voice muffled by your skin. “What d’you need? Use your words.”

“I…I want…” You’re panting at the intensity, the multiple points of pleasure making your head spin. “Fuck.”

In a flash, he’s pulled himself out of your grip, hovering over you. With one hand, he pulls your sweats off completely, tossing the fabric to the side, and slides his knees beneath you, your legs spread wide either side of his hips. He leans over you, fingers still buried deep, and his palm rests at the base of your throat, dark eyes flashing down at you in the dark.

“Words, Liv.”

You groan, reaching for his wrist, pulling his hand higher up your neck until you can feel his fingers either side of your throat, just enough pressure to make everything in you tighten. He curls the fingers inside you again, your thighs shaking as he does, and he leans down further, takes your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging before letting it snap back.

“Want your cock, Joel,” you nearly whimper out, the pressure and the pleasure and the whiskey in the back of your head getting the better of you. “Please, need to feel you.”

He wastes no time giving you what you ask for.

Faintly, you hear the clatter of his belt hitting the ground, the metallic sound of his zipper, the low grunt as he settles himself over you. Your hands scrabble for bare skin, diving beneath the hem of his t-shirt, scraping at scars and freckles and the dips in his spine as he pushes into you. You both groan together, Joel nipping at your cheek, hot breath fanning your lips.

He’s losing himself in you, you can tell. Even high on the pleasure he’s pulling from you, you can feel it in every thrust, every squeeze of his hands, every touch of his lips. You need to talk, but the only talking he wants right now has nothing to do with the state of your lives. But you can feel the desperation, the need, the want, the lust, the love. You feel it in yourself, too, and you let it take over.

You cum with a cry muffled in Joel’s shoulder, your nails digging into his skin as he pounds you through it. The sound of the box spring scraping the cinderblocks nearly makes you laugh, but his mouth finds yours before you can let the noise out, instead swallowing down his moans as he spills himself deep.

He keeps driving into you, every nerve set on fire, wringing another orgasm out of you that steals what little breath you’ve sucked down. He moans into your mouth when your body clenches down on him, your nails digging in deeper, probably deep enough to draw blood, definitely enough to leave red welts on his shoulders. You’re clinging to him, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress the only thing so solid and comforting that as he settles against you, you think you could fall asleep right then and there, and you nearly do.

You’re faintly aware of him pulling out of you, his fingers trailing between your legs as his spend seeps out, pushing it back in, rubbing his now-wet thumb over your clit over and over. You let out a whine, teetering on the brink of overstimulation, but his mouth covers yours again, soft kisses littered across your lips, corner to corner.

“One more, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a deep rasp, the words almost begged. “Please?”

Joel was quick to give you what you want, and you’re no different, fisting his t-shirt in your hand, your legs spreading as he pushes his fingers into you. The intrusion makes your blood spike, still reeling from the feeling of him, and the combination of your orgasms between your legs only makes his fingers move that much easier, finding all the right places over and over until you’re a babbling mess, thrashing in the sheets as he coaxes a third from you, praise muttered in your ear the whole way through.

In retrospect, you know that he planned it this way. Distract you with sex, make you cum so hard you see literal fucking stars, leave you so spent you’re barely coherent by the end, shoving weakly at his shoulder, your chest heaving and sparks shooting across your vision. After you’ve both cleaned up, dragging yourself to the bathroom on shaky legs, Joel huffing a laugh and you shooting him a glare — you’re exhausted.

By the time you stagger back to the bed, cleaned and clothed, your heart still racing and your breaths still heaved, Joel’s completely asleep, and you just shake your head, sliding onto the bed with him, fitting yourself against him, pulling his arm around your waist before you let yourself drift off as well.

It gets to the point where it’s not even subtle. He’s being painfully obvious about it, obnoxious even. You can barely get a word out, barely manage to make it through the door most days before he’s on you, tugging at your clothes and seeking out your mouth.

The moment your eyes open in the morning, he’s pulling at you, mouth seeking yours, hands caressing your body, waking you up in the best possible way. It doesn’t matter who gets home first; he’s either waiting sat at the kitchen table, leaping to his feet with a grunt the moment you’re through the door, or he’s the one bursting through, kicking the door shut behind him and fucking you on the nearest flat surface. The kitchen table, the counter, the couch, the bed. Joel’s not picky.

It’s a distraction, you know. He’s trying to distract you from getting him to talk about Tommy, about what was said that night, and is distracting himself in the process.

You haven’t seen Tommy since that less-than-pleasant family dinner. From what you’ve gathered from Tess, he hasn’t been at their apartment much, and it’s rare for her to see him between curfews. He’s snuck back in through the window a few times, scaring the living hell out of Tess in the process. She’s tried to pry each time, try to find out where he’s been, but he won’t say a damn word.

Tess tried to talk Tommy out of it when she got back that night, like you’d planned, but got nowhere. You tried to corner him in the stairwell on your way out of the apartment one day, and he bolted like a scared animal before you could get a word out.

He bails on the few smuggling runs you manage to plan in the weeks that follow. He’s awol, in every sense, but it doesn’t leave you short-handed — Tess is always up for a challenge, and knowing Gwen and her crew aren’t an issue anymore gives you a sick sense of safety.

Joel’s a little reluctant to head out of the QZ, easing only slightly when you inform him Tess is game. When you remind him that there’s no possible way you could have a repeat of last time, he relaxes further still, and when you drag your hands through his hair, kissing your way up his throat as you go, murmuring into his skin that it’ll all work out just fine, he’s putty in your hands.

So, nearly three weeks after family dinner, you’re heading out on another run. No drop or meet-ups this time, just an exploration of sorts. There’s a neighbourhood north of the city you hit in the early days of the QZ, when Nick was still keeping all your secrets and looking the other way when you snuck back over the wall. Big houses, cookie-cutter shit lining the streets, you’d managed to pick through a few of the bungalows, but there were bigger homes, near mansions that you have yet to explore. Chances are most of them are picked clean, but your luck has yet to run out.

Joel’s a good ten feet ahead of you, rifle slung across his back. One of the bigger guns in your supply; you don’t have much ammo for it and it was usually Tommy’s, since he was the best shooter of the four of you. Seeing Joel carrying it, you can’t help but wonder if his choice of weapon was purposeful or not. You’re on his right side, hanging back with Tess, the two of you chatting away as you walk the empty roads between the city and the suburb. It’s a weird little blip, the roads lined with cars, ones you remember being parked in the middle of the lanes now pushed out either side, leaving the middle clear.

“They must have cleared it,” Joel calls over his shoulder to you and Tess, inspecting one of the cars, the damage on its side. “Made way for their big trucks and tanks and shit.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Tess jokes, and you have to stifle your laugh at the dry look he gives her.

You continue on, your bat in hand, hefting it over your shoulder as you walk. Tess is talking, recounting her last conversation with Tommy before you’d left. “He still won’t say a goddamn word,” he tells you, and you glance at Joel’s back as she speaks, not missing the way his shoulder bunch slightly and he gets a few more feet ahead of you. “It’s for our own good, apparently.”

It nearly stops you in your tracks. For your own good. The same fucking excuse you’ve been using as reason why you haven’t told Tess about your…condition? It’s for her own good.

“He’s stubborn,” you say, adjusting your grip on the bat. “I told you, I tried to talk to him, but he fucking bolted.”

“Like a scared fucking animal,” Tess agrees, her brow pinching. “He knows this is fucked up, and yet he just doesn’t fucking get it. You know three people and four soldiers died in that Firefly shootout the other day? Innocent people, not fucking freedom fighters. Tommy’s gonna end up dead, or blown to shit.”

You wince, and Tess grabs your arm.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” you repeat, brushing her off, trying to brush off the chill that crawls up your spine. You swallow hard, jutting your chin towards Joel’s back. “He’s just as bad. I can’t get a goddamn word in with him before he’s pulling my fucking clothes off.” Tess laughs, and you drop your voice low. “He’s literally screwing me into submission.”

She gives you a conspiratorial grin. “Is that really the worst thing?” You sputter out a giggle, clamping your hand over your mouth, and Joel glances over his shoulders at the pair of you, brow slowly rising. It makes you both burst into laughter, and it gets to the point where Joel stops in his tracks, turning back to scold the both of you for being so loud.

“Gonna get us fuckin’ swarmed, the two of you.”

You both whisper apologies, Tess giving a half-assed salute to Joel’s back when he turns around again, and you smack her arm, rolling your eyes. A moment passes before she speaks again, but there’s something different in her expression.

“All his stuff is gone, Liv,” she tells you, and the tone in her voice nearly stops you. “There’s no talking him out of it. The apartment’s half empty, and honestly, the guy could be a pain in the ass sometimes, and he snores like a trucker, but I miss him. It’s weird, being alone. I never was, not since before Nate, and now it’s just…”

“Lonely?”

“Yeah,” she nods, her gaze going a little far off. “It’s too quiet all the time, and knowing what he’s getting involved in, it fucking sucks.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, shoving your free hand through your hair, nodding in agreement. “It does fucking suck. I mean, our couch is always open, you could come—”

“Move in with you two?” she asks, both brows lifting. “Fucking like bunnies all the time? No thank you.”

You stifle your laugh, sticking your tongue between your teeth. “I’m just saying, door’s always open for you; I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

You snap your fingers, remembering your promise to her what feels like a year ago. Has it been that long? “I still have to set you up with someone,” you offer, and she starts to protest, but you try to wave her off. “I know, I know, no soldiers, and I swear I won’t, you can just—”

“I don’t need you too, Liv,” she says, “I found someone myself, actually.”

“Oh?”

She nods. “Her name is Robin, she lives in the other building, sometimes works the same food bank shifts as us.” Your jaw drops, knowing exactly who she’s referring to, and Tess is laughing as the realization works its way across your face. Letting out a quiet squeal, you punch her arm lightly, bouncing excitedly. Tess is laughing, and you’re giggling, and it feels nice.

Joel shoots you another look over his shoulder, and you both fall silent, covering your mouths with your hands as he turns back. Tess reaches for your arm. “I really like her, Liv,” she says, and you revel in the warmth that spreads through your chest at the sincerity in her tone. “It’s only been maybe a month or two, but she’s…god, I don’t know. She’s great.”

You beam at her. “I’m glad. You should bring her by, next time we have family dinner.”

“Joel’s gonna be outnumbered, you know.”

You wave your hand, flicking your fingers toward his back. “He’ll survive. If she’s important to you, she’s important to us. End of story. Besides, I have a feeling we’re gonna find the good liquor today; Joel can drink his fill and then some.”

Tess just laughs, and you keep on going.

The neighbourhood looks completely different than you remember, not that it shocks you. All the gardens you remember walking through have become overgrown, the cracks in the sidewalks deeper, the cars parked in most of the driveways more rusted. Joel finally falls back into step with you as you enter the cul-de-sacs, his face wary. You heft the bat, giving him a nod, and the corner of his mouth quirks, but that’s all you get.

He’s been stoic as hell, when he’s not distracting you with his hand down your pants and his mouth at your throat. The few times you’ve gone out into the city together, he’s stone-faced, an attack dog looming at your side, shooting daggers at anyone who lets their gaze linger on you longer than he likes.

Thankfully, the neighbourhood is quiet. You poke through the few houses you want to snoop through as a team, making sure they’re clear before you break off, Tess taking one of the smaller places, you and Joel heading for the largest on the block.

Joel decides to take the kitchen first, while you head up the stairs, letting the end of your bat rattle the spokes in the handrail as you go. The house is gaudy as hell, clearly once belonging to people who had more money than they knew what to do with. Everything is in disarray now, the carpets stained with blood and bootprints, the picture frames all askew, the wood flooring cracked in places. But still, somewhere underneath it all, there are remnants of a family, unknown faces that peer back at you from the photographs, poised to perfection in a studio somewhere in the city. You had friends that were photographers, before, friends of Dean’s. Who knows where they are now.

The first bedroom you step into looks like it might have belonged to a teenage boy. The walls are a nice blue, wall-to-wall bookshelves along one side, a seat built into the window ledge, a queen-sized bed that’s been stripped of all its bedding, the mattress now stained with substances you hope only occurred after the outbreak. A computer desk in one corner, the monitor smashed inward, the keyboard shattered on the floor. But on the shelves, something of the room’s inhabitant still remains. Comic books, stacks of them, still intact, catch your eye, along with a soccer trophy that’s been toppled, cracked in one place.

You rifle through the comics, thumbing through the pages. A few of the covers are faintly familiar to you, but one jumps out. Savage Starlight. It’s a little ripped at the edges, clearly well-loved, and there are a few of the same series, what looks like the first four issues.

Stuffing the comics into your bag, you head for the next bedroom. The walls are pink, the twin beds on either side covered with blood, and when you see the gaudy decoration on the wall, your heart leaps into your throat and you back out of the room, yanking the door shut so hard it shakes on its hinges.

Sisters.

The ache never really goes away, not truly. You’ve never really stopped thinking about Anna, not once. Hell, you still remember the last conversation you had, before everything went to shit.

