#I’d read it at 3 am on ao3
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Because I'm the Weakest
Pairing: yandere!Satosugu x fem!reader
Warnings: Rape/non-con, Dead dove, darkfic, dissociation, trauma, rape fantasy, rape aftermath, vomiting (not during sex), unhealthy relationships, non-consensual drug usage, drugged sex, canon typical violence, sexism, implied/referenced alcohol usage/abuse
Contains: F/M/M, spitroasting, oral sex, penis in vagina sex, blow jobs, face-sitting, come play, overstimulation, voyeurism, slight size kink, humiliation/degradation, vaginal fingering, mentioned Nanami.
Word count: ~6,5k
Summary: Growing up as a female sorcerer has not been easy, especially when you are overshadowed by two prodigies. You used to form a tight-knit friend group, but now in adulthood everyone battled their own demons whether it be a god complex or feelings of inferiority. Gojo Satoru revives a group chat that was almost long forgotten, inviting you and his boyfriend for a long weekend, just like the old days. Before the regrettable night, you wouldn't have ever thought that you'd need to raise a fist against a friend.
A/N: Hey everyone, another fic but this time featuring our two favorite dudes with insanity turned to the max. This fic is once again full of warnings and proceed with caution and read the tags! Remember to take care of yourself. Otherwise enjoy and feel free to like and comment <3
read on ao3 PART II
“Booring,” Satoru complained audibly as he looked through the streaming services’ different movies and series. The little icons changed from bombshell babes to twisted faces with titles written in blood. He was sprawled over the corner of a ridiculously huge couch and he was wiggling his foot as a nervous tick of his. He wasn’t wearing his usual garb, instead he had opted for something more relaxed and comfortable.
“If you’re so bored you should help us out in the kitchen,” Suguru sighed, his black hair draping over his shoulders, still slightly wet from the shower he had taken earlier. When you had pointed out that he was leaving droplets of water everywhere where he went, Suguru had just smiled at you and told you that it’s better for hair to air dry.
He held a knife in his right hand and the other one held onto a cucumber to keep it in place. His fingers were slender but by no means unmanly. Suguru wasn’t too fixated on the vegetable in front of him, chopping away with confidence only experience would provide.
“And where would the fun be in that since I got you two as my private chefs?” Satoru pouted as he shoveled candy in his face.
“You’re going to lose your appetite, if you eat candy now,” you chimed in, poking the halloumi that kept on sizzling on the pan. The water evaporated in a mist that warmed your cheeks in the cool apartment. It wasn’t actually cold in the open plan kitchen, but you had spent long enough in front of the appliances to break a sweat.
“I’d eat it anyway,” the white haired man whined as he got up from the couch finally settling on a tv series that started playing mindlessly in the background. “So, what am I supposed to do?” He asked after grabbing a piece of pomegranate from a small see through bowl. He walked behind you both like a shark, eyeing the ingredients and you, uncomfortably close.
“Set the table and learn to bitch less,” you joked.
“You wound me,” Satoru said, feigning sadness, but did as he was told.
The three of you were residing in an apartment that Satoru had bought himself from one of the skyscrapers surrounding Tokyo. After Jujutsu High it had gotten increasingly hard for the three of you to meet as adult responsibilities weighed heavily on both of their shoulders, – especially Satoru’s, but you saw the similar pain carried in Suguru just as well.
You were not weak, but you could not compare to the two prodigies. On the days when you felt down, the pain of third wheeling constantly ate you up, sometimes so much so that you rather left the two men talking together in the group chat. It furthered the wedge between you and them, until the messages became sparse and you almost could pretend not to know them.
It had been six months since the last time you met, but one day Satoru broke the silence and a notification popped up from your shared chat. It had taken you by a surprise, you were vaguely aware that even him and Suguru had issues with fitting each other in their lives, due to individual missions and what not. So the fact that Satoru decided to deliberately send a message to you as well, got you anxiously excited. He reached out to you. You. A high school friend that barely kept in touch with him.
“Guys! I refuse to work this weekend so come to my place. Let’s have a get together like the good old times ❤️ ❤️?? A little sleepover if you will!”
“Lol what about the higher ups?” Suguru had asked, typing back way too fast.
“Actually never mind I don’t want to be made into an accomplice in your crimes,” Suguru had continued.
“Am I invited too?” You had asked, hands shaking slightly as you stared at the bright screen, already tucked into bed. It was late, but Satoru was a known night owl.
“Damn, what have I done to earn this type of reputation 😭” Satoru complained, reacting to both your and Suguru’s message. You could hear his voice as if he was there in the same room as you.
“Of course you are invited, silly. I wouldn’t send this here if you weren’t.”
So now you were there, living an almost ridiculously domestic life with the couple that you had been hanging out with ever since you were sixteen. They had not changed too much. They were still both tall and slender but years had rid them of the rest of the baby fat as they started to resemble more men than boys, vigorous fighting showing in their bodies in an ever gained muscle mass. You supposed you were the same too. Battle hardened. That’s the word you were looking for.
You were just about to sit down but you saw long limbs reaching out to the white chair pulling it backwards. You looked at Satoru with a raised eyebrow. He was acting weird.
“What? I’m a host. I’m being hospitable,” he said, voice melodic as he pressed his hand on your shoulder to pet your arm reassuringly a few times. Suguru laughed quietly as he sat down next to Satoru.
You ate and drank, buzzing with energy. It was like no time had passed and you wondered why did you ever stop talking to these two. After a drink or two you were brave enough to ask for some hot gossip. Like every high school friend, you went through old drama, like how ugly Nanami’s haircut used to be.
“Has Nanami found love yet?” You had asked. He seemed like the type to find a decent relationship first out of all of you, but to everyone’s surprise it was these two men.
“Do you still have a crush on him? I heard that he’s quite a looker nowadays” Suguru bounced a question back at you with a smile tugging on his lips. It was that one expression that looked a tad too kind.
“No, I don’t. I was just curious,” you tried to move on from the subject. You did not really discuss your relationship history with these two, at least not anymore.
“Why?” Suguru asked, leaning on the hand he had placed on the table. The atmosphere felt off, it was as if he was challenging you. You looked at Satoru who seemed to be equally as interested in your answer.
You scratched your neck awkwardly.
“I- I think he’s too soft,” you said blushing at the implication of your words. You had turned your gaze to your almost empty bowl, your mind going to improper places. As you were buried in your embarrassment, Satoru and Suguru shared a silent look with each other.
At some point during the evening you had moved to the white haired man’s bedroom. He wanted to show you the view from the window since he lived on the 30th floor. It was magnificent. The busy streets were bustling even during the night and you stared at the small lights that blinked in different colors. Your eyes followed the cars that swerved left and right as some people were gathered up in front of bars for a smoke break. You barely could make them out from the height you were in.
Satoru’s bedroom was basically the size of someone’s apartment. The bed was huge and sleek, unlike the common area. This room was a lot moodier and darker and it actually showed that he lived here, small bits and bobs decorating shelves and few paintings were hung up on the wall that you reckoned were Suguru’s taste.
Your drinks had changed from light cocktails to expensive red wine that you were almost scared to consume, but when Satoru saw hesitation in you he made a point to assure you that it’s all on him and after that almost instantaneously Suguru asked you something, leaving you no room to overthink.
The uneasiness still followed you. It was a gut feeling that you were really bad at listening to. You did not believe you were in danger – at least you’d like to think that as a jujutsu sorcerer you’d be trained to recognize threats by now. Luckily the red wine relaxed you, lulling you to the feeling of safety.
The volume of music was loud as the three of you listened to some throwback songs that still made you shamelessly want to dance. You were celebrating embarrassingly in Satoru’s room laughing, swaying your bodies along with the beat. It was as if you were in a club, except this was way more intimate. The world spinned around you, the warm lights mixed with the glimpses of the night sky and the longer outlines of your friends. You felt light, time slowing down and going overspeed at the same time as if you were alone on the highway. Your friends’ smiles stretched on their faces, eyes twinkling manically as both of the men appeared to you in double. Eventually when you tired each other out the whole group collapsed on the bed still humming happily. Satoru’s bed was plush and big enough to have room for the three of you.
You noted the way the silk felt like a warm hug underneath you, the ceiling moving like a slithering snake’s skin on savannah.
Satoru was lying on his back on the left side of you, his white hair now more tousled than before whereas Suguru was on the right leaving you in the middle of the two men.
“I think we should play a question game,” Satoru’s voice was bordering on a whisper. The music had stopped.
You stayed silent. “Satoru, I’m not feeling too good,” you managed to say. The bed was a ship and you were a passenger of the sea.
“I didn’t know you’re that lightweight,” Satoru’s hand reached out to your head to pet you, the gesture meant to lower your guards, but in your ever increasing discomfort, his touch only managed to make your skin tingle with aversion.
“Just humor us for a bit, it could be like the good old days, right?” Suguru argued, flashing a dead smile at you.
“Okay, whatever. Ask me something,” you rolled your eyes, too tired to fight them in your weird mental and physical stage.
“Hmm,” Satoru turned to his side to face you, his blue gaze piercing yours as you were still laying on your back. You had no idea when he had removed his sunglasses. You heard Suguru moving next to you as well. “What do you mean by Nanami being too soft?” The way Satoru laid down the question was impish.
The tone of the conversation had taken a full one-eighty and you opened your mouth to answer with only lies on the tip of your tongue, but then you decided against that. Those two had a very good bullshit radar.
“Do you want to hear what I think?” Satoru grinned playfully as he licked his plump lips once.
“I think Nanami would bore you out of your mind, missionary on Mondays without the lights on? Ugh, I wouldn’t want that for my worst enemy,” he said, laughter hollow full of malice. You couldn’t believe your own ears.
“I think you want it rough and behind that tough girl act, there’s an insatiable woman with some wild fantasies,” he blabbered his obscene thoughts. “Tell me, have you ever had sex with two men?” Gojo’s voice was loud and it was as if he was talking to you from a speaker that had been locked in another room. He was too close, too far away and simultaneously too here.
“What the-” you got cut off.
“Don’t curse. It’s unseemly from a woman,” Geto said calmly.
“Answer me,” Gojo demanded. During high school you would have described Gojo’s eyes as a beautiful spring day. You would have said that he reminded you of blue skies with perfectly white fluffy clouds, but now his eyes had turned to something much paler and darker. They reminded you of deep untouched snow drifts turned to blue in the moonlight as they sparkled ominously, waiting for the first little animal that dared to break the pristine condition.
“What did you do to me?” Your voice was not your own, it was weak, the accusation of your words turning dull as the red wine you had drank earlier sanded the edges away.
“Nothing permanent,” Geto said.
His admittance striked terror in you. Realization hit you, you were not safe here and you felt the familiar warmth flowing in you like a second nature. You manipulated the cursed energy, channeled it and let it flow steadily in your body guiding the power to your hands, but something in it felt unstable, it felt like a chord that was almost broken just barely connecting.
“Did you know that some drugs really affect the ability to use cursed energy? Not that it would matter in your case,” Geto explained, his voice overflowing around you, sticking to your skin like honey.
“Fuck you!” You yelled letting out a gust of wind to both sides, throwing the two men away from you. They landed nimbly to the floor, like cats, as you yourself hopped up from the bed, your vision blurred, walls moving back and forth, small figurines on the shelves changing color others dancing in front of your eye lids. Your head ached, pain banging against your skull, gnawing at the nerve endings that sent panic infused messages across your body, screaming: Stop moving!
“Oh so you want to spar? Go on then, show me what you have,” Geto purred.
It was a pathetic attempt in your current state. Your feet took you towards the door that Geto had come to protect. Hands and feet clashed together in close combat as you drew your cursed energy that was flickering unevenly in your body. Every time you got too close to escaping either Geto or Gojo kicked you further away.
The white haired bastard wasn’t even using his infinity which only added salt to your wounds. He deliberately chose to prance around you, letting you at times touch him a wild smile on his face. There was no cursed energy, no flashy techniques, just you and two overpowered men.
“Do you remember what they said in school when facing someone stronger than you?” Gojo asked, dodging your fist.
“Don’t be a hero,” Geto grabbed your arm and twisted it painfully behind you. “Contact someone better equipped to handle it,” he said and shoved you forwards with a force so great that you staggered towards Gojo’s table with the MacBook wobbling with force earning a “Hey, that’s my computer!” protest from the man himself.
The lights went out with a sound of shattering glass, leaving the three of you enveloped in the darkness, only city lights illuminating the room. Disorientated by the sudden change in environment you froze, breathing heavily as the two men practically surrounded you. Gojo appeared in front of you not a hair out of place.
“And with that, you’re dead. You really should not get distracted during training,” the white haired man shared his advice talking to you with the same tone he used on his pupils. “Truce?” He offered his hand.
You looked up. There was something sinister about the way they hovered over you. Geto’s beautiful prince-like features had turned harsh and angular, the shadows sharpening his face even more. You swallowed a bunch of bile, the effects of forcing yourself to move taking place.
“The power disparity is too big,” Geto said. He almost pitied you. You were a smart girl, you’d figure the best move soon.
You grabbed the hand bitterly. Gojo helped you up and Geto wrapped his arm around your waist when you were about to fall again.
“Careful,” he mumbled, his hand trailing underneath your shirt. His touch felt cold against your burning skin that was damp from sweat. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he taunted.
“Take her shirt off. I’ve waited long enough,” Gojo said impatiently, tapping his foot on the floor.
“Always so demanding,” Geto chuckled as he worked your shirt up, unclasping your bra unceremoniously, your breasts now free for the two men to ogle.
“Perfect tits,” Gojo said as he pawed at you and played with your nipples. You were completely overwhelmed and out of energy. Luckily, you did not have to stand on your own as Geto helped you to stay up his hands unzipping your jeans.
“Why me?” You squeaked your head drooping in defeat as you looked at Geto’s hand that vanished underneath your panties, your trousers still on you. Your question went unanswered.
“Satoru I think you might have been right about your theory,” You felt Geto’s smile on your neck as he referenced the earlier conversation regarding Nanami.
“Really? Is she wet?” Gojo asked curiously.
“Soaking,” Geto said as he explored your soft folds with ease. “Did fighting us make you feel better about what’s going to happen? At least you can tell your friends that you did not break easy,” Geto mumbled onto your skin pressing kisses to your neck, his hand still working on you going up and down tantalizing on your slit.
Gojo dropped to his knees pulling down the rest of your clothes. A whimper left your mouth as you shook your head powerlessly.
“Lift her leg up,” Gojo instructed. Geto slid his hand behind your right knee, lifting it up till you were wobbling on one foot as you leaned on him for support. The white haired man had his lips slightly apart as he looked in awe at the sight unfolding in front of him. His mouth was watering as Geto maneuvered his hand back to your folds, spreading them in front of Gojo’s face so that his boyfriend could take a long hard look at everything you were offering.
You saw the gears turning in Gojo’s head as his expression turned to a mischievous one.
“I want her to sit on my face,” he licked his lips and made his way to the bed, throwing the shirt on the floor.
“Can you move?” Geto asked as he let go of your leg, holding onto your trembling body. He tipped your head towards him, his face looking almost worried. It reminded you of the old times, but this was not the old Suguru. This was someone new. Twisted.
He helped you to the bed, where Gojo had been waiting, completely naked, his chest heaving in anticipation. Your eyes scanned him from head to toe, stopping at his cock that had already started to curve upwards. It already looked big, bigger than anything you had ever taken.
“Like what you see baby? Cause me too,” Gojo said jokingly. “Well, come here then or do you want to fuck us dry? Because I’m fine with that,” he hurried you, the threat looming over you.
You climbed on top of him, saddling his face. Gojo’s hands immediately grabbed at your ass, pulling you towards his mouth. You could imagine the pink tip of his tongue trying out where you were the most sensitive. He was too impatient to tease you, quickly finding the bundle of nerves that was begging for his attention. He lapped at it as obscenely wet noises filled the room. Gojo sucked on your clit and you moaned loudly, throwing your head back, a sheen layer of sweat on you.
You felt him hum into your cunt as you felt the weight shift behind you on the mattress, Geto’s hand moving on Satoru’s length, pumping it roughly.
“You see, Satoru here is a bit of a munch. He is loud during the day, but put a cock in his mouth and it works wonders at silencing him. Apparently he likes the taste of pussy too,” Geto said with a devious smile on his lips. Gojo groaned animalistically into your wet heat as the black haired man felt his own hardness straining against his boxers. It took everything in his power to not to take off his clothes and fuck you till you were cock drunk and babbling incoherently, but he had too much fun playing with you.
“How does it feel like having the strongest sorcerer lapping you up like a regular man?” Geto’s voice was just a hush in your ear. “Men and women around the globe are going to be jealous when they hear that Gojo Satoru wanted to stick his dick in you,” Geto taunted you both as his hand focused on rotating around Satoru’s tip, spreading out the drops of precome around his cock. Satoru bucked his hips up involuntarily.
You came. Hard. You thrashed around Gojo’s head as the man between your legs held onto you stubbornly, licking and sucking through your orgasm. You felt something warm trickling straight to his face as the pressure in the lower half of your body exploded. Your voice was high pitched and desperate as you rode his face till you were sore, your already weak legs giving out.
Gojo pushed you off of him, gasping for air, pupils blown out in arousal. His face glistened in your juices and his saliva.
“You know what, for a man who’s shaming me for being talkative, you sure speak a lot yourself Suguru,” he pointed out. Suguru laughed, honest to god laughed, his eyes squinting contently as Satoru pulled him into a kiss.
There was something incredibly erotic watching the two men, knowing that Geto would taste the remnants of you as their lips smacked together messily. Their bodies tangled together, black hair flowing around white as Gojo buried his hand in Geto’s luscious strands. Gojo pulled his boyfriend’s face up gently exposing the bobbing Adam's apple that he kissed reverently. It was now Geto’s turn to saddle Gojo.
“I think you need to take your clothes off. Give her a little show,” Satoru said, biting into the skin on Suguru’s clavicle as his hands fumbled with the black haired man’s belt that opened with a clink.
Geto pulled his black t-shirt over his head, his taut muscles flexing. It felt like forever when Gojo caressed the man on top of him, his face in a constant grin. He took down the boxers inch by inch until Geto’s cock sprang out after being suppressed inside his clothes for too long.
“Get on fours,” Gojo ordered as you clumsily did what he told you to. He moved behind you whereas Geto took place in front of you.
“Arch your back.”
You stretched yourself, lowering your torso and propping your butt up almost as if you were offering yourself on a silver platter. Gojo’s hand came down to your ass with force making your body jerk when he dug his nails on the soft skin.
“Wow, you must fuck a lot of dudes judging by how low you can go. If I knew you were a whore, I would have bent you over earlier,” he laughed, his finger prodding on your entrance.
Geto pulled you from your hair. It wasn’t the nice kind of pain that came when one would grab them near the scalp; instead it stung like hell, when Geto yanked your head up, putting you on the perfect level of his cock.
Gojo inserted one finger simultaneously inside you and almost immediately added another. You whined as his fingers scissored you open, your lips almost touching the head of Geto.
“You know, I get to lie with this amazing man every day. Show him the same respect as I do,” Gojo said. Had you not been caught up in their fucked up power play, their love for each other would have truly warmed your heart.
Geto’s thumb stroked your cheek as if to apologize for what was about to happen. He let his hand trail down to your bottom lip, swiping across it gently.
“Open.”
Satoru pushed his hand almost knuckles deep into you, a guttural moan making its escape from your lips as he used his hand to finger fuck you. Geto used your opening mouth to his advantage to stuff his cock in you. He was huge, your jaw already hurting. His tangy taste spreaded in your mouth as he softly rocked back and forth, not wanting to choke you just yet.
You hollowed out your cheeks and focused on the tip of his cock as you used one of your hands to touch what you could not fit. Geto’s eyes were half lidded as he guided your head to a rhythm that he liked as you squirmed underneath Gojo’s touch.
Gojo removed his hand from you leaving you empty, you almost missed the sensation of him, but soon felt the man behind you poking your folds with something much bigger than his fingers. You mewled in panic when he entered you, your eyes widening in shock. God he was huge.
“Focus. Eyes up here,” Geto said, patting your cheek with an open palm. The way you looked up at him made Suguru feel close to high, your pupils widened to the size of a plate, eyes glistening in tears that you held back, still holding onto a sliver of pride. Brave girl, he thought to himself.
Gojo fucked you sloppily, squelching, slapping and your gurgling filling the room as both the men used your body to chase their own highs. You felt like you were drowning and when one withdrew the other one rammed into you without a second thought. It was hard to keep your attention on Geto when his boyfriend did everything in his power to make your task at hand challenging, when his long cock grazed upon that one spot inside you from time to time.
“I’m going to finish in your mouth,” Geto was out of breath, his grip tightened around your skull. Gojo groaned behind you with his fingers digging into your hips. You were sure that you’d have handprints tattooed on your skin by the end of this night.
Geto’s movement got erratic, his cock hitting the back of your throat making you gag around him painfully. The black haired man relished in the wet warmth your mouth provided him. He was panting as pleasure coursed through him, your despaired moans only driving him further. Hot stripes of his come coated your mouth. You wanted to spit it out, or swallow it, anything to get rid of it as your face soured in disgust.
“Keep it in your mouth,” he advised as he pulled out of you. You almost wanted to spit it on his face as an act of defiance. Geto smiled at the confrontational look on your face as if he knew what you were thinking. “Good girl,” he purred when you had decided not to go against him.
Gojo flipped you quickly around to lie on your back, your legs floating in the air awkwardly as he entered back into you swiftly. He pulled you in a feverish kiss, his soft lips slightly swollen. His tongue prodded inside your mouth, Suguru’s come spreading into his mouth as you explored each other. It felt disgusting, playing with someone’s fluids like this, but somehow it made your cunt clench around your white haired high school friend.
There was something deeply primal in the way Gojo drove into you, his head almost resting on yours as he fucked you deep and hard. You were vaguely aware of Geto’s eyes following the act in front of him, admiring the way Satoru’s muscles moved with every move, drinking up the disheveled look on you.
Satoru’s hips came to halt as he plastered his seed on your walls, making sure that he wasn’t too deep, keeping his thrusts shallow enough so he could see him leaking out of your used cunt.
“Fuck,” he breathed out, spent, the after glow warming him. “You didn’t come right?” He asked you, feeling slightly tired.
“No, but it doesn’t matter,” you rasped out your throat feeling hoarse after the abuse it had taken. Frankly you wanted to sleep as well.
“Suguru, can you help her out? I want to watch,” Gojo said as he fluffed the pillow underneath him to get into a comfortable position as if he was about to open the television and watch his favorite show.
“If you hold onto her other leg,” he said as he propped your left leg around his waist and Gojo took hold of your right one. You were helpless and unable to protect yourself when you tried to squirm away from the two devious men.
Geto’s nimble fingers gathered up Satoru’s come that was trickling down between your cheeks. He pushed it back inside you, moving his fingers slowly without a hurry in the world. It reminded you of the calm before a storm.
“You’re going to give us one more right?” Geto’s voice was reassured when he added another finger into you, thumb trailing to your sensitive clit. He knew just what to do, to get you fast back to the edge that you were teetering on earlier, already feeling overstimulated from the rough treatment you had gotten. His fingers made a come-hither movement hitting precisely your g-spot.
Gojo held onto you whispering sweet nothings to your ear, his thumb caressing your thigh. He was gentle, his touch light, eyes half lidded as he enjoyed the small whimpers coming from your mouth. He spoke to you, told you how much he had wanted you from the beginning. He spoke of how he saw that you wanted him – them. Gojo let you know how well you were doing, taking what they dished out to you, how you were brave and oh so good. He attempted to bury you in his twisted love, six feet underground, anxiety and arousal covering Geto’s fingers.
It was too overwhelming. Gojo next to you, Geto between your legs, your world still spinning around you, overstimulating touch and a coil about to snap. You wailed hollowly as you came apart on Suguru’s fingers one last time.
***
It was deep in the night, around two AM to be precise. You had shot your eyes open as the wave of nausea hit you. The two men had fallen asleep cuddling each other, limbs tangled on each other. You got up as quickly as you could, your head ache punishing you from your choices, stomach churning dangerously.
With a pitter patter from your naked feet, you carried yourself to the extravagant bathroom, barely having time to put the lights on as your nausea took over.
You doubled over the toilet seat, emptying your stomach of your earlier dinner and whatever else your friends had slipped in your drink. You held onto your hair desperately trying not to make a mess. A warm hand landed on your fist bunching up the rest of your hair gently.
“It’s okay. I’m here,” Suguru said affectionately, stroking your head. “Let it all out. You’re going to feel better soon.”
The acidic taste filled your mouth once again as if it was reacting to Suguru’s company. Your body forced you to throw up stomach fluids after having nothing else in it.
The way he took care of you brought up memories of the times you had taken one too many drinks, after your partner of that time had broken up with you. You remembered the way he had held you crying, snot and tears covering his shirt as you broke down.
The sound of water pouring into a glass echoed on the walls and you heard the rattle of an ice drawer disturbing the silence.
“You should drink this,” Satoru showed up leaning on the door frame, offering the glass to you. You hesitated.
“It’s just water.” He said and took a sip as if it would prove you anything. “See?”
You grabbed it from his hand, when you decided that you didn’t care anymore, downing the entire glass in almost one swing. The cold scraped your tender throat punishingly. You should have drank more slowly.
Waking up after the night had turned to day, the windows no longer covered by the blinds. You did not remember a lot of the act, except vomiting, but that came afterwards. The city was already moving fast, a new day offering new opportunities and new exciting journeys.
You felt physically a lot better, still weird, but you no longer felt like collapsing to the ground nor did you see things twice. It was almost like you had a hangover. You looked around Gojo’s room rolling on the bed that was empty feeling relieved of having space.
There were still signs of yesterday's fighting, but random shards had been taken care of and the lightbulb changed into a working one. You had your own pajamas on you, not having the slightest idea when and how you got into your clothes. Feeling nervous you got out of the bedroom walking to the toilet to empty your bladder. As you wiped, you felt around your crotch, searching for the remainder of different body fluids. You had cleaned yourself up. Or someone had.
You washed your hands, scrubbing them together with fervor, pumping out a heap of soap on your palm.
You repeated it once.
Twice.
Until your skin was scrubbed dry.
You looked at yourself in the mirror just to see familiar features, but not anyone you could recognize. You opened the overnight bag that you had left on the side of the sink to brush your teeth and spit out the foaming toothpaste. A smell of dough frying on the pan wafted to your nose as you heard commotion from the kitchen.
You took steps to the living room to find Suguru in front of the stove flipping pancakes as Satoru was hunched over a pile of strawberries nibbling on them happily. Upbeat rock played in the background as the two men joked around and chatted. You stared at them, something seething in you.
“Good morning! We’re making brunch,” Suguru exclaimed as he flipped a pancake over “Do you want coffee or tea?”
Nails bit into your skin as you clenched your fists together hard, your knuckles turning to white as anger turned on like a switch. You wanted to rage, go absolutely berserker, throw things at them, scream how dare you over and over. Some part of you also wanted to forget the night, pretend that it’s a nightmare, sit down with them to eat some fucking brunch.
“What if I tell someone,” it wasn’t really a question that you wanted them to answer.
“And what would you achieve with that?” Gojo retorted, popping a ridiculously big strawberry in his mouth, leaving the green stem outside as he bit down, the trash floating to the table.
Suguru placed the now ready pancake onto the white plate. He grabbed the black ladle to pour more mixture on the warm pan, before he started speaking calm but collected. It was this matter of fact tone that he used as if he was disappointed in your stupidity since he was always speaking the truth. The audacity of men or something like that.
“You know first hand how some clans look down on women, not believing that women should be sorcerers in the first place. So how do you think these powerful people are going to react to you saying that two of the strongest sorcerers assaulted you?” He mused, the conversation reminding you of ethics class where people discussed your human rights as a starter dish, completely disregarding that they were talking about real lives.
You knew how those types of people would react. They would see it only as normal, a woman’s place as a breeding machine, your sorcerer blood and womb more precious than your soul. They would argue that you were lucky or maybe that you had asked for it. Besides, it wasn’t exactly atypical of people in your line of work going insane, the trail of dead comrades keeping one up for countless nights. And who better to take anger out on than the people who are perceived as less.
“Even if they did believe you, it wouldn’t change our life at all. They need our skills and well, his money,” Suguru continued as Satoru grabbed three coffee cups and placed them on the kitchen island. As if, you were staying. “It would change yours though.”
That’s when realization hit you. They were the type of evil that were completely aware of their sins. They knew exactly what was right and wrong, but they simply did not care, the world as their oyster.
“You’re insane,” a tear rolled down your eye, your body trembling like a leaf.
“Not denying that one,” Satoru quipped, not taking anything serious like usual.
“If you want to, you can leave. You are free to run your mouth however you want, block our numbers, whatever makes you sleep better. Or you can eat some pancakes as friends and have powerful allies for the rest of your life,” Geto said. “I’ll ask again, coffee or tea?”
You bit your lip as the conflicted emotions flashed through your face. You despised that you viewed them still as your friends as much as your enemies. It was weird to love someone who had hurt you in one of the most violating ways possible.
“Coffee,” you mumbled as you sat down on the bar stool hanging your hands on your sides as Suguru poured the dark liquid on the blue cup.
“We got you Plan B too,” Satoru said, throwing the cardboard box into your hands. “You should take it. I’m not ready to be a father,” he added.
You fumbled the package open, popping out the small pill on your hand. You didn’t know how they knew that you weren’t on birth control nor did you really care. You placed the tablet on your tongue taking generous gulps of water as the couple continued on cooking.
Music played as the sun shone brighter, lighting up the whole kitchen, furniture basking up in the natural glow. You ate in peace, mainly Satoru and Suguru talking together but every once in a while you added something in the conversation. You fell quickly back to the old habits, maybe at times chuckling at their stupid jokes.
You pushed away the night. You tucked it in a corner of your mind that you did not dare to look at for many weeks to come. You were just three old high school buddies catching up, nothing more. The flashbacks you saw were not yours and the long weekend continued on as a happy sleep over.
#tw: noncon#dark fic#yandere jjk#yandere geto suguru#yandere gojo satoru#gojo satoru x geto suguru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#yandere jujutsu kaisen
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A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader
Part 1 - The Seal in the Bar
Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?
*the GIF belongs to @unicornships , but I found it on Pinterest for some reason*
A/N: So here we are! I am absolutely blown away by the response that my teaser generated, holy shit! And because you all seem to love Bear as much as I do, and because you crazy people have brought me to over 100 followers in 2 days, I figured that I would release Part 1 sooner than I planned!
MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death (kill count and maybe a few other things), Jake being a flirt (which is it’s own warning)
Word Count: 2.5k
Read on Wattpad or AO3
Teaser >> Part 2
===
It was a miserable day when Jake walked into the Hard Deck. Training had been canceled due to shit weather and no matter how much of a workout he had had earlier, he was still as nervous as a scared cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The weather wasn’t helping either. It had been raining nearly all day, letting up for maybe 20 minutes at a time before it came pouring down again. Climate change was a serious concept, but right now it was fucking with his plans and his job and Jake very much wanted it to stop. Taking a quick glance around, he saw that there were a few patrons in the bar, mostly older men just sitting and drinking in near silence, the jukebox playing some classic rock song just loud enough to be heard. He had promised to meet Coyote here around 5 and seeing as he was early, Jake went ahead to order a drink. “Hey Penny.”
“Hangman,” Penny replied with a smile. “Your usual?”
“Nah, not drinking tonight. Too antsy. Just a water and Javy’s usual, thanks.” The blond glanced around the room as Penny went to grab his drinks and his eyes fell on a woman sitting quietly in the corner of the room, silently watching each and every person in the bar with an almost clinical gaze. His curiosity got the better of him and Jake grabbed his order before making his way over to the corner table. “That seat taken?” He asked with his usual sly grin on his face.
The woman glanced up at him, eyes flicking over him quickly before quirking a brow. “And what if it was?” she replied coolly, a narrow gaze pinning him to the spot. She took a sip of the drink in front of her, eyes never leaving his face.
“Well I’d like to think that I’d be better company than your imaginary friend here,” Jake said, trying to regain his footing. The woman was intimidating; sharp eyes that seemed to never miss a thing and a face that he recognized as one he made when the weariness hit on occasion.
“Is that painful for you, Flyboy? The thinking?”
Jake was taken aback by her snark. Normally he’d respond, fire an insult of two back, but he kept his mouth shut for once, watching for even just a flicker of emotion on the woman’s face. But there wasn’t any. She just looked bored. So Jake did something that he would almost never do, he walked away, set his drinks down on a table near the door and waved Javy down when his friend walked in.
A few drinks later and the bar had begun to fill with people. Other Daggers had popped up, joining Jake and Coyote and Jake was relieved to fall back into his cocky pilot facade he used in public. It was only when he went back up to the bar some hours later to grab another round for the group that he saw her again. “Grab another round, Penny?”
“Give me just a minute, Hangman.” Penny gave him a nod and a smile before adding ice to a cup for someone else and handing it off.
“Hangman huh?” A voice near him spoke up. A quick turn and there stood the woman from earlier. This time however, she was standing up, and he admired the tone and definition of her arm under the tight black shirt she wore. “Must be military then.”
“What gave it away?” He asked, glancing over at his friends before looking back at her.
A sharp grin. “Maybe the fact that you hang out with guys named ‘Coyote’ and ‘Payback’. That, and you just have the look about you,” she finished, taking a swig of her drink.
“You got it right, sweetheart,” Jake flirted, leaning his forearms on the bar and turning to look at her. “One of the best in the room.”
Bear knew that there was a gleam in her eye. God, she loved shooting cocky men down and watching them run back to their friends, tails tucked between their legs. But something about this Hangman made her curious and she didn’t yet know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. “Is that so? So what makes a fly-boy like you better than most people in the room?” she asked, giving him a teasing look.
A grin crossed Jake’s face and he was so sure that he was in. “Attended Top Gun twice, two confirmed air-to-air kills, plus my good looks and endless amounts of good ole-fashioned Southern charm, sweetheart.”
“Wow. Two whole kills all by yourself? That’s pretty impressive,” Bear nodded, schooling her face so as to not burst out laughing. “Little ole me only has about 60 confirmed kills, but I’m sure it’s much more difficult in a plane.”
Jake, who had been grabbing the beer bottles from Penny, froze. “I’m sorry, 60?”
“Yup, all by myself too.” The mocking slipped free and the smirk on her face was wide and dangerous.
“Who are you?” He asked, concern flooding over his face. Jake knew that the look on his face was one of pure shock, and holy shit was he both terrified and turned on at the thought of this woman being far more dangerous than he was.
Bear grinned, finishing her drink and pulling her wallet out to pay. “Take a guess,” she replied.
“Well I was going to say one hell of a pilot, but I would have heard of you if you were a Navy pilot.”
“Maybe I’m Air Force,” she teased as she watched the conflicting emotions cross Hangman’s face.
“Nuh uh. No way.” Jake shook his head immediately in disgust. “There’s no way you’re Chair Force, not a chance.”
“Like you Navy boys don’t also sit in chairs,” came the retort. “But you are right, I’m not, as you put it, Chair Force.”
“So who are you?” He asked, ignoring the barb thrown his way and pausing to look at her. “You aren’t a pilot, that’s for damn sure, so who and what are you?”
“Bagman! What the hell is taking so long?” A shout came from over by the pool tables.
Rolling his eyes, Jake turned and yelled back “Jus’ wait a damn minute!” Looking back at the woman beside him, Jake nodded for her to tell him.
“Seals,” she replied. “Navy Seal Team Three.”
His green eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t know that there were women in the Seals.”
“Not many. Less than 3% to be exact.” There was pride in her voice and Bear knew that. She had worked incredibly hard to be taken seriously during training and even now as the Commander of Seal Team Three, working in the Middle East and Southwest Asia. Her skills were necessary for the survival of her team and herself. Plus putting damn near three years into the US Navy Sniper School made it very clear just how dangerous she was and could be.
“Okay…umm…wow. I jus’…wow.” Jake was in awe, right here in front of him was a woman who was both badass and hot as hell, and the best part? She didn’t back down and made him work for every step. “That’s seriously badass. Why haven’t I heard about you or any of the others?”
“Cause we’re usually kept secret. If enemy states know that there are women on the teams, then we have targets on our backs. But I can tell you, because no one will believe you,” Bear smirked before continuing, “And yeah, I know it’s pretty badass. I worked hard for it. Just like you did for your two kills.” And with a wink, she walked off, disappearing into the crowd near the bar, leaving Jake speechless.
He made his way back to the pool tables, beers in hand and a shocked look on his face. Once he set the bottles down, Jake looked up and began to glance around for any sign of the Seal he had been speaking to. “Who you lookin’ for?” Coyote asked, stepping up next to him.
“A Navy Seal.”
Coyote did a double take. Swallowing his drink, he asked “Did you just say a Navy Seal? Where the hell did you find one of those?”
“Up at the bar not even five minutes ago.”
“The fuck you doin’ chattin’ up a Navy Seal?” Coyote was looking at him like he was crazy. “Don’t they like have three dozen ways to murder you with a rusty spoon?”
“Probably. But she was hot. And seemed to be interested, so who knows if I’ll be a rusty spoon victim,” Jake replied. Not so deep down he was hoping that he’d get the chance to see her again, but stumbled over the sudden realization that he didn’t know her name. Well, that would be a problem for the next time. Turning back to the group, Jake found them watching him with curious looks. “What?”
“Next time that Seal comes back,” Phoenix told him, “Make sure she says hi. I want to know whose ass to protect when you wind up dead in a back alley.”
“Et tu, Nix?” Jake gaped at her, mimicking a pearl-clutching older woman before his face fell back into its usual cocky grin. “You’ll meet her, and you’ll regret saying that.”
Phoenix laughed. “I’ve got the power of being a woman on my side. Bet she doesn’t often get the chance to chat about her experience as a woman in the Navy with someone who understands,” she replied with a shrug. “Now are we playing or what?”
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’. Keep your shirt on,” Jake drawled, setting his drink down and grabbing the pool cue from her outstretched hand. “Ready?”
“Fuck yeah.” A sharp grin from Phoenix had him smirking and if he spent the night trying to beat her, that was no one’s business but his own.
===
Training the next day was brutal. Maverick was clearly playing catch up from missing a day of training and he was making everyone hurt. “Come on Hangman, you’ll have to do better than that!” Phoenix had teased over the headset. “Gotta improve your skills or the hot Seal lady won’t be impressed!”
Jake rolled his eyes, knowing that everyone on the ground listening would hear him if he replied. So he stayed quiet, pulling the throttle up allowing him to go up and over Phoenix and Bob to try and lock on, but failed when Phoenix rolled out of the way. She led them in a chase across the sky, neither plane being ‘hit’, but neither pilot lost.
“What the hell was that?” Bob asked when they landed. “Where did you guys find a Navy Seal?”
Phoenix chuckled, “Bagman found her at the bar last night. He’s smitten.” Having landed back on the airstrip and taxiing it back towards its storing bay with the other Dagger aircraft, she unclipped herself from the harness and jumped down only to be met by Hangman standing right behind her. “Jesus fuck!” She yelled, right as Bob shouted “What the shit man?”
“Nothin’. Jus’ creepin’. Wanted to freak you out a bit,” he said with a shrug and a mischievous grin crossing his face.
“Asshole.”
“That’s me Nix, that’s me.” And Jake wandered off in the direction of the classroom to hear what Mav had to say.
Bob hopped down and watched him walk off. “You think he’s aware that a Navy Seal has standards?”
Phoenix snorted. “Unlikely. But maybe that’s why he’s trying to sneak around here so he can impress her. I won’t tell him that sneaking up on a Seal is a death sentence.” She pulled her helmet off, tucking it under her arm. “C’mon Bobert, let's get ripped into by Mav.”
“If you’re not telling, I’m not telling,” Bob replied with his own grin. “And do we have to? I’d much rather stay here where it’s somewhat safe with my ego intact, thank you.”
“Right? I would too if Mav wouldn’t send out a search party to find us,” she quipped. “Come on, better late than never.”
“I think the Seal would disagree with you.” But he followed Natasha anyway, trying not to drag his heels to avoid what he was sure would be the telling off of his life.
===
Unsurprisingly, Bear was also on base. After all, this was the only Navy base on Coronado Island, so it made sense that all Navy personnel would be stationed together. What she wasn’t expecting was to run into a pair of Navy pilots as she walked back to her car. “Watch it,” she grumbled, shouldering her way past the man and woman.
“There are Seals on this base?”
“Might want to get your eyes checked there, cause I’m not in-fucking-visible,” she retorted.
“Hold up, sorry. Are you the Seal that Bagman spent half of last night talking about?” The man asked in a quiet voice.
Softening her approach just a smidge, Bear turned and nodded. “I am. Something you wanted to ask?”
“No, not at all. Just curious as to who got our precious Bagman all shook up,” the woman replied, before extending a hand to shake. “I’m Phoenix, this is Bob.”
“Good to meet you. I’m Bear.”
“Bear?” The woman known now as Phoenix asked, confusion crossing her face. “How’d you get that?”
Bear grinned. “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine?” She offered, eyes flicking to the tall quiet man who stood awkwardly off to the side. “I don’t bite, Bob. Not unless you want me to,” she added with a wink.
Bob flushed, and shook his head. “Pretty sure I’d get punched.”
Bear gave him a look. “We’ll revisit that later, but continuing on. You were saying Phoenix?”
With a reluctant sigh, Phoenix explained how she’d had to make an emergency landing when her engines caught fire, resulting in a fiery tail across the sky. “Bird on fire, Phoenix. Same difference.”
The other woman chuckled to herself. “That’s a good one. Bear is because I’m cranky as fuck when I get up in the morning,” she told them.
Bob grinned at her explanation. “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but that is great.”
“I should be heading off. Lots of meetings tomorrow and all, but it was good to meet you both. Maybe I’ll see you around.” With a wave, Bear headed back to her car. “Oh, and one last thing, if it ever gets out to Hangman you met me, don’t tell him my name. He has to work for that one,” she said loudly, turning to walk backwards.
“Sounds like a plan,” Phoenix called back, giving her a quick wave. Quietly to Bob, she whispered “Bagman is in for an uphill climb if he wants to even have a chance with her.”
“I know,” Bob whispered back. “It’s going to be great.”
===
A/N: So many thanks to @startrekfangirl2233, @dakotakazansky, and @sarahsmi13s for being the most incredible beta readers ever! I love you all so much!
And to all my beautiful readers: my inbox is open so come and scream at me in reblogs, comments, or DMs, I promise I will get to you all!
Taglist:
@startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @dakotakazansky @horseshoegirl @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @lavenderbradshaw @roosterforme @bobby-r2d2-floyd @bradleybeachbabe @fandomxpreferences @fighterpilothoe @dempy @gizmodear @chaoticassidy @eli2447 @javden @snubug @indigomaegrimm @twsssmlmaa @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @djs8891 @rhirhikingston @sisterslytherinog @waywardhunter95 @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @melss24 @heli991113 @thegoddessc @sgt-barnesveins Sorry if I missed anyone!
#a gun amonst daggers#jake hangman seresin x reader#Fern finally writes something!#jake seresin imagine#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#jake hangman seresin x you#top gun maverick x reader#top gun maverick x you#hangman fanfiction#hangman x reader#top gun imagine#top gun maverick imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun x reader#controlled chaos squad#callsign bruiser
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ROTTEN LUCK !
ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack
tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.
anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)
two
Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.
Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.
The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?
He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.
‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.
Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.
His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.
You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—
A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.
He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?
Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.
Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.
Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.
While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.
You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.
Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.
One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.
Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.
Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.
You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.
“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.
The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.
He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.
Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.
“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.
The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.
He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.
He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.
Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.
You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.
It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.
The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.
“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”
He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.
Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—
Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”
You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.
CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.
We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—
“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.
The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“
“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”
You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.
“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.
“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.
“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”
“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.
“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”
There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.
“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.
You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.
That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.
He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.
You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.
“Leon?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.
#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy smut#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#resident evil smut#leon s kennedy x you#resident evil x reader
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Pink : Part III : Two
Series Masterlist : Part I : Part II
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Content Warnings: Heavy angst; DD/lg dynamics; Dom/sub undertones; Daddy Kink; Jealousy; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Inappropriate shaving; Squirting; Belly bulge; Dirty talk; Orgasm delay/denial; Overstimulation; Face slapping; Spanking; Light degradation; Rough sex; Breeding kink; Divorce; Not safe to read if triggered by pregnancy; Use of misogynistic language; Discussions of mental and emotional abuse; Cliffhanger
A/N: All tags have been updated.
Word Count: 12.7K
Rating: Explicit 18+
Read on AO3
Ko-fi
3. Two
“You know that feeling of… of realizing you’re a good person? It’s like– yes, I know objectively that I probably am. That I try to be kind, I try to do things that are good and right, but you know those strangely self perceptive moments where another person makes you – forces you – to realize you’re good? And it brings your whole life, your whole self into clarity, and it’s like – I am good, and I deserve good things. I am good.
But he treated me so badly, for so long. He took away pieces of me, he took away that awareness of goodness. And how could I not believe him, when he constantly told me and showed me that I deserved so little, when it was what I accepted for myself? Constantly waiting for him to turn into a man he never was, never had been and never would be. I accepted those things for myself, I let them happen. Maybe I was weak or stupid or naive or all of them combined. Maybe I was just a girl. But I thought it was hope at the time. I thought I was being hopeful and good, and now I realize that was no true form of goodness. It was only the version of good he needed me to be, a subservient and silent type of goodness.”
“And you know, I had a neighbor who– her husband died last year at Christmas, and it was so sad. They were older, always together, it was… it has nothing to do with this, but I don’t know. It was like when a tragedy is soft and quiet, and it just folds into the rest of life unheeded. Such a strange thing for someone on the outside looking in. I lived next door to them, and I’d see them all the time living their lives together, and I barely knew them, but suddenly he was gone, and I was conscious of the fact that she was over there alone all the time now. Without him. When before he’d always been there. I don’t know what I'm trying to say. It’s just that it didn't happen to me, it affected me in no way, and yet, I felt her loss keenly. Afterwards, I helped her with her cat, an old skinny thing, Jazz. She started going out of town a lot after her husband died, getting out and away, you know, that sort of thing. And I’d cat sit for her, and he was so sweet. But he was old too, and a few months later, he died also. And I remember the week he was going to pass she’d texted me and said he’d go soon, and I told her I was praying for him, thinking of the both of them. I don’t even pray, but I needed to tell her I was with her in some way. And it was nothing, a few nights going over there to feed the old boy, a few text messages. It was the absolute bare minimum I could do, but a few weeks after the cat died, she wrote me the loveliest note. She told me that she appreciated me, that she thought of how kind I’d been during those days, when I’d told her I was thinking of them. She told me that I was a good person, and that she hoped my kindness was returned to me many times over.
And I’d forgotten, you see, I'd forgotten that I was good. That I had a capacity for goodness within me, and that I deserved to be reminded of it, like all soft creatures are. We all need reassurance and a kind word sometimes, and I’d forgotten that about myself.” You glance up at his eyes, the most tender look held in them. “Do you know what I mean, Joel?” You ask, voice very small, shy and afraid, for one moment, that he won’t understand you.
But he pets your hair, cradles your cheek, “Yeah, honey. I think I do know.”
It’s a terrifying ordeal, the way the two of you fold into each other in the weeks after that first night. And yet, unstoppable. You do try, and you’re sure he does, as well. The first few days, trying to stay away, not answering his calls, no texts because he says his fingers are too big, and he can’t work those tiny fuckin’ buttons, forcing yourself not to run back over there into his arms and his bed. But then he’s calling and calling and calling, begging, making it his turn to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, saying all the right things like, I haven’t been sleeping, and I need to see you, and I’m suffering, I’m suffering without you, touching you in all the right ways that should be wrong but aren’t. All baby, I hurt when I’m not inside this sweet pussy. He says you make him weak, and you tell him that the only weak thing here is you, and you don’t make it much of a struggle for him when you let him in your home, in your cunt, when all you can say is I miss you, I miss you, your cock, your hands, I can’t stop thinking about you. The two of you are one and the same in all the ways it counts. And he’s not your father-in-law anymore, a chameleon now in the form of the only man who’s ever understood you, wanted you, seen you as more, as a complexity.
He makes you wonder how you could have ever thought of yourself as anything like sexless when all he makes you is hungry and desperate and wet. Fucking everywhere you can, as often as you can, never being very careful, pulling out and counting your cycle and starting out with a condom but ripping it off halfway through because I just have to feel you – irresponsible bullshit. Not having your head screwed on tightly enough to even really care. He has you on his living room floor one afternoon, whole day gone away on his cock, and the two of you lay there for hours afterwards, bare limbs wrapped around each other, soft, wet cock tucked safely inside of you where he says it belongs. “How could you have not been angry?” You ask him because you can’t help yourself. Because you want him to teach you to be wise now that he’s shown you how to be good. “That he was kept from you? That you missed an entire lifetime of being a father? I never once saw you furious or resentful. How did you do it?”
“Don’t know,” he sighs. “Dunno… I– It was, kind of, the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me, truth be told, but I didn’t have a chance to compute, to sit in any sort of anger. He was right there all of a sudden, too full of anger to leave any left over for me, and he needed me so much. He needs me so much.” And you know he’s right, and there should be guilt now, gnawing at you, but there is really only jealousy. “And he– he…” A swallow, like you can read his mind, you know what he’ll say, already nodding. “And he hates me,” he whispers into the quiet of this lovely home he’s made for himself, his words mixing with the butter yellow ray of sunshine the two of you are lying in, slanting in through the big bay window. “He hates me, hates who I am. That it’s me he found when he came lookin’.” You have to cry for him then, maybe even for the both of them, maybe even for all three of you.
“Yes,” you choke, so full of sadness for the tragedy of it all. You can’t comfort him with a denial for you’re not a liar here with him. Protection like that isn’t necessary.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He hugs you so tightly, “There’s no reason to cry.”
“I can’t help it,” And return the words he’d given you once when you’d so badly needed a kindness, “You deserve more.”
He’s quiet for a long time after that, and you know him well enough now that you can hear the gears of his mind working and turning, and that makes you even sadder, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of all, this knowing, and eventually he says: “And yet, he is the son I have.” And at the end of it all, you think you are all only yourselves, and nothing can really be done about that.
And you say you want to be wise like him, that it’s your next lesson, so perhaps you should hold your tongue instead of saying: “He only just got you back, and I’m taking you away from him again. Because that’s what I want – I want to take you away and keep you only for myself. I want you to be only mine and that makes me bad. I’m bad.” Your first lesson quashed beneath the fist of your greed for a man who isn’t for you, and who you shouldn’t want, and it’s wrong and maybe even sinful or disgusting or any and all the things that are always bad. None of that matters. He’s turned you into a real person now, none of the rest of it matters.
But he understands, because of course he does, because he always has. He grips your jaw in his hands, large, strong hands, hands made for taking care of things, and tells you, not so wise seeming anymore: “Sometimes I look at myself, and it’s like I'm two feet tall. Why didn’t I meet you sooner? First? How could I have been such a coward to not go out there and search for you? I should have known you were out there, I should have sensed it. How can a man be jealous of his own son?” He turns you over then, cock hard and thrusting again, kisses you full on the mouth, and it tastes like ownership, and says, “You could never be bad. No matter what you did. You’re only ever good. Haven’t I taught you that?”
-
“Joel, there’s someone at the door,” peeking into the restroom where he’s just stepped out of the shower, wet and steaming, shaking his head out like a dog, towel covering all the fun bits. He’d just had you too many times already, and still, you want more. You’re made of nothing but greed now; he’s taught you how to be good, but he’s also taught you how to be greedy. You’d been strewn across his couch, eating chips and wearing his clothes and leaking his come and waiting for him to finish in the shower and come out to make dinner. He was doing steaks on the grill and baked potatoes with all the fixings and roasted vegetables, and he’d even gotten a pie and ice cream, but he said he wasn’t telling you what the flavor was, only that it was your favorite, and you can’t think how he’d know you love rhubarb, but if that’s what he’s gotten, you were going to let him do anything to you. Literally anything he wanted. Not that you didn’t already… but still, it’s the sentiment that counts, you think. He’d also said you weren’t allowed to shower, that the rule tonight was that you weren’t allowed to wash him off, and you really didn’t mind that so much. So there you were, after he’d put on Stepmom for you, and you were just thinking that Julia Roberts was surely the most beautiful woman who’d ever been born, when someone had knocked on the door, a rhythmic, friendly: tap, tap, tap, that had your heart dropping down into your stomach, and you scurrying into the master bath to frantically tell him that someone is here while you’re here wearing him all over and inside of you and what are you going to do now? He gives you a calm smile, running the towel over his wet head, giving you an eyeful of the fun bits now, and you try and not peek, you really do, but it’s really just the most exciting part on him, you can’t help yourself. His smile turns knowing, that look in his eye, “S’alright, sweetheart. Don’t fret, I’ll get it.”
“But–” you try and protest, maybe he should just pretend not to be home. What if it’s– you can’t even think of it. But then no, he’d not come here. He hates coming to this house, the proof of everything he wasn’t all in his face like this was humiliating for your ex-husband.
His smile remains, but his eyes go a little stern, “No worryin’, I’ll take care of it.” He tugs on his jeans, the man literally never wears underwear, slut, and tugs on a shirt, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he passes you, hand dragging over your belly, smelling of soap and Joel and want, want, want. You follow him on tip toes down the hall, pausing at the mouth of the living room, chewing on your lip and your fingers, about to spit your heart out with nerves as he pulls the door open.