It was your birthday — Joel’s birthday too — when everything that happened, happened. The evening is crystal-clear to this day, the events that unfolded in your apartment that night seared into your memory, and your shoulder. The morning is a little fuzzy now, but you remember your lunch hour at work:

Dean called first, to tell you he pre-ordered dinner, Thai from your favourite spot, and told you to have fun with your friends at happy hour, that he’d be waiting when you got home. He ended the call with a breezy love you, sweetheart! and you still remember the way it had made your heart hurt, just a little. An ache that was eased when Joel called you later, but right after you hung up with Dean, your phone rang again. Anna.

“Helloooooo,” you’d singsonged, phone propped between your head and your shoulder as you moved the bouquet of roses Dean had sent across your desk, trying to get back to your computer so you could actually get some work done once your lunch hour was over.

“Happy birthday, favourite sister!” Anna had shrieked, and you’d winced at her volume, laughing to yourself as you reached for your still half-full coffee cup.

“I’m your only sister,” you reminded her, and she scoffed.

“Shut up. Are you having a good birthday?”

“It’s not bad,” you answered, “as far as twenty-fifth birthdays go. But it’s still early.”

“I was gonna call you this morning,” she said, and in the background, you could hear the bells of the hardware store ring, signalling a customer, “but I thought you and Dean would be celebrating and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

You’d choked on your coffee, spewing it all over your computer screen, and Anna just laughed. “You’re a menace!”

She just laughed harder, and you couldn’t help but giggle along with her, wiping your screen down, checking to make sure you hadn’t spilled any on yourself. The conversation continued; you asked about your parents, the store, tried to not ask too directly if she’d seen Joel around lately. She returned each of your questions, asking after Dean and work and when you were coming home next, and then—

“Liv, I’m moving out.”

“Huh?”

At that point, Anna was only twenty-one. She’d taken a few years off after high school to try and figure out what she wanted to do, but had apparently hit a roadblock when you moved home after college. Not that you minded much, it was always nice to be around your sister more constantly. It felt different, after you moved to Boston. She called more often, and you talked for hours and hours until you could hear your father shouting in the background that she was gonna rack up his phone bill, but he quickly quieted down when she yelled back that she was talking to you.

She hadn’t really changed her ways much since you left, still partying a decent amount and trying to find her match in Austin. You weren’t completely surprised that she was leaving your parents’ house, but something told you it wasn’t a decision she’d made on her own.

“Jack and I decided last week,” she continued, and you held your breath. You met Jack once, the last time you were home for a holiday. You weren’t totally sold, but Anna was enamoured as anything, so you chalked it up to young love. “I told Mom and Dad last night, and they’re not thrilled, but…I have to do this, Liv.” You could hear the waver in her voice; you could feel it in your chest. “I have to get out of Austin now, like you did, or else I’m never gonna leave.”

Like you did.

You knew how she meant it, in that you’re my big sister and I look up to you way, and it made your heart ache in a simultaneously good and bad way.

“Where are you gonna go?” you asked, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Like, do you guys have a plan?”

“Jack said Colorado,” she answered, “but I thought maybe…” She paused, you could hear her sharp inhale. “I thought maybe Boston?”

When you didn’t answer right away, you could hear Anna panic, her words more and more rambling as she kept talking.

“I mean, only if that’s okay with you. I know it’s your city, and your place and you did this big thing and moved across the country, but I just—”

“Anna,” you called, cutting her off. “Of course, it’s okay with me. Having you closer? Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

You talked well past the end of your lunch hour. Anna tried to let you go more than once, but each time you told her no, it was okay, the excitement in her voice made you laugh. By the end of the call, you had an almost-plan. They wouldn’t move to Boston right away, but Anna would come for a visit, spend some good sister-time with you, and then Jack would come up for a weekend. You’d show them around the city, maybe scope out a few potential apartments, check some job listings. It was a start.

“I love you, Livvy,” she said as you said your goodbyes.

“Love you, too.”

And then it was the end.

Joel finds you in the master bedroom, bat on the ground beside you. You’re on all fours, ass in the air, trying to reach something under a chest of drawers. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, and waits until you’re safely clear of the wooden edge before letting out a low wolf whistle. “Now there’s a view.”

You glared at him over your shoulder, laughing quietly as you set your findings on top of the drawers, getting to your feet and dusting off your knees. “As if you don’t see it every day.”

“I do,” he replies, and crosses the room to you, adjusting the rifle over his shoulder. As soon as he’s close enough, he presses his front to your back, sliding his arms around your waist, hands curling around your thighs. “S’like I’m seein’ it for the first time, every time.” You laugh again, and he buries his face in your neck, nipping at your skin, tasting the sweat on your skin. “What’re you doin’ up here?”

You sigh, pointing towards the object you’d unearthed from under the drawers. “It’s a jewellery box, I think. Miracle someone didn’t take it.”

“More rings for your collection?”

Your nose wrinkles and you reach for the box, flipping the lid open. You both suck in breaths when you see the contents, more gold than either of you have ever seen in one place before. There are rings, earrings, a necklace with a diamond the size of your thumbnail. Joel picks up the pendant, rubs his thumb over the jewel.

“Fuckin’ crazy, isn’t it,” he grumbles, and you lean back against him, both of you inspecting the bauble, “how none of this shit is worth anything anymore.”

His eyes dip as you reach into your shirt, pinching the chain around your neck until your ring pops out of your collar. “This is worth something to me.”

Joel’s jaw drops, that awful feeling of shoving his foot directly into his mouth making his stomach twist. “Baby, I didn’t me—”

“I know,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I just…I was trying to find you a ring, okay? None of the ones I have back at the apartment feel right, so I thought maybe there’d be something…” You trail off, stepping out of his grip and shoving your hand through your hair. “It’s fucking morbid, isn’t it? Wearing someone else’s wedding band? But you found me this one, and it’s mine, no one else’s, and I just…” Shaking your head, Joel can see the tears lining your lashes, and he realizes there’s something more going on here, not just the ring.

“Liv,” he says softly, reaching his hand out, moving slowly, tentatively, until he can wrap his fingers around your shoulder. “I don’t need one, baby. I have you, that’s all I care about.”

You tilt your head back, reaching up and wiping at your wet eyes. “Me, and an official FEDRA document stating that I’m legally your problem.”

Joel smiles, a broad grin that he can feel stretching across his mouth before he can stop it. He doesn’t miss the way your face changes as he grins, your brows raising slightly, your eyes going brighter. “Oh, baby,” he chuckles, putting both arms around you, dipping his head so he can nudge your nose with his. “You’ve been my problem since 2001.”

He gives you a soft kiss, but you pull back after a moment, half-hearted anger in your face. “Hey!”

“My favourite problem,” he laughs, and you’re both giggling now, quick kisses traded while you slide your hands up the sides of his shirt, pinching his ribs and making him flinch. “Oh, you’re trouble.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Always have been.”

Joel shakes his head at you and just kisses you again.

PREV | NEXT

just trying to make sure tumblr doesn’t eat the ending 🍓

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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11thsdoctress · 1 year

Note

I seen that you been asking for request for writing and I can't get out of my mind the idea of a one shot based of snap out of it by the artic monkeys. Where the doctor (ideally 10th but I don't really mind if you use any other) had a relationship with the reader in the past and they meet before a long time and reader is gonna get married and the doctor try to stop them. Sorry if was too long of request and thank you in advance! ✨

oK SO IT TOOK ME A WHILE TO WRITE THIS,,,, bUT,, I LOVE THE PLOT I WANNA TAKE TIME AND DO IT JUSTICE,, I wanted to stick with the prompt to it's exact originally, but I just went on and branched out tbh,,, I hope I did a decent job (after all I wrote this with one braincell) also,,, I love Ten (and David Tennant in general),, I've been meaning to write something with/about him,, he's sooo adorkable :(( ========================

Just Like Old Times (10th/Tenth Doctor x Reader)

Fandom: Doctor Who

Ship: 10th/Tenth Doctor x Reader

Warnings: n/a Word Count: 2276

It was a fickle feeling, knowing that the both of you had something going on, even though you knew the Doctor for just a few years, it felt like he was a childhood friend for more than a decade or two.

Now your world was back to its normal, dull, and mundane manners, leaving the TARDIS was the hardest decision you’ve made in your life, but who could blame you? Not even the Doctor could blame you for a time of some normalcy.

A few years had gone by, you met a man, and suddenly everything happened so quickly, from the first few small dates to outings, to him proposing, to which you said yes, After all, you were in love with him, right? Or the idea that he reminds you of the Doctor? Are you really in love with the man that you call the love of your life? Or was it just an infatuation?

You try to shake your head away from these thoughts since it was the day of the wedding ceremony, it was still really early, the sun barely touching the horizon, and the bridesmaids were still fast asleep, you decided to take a head start in preparing for your big day, you pass by your wedding dress on the mannequin, a nice white gown, with some blue accents to compliment with the dress, you took a moment to try to process the moment, but you went ahead to prepare.

—------

*whirring, buzzes, beep-boops, whoooosh-*

It was one of those nights when the Doctor reminisces about the two of you, he always had a feeling that something was missing every time he woke up, and starts a new adventure, hell, even sometimes see you in his peripheral, only to be his imagination playing with his brain and hearts,

The moment you walked out of the TARDIS was extremely difficult for the Doctor to move on from, He tried to forget everything for a bit, but it was no use, all he could think about was that it was his fault that you had left him with his time-traveling box,

He had blamed himself that he had put you at a distance, blamed himself that he knew that he was afraid for you to get closer to him, not only of putting you in danger, but afraid to allow himself to express how much he loves and adores you in all the ways he could imagine.

“Oi! Spaceman, where are you heading off to this time?” Donna had pulled him back to reality as she looked a bit worried before grabbing the keys to her home.

“Oh it’s nothing, just thinking of visiting some old friends.” he put on a smile before saying his goodbyes to Donna and heading back to the TARDIS’ console and sighing,

“Maybe I do need to relax.” he looks at the monitor, and his reflection on the monitor, “Alright, let’s pick this date then.”

*whirring, buzzes, beep-boops, whoooosh-*

The TARDIS had landed on in a sunny morning in London, next to a beautifully decorated garden, the door swung open, The Doctor cheerfully opened the door and looked around the place, he smiled bitterly as he recognized the familiar garden, stepping out and started to empty out his mind from the adventures.

He had wandered off in to the garden, the sights and scents of roses, orchids, and lavenders had filled him, bringing back all the memories of him and you in this very place, the time you had brought him ice cream from your favorite parlor, the time he had read you a book while having a picnic, and the countless times of afternoon to night strolls.

All of these bittersweet memories flooding his head filled his hearts with the familiar flutter and heaviness of the guilt that was lingering with him for a while, it was a momentary bittersweet bliss he felt until he saw a signage,

“Mr. & Mrs. Wellington Wedding Ceremony”

Intrigued and curious, The Doctor went around to sneak in and to look who were the lucky couple. Spotting the groom, he just mumbled to himself, “eh, could’ve been worse.” before trying to find out who was the lucky bride,

The Doctor snooped around more to satisfy his curious brain, as he got to a photo album of the couple, he slightly regretted feeding his curiosity by finding the album to see you in the photos.

He felt that the world around him froze, he didn’t want to believe the thing he was seeing, he looks around him, before running to the back of the venue. His hearts were racing as he was trying to calm down, He wanted to deny that he saw you in those photos, he was trying his very best to get you off of his mind.

He wandered around until he reached the park, little ways down the road, not that far from the wedding, settling on the bench near the river, he was trying to convince himself that you were happy with someone else, but there was a nagging feeling in him that he has to do something. It was truly an internal battle, his mind was now wandering into endless, ‘What if’s’ and hypotheticals, until he was interrupted by a voice he tried to forget and at the same time, longed to hear,

“Doctor?”

—------

The wedding was a disaster,

James, your supposed soon to be husband, was delaying the wedding hour by hour, since his business was on the edge of a international deal to make them skyrocket in the stocks. You felt stupid to let him tend to his business instead of pushing through with the wedding, and honestly now it felt like the wedding ceremony was skipped entirely.

You tried to keep yourself together, convincing yourself that it was better for the both of them, since, at least it’s going to help the both of you in the finances in the future, but hell, you couldn’t even live and experience the wedding ceremony itself. There was this feeling that bothered you, and to take a breather, you headed to the back of the venue to calm your nerves, to prevent yourself from snapping at the disaster.

As you slowly inhaled and exhaled, to lower the tension and stress of the situation, there was a figure at the corner of your eye, walking to the bench you once had great memories with a memory, the more you looked and analyzed the figure, you were in disbelief when you saw the familiar brown suit and the messy hair, you had to make sure in what you saw was not a hallucination, you were frozen there, you couldn’t believe it, he was there. The Doctor was there.

You had debated with yourself, thinking on which was going to be your next move, let him be or approach him,

Taking a gulp, you slowly approached the bench, mustering up all the courage you needed before letting out,

“Doctor?”