“Hi, Joel, honey. How’s it goin’?” Pretty, bubbly, overly friendly voice you were definitely not expecting. You take a small step forward, the mouth of the hall slightly to the left of the front door so that you can see her without her seeing you, watch his profile as he talks to her. Edie, he says, and that dishwasher givin’ you trouble again, and laughs at her reply, the sound of their conversation going out of your ears as you watch him, head falling sideways on your neck a little bit, the way he laughs at whatever the woman that’s come knocking on the door of his home all friendly and comfortable to interrupt his time with you is saying, loud, bellyfull, one arm braced against the doorframe so that you can see her eyes flit every few seconds to the thick bulge of muscle there. Your face goes hot, your insides green and bitter, but he’s laughing just handsomely enough that you know it’s not real. You know his real laugh, and it isn’t this one. The woman leans forward, blonde hair and big boobs and batting lashes, but Joel shifts backwards subtly, keeping a respectful distance, and your pulse throbs at the backs of your knees and the pit of your stomach. She likes him, she’s here because she likes him, asking him to look at her dishwasher or something, yeah, sure, sure that’s the only thing she wants looked at.
“I’ll come take a look at it tomorrow. How ‘bout that? I’m sure it’ll be another quick fix like last time, but you should probably think about just replacin’ the thing at this point,'' he tells her.
“Oh, can’t you now, Joel?” She pouts, “It’s just that–”
“I’m tied up tonight, Edie,” he cuts her off, an indulgent, too charming smile on his face, and oh, it pisses you off, that smile. You turn on your heel, stomping down the hall back to his bedroom. Huffing, gnashing your teeth. The sight of him with another woman, a more appropriate woman because of course she is, it makes you sick, angry, something terrible, so, so jealous your bones itch beneath the surface of your skin. It makes you small and slanted again, wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl. Not for him, never for him, and it’s so unfair, and he is so– so… Smiling at her like that, using that tone of voice, propping up his stupid huge arm like that so that his muscle’s all defined and put on display, and you hate him and the way he makes you feel and how much you want and need him. On the verge of tears or screaming or vomiting you scramble around his room, trying to collect your clothes and your strewn panties and where the fuck is your bra and your other shoe?
“What’re you doin’?” Comes his soft, steady voice a moment later. Entirely too even for the way you feel right now. You want to hiss at him or bite him or do something entirely uncivilized.
“I have to go home.”
“Why?”
“I have something to do. I forgot.”
“Something, what? What do you have to do?” But you ignore him, rifling through the strewn clothes on the armchair in the corner – where the hell is your goddamn bra? “Look at me–” he barks, now having stepped further into the bedroom.
“Oh, fuck off,” and there’s a part of you that knows that you’re being irrational, that he’s done nothing wrong, but you feel so provoked suddenly. In need of a fight or a thrashing or something, something to make this terrible feeling poisoning you on the inside go away.
“Watch your mouth, little girl,” and his voice is so calm and so quiet and so scary. It makes you lock up one second, spin around the next to spit and hiss at him like an angry cat. You will not watch your mouth. “She wants you.” You almost stomp your foot like a child throwing a fit, but he’s entirely still and silent, taking you in with the most unfathomable of looks. “Do you know that?” And this time you do stomp your foot. “Do you want her back?”
He blinks once, and then like a lightbulb turning on, even though you’re obvious as daylight, “You’re jealous.”
“Do you want her back?” You ask again, real tears in your voice this time.
And his gaze goes soft and tender and entirely understanding, “Never.” He shakes his head.
“She looked like a fucking idiot.” You pout, childish – how will he ever want you when you act like this?
“I only want you.” But you don’t believe him. How could you? When there’s nowhere for this to go. When he deserves so much more than the options afforded to him here between the two of you. And you want to fight with him because there’s nothing to be done, no choices, no other recourse, and it’s not his fault and there’s no one to blame and no outlet for this terrible anger inside of you. You feel like you’re choking on it, being swallowed whole, that head breaking water feeling reversed so that now you’re deep at the bottom of the well of your own wanting. You turn back to the fruitless search for your bra. He’s hidden it from you, you’re sure, some evil old man ploy to keep you here trapped and braless with him. “Did you hear me? I only want you,” he says again, voice closer now.
And you think you’re mumbling or crying, something hysterical bubbling up inside of you, I have to go, I have to go, your movements manic and jerking. He grips your arm, jerking you around into his chest, face flushed with anger now, but voice still even, “You’re not fucking listening to me. I only want you,” and yanks your hand to feel the hard cock trapped beneath the confines of his jeans. This is only for you. But it’s not, not in any real way, not in a way that would let you keep him and that realization sets something off inside of you. You thrash in his hold, let me go, let me go, trying to kick him in the shins while he tries to wrap his arms around your struggling form, that rumbling chant constant in your ear, I only want you, I only want you, I am only for you. It feels like he’s burrowing beneath your skin, unzipping you, splaying your insides wide open for his gaze, taking hold of your bones, a puppet on his string. You manage to yank your arm out from beneath his grip and unthinking, a buzzing so high pitched it makes you dizzy and nauseous sounding in your ears, you slap him in the face. Not very hard, maybe, but enough that you hear the crack of your palm meeting the grizzled scruff of his cheek. The sound like a bone snapping, setting off something inside both of you even worse, more frenzied than before. He groans deep in his chest, big hand fisting in your hair and jerking it back so hard you yelp in pain. “Hit me again, do it again. I want you any way I can have you, even angry. Do it again,” he goads you on, but that mindless hand is fisted in his shirtfront now, pulling you closer to him, tear stained mouth seeking his, opening to receive his filthy kiss.
“I’m sorry,” you cry, but all he says is that he only wants you, again and again, grips you harder, makes it hurt more, and you whine and whimper and scratch and bite, a wild thing, the two of you caught up in some strange struggle of push and pull and want and fight. You can feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your belly, searching for something hot and wet to fuck into, and you hitch your knee around his hip, open yourself to him, listen to his groan in your ear, throaty and full.
“You just need a little remindin’? Don’t you, huh?” He tugs your head back, none too gentle, to look at your tear slicked face, his eyes on fire, almost a little manic. He spins you away from him, shoving you towards the bed, ignoring your whines and protests, shut up and bend over, pushing you over the edge of the bed and crouching down behind you. “You just need a little remindin’ of how to be a good girl. I know that’s all this fightin’ is. Right, baby?” No, you try and struggle, kicking your leg out uselessly to the side, but he pins you with your arms back behind you at the small of your waist, pushing his shirt up your back to expose the naked curve of your ass and the pussy you know he’ll find humiliatingly wet and hungry for him. “Just need remindin’ of how to be a good girl for me, right?” His fingers slide down to the apex of your thighs, finding you dripping and swollen from his earlier use and your current desire, all twisted up and compounded ten fold with your jealousy.
“So wet already for me, baby,” he coos at you.
And oh, he’s so annoying, and you’re so embarrassing and weak for him. “Shut up, old man,” you whine. A single finger enters you slowly, rubbing up against all the terribly sensitive and swollen places inside of you, then pulls his wet fingers from you to deliver a single stinging swat to the curve of your ass, sticky wet imprint of yourself left behind.
“Yeah, and this old man fucks you better than anyone else,” he slips his fingers gently back inside of you, “Remember that you little whore,” he says even more gently. The words make you twist and writhe, a terrible flush of lust burning through you. He feels you tighten around his fingers, groans appreciatively. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He twists his fingers inside of you, pressing hard against something that makes you feel like you’re about to wet yourself. You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head, refusing to answer. “No lyin’. You daddy’s little whore?”
“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, your hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. He brushes his thumb slowly over your pulsing clit, plays you like a game.
“No?” His voice is so soft, so teasing.
“I’m not your whore–”
“You’re not? Then what are you, baby? Tell me.”
You’re right there, so close, about to come on his fingers. “I'm your baby. I'm your baby. I’m yours– I belong to you, daddy.” He pulls his fingers from your cunt, hand coming to grip your ass cheek so hard it hurts, fingernails digging into your soft skin, dragging down the smooth surface. You can hear him panting behind you, shaking, trying to control himself. He makes a gruff, rough sound in his throat, gentles his grip on you.
“You don’t think I don’t get fucking jealous?” he spits when he’s finally managed to control himself. “You think I don't think about you with my own son and want to die? That he got to have you in a way I never will, and even worse, wasted you? You don’t think it makes me sick with envy?” He brings his fingers back to play in your wet folds, feels the slick drip of you, thrums at your clit, opening you to him with a hand on your cheek and licking you from clit to asshole. Running the flat expanse of his tongue over the length of your sex and then sucking hard at the apex of nerves, hard enough that you can’t tell if it hurts or feels good or a little bit of both. He’s got you bent over the end of his bed facing the dresser so that you have a clear view of the two of you in the mirror above it. And the sight of him, massive frame crouched down behind you, huge and hulking, face buried in your cunt from behind, the curved slope of his nose, the long, thick lashes, eyes closed like he’s enjoying himself more than he’s ever enjoyed anything else in his entire life as he licks your ass and sucks on your clit. He pulls back, and you watch, almost in slow motion, as he shocks you by swatting your entire sex with his big hand, and then immediately brings his face back to lick and kiss your smarting skin. “But he didn’t fuck you the way you needed to be fucked,” he continues. “And I do. He didn’t understand you, but I do. At least I have that.” It sounds like he’s consoling himself, and you can’t help but find consolation in it as well. Your eyes move up to your own reflection, sweat slicked and tear stained, eyes glassy, wet fingers inside of your mouth because you need something to chew on to stand the terrible throbbing in your cunt on the verge of coming. He licks you again, presses his tongue to your asshole. “Did you ever get wet for him like this?” He pulls back, runs the pads of his fingers over your clit in fast, hard up and down motions, makes it feel so good it hurts, you’re right there, you’re right there, pulls away. “Were you ever desperate for him like this? Cunt all drippy and swollen and pathetic for him like you are for me, my sweet baby?”
Never, daddy. Never. Only you. You can’t lie to him when he’s got his tongue inside of you, it’s just not possible. Only me. Only mine. You press up on your tippy toes, roll back down onto the balls of your feet, “Yeah, rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s face,” he mumbles into your skin, slurps at you. He wraps his lips around your clit once more, sucks and licks and sucks again, and your cunt goes so, so tight, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, daddy, and then just stops. Pulls away entirely, gets to his feet, leaves you to throb and shiver and beg, whole body flashing hot and cold on the precipice of orgasm. Still holding you pinned in place with your wrists at the small of your back, you watch his eyes roam along your draped form, he drags his hand down the wet length of his face, wiping the drippiness of your slick away. “Stay just like that for me,” and his eyes move to yours in the mirror, as if he’s known the entire time just how riveted on him you’d been. “What?” He asks with a crooked brow and a mean little smirk. “You think you get to come? After that little display?”
“Don’t be mean,” you whisper, staying exactly as he’d directed. Trying your best to be a good girl.
“Shoulda thought of that before, sweet girl.” He bends over the length of you so you’re eye to eye now, gets his face right up close to yours and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You wanna pretend to fight, stand there like an indignant little girl stomping your foot and yellin’ about bein’ jealous while my come runs down your thighs still. Obviously, I’m not doin’ a good enough job of remindin’ you you’re mine, how much I want you. Gonna fix that now.” Presses another soft kiss to your mouth now.
“You’re trying to dominate me,” you whine, struggling to press against his mouth again even as he pulls back out of your reach, plants a big palm between your shoulders to keep you still.
“You bet your fuckin’ ass I am. You’re gonna do what I tell you to when you’re letting me fill you with my come the way you are. And you’re gonna like it too. You get me?”
“Yes, daddy.”
But then he goes serious, that teasing glint in his eyes flickering away suddenly. “You have nothing to be jealous of. Ever. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t care about anything else but this.” And even though you’re sure it must be a lie, it sounds so lovely, you choose to believe him for now. You nod up at him, sniffling and crying again a little bit. “And no one takes care of you like I do,” he finally says, as if it’s a reminder, a consolation to the both of you once again.
And he’s right, as he tells you to stay put, be a good girl and not move, leaves you there bent over the bed, that chant sounds in your mind, no one takes care of you like he does, no one, no one, no one.
-
He steps back into his bedroom to the sight of you still draped over the bed, big eyes wet and slightly vacant, pussy red and swollen and bared to him like a wound with his name on it. You’d brought your fingers up to your mouth, chewing on your fingernails the way you did sometimes when you were anxious or overwhelmed, and when your eyes flit to him, taking in the bowl of warm water, the washcloth and shaving cream in his hold, they go wide, shocked. He arranges his things, gripping you by the hips to turn you over, pulling his shirt from you, leaving you entirely naked, and settling between your spread thighs. “Wh– what are you doing?” Voice all breathy and hitched, the thrum of your excited pulse in your throat.
“Gonna shave you bare. Then I’m gonna eat you ‘til you’re crying, ‘til you’re so swollen you can barely take my fingers. After that, I’m gonna wedge my cock inside you and fuck you ‘til you’re so full’a my come you’ll remember not to forget you ain’t got no reason to be jealous ever again.” He strokes your curls gently with the pad of his thumb, something like fondness in the gesture, clicks his tongue. “These’re so pretty. Gonna miss ‘em.”
“Oh my god,” you choke when he drapes the water warmed washcloth over your spread pussy.
“You wanna be a brat, you wanna fight and act like you don’t know I belong to you and you to me? That none of that other shit matters– I’m gonna remind you, don’t worry.”
You crane your neck, pushing up on your elbows to watch him remove the washcloth and cover the soft curls of your groin with shaving cream. When he opens the blade and brings it to your skin, the sight of the straight edged blade against you, the smooth cream as the steel reveals the bare, satin soft skin beneath, has your chest heaving, sweat pooling at the little notch of your throat – fucking gorgeous and his.
“You’re going to be so sensitive, baby,” he murmurs as he bends your leg back and opened wide, splitting you for his gaze. Delicate with the movements of his wrist as he shaves you. “All bare and slick down here, just for me. You’re so swollen already.”
You mumble something, moaning and letting yourself flop back against the mattress, he’s quick to pull the blade from you, pausing his movements while you settle, gives you a second to press the balls of your palms into the sockets of your eyes, whining Joel and daddy and please. And the trust in this moment between the two of you, that you’re letting him wield a blade so close to your fragile center, letting him do this to you as a way to remind the both of you of the power you cede and wield over and to one another, something that gives him the opportunity to inflict his will in a way that recenters you, reminds you that you’re his, his to do with you as he will, and it’s just the two of you in this space and you trust each other implicitly, it has a sense of control swelling inside of Joel, making his cock rock hard in his jeans, leak down his thigh. Control in a way there is none of in everything else between the two of you. Control in a way there cannot exist in any other aspect of your relationship. When he’s finished, he cleans you slowly with a new warm, damp cloth, then goes to put away his supplies, and when he returns, he looms over you, taking in the sight of your little bald cunt now.
Slowly, he starts to pull his clothes off, watching the quick panting of your breathing, the dip and swell of your belly, so aroused by the intimacy you’ve just shared that your pupils are blown wide and dark. “You’ve made such a mess, little girl,” he says, dragging a single finger through your overflowing slit, following the slick from your swollen clit to your asshole where it pools beneath. He fingers your folds gently, avoiding your swollen clit, your little hole winking at him wantonly. “Please–” you whisper so softly, almost gasping for breath you can barely get the words out.
“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know you need to come so bad, don’t you?” He drags his palms up and down your thighs, up to your waist and then tugs you down over the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him, wide eyes riveted hungry on his cock. “How does it feel? So sensitive, isn’t it?” He’s so hard his erection stands straight up towards his belly, balls hanging heavy and full and aching. He gently drags his fingers along your scalp, feels the heat emanating from your skull. “Lick it all over, get it nice and wet so I can put it inside you.” He knows he needs to be careful now. The two of you are wide open to each other in this moment, so on edge he could come just at the look in your eyes, and you, something more than just vulnerable. He’d worried briefly, in the past weeks, if he should stop, send you away, take himself away, tell you it was too much. You were getting too attached, and although he knew it was too late for himself, that he was beyond salvaging when it came to you, he could imagine nothing worse than seeing you come out hurt from this. Could also imagine no scenario in which you wouldn’t anymore. He feeds you his cock, fisted tightly at the root to stave off his impending orgasm, slides all the way to the back of your throat until he feels his tip hit resistance, enjoying the sight of you choking on it for just a second. Good girl. “Fuck– fuck, yes. See, see how good you can be for me?” He tells you as you suck on his tip, hollowing your cheeks and running your tongue all around the wide head, tonguing his foreskin, making him hiss and bear his teeth at you while you look up at him with falsely innocent eyes. He yanks you up and against him, gives you a filthy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and false control, swallowing down the taste of his own precum. He’s never felt less in control of himself, of a situation, than he does right now. He has, in these past weeks, entirely lost sight of himself, of what this should and should not have been, blindly led by his cock and his heart. He’s lost all control, and Joel is nothing but weakness and want now.
Turning you in his arms, he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide and pulls you onto his lap, impaling you back onto his spit-slick cock so swiftly he doesn't even think you’re expecting it until he’s bumping against your womb, your knees hooked and spread wide over his own. Too desperate to lick your cunt again the way he’d planned. You let out a long, shocked keen, back arching, trying to escape the too big cock suddenly shoved inside of your tiny hole. Joel has to grit his teeth, take deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth before he can speak at the feel of you fluttering and pulsing around him, “The more you whine, the harder I’ll fuck you, got it?” There’s nothing even close to a coherent response coming out of your mouth, and he was right, shaved bare like this, you’re so much more sensitive. He pulls the lips of your sex gently apart around where he’s impaling you, takes in the sight of your little hole stretched obscenely around his fat cock in the mirror’s reflection and slowly starts to seesaw his hips back and forth, watching his glossy length disappear in and out of you. “How does it feel, baby? You’re so pretty, look at yourself.” He whispers into the small shell of your ear, presses a soft kiss to the lobe, tugs on it with his teeth. He slides in all the way, pulling your hips down so that his balls press against the curve of your ass. “Look, see where daddy’s so deep inside you – can see it in your belly.” Your head lolls back on his shoulder, gaze hooded and delirious, but your hand moves down to the soft skin of your stomach, gently cupping the outline of his cock inside of you. “I’m so deep inside of your tiny cunt, baby. Look at how you’re all mine–” He starts to move again, flicking at your clit, interchanging between fast and hard and slow and so soft you can barely feel it, and your face looks like you want to say something, tell him something, scream, but can’t. And there’s so much he’d like to tell you too, all the things you deserve and probably need to hear from him, but can’t either. He feels you start to tighten up on him, the heat in your body suddenly seeming to flush higher and brighter, almost to boiling, your cunt going so, so tight it almost pushes him out. He presses inside harder, holds you in place with one hand, and thrums fast and hard at your clit with the other, focusing the tip of his cock at the front wall of your pussy, “You’re gonna come–” he grunts, holds you in place and hammers into that swollen place inside of you he’d kill to own for the rest of his life. “Fuck– fuck, you’re gonna squirt all over my cock, aren’t you? Can feel it–” Your face spasms, your belly clenching hard and tight, and you gush, letting out a pained, animal sound, voice broken and breathless, wetting both of your thighs with your come, the bed covers beneath soaked dark. Joel doesn’t stop. He wants more, again, all of you, thrums again at your clit with the pads of his fingers, changes the angle of your hips to roll you fast and hard onto his come-slicked length, pinches your clit hard, watches you squirt all over him again. Something like the sound of his name leaves your mouth in a broken cry, your chewed raw nails trying to claw at him ineffectively. “Dirty fucking girl – creamin’ all over your daddy’s cock,” his voice is gruff, not entirely his own. There’s something here – you’d told him once you’d always felt out of control. In your relationship with Sam, aware of what he was, always, of what you were and were not, and that there was something about control that was so necessary to you now. And there is something here like control, your control over him, taking hold of him entirely so he’s unsure of what it is he should and should not be, here and now, with you. He should not be delusional, he should be aware. He is not adhering to either very well.
He goes to his feet with you still impaled on his throbbing length, erection so hard it hurts, can barely stand up straight, blood pounding on rhythm to the chant of your name. He pulls you from him, watches the slick slide of your cunt walls dragging along his length, the cream of your slick left as a reminder all over his skin. He presses you onto the bed, rolls you this way and that too look at you all over, bends to drag his tongue through that drippy cunt of yours that squirts and comes so prettily for him, then back up and kneeling above you, between your glossy thighs, and thrusting into that tight cunt, grunting as you clench around him. So hard he feels the screaming tip of his cock punch against your cervix, listens to you make a hurt, hiccupy sound when his balls slap against you.
He should be gentle. He should be careful. He should be aware, not delusional, himself. He should reach back and take hold of that man he always thought himself to be, hard and cold but never cruel. Maybe not good, but always aware and never weak. He’s none of those things now here with you. Joel is now only himself. You’ve made me into a real person, you’d whispered onto his tongue. What he’d not told you was that you’d done the same to him.
You’re a gift, a gift, a gift, a gift. A gift in the way his son never was. A gift in the way that a whole lifetime lost and returned to him never was, and Joel is weak and two feet tall and made of paper, but for you. Anyways, or despite it all, still made only for you.
“Fuck me like you’re in love with me,” you say, read his mind, take hold of the beating mass in his chest. Fuck me like you’re in love with me. And maybe you don’t mean it. Maybe you’re too far gone. It doesn’t matter.
He does it anyway. Pulls back, wedges back inside the too swollen, too sensitive, too tiny cunt that belongs to him. He bears his teeth at you, grabs hold of your face so hard you’ll bruise, and fucks you like he’s in love with you. It comes to him so easily, after all.
Shoving his knees high up beneath your thighs, he brings your ankles to his shoulders, little feet knocking against his ears, he wishes for sense, he finds none, only a deeper, sharper angle. The sounds of your cries and the things you whisper in his ear he knows you should not say and he should not listen to that fill him full of things he should not feel like I was made for you and daddy, there’s no one like you and come inside me, please, please, I need it. He pulls his hips back, swings them forward, listens to the sound of his balls slap, and you beg for harder, savors the fire that pools in his belly and the base of his spine. And he thinks that he should pull out, he’s been so fucking careless with you and your future and your vulnerability, but he’s like a monster full of greed, intent on nothing but staking his claim, leaving a claim, desperate for a way to be remembered or never forgotten or never left behind. “We have to be careful,” he begs you, and feels scared and terrible for a moment, not to be trusted with a gift like this in his hands. “I’m going to get you fucking pregnant, God.”
But you’re like some siren, something taking him away from himself, and you tell him, “I don’t care, I don’t care,” voice gone so far away from yourself too, all hazy, full of bubbles and too cock drunk to be true or sane, but it lands like a gut punch anyway. And Joel tries to hold onto himself he does, he swears he does, tries to remain rational, and aware of what this was supposed to be and not supposed to be. Tells you to please, “Shut up, shut up. Please, don’t say those things to me, I’m begging you.” But eventually that siren song wins out, the feel of your cunt sucking him deeper, milking him dry, your small damp hands pulling at his hair, stubby nails dragging down the skin of his cheeks, over his back, and Joel’s weak now. Weak and full of want and greed and delusion so that all that’s left is capitulation and: “You want daddy to fuck his babies into you? You want me to fill you up and keep you forever?” But something of himself must remain because he covers your mouth, big hand wrapped around your sweaty little face before you can answer, forcing the words silent inside of your mouth, the truth you both know you’d spit out otherwise. Yes, yes, I do. And as if the idea of you carrying his child held a direct like to your orgasm, you start to come around him, overwhelmed cunt, split in two and carved in the shape of his name now, clenching around him, going so wet and hot and tight Joel’s sure he’ll never be able to leave it ever again. You reach down between the two of you, grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, shiny with your slick and jack him off with sharp little tugs, make sure he fills you with his spend full to the brim. He spills over and out, dribbles down the slope of your ass to leave you lying in a little puddle of his semen, and when he pulls out, careful to not ask you to hold all of his weight over you, he brings your fingers to your gaping cunt, “Feel where daddy’s been,” lets you play in the imprint of himself he’s left behind.
He lays beside you, steaming hot little thing worming up against him, nuzzling beneath his chin, pressing tiny kisses that tell him all the things the both of you need to hear and say, and he feels himself go cool and dry inside and out. Something terrible suddenly swelling within him. Something that reeks of truth, and you must smell it in the air as well because you share a piece of your own painful honesty with him, force him to confront it. “Sometimes I think I’m impossible to love,” in the smallest voice he’s surely ever heard.
“Haven’t I shown you how untrue that is?” Because if there’s one thing he’ll never do with you, it’s lie.
You tuck your hand beneath your cheek, and you glow, and he feels blinded by it for a moment, eyes wide and so vulnerably tender, something afraid that makes something equally vulnerable inside of him rage and beat its chest. “Is that what this is? Are we in love, Joel?”
He thinks you must see the fear in his eyes, because yours suddenly go calm, fathomless, something steady for him to hold on to, and that stench of honesty chokes him. “Yeah–” he nods, swallows, thinks of his son, hates himself. “I think so, baby.”
-
What can remain the same after honesty like that? After splitting yourself open and showing each other your insides in such a way? What could possibly remain the same? Nothing. The truth is laid bare, and all that’s left now. And instead of setting you free, the truth never really sets you free, it makes everything terribly fraught and frightened and fragile.
When he moves to stand, the sound of your desperation for him to make you his in an irreversible way rings like exploding shrapnel in your ears, “Do you think we’re bad?” You ask because you’ve only ever wanted to be good, but his eyes are so haunted, large and round and fathomless. His face, taking on a sudden sort of gauntness as he thinks of what to say to you after the worst has already been said. You watch the line of his throat ripple as he swallows several times, reading the real truth in his eyes before he shakes his head slowly, incongruous like a lie, “Never you,” and he does not include himself, “Never you.” It’s devastating. Devastating that the only thing that’s ever mattered, the thing that has finally made you good, is bad in his eyes.
You sit at the kitchen table, watching him while he makes dinner for you. Cold and shivery and wet between your legs in a way that’s not comfortable anymore. In a way that feels like an essential part of you is slowly dripping out, leaving you grossly empty inside. The beautiful dinner he’d bought and made for you tastes like ash wrapped in all the honesty surrounding the two of you, and you stare at each other and there's no need for more words because the truth is all right here in front of the two of you to see with your own two eyes. You want to go get dressed, but you don’t want to call attention to the seed of wrongness that’s been planted now. Are we in love? When the answer had so obviously been yes for so long already. Naive, silly girl. And you want to be angry with him. Ask him why he’d done this to you, made you fall in love with him when he’d said before that you couldn’t, when it was all so hopeless. You also want to hear him say it, say the words out loud with teeth and tongue and sound, you want to taste the words in your mouth because seeing them in his eyes wrapped in all that hopelessness isn’t nearly enough to satiate this hunger he’s stoked inside of you. You want to ask him to hold you, to crawl into his lap and have him cradle you like a child protected in the embrace of stronger, wiser arms. You want to have never been put on this path, to have never met his son, never have married him, never have met him. You want the whole terrible ordeal to be wiped from mind and mouth and memory. You want to have not had to accept it all, not have moved on, not be grateful in ways you can’t even understand for the lesson it’d all posed. You want it all to have never happened. To never have experienced the entire convoluted mess of feelings this ordeal of tearing down your entire life to make yourself anew had caused. To have never fallen in love with your ex-husbands father.