It felt that time had stopped, it was surreal for the both of you, for you, you’d never thought that you would say that word or name ever again,

For him, he’d thought he would never hear that voice calling for him ever again,

He quickly turned around, stumbled a bit as he was trying to come up with something to say,

“I-It’s been a while, huh?” you look down, “would’ve sent you an invite, but didn’t know how to…” You awkwardly say, just to avoid the the silence,

There was a pause, an unbearing one, before the both of you say at the same time,

“I’m sorry!”

Both of you were surprised on how the apologies came out at the same time,

“I should be the one saying sorry here.” The Doctor went a bit closer as he looked at you, “I was the one that was scared to say anything-”

“No, I should be the one apologizing since I was the one that walked away on what we could’ve fixed!” You insist as you looked at him,

“Seems like both of us have things to say sorry for.” He says, trying to make the atmosphere less intimidating,

As it became more comfortable and exchanging jokes and banter, the both of you sat on the bench next to the river, asking questions just to catch up, everything was easy going and breezy,

“Never thought I would land on your wedding day.” he says as he sighs, trying to hide the bitter thoughts that accompany with it,

Never thought I’d see you again after what I did.” You look away, regretting the harshness of the reply,

“Wouldn’t blame you.” There was a while of comfortable silence before the Doctor had to ask the question that was in his mind for a while,

“Do you still love me? Or do you resent me for everything?” He asked as his voice had a hint of sadness and nervousness as he was trying to brace for your answer,

“Doctor, I could never hate or resent you, honestly, for a while, I resented myself for walking out, not doing anything to get to you, or at the least-” you sigh, “said yes to this.” gesturing to the white gown you were wearing, “but I can’t do anything about it, can I?”

“Then how were you so sure that this type of forever suits you?” He suddenly asked,

“What do you mean?” You looked at him,

“Well, you’re questioning a major choice that affects your life, why did you say yes to this?”

You thought about his question, it was something you really had to ponder, realizing alot of things, you met your soon to be husband at your lowest time, and he very much acted like the Doctor,

The more you thought about the reasons, the more you realized that you were still very much in love with the Doctor subconsciously. Slowly by slowly, you were regretting the choices you had made ever since walking out of the TARDIS,

The Doctor suddenly pulls you in an embrace, noting your habit of spacing out and shaking, as soon as you realized what he was doing, you snapped out of the state of overthinking and calmed down, “I can’t just back out of this, I have to push through with this, I signed up for this, I have to take that…”

“You can.”

“No I can’t.”

The Doctor was about to say something, until you heard your soon to be husband calling to you, “Baby, what are you doing with this guy?” He harshly grabs your wrist, causing you to whimper,

“What the hell you think you’re doing? Treating her like that?” The Doctor was not happy with that.

“So? She belongs to me.” He plainly and arrogantly says as he was dragging you away from the Doctor’s comfort,

You could feel the anger piling in the Doctor as he was trying his best not to punch this guy, “I’d be careful if I were you.”

He pushes you in his car, “As if.” He gets in the car and it speeds off, You were hopeless, you were comfortable and honest for once in a while. As the car was speeding off, it was the uncomfortable silence that stressed you out the most, James was about to say something but the driver of the car interrupted, “Is that a flying blue box?”

You looked through the window behind you, seeing the familiar TARDIS, you had hope in you for once,

James notices the flying blue box behind the car as well, “What the hell is that?!”

The doors of the TARDIS opened as The Doctor was now in sight with his sonic screwdriver in hand, he points it to the car door on your side. Noticing the plan, you were about to jump out of the 120mph car and into the blue box, but you felt a grip on your wrist,

“You’re not going anywhere.” James angrily says, The blue box is now next to the car, matching the speed,

“Yes I am!” You punched him square in the face,

As he winced in pain, he lets you go, in the window of opportunity, you hurriedly made an effort to grab the Doctor’s arm and jump to the TARDIS, in which you ended up landing on top of him and the doors shutting,

As the TARDIS flew up and into space, both of you took a moment to catch your breaths before both of you broke into laughter,

“I miss this!” you exclaimed as you both sat up,

“I miss you.” He says as his laugh turns into a smile,

You blushed at his sudden confession, not really expecting that he would still feel that way towards you, however, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t feel the same way.

“I miss you too.” you say as you leaned your forehead against his, a usual thing that the both of you did, The Doctor’s smile grew wider and his hearts beat faster after hearing you say that,

He slowly held your face and leaned in closer for a kiss, and it felt that he was longing for this moment for a while, it lasted for a few minutes before he scooped you up, carrying you bridal style, as if he was the one you married.

“The next time I see you in a wedding gown, I better be the groom.” He says, making the both of you laugh as he carries you towards the TARDIS’ halls towards his bedroom, after all, the two of you needed to rest before going on more adventures, just like old times.

======== author's note: aaaaaaaaaaaaa I hope to write more since I really love doing this, and ofc requests are open, wait for announcements for it hdksjksdjfhkdsj hope ya'll enjoyed this-

#doctor who #10th doctor #tenth doctor #10th doctor x you #10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #tenth doctor x reader #dw fic #dw fanfic

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wayfayrr · 9 months

Note

I am LIVING for the househusband shenanigans, it gives me so many ideas (super long ask i'm sorry lol)

but i love the idea of the chain ending up in reader's world, more permanently, and after falling hard for reader to boot, so the period of adjustment for everyone is wild and what the fuck is reader supposed to do with 9 (or more, depending who you ask) lovesick heroes in their house fit for 1-2 people?? not to mention none of them have documentation or decent knowledge of modern culture

i can imagine some of the Links (time, legend, four) jumping at the opportunity to learn more about their darling's world, and their likes and dislikes, in order to better understand them and get closer to them (it's the feeling of wanting to know every possible thing about something they're obsessed with, just completely filling their brain with it)

Some (most) Links are going to be straight up hazards to themselves and their environment with their curiosity and lack of understanding for technology. it doesn't matter what precautions you take something is going to get blown up in the microwave.

wild and sage would probably attempt to cook for you, knowing how stressed you are about the whole thing, only to wildly overestimate how long it takes to cook something with a microwave (all you'd told them was that it heated things up like a cooking pot) and also fail to realize that some things cannot be put in the microwave

an alarm clock or something goes off, and one of them smashes it thinking its a threat (time... old man don't know shit about tech and he's too traumatized)

and good luck getting your clothes back because all of the boys are going to participate in the theft of them at some point. doesn't even matter if it's not something they can wear. they just want it because it's yours and it smells like you and it's like a piece of you-

speaking of clothes, if you start to voice concern for lack of clothing (bc someone keeps taking all of them) they are all jumping at the chance to lend you their own

Legend would leave a spare tunic of his for you, not even giving you the chance to decline when you simply find it folded on your bed. And he'd mend or tailor anything for you that you have complaints with, asking you so (uncharacterisitically) nicely to be with him while he does it, because, he's going through the trouble for you, the least you can do is keep him company, right?

He might even intentionally cause problems with your clothes, if he's desperate enough for attention. But how can you blame him? He knows it's not your fault, but your mind just been all over the place with everything going on and with the time you've been spending with the other he just feels left out.

All he wants is your praise, to hear you tell him thank you, and that he did a good job, and maybe run a hand through his hair, yeah? God, he'd just melt against if you did that. It makes everything beyond worth it, for you to stroke his hair and tell him how you don't know what you'd do without him. His angel, it makes him feel so blissful, so special when you give him your attention like that.

A few of them would eventually get the idea to get a job, prompting the rest to act as well. They can't just let their god(dess) take care of everything, can they? That would be asinine.

It would be difficult, considering they don't have...ID's, or anything of the like, but there are still ways for them to earn money

i could go on, but... yeah lol

Don't worry about it being long, I love getting asks like these!! I love talking about the househusband au, all the different ways it could go with the chain and the different members are really fun to explore! And all of your ideas in this one are just 😭💖 I'd always welcome any asks or dm's about the au, because it's just so much fun to hear everyone else's ideas for how it'd work as well!✨✨

The housing is certainly an issue for the chain though SOJNCAN with that many people not used to the modern world in such a small place?? They're basically begging for something bad to happen, like a fire or something breaking even worse if reader's house is being rented to them. Documentation and ID's as well? For some of the chain, they could likely get away with it, but it's really a goal for them to get ID asap because if they do they can get out of a lot of legal issues Wind and the "kids" (Wild and Cal) are the first of the rest to get ID for the sake of school. And there'd likely be a written language barrier as well! If reader wanted to buy some other place to live they better start saving, who knows maybe they could just trade in a few rupees at a time and have a new place in a matter of days?

As for the ones you've mentioned wanting to learn everything possible, it'd get to a point where they're sitting with bloodshot eyes in front of either readers laptop they've borrowed or something they managed to buy steal for themselves having gone down a cursed Wikipedia rabbit hole, Maybe even watching through some playthroughs of their own games? Or if reader was still studying, like at uni or something, suddenly they know more than even the experts in that field.

ALL of the links at some point get dangerously close to breaking something, it's more a matter of if one of the more experienced cough Sage cough or reader steps in time to stop them. I absolutely adore all the different things you've suggested though, the microwave and the alarm clock??? Time's still got trauma to do with clocks and alarms and it's so perfect✨✨

The chain stealing readers clothes is also just 🥹, it's the easier option than even washing their own clothes with their laundry not because readers worn these in the past, no never. May I raise the idea to them stealing things they can't wear to putting the clothes that don't fit for whatever reason onto pillows?? so they can hold a part of their beloved when they sleep.

Legend with fixing their clothes as well as lending them his own I'm sobbing 😭😭😭, since ofc he's one of the more sensible ones he gets left alone far more often so he's so much more desperate for their attention even though he only gets less because they trust him more alone. So for him to get those small moments of praise, even though they're so small because it's only a matter of seconds till readers torn away again by someone else shouting for their help 😭

I think I've mentioned them getting jobs if they were dumped irl, seeing as there are a few they could do without ID you couldn't pry influencer!wars out of my cold dead hands. The moment of realisation they've been using their darling would be such a moment of guilt before they follow legend's/sage's leads and start working or helping reader around the house, those links at school would be getting the top grades in their classes seeing as that's what reader wants them to focus on.

#yandere linked universe x reader #linked universe x reader #househusband sage #yandere linked universe #moss✦answers

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dentiststoothfairy · 7 months

Note

Violinon back again!!! I hope you’re having a wonderful weekend, and that you’ve had something yummy to eat!! 🥹

I’m back with a request, but a different kind this time!!! I wanted to request something for you, like a free card to write something for yourself that’ll make you happy today, tomorrow, or any time when you feel up to it!! ✨🎻

[ 🎀🦷 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐! 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝙾𝙲 ;𝚠; 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎? 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝, 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚗. 𝙸 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎.. 𝙷𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚞𝚗! 𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝙸 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝙿𝚒𝚌𝚘 𝚡 𝙽𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘 (◍•ᴗ•◍) 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚓𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝙸𝙳𝚅, 𝙸 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚏. 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!)

KEVIN AYUSO and AESOP CARL with an S/O that gets turned into a hunter as a punishment for learning too much.

🤠 KEVIN AYUSO 🤠

He is a decently adventurous person. So when you ran up to him with a spark in your eyes, telling him your plan to turn the manor upside down to discover the secrets, he smiled and encouraged it.

He, nor you, ever had an idea what was about to happen to you.

It was normal for you to disappear for a few days when you were searching for information. Something lucky about you is that you were incredibly educated, so your thirst of knowledge never concerned him.

He was all for you doing what you wanted. And when your task turned up successfully... Now, he isn't the type of man for gossip. But holy shit? Fredrick could be related to Mary???? Now that you mention it, yeah they do look alike... Do you think they know too? Do you thi-

He knows the thrill of adventure can be addicting, but please keep yourself from learning.. Too much. With your passion blinding you from the thrill of the search and discovering secret, he was starting to get a little fidgety as you tell him your plan to discover who Baron DeRoss was.

This is when he starts to step in with a stern, yet concerned expression. Sometimes, there's something like learning way too much. Did you forget the situation everyone is in..? This is still a dangerous situation.. An even more dangerous place.

But your careless response of "who's gonna know" struck a nerve in him. So you just.. Didn't care? He didn't want to lose you, and you're acting so recklessly?? That's his job.

I feel like Kevin wasn't going to be okay, with how you're approaching the situation. He even tried to physically stop you, but you always managed to get past him, or charm him. Curse you and your good looks..!

It wasn't until one day, you seemed extremely pale that he realised you must've discovered something BAD.

Now, no matter what he did. No matter what he said. You wouldn't tell him and brushed him off.

It wasn't until there was an announcement that there was a new hunter arriving to the manor that he looked over at you.

Oh.

⚰️ AESOP CARL ⚰️

Honestly, he really doesn't mind letting you run around and do what you want. Sometimes, being in a relationship can be tiring. So, when you set off on a new task with that familiar burning in your eyes... Yeah go crazy. It gives him a small break.

When you disappear for a day or two. He actually appreciated the quiet time. Unlike Kevin who is more relaxed. Aesop is always internally thankful for moments like these. Yeah, he loves you but. Sometimes having moments to himself helps.