He sits in his chair, hands cupping his chin for so long, silent and staring, probably wondering what to do with you, and when he finally stands, nothing but a long, pained sigh to interrupt the terrible silence, you finally muster the strength to go find that missing bra. Crawl home, once again a ghoul in the night in need of wound licking. And it must be that very same terrible silence, the even more terrible look in his eyes that has something pressurized, set to burst, bottled inside of you because when a knock on the door sounds once again, you don’t even stop for half a thought, exploding suddenly. In his clothes and come, ripping the door open, the words on your tongue ready to spit at her that he’s already got one desperate woman on his hands that needs taking care of, and no, he will not be fixing her dishwasher or her pussy or anything else she thinks she might need him for.
But it’s not the neighbor. And you have nothing but fear lodged in your throat to spit out when you meet his eyes.
Eyes like his father’s, colder, crueler, furious and humiliated, take you in. Just fucked hair and a flannel that’s not your own, mis-buttoned, come-dryed thighs. And worst of all, his voice, like he isn’t even that surprised, like he’d come here just to find this, “You fucking whore.”
“Sam–” you’re not sure if you actually say his name, but the intention is held there, on the tip of your tongue. A plea for mercy or a shout for help or protection or something.
“You fucking whore,” and you flinch at the scream in his throat, scuffle back into the safety of the house of the man you love who is the father of the man you were married to, the man who broke you, the betrayed son. He’s shocked still for a single second, before he’s charging at you, fist not entirely raised but definitely held with consideration. And, “I knew it, I always fucking knew it,” before Joel is there, stepping between you and your ex-husuband, his son, blocking you with his body, big hand wrapping entirely around your forearm to hold you close to himself, to hold you in his protection.
“You better put your fucking arm down before I break it, son.” That moment, Joel’s voice, the utter betrayal in his son’s eyes. The sound of you breaking something that you should have never ever gotten in between. It is worse than all the rest. You take him in, the sight of this man who you used to be married to, he’d always seemed so large in your eyes before, so unattainable. Something never to be fully touched, only gazed upon. Always apart, always cold. Sam’s eyes fall to the place where his father holds you, and his face spasms, something terrible. Broken and alone, a child cast out into the cold. And you want to say that he seems so different now, haggard and gaunt and whittled down to bare bones, but it isn’t the truth. You always knew what he was, your most terrible bit of honesty. You always knew, you’d just not cared before. There was never any separation, no space for you to take a breath and want better for yourself. To be under his scrutiny, something that at one time felt like admiration, but was never anything even close, it was like nothing else, like everything, a great lie. But he was too aware of it, of himself, of that power he held over you, and unlike his father, he was cruel with it. Your eyes move up to the back of Joel’s head, the hard edge of his jaw, the muscle that spasms furiously there. What would it do to you now to be under that same sort of attention, influence, admiration, but from a kinder, gentler, honest source? What had it done to you? Dangerous to risk yourself again, impossible to stop now.
“I always knew it,” he says again, “I always knew you wanted him. What? You let him fuck you?” The words in his mouth are a terrible thing, Joel says something, tells him to hold his tongue, to get the fuck out, but your eyes are riveted on the sight of his face, this man you used to be married to who’d broken you so completely, who’d stolen your very memory of yourself. He seems wholly unrecognizable now, and in a way, it frightens you, that someone you’d known for what seemed like so long could be such a stranger now. Joel’s hand is an anchor, such a comfort wrapped around your arm. “You barely let me touch you for two years, but you’ll bend over like a whore for my fucking Dad?” His voice breaks and it makes you want to laugh a little bit.
Joel shoves him backward, jerking you forward still in his hold. “Say that word one more time in my house, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you. And don’t fucking look at her,” he snaps, reaching up to give him a quick two tapped slap on the cheek to focus his gaze on himself. “Get out, Sam. I’ll call you later. We can–”
But unheeded or too far gone, like he needs to hear the sound of the words as a comfort to himself in this moment, Sam looks back at you, “You’re a fucking whore. I wish I’d never met you, I hate you.” Joel shoves him backwards again, harder this time so that his leg slams into the side table, overturning the lamp there into a crashing heap on the floor, so hard that when he pulls you with him it feels as if he’ll wrench your shoulder from its socket with the force of his anger. You yelp in pain, but cling to him anyways, refusing to let him go either, hiding behind the hill of his shoulder. Pushing his son away, not letting you go. It’s wrong, it’s wrong and you’d told him that you wanted to keep him, to take him away from his own son, that you were made of nothing but greed, but there’s something wrong here, inherently not right, bad.
And even yet, you can’t help the look on your face that must surely be nothing short of humiliating to Sam for the way he reddens, the little muscles in his face jerking uncontrollably. You’re done here, Sam. Get the fuck out, Joel says again, taking a step forward to herd him out, pulling you along, keeping you close. You taunt him with your gaze, can’t help yourself, “I thought I was a prude?” You say from behind the protection of his father’s body. “Isn’t that what you called me for all those years? Thought I was frigid, unfuckable, unlovable? Am I not anymore?” You ask in a small, breathy voice, falsely guileless, entirely provoking. “Have you changed your mind now that I’ve taken your Daddy from you?” False pout and mocking eyebrow.
Joel’s head snaps over his shoulder, incredulous look on his face, and Sam flinches as if struck, splintered glass in the shape of his son’s gaze, it fractures, falls back to where Joel holds you.“I wanted to talk to you,” He says to his father, “I wanted to– You’re really choosing her over me?” It costs Sam something to say this, and you weren’t expecting it either because suddenly, the game changes. His voice is child-like in its hurt, that son who longed for his father for all those years. “After everything that was stolen from us, you’re not going to choose me?” You know in that moment, he’s won.
“This isn’t about choice, son,” Joel tells him, but you hear it for the lie it is. “This isn’t about you versus her.”
“But it is,” and his eyes flash to yours, victory held in them. “She was my wife. And you’re my father, and you have to make a choice now. This is fucking sick.” There’d always been an intelligence to his cruelty, and he wields it now. The sound of his son’s name is a choked thing in Joel’s mouth. He goes rigid, a painful stillness, muscles vibrating with warring emotions. You hold your breath for it. He looks down at where he holds you, tightens his grip painfully, and then slowly, so that the three of you are sure to take in the whole procession of it, he lets go of your arm. One finger at a time, the heat of his palm leaving you, and you’re alone.
“It isn’t about choice,” he says again, and yet, one has already been made. You stand still, head bent, gaze riveted on the place where he’d let you go. He takes a step away from you, towards his son, and his voice is low and gentle and soothing now, and you’re still staring at the barrenness of your arm.
I had such potential to be good, you think. He just never saw it. But you don’t know who you mean. And you don’t think it matters anymore.
They say more to each other. Joel’s hand on his son’s arm now, pushing him towards the door, but still, still comforting for the thing it symbolizes, a benediction of choice, and you turn around to face the other side of the room. You can’t look – wrapping your arms around yourself. You don’t think you’ll run this time. Face it head on, let it be over now in full. Sam’s voice rings shrill, the sound of your name and curses and accusations, fighting a futile fight against his father’s even baritone, the sound of the slamming door, and then silence. When you turn back over your shoulder, they’ve stepped outside together, leaving you alone inside the house.
He’d asked you once what you wanted, and you can’t fathom what the point of it had been. What does it matter what I want? That’s the least significant thing here. It always was.
When he finally comes back inside, you’re dressed, lost bra retrieved, your bag packed and sitting at your feet. You’d gone into the kitchen just before, taken a peek at the pie, and you were right, and you don’t know how he could have possibly known, but he’d gotten you rhubarb. Your face is dry now, no tears and no will to cry. There’s nothing to speak of in his gaze when he leans back against the door to look at you, swallowing down words you’re sure will mean nothing in the face of all of this. And you look at him and you love him and you think, I was married to a man once and now I’m not and now I’m with his father and I love him in the way I never loved the son; and so now, I must ask myself, am I merely looking for the love of lesser man, who could have never given me what I needed, in the eyes of a man who seems to have all the answers?
You don’t think so. And yet, there are still no answers to be had, and no questions left to ask.
“I’m going this time,” In case he has designs to force you to stay, and even though there’s a light of acceptance in his eyes, he still shakes his head. Swallows and gathers his seams about himself before he says, “You aren’t leaving me,” gaze churning from warry to flinty to resolved.
“I was never supposed to stay at all. I was never supposed to be for you. You said so yourself– you said we couldn’t fall in love. That I wasn't for you.” You get to your feet, pulling your purse over your shoulder, and he rushes towards you, pushing the bag back down to the floor, taking your face in his hands hard, something like panic in his eyes and in the air and in the vibration of his voice.
“It doesn’t matter, none of that matters– Whatever was before, whatever was in the past doesn’t mean shit when it’s just you and me here together–” And you’re crying now, real, great sobs of grief.
“You were the one that said we couldn’t fall in love,” you cry again, try and pull away, but he holds you to himself, squeezes you against him, shivers like he too is crying, burying his face in your shoulder.
“I was a fucking idiot, a damn liar. There was never any other option, baby.” Most terrible of terrible truths, you’d both known if for the lie it was the moment he’d said it, even before, probably. You stand limply in the circle of his embrace. He’d said once that he’d been a coward not to go out and look for you, but you know the opposite is true. No one is more of a coward than you were for not having waited for him. For having been so desperate for love, you’d been willing to settle for the wrong kind. You’ll never be able to settle for false comfort like that again, and it’s all his fault. “You’ve ruined me now. I’m ruined.”
He pulls back to take your face in his hands again, and you were right, he is crying. “I’m ruined! And I need you to give me another chance. I demand another chance– to… to fix this. To–”
But another chance for what? To change what? “He’s your son, and I only want you to be happy.” And you know he couldn’t ever be happy, truly happy, estranged from his only child. After all, like he’d said, the theft of him had been the worst thing ever done. You wouldn’t commit a crime like that against Joel also, never.
“Baby, please, I think… I– I love–”
“Please–” You press the tips of your fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “Please, don’t do this to me now.” It makes you angry, this intent of his to trap you here with his love when there’s no room for you to stay. You turn away, picking up your bag again, but he snatches you back into himself, wrapping his big arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest. And you’d struggle if you could, but there’s so little fight left in you. “You’re the one that said – you said we couldn’t!”
“I know what I fucking said,” he spits, voice so angry it almost frightens you. “But there’s still– We have to talk, we have to–”
“What can you possibly imagine there’s left to say?”
“Everything.”
“Or nothing.”
“Look at me. Look at me–” He pulls your head back and to the side by your chin. There’s a bright flush sitting high on his cheekbones, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between yours, searching for a way to fix this. To fix the good thing that’s now been broken. His thumb strokes the point of your chin softly, and he presses his mouth slowly to yours, eyes open to watch for your reaction. “This wasn’t a mistake,” he tells you, “We weren’t a mistake.” Weren’t. The final nail in the coffin. “I know, I know that there are so many things– that we can’t… but just– just stand here with me for one minute, please. Just give me one more second, and I’ll–”
He doesn’t finish the thought, and you let him kiss you one last time. And when he pulls back, because it doesn’t feel like it really matters, and because you just want to hear the sound of it coming out of your mouth, because you wish it was true and not the complete opposite, because you want to be as cruel and ugly outside as you feel on the inside, you whisper, “I hate you,” a full bodied lie.
His eyes shutter and flicker for a moment, a wash of hurt suffusing them. But because he’s never been a weak man and because he’s always been honest, and he’s always, always above everything else, been good, he says, “And I love you,” and there it is. You’d thought you wanted to hear the sound of that too, but now that you have, it’s more terrible than you could have ever possibly imagined. And after that, there really is nothing left to say.
-
Joel goes to see his brother afterwards because it’s what he always does and who he always goes to when he’s lost. When a son in the shape of a man made of nothing but childish fear and anger and hurt, had appeared one day, dropped out of the blue sky, onto his front porch, when he realized he wanted his daughter-in-law in a way no good man should. And now, that he’s admitted, because the realization had already been there, swift and uncompromising, the admittance had been all that was left, the hard going part, that he was in love with you – in love with the woman who had been married to his son, here he finds himself again. Lost and weak and two feet tall, made of nothing but hollow bones. “I’m not myself,” he tells Tommy, and then amends the lie because he’s not come here to tell lies. “She’s made me into someone I don’t recognize and wish I could be forever.” How would he get his old self back now? Impossible. You’d taken him away with you, he was only half made now, half man, half strength. And Tommy is understanding because it has always only been the two of them, and he’s always seen Joel for exactly who he is without judgement. The most honest eyes in the whole world, his brother. “I'm afraid that she’s the love of my life. I’m afraid that I’m not really so afraid at all. And she won’t even talk to me.” You’d left his house a week and a day ago, and Joel was going out of his mind, losing pieces of himself along the way, his sanity, his sense of right and wrong, his self restraint, self possession. He was about to do something crazy, he felt it gnawing and itching at his bones. He could barely remember the look of betrayal in his own son’s eyes amidst the madness of the memory of the hurt in yours, the sight of you walking away from him. “And my son. My son, my child, Tommy, he hates me. And I’m in love with the woman he used to be married to, who he hurt. And he’s a cruel and small man, and he needs me. He needs my help, and I have a responsibility to him. But Tommy– Tommy, I love her. She’s mine. And what am I going to do? What am I going to say to him? How will I ever face him again? She’s mine, and I– I can’t explain it, I can’t excuse it. But she’s mine– she’s my woman. She belongs to me. I know this as well as I know my own name, my own face.”
And his brother, his brother, his brother who always understands him, who always stands beside him, he claps him on the shoulder and says, “If anyone can find a way, Joel, it’s you. I know you can. You’re stronger and smarter than anyone I’ve ever known. And you don’t abandon yours.” And so Joel must believe him because Tommy is his brother, and he knows him, and he knows that even though he’s weak now, even if he must let himself be weak now, in the face of all of this, Joel is not truly a weak man where it counts.
-
You and Sam had only ever spoken once on the topic of children. It was, from the first moment broached, a non possibility, not even half of an option. Devastating, but now, all this time later, almost like a grace from God. You’d wanted a baby so badly, more than anything in the whole world, and he would not give you one. He’d said your desire for a child was incongruous with your cold nature, how frigid you were.
And you’d been so long, caught in the who am I, in the what am I doing. You never stopped to ask why. Molded into a bad shape, but mute and deaf to the intricacies of what had carved you so. You’d needed to destroy yourself entirely, tear down everything around yourself, and then recreate yourself and everything else in your life in a new image. Perhaps, then, you’d finally have the chance to be good.
Your husband’s father had given you this. Joel had given you this.
And Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. How to tell him that you’re sorry? That you’re vile and cruel and yes, even cold sometimes, but for him, for him you can find it in yourself to be soft, something to be forgiven, you hope. His son had called you a prude, and then, his father’s whore. Did it matter what the truth was? You weren’t so sure. Did you want Joel because you were a whore? Because your own father had never loved you, and you were thus desperate to fill that void left by lesser, crueler men? Did it matter? You hated the idea that this desire for him had to have been born by consequence of another man. What about what you wanted? What about the fact that it felt good when he was inside of you? When he gave it to you rough and hard and when he told you that you belonged to him because you did, because it was the truth. What about the fact that you were in love with him? That should have counted more because you said it counted more. And then that was it, nothing more to the thing of it. So what if he was the father of the man who’d been your husband? The man who’d stolen all of your surety, your passion, yourself. Sometimes, retribution feels fucking good. So what about it? And then, and after all, you were in love with him. So what did it all matter after that?
People liked to say that sometimes a bad thing is worth it if it feels good enough. But what if you didn't think it was bad at all, and what if it didn’t just feel good enough? What if it’s actually everything, the best thing you’d ever had in your whole life? And what if it is simply and solely, or maybe even also, who cares, who cares, what if it is simply because it’s Joel? Joel who is beautiful and strong and good. Maybe even perfect in a way that you need.
He’d told you once that he’d never had the chance to be angry, that it had been stolen from him, the worst thing ever done to me, he’d said. You know that you could never do that to him. Never hurt him in that way. And there might be so many options. Choices. Truths. Yourself. Finally, you are only yourself. Good in the way he’d shown you to be. In a way that did not bow to anything but the sort of goodness you needed. But Joel; above all else, Joel. He is the first choice, and everything else seems inconsequential after that. What is goodness worth in the face of all he’s given you?
So, you sit now, within the basin of your empty bathtub, no more leaky kitchen sink echoing through your empty apartment, he’d fixed it weeks ago, and peer over the lip of the tub. And there, blinking up at you from the face of the skinny pink and white stick, is your answer to goodness. It had always been within yourself. And you think, if it must be just the two of us now, then let it. After all, your father has finally taught me how to be good.
End.
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Don't ruin the sofa
6.5k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 3
Warnings: no outbreak au, implied age gap, mild hurt/comfort, mention of blood, phone sex, talk of anal play, one (1) face slap, rough sex, pain kink, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, degradation/praise, fluffy aftercare, pet names, dom!Joel
Summary: After a phone call brings up repressed emotions, you decide to buy a new sofa. Joel assembles it for you, then fucks you on it.
A/N: You're trying to reach reader? Sorry, she's moved on. (+ is fucking the hottest guy around).
Read the previous parts here: pt. 1 | pt. 2 | masterlist | AO3 (each part can be read alone). Thank you all for your love on this series. Your kind words mean the world to me. 🤍
“How is this my fucking life,” you whisper to yourself and let your phone fall onto the wooden coffee table with a thud. You get up with a groan and drag yourself to the fridge where you know an opened bottle of white wine is waiting for you, then pour yourself a healthy amount, eye the glass, pour some more and shuffle back to the sofa.
As soon as you plop back down, your phone lights up and vibrates for the third time since you came home from work. The loud and resonant buzz, amplified and carried by the hard surface of the table, is aggravating to say the least. You take a big sip of your wine and let out an exasperated sigh when the caller won’t let up. That’s it, you’ve had enough. In a split second you swipe up to take the call and put the phone to your ear.
You don’t say anything. He’s the one who’s been texting and calling you every night for the past week, so you’re certainly not going to say something first. Instead, you wait and swirl your wine.
“Finally,” you hear him breathe with relief. “I thought you’d never pick up.”
Then why do you keep calling, you stupid idiot. You roll your eyes in annoyance and put your naked feet on the coffee table. The wine is successfully taking the edge off, but you're still this close to telling him off for good. Perhaps you should; he deserves it.
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, babe,” he purrs into your ear, his sickeningly sweet voice sending a shiver down your spine. “About you, about us; about everything, really. About what could’ve been if things didn’t end like they di-”
“What do you want, Simon?” You interrupt him, your patience for his theatrics already wearing thin.
“Oh, babe,” he breathes, “It’s so good to hear your vo-”
“What do you want?” You ask again, emphasizing every word.
“I want to apologize,” he answers with a deep sigh, then clears his throat. “I- I’m sorry about what happened and how we ended things, I really am.”
You snort and pluck a stray piece of lint from your tank top. Is he for real right now?
“Cool story, Simon,” you deadpan as you get up to go grab the wine bottle from the fridge. “That it?”
“I was hoping we could talk about things, maybe meet up? I’d love to see you.”
You slam the fridge door shut and take the bottle back to the sofa. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you mutter and pour yourself another glass.
“Of course there is,” Simon protests, the agitated tone of his voice betraying the calm and collected facade he tried to put up. “I really think we should talk about what happened. I can’t just forget about it, you know.” Oh yeah, this is the real Simon. Always trying to manipulate the people around him. Sucks for him that you’ve figured it out.
“Sounds like a you problem,” you mumble and bring the cold rim of the glass back to your lips.
“Oh, come on now. Why are you acting like this?” He groans, his annoyance palpable. When he realizes you’re not going to answer him and that he maybe should be more diplomatic, he relents. “I just think we should talk about it, that’s all.”
“You wanna talk about it, huh?” You laugh dryly. “About how you were fucking Laura while I was bleeding. Or how you were fucking her when I was in surgery. Or how you were fucking her when I desperately tried to reach you. You wanna talk about all of that.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Simon counters. “We weren’t together at that point and-,” he trails off and sighs deeply. “I was scared, okay?”
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “We’ve had this exact conversation three years ago, Simon. There’s nothing left to say. I’m over it.”
“How can you say that?” he asks incredulously.
“You never once called me after I moved out to ask how I was. Not once,” you sigh, this conversation slowly tugging at the stitches of wounds you thought were long closed.
“You told me you didn’t wanna hear from me,” Simon huffs. “And I was- fuck. I’m just sorry, okay? I know i fucked up.”
You both don’t say anything for a few seconds, his breathing in your ear the only thing you can hear.
“Can we meet, babe? Please? I think it would be good for both of us.”
You chug the remaining wine and take a deep breath.
“Leave me the fuck alone, Simon. I got nothing to say to you.”
And with that you hang up and throw your phone across the sofa. You take a deep breath, put your feet on the ground and your palms on your thighs. You close your eyes and say out loud, “calm, safe, breathe.” You repeat the mantra before adding, “It’s over, I’m here, I’m safe. Nothing can hurt me, nothing can hurt me.”
When you open your eyes again and observe the familiar surroundings of your apartment, a soothing feeling of comfort washes over you. There’s the purple vase you bought at a flea market in the first week after moving in, there are your beloved succulents that look as healthy as ever, there’s the painting you got from your talented colleague for your last birthday. And there’s the polaroid Tommy took of you and Joel at the party where he introduced you two.
You quickly wipe away your tears and turn on your TV. Another glass of wine, your favorite show and you’ll be able to sleep in no time, you tell yourself. You get up to get a new bottle from the fridge and decide to take the leftover banana bread you made with you as well. It’s time for all the comfort you can get.
With your hands full, you shuffle back to the sofa and, due to the dim light and the fact that you just downed an almost full bottle of wine on an empty stomach, you completely miss the fact that you’re directly walking into one of the coffee table legs. You stub your toes hard, trip and fall to the floor. You can only watch in slow motion as the plate flies through the air and shatters on your hardwood floor, the banana bread just rolling away sadly. The wine glass is even more spectacular, as its contents spill all over your sofa and the glass explodes into a thousand shards.
“Fuck my life,” you groan and get on your knees to pick up the big pieces with your hands before sweeping up the smaller ones with a dustpan and brush later.
“Shit,” you hiss and clutch your wrist.
Of course you cut yourself on one of the shards, blood immediately trickling down onto the carpet. The cut on your palm is not deep, but it stings. And the blood is already seeping into the fabric - great. You let out an exasperated sigh and get up.
You can’t be bothered to take care of all this right now, so you slap a too small bandaid over the cut, brush your teeth, take your melatonin with a glass of water and go to bed.
—
What sociopath calls this early? And on your day off no less. You groan at the sharp and grating sound emitted by your phone on the nightstand, but pick up when you see who it is.
“Yeah?” Your voice is little more than a hoarse whisper, laced with a sleepy rasp.
“Aww, did I wake the princess?” Joel asks in mock concern. You can hear the smirk on his stupid handsome face through the phone.
“No, no,” you murmur and rub your bleary eyes. “I’ve already run ten miles, deep-cleaned my whole apartment and rescued a cat from a tree. What have you done, hm?”
“Touché. Very impressive, darlin’,” he chuckles, your wit never failing to amuse him. “And no, I haven’t rescued any cats so far today. I’m just at work. Besides,” he continues before his voice takes on a sultry tone, “the only pussy I’m interested in is yours anyway.”
You involuntarily suck in a breath and feel yourself clench around nothing. You’re still half asleep and have no clue what planet you’re on, but Joel’s still managed to get you all hot and bothered within ten seconds of your conversation; and with a shitty pun at that.
You might have a mild problem.
“Hmm, you like that, don’t you?” He groans softly as the rhythmic fapping sound reaches your ear.
“Are you jerking off right now?” You ask, less shocked and definitely more turned on than you should be.
“Yeah,” he purrs. “You wanna help me, baby?”
“Hang on,” you say, trying to process the situation. “You’re at work and you just what, decided to call me at - you look at the time on your display - 7:13 in the morning, so I could get you off?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Joel murmurs into your ear.
You can’t help but chuckle at his audacity and complete lack of shame. You love it.
“Alright,” you coo, “but first you gotta tell me what’s got you all riled up.” You put him on speaker and slide your hand between your legs.
“My secretary’s wearing a tight dress today,” he murmurs, then spits into his hand to wet his shaft.
“Oh yeah?” You whisper, “She turn you down and now poor you has to make do with me?” You run your fingers through your folds and bite your lip as you spread the slick from your core to your clit.
“You know me better than that, darlin’,” Joel says softly. “I was scrolling through the photos I took of the construction site yesterday and then the pic you sent me caught my eye. Couldn’t concentrate on anything else afterwards.”
A triumphant smile spreads across your face as you think of Joel losing his composure because of you. It is a hot photo to be fair. After your phone call with Simon on Sunday night, you ordered a new sofa, carpet and some fun items of the adult variety to feel better. While trying out one of them, you felt compelled to let Joel have a piece of your fun and sent him a pic of you with your best assets on display.
“You like that one, huh,” you tease, your fingers slowly circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. “I was thinking about you when I took it, you know.”
“Fuck yeah,” Joel murmurs, his breathing heavy. “Look fucking gorgeous with your ass stuffed and your tits out.”
“Mmm, it’s a new ribbed dildo I got. Felt amazing in my tight little hole,” you purr and hear Joel groan softly at the image. “I used a vibrator on my clit while I fucked my ass, but my pussy felt far too empty. It was dripping so much I had to change the sheets after.”
“That’s my dirty girl. You want two cocks to stuff your greedy holes, baby?” He moans, clearly aroused by the idea of seeing you fall apart while being filled to the brim. You dip your fingers into your wet cunt and use your slick to rub your clit harder.
“Yes, Sir,” you breathe, causing Joel’s painfully hard cock to twitch, “want you to tie me to the bed so my pussy’s wide open for you. I want you to choose a toy that’s too big and push it inside my dripping hole to stretch it until it’s a ruined mess. When you’re satisfied and take the toy out of my ruined hole, I’d beg you to finally fuck my cunt with your cock, but you’d fuck my ass instead and just leave my used pussy clench around nothing.”
You moan breathlessly as you can feel the muscles in your abdomen tighten and pleasure building rapidly. Hearing Joel lose his mind on the other end of the line is setting all of your nerves on fire and you desperately wish he was here to fuck you like you deserve.
“Fuck, you’re such a perfect little whore,” Joel groans, fisting his cock faster. “I’d film the whole thing, so I could show you how pathetic you look begging for my cock and dripping with my cum. I’d fill you up over and over again until you’re a crying mess begging me to stop.” His moans are getting louder and you can’t help but wonder how thick the walls of his office must be.
You can’t wait for him to get his hands on you and do with you as he pleases. “I’ll take whatever you decide to give me, Sir.”
“Gonna take my cum in all your holes, angel?”
“Yes, Sir. Please, I need it so bad. I just wanna be your cum slut for you to fill up.”
When Joel just groans at that, you know you’ve hit on something. “That’s what I am, right? Your cum slut to fill up?” You’re incredibly close to coming already, but you want to wait for Joel.