So when you come RACING back with the most scalding tea in the manor, he doesn't really know how to respond. Wasn't this a little.. Personal? He didn't really care about anyone else in the manor, but he was a little paranoid (knowing you), you might wanna discover more about him.

He did not want that.

When you gossip about the survivors after discovering mild information. He doesn't really react or respond. Aesop doesn't exactly contribute anything back. But this is kind of your dynamic. You just.. Blabber and blabber and he silently listens.

But, as your thirst for knowledge begins to run wild. You tell him that you're off to go learn about the chummy Baron. He is at first, apathetic.

Okay, go have fun.

.. Wait. That's probably not a good idea.

He is the type of person to really think things through. He's very, very internal. So he actually sort of thinks what you're doing through and he's like..

Hm... Isn't that.. Wait. No no no no come back

Ah.. But you're already off.

He knows he can't stop you when you're started with something, but it's still... You know..?

He stays on guard in case anything strange occurs in the manor and keeps a special eye out for you.

Once you eventually come back. You're pale. Practically paler than he is-.

He knows something is wrong and he knows you came across information you shouldn't have. He's not the type of person for an I told you so but... Let's face it.

He told you so.

Soon, the announcement of a new hunter comes out.

He doesn't react. He doesn't cry. He doesn't get mad.

He was just silent. He knew. He knew that you knew too

He just didn't think you'd be taken from him so soon...

#kevin alonso x reader #kevin ayuso #kevin alonso #idv kevin x reader #kevin ayuso x reader #aesop carl x reader #idv aesop carl #identity v aesop carl #aesop carl #identity v #anon #anon ask #x reader #x y/n #idv

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lego88fan · 27 days

Text

Decided to draw Shiver for fun, I think I did a decent job with it ^^ 💙✨

#splatoon #digital art #2dart #splatoon 3 #splatoon3 #shiver #shiver hohojiro #shiver splatoon

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cervicrazed · 10 days

Note

da WHOLE HOG for bambi + whichever of your newer ocs pairs best with her ;]

Hell yeah, let's do it!!

I can already tell this'll be a long one so have a page break to save yourself some dash space

^This is Bambi! ^This is Jak L!

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

Bambi -> you actually gave Bambi her name if I remember right!! I think the logic was Wilton Rader (deer motif) + Walt (Disney) = Bambi

It was funny & fit so well that I didn't bother looking for any other names after that

Jak L. -> When I was making her originally all I knew was that I wanted a pitch black head & red eyes - the tall ears were a last minute addition that made her look like Anubis to me so....well, i just couldn't resist the pull of the pun

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

Bambi -> It kinds depends? I jump around her timeline a lot when i draw her so here's a good rule a thumb; if her hair is in pigtails, she's meant to be no older than 10, long ponytail caps at 16, and her shorter, shoulder length cut means she's 17-19

Jak L. -> Around 18 or 19 - a little older than Bambi to up her 'cool factor' in her eyes. They meet during Bambi's first attempt to go to (Human) school

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

Bambi -> Crushing hard on Jak but trying to play it cool. She's the poster child for a rebellious teen and Bambi is mesmerized by her confidence and defiance

Jak L. -> Not too keen on relationships after getting cursed by her ex during a messy breakup (she doesn't like to talk about it) Bambi's adoration is not lost on her, but she worries the curse may intervene if she gets too close

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

Bambi -> She absolutely loooovees Lake Trout. There's an abundance of them near her childhood home, so her dads cooked it for dinner often. She used to get sick of it but on long trips it's nice to be reminded of home.

Jak L. -> It used to be a lemon butter chicken thighs, but Jak's curse won't let her eat 'anything that bleeds.' She's found Chicken of the Woods to be a decent replacement, but it's just not the same.

💼 - What do they do for a living?

Bambi -> Money isn't really used outside of Human settlements, but Bambi will run errands for her uncle Warren in exchange for magical items she can sell or use. Due to the nature of his work, the 'simple errands' have a habit of becoming day long quests instead.

Jak L. -> Works part time as a babysitter for human/monster couples. Part of this job includes helping deliver the child to the other parent's home, as neither is allowed to live in the other's community. The journey can be dangerous, but she knows the trail like the back of her hand - meaning her fare can cost as much as she likes.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

Bambi -> Loves wrestling and will never say no if challenged. The scruffier the struggle the more fun she has ((she also enjoys a bit of whittling due to her dad's influence but will never admit that to him))

Jak L. -> Secretly enjoys climbing up trees to write poetry. She feels her poems are too soft and melancholic for the mysterious punk rebel persona she's trying to sculpt, so no one's ever read em :(

🎯 -What do they do best?

Bambi -> Despite wrestling being her favorite pastime, Bambi is best at parkour! The Jek taught her how to take advantage of her digitigrade legs to give her a better boost in agility

Jak L. -> Jak is convinced she's the best at everything she does, but her true passion lies in lyrical prose.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

Bambi -> Other than wrestling, Bambi loves to fish! She doesn't use a rod or bait, preferring to catch them with her own hands and teeth (not always a successful method, but it's endlessly fun for her)

She hates feeling caged in or restricted, something she and Wilton argue about often.

Jak L. -> Despite how she makes it seem, Jak loves teaching and watching over the children she's put in charge of. She likes giving them the time to explore, vent, and whatever else they want but rarely have the freedom to do.

She hates authority in all it's forms, holding a strong belief that anyone in a position of power will abuse it. It's just a matter of when.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

Bambi -> She'd been around 12 years old, on a visit with Wilton into a human settlement so they could sell his carvings. She caught one of the older boys trying to set fire to their stand and tackled him. She walked away with a few scratches while he limped away with a broken nose. Her father was displeased sure, but that was nothing compared to the pride she felt at winning her first brawl.

Jak L. -> A month or two after meeting Bambi, she had introduced her to her uncle; a necromancer. Jak had always wanted to learn magic but had never found a teacher patient enough to show her. It took the whole day to master but the Lich Doctor taught her how to heal minor cuts and scrapes. It may have only been a simple spell but it meant the world to her.

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

Bambi -> Wilton had gotten sick and stayed worryingly ill for weeks; it didn't seem like he'd get any better. Bambi offered to get the Lich Doctor to help but he was adamantly against it, resulting in a nasty argument and Bambi leaving anyway. By the time she returned, her dad had already passed. Sure, her uncle assured her that he could reincarnate him, but it didn't change the fact that her last words to him had been "I hate you"

Jak L. -> Jak had hidden herself in her favorite tree, happily writing poems no one would ever see. Her ex didn't like the thought of her keeping secrets from them, leading to a shouting match and a frenzied fight over the pages. Once read, he misinterpreted her poems as an admission to cheating; burning her work and cursing her to never be loved again. She's been looking for a way to break it ever since.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

Bambi -> Not at all really. The only thing left over from her first design is her yellow flannel - it's her signature character color! she looks weird without it now!!

Jak L. -> Yeah, I made Jak in January so there hasn't been a lot of (if any) evolution in her design (yet)

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

Bambi -> Originally I wanted to make a non-canon fankid for Wilton & Walt / The Jek to explore what they'd be like as parents. I based her personality off a little girl I saw aggressively splashing in rain puddles and laughing evilly. the rest is history

Jak L. -> Design practice! She wasn't going to be an OC at first, just an exercise in character design but when I finished I liked the potential too much for her to just be a one off.

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

Bambi -> YA fantasy but preferably one that has more fucked up freaky little creatures ((like the spiderwick chronicles))

Jak L. -> Whatever genre Rebel Without a Cause was ((add in a fantasy or horror element so she can keep her face))

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

Bambi -> Demigirl + Lesbian! ❤️🧡🤍🩷💜

Jak L. -> Transfemme + Bisexual! ❤️💜💙

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

Bambi -> she tried really hard to get her dads to grow a new sibling but Wilton wouldn't have it (Bambi suspects Walt planted one anyway, but has no proof)

Jak L. -> She's unsure if she has any siblings. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. Jak doesn't know and doesn't care to find out.

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

Bambi -> Loving but a bit strained. Her parents' over-protectiveness kept her from exploring anything beyond the river mill for years and their secrecy prevented her from learning anything about their pasts. She wishes they'd respect her autonomy and not keep so many secrets from her

Jak L. -> Cold and distant. All she knows about them is that they left her behind and disappeared. She doesn't know if they died, but she wouldn't be upset if they did. As far as she's concerned, her father is the sun and her mother the moon

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

Bambi -> all the potential pathways I could take her character! Her storyline isn't set in stone like some of my other OCs so I have a lot of fun putting her in Situations™

Jak L. -> her design for sure. She's incredibly fun to draw, especially her locs & baggy t-shirt

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

Bambi -> Getting back in the habit of drawing her again now that I've gotten over my second-hand embarrassed ab sharing my stuff. I've definitely got more notes about her than I do drawings

Jak L. -> Only very recently started fleshing her out via notes/short stories. It's been fun getting to know what her personality is going to be like

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

Bambi -> I don't think I've ever thought ab killing Bambi off, not even in an angsty one-off. She's got too much of a story to tell to cut it short like that

Jak L. -> kinda? But not really dedicated to it just yet. She's too new for me to want to get rid of so quickly.

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

Bambi -> She'll claim she doesn't, but she's absolutely Claustrophobic

Jak L. -> Not exactly Pyrophobic since she can be around campfires or a fireplace well enough, but she will refuse to interact with it in any way that doesn't involve putting it out

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

Bambi -> The Big Secret her family has been hiding from her ((she hasn't really met Him yet))

Jak L. -> Jak sees every established institution as her arch nemesis

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

Bambi -> oh man it's been a loongg while....I think since 2017 or 2018? That makes her about 7 or 8 years old....wow...

Jak L. -> Jak is about 4 months old ‼️

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

Bambi -> I was probably 16 or 17 when I first sketched her up

Jak L. -> Can confidently confirm that I was 22 when Jak popped onto my canvas

Phew! You made it to the end! Thanks!

#ask game #deadwood #Bambi Rader #Jak L.#this was fun!!#oc lore

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zikadraws · 1 year

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~ Did a little two years timeskip of my Neo 3 & Smallfry for funsies ~

Sock the Smallfry, shaping up to be a Chum.

Earned the more serious name "Sockeye" (you get a biology sticker if you get the reference) and its own super badass title (they keep modifying it because there's a lot to brag about here), speaks inklish nearly fluently (Zika and 'em taught each other's languages), going through an actual fighter training, welding a modified scooping metal spoon that deals mean damage that Zika found and gifted them.

Grown enough to wear clothes, but dresses mostly "pseudo-grunge", aka "still got no style that truly fits me so I'll be a fashion disaster until I do''. Has a long scar a bit below its neck from ''whatever the hell went down with that whole agent thing''. Matching kinship bracelets with Zika, that he wears on its tail.

Still kinda just hanging around like he's hot stuff. Zika keeps telling them to please get a job. Vaguely considering ambassador career or perhaps Salmonese teaching, but won't do anything about it because he thinks he's a natural and don't need any formation. That's a dangerous mentality to have, Sockeye. Zika could tell you about it, Sockeye.

Zika, aka Neo 3, aka Agent 5 (they insisted).

Still working as an archeologist specialized in human culture, though after Alterna, they seriously lost their spark about it. In fact, after the whole thing they got into a deep depression and never truly recovered, still goes into dissociative episodes, random outbursts, slight nihilism, and often cries themselves to sleep. (Also they got serious PTSD and miiight have ursaphobia now.) Sockeye helped them a lot through that, and still does ; although Zika now no longer cares about telling Humanity's History and would actually rather hide it all from the public. They're very bitter about it. They now focuses on just restorating human media, human ethnicities, and disposal of human remains. They don't like to talk about that, and actually now focuses most of their agent work on getting rid of potentially harmful human stuff. The NSS doesn't have the context of the Alterna logs (5 hides that from them at all costs), so they don't really understand. Although Cap is a willing ear.

Other than that, they are getting decent at Salmonese (issues with understanding though); they manage their restoration enterprise more part-time ; they returned to school to follow anthropology classes and study the various ethnicities of ✨Today✨, especially regarding Salmonids ; got around to travel a lot more (sometimes alone, often with Sockeye and sometimes with the NSS), and keeps a very cautious eye on Grizzco, as they highly suspect their newly acquired nemesis to pull out a Plan C. (Still works here though. Yeah, they're aware.)

Oddest thing though is, after witnessing Agent 5's and Sock's relationship and prowesses, Shiver & Frye got into their minds that Zika simply *must* become "Salmon Tamer". They're going on and on about legacy, ancestral practices and binding rituals and just wouldn't drop it. Zika is pretty reticent to the whole thing, because they find it wildly disrespectful towards the Salmonids as an ethnicity, but eventually caved under the nagging and reluctantly agreed to the training and the outfit and mask crafting. This is relatively recent and they're feeling worse about it than working at Grizzco still. Big Man personally advises against it, the NSS thinks it's super fresh, and Sockeye is... Split.

This recent change might shake Sockeye into finally taking some action upon the whole Envoy of the Salmon Kind idea, actually.

---

I know this is super random but I wanted to make it. Also still getting around with that one elaborate post I promised I was making, so have this in the meantime. Hope you enjoyed my OC ramblings :)

Stay fresh 🐟

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #new squidbeak splatoon #neo agent 3 #self insert oc #agent 5 #smallfry #Sock the Smallfry #salmonid #salmonids #salmonoid #oc stuff #randomness #time skip #scanned art #have fun

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stickytrigger69 · 1 year

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Well if you're taking requests, please allow me to make one✨ I see Prime on your list as "have watched". Could I request Bounty Hunter Reader/TFP Wheeljack with a "rivals who keep hooking up cause it's easier than admitting feelings" thing ? Thank you so much(◍•ᴗ•◍)✧*。Nuetral/Masc Bot reader is def preferred

TFP Wheeljack x GN Cybertronian Reader

Reader is gender neutral

Bot instead of mech or femme

Reader frame type, paint job, etc. is unspecified

NSFW

------------------------------------------------------------

You've been in the bounty hunting business for a long long time, even before the war. Often being hired by the one who had the most money to offer you. During the war there were times that the Autobots had more and others the Cons did, there were other times it was a completely different species. You found things in both groups that you disliked, the Autobots were prideful and the Decepticons were cruel. You especially disliked the wreckers, no matter what side they are on.

And there was one who was consistently disruptive. He really grinded your gears. He's a decent sized mech, white, red, and green paint job and two large finials on the sides of his helm. The finials were an unmistakable characteristic of his that by appearance alone, made you edgy. He liked to push your buttons and tease you.

But his favorite pass time is to flirt with you like he wasn't just angering you a few kliks ago. His servos wander over your frame as he smirks knowingly at you, like if you've already succumbed to his 'charm'. He thinks he has you wrapped around his digits like copper wire but you always argue that he doesn't. Even when he's spiking you real good you deny that you enjoy it, degrading him the entire time. He, of course, pokes back, telling you this, you, is nothing to him.

Most of the time when he sees you you're glaring deep into his optics, a blatant display of your disdain for the mech. He can feel your scowl as he presses his derma against yours. A sour tint in the charge of your glossa while he sticks his own down your intake. His servos are holding you up against the wall, digits digging into your prtomesh between your plating. Spike thrusting in and out of your tight valve, dripping with your fluids.

He releases your derma and just looks you in the optics while he pounds you into the wall. For a moment he sees a softness in them. Feels a small spark of compassion come off of you, your face goes slack for a moment. He grunts deeply and buries his face in your neck cables. He lets out a chuckle before he bites down on one of them.

You're such a gorgeous bot. Perfect frame which is accentuated when you're pressed up against him like you are now. Legs wrapped around his waist, servos holding onto his shoulders for support. He can't help it but try to make you upset when he sees you. He loves when you get all soft and vulnerable like this, when you're not so hostile towards him.

He knows its his fault that you're always so defensive around him. He's the reason that you won't show him all of you the way he wants you to. He bounces you up and down faster on his spike trying to ignore his feelings. For now, the soft pants and moans coming from your intake are more than enough for him. But man does he hate having to settle for things.

In his frustration he thrusts harder, you cry out and hold onto him even tighter. Wheeljack grinds his denta together, groaning with every thrust upward into you. The clanging of metal hitting metal and the squelch of your wet valve fills his audials. Your warm breath tickles his neck cables.

"Ah, oh please." You whine into his neck. Optics squeezed shut as you feel every ridge of his spike push past your calipers. You grind down onto his spike, your own rubbing against his abdomen.

"Yeah yeah," He taunts, "I know what I'm doing." His voice is gruff and his tone is sharp. His optics stare into the wall behind you. He's so frustrated. With you and himself.

"I hate you." You groan out before you bite down on his neck cables. Denta digging into the smooth mesh covering the wires. The pain adds to his pleasure and makes him moan deeply. His spike twitches inside of you, he's getting close. And if the fluttering of your valve wasn't hint enough, he can tell you're getting close too.

"You piece of scrap." He says through gritted denta. His servo let's go of your leg, making you stand, to wrap around your throat. His digits squeeze and he stares into your optics with a grin. You scowl at him in turn, optics flickering with the building overload in your system. His glossa flicks over your derma, licking up the bit of lubricant that dribbled out.

You glare at him and try pulling his servo from your neck. He tuts at you and tightens his grip. He puts more force into his thrusts. Spike hitting you deep and hard.

"Ngh, overload for me gearhead." He chuckles at how you shudder from the command.

"Mmm-no!" You cry defiantly as you shut your optics.

"No~?" His servo releases your throat. "Aww, c'mon sweetspark, pleeaase~." He begs you as the servo previously wrapped around your throat reaches down and gently rubs at your anterior node. You gasp. Your back arches and you lean into his touch. It doesn't take very long until your calipers are spasming around his spike.

You throw your helm back with a loud moan as your overload crashes into you, charge bursting and sending an electric current down your spinal strut. His hips stutter for a moment.

"Jeeze darling, your valve is trying so hard to milk my spike." He grunts deeply. You reply with a small whine. "I'll give you what you want gearhead." You moan at the insult. He lifts you up again and uses you to reach his own overload. And in no time he reaches his limit, painting your insides with his transfluid.

Your optics leak coolant from the corners. Overstimulated and fucked to exhaustion. Another shudder passes through you when he pulls out. Both of you are panting, cooling fans slowing down. His transfluid leaks from your valve and puddles on the floor beneath you.

He's still holding you up, leaning against you, face in your neck again. Neither of you say anything for a long time, just recovering from the hot session. He sets you down but remains cautious, you have fallen a few times before after rough sessions so he is trying to be on the safer side this time. With him being so close but not touching you you both just stare into eachothers optics for a little. Searching your thoughts for something to say, you can see in his optics he's doing the same, looking for something, anything, to say.

You look down at his servo and take it into your own.

"You can just leave it," you look down at the puddle, " I'll clean it up." You look back up. He looks confused for a moment and then it clearly clicks.

"Alright, till next time then, eh gearhead?" He pulls his servo from yours to take a cloth from his subspace to wipe himself off. He hands it to you and you take it with a scoff.

"Sure I guess." Your processor still rebooting. Your voice is static-y still and he smiles at you for it. He turns around and steps off of your ship. A sore feeling in his spark chamber as he walks to his own. Though he knows he's going to see you again, he's just not sure if he wants to keep going like this.

He thinks he might want to face his inner feelings and tell you about it but he's not sure how you'll react. He doesn't want to lose this, this bit of intimacy he has with you. You watch as he flies off into the sky. You're left feeling conflicted. You want to talk to him about your "relationship" but you know what kind of mech he is so you always think against it.

You'll keep it to yourself you guess. You look away from the glass to the puddle of fluids on the floor. You feel sad looking at it, sad that this might be the only reason he'd want to keep in touch with you. After you clean it up you don't feel so bad. When you're finally ready, you sit in your chair and pull up the next bounty.

The face of a random bot stares back at you from the glass while you continue to think. 'I'll tell him how I feel next time' you tell yourself for the hundredth time. You always think that but when it comes down to it you never can do it. Intimidated by his frame and prickly nature. You take a deep invent and release it slowly and accept the bounty contract on your display, 'next time'.

#gn reader #tfp #maccadam #cybertronian reader #transformers #tf #transformers prime #tfp wheeljack #macaddam #valveplug #valve plug #macadam #tf wheeljack #bot!reader

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thistlecatfics · 1 year

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ALSO SNAPE. older teens/young adult period is such a ✨fun time✨in his life! so many possibilities! pre DE baby snape era… SWM era… immediately following voldemort’s defeat… right after harry begins hogwarts… he totally wouldn’t, but aaaagh i would LOVE to hear him unpack that first potions lesson with harry in therapy lmfao.

… also thanks to the snames post i now can’t help but imagine james and snape in therapy following SWM. i feel like james would be a much more… workable? client than sirius, especially if his parents were encouraging! would be a fun fic i’m just saying 👀

Ok he is the last one for the night because I was just like "oh I'll jot down an idea or two" and then I look up and it's suddenly 20 minutes later.

Adult Snape -

His character is like… DEFINED by not being in therapy. He (or at least part of him) is constantly living in the past and in each traumatic moment, and he does. not. move on. He survives. He does not heal. He is not interested in healing.

Could you imagine Dumbledore trying to force him to go to therapy as a Hogwarts employee? LMAO. Snape would be like “You first, bitch.”

Though I would love for Dumbledore to force him on a sabbatical where he did an intensive residential trauma treatment program for six months then six months to do potions research somewhere with no children and no one to ask him questions, and it would be the reward for completing the program. (That and a year off from teaching first through fifth years.) (I hc he actually likes teaching 6th and 7th years since he can be selective about them.)

(I’ve never worked in non-substance use inpatient so I can’t say much about it and it would absolutely be a referral. Dumbledore’s like “so I have this guy I want in therapy…” and I’m like “... have you considered residential for him?”)

Adult Snape and I would not work well together. It would not be worth trying. (Though it’s easy to think of him as an old man but he was in his early 30s in the books lol.)

Also if he’s being forced into therapy as an adult, he would absolutely remain silent the entire time as a test of wills with the therapist.

Ok but younger Snape??

He only goes to therapy for Lily. Let’s imagine pre-SWM, Lily is like “I love you but I no longer like you. Go to therapy. Work on yourself. Then maybe we can be friends again.”

Self-esteem!!! Identity! Identity in a social justice lens!!

Definitely a lot of praise for his intelligence, but also slowly naming other values too. It would totally be a situation where I’m like “It’s ok if you disagree, but I think you have inherent worth, just as you are, separate from your intelligence. You don’t have to believe me, but I believe it. I’ll hold onto that belief until you’re ready to hold it too.” and he’d roll his eyes. Lol.

Unconditional positive regard again as the key therapeutic factor!!

Being really careful to avoid any impulse to “fix” him and just bear witness and build trust and slowly co-create space where he can be honest about his feelings and hurt.

As a teenager, I can’t imagine he ever mentions his family at all. I think it’s purely about his life at Hogwarts - he keeps those worlds so separate. (One of those situations where the therapist is immediately like “oh your family is FUCKED” but waits for the client to give an opening.)

Ok post SWM???

James -

Also, yes, you’re absolutely right James would be an easier client to work with in many ways. Basically, he has a secure attachment style from parents who were able to meet a decent chunk of his emotional needs as a child, and so he is able to trust people more easily, which means therapeutic work can go deeper faster since the trust building stage is much shorter.

I think the hard part for him in therapy would be motivation – why is he seeking therapy? He’s forced to by the school? He’d be absolutely in denial that he did anything wrong.

I have a colleague at my old job who worked with students who were found responsible by the Title IX Officer for violating sexual harassment/violence rules (but not expelled), and I think I’d want James to go through that pretty structured program. I think I’d be too easy on him when the necessary step would really be around taking responsibility for his own actions (within a very complicated situation in which he’s not entirely in the wrong!)

I also think he’d work better with a male therapist but maybe that’s just my bias. I’d want him to work with someone who feels more comfortable pushing him, and that’s just not my vibe.

Snape post SWM??

He ABSOLUTELY shuts down. Talk to this bloody shrink about what happened?? Absolutely not.

His main (only authentic?) relationship was just cut away (his fault, but still, it would be intensely difficult.)

I headcanon that he really dives into dark magic during this time – not so much the Death Eaters but only Death Eaters as they are vehicles for the opportunity to explore the Dark Arts, an area where he can feel in control and powerful and so self-soothe.

I would try to engage with him through magical theory and the Dark Arts and whatever his main interest in the present was (no judgment, confidentiality made clear), and see if we could use the magic he was creating and experimenting with as a vehicle for considering himself and his own internal experiences and feelings and needs.

He’d be the type of client where I end up binging research after I see them to be able to keep up with them and try to be able to use it as an in for therapeutic work.

I do think he really wants an audience for his experimentation, and so he might eventually start to enjoy talking about what he works on and we would SLOWLY build that therapeutic rapport.

It might work, it might not, but I’d hold fast to my optimism even when it was hard. (And he would make it very hard.)

(And canonically, I think there just wouldn't be enough time to build that rapport. He'd join the Death Eaters and stop going to therapy before we get the opportunity to do some real work.)

#severus snape #james potter #snape's worst memory #hp characters in therapy

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welcome-to-green-hills · 29 days

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I think Robbert Pattinson would make for a good fit for shadow. He did a really good job voicing in The Boy and the Heron, he has some decent range and manipulation of his voice. Of course I don’t know if he’s actually been casted, but considering his recent work I wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

Robert Pattinson is a very talented actor. I haven’t seen the new Studio Ghibli yet, but I’ve heard that he begged to play the heron. (Didn’t he send in different voice clips to get the part? I only know that he was excited).