“That’s what you are, angel. And you’re just perfect like that. Three holes for me to use. Always so,” he pants breathlessly as he’s tip-toeing on the edge of his release, “always so fucking good for me. Gonna- gonna ruin you, baby. Gonna make you come on my cock until you cry.”
“Can I please come, Sir? I- I don’t think I can wait anymore,” you whine desperately, Joel’s filthy mouth putting you over the edge.
“Oh yeah, baby,” he pants breathlessly as he increases the pace of his strokes. You can hear the obscene sound of him fucking his fist. “You gonna come with me?”
You moan his name as you reach your peak, your whole body trembling and finding its release. Joel is right behind you, erupting into his hand and onto his belly with a strangled groan. Your orgasm is so intense that you can ride it out for a few ecstatic seconds filled with your breathless moans. When you come down from your climax, you only hear your blood rushing in your ears and the pulsating sound of your heart.
You try to catch your breath for a few seconds and open your eyes before asking, “Joel, you alive?”
When the only thing you hear is heavy breathing, you giggle. You know exactly how he looks right now, all disheveled with his wet cock out and a big satisfied smile on his lips. You wish so badly you could lick up every last drop of his cum.
“Mmm, you’re such a good girl,” Joel murmurs after some time, still coming down from his high and opening a drawer to retrieve some tissues. “I’ll clear my schedule, so we can do this every morning, alright?”
You chuckle and turn on your side, “You’d get bored with me pretty quickly if we did this every day.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard today,” Joel scoffs and wipes his softening cock with the tissues. “And I had to explain to Tommy that he can’t influence the gender of his future baby by fucking his wife a certain way. So, yeah.”
You laugh at the image of Tommy vividly explaining how he and Maria have sex and Joel just standing there, dumbfounded, asking himself if he might have damaged his little brother’s brain when they were wrestling as kids.
“Alright, babe,” Joel says softly, “since my cock’s not hogging all of my blood anymore, I should try and get some work done.”
“Good idea,” you chuckle. “Say hi to Tommy from me, okay?”
“Will do, darlin’. And you let me know when you got time to show me that new toy of yours in person, alright?”
Your eyes lock on the big IKEA packages in your living room and you bite your lip.
“You wanna come over later?”
---
You’re actually excited for your new sofa. You’ve had the old one removed by a company yesterday and already spread out the new carpet. It’s gray with white shapes on it. And it’s fluffy, so you’ve spent quite some time walking on it with bare feet.
You assembled your old sofa yourself when you moved in three years ago. It was dark blue and you loved it. But you also spilled a lot of stuff on there over time, bodily fluids included. So it’s nice to get a new, clean one.
Especially when it’s the reason why Joel Miller is currently kneeling on your floor, his broad back and arms stretching the fabric of his white T-shirt, his perfect butt accentuated by his jeans, wrestling with the IKEA manual he insists is “misleading” and “must’ve been written by some idiot who’s never built anything in his goddamn life”.
Needless to say, you’re loving the free entertainment.
He shoots you an annoyed look and lets out an exasperated sigh when you point out for the third time that he’s reading the instructions wrong. You can’t not tease him, he makes it too easy.
“As much as I appreciate your very generous help, darlin’, I really wish you’d get the fuck outta here before I strangle you. Lovingly.”
You giggle and scratch the back of his head softly. “It’s not like you to get so frustrated, baby,” you purr into his ear as you lean down, giving him a perfect view of your naked tits under your oversized shirt. “You sure you don’t need my help? I wouldn’t want you to strain your poor knees and back too much, you know.”
You wish you could take pictures with your retinas because the glare Joel is giving you right now is priceless.
“You think that’s funny, huh?” He scoffs and tilts his head as his dark eyes bore into you. Uh-oh, now you did it. “If you’re not out of this room in ten seconds, I’m gonna tie you to your bed and edge you with a vibrator on full volume until you’re crying from pain. And believe me when I tell you that I will not let you come.”
A smug smile tugs at the corners of his plush lips as he observes how your pupils have dilated and how you're pressing your thighs together at his threat. He raises an eyebrow when you don’t move and tuts, “Poor baby, already cockdumb even though I haven’t even touched her yet, hm?” You frown at him, but he just laughs at you. “Time’s ticking you little brat, better get out while you still can.” You bite the inside of your cheek and sigh dramatically before heading for your bedroom.
When you hear Joel chuckle behind you, you hesitate for a second, but he’s already read your mind. “Don’t even think about it,” he growls. “And close the door.”
You do just that, jump on your bed and watch Netflix on your laptop. It only takes Joel another 40 minutes to finish assembling the sofa, so you’re pleasantly surprised when he calls your name so soon.
You close your laptop and quickly smell your armpits. You’ve showered in the morning, but it’s still incredibly hot even with the AC blasting. When you’ve assessed that you smell good, you open the door to the living room.
“How do you like it?” Joel asks as he’s standing next to the cream-colored piece of furniture. He’s already put away all of the packaging material and made sure the cushions are clean. It looks absolutely stunning and nicely complements all the other furniture in the room.
You trace the back of the sofa with your hand, appreciating the soft material and come to a halt when you’re flush with Joel’s body. You look up into his eyes and coo, “Thank you so much, Joel. I love it.” He smiles back at you and studies your face for a second before grabbing you by the nape of your neck and your ass cheek.
“You listen to me very carefully now ‘cause I’m not gonna repeat myself,” he growls, intensifying the grip on your neck. “You do as you’re told. You answer me. You don’t come unless I tell you to and I’m not gonna stop unless you say your safeword. Understood?”
You’re so stunned that you can only nod, your words completely failing you.
You gasp in surprise as Joel’s palm cracks against your left cheek, leaving a stinging imprint. You instinctively move your left hand to soothe the pain, but Joel is faster than you and catches your wrist. “Tell me your safeword, baby,” he purrs and caresses your sensitive cheek.
You stammer the specific word you both know to be your safeword before he tangles his hand in your hair and captures your lips in a hungry kiss. Your heart rate picks up immediately as you part your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to slip in. The sensation of Joel’s soft lips and his broad body pressing against yours has you rub against the bulge in his jeans.
He grabs your thigh and lifts it up, so he can grind against your aching core directly. You moan into his mouth, your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him into you as you move your hips in sync with his thrusts. You’re so sensitive since your orgasm this morning that you could come like this if he let you.
“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you,” he pants as he breaks the kiss and studies your face. Your pupils are blown, your chest is heaving and your mind is spinning. You want him so badly it hurts. “Take off your clothes and bend over the armrest, baby,” Joel orders and you obey immediately. You let your shirt and pj pants fall down to your feet, causing Joel to suck in a sharp breath when he sees that you’re not wearing any panties.
He looks at you hungrily as you bend over the sofa, your arms resting on the cushion and your ass in the air with your legs spread.
“You’re the prettiest little whore I’ve ever seen, you know that?” He asks as he’s tracing your back with his fingertips. When you don’t answer him, he smacks your ass hard. You yelp in surprise at the impact and instinctively close your legs. Joel presses his clothed bulge against your wet pussy and kicks your feet apart with his. He caresses the red cheek with one hand and tangles the other in your hair to yank your head back. “Answer me or I’ll spank you until you can’t anymore,” he growls into your ear, the dangerous tone of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.
“I’m the prettiest little whore you’ve ever seen,” you blurt out, then moan at the feeling of Joel running his fingers through your folds. “Mmm, you’re such a good girl,” he praises. “Always so wet for me.”
You hear him unbutton and unzip his jeans, hear his belt buckle hit the floor and his heavy breathing behind you as he coats his hard cock in your slick and gives it a few pumps. “I need you to be strong now, angel,” he says softly as he rubs your clit with his index and middle finger. You’re so desperate for him to touch you that his words don’t register.
A needy moan escapes your lips as he’s finally relieving some of the tension that’s been building in your core all day long. You push your hips back as far as you can to chase the friction, but Joel withdraws his fingers all too quickly. You whine desperately at the loss and immediately feel tears well up in your eyes. You hear the dull thud of his T-shirt hitting the floor.
“Shh, be good for me, baby,” Joel purrs before you feel his hands grabbing your hips and the head of his cock nudging your entrance. Your eyes widen in realization as your brain has now processed what he’s planning on doing.
Before you can protest though, he’s already ramming his cock inside you in one smooth thrust, splitting you open with a force you’ve never felt before.
“Fuuuck, that’s it, baby,” Joel groans loudly, stumbling forward because of the shiver that’s running down his spine, causing him to go even deeper.
The sudden impact of his cock spreading you open without any preparation besides your wetness has knocked the air out of your lungs. Only when he moves and nudges your cervix does your body finally allow you to cry out in pain.
“Shh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay, I’m here,” Joel purrs as he gives you no time to adjust to his size or the pain at all, but starts to set a slow rhythm, thrusting his cock in and out of your tight pussy. You sob into the cushion and try to rub your clit on the armrest, but Joel pulls you back on his cock hard when he notices.
“Nuh-uh, baby,” he tuts as he picks up the pace and uses his grip on your sides to bounce you on his cock. “What do you think you’re doing, huh?”
He slaps the same spot on your ass as before when you don’t answer him. Your chest heaves as you choke on your sobs, unable to get an answer out. “I know it hurts, baby. I’m so sorry about that,” he coos as he continually rocks into you at an unrelenting pace. “But I really need you to answer me, angel.”
“I-I want to c-come, Sir,” you sob pathetically, tears streaming from your eyes.
“I get that, baby, I really do. But I don’t think you understand what this is,” Joel groans. “You really think I’m gonna let you come, you brat?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whine as Joel’s cock expertly massages your G-spot with every powerful thrust of his hips. The mix of pain and pleasure has your body and mind on fire. There are no thoughts in your brain, no ex-boyfriends, no past, no blood, no sadness - just Joel and you, melting into one.
When he feels you tighten your muscles around him, hears your breathing get ragged and the pitch of your moans get higher, he pulls out of you. You scream and sob into the cushion as your legs shake uncontrollably. You were so close.
“Fuck, I love the sounds you make,” Joel breathes, then starts stroking your back and ass gently before watching his cock disappear into your body once again. “I don’t care how good it feels,” he pants. “You'd better not come until I tell you to.”
When you feel your orgasm approach quickly again, your body so utterly desperate for release, you resort to begging. There is no pride left, only carnal desire.
“Please Joel, please, let me come, please,” you whimper weakly between sobs. “You can come wherever you w-want, my ass, my pussy, my m-mouth, all over me - just please let me come. I can’t take it anymore.”
“That’s a good girl, begging so pretty,” Joel coos and slowly pulls out of you. He holds you steady as he feels you tremble. “Lie down, darlin,” he says softly and guides you on your back.
He kneels between your legs and puts one of them over his shoulders. He lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in. “Look at me, baby,” Joel breathes. “Look at me when you come.” You moan softly as he brings you to the edge of your release in the matter of a few thrusts. “That’s it, angel,” Joel encourages you, his face hovering above yours. “Don’t hold back, I got you,” he nods. You arch your back as you reach your peak, a choked groan escaping your lips as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you.
“Fuck, you’re so perfect, baby. Wanna come all over you,” Joel groans, your walls contracting around him as he’s slamming his hips against your core with abandon.
“Don’t ruin the sofa,” you mumble between breathless moans. Joel chuckles into your ear and nibbles on your earlobe. “I guess I’ll just have to fill you up then,” he rasps, picking up the pace and sinking his teeth into the delicate skin of your neck.
He comes with a low, rough grunt as he spills himself deep inside you. His hips stutter and his whole body suddenly goes limp as he comes down from his high on top of you. You draw shapes onto his back with your fingertips and he hums into the crook of your neck. When he tries to pull out after a few seconds, you grab his ass to stop him.
“No, no, no,” you protest weakly, “it’ll drip on the sofa.”
“Alright, baby, no worries. Just hold on to me, can you do that?” Joel asks gently. “Hm,” you answer and wrap your hands around his neck. He maneuvers you from your back into a sitting position with you on top, then moves to stand with you wrapped around him. He carries you to the bathroom like this, making sure his cock stays inside you the whole way.
He lets you down right in front of the toilet and you immediately sit down, so his cum doesn’t drip on the floor. “Join me, when you’re done, okay?” Joel murmurs as he kisses your forehead before stepping into the shower. You pee and wait a bit for more of his cum to trickle out of you, then step into the shower as well.
You squeeze past Joel to stand under the water, wet your whole body and hair and squirt some of the peach scented body wash onto your loofah to scrub your body. “Let me do your back,” Joel says softly, then massages you from your neck down to your feet with the sponge as you apply your shampoo.
When you’re both done, you dry off with two of your fluffiest towels and go to put on your clothes. You get yourself a new pair of pajama pants and another oversized shirt and Joel puts the clothes he came in back on.
“What do you want from Domino’s?” You shout from the bedroom. Time for pizza and Netflix.
---
“What the fuck,” you hiss as you see the new notification on your phone. “I fucking told you to leave me alone, what is so fucking hard to understand? Asshole.” You lean over the counter and stare at Simon’s messages. Wanna give you space, babe. But I can’t live without you. You put the leftover pizza in your fridge and slam the door.
“You alright, darlin’?” Joel asks as he’s suddenly standing behind you in the kitchen.
“Yeah, sorry, all good,” you murmur, turning around to face him and putting on the most convincing smile you’re capable of right now. You’re not fooling Joel for a second and you know it. When he gives you a sympathetic look, you can’t muster the strength to pull up the corners of your lips anymore. Instead, you look at the fuzzy slippers on your feet and sigh deeply. “It’s my ex,” you say quietly. “He started calling and texting me a week ago after no contact for three years and it’s really stressing me out.”
Your eyes find Joel’s and you immediately feel sorry for bringing it up. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry,” you stammer and shake your head. “It’s not your problem. Forget what I said.” He closes the distance between you two and wraps his strong arms around you in a warm embrace. You put your arms around him and stroke his back. You can feel his heartbeat.
“Why don’t I make us some coffee and we sit back down on your new, not-ruined sofa, hm?” He murmurs into your hair with a smile.
“Joel, I don’t-”
“We don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can just sit, drink coffee and not talk as much as you want.” His warm hands softly rubbing your back make you feel so safe.
“Okay, thank you,” you mumble into his shoulder before letting go of him. You open a drawer and pull out a bag of cookies. “I got these for you if you want them.” You hold up the bag and Joel takes it with a furrowed brow and a curious smile.
“How in the world did you know?”
“You honestly don’t remember?” You giggle. “You ranted about how much you love these for an hour when we got high a few weeks ago. They don’t sell them anywhere nearby so I ordered them in a specialty store online.”
Joel shakes his head and looks at you with his big puppy eyes. “You’re the best, darlin’. Thank you.” He kisses your forehead gently, then tells you to make yourself comfortable on the sofa.
You sit down and look around. Being here feels different. Your apartment looks the same as it did a few hours ago. Sure, the sofa and carpet are new, but there’s something else. You realize that it doesn’t bother you to have someone else in your home, in your safe space. It’s actually kind of nice to know someone’s here.
“There you go,” Joel says as he hands you your cup. He sits down beside you and puts a bowl filled with cookies on the coffee table.
You pull your feet up onto the cushion and say, “Thank you.” Joel puts his arm over the backrest and caresses the nape of your neck with his fingers.
“You remember what I told you when you asked me to stay over on our first night together?” You ask quietly.
“I do,” Joel says softly. “You said you couldn’t and when I asked what you meant by that you said you didn’t wanna get attached.”
“Sounds kinda mean now that I’m thinking about it,” you murmur. “You know it has nothing to do with you, right?”
“I know, darlin’,” Joel reassures you. “And I’ve told you from the beginning that I’m not gonna pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. We got a good thing going and as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“I haven’t always been this way, you know,” you sigh and play with the hem of your shirt. “And I fucking hate that it was one guy that ruined everything,” you say dryly and stare into your black coffee. “It wasn’t a good relationship to begin with and we both made some bad decisions. I know that. So when I packed up a handful of my things and walked out of our apartment forever, I didn’t think I’d ever hear from him again. Until now.” You take a sip of your coffee and continue, “He apologized for the shit he did and asked me to meet him.”
“How do you feel about that? Him apologizing?” Joel asks, his calm tone of voice soothing your nerves.
You sigh deeply and let your head fall back onto the sofa. “I feel like it’s a goddamn joke,” you scoff and throw your arm over your eyes. “I don’t believe a single word he says and he didn’t even really apologize, you know? He still doesn’t understand what he did. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care.”
You lift your arm and turn your head to look at Joel. “I dunno which is worse.”
“It sucks that he’s not giving you the apology you deserve after hurting you. I’m sorry, darlin’.”
“I just don’t understand why it bothers me so much, you know? I haven’t seen him in three years, I’m over it, so why does it still hurt so fucking bad?”
“Did you love him?” Joel asks and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
You look into his big, sincere eyes and nod. “Yeah,” you murmur. “At least I thought I did.”
“Well, there’s your answer, sweetheart.”
You hide your face behind your hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot,” you groan, embarrassed of your pathetic feelings and the way you’re behaving in front of Joel. Being this emotionally vulnerable is causing you physical pain.
“Hey, stop that nonsense,” he objects immediately, scooting closer to you and pulling you against his chest. “You have a big heart, you have feelings. You’re allowed to feel hurt and you’re allowed to feel sad.” He kisses the crown of your head and murmurs, “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
“Have you ever cut someone out of your life completely?” You mumble into his chest.
“I have.”
“Do you ever think about them?”
“Sure I do,” Joel nods. “Not often, but yeah. It’s normal. Especially if they meant a lot to you.”
“Hmm, I guess.”
You look up and give him a genuine smile before sighing and reaching for the remote. “Enough heavy stuff for today,” you say. “Let’s watch something. I can feed you cookies and scratch your back…”
---
“You wanna know what I like about you?”
“My old man fetish.”
He looks at you incredulously for a second, then starts tickling the soles of your feet in retaliation. “You’re such an ass,” he laughs as you try to wriggle away. You squeal and try to kick him off, but he’s got both of your ankles in a firm grasp. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, then pulls you closer. “C’mere.”
You sit up and straddle him, your hands resting on his broad shoulders. Joel puts his arms around you, his hands splayed on your back, instantly grounding you and providing a sense of security.
He looks into your eyes and murmurs, “What I was going to say is that I like your honesty; with yourself and others. It’s a quality you should never give up on, even if it’s hard.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, then looks at his watch. “I should go, darlin’. It’s been a long day.”
You nod and let him get up to put on his shoes.
“Joel?”
He turns around and looks at you with raised eyebrows.
You want to tell him that he doesn’t need to go, that he can stay this time, but the words just won’t leave your lips. Instead you say, “Thank you for today, seriously.” You walk up to him and press a soft kiss to his lips. “You really helped me and made me feel so much better.”
Joel doesn’t answer immediately as he tilts his head and studies your face. “I’m glad I could cheer you up, darlin’,” he coos and caresses your left cheek. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Will do, Joel. Thank you.”
---
You open Simon’s messages and type in your reply before blocking him.
Simon: But I can’t live without you
You: Then die
---
Thank you for reading! 🤍
part 2 || part 4 || series masterlist
#fwb!joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x f!reader#fwb!joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller au#dom!joel miller#joel miller#joel miller tlou#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#tlou fic#joel tlou#tlou hbo#the last of us hbo#alwaysmicado#joel miller fanfiction#joel the last of us#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal#pedro boys#joel x reader#the last of us#smut
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Summary: While away on a business trip, your hybrid boyfriend decides to surprise you upon your return home.
Pairing: Hybrid!Leon x Fem!Reader
Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Smut, use of sex toys, pussy eating, hybrid smut
Masterlist || Read on AO3 || Ask Box
A/N: I dedicate this one shot to Kenny @dollfacefantasy. She's the best, you should check out her writing, without her inspiration this one shot wouldn't have been possible. Love you Kenken!!
Honorable mentions to @explorevenus, @kaitkatme, and @gigabyte-flare for supporting my work and being awesome too! Also @ghostkennedy and @tosuckmyweenis <3
For the longest time a hybrid hadn’t been something you considered getting, but recently having to relocate for work, you found yourself often feeling lonely hauled up in your apartment each night. Toying with the idea of a traditional pet, it just didn’t seem like the exact type of companionship you were looking for – you needed something more. The concept of a hybrid was just so strange to you though, they were sentient, capable of nearly all things people were, but spliced with animals to aid in things like companionship and work.
There’d been a lot of back and forth in the media between whether or not hybrids were ethical to begin with in addition to if adopting them was even morally correct as well. It was something you hadn’t put much thought into until you stumbled into the local shelter one day, peering around.
The best way to describe it was like a jail– if each cell was its own little apartment. The cement walls and flooring, along with the barred doors were very reminiscent of a traditional shelter, but inside each room were individual hybrids with their own little decorated room. As you walked by, most ran up to you, tails wagging, excitement written on their face as they shouted greetings at you.
Puppy hybrids with their tails wagging like helicopters, cats with their ears twitching eyes narrowing as you passed them – even bunnies bouncing up and down at the prospect of an owner. As adorable as it was, none of them really caught your eye, at least not enough to commit to taking home.
Close to the end of the fluorescently lit hallway, you found what you almost thought was an empty kennel until your eye caught the glimpse of someone sitting in the corner. He was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, sky blue eyes, a face framed by fluffy blonde hair. The bomber jacket he wore suited him so well. “Leon, huh?” You asked, after peering over at the informational plaque on the wall.
The sound of your voice caught his attention as he shot you a weak smile in return. “Uh yeah, that’s me alright.”
“I like that name.” Glancing back over to the plaque you could see that he previously worked for the government, was well behaved, and was good at adapting. “Leon, how would you feel about coming home with me?”
His cool demeanor didn’t change, but you could see the shocked written on his face, there only for a second before his iced it back over with his neutral expression. “Are you for real?”
“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”
Hesitantly, he made his way over to the bars that separated you two, tilting his head to the side he looked you up and down processing for a moment. Finally a smirk came over his plush lips. “If you’re sure, I’d be happy to keep you company.”
***************
That was three years ago.
Since then Leon had become more than a close companion to you. His corny jokes and dry sense of humor lived rent free in your head any moment you were away from home. Loneliness was a thing of the past when you could curl up with him on the couch and fall asleep to the ambient sound of the tv playing in the background.
Leon had opened himself up to you as well, explaining that unlike most hybrids he wasn’t born this way. Several years back he had to escape from a place called Raccoon City after a massive bio disaster occurred – you’d never even heard of that place before, but the seriousness in his voice had silenced any questions or lingering doubt. After said incident, was when he was forced into a government program, trained to be a federal agent. Once his contract was over with, he could no longer return to a regular human-lived life, the shelter was the only other option.
His story made your heart ache, but you settled on being content with the idea of finally being able to provide him with a happy home filled with love and relaxation.
At some point, not that you could remember when exactly, your relationship had changed. There was an unspoken tension that neither of you dared act on, until it built and built into a volcanic level eruption between you. One bad day at work was all it took for him to have you bent over the couch, rutting into your wet folds with abandon as you cried his name out, desperately clawing at the furniture beneath you. Suffice it to say, Leon became your companion in more ways than one.
***************
The moment the front door swung open you nearly tackled him to the ground in a hug. “God I’ve missed you, Lee.”
“Missed you too baby.” He said with a chuckle, wrapping you into a tight hug. It’d only been a week, but that business trip had lasted far too long in your opinion. The only saving grace was you managed to get back to town just in time for your official one year anniversary of dating.
Finally letting go of him, you stood back and gasped once you really got a good look at him. “Lee where’s your–?”
He cut off your question with a deep kiss, pulling away before pressing another to your cheek. “Shhh baby, no questions yet. Not when I have a present for you.”
You wanted to protest but the excitement in his eyes prevented you from doing anything but following him down the hall, now laced with pink and red flower petals, to the bedroom. Excitement flurried around your stomach as you barely contained your giddiness.
The bedroom was dimly lit and the scents of lavender and vanilla wafted into your nose, the bedding had been swapped out for a satiny red set. In the dead center was a heart shaped box, a huge bow on the top.
Leon stepped out of the way so you could move forward. “Go on, open it.”
Hesitantly you pulled one end of the ribbon undoing the bow, carefully pulling the lid off. By now you could feel Leon’s hot breath on your neck as his hands came up around you, cupping your breasts through your shirt. “Faster baby, I wanna see you get to the good part.”
“Ok, ok!” You exclaimed shuddering under his touch, wetness already forming a spot in your panties. Parting the tissue paper inside the box, there it was an ivory colored dildo. Confusion hit you first as you gently picked it up. It looked exactly like Leon’s, from the thick shaft even down to the shape of the balls, decorative swirls and designs were carved into it, giving it a ribbed texture. The material wasn’t something you recognized initially, as the outward coating made it feel like glass, until it hit you.
“Leon… is this?”
“Sure is.” He replied nuzzling into your neck again, sucking a bruise into the skin. The feeling of his whiskers always sent delightful tingles down your spine. “Didn’t want you to have to miss me while you’re away anymore.”
“But your tusks?”
“They grow back.” He said nonchalantly, turning you to face him. “What do you think? I carved it myself.”
“Lee, it’s beautiful…god I can’t wait to try it out.”
“Why wait?” A devious smirk came to his lips as he pushed you back onto the bed. “Wanna see you enjoy your present.” Leaning on top of you he brought his lips to yours one more time before sitting up to yank your bottoms down, pulling your panties along with them.
He wasted no time in yanking you towards him, legs tossed over his shoulders as he dove into you like it was the first meal he’s had since you’d been away – lapping a line through your soaked folds. The thick whiskers tickled at your thighs, making you squirm against his flattened tongue, the mix of pleasure and tingles making you whine. “There we go baby, so wet and ready.”
He pressed a teasing kiss to your clit before pulling back just enough to reach over and grab the tusky dildo from you clenched hand. He held it against your folds, running it up and down, swirling the tip over your clit making you jolt as firecrackers of pleasure sparked from your core to your fingertips.
He slid it into your hole slowly, careful to not hurt you and to allow you to feel each ribbed indentation before it was bottomed out to the base. “That’s it baby, that’s my good girl.” He cooed, pumping it in and out of your hot little pussy setting a rhythmic pace. He marveled at the way your back arched and head tossed back before he returned to lapping his tongue over your clit, in tandem with the movement of the present in his hand.
The overwhelming sense of pleasure coupled with your neediness for him made you grasp at his blonde locks to ground yourself. Toes curling with the oncoming orgasm that was so close, you choked out a cry, tight walls clenching around the porcelain coated tusk buried in you. It was a sensation like no other, and soon the pressure that built up exploded – white splotches filled your vision and your legs shook as pleasure consumed you in waves. Little aftershocks tickled along your skin, nerves a livewire.
He left the toy inside of you as he began to kiss his way up, first your thighs then your hip, before planning a kiss to your tummy. This time the feeling of his whiskers pulling a giggle out of you between panted attempts at returning your breathing to normal. Stopping for a moment only at your chest, he gripped your shirt that he’d pushed up before lapping at one pebbled nipple, sucking it gently into his mouth.