I don’t think that he’d be cast, but I do love seeing him as a fan favorite for fan castings. I love seeing how excited some fans get making edits of Shadow with different Robert clips. It’s very cute!❤️✨

#For me I can’t really see it. But I love seeing how excited everyone gets over the possibility! It’s very sweet #mystery anon #off topic

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

Text

head to head - frank castle x fem!reader (hell’s angel part i)

summary: you’re a bounty hunter with a price on your head. frank comes to collect, but you both quickly have other ideas.

warnings: WHERE TO BEGIN. uhm. this is PWP basically. canon-typical violence (the punisher is R-rated after all) - unprotected p-in-v sex (no glove no love), oral (m and f receiving), brat!kink, dom!frank, frank’s filthy mouth, fingering, cursing, a few soft moments for ✨flavour✨

a/n: also kind of threw this into the deadpool universe just for shits and giggles? @saintmurd0ck and I have been suffering from SERIOUS frank castle brainrot and this was the end-product for me (she always wrote the most delicious matt murdock x reader x frank drabble - GO READ IT HERE!)

this is my first frank fic so pls be kind - tagging some people below I think might like this (based on my post likes lmao). this might eventually turn into a series, who knows, but ENJOY 😮‍💨

(main masterlist) (series masterlist) (ao3)

Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children. The hottest place in New York, for a mercenary. Gold cards, a decent stack of cash, enough job-flow to keep you coming back for more. And fuck, if Weasel doesn’t make a mean whiskey sour. Sometimes. Other times you’re half-sure its just Jack Daniel’s and root beer, but it always goes down like a dream.

The place is packed, the bar itself filled stem to stern with all manner of mercs. Most of them give you a nod when you saunter in, your fur-lined jacket more noticeable than most, and the shotgun strapped to your back a warning like no other. It had taken some time to make a name for yourself at Sister Margaret’s, a good few jobs under your belt before the big burly men stopped calling you sweetheart and little girl and got the hell out of your way.

The truth of it all was that was that you were good at what you did, and Sister Margaret’s was the kind of place you had needed when you were a kid. Someone looking out for the sad-sacks and lowlifes of the city with nothing better to do than to prey on young girls and try to ‘make them into women.’

To put it plainly, you had a penchant for abusers, leaving them much worse off than when you found them, and you liked it. The cash was just an added bonus, and the name? Well, you were still deciding if you liked it or not.

“If it isn’t Hell’s Angel,” Weasel calls from behind the bar, his hands spread wide across the top, a gold card notched between his knuckles. “How sweet of you to grace us with your presence.” His tone is dry, and you smirk, sliding your finished card across the bar top and reaching for the one he’s holding, but before you can snag it, he pulls it out of reach. “Not so fast.”

“Don’t be like that, Weas,” you chide, pouting at him. “Someone’s gotta pick up the slack around here now that Wilson disappeared.”

“Medical sabbatical, I told you,” Weasel shoots back and you roll your eyes. “He’ll be back, and he’ll be pissed to know there’s no jobs left roaming the streets for him when he does.”

You sigh, trying to snag the card again. “Give me the card.”

“No can do,” he says, his tone still dry, but then his voice changes. He reaches beneath the bar, and presents you with…a whiskey sour, complete with a cherry speared on one of those stupid little plastic swords. “I can pay you out, but that’s it, Angel. You’re cut off”

“What?” You start looking up and down the bar. You reach for the glass, and toss back the drink in one slug. Fuck, that’s a lot of whiskey, but you’re too fired up to really care. “Which one of these fuckers complained, huh? Point me in his fucking direction, why don’t you.”

Weasel reaches across the bar, card still between his knuckles, and grabs your arm. “Calm your shit, no one complained. It’s…worse that that.”

You balk. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “Worse?”

“Someone put out a hit on you, Angel,” he says, tone seesawing between dry and genuine. “You gotta go. I’m sorry.”

“Who…?”

“I can’t tell you who,” he says instantly, shaking his head. “You know I can’t tell you who put it out. Or who took the card. I can’t tell you shit.” He sighs. “Them’s the rules.”

Fuck.

You push a hard breath out, feeling the whiskey start to buzz through your veins. Time to get the hell out of dodge. “Well, pay me out, Weas, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Ten minutes later, a decently large wad of cash stuffed in your pocket, and you’re headed home. Or, what you’ve called home for the last six months. The outskirts of New York are littered with empty houses, and you like taking your pick of the richer neighbourhoods, breaking into the homes who’s owners have left them empty for the season, picking your way through designer closets and wine cellars before slinking off to the next.

Problem is, someone’s already waiting for you.

Perched on the steps of your latest abode, a shotgun larger than yours balanced on his knees. There’s something…familiar. You haven’t seen him at Sister Margaret’s, that much you know. But the face, there’s something there that twinges the back of your brain.

Crew cut, square jaw, big nose that fits the face perfectly. Just enough stubble to know the beard that lurks. Hard stare, dark eyes, unfairly full lips. Broad shouldered, covered in black head to toe, and big fucking hands holding that shotgun.

“Number’s up, sweetheart,” he calls as soon as you’re close enough, your boots clicking on the pavement as you reach behind you casually, your fingers curling around the handle of your own gun. He lifts one hand, and you see the tell-tale gold card wedged between his thick fingers. You bite your lip. Motherfucker. “You wanna dance?”

“There’s a lot of things I’d like to do with you, handsome,” you call back, tilting your head to the side as he rises to stand. You’ve seen enough well-cut men to know he’s packing muscle beneath the dark get-up, and you let your eyes wander south. You’ve seen enough well-hung men to know that he’s packing something else too. “But dancing isn’t one of them.”

He smirks, a little half-assed thing that manages to send a zap of heat through you. Fucking hell in a hand basket, are you actually attracted to the man that’s come to…collect you? There’s gotta be some law against that somewhere, right? Somewhere deep in the merc’s handbook, for sure.

“S’a pretty price on your head, sweetheart,” he continues, and slowly starts to descend the steps, closing the distance between you just enough to send your heart racing in your chest. He’s got a good head on you, and peers down his nose as you grip your shotgun and pull it from your back, letting it hang loosely at your side. He’s got a big nose, suits his face, busted enough to make you think it’s been broken more than once. “Who’d you piss off?”

“Dunno,” you say with a shrug, starting to around him, meandering pace as you keep your eyes glued to him, watching his reaction. You keep a fair distance between you, and he doesn’t turn as you circle him, but you catch his eyes raking over you when you disappear and reappear in his line of sight. He’s toying with you; you’re toying with each other. This is gonna be fun, at least, a good way to go. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly kind to the lowlife assholes of the world. Some of them must work for someone with deep pockets.”

“Heard they call you Angel,” he says, his voice gruff and grating and fuck, if he says your real name you might just dissolve into a puddle. “Knew a guy once, they called him the Devil.”

“Maybe I’d get along better with him.” You grin. “And it’s Hell’s Angel, just for the record. What do they call you?”

His nose twitches. “Punisher.”

Your brows shoot up. The memory tweaks; a newspaper strewn on the bar at Sister Margaret’s. Punisher Punished. “Ahh, I knew I knew you,” you purr, tapping a finger to the tip of your nose. “You’ve got more of a rep than I do, handsome.”

“Gotta stop calling me that, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re stalling.”

“And?” you ask, looping around him again, lifting your shotgun onto your shoulder. “You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

He just smirks.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t stop, huh?” You’re in front of him again now, staring at that stupidly, ruggedly handsome face. “You gonna punish me, hmm?” A step forward, than another. “I might like it.”

He’s staring down his nose at you, mouth a taut line, eyes hard and unwavering. “Watch it now, sweetheart. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew.”

“Oh, I don’t bite,” you purr back, grinning as you chance a hand forward, walking your fingers up his chest. No armour beneath the dark shirt, nothing but hard muscle that jumps beneath your touch, which has you thinking… “Not unless you ask me to.”

You do another circle, your steps slower this time. He doesn’t turn, but his head does, one eye watching you as you move, slinking up the steps one at a time, shotgun still resting on your shoulder. One, two, three…

He swings around, lifting his own gun and levelling it with your face at the same moment you lift yours. It’s a standoff, each of your staring down the barrel of the other’s gun, at the mercy of the other’s trigger finger, or lack thereof…

“Gimme a good reason, Angel,” he barks, “why I shouldn’t pull the trigger.”

You lift a brow. “The Punisher, giving me a chance to beg? You’re not the big bad I thought you were, handsome.”

“You don’t know me at all, babydoll,” he grits out, and the switch in the nickname alone makes your heart stutter.

But then the world implodes.

Shots ring out, the glass of the window beside the house’s front door shatters, the door itself splintering inward. You both drop, more shots exploding toward you, bullets whizzing by your shoulder and head. There’s a big hand grabbing the scruff of your jacket, hauling you up and shoving you through the now open door. More gunshots, and the Punisher shoves you out of the the doorway the moment you’re through.

You hit the ground hard, rolling through shards of glass that poke and prod and make you wince. You’re quick to head for the window ledge, using it as a bunker while you cock your gun and take aim. The hooded figure standing in the road isn’t familiar to you, the large gun in his hand lifted and ready to end one or both of you.

Then you see the gold card. “Your time is up, Castle!” the merc yells. The memory twigs again; Castle, Frank Castle. You read that article so many times Weasel had to pry the newspaper from your hands. You chance a glance over at the man in question, see him propped up beside the door. He looks unharmed, mostly, dust and debris on his jacket and pants. Your brow hardens.

“Come on out, Angel!” the merc calls. “I’m not here for you!”

What the fuck?

You look at Frank again, and this time, he’s staring right back. There are no words, no gestures, nothing. But something unspoken, and he slowly drops a handgun to the floor, covers it with his boot, and then slides it across the floor to you. An easier shot than the shotgun propped on your shoulder.

Then he nods.

“I just want my money!” the merc shouts, and you roll your eyes. Who the fuck is this guy?

You scramble for the handgun for a moment, swinging it out the broken window to take aim just as a hand grenade goes sailing over your head, hitting the ground behind you. You take the shot, the bang echoing through your head as the bullet finds it’s mark, and then that big hand is at your shoulder again, hauling you up and out, a large body covering yours as you hit the hard ground. Overhead, the first floor implodes, wood and glass and debris flying everywhere.

Your ears are ringing, you can taste blood, and everything hurts. When you try and lift your head, your eyes immediately meet a large shard of glass that’s sticking out of your shoulder and you groan and you’re pulled to your feet, yanked against a warm body. Your knee barks in protest, and you look down to see more glass, this time accompanied by a thin piece of wood speared through your leg. Fuck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” a gruff voice asks, right by your ear, and a thick arm slides around your waist, taking most of your weight.

“Shoulder,” you managed to rasp out. Who the fuck even blows people up anymore? “Knee. Nothing major.”

“Good,” Frank Castle says. “Let’s get outta here, huh?”

“Thought you wanted to,” you wince hard when a falter in your step sends a shock of pain up your leg, “dance.”

“That can wait,” he tells you, glancing over his shoulder, starting to shuffle you down the street. “That was an impressive shot. Besides, saved my ass; least I can do is clean you up, show you a good time.” He smirks. “Dancing comes later.”

You’re not what he expected.

He was hoping for some fat, ugly asshole. Some easy kill, swipe the gold card and collect the cash, get the hell out and never look back. That would have been easy, that would have been simple.

You are already proving to be anything but.

He half-carries you to the motel, trying to ignore the feeling of your body heat against his arm. That god awful coat of yours is covered in debris from the house, dust and broken glass and wood. The shard in your shoulder needs to come out, along with the twig in your knee. You’re taking it like a champ, that much he’s sure of, wincing occasionally but not a word of protest falling out of you.

“What hurts more?” he asks once he’s brought you through the door and deposited you on the bathroom counter. Both your guns bounce onto one of the the mattresses, forgotten for the time being. Dancing comes later. Not that he’s even planning on dancing, now. “Shoulder or leg?”

“Leg,” you rasp, and he tries not to let his eyes linger on the expanse of your throat when you throw your head back, crown hitting the mirror as he takes your ankle in hand and lifts. The wood is jammed just above your knee, through and through, blood staining the fabric of your jeans. He leaves you for a moment to grab his kit before he comes back, pushing a bottle of whiskey in your hands.

“Drink,” he orders, and you listen, yanking the cap off and tossing it to the side, tipping the bottle to your lips and chugging. He waits a moment, waits until you tip the bottle back down, until you’re wiping your lips, takes hold of the wood, and pulls.

“Motherfucker!” you screech, good arm reaching out and fisting in his shoulder. “Warn a girl next time, huh?”

“Nope,” he responds, sinking to his knees. He tugs on your good leg. “Get down. Pants off.”

“There are nicer ways to get me naked, you know, Castle,” you quip, but obey, sliding off the counter and undoing the button on your jeans, kicking off your boots. You push your jeans down as far as they’ll go, and Frank bites the inside of his cheek at the scrap of lace covering you. Then he eases your pants down further, carefully around your injury, helping you step out of them and kicking the fabric to the side.

“You don’t ever stop, do you?” he grumbles, grabbing your hips and lifting you back onto the counter. You’re so much…smaller than him, a good head shorter, and he towers over you, even sat on the countertop as you are. You grin, and he bites his cheek so hard he can taste blood.

He fishes bandages and antiseptic out of the kit. Ignores your whine when he wipes the wound clean. So much for taking it like a champ. He wraps it carefully, ties off the gauze, then reaches for your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says lowly, “eyes on me.”

You do — fuck, you perfect little obedient thing — and he reaches for a cloth, wrapping it around the glass sticking out of your shoulder. One hand on the shard, and he lifts the other to your throat, thumb swiping the curve of your jaw.

“I’m not killin’ you, sweetheart,” he tells you, and watches your eyes go wide. “Not tonight.”

You suck in a breath, a retort on the tip of your tongue, and then he pulls.

“Motherfucker!”

There’s a spurt of blood when he yanks the glass out, letting the smeared shard clatter into the sink. He reaches for your shoulder, pushing the edge of your coat back, and grabs another piece of gauze, holding it to the wound, pressing hard enough that your teeth sink into your lip. Your head tilts back, knocking against the mirror again, face pinching when he presses harder, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“That was an impressive shot,” he mumbles, dragging his eyes from your face and staring at the gauze pressed to your blood-stained skin. You’re a mess — you both are — skin covered in dust and blood, your chest heaving and Frank can’t stop himself from planting his other hand on your thigh, fingers curling around the bare muscle. It twitches in his grip and he hides his grin. You’re reactive, your body already giving in to him. “Where’d you learn how to shoot like that?”

“Self-taught,” you tell him, and he can’t stop himself from staring you right in the face. No way in hell. You’re smirking, head lolling a bit on your shoulders, hips adjusting on the counter. He’s got half a mind to just rip those panties off right here and now, throw your knees around his ears and eat your pussy until the sun comes up. But he’s more of a gentleman than that. He wants to ease you into it, wants to watch you break down and…submit to him. He’s holding that gold card over your head, holding your shoulder, watching your gaze flicker down when his thumb slides down the inside of your thigh.

He’s not killing you, not tonight. Maybe not ever. But he is gonna do something else.

“No way, princess,” he says with a shake of his head. “Tell the truth.”

You let out a laugh that’s more like a scoff. “I am telling the truth, Castle.” You wince as he peels back the gauze. It’s still bleeding, but not as much; he’s gonna have to stitch it. Your eyes are hard, just watching as he moves, reaching into the kit, pushing at the collar of your coat. He opens his mouth to tell you to take it off, but you beat him to it, shrugging carefully out of the thing, tugging it out from under your ass and letting it drop to the floor. It leaves you in a little black tank top, the straps thin and the neckline scooping across your chest. He lets his eyes dip shamelessly, tearing open an antiseptic wipe, and your eyes traipse up his body, until they meet his, and that shit-eating grin is back on your mouth.

The grin disappears as he sets to work, wiping the blood away, disinfecting and pushing the whiskey back into your hand. You turn your head to the side, taking another healthy swig, and he watches your throat bob, his jeans tightening at the sight.

Fuck, you are really not what he expected.

“I really am self-taught,” you say, your head still turned, pointedly not looking at him stitching your shoulder. No wincing though, no complaining. “You go after enough fuck-heads who don’t understand the word no and you turn into more than a decent shot. That, and I go to the shooting range so often they give me half off now.” A little smirk. “It ain’t pretty, but it’s a living, right?” Your eyes cut to him, watching his expression. He feels a little vulnerable under your gaze, then remembers the gold card in his back pocket. “You grow up thinking it was all gonna shake out like this, Castle?”

His brow hardens. “What d’ya mean?”

You lean your head back against the mirror again. “I grew up wanting to be a truck driver by day, ballet dancer by night. Bounty hunter with a price on her head didn’t exactly make the list.”

Frank barks a laugh, pulling the stitch as he does. “That’s quite the combination, sweetheart. My daughter wanted to be, uh, a veterinarian.”

Your head snaps to look at him. For the first time, you have a soft look on your face, rather than a shit-eating grin or a seductive smirk. He waits for you to ask, to try and deep dive into his past, to try and pull something out of him. Something he’s not willing to give to you. Not yet.

“Who put out the hit on me?” is what you ask instead, and Frank drops his gaze, reaching over to run his hands under the tap, cleaning your blood from his skin. Then he reaches for the bandages, taping up your shoulder.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, eyes focused on your shoulder, ignoring the way the strap of your tank top keeps falling across your collarbone. There’s a silver chain at your neck, a tiny little pendant that looks like a star sitting in the hollow of your throat. “Didn’t ask.”

“So you just took a hit on another hunter, no questions asked?” When he doesn’t reply, you scoff. “Punisher, my ass.”

“What’s that supposed t’mean?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“You go after bad people, right? Isn’t that your gig?” Satisfied with his bandage work, he takes a step back from the counter, and you slide off in an instant, taking the whiskey with you, bouncing away in your skimpy little top and panties barely covering your ass. He swallows hard. “That’s your schtick?”

Frank turns around, leans against the counter, crosses his arms over his chest. “Not a schtick, sweetheart.”

“I’m not a bad person,” you say, setting the whiskey bottle on the dresser. “I’m not bad people. I do what you do; I only go after people who hurt other people. People who can’t protect themselves.” You glance over your shoulder at him, the corner of your mouth quirking. “Mostly men. Idiots who don’t know the meaning of consent, who like to prey on little girls in dark alleyways. Those are easy shots. Easy money.” You tap your fingers on the dresser. “Boom.”

“God,” he drawls, tapping his foot against the floor. “You really don’t ever stop, do you, sweetheart?”

You spin to look at him, eyes bright and fiery. Ah, there she is. “What, I’m not allowed to plead my case? I thank you for the chivalry of stitching me up, Frank,” you say, and he has to stifle the choked noise that worms up his throat when you actually bow, curtsying to him and giving him and eyeful of your chest, “but I don’t think I need to remind you that you had a shotgun pointed at my head less than an hour ago.”

“You had one pointed at me too, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you bark, pointing a finger at him. Fuck, he’s got you riled now. “I don’t deserve the gold card, is what I’m saying. Sure, I’ve pissed off a few people, but who hasn’t? You think every fucking idiot who rolls into Sister Margaret’s is a saint before they walk in the door? I think the fuck not.”

And he’s had enough.

Frank pushes off the counter, takes two long strides towards you. “Would you just shut the fuck up,” he says, and watches your reaction, watches your back straighten and your eyes widen, “for two seconds?”

But you don’t. “I’m just saying,” you continue, “you should know this shit before you try and put a fucking bullet in me.”

“I don’t wanna put a bullet in you,” he throws back, and takes another step. Your knees knock together and he closes the distance with a final stride. Knuckles under your chin, tilting your head up to face him. Your brow is a hard line, lips pressed together, and he lets his thumb wander over the seam, feeling your breath on his skin. “I wanna put my cock in you.”

Your quip is fast, eyes rolling to the back of your head: “Now, there’s a line if I ever heard one.”

But Frank sees it, sees that hint of submission creep into your eyes, the way your jaw goes slack in his grip for a fraction of a second before the big bad bitch returns. He grins. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, huh, princess? Shut you up for a minute with this big fat cock in your mouth?” He grabs your wrist with his other hand, yanks it down and presses your palm to his crotch. Your fingers twitch over the outline of him and his jaw goes tight.

This time, there’s no quip, no witty response, just big shiny eyes and he watches the tip of your tongue snake the corner of your mouth. You’re fucking drooling, just at the thought of it. Good. He adjusts his grip on your face, holding your chin in his hand, squeezing your cheeks slightly.

“You gonna let me fuck you, babydoll?” he asks, and your mouth pops open, warm breath tickling his face. He should kiss you, wants to kiss you. Needs to kiss you. You make a tiny noise somewhere between a whine and a moan and he reaches for your hip, yanking your body towards him, shoving his hand under the lace covering your pussy. “C’mon, when’s the last time somebody fucked you like you deserve, huh, sweetheart? Last time someone ate this pussy till you screamed?”

“Frank,” you groan out, hands reaching for the wrist holding your face, nails digging into his skin. God, you look pretty like this, big eyes and wet lips, pupils blown and tongue between your teeth.

He’s done waiting, done fucking around and talking. At least, talking pretty.

“Say yes, princess,” he says, leaning in until he’s almost talking against your mouth. “I wanna hear it.”

You nod your head furiously in his grip, eyes going wide as dinner plates, canting your hips into his hand. You’re dripping, all wet heat and soft curls against his fingers.

“Use your words,” he commands, and can’t help but capture your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging not so lightly. It makes you moan, and this time, he can’t stop himself from capturing the sound, swallowing it.

It’s not a kiss so much as a collision.

You were losing it when he grabbed your chin in his big fucking hand. More so when he bit your lip. And now? Absolutely gone. His fingers working between your legs, calloused pads scraping your clit in a way that makes you want to scream in pleasure.

He’s been pulling you apart since you walked into this motel room. Piece by piece, brick by brick, stitching you up just so he could tear you apart in a different way. You think you could drown in that voice, fall apart in those big hands, get down on your knees and worship the big cock that jumps towards your palm when you reach for his crotch again.

He growls into your mouth, tongue spearing against yours, tasting of black coffee and something else so violently delicious your knees start to quake. You’re so far gone now, between the pet names and the big hands and the I wanna put my cock in you. You’re out of witty responses and daring quips.

When’s the last time somebody fucked you like you deserve, huh, sweetheart?

The answer? Far too fucking long.

He pulls his hand from between your legs abruptly. You almost whimper, but the noise is cut off when he releases your face, reaches both hands down to cup your ass, gripping your cheeks in an iron vice before they slip lower, grabbing your thighs and lifting you up and against him. Your hands scrabble for his shoulders, clawing at his t-shirt, pulling at the tight fabric. He’s wearing too many clothes; you need to explore what lies beneath.

Frank kisses like he’s trying to eat you alive, and you love it. You only come up for air when he drags his teeth along your jaw, nips at your earlobe, drags his stubbly cheek across your neck. “C’mon, princess,” he grumbles against your skin, and then he drops you, your back hitting the bed, body bouncing slightly on the mattress. His eyes rake across you, and he reaches for your knees, fingers curling around the backs and yanking you towards him, spreading your legs wide. “Words.”

His hands move down your thighs, thumbs pressing in deep as he goes, moving towards the heat pooling between your legs. You’re absolutely losing it. “Yes,” you finally moan out, chewing your lip furiously as he reaches the hinge of your thigh, lets one thumb reach out and swipe over your drenched core.

“Yes, what?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, you think, wanting to roll your eyes, to yell at him to just fuck you already. But you know this game, and judging from the twitching bulge in his pants, it’s a game Frank likes to play. “Yes, I want you to fuck me.”

His mouth splits into a grin and he rewards you for the admission, moving his whole hand to your pussy, dragging his fingers up and down, up and down. You keen into the touch, back arching off the mattress. “Mmm, yeah, good girl,” he grits out, and you feel him reach for the elastic of your underwear, snapping it against your skin. “Gonna make you feel really fucking good, sweetheart. Gonna fuck the brat right out of you.” He snaps the band again and again, and you lift your hips, feeling him tear the scrap of fabric down your thighs.

Before you can even react, he’s on his knees, big hands curling around your hips and yanking you to the edge of the bed. There’s little ceremony, no build up, just his mouth sealing over your pussy, that big fucking nose grinding into your clit, lips sucking and tasting and sending white sparks across your vision. You reach down, grab his head in your hands, lock your fingers in the longer hair on top of his head. He groans against you when you pull hard, thrusting your hips up against his face and it sends a wave of vibrations rippling through you, your back arching harder.

That busted nose of his feels like heaven against your clit, the stubble on his chin grating just enough to bring you higher and higher, and he’s holding your hips so tight you’re sure you’ll have bruises shaped like his hands come morning, but you don’t fucking care. As long as he doesn’t fucking stop.

He’s rutting into the bed, eating your pussy with such vigour and enthusiasm that he’s moving you up the mattress, further and further until he’s half on it with you, knees pressing into the duvet while he pulls you up towards his mouth, your knees bent over his shoulders. He adjusts his grip, locking his arms around you completely, holding you to him.

When his tongue dips into your dripping heat, prodding the deepest parts of you, that’s when you lose it.

You try to shout as you cum, try to drawl his name, but no sound falls out of you. Especially when one of his arms comes loose around you, holding you in place with one bulging bicep, and his hand closes around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to notice, not enough to cut off your air. You can feel the strength that he’s withholding, what he’s using to hold your pussy to his face, but what he’s not wielding on you like a weapon.

I’m not killin’ you, sweetheart. Not tonight.

Can you die from the most intense orgasm of your life?