He pulled off with a pop capturing your lips once more in a tender kiss. “Happy anniversary baby.”
“Happy anniversary.” You replied, bringing your thumb up to rub over the spot where his tusks had been shaved down. The skin surrounding the ivory mounds was soft, leaving only the flattened discs of where his tusks used to be. Leaning up you gave him a kiss on his flattened nose. “My handsome little Walrus.”
#Leon Kennedy x reader#Leon Kennedy x you#Leon Kennedy x y/n#Leon s kennedy#Leon kennedy#resident evil#resident evil x reader#resident evil fanfiction#hybrid!leon#hybrid leon kennedy#x reader#reader insert#fanfiction#fanfic#Leon Kennedy fanfiction
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The Daughter's Return Part 3
Chapter 25: A New Beginning
Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3
Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace
Word Count: 1.2k
“It looks better than I expected,” Ace said, inspecting himself in the mirror.
You ran your fingers down his back as your eyes examined it, causing him to shiver. “Your tattoo is gone.”
“All the better.” He spun around and cupped your cheeks in his hands. “Kind of hard to maintain anonymity if my back was screaming out who I was every time I was shirtless.”
You scowled at his words. “You loved that tattoo.”
“I love you more.” He kissed you then, long and slow.
He quickly wrapped his arms around your legs and picked you up, causing you to squeal. You had forgotten how strong he was. The past few days he has looked so fragile and weak. But the man who was in the hospital was long gone. His quirky grin and cocky attitude was back. Ace was back.
He kissed you again, more desperate this time. “I’d scrape my freckles off if it meant keeping you safe.”
You giggled, rolling your eyes at his words. “You can’t scrape freckles off, idiot.”
“Fine.” He paused to give you another kiss, slipping his tongue between your lips only for a moment before pulling away. “I’d cut off all my hair, then.”
You gasped, still half dizzy at the way his tongue felt in your mouth again. It had been so long since the two of you had been like this. “Portgas D. Ace you would not! I’ll break up the moment you come home with a bad haircut!”
“So materialistic,” he whispered, pressing his lips against yours. You instantly melted into his touch, causing him to smile against your lips. “And so, so eager.”
“I still haven’t yelled at you for Marineford,” you mumbled into his mouth. “And Alabasta.”
“You don’t have to,” he said softly, his words brushing against your skin as lightly kissed your jawline. “I think I learned my lesson. No more causing wars.”
“Ace-”
“Shhhhh,” he hushed, his lips dancing along your neck.
“We’re going to have to talk about it eventually,” you sighed, trying to ignore the heat rising in you. “I’m still mad at you for that.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised softly, dotting your skin in hundreds of soft pecks. “Even if it takes a lifetime, I’ll never stop finding ways to make it up to you. But don’t yell at me quite yet, okay?”
You hummed in acceptance. There would be a time to talk about the pain that was caused from recklessness, and you weren’t entirely faultless either. But now, you wanted to hold him and embrace the man you loved. There was a time and place for everything, and now was the time to-
A quick knock at the door shattered your hope for any further fun between you and Ace. You groaned, but you pulled yourself away from him. “Yes?”
Law’s voice came from the other side of the door. “We’ll be landing at Ontau in an hour. Just wanted to make sure you were ready for departure.”
“All good!” Ace hollered, returning his lips to your neck.
You giggled and tried to pull away from his advancements, but his grip on you was strong.
“We can do it later,” he mumbled into your skin.
“No,” you pushed off his chest and forced yourself away from his grip, or else he would lure you in again far too easily. “We can do this later. We need to have everything on the top deck by the time we land. We’ve overstayed our welcome on the Heart Pirate’s ship, and you know it.”
Ace groaned again, but he got to work helping you move things. Thankfully, the whole crew was willing to pitch in. All of them were very against you picking up things or carrying too much weight. So you delegated tasks and tried not to feel too useless.
Two hours later, everything was unloaded onto a wagon, and you were finally on solid ground again.
“Thank you for everything, Trafalgar Law.” You smiled at him. It was only because of him that you had a future. There were no words to give him that would adequately express your gratitude. “Am I a terrible person if I ask you for one more favor?”
“I’ll look after him,” Law promised with a nod. “We’re heading to Amazon Lily. He’s recovered a lot in the past few days. He’ll wake up.”
You looked past him to the ship, as if you could see the machines working to keep Luffy breathing. “He’ll be devastated and destructive. He’ll-”
“Be fine,” Law finished for you. “He can survive in this world without his brother. He has his own family now. And so do you.”
He handed you an envelope. “Your medical records. You’ll need to find a good doctor and hand this over. I omitted a few things, obviously. Don’t take that bracelet off, no matter what. Promise me.”
“I promise.” You took the envelope and held it close. “You’re a good doctor, and a good person. Thank-”
“Don’t. Don’t get sentimental on me. I’m your doctor, and now you’ll go find a new one. It’s the end of our acquaintanceship.” He walked back to his ship, and you realized this would probably be the last time you’d ever see him. He would be going off into the world, one of the only pirates in existence that knew you were still alive.
“Trafalgar, I-”
He paused, but didn’t turn back to you. “Your secret will go to the grave with me. Doctor-patient confidentiality.” He finally glanced back, locking eyes with you for just a moment. “I hope you live a good life, Y/N. You deserve it.”
And then he was gone. A small cloth sack took his place, and you got the feeling it was meant for you. You walked over and opened the top gently, peering inside.
Money. Thousands of berries. Based on the way they were clumped together, you had to guess it was at least 80,000 berries in this bag. With this plus Marco’s money, you and Ace would live very comfortable lives on this little island.
And Trafalgar Law said he wasn’t a good person. But you knew differently. At least one person on this earth knew that he was. Even if that person was technically considered to be dead.
A strong, comforting arm wrapped around your shoulder as Ace appeared next to you. “They’re leaving already?”
You simply nodded as you watched Law’s ship depart, still clutching the bag of berries in your hands.
Ace sighed. “Well, I talked to the village elder and she said that she had a house for us in exchange for protection. There’s a lot of uneasiness on the island after…” He trailed off, trying to find the correct words.
“After Marineford,” you finished for him, still staring at the horizon. Grief of what you had lost was starting to creep up on you, but you shoved it far, far away. You would deal with those emotions later. You had a life to build.
“Right,” Ace quickly rushed on. “There’s a little cabin on the outskirts of the village, sitting up on a lookout hill. It’s been abandoned for a while, but it should be a fun project to restore and make our own.”
You finally turned away from the sea and looked toward the man you loved more than anything. There was so much hope plastered across his freckled face, you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Let’s go see our new home, then.”
Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598 @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae @fanficwriter5 @forgotten-blues @amberash05 @firefistnoct @depressed-but-make-it-cute @stuckinthewrongworld@lizpoir
#one piece#one piece imagine#one piece scenario#one piece x reader#one piece x you#portgas ace x you#portgas ace x reader#portgas d ace x reader#ace x y/n#ace x reader#portgas d ace#portgas d. ace#cozage#✧˚ace✧˚
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Do you think it was a date?
[DP x DC fic]
[Love at first... murder? - part 5]
<< Prev | Next >>
Part 1
Ao3
---
In-chat nicknames:
Daniel = Danny
Sharpshooter = Jazz
TooFine= Tucker
Chaos = Sam
TheCoolerDaniel = Danielle/Dani/Ellie
---
Private chat nicknames:
Bill = Danny
Pants = Jazz
---
As soon as Danny enters his apartment, face bright red, he takes his head into his hands and lets out a silent scream.
He could have said anything, and he panicked and went with Toodealoo Kangaroo???
At this rate, he’ll never get a partner.
As Danny stands there in misery, his phone starts buzzing with messages. Curious, he checks his phone to see what going on.
Uh oh.
---
Team Phantom 👻😎
Chaos: Guys check this out
Chaos: *link*
Chaos: The Joker escaped from Arkham again, but no one’s heard anything of him since, nor have they been able to find him
TooFine: @Daniel 👀
TooFine: ok the @ had been a joke but the fact that he has read it and not replied is concerning
Sharpshooter: @Daniel, what did you do?
Sharpshooter: @Daniel
Sharpshooter: I can see that you’re reading this, don’t ignore me.
TooFine: ohhhh someones in troubleee 👀
Sharpshooter: Tucker.
TooFine: 🤐
---
Danny takes a deep breath.
Well, it’s now or never. Let’s hope Jazz is feeling merciful.
---
Private chat
Bill: ok so you know how you said you would still love me if I was a worm?
Pants: I have no clue how this ties into the previous conversation, but yes. Why?
Bill: hypothetically
Bill: would you also still love me if I
Bill: hypothetically
Bill: accidentally
Bill: vibe checked someone that tried to uh
Bill: hypothetically
Bill: kidnap and or kill me??
Bill: 🥺🥺🙏
Pants: Danny, did you accidentally kill the Joker?
Bill: yes or no Jazz??!? 😩🥺
Pants: Yes, Danny. I would still love you if you, hypothetically, accidentally killed the Joker.
Bill: this is why you’re my favorite sister 🥹🥰😘
Bill: don’t tell Ellie 😳🫣
Pants: Danny, what happened?
---
Danny lets out a sigh of relief before proceeding to tell Jazz what happened.
---
Pants: Oh Danny.
Bill: are you mad at me?
Pants: I’m not mad at you, I just want you to stay safe.
Pants: While I don’t condone murder, I understand that it was self-defense and an accident. I‘m just glad that you’re alright.
Bill: 🥰💞😘
---
With a small smile on his face, Danny goes back to the groupchat.
---
Team Phantom 👻😎
Daniel: you know
Daniel: if I had a nickel for every time I’ve had to fight off an insane clown that attacked me 🤡
Daniel: I’d have two nickels
Daniel: which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened twice, right? 🤔
Chaos: Damnit Danny, we leave you alone in a new city for a week and you already manage to get into a fight with one of Gotham City’s most infamous rogues
TooFine: actually its been 6 days 10 hours and 17 minutes
TooFine: so not even a full week yet
Chaos: Did you at least get a good few punches in?
Chaos: Danny?
TooFine: @Daniel ???
TooFine: if i had a nickel for every time danny said something concerning and then didnt provide context id be richer than vlad
Daniel: anyway, for completely unrelated reasons, @TooFine I need you to wipe some cams for me 😃
TooFine: danny im not wiping the cams again so no one will have proof of you tripping backward and falling ass-first into a trashcan
Chaos: Speaking of, Tucker do you still have that footage and can you send it to me?
TooFine: already done
Daniel: noo it’s nothing like that this time 😫
Daniel: pleaseeee 🥺🙏🙏
Daniel: I’ll get you an autograph from Tim Drake-Wayne?
TooFine: deal.
Daniel: 🥳🎉
Daniel: ok so the footage from somewhere around 3 am last night
Daniel: around some place named park row??
Daniel: I think it’s called?? 🤔
Daniel: though I’m pretty sure I’ve also heard some people refer to it as crime alley
Daniel: not sure why tho 🤷
TooTine: aye aye captain o7
Chaos: Danny, in an alley getting attacked by the fucking Joker: I wonder why this place is called crime alley
Daniel: stop bullying me 😠
Chaos: No
TooFine: hey danny r u sure thats right? i checked the cams n stuff but theres no available footage from the area n time u described
TooFine: its like someones already wiped it all
Daniel: oh!
Daniel: that’s so sweet of him 😊
Chaos: Wait who is this ‘him’?
TooFine: the joker????
Daniel: oh no not the Joker
Daniel: just some cute guy I met last night
Daniel: he witnessed me killing the Joker 🫣
Daniel: and didn’t call the cops on me afterward 🥰💞
TooFine: def green flag
Chaos: Oh hell yeah, he’s a keeper
Chaos: Wait you killed the Joker?! I thought you just fought him off!
Daniel: it was an accident!! 😭😭
Daniel: he crept up on me and tried to grab me 😓
Daniel: so I got startled and because all I saw was a clown
Daniel: I just kinda punched his face in with my ghost strength… 😰
TooFine: f
Chaos: f
Sharpshooter: Have you gotten rid of the body yet? Did you leave behind DNA at the crime scene? Will I need to start saving up bail money or getting ready to enact the Fenton Break Out plan?
Chaos: Jazz asking the important questions here
Daniel: well, considering the footage was wiped
Daniel: and also the fact that no one’s found him yet
Daniel: I think it’s safe to assume it’s all taken care of
Daniel: that’s honestly really sweet of him though 🥰😊
TooFine: oohhhhh ur mystery boo??
Daniel: yeah, this random guy saw me vibe-checking the Joker
Daniel: and let me go home without any trouble
Daniel: pretty sure he’s the one who wiped the cams 🤔
Daniel: and then today he showed up at my apartment with flowers 🥺
Daniel: they were sweat peas!!!! 🥰🤩
Chaos: Was that to thank you for the murder orrrr?
Sharpshooter: Oh those are your favorite, was that on purpose?
Daniel: well I didn’t tell him
Daniel: so I’m not sure if he knew or if it was a coincidence 🤷
Daniel: but yeah then he took me out to this restaurant called Pete’s for dinner
Daniel: they had some amazing cannoli
Daniel: you should try it sometime if you get the chance
Daniel: and then after dinner he took me to the observatory!!!!!!! 🤩🥰
Sharpshooter: Gotham observatory?
Sharpshooter: Isn’t that the one with the special telescope, I think you mentioned it before
Daniel: yeah, the crystal-powered telescope!! 😍💞✨🤩❤️
Daniel: and at the end, he brought me home
Daniel: and he asked for my number!!!
TooFine: nice dude!
Chaos: The guy really went all-out and planned your dream date hu? So, what’s this mystery hunk’s name?
Daniel: oh I’m not sure, I didn’t ask 🙃🤭
Sharpshooter: Danny…
Daniel: yes?
Sharpshooter: Did you go on a date with a complete stranger who witnessed you commit a murder?
Chaos: How do you not even know his name?
Daniel: two words Jazz: Johnny 13
Daniel: and he’s not a stranger!! 😠
Sharpshooter: But you don’t know his name?
Chaos: We just can’t leave him alone, can we? Less than a week on his own and he already murdered one of Gotham’s most infamous rogues and then completely forgets the concept of Stranger Danger
Daniel: I mean he probably just found it when he tried to do some research on me or something
Daniel: probably got it from the school’s system now that I think of it 🤔
TooFine: dude who the hell is this guy??
Chaos: Who the fuck did you go on a date with?
Daniel: do you really think it was a date? 🥺😳
Daniel: I wasn’t sure
Daniel: cause he mainly took me out for dinner to thank me for the night before
Daniel: but then again
Daniel: he did get me flowers and ask for my number after he brought me back to my apartment 🤔
Daniel: like I wasn’t sure if I was reading the signals right…..
Daniel: but do you think that was a date? ���
Sharpshooter: Danny, for the love of the Ancients.
Sharpshooter: Who was it?
Daniel: oh, it was Red Hood 🥰
TooFine: damn dannys got that vigilante rizz
Sharpshooter: Red Hood? The crime lord?!
TooFine: former, actually
Daniel: what he said ^^
Chaos: Danny, you really have a type huh? Vigilantes with a Red theme. Who’s next? Red Robin?
Daniel: stop bullying me
TooFine: never
Chaos: Never
Daniel: on a different note, who changed my name in the chat again?
Sharpshooter: Ellie did.
Chaos: Ellie
TooFine: @TheCoolerDaniel
TheCoolerDaniel: 😎
TheCoolerDaniel: wait i just read back, danny’s dating a crime lord?? :0 👀
---
Taglist (for now, I’ll probably stop if I cant keep up):
@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard
#i had more planned for this chapter#but this already started to become too long#so the batfam reactions will hae to be in the next chap#sorry#anyway#dp x dc#dp x dc fic#dpxdc#dcxdp#dp x dc crossover#dead on main#dead on main ship#Danny in an alley getting attacked by the fucking Joker: I wonder why this place called crime alley#team phantom has questions#but then again weirder shit has happened#danny killing the joker and going on a date with red hood is barely in the top 10 of weird/fucked up shit he's done#he seems fine and happy so theyre not too worried#might be planning a shovel talk in a private chat tho#sam: alright ill get the creep stick#sam: jazz--#jazz: already getting the ecto-skeleton ready as we speak#oh for those who are curious#jazz and danny's private chat nicknames are references to invis-o-bill and jazzie-pants the nicknames#question: would anyone mind me adding some plot? it'll still be mainly crack of course#but i got a thought of how i could add in a lil plot#tho i won't do it if people prefer it like this#so let me know what y'all think
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Communication
Surprise surprise, they're no good at it.
This is a continuation of my in-game bardlock series, seeing as I left a large gap in it between an intimate and emotional scene and a whole bunch of unhinged fucking. Sorry about that.
Takes place after Intimacy but can be read as a stand-alone!
Read on AO3
Astarion x f!Tav
Early Act 3. It has been nice, but it's time Tav and Astarion actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next.
Tav is a half-elf bardlock. I'm calling her Tav in this fic, but if you know you know.
Hurt/comfort, some fluff and a drop of humour (I am me after all) if you squint, love, angst
TW: some very casual violence and murder
Approximately 3.9k words.
“Well?” A very giddy Astarion had appeared behind Tav. “Let’s go!”
The party had finally reached the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate and were setting up camp near Rivington, after a brief excursion in the area.
“Go where?” she asked.
“Anywhere! I haven’t seen these streets in sunlight in two centuries.”
“Now..?”
The city was flooded with refugees. Some child whose mother was definitely not coming for her had seemingly declared herself adopted by the group. There was a towering pile of corpses just outside one of the nearby gates. A circus was in town.
It was nice to finally be back in civilisation.
“Yes, now! Forget the bloody tent, maybe we’ll find an inn to sleep in for a change.”
Nothing had been arranged, set up or planned yet. They had only the vaguest notion of where they were going.
“Sure, a walk sounds lovely right now,” shrugged Tav.
It very quickly became obvious that finding an inn would be nigh on impossible. The streets were crowded with refugees, frantic citizens and all those who would either try to keep them in order or prey upon them.
“Are we going anywhere in particular, or are we just... going?” Tav asked, trying to make her way through the throng. She had never seen Baldur’s Gate this busy before.
“There is something I’d like to show you,” answered Astarion. “Some place, to be exact. It’s- hey!”
He realised that he was talking to no one, as they had been separated by a group of dwarves pushing their way through between them. Tav smiled at him over their heads, raising her arms in an open-palmed gesture of defeat and resignation.
“Can’t you keep up?” Astarion sighed, rolling his eyes, and reached for her, taking her hand and linking his fingers through hers.
This… This was new, particularly in public, and Tav bit her lip, fighting not to smile, as he guided her after him.
Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at her, to see her grinning.
“Oh shut up,” he huffed, before spilling into a smile too, despite himself, and drawing her close to kiss her.
“Half-elven whore,” a nearby elven woman muttered to her companion in elvish, tsking in distaste at the sight. Either she did not expect to be heard or understood, or simply did not care.
Astarion turned towards the woman, with a glower, but before he could retaliate with his own snide remark, Tav told the elven woman to go fuck herself with a splintered broom, in perfect elvish, and pulled Astarion further down the street before the woman thought of anything else to say.
“Such... delightful use of the True Tongue, dear.” Astarion seemed in equal parts impressed and taken aback. “Don't tell me you’ve been holding out on me this whole time..?”
“Oh, no, I only know a little bit,” laughed Tav.
“Do indulge me.”
“No, it’s really hardly anything,” she shook her head. “I can count, exchange pleasantries and profanities, know a few songs I can’t translate, and a few odd phrases.”
“Such as?”
“I can scream for help in elvish, for one,” she offered.
“Why would you need to scream for help in elvish..?”
“Men are more likely to come running if they think it’s a little elven maiden they’re rescuing,” she explained with a sigh.
Astarion mulled that over with a frown for a bit.
“I’ll have to take your word for that... What else? And for hells’ sake, just say something, I enjoyed hearing it.”
She said the first phrase that came to mind.
Astarion stopped dead in his tracks, with what Tav knew to be the expression he held when he was doing his best to keep his face straight.
“So let’s start with what you think you just said.”
“...Shit. ...Uhh.” Tav gave Astarion a sheepish look. “‘My small children have had nothing to eat for days.’?”
“Darling,” he said, cupping her cheeks, trying not to laugh. “My love. That’s not quite it... Now, how many people do you think you’ve told you’ve ‘eaten nothing but small children for days’..?”
“Ah... That explains the reactions,” Tav said thoughtfully.
“Horror?” Astarion finally snickered.
“Usually laughter... I just figured most elves were assholes.”
Eventually Astarion brought them onto a rooftop that offered an impressive view of the city and surrounding regions.
“It’s so strange to be here in daylight,” he murmured. “This was one of my spots,” he said, turning to Tav. “I used to come here at the start of my evenings, alone, and just… enjoy the peace and quiet for a while.” Astarion took a pensive look around. “Admittedly, the tiles weren’t as hot at night, and all the bird shit wasn’t as prominent.”
They found a place to sit down.
“I thought you would try to get your job done as quickly as possible,” said Tav.
“There had to be a certain balance to it.” Astarion shook his head. “Start prowling too early, and the potential targets wouldn’t be ripe for the picking yet. And even if I managed to get someone back to the manor early on in the evening, it would only mean I would have to ‘entertain’ them longer.” He shut his eyes and leaned back against a chimney. “It was better to take some precious solitary repose, when I could.”
“Do you think you might have taken me back to Cazador if you’d met me back then?” Tav asked quietly.
Astarion opened his eyes and frowned at the sudden question.
“Not if I’d ever seen you perform, no,” he deliberated. “I never went for the bards. They were almost my co-conspirators, though they didn’t know it. I couldn’t waste them.” He paused before continuing. “But otherwise, if I’d just bumped into you at a tavern… Probably, yes. A pretty, reckless stray… You would have been perfect. …Would you have followed?” He asked, glancing at her.
“Probably,” she replied, staring off into the distance.
They sat in silence until Astarion broke it with a question.
“Will you stay with me when all this is over?”
Just the sheer amount of effort he put into trying to make that question sound casual spoke volumes.
It caught her off guard. They’d spent many evenings in his tent lazily basking in vague fantasies about an ‘after’, usually concentrating on the idea of being able to stay in bed all day, or the concept of their hair and fingernails being free of dried blood and entrails for a change. They’d never actually discussed any realistic nuance of this ‘after’. Or what it might look like, other than what it wouldn’t look like.
“Are you certain you want to take Cazador’s place in the ritual..?” she asked, carefully.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Astarion immediately sounded defensive.
“You don’t even know what it entails or means, not really...”
“It means having everything I’ve been missing the past two centuries, what else is there to know?” He scoffed. “...You haven’t answered my question,” he said after a pause.
She said nothing for a while, looking down at her fingernails.
“Stay and do what..?”
“Anything!” he exclaimed. “Anything you want. We could do anything. Do you have any idea what I will be capable of? Of the power I will hold. The influence.”
“Yes, yes, legions of wolves, turning into mist,” she recited. “What else… Commanding ghouls, I think?” She threw her head back, looking at the sky. “I’m not sure why you would need to do any of that, though.”
“Unimaginable power, and you mock it…” Astarion said indignantly. “I suppose you would rather go frolic in the woods with Halsin..? …Oh don’t look so shocked, I’ve seen how he looks at you. Sleeping in the dirt, living off the land. Is that what would make you happy?”
“He looks at you the same way! And must you jump to extremes?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Even if I were interested in Halsin, there is ample space between sleeping in the dirt and sleeping in that gothic monstrosity, in which I might find myself happy.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“I don’t think you should go through with it,” she said, finally. “Something about it just doesn’t sit right.”
Astarion looked at her with an unreadable expression and didn’t say anything. She continued.
“I know enough stories - and before you roll your eyes at me, there is usually a grain of truth to them – and I’ve read between the lines of enough history texts, to know there is no such thing as a jolly vampire lord that just has a grand ol’ time carousing in their castle. It’s always centred on cruelty, misery and violence.”
“I suppose you know plenty of stories of jolly vampire spawn,” he spat.
“Some, as a matter of fact. They usually revolve around romance and redemption.” She sighed and continued, as he let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve never heard of any demonic deals that ended in anything that wasn’t disastrous, either. The point is, nothing that involves blood or soul sacrifice has ever made anyone happy.” She looked in the direction of Cazador’s palace. “We should kill Cazador, burn it all to the ground and dance on the ashes. I will be by your side. And yes, I want to stay with you. Of course I do.”
“For how long?” Astarion asked quietly, after a pause.
“...What?”
“How long will you stay by my side? You have another... 100 years, 150 at best? I can’t offer any solutions to that as a spawn.”
She blinked, realisation dawning in her eyes.
“...Astarion Ancunin, did you just say you want to spend the rest of eternity with me?”
“Oh don’t you bloody dare turn this into a joke,” he bristled. “Just for once.”
“Not a joke, but…” She paused and gave her head a brisk shake, as if to snap herself out of a daze. “Just so we’re absolutely clear, what are you saying?”
“Isn’t it obvious..?” The grin that had crept habitually onto Astarion’s face felt like a suffocating mask. She only stared back into his eyes, unblinking, waiting for him to continue. “I could turn you. Grant you an eternity.” ‘With me’, he wanted to add, but the look in her eyes made the words die on his tongue.
None of this was going the way Astarion had expected. Not that he had planned any of this… Still, he’d made certain assumptions. He’d anticipated the conversation and day would flow somewhere along the following lines: re-affirm his plans for Cazador. Exchange words of undying love and devotion. Maybe, maybe make love to her again, later, in celebration. Instead everything was slipping like fine sand through his fingers. Words simply wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Everything he thought he might say suddenly felt pathetic.
“Turn me? To become one of your spawn?” Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but she talked over him. “Two centuries as something you say is less than a slave, a puppet, and you would so easily offer the same fate to me..?”
“First of all,” he sputtered, “I don’t know why you immediately assumed there would be others. Secondly,” he continued, slowing down, “there is another way, or so I’ve read. You wouldn’t be a mere spawn, but a-” Astarion winced, cutting himself off. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. This was rapidly spinning further and further out of his control. “I thought you trusted me?” he asked instead.
“It’s not about trust,” she said. “If you had the choice between a hundred years of absolute freedom or being enthralled to someone for eternity - doesn’t matter who - me, Gale, your long-lost grandmother, anyone! What would you choose?”
“I would never compel you,” said Astarion, his voice tinged with a hint of pleading.
“That’s not the point,” she said, looking away, running her hand through and tugging at her hair. “Let’s just head back. We still need to set up before it gets dark, and I promised Karlach we would visit that bloody circus…”
Something inside Astarion shattered and spilled, ice-cold, over his heart as she got up and walked away.
Not even an hour had passed since some of the happiest moments he’s had in centuries.
They walked back in silence.
Eventually they came upon an outpost of Flaming Fists and steel watchers, who had appeared on the road they had taken into the city. They were apprehending everyone trying to pass through, whether they were leaving or entering.
“Let’s try a side street,” offered Astarion.
They found and made their way through a narrow alleyway. It was empty. Suspiciously empty, in fact - no children running through, no one out for a quick smoke, no drunks pissing on the walls.