As soon as he pulls his tongue from you, he jams two fingers in, slamming your hips back onto the bed and covering your body with his own. His knees bracket your hips and then his mouth is on yours again, free hand curling around the side of your face, peering down between you as he thrusts his fingers in and out, thumb pressing hard on your clit. Still, you don’t have words, only heaving breaths and gasped moans that only climb higher when he finds that spongy spot deep inside, caressing it softly before he twists his wrist, scissoring his fingers wide.

“Where’s that smart mouth now, huh, baby girl?” he whispers, his mouth right by your ear. You can only moan, digging your hands into his shoulders as hard as you can, grabbing onto him like a lifeline. “Can’t talk, huh? That good?” He continues to move his fingers, rough and then soft, the quick changes nearly giving you whiplash. “Gotta warm you up first, sweetheart, so you can take this big fucking cock.”

You push your face into his thick neck as you cum a second time, the first one barely bled away before the second takes over. Your fingers and toes are static, limbs taut and limp at the same time, and you hook your arm around his neck, something between a moan and a sob bouncing off his skin. He curls his fingers up, pressing against that devastating spot, drawing the orgasm out longer, making you gush around his knuckles.

“Tha’s a good girl,” he grunts, turning his head to kiss your temple, the action softer than you’re expecting as he drags his fingers out of you. You watch, hazy-eyed, as he shoves his fingers between his lips one at a time, sucking the taste of you from them, and then he’s grabbing your face again, kissing you rough and passionate, his mouth tasting of your release, fingers spanning your jaw and cheek.

He pulls back, eyes boring into yours, searching your face. Your chest heaves with breaths, eyes rolling back as he lowers his weight onto you more, making a home for himself between your thighs. Your can feel how hard he is, even behind his jeans, the rough material pressing against your sensitive core, making your hips stutter against him.

“This what you needed, huh?” he asks, grinding into you slightly. “Baby needed somebody to shut her up, is that it? Somebody to give her what she needed.”

Somehow, you find it in you to nod, gripping him tighter, lifting yourself against him to chase his mouth, to kiss him as hard as he kissed you. He grunts, rolling over until he’s on his back and you’re astride him, hips still on his, knees pressing into he mattress. You can feel his cock straining against his zipper, jolting when you grind down on him, sensitive but still desperate for more.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, sliding your hands underneath. His muscles jump at your touch, and you can feel his eyes on your face, but yours are too busy watching the slow ride of his shirt up his stomach, caught on your wrists as you move higher and higher. You can feel the ridges of scars and the curves of muscle, dips and valleys you want to drag your tongue along. You push the shirt up his chest as high as the position will allow, and then drop your head, your mouth at his sternum.

You’ve never seen this much muscle on one man, thickly packed onto his body, a wild landscape for you to explore. And he’s so fucking broad, shoulders nearly twice as wide as your own, tapering down to well-cut hips, deep adonis lines that disappear beneath his belt, making your mouth water just thinking about what lurks below.

You can feel his heartbeat hammering against your lips, and one of his hands lifts to your head, running his fingers through your hair, pushing it back from your face. “What ya gonna do now, pretty baby?” he asks, his tone low and music to your ears. “Huh?”

Moving your hips back, you move your hands from his chest, lifting your head and dragging your mouth right down the middle of his body. He makes a pleased noise, letting your hair sift through his fingers until you’re out of reach. You sit up straight, hands reaching for his belt buckle, and you can feel those dark eyes still watching you, gaze hard and lust-blown, mouth twitching with a grin.

You shuffle back further, letting your feet hit the ground and planting your hands on his knees when yours threaten to give out. He’s just watching, reaching up to fold his hands behind his head. You reach for the button on his jeans, and his brow lifts. “Yeah? You want my cock, huh?”

Nodding, your pinch the zipper, pulling slowly, feeling the jump of his length towards your hand. Your hands are shaking, but you’re more sure of your footing now, and, surprising even yourself, grab the waist of his jeans and pull down hard, lifting his hips up and pulling his jeans and briefs down all in one shot. He grunts as you do, one hand flying for your shoulder, and then you drop your mouth to his stomach again, dragging your tongue along the ridge of his abs, unable to hold back the moan in your throat when his bare cock lifts against your chest, tip hitting your breasts, a smear of precum across your skin.

You go to move your head lower, to take him between your lips, but before you can, there’s a big hand around your jaw, jerking your head up, forcing your eyes on his. “You gotta ask nicely, babydoll,” he says, and swipes his thumb over your lips, dipping his fingertip between them for a moment. “I told ya, use your words.”

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. You can’t help the slightly bratty tone, but it gives way to desperation quicker than you mean to, dragging your hands down his sides, squeezing his hips and then his thighs. “Please, Frank.”

He smirks, giving you a slight nod. “Show me what you got, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and the way he tucks your hair behind your ear makes your stomach lurch, his hands settling at his sides, tapping softly against the duvet. A happy little moan escape you, and you lower your head again, uninterrupted this time.

He’s thick. Thicker than you imagined, a prominent vein running down the side, precum still beading at the tip. Neatly trimmed hair at the base, those deep-cut lines at his hips truly trailing to something magnificent. You knew he was packing the moment you laid eyes on him, but even you couldn’t have imagined this.

A sharp inhale reaches your ears as you close your lips around his tip, sucking lightly, experimentally. His palm lands at the crown of your head, fingers working along your scalp, and you do it again, waiting for the hitch in his breath.

It doesn’t come, and instead, he works most of your hair into his fist, tugging hard until your head lifts again. “Don’t wanna be teased, baby,” he grunts, eyes glued to the way your lips aren’t around his cock, but its resting against your mouth. “Not tonight.”

Frank keeps your hair in his fist, but the grip is more lax, giving you more room to move.

There’d been little ceremony or build-up before he’d buried his face in your pussy, and he said no teasing. So, you dive right in.

He groans loudly when you take him all the way, cock sliding past your lips and across your tongue, hitting the roof of your mouth while your hollow your cheeks and suck hard. The sound he makes is deep and guttural, sending a shock of heat through you as it bounces off the walls of the motel room. Part of you wonders if the neighbours can hear, a bigger part of you doesn’t care.

You curl your fingers around the base of him, bobbing your head, working against your gag reflex as best as you can. There’s a sliver of a tear in your eye, but you ignore it, swallowing him down, dragging your tongue along that thick vein. His hips jump when you do that, cock thrusting deeper, hitting the back of your throat and he groans again.

Then he starts talking.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he says, and it makes your eyes roll back, feeling his other hand move to your hair, both locking in your hair now. You let out a little moan around his cock, gripping his hip tightly in your free hand, digging your nails into his skin. You’re moving faster now, spurred on by his gravelly voice in your ears. “S’right, babydoll, you suck that cock so good, huh? That’s what you needed, big dick in your mouth to shut you up, make you feel good.” He sits up a little, getting a better grip on your head, stomach jumping against your forehead. “Does that turn you on, baby, huh? You like sucking that dick?”

With one hand still wrapped around him, your other drags down his leg, squeezing his knee before you’re slipping it between your legs, toying with your clit and moaning around his cock again. You go harder, faster, moving your head as fast as your muscles will allow, sucking him deep while the salty taste paints your tongue.

“Fuck me,” he grits. “Sweet little thing, sucking my cock like a champ.” One hand moves under your chin, and he pulls you off of him slowly, leaving you gasping for air, a string of spit connecting you to him. “Shit. C’mere.” He hauls you up, pulling you back onto the bed and into his lap, still gripping your chin, swiping this thumb through the spit on your lips before bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking his thumb clean. It makes everything in you clench.

He grabs your face again, this time with both hands, and pulls your mouth to his. His tongue invades your mouth, licking into it, gathering you closer and closer until your chest is pressed against his. He gathers your hair into his fist again, mouth still on yours, and pulls at the neckline of your tank top, yanking it down, curving his fingers around the swell of your breast. You moan into his mouth, teeth knocking together before he moves his face to your chest, lips closing around your nipple, tongue dancing over it until its a hard peak.

Frank pulls back after a moment, looking up at you. “Gonna make me cum if you keep sucking me off like that,” he whispers, hands reaching for the hem of your tank top, pulling it up and over your head. Then he reaches for your wrists, moving your hands between the two of you. “Put my cock in you, baby. Want you to ride me, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

You nod, almost frantic, reaching down and curling your fingers around him again. His hands settle on your hips, angling you up. You whimper when his tip notches at your opening, and he lifts his head to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip. Then you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly.

Even with your two wild orgasms and how worked up you are from sucking his cock, the stretch still burns. It rides that thin line between pleasure and pain, your jaw dropping open as you lower yourself, head dropping forward onto his shoulder. “Frank,” you manage to moan out, and his arms slide around you tight, holding you to him, keeping your hips pressed to his. Your clit is captive against the hard ridge of his stomach, and with every breath he takes, there’s a shock of pleasure through your system.

After a moment, the pain gives way completely to the pleasure, the stretch nothing more than blissful and you start to move. He adjusts his grip on you, one palm flat between your shoulder blades, other arm hooking around your waist. “That’s it,” he whispers as you start to roll your hips. “Good girl, baby.”

You wrap one arm around his neck, the other skimming the back of his head, the short hairs at his nape tickling your palm. He turns his head, kisses your cheek, drags his tongue up the side of your neck. He chases your hips with his own, fucking up into you, and the tip of his cock manages to find that spot, sending lightning shocks of pleasure through your whole body, making you shake.

You must get tighter around him, because Frank groans, fingers scraping against your spine. “You gonna cum again, baby?” he croons, voice right at your ear, whispered but just as husky. “You gonna cum on this cock, huh?”

You go to groan out a yes, jaw hinging open, but before you can say anything, he’s tipping you back, wrenching himself out of you and tilting you sideways, laying you out on the bed. You whimper at the loss, but it’s not gone for long, Frank knocking your legs wide with his hand and covering your body with his own again, taking his cock in hand and guiding himself back into you. You keen up into his touch, sighing as he plants his elbows beside your head, caging you in.

“Wanna see your face, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning down and just dragging his mouth over yours, capturing every little noise your make. “Wanna watch you lose it again.”

He starts to move again, and this way, this position, the pace is unrelenting, heavy and hard, filling the room with the sound of his skin hitting yours, the wet glide of his cock, and the quiet way he shushes you, moving one hand to cup your chin again, gripping tight enough to make you clench around him.

“Frank,” you moan again, and he just nods, that big nose dragging along yours, mouth dropping to capture your lips in a biting kiss.

It doesn’t take much more than that. A few more snaps of his hips, his hand moving from your chin to your throat, the muscle of his stomach catching on your clit, and you’re gone. It’s blinding, numbing, tingling, all of the above.

You’re somewhere in the clouds, your body completely in his control. He bites at your collarbone, his hips starting to stutter, and you know he’s close. You see his face go hard, brow pinching, and he pushes his head into your chest, biting at your breast as he keeps fucking into you, hands in your hair, sweetheart moaned into your skin.

He fucks into you hard, one final thrust that has your body sliding up the bed, legs locking around his to keep him close, keep him deep inside. You can feel the white-hot heat of him painting your insides, spurting out of him while his face stays buried in your chest. He pulls one hand from your hair, slams his fist against the mattress, as his chest starts to heave, deep breaths pushing his muscled torso against yours. You can feel every ridge and line of him, his cock twitching inside you, muscles jumping against your skin.

You’re expecting him to disappear, to roll off of you and hit the shower, leave you to clean up the mess he’s turned you into. But he doesn’t. He stays right where he is, between your legs, and after a moment, pulls his head up, adjust himself slightly, kisses you softly.

His hand reaches for your jaw again, but this time his grip is feather-light. His thumb drags across your chin, again and again, following the curve of your lower lip while his eyes trace over your face. “You really are something, sweetheart,” he whispers, and it puts a grin on your face, “you know that?”

“I do,” you throw back, smiling at him, reaching your hand to drag fingers up and down his back.

“Smart ass.”

Frank wakes the next morning to an empty motel room. Any and all trace of you is gone, your shotgun missing from the other bed, your mess of a coat picked up off the floor. You even cleaned your blood off the countertop.

But the sheets still smell like you, and if he thinks hard, he can feel the outline of you pressed against him, limbs tangled in his. He doesn’t have to think hard to remember how you felt underneath him, however, that obedient little thing he managed to turn you into, so good and so pretty and so perfect.

It makes his cock jump between his legs just thinking about it. About you.

He gets up slowly, gathers his things. Finds the gold card somewhere between his boots and his jeans, the stupid thing cracked down the middle. He picks it up, snaps it in two, tosses the pieces in the trash.

When he goes to pack his kit, that’s when he sees it.

A cellphone, one of those cheap burner things you can buy at the gas station. It’s got one of those stupid dangly charms attached to it, cheap plastic shaped to look like angel’s wings. He smirks. Hell’s Angel.

And, hastily scrawled on shitty motel stationary, the pen ink barely legible, is a note from you.

hiya frank,

I can’t stay in new york, not with gold cards floating around with my name on ‘em.

hope you understand. last night was…bliss.

give me a call if you end up in chicago and you’re looking for round two

sweetheart xoxo

Frank just grins, shakes his head, and jams the phone into his pocket.

————

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