Sure enough, once they were halfway through, three goons intercepted their way, stepping out of a doorway. Two humans and an enormous half-orc wide enough to block out most of the passage.
“Alley toll.” One of the thugs flashed a malicious grin, eyeing Tav up and down. “Better pay up, doll.” Three more jeering hoodlums appeared behind them as he spoke, armed with crude but lethal weapons.
“Attempting to detain a Council battlemage on duty? Bold but stupid,” she said gravely. “Hand over your profits and Lord Gortash won’t learn of your little enterprise. This is your only warning.”
Trying to bluff and deceive her way through, per usual. Was there even a Council anymore? Did it employ mages? No matter. Whether due to the fact that she and Astarion had decided to wander the streets of the city in civilian clothes, without armour, or simply because the lust for money and violence had gotten the better of the would-be muggers, they paid her attempt no heed.
The leader laughed.
“Or, how about we have some fun with you, and your Lord Gortash can come and collect your body from the river once we’re done with it?”
Astarion’s blood boiled.
He reached for his daggers, thoughts racing. Why in the hells had they come here barely armed..? They were surrounded, but perhaps if she blasted the three in front of them they might run through..? But they were probably too close for that… Could she misty step behind them and get away? His undead body would most likely survive whatever came, even with the tadpole.
“Take the ones behind,” Tav snapped, and Astarion followed her lead, as he had grown used to, silently praying to no particular deity that she knew what she was doing.
He ducked as one of the goons bellowed and swung a sword at him, dodging the blow to come up next to his attacker, burying a dagger between his ribs and another in his guts, for good measure. At least the alley was too narrow for all of the bandits to come in on them at once. Behind him, Tav spat some incantation that he wasn’t familiar with.
The next lout came at him, only to stop short, as Astarion scrounged up his meagre magical abilities to hurl a firebolt at his face, making the man yelp and grind to a halt in shock and pain. Astarion’s dagger followed through his eye socket shortly thereafter.
The entire altercation with the two thugs took mere seconds. Another controlled shout from Tav followed behind him.
The last of the muggers on Astarion’s side backed away, looking at the scene unfolding behind Astarion with a horrified expression, before breaking into a run and disappearing.
Astarion turned back to witness Tav standing with her arms crossed, looking unaffected, just as the half-orc who had been behind the group’s leader pulled his sword back out from the leader’s stomach, having impaled him from behind.
Tav barked another command as the leader collapsed, and the half-orc slammed the head of his other cohort, who hadn’t understood what was happening yet, against a wall, with a resounding crunch.
A domination spell.
Astarion felt nauseous. If his body had been capable of producing bile, it would have crept up at the back of his throat. For once, the smell of freshly spilled blood all around them was repulsive to him.
“Kneel,” Tav commanded, calmly. The half-orc’s body immediately dropped to its knees, with a thud that spoke of damaged kneecaps.
“I’m running out of time. Do you need him?” She stepped over the body of the group’s dying ex-leader and walked around the half-orc, to stand behind him.
Disgust and revulsion continued to claw at Astarion’s insides.
“…What?”
The half-orc’s eyes were void of any emotion. A small mercy.
“Blood. Do you want his blood, before I spill it?” she said nonchalantly.
“…No,” he swallowed. Not like this…
He watched as she slit his throat, carefully standing behind him to avoid blood spraying over herself. Comprehension returned to the man’s eyes just as he made his last gurgling sounds, before stilling forever.
“That was despicable,” Astarion hissed, finally breaking his gaze away from the body. “Compulsion? Really?!”
She gave him an incredulous look, momentarily speechless.
“This is what I do!” she exclaimed. “This is how I protect myself. You know this! What the fuck did you expect - that I would set off a fireball in an alley?! Or make one of them have a fit of giggles?!”
“You didn’t need to do anything, I could have handled all of them,” he countered.
“Oh, stand behind you like a meek little lamb?” She scoffed. “While neither of us are even wearing armour, and they’re on both sides? Don’t be ridiculous.” She crouched to wipe her dagger on the dead man’s clothes. “What does it matter, anyway,” she said, offhanded. “Dead is dead - who cares how they got there?”
“It was just like Cazador all over again,” Astarion said, bitterly. “Watching my siblings torture each other, for his amusement, waiting for it to be my turn to be compelled.”
She stilled as she crouched, not looking up at him.
“You fucking hypocrite,” she said, finally, rising.
“What in the hells are you talking about?” he grimaced.
“Comparing me to Cazador, when you’re planning to take his very place.”
“How dare you?” Astarion felt the last of his composure leaving him. “I am nothing like Cazador, and I never will be,” he growled.
“No?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re already thinking of your own spawn. Maybe you would keep your word and not compel me, but you would be curious. All that power that you’ve been wishing was yours for 200 years...” She gesticulated, tilting her head. “First just one teensy little slave - someone who’s wronged you, maybe, someone who deserves to bear your ire. Then, perhaps someone convenient, in a place of power. Someone like what you would have been, had Cazador not botched your death so bad that it became public. Then another. And another. And what will you do with them once you have them? Take them for midnight picnics and host slumber parties?”
She spat on the ground.
“I’m going back to camp.”
She stormed off, fuming, exiting the alleyway and mixing into the crowd. Astarion followed at a distance, discreetly wiping the blood that had landed on his hands on the shirt of a random passerby that stumbled out in front of him. He gritted his teeth, watching her.
It had taken every last bit of his self-control to not snap back at her during her little tirade.
He wanted to stalk off in the opposite direction, but frankly all his things were at the campsite, and he still needed the group’s help, both with Cazador and the tadpole. And he couldn’t discount something else happening to her on the way back.
No, none of this was what he thought would end up happening today. Was this the end..?
It didn’t matter, he thought. Let her be stubborn. Let her accuse him of gods know what. He would do what he had set out to do. Hells, even if she changed her mind later - it would be too late. Let her live out her “hundred years of freedom” in regret.
And how fucking dare she?! Insinuating that he was or could ever be anything like Cazador. After all he had given her. His trust. His love. He didn’t have anything else. Not as a spawn, anyway.
But perhaps she would change her mind, after she gave his proposal more thought..? He could talk her into it, couldn’t he? He’s talked so many people into doing exactly what he wanted them to do…
There was no point in anything otherwise. It was all for her. All he wanted for himself was revenge. Freedom. Safety. But all the power in the world was meaningless if he couldn’t share it with her.
Astarion winced at the thought, hating that it even crossed his mind. If only he could claw it out of his brain and smash it against the cobbles beneath his feet. How much simpler life would be.
He would not grovel. He would not apologise. He would not change his mind. And he would rather die, again, than be caught running after her like a dog.
Astarion cursed, slipped into the shadows and turned invisible, breaking into a sprint. He wouldn’t be able to replicate the trick for a while now, if the need arose, but he couldn’t care less.
He raced up sets of stairs, speeding through a terrace, dodging the patrons of whatever establishment it was he was going through, and leaped, unseen, onto the next building’s, until he was ahead of her, descending back onto the ground and losing his invisibility around the corner from the main street, stepping out just in front of her.
He caught a glimpse of her scowling and furiously blinking away tears just before she crashed into his chest with a light gasp, as he wrapped his arms around her. She was stiff and rigid, but at least she didn’t try to push him away. Still, a part of him was screaming that it was already too late.
“I don’t want you to have to commit those atrocities when you’re with me,” Astarion murmured into her hair, holding her close.
“You’d rather commit them yourself?” she retorted, her voice weak.
“I don’t want to,” he said quietly, as she seemed to become more malleable, and sank into his embrace, slowly wrapping her own arms around his back. “But I will if I have to. For you.”
“That makes two of us, I guess,” she managed, sounding choked up.
Astarion took a deep breath, relieved. Mine… Still mine… He thought to himself, touching his forehead against hers and stroking her cheek. Someone in the street heckled them, yelling something about getting a room.
“I already don’t have much to offer, beyond all my burdens,” he whispered. She looked up at him, eyes glistening. She tried to protest, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “I want to do what I can, for you. For us. What good am I if I can’t even keep you safe?”
He pressed his lips against her forehead as she hugged him tighter. He had no idea whether he had convinced her of anything, or if she simply didn’t have the will to argue anymore, but for now it didn’t matter.
“I will love you no matter what,” she breathed.
Another jeer followed from the crowd, and someone cursed at them to get out of the way.
“A legion of wolves sounds tempting right about now,” she added, as he smiled.
“Do you still want to get Karlach and go to that circus?” he asked.
“Fuck the circus,” she mumbled into his shirt. “But I guess we should.”
They made their way back to the camp, fingers interlocked again. The silence that stretched once more almost felt comfortable this time.
~~~~~
Thanks for reading!
Series master list
Next in series - A night at the inn
AO3
~~~~~
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The Assignment
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Pairing | Red Hood x reader
Summary | Red Hood takes a rare job. The assignment in question? Punish your father through you.
Warnings | HARD KINKS sexual content, 18+, non con, dub con, gun play, knife play (barely), kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, threats of violence, degradation, objectification, face fucking, choking, fear play
Words | 6k
Notes | please please please read the warnings. While this fic isn’t technically rape because of reader’s mindset, the word is still used multiple times.
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
Use of r word. Please don’t read if this will be triggering- this is the last warning.
Eyes fluttering open, you tried to remember where you were and how you got here. You remember going to a club with your friends, then a few hours later waiting outside for them as they used the bathroom before going back to your friend’s apartment. But you don’t remember them actually coming out of the club or any of the events after.
The room was dim, only lit up by a light behind you. It looked like some kind of abandoned warehouse. You felt the burn on your wrists as you tried to move them under the rope binding you to the chair.
“I’ll be honest,” The distorted voice from behind you made your head snap up as you took in a sharp breath, “this isn’t the kind of work I normally do. But I just couldn’t resist.”
“W-who are you?” You stammered, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.
“The better question is, who are you?” Two hands were placed on your shoulders, making you jump. You hadn’t even heard him walk toward you. “Your father has made quite a name for himself.” The distorted chuckle made your blood run cold as you stiffened.
“I- I don’t know anything, I swear. He doesn’t tell me anything.”
“That’s not why you’re here.” His hands started slowly moving up and down your arms. “You see, some people aren’t very… happy with his choices. Normally I’d prefer confronting the problem directly, but this was just too tempting. And I figured, better me than some other creep who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“So- what, you’re going to torture me?” You couldn’t hide the tremble in your voice. He just chuckled and rounded the chair, standing in front of you.
“Something like that.”
Your breath hitched as you finally got a good look at him. He was massive and covered in an assortment of weapons. The red helmet gleamed under the dim light and you watched as he tilted his head slightly, like he was examining you. You suddenly felt very self conscious in just your skimpy dress and strappy heels.
“Do you know who I am?” You nodded breathlessly in response. You had seen the blurry pictures of him on the news but they did no justice to his actual appearance. “Then you know what I’m capable of.” Once again, you nodded silently. You’d heard the stories of people left nearly dead and people left actually dead.
“Good. Now that we’re properly acquainted, we can get started.” You hadn’t noticed before but your body is trembling, your stomach pooling with dread and fear, but also anger. Anger toward your father for letting this happen, that he chose to bring a child into this life despite the risks. Anger that you’re sitting here right now instead of him.
“They said punish him… Now that’s pretty open to interpretation if you ask me.” He dropped down so his face was level with yours and grabbed your thighs, right above your knees, then he parted them slowly. Your cheeks grew warm as you felt the bottom of your dress moving further up your thighs the more he parted them. When you attempted to close your legs, his grip turned bruising and you let out a small whimper.
“You really don’t want to make this worse for yourself.” He warned. Your legs opened in defeat and he loosened his grip. When his hands started moving up your thighs, you could see the red marks left behind from his fingertips.
“What are you going to do to me?” The fear in your voice was obvious.
“Relax, princess. You’ll live.”
“So you are going to hurt me?” You asked quietly, staring into the whites of his helmet with wide eyes.
“That’s entirely up to you.” His hands reached the top of your legs and he brought them to your inner thighs, then snaked them back down.
“I- I have money. I can pay you whatever you want.”
“You mean you have daddy’s money?” He sneered and your face flushed in embarrassment as you looked away from him.
“How ‘bout this,” He took a gun from his leg and held it up, “You pick a number between one and ten. If you guess right, I’ll let you go. But if you guess wrong…” He trailed off into a chuckle and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Well, to put it simply, you won’t be leaving here.”
“I- I don’t…” You floundered for a response as you eyed the gun.
“Go on, princess. Pick a number.”
“How do I know you won’t lie and shoot me anyway?” Despite the venom in your voice, it still trembled in fear. He let out a low chuckle and moved the gun to your leg, following the same path as his hand.
“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” He all but shrugged, making you scoff.
“Why should I trust a man who kidnapped and threatened to kill me?” You snapped and he let out a low chuckle again.
“I like the mouthy ones.”
The barrel met the apex of your thighs and you jumped at the contact. He didn’t hold it there long though. Instead, he slowly trailed it up your torso and neck until it was pointed at your chin.
“Go on. Give me a number.” His voice was quieter now as he leaned into your space.
“I- I don’t want to.” You whispered, trying to move your head away from the gun. He brought his other hand up to hold you still by your hair and pushed the barrel harder against your chin.
“No?” He slightly tilted his head, emphasizing the question.
“No.” You managed to say, even though your throat was closing up in fear. He waited a beat before finally releasing you.
“I have a better idea.” He retrieved a knife from his pants and cut the rope on your wrists. “Stand up.” Rubbing your sore wrists, you tentatively rose to your feet.
“If you can get to the door, you can leave. I’ll even give you an advantage.” He held the gun out to you and you stared at him with wide eyes. You eyed him skeptically, trying to figure out why he was doing this. “It’s not a trick.” He chuckled. You tentatively reached for the gun and examined it once it was in your grasp.
“Safety’s off. All you have to do is pull the trigger. You do know where the trigger is, right?” You looked up at him with a scowl.
“Yes.” You said bitterly. Pointing it at him, you noticed how obvious the shaking in your hands has become. You eyed the door across the room and started circling him. He moved along with you until your back was to the door. You started moving toward it, never removing the gun or your gaze from the man in front of you, but he matched your steps.
The first time you fired the gun, it flew right past him and he didn’t even flinch. You adjusted your grip and took a deep breath, trying to concentrate. This time when you fired it, he was in front of you before you could even blink. He didn’t make a move for the gun, all he did was spin you around and push your back, making you stumble forward.
“Are you even trying?”
You growled and whipped around to face him. The second you had it pointed at him, you pulled the trigger twice. He moved a little to the side and the first one flew past him but the second one grazed his helmet, making it crack. Only a tiny part of his eye was visible now, but even most of that was covered by a second mask. All thoughts of making it to the door were replaced by curiosity.
“I’m impressed.” The voice was no longer distorted and holy fuck that is not what you were expecting. You were expecting some old man, or someone at least ten years older than you- someone gross. Someone you’d never let touch you with a ten foot pole. This changes things... Watching him take off the helmet, you stood frozen as it dropped to the floor. This changes everything. Not that you condone Stockholm syndrome… but maybe you understand it a little now.
Before you even realized what was happening, he had you up against the wall, both hands pinned by your head and the gun discarded on the floor. His eyes roamed your face as he tilted his head again.
“I- you… what?” You said breathlessly, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Cat got your tongue?” He smirked, making your cheeks burn. You swallowed thickly as you got a good look at his face. You stared at his eyes for a second, admiring the color, before moving your gaze to his lips and wow-
“What happened to all that fight from earlier?” He slid both of your arms up and he could grab your wrists in one hand. “All the bargaining, the pleading.” He used his other hand to hold your face by your cheeks and leaned in until you felt his breath fanning your lips. He waited for a response and when he didn’t get one, he continued.
“Not so easy to pretend like you’re still being held here against your will when it’s with someone who looks like me, is it?” He moved a leg between your thighs and lowered his voice, “I’d bet there isn’t anything I'll do to you that you won’t beg me for first.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared at him with furrowed brows. Even though you wanted to call him cocky and delusional… He’s right. And he knows he is.
“Although I’m not sure I’ll really be completing the assignment if you actually enjoy it. Maybe I will have to hurt you after all.” The hand moved from your face to your neck and immediately squeezed. “But I think you’d like that too.” He sneered, making you look away from him with a blush.
“No…” You whined, not meeting his gaze.
“No? Shall we test that?” You looked back at him in confusion, but his hand was already leaving your neck and striking your cheek, making your head snap to the side as you gasped. You didn’t even have a chance to get your bearings before he was grabbing your neck again and slamming your head into the wall. Releasing a pathetic whimper, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to control your breathing.
“I don’t know… it seems like you like it.” He teased, lifting his leg until it pressed against your core. You let out a shaky breath as you willed your body to not chase the much needed friction.
“Fuck you.” You whispered.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get to that.” He smirked, then quickly turned you around and roughly shoved your front into the wall. You let out a soft grunt from the impact and then his whole body was pressed to yours. When you turned so your cheek was resting on the wall, the gun on the floor caught your attention and you realized that without his helmet, you might actually have a chance now.
Doing your best to ignore his hands grabbing your hips and sliding up to your waist, you tried to come up with a way to distract him that might actually work. After a beat, you did the only thing you could think of that might give you a chance.
You reached behind yourself and placed your hand over the bulge in his pants, then squeezed lightly. His hips bucked forward as his grip on your waist tightened. You palmed him through his pants, ignoring how absolutely fucking huge he feels, and waited until he placed his hands on the wall, caging you in. You took an experimental step back and grinned when he followed.
Once you were far enough away from the wall and his hands were by his sides, you lunged for the weapon. You picked it up and were about to stand when his boot met your back, roughly shoving you to the floor. You scrambled to turn over, then pointed it at him from your sitting position. Your hope disappeared instantly when you were met with a second gun aimed at your face.
“I have to say, I admire your confidence.” He chuckled, stalking toward you, making you shuffle away from him. “Give me the gun before you hurt yourself.” He sighed, holding his other hand out. You scowled at the patronizing tone and kept moving backwards.
“I- I will shoot you.” You stammered, cringing at the way your voice wavered.
“Use your head, princess. After you try to shoot me and miss, what do you think I’ll do, hm?” He cocked the gun to emphasize his point. His steps quickened and he placed his boot on your chest, pushing you down and making you fall on your back with a grunt of pain. He didn’t remove his foot as he leaned down a little and pressed the gun to your temple.
“Give me the gun.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly and held his hand out. Your grip tightened as you swallowed thickly, debating what to do. His foot pushed down harder against your chest, making you whimper quietly. When he pushed down even harder, you finally handed him the weapon and the pressure lessened. He placed it in the holster on his leg, but didn’t remove his foot or the other gun from your body.
“I’m not a very patient guy. If I were you, I wouldn’t pull that shit again unless you want a hole through your pretty little head. Do you understand?” He gritted, pushing the gun into your temple harder. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded as your bottom lip quivered in fear.
“Good.” He said quietly, then you felt him remove the gun and kneel over your waist. When you felt nothing for a few seconds, you opened your eyes to find him examining the weapon. He turned it over in his hand, then finally met your gaze.
“And to think… you were doing so well too, princess. You're lucky I don’t just kill you right now for that little stunt.” You swallowed thickly and closed your eyes again, trying to ignore the fear that was bordering very close on arousal.
The sound of metal meeting the concrete next to your head was almost deafening and your ears rang from the gun being fired so close to you. You let out a choked sob as you shook beneath him and reluctantly opened your eyes.
“What do you say for me being so generous?” He prompted casually, as if he hadn’t just shot the ground inches from your head.
“T-thank you.” You whispered, feeling your eyes burn as his figure got blurry. You squeezed your eyes shut again and bit your lip to hide the way it was trembling.
“Are you scared?” He asked quietly, dragging the gun down your chest to your navel. All you could do was give him a small nod.
“Look at me.” The way he spoke was almost comforting- almost made you want to obey. But apparently you took too long. The gun lifted your chin and he spoke more harshly this time.
“Look. At. Me.” He growled. You opened your eyes and felt the remaining tears immediately fall down your temples as he brushed the barrel over your lips.
“Open.” His tone left no room for argument, so you did what he said. The second your lips were parted, the gun was making its way inside your mouth. You gagged at the metallic taste, and then again once it brushed the back of your throat. He fucked it in and out of your mouth slowly and you just prayed it would be over soon.
“It’d be a shame if my finger accidentally just… slipped.” He smirked. “For you though. I could still fuck you with your brain all over the floor.” You whined lowly, and he released a dark chuckle.
“Yeah, I think I like that idea actually. Send you back to your daddy stuffed full of my come and with a hole in your pretty little head.” You let out a muffled cry and unconsciously squeezed your thighs together.
“Let him see you for what you really are. Just a mindless fucktoy. Or… brainless.” He chuckled.
Finally, finally, he removed the gun from your mouth. A trail of saliva connected your lips to the barrel which only increased your embarrassment. You panted quietly and looked up at him through wet lashes with furrowed brows. He groaned and tossed the gun to the side, then leaned over your face.
“So fucked out already and we haven’t even started.” He whispered, the corner of his lips turning up in a smirk. You just stared at him breathlessly. “You know I think I deserve a little something for you being a tease earlier, don’t you?” You nodded dumbly and his smirk grew.
He positioned you so that your arms were on the ground above your head, then shuffled up your body. He placed his knees on either side of your head, effectively immobilizing your arms. Wasting no time, he removed his length from his pants and took it in his hand, stoking it slowly above your face.
It was even bigger than it felt… The tip was red and beading precum. You eyed the vein on the bottom and felt your hole flutter around nothing at the way it was almost visibly throbbing in his hand. You were brought out of your daze by him slapping his length on your cheek, smearing some of the precum there.
“Open up, princess.” There was no hesitation when your mouth fell open. He slid his cock in, torturously slow, and didn’t stop until he met the resistance of your throat. “C’mon, relax your throat. I know a little slut like you can deep throat cock so fucking do it.” He growled, pushing deeper despite the way you were gagging and choking at the intrusion.
Truthfully you’ve never been good at deepthroating. You’ve always struggled with the multitasking aspect of it- relaxing your throat, remembering to breathe, no teeth, trying to hold back your gag reflex, etc.
He roughly pulled out, then slapped you, making you gasp. Grabbing your cheeks, he turned you back to him, then leaned down over you and spit into your open mouth. Fuck- if he keeps acting like this you feel like you might actually orgasm with no stimulation at all.
“Swallow.” He demanded. You obeyed and he gave you a satisfied smile that made you want to keep being good so you could see it again.
He entered you again, this time focusing on fucking your mouth rather than trying to get all of it in. You couldn’t tell which one was better though, because everytime he hit the back of your throat, you still gagged slightly.
“God it’s like you were fucking made to take cock.” He said through a moan, snapping his hips faster. After another moment of this, he thrusted inside but didn’t pull out. He shoved his length so far down your throat that you couldn’t even gag. You watched through blurry eyes as he threw his head back with a near pornographic moan. When he finally pulled out, you coughed and sputtered as your chest heaved, taking in the much needed oxygen.
He barely gave you a moment to recover before he was stuffing you full again, brutally fucking your mouth. His knees closed around your head to keep you from turning away from him. Hot tears rolled down your temples as you struggled to breathe through your nose.
“Fuck- keep crying, princess. Makes me so fucking hard.” He said through a moan, making you release a muffled whimper. When you met his gaze, he practically went feral. His thrusts turned frantic and desperate as he chased his orgasm. Finally, he stilled, fully inside your mouth, and you felt hot come hitting your throat. His stifled moans and whimpers made you whine and clench your thighs together. He slowly pulled his fading erection from your mouth and you swallowed, then coughed violently.
“One down, two to go.” He smirked, making you stiffen. Out of arousal or fear, you weren’t sure. He shuffled back down your body until he was between your legs. Gloved hands pried your thighs apart and you felt your cheeks heat up when he chuckled.
“Look at that… Already soaked through your slutty little panties. Can’t say I’m necessarily surprised though.” He dragged his thumb over the damp fabric, making your hips buck into the friction.
Pulling a knife from his pants, he twirled it in his hand before bringing it down to your body. He trailed the tip down from your navel to the top of your panties and you were frozen as you waited eagerly. The blade ran along the waistband until he reached the fabric covering your hip. He slid the knife under and pulled up, slicing the lace easily. You swallowed down a moan as he did the same to the other side.
He pulled the fabric away from your body and held it up so you could see your arousal on it. You flushed and looked away from him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him put them in his pocket.
When warm and soft brushed your core, you jumped. He had taken off his glove and was slowly circling his thumb over your clit. You all but sobbed in relief at the much needed friction, even though his touch was feather light.
“Please.” You whimpered, making him laugh under his breath.
“Such a fucking slut… about to be raped and you’re literally begging for it.” The look of disdain on his face made you frown.
“I- I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry for being a slut or for begging me to rape you?” Your brows furrowed as you tried to think of what answer he wants. “Hm?” He added with a tilt of his head.
“I don’t know...” You said timidly.
“Course you don’t.” He snickered, making you flush in embarrassment. “Are there even any brains to spill or is it just empty up there?” You frowned and looked away from him. His hand came down on your clit, the pain making you release a choked moan.
“Fuck.” You cried, biting your lip to stifle any other sounds. He hit you hard. And you were just praying that was the first and only one because you’re not sure if you can take another. His thumb went back to rubbing light circles on your clit and you watched as his gaze roamed your body.
You wanted to beg him again. Beg him for more- for anything he’d be willing to give you as long as it was just more. But you were scared that he would hit you again or worse, stop completely.
He removed his hand, making you whine, and brought it up to your face. Two fingers entered your mouth and he pushed down on the back of your tongue, intentionally making you gag. He fucked them in and out slowly, then pulled back once he was satisfied with how wet they were.
Those same fingers roughly breached your opening and he wasted no time rapidly curling them up against your walls. You let out a choked sob at the sudden stimulation and subconsciously tried to squirm away from it. He slapped your thigh in a warning, making you mewl.
“God you’re so fucking wet.” The degrading tone made you cry out and squeeze your eyes shut from embarrassment. He inserted a third finger and you finally felt the burn of the stretch. When you felt his breath fan your lips, you opened your eyes to find him leaning over your face.
“You like it, don’t you?” He asked you curiously. All you could do was nod with a small whimper. “Of course you do.” He scoffed, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit.
“Your poor daddy... Where'd he go wrong, hm? Did he not spend enough time with you?” He frowned in mock sympathy. “Is that why you’re such a whore?”
“Please.” You whined, feeling so delirious with pleasure, you could barely focus on his words. The knot of arousal in your stomach was so fucking tight it almost hurt.
“What are you begging for, princess?”
“I- I want to come… Please make me come.” You whimpered. You could feel yourself growing closer to your climax and you arched up into his body as you tilted your head back with a lewd moan.
“Please!”
“Poor thing… You’re close, aren’t you?” You nodded rapidly and tried to focus on your impending orgasm.
He roughly yanked his fingers from you and you cried out as you came back down from the edge.
“No no- please! You have to let me come, please!” Your incoherent babbling made him place his hand on your neck and squeeze until the only sounds you could release were little squeaks.
“You’re not used to being told no, are you, princess?” He raised his brows and you frowned. “I have no intention of making you come tonight. But if you’re good… I might change my mind.” You nodded quickly as hope filled your chest.
When you felt the blunt head of his cock brush through your folds, you froze in anticipation. He teased your entrance, then dragged it up to your clit, and repeated the motions.
“Please…” You croaked, barely able to get out the word with his hand on your neck.
“Say it. Beg me to rape you.” He ordered, just barely pressing the tip inside of you before removing it. His grip loosened around your neck and you took in a heavy breath now that you were actually able to.
“Please r-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sob and looked away from him as your cheeks grew warm. “Please.”
“I'm not gonna do it unless you say it, princess.” He slapped his cock against your clit a few times, making you jolt and let out a long, embarrassed whine.
“I can’t.”
“Need I remind you that you’re here for a reason. I can use a different method to get the same result and I promise it’ll be much more painful for you.”
You let out a shaky breath and closed your eyes, feeling your lips tremble. You want it. He knows you want it. But you don’t know if you’ll even be able to get the words out.
“Please fuck me.” You whimpered, looking at him with furrowed brows. He looked at you with faux disappointment and sighed.
“Maybe you just need some motivation.” He said, then his hand was moving from your neck and being replaced with a knife. Your breath hitched at the cold metal and you stiffened beneath him.
“I wonder how much I’ll have to hurt you before you finally just say it.” He sighed, trailing the tip of the blade down your neck to your chest.
“Maybe I'll have to carve it into your pretty skin.” You trembled beneath him but other than that you were completely frozen. “Let’s find out.” He smirked. You held your breath as the pressure of the blade increased. After only a second or two you gave in.
“Please rape me!” You blurted loudly, waiting for the pressure to be removed. When it wasn’t, you continued. “Please, I- I want you to rape me.” You sobbed. After another beat he finally removed the knife.
“All you had to do was ask, baby.” He purred, leaning down and licking the bead of blood pooling on your chest.
His cock entered you so quickly, it felt like all of the air was punched out of your lungs. He didn’t stop until his hips were pressed to yours. Groaning loudly, he only paused for half a second before sliding back out then slamming in again.
“Fuck- how’s a whore like you so tight, huh?” He asked breathlessly. All you could do was stare at him, brows furrowed and mouth open in a silent moan. It burned. You were in no way a virgin but he’s big and you didn’t have the prep you’re used to getting.
Lifting your legs to hang over his shoulders, he changed the pace, mercilessly pounding your hole. He was chasing his own pleasure, that much was obvious in the way he fucked you. But for some sick reason, that turned you on even more.
“God, fuck- Maybe I’ll keep you here- have a fleshlight at my disposal 24/7. How does that sound, princess?” He said through a moan. You squeezed your eyes shut and released a pathetic sob as you shook your head. “No? But baby, I could feel you clench around my cock when I said that.” Your whole face felt like it was on fire. It probably looked that way too, based on his chuckle.
He continued the brutal pace and you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath because of how fast he was fucking you. By now, the pain mostly subsided and was replaced with an aching need to come.
“Look at you,” He cooed. “You just love being raped don’t you?” You were about to whine and shake your head but he continued before you could. “Don’t bother denying it, princess. I can tell you’re about to come on my cock any minute now.” He smirked. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right.
“But you don’t have permission yet, do you?” He raised his brows and tilted his head, emphasizing the question.
“Do you wanna know what will happen if you come before I say you can?” You knew his question was rhetorical so you didn’t respond. “I’m gonna pull out and ruin it. And then I’m gonna fuck your ass. Even if you’re not screaming and crying in pain, you definitely won’t be coming from that.”
You let out a lewd moan before you could control it and he chuckled under his breath.
“I’m gonna fuck your ass until I’m ready to come and then I’ll stick it back in your little cunt and fill you up. You’d think someone who’s such a fucking whore would be on birth control...” He laughed to himself and you stiffened.
“But it probably won’t take the first time. So I’ll have to rape your ass again and again, getting myself right to the edge, then filling up your pussy each time.” You made a mental note to remember to get some plan b after he lets you go.
…If he lets you go.
While the thought should make you sick to your stomach, you found that you felt maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The realization that you felt that way is what actually made you sick to your stomach. But despite that, you could feel yourself growing closer to the edge, especially after his words.
“Please.” You whimpered breathlessly. “Please let me come.” He cooed mockingly and the sound went straight to your aching cunt. “Please, it- it hurts.” You whined, pouting and watching your vision go blurry from tears of desperation.
“Yeah, baby? Is your little cunt just aching for some release?” You nodded as a whimper escaped your trembling lips and his thrusts slowed into gentle rocking.
“Clearly I have my work cut out for me.” He chuckled. “If you’re gonna be my fuck toy, you’re exactly that. A toy. Your only purpose is to get me off. Now if you keep whining about it, then I’ll do what I said and rape your ass instead.” His tone turned dark and for the first time in a few minutes you actually felt afraid again.
“I- I’m sorry.” You whispered, not able to meet his eyes.
“I know you are, princess. That’s why I gave you a warning.”
“Thank you…” You said quietly.
“You’re welcome. Now how about you shut the fuck up and let me get myself off, hm?” Your stomach twisted at his words, but in the way that it added to your arousal, not your fear. You nodded and stared at him with wide eyes. “Good girl.” And then he was brutally pounding your hole again.
You watched the way his eyes rolled back into his head and his mouth dropped open in a silent moan. You could faintly see his eyebrows furrowing above the mask. When he opened his eyes again and looked back at you, he growled and leaned into your neck. He left a few kisses before roughly biting the sensitive skin, making you whimper. He sucked the skin into his mouth for a few seconds, then pulled back and moved to a new spot.
As far as you could count, you think he left about six in total. But your mind was already too hazy so you didn’t completely trust your math at the moment. Around the third hickey, you brought your hand up to his hair and pulled on it. It was only after the fifth one that you realized what you did and that he didn’t stop you. He kissed his way up to your ear and panted for a moment.
“You ready to take my come?” He whispered, his thrusts growing more erratic and frenzied. You nodded quickly with a loud moan and felt his breath against your ear as he laughed quietly.
Part of you wanted him to come already because you wanted him to fill you up. But the larger part needed him to finish soon because you were only a few thrusts away from not being able to control your impending orgasm anymore.
His hand wrapped around your neck again and he snapped his hips against you twice more, before burying himself to the hilt inside of you. He rested his head in the crook of your neck and bit your skin when the volume of his moans increased, making you whimper and tighten your grip on his hair. Despite him being completely inside of you, he still bucked his hips forward, trying to bury himself even deeper, emphasizing each thrust with a low groan.
The feeling of his come flooding you was quickly bringing you to your orgasm and you prayed he was almost done. After one last buck of his hips, he released your skin from his teeth and let out a heavy sigh.
“I wasn’t being completely serious when I said that stuff about keeping you, but now I’m actually considering it.” He mumbled making you laugh but still clench his cock as his words went straight to your pussy. He hissed and leaned up until his face was above yours. His eyes moved between yours and your lips and you stared at him breathlessly as you waited for his next move.
Instead of kissing you like you were hoping he would, he leaned up completely and gently placed your legs back down around his hips. He slowly pulled out of you, making you whine at the emptiness, and you felt his cum leaking out of you and dripping down to your ass. But then you felt his fingers, bringing it back up and pushing it inside you again. You internally begged him to put his fingers inside of you- or anything, just as long as you were full again.
He seemed to pause in thought, then removed his hand and grabbed your panties from his pocket. He wiped his own dick then moved on to you. You flinched at the rough material being rubbed over your sensitive clit as he cleaned you up. Finally he tossed them on the ground next to you and stood up, tucking himself back in his pants.
He grabbed his phone from his pocket and took a few photos of you, the sound of the camera deafening in the silent room.
You laid there, panting, dripping cum, desperate for release. He just collected his weapons and helmet and started walking out.
“W-wait!” You called after him, moving to a sitting position.
“What?” He barked, making you flinch.
“Will… will I see you again?” You asked quietly, your face blushing all the way down to your chest. He walked back over to you and you felt your stomach drop, worried you had made him change his mind about killing you. He leaned down so his face was level with yours and you watched his gaze move between your eyes, then to your lips. He looked like he was deep in thought. His jaw clenched and you bit your lip, trying to contain any reactions.
“The next time I need to fuck something, I’ll find you.” Your eyes fluttered at his response, your heart beating faster in your chest at the promise of a next time. But also beating faster in your cunt at his blatant objectification of you. Christ, maybe you should try therapy, you thought with an internal scoff. He gave you a small smirk, then walked out. You didn’t stop him this time.
Part 2
#jason todd#jason todd x reader#red hood#red hood x reader#smut#jason todd smut#red hood smut#red hood x reader smut
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New in Town - Ch. 4: First Cookout
Sarah invites you to Joel's place to celebrate the last night she's in town. A continuation of New in Town chapters 1-3 found on Tumblr here.
Pairing: Best Friend's Dad!Joel Miller x Female Reader
CW: Smut. Because obviously smut. It's these two, they fuck. No use of Y/N. Age gap (reader is 35 Joel is 47, not a focus of the fic). Minors DNI, 18+ only
Length: 5.8k
AO3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
“And this is going to be your desk,” you smiled, excited but keeping your voice down. Sarah made a quiet squeal back at you. “See, I can see you from my desk so you can make faces at me while I’m dealing with the boring accounts people. I’m manifesting it, I swear I am.”
“I’m seriously about to make a fucking moodboard if it’ll help,” she sat on the desk, her legs dangling over the edge. “I miss Austin. I didn’t think I’d miss it this much but I really do. Seattle was way more fun when you were there, now all I do is try to convince myself that my job is totally worth the 500 days of rain we get every year.”
You laughed.
“Something tells me it’s not quite that many.”
“Feels like that many,” she rolled her eyes. “Now please. I need BBQ.”
You shook your head and laughed before heading to the elevators to go to lunch with your best friend.
Joel had texted you a warning with his usual good morning text that day.
“Good morning, Beautiful,” he wrote. “Really miss feeling you right before I fall asleep. Please tell me you’re not busy tomorrow night. Heads up, expect Sarah to drop in on you today. I have to be at a site for a few hours and she mentioned stopping by your office. She’ll probably invite you to the cookout we’re having tonight - up to you if you want to come.”
You frowned when you read it. “Up to you if you want to come.” What the fuck did that mean?
“Miss feeling you too,” you added a heart emoji. “Only plans I have for tomorrow night involve you ripping my clothes off.”
You rapped your nails against your phone, waiting to see if he’d text back before you started getting ready for the day but he didn’t. You sighed. He probably had to be on site early and couldn’t use his phone.
“Goddammit,” you muttered, putting your face in your pillow and groaning. How were you supposed to navigate this?
Did Joel want you to come but was trying to keep the pressure off? Did he not want you anywhere near him when Sarah was in town?
Yes, he’d spent a fair bit of time fucking your brains out over the past few weeks but, in reality, he wasn’t anything to you. He was a guy you’d gone out with once, he wasn’t your boyfriend, he didn’t have to invite you over for anything let alone something that might make him feel uncomfortable because you were friends with his kid. Even though, to you, he felt like so much more than some guy you were fucking. So, so much more.
And also your best friend’s dad.
Because fate was a cruel, cruel thing.
You checked your phone every few minutes as you got ready for work but the messages sat on delivered. You sighed and resisted the urge to text again and just kept checking your phone every few minutes in your office, too.
“Wouldn’t argue with some help in the clothing removal department,” he wrote. “I’m going to want you naked fast. Requesting something with easy access so I can get inside you ASAP.”
You smiled and shook your head a little.
“Still warm enough for a sundress,” you sent a winky face emoji with that and briefly considered going to the bathroom to take a selfie that involved an unprofessional amount of cleavage.
“Jesus Christ,” he sent back. “Pull me in a restroom wearing one of those and we’re not stopping at you humping my leg.”
“Counting on it,” you wrote, smiling a little wider before deciding to just bite the bullet. “Did you want me to go tonight? If Sarah asks?”
“What’s go you smiling so big?”
You almost jumped out of your skin when you saw Sarah leaning against the doorframe to your office.
“Good lord, girl, we gotta put a bell on you,” you smiled anyway, being sure to lock your phone before getting up to hug her. “What are you doing here?”
“My dad had some client issue so I figure I’d come visit my bestie,” she gave you a squeeze before stepping back from you. “Plus I’m dying to see where I’m going to commute to every day once they finally let me come here.”
Sarah picked the restaurant, a BBQ place that wasn’t far from your office and only offered wooden picnic tables sitting under a rusted metal awning for seating.
“Oh this is going to be good shit,” you said, taking a deep breath, the smell of smoked meat heavy on the air. “I can tell.”
“Knew you’d love this place,” she smiled. “Kind of surprised my dad hasn’t taken you here already, actually.”
You froze for half a second before regaining your composure.
“We’ve only gone out the one time since the first time we met up,” you shrugged. “Can’t exactly show me the entire city in that time.”
The two of you got in line, the place starting to get crowded now that it was pushing noon.
“I know,” she rolled her eyes. “I just really thought you guys would hit it off I guess.”
Well you’d definitely done that.
“Does it really bother you that I’m not hitting the town with your dad more?” You asked, teasing.
“Kind of, actually,” she laughed. “You know those stupid TV episodes they do where the cast of one show goes on another show?”
“The crossover ones?” You frowned.”
“Right,” she nodded. The line moved and the two of you stepped forward. “This was like… my real life crossover episode and it just kinda flopped. Like my two favorite characters finally were in the same place and just didn’t have the chemistry for good TV.”
Yeah, chemistry? Not your issue with Joel.
“I’ll be sure to lodge your complaint with the writers,” you said dryly. “Tell them to get their shit together.”
You talked Sarah into ordering the meats you didn’t so you could try at least a bite of everything and you were almost uncomfortably full when you dropped your final wet napkin on the butcher paper covered tray in front of you.
“Oh, hey, meant to ask you before,” she said, polishing off her Dr. Pepper. “Did you have any plans tonight? My dad caved and is grilling out. My Uncle Tommy is coming over, his wife Maria, a few neighbors who have known me since I was in diapers and who can tell you every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done…”
“I don’t think they can tell me about the time you got drunk at karaoke night and tried to take the mic from that guy who was making an ass of himself,” you smirked.
Sarah groaned, throwing her head back and laughing.
“Oh my God, I forgot about that!”
You laughed, too, and took a second to check your phone to see if Joel had gotten back to you.
He had.
“Love for you to come,” he wrote. “Just going to be hell keeping my hands to myself all night. But would rather do that than not see you.”
You smiled a little and put your phone down.
“Yeah, I’ll come,” you said. “Just tell me what I can bring.”
You were almost giddy by the time you got home. It’s not like you’d seen Joel every day since you’d met him but the option always felt like it was there. You’d only texted a bit since the phone sex Sunday and it felt like it had been eons since you’d gotten to touch him. You wondered if it would be weird if you gave him a hug when Sarah was there. You could get away with a hug, right?
You pulled out a few outfit options, trying to find something that would make Joel want to check you out but not look like you were trying to get him to check you out. You pulled the shirts out and hung them on your floor length mirror so they were next to each other when you got an idea.
You stripped out of your work clothes and changed into your favorite matching bra and panty set, standing in front of the mirror with the shirts still hanging on it, arranging yourself so you could see your body between the clothes. You took a picture.
“Which shirt for tonight?” You typed, sending the picture to Joel.
He responded while you were jumping into your jeans, the denim tight on your thighs and hips.
“You’re cruel, you know that right?” He wrote. “I vote green. Feel like you’ll cause less trouble in the green.”
The green was a little tamer, you supposed. The v-neck wasn’t quite as low, the eyelet lace softer and almost girlish. You smiled a little.
“You’re right,” you wrote back. “Black it is.”
Black was a wrap top, with a deeper v-neck, something that would highlight your curves even more. And give Joel easy access.
“You’re a menace,” he texted.
“I know :)”
You got dressed and stopped by HEB on your way over, picking up a dozen bottles of Shiner. You’d had to consciously toe the line of trying without trying too hard and you stomach was in knots as you walked up to his front door. What if your hair or your makeup or your shoes or the tightness of your jeans screamed “I’m fucking the man who lives in this house”?
But you took a deep breath and rang the doorbell anyway. It didn’t take long for it Sarah to rip it open with a squeal, pulling you inside.
“I’m so glad you came!” She said, jumping a little as she pulled away from you. “This is going to be so much fun, I promise. See, we’re going to do shit like this all the time when I move down here. We gotta manifest it, girl, I’m telling you. It’s even more fun when it’s summer and people want to swim because getting drunk in a pool that’s not open to every other idiot in your apartment complex is seriously the best pass time.”
“I can only imagine,” you smiled. “And, I brought beer!”
You held up the six packs just as Joel went rushing past, on his way to the kitchen. But he doubled back and stopped, a slow smile spreading across his face as he looked you up and down from over Sarah’s shoulder. You smirked just a little and he shook his head slightly, smiling.
“Good to see you,” he said, stepping around Sarah for a somewhat awkward hug. He lowered his voice, his lips next to your ear, speaking so softly you could barely hear him. “Menace.”
He stepped back and you smiled wider.
“Good to see you, too.”
Joel took the beers from your hands and his eyes lingered a little too long on your chest - not that you were arguing.
“Come on,” Sarah slipped her hand into yours. “I want you to meet everybody!”
She tugged you along behind her to the backyard, you giving Joel an apologetic smirk over your shoulder, people standing in little clusters around the pool. You spotted Joel’s brother immediately, the resemblance hard to miss. He was standing next to a beautiful woman with braids half way down her back, his arm around her waist. You smiled a little. You remembered dropping Sarah off at the airport when she flew down the year before for her uncle’s wedding.
“Have fun!” You said, putting her duffle bag on her shoulder as your car sat with the emergency flashers on in the loading zone.
“Yeah, this is going to be a disaster,” she said. “There’s no way they’re making it down the aisle. I haven’t met Maria but it’s Tommy. He’s jumped from woman to woman since before I was born, the day he settles down is the day hell freezes over.”
When you picked her up again three days later, she had a different story.
“So did they actually get hitched?” You asked as she flopped heavily into the passenger seat.
“Holy shit, they did. She is the only woman on the planet who could actually get him to settle down,” she said. “And by some miracle, she wanted to. No accounting for taste with some people…”
You laughed and headed to your favorite bar to hear all about it. You hadn’t really expected to ever really meet him except maybe in passing at Sarah’s wedding one day. Now you were meeting him in your - boyfriend’s? Fuck buddy’s? Who knows what’s? - backyard.
“Tommy, Maria!” Sarah called as the two of you worked your way around the pool. “Got someone for you to meet, she’s new in town and in desperate need of social contacts.”
She made the introductions and Tommy laughed when he heard your name.
“The infamous best friend,” he smiled, pulling you in for a hug. “She as bad an influence on you as she was on me?”
“Oh shut up,” she rolled her eyes.
“She talked me into grand larceny once,” Tommy said, pointing accusingly at Sarah with the beer bottle in his hand.
“Did she now?” You asked, brows raised.
“Oh yes,” he nodded, smiling cheekily. “She was seven and Joel said she couldn’t have all her Halloween candy on Halloween…”
“A crime, really,” she smiled, grabbing Tommy’s beer and taking a drink before giving it back.
“And she was so cute, these big eyes and her little princess costume and her hair going in about a million different directions…”
“Yeah, Dad hadn’t figured out how to handle that yet,” she laughed a little.
“I caved,” Tommy said. “I put up a valiant fight…”
“You said yes immediately!” Sarah scoffed. “I barely even had to pout…”
“She was a monster,” Tommy cut her off. “I was at her mercy, I swear!”
“And then what happened?” Joel asked, joining your little circle with two beers in hand. He wordlessly pressed one into your palm. You smiled a little at him and he brushed his hand down your spine on his way to putting it in his back pocket. “C’mon, you two partners in crime, finish that story. What happened?”
“Nothing that bad,” Tommy waved him off.
“Yeah, it was fine,” Sarah said. “No lasting damage…”
“For you two maybe,” Joel laughed. “I was the one who was up until 3 in the morning washing all her bedding and scrubbin’ the wall of her room because she projectile vomited three pounds of candy like she was starring in the damn Exorcist.”
You laughed as Sarah and Tommy both tried to downplay it and Maria just lovingly patted her husband’s shoulder, rolling her eyes. While everyone was distracted, you snuck a look at Joel. Just a second to actually look at his face as he laughed and smiled with his family. It was a little unfair, how good looking he was. Somehow both rugged and soft, handsome and beautiful and you had to resist the urge to reach up and twist your fingers in his slightly unruly curls. You looked back at Sarah before anyone said anything and took a sip of beer.
Sarah got sidetracked talking with Tommy and you took advantage of it, leaning in to whisper in Joel’s ear.
“You’re really hot,” you said quietly. “Also, I got you a present, it’s in my purse.”
“Oh really?” He raised his eyebrows, a devious look on his face.
You rolled your eyes.
“Not that exciting,” you said.
“What are you two conspiring about?” Maria asked and you almost flinched as Tommy and Sarah turned their attention to you.
“Just how to get this one to stop meddlin’,” Joel said smoothly, nodding to his daughter.
“I do not meddle,” she replied. “I just nudge people in the right direction. Because I’m smarter than them.”
You got along well with Joel’s brother and sister-in-law. Tommy seemed more like a big brother to Sarah than an uncle, which made sense when they talked about her childhood years. Tommy was six years younger than Joel, just 16 when Sarah came into the world. So while he adored his niece, he wasn’t exactly mature enough to be a parent-like figure. It sounded like he’d helped his brother out a lot but had been more of a friend to Sarah than anything else.
You liked watching her and Joel with their friends and family, the easy familiarity of it all, the comfort of having history with people. It was something that was missing from your life.
Sure, you liked your life. You liked it quite a bit, actually. You had a job you enjoyed that paid you good money, you’d lived in some interesting places - Seattle, three years in New York City, an internship in Chicago, even Washington D.C. for a bit - and you could do just about whatever you wanted whenever you wanted. That was the beauty of not having anything to tie you down. The cost just meant not having roots and, sometimes, that hurt.
Joel disappeared inside at one point and, after taking quick stock of the backyard to make sure no one else was inside with him, you followed. You slipped into the entry and grabbed your purse, pulling out the bag of Fire Sour Patch Kids you’d seen in the candy aisle on your way to grab beer when you stopped at the store earlier that day.
Joel was in the kitchen cutting vegetables for burger toppings and you climbed on the counter next to the cutting board. He looked up at you out of the corner of his eye, trying to hide his smile while he shook his head.
“Meant what I said about you bein’ a menace,” he said, his eyes on the knife. “You’re torture. Beautiful torture but torture.”
“We aim to please,” you smiled, holding out the candy. He frowned for a second, drying his hands on his jeans, before he laughed and took the bag. “Warned you it wasn’t exciting…”
“This is great, Beautiful,” he leaned in and kissed you lightly, like it was an automatic thing, as though you did this in his kitchen all the time. “Been wantin’ to try these and then I never buy the damn things….”
“I’ll help you eat them if they suck,” you smiled. “And you can help me eat them if they don’t.”
He smiled again and moved in front of you, nudging your legs apart so he was standing between your thighs and he leaned in and kissed you - really kissed you. His tongue dipped into your mouth, his hands sliding up your legs to your waist as he tugged you closer. You draped your arms over his shoulders and pressed yourself against him and savored his touch. Fuck, you’d missed this. It had only been a few days but it felt like an eternity of him being out of reach and it was almost reassuring to feel the way his hands fit against your body even after some time apart.
“Fuck, you’re trouble,” he was breathless when he pulled away from you, his hands still on your body. “Just couldn’t wear the green, could ya?”
“And miss out on this?” You teased, running your fingers through his hair. “Never.”
Sarah sat between the two of you at dinner, the best spot for you and Joel to be in when you thought about it. Next to you was too much temptation, you’d end up touching each other and then not be able to help yourselves and that was bad.
Across wasn’t great, either, as you’d discovered at dinner the other night. If you could just check each other out the whole night, that wasn’t the safe way to go. Not to mention the opportunities for playing footsie under the table.
No no, you needed a better way to keep your hands to yourselves and Sarah was a great barrier for that - both literally and metaphorically - and you managed to get through the meal without any big slip ups. Something you were pretty damn proud of, if you did say so yourself.
You excused yourself to the bathroom as things were in that easy after dinner conversation stage of the evening, everyone pleasantly full and a little drunk, Sarah laughing with a neighbor from down the street whose name you’d forgotten. But when you opened the bathroom door to head back outside, Joel was there, pushing you back into the room and closing the door behind him.
“Joel!” You hissed, his hands on your waist.
“You really can’t expect me to wait when you show up lookin’ this damn good,” he growled, boosting you up so you were perched on the edge of the sink. “Everyone’s too busy to even notice we’re gone…”
His mouth found your neck and your chest as he untied your top, his tongue and teeth ranging over your skin and you couldn’t help but moan at his attention, your body already feeling warm and wanting. Joel stepped back from you a he fully opened your shirt, revealing your body to him as though it were some wondrous thing, moaning as he did.
“Fuck Beautiful,” his hands trailed up your exposed skin to cup your breasts through your bra. “Ain’t fair how one person can look this damn good…”
“Had to pull you away from the grill somehow,” you smiled, tugging him back against you and kissing him. He kissed you back, getting more and more desperate as he did. He pulled your breasts free of their cups so he could suck at them and hold them in his large hands, moaning into you. Your hands ran down his body to find his cock hard in his jeans, feeling him through the fabric, desperately wishing you could just rip all his clothes off and get him inside you.
“Think you can come from just your clit?” He asked, breathless, as he licked and sucked your neck.
“Yes,” you moaned. “Think you can come from just my hand?”
“It’d take less than that,” he panted as he opened your jeans and slid his hand inside as best he could, his finger finding your clit quickly. He ghosted over it with his finger, making you squirm and moan. “Fuck, Beautiful, you close already?”
“Maybe,” you panted as he pressed a little harder against the sensitive nub. You reached down to pull out his cock to start jerking him off but he caught your hand. You whined a little.
“Not yet,” he kissed back up to your mouth, holding his lips a fraction of an inch away from yours. “Lemme take care of you…”
He kissed you then, his tongue slipping into you as his finger pressed into your clit. You groaned and rocked your hips on him and you felt him smile against your lips. He started rubbing you in slow, aching circles, adding a little pressure every time around, matching his kiss to the pace of his fingers. You moaned desperately against him and he picked up his pace, working you over until you were gasping into his mouth while you came from his fingers.
“Fuck,” you panted as Joel slipped his hand from your pants. “How are you so goddamn good at that?”
“You’re so pretty when you come it’s easy to remember what does it,” he replied, stepping back from you. You slid off the sink but, instead of fixing your bra and closing your shirt, you dropped to your knees and started unzipping his fly. “Baby…”
“I can be quick,” you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you freed his cock. You never really got used to hot big he was - thick, heavy, long. But you’d be fine choking on him if it meant making him come.
You started by licking his head and he let out a shuddering little moan and you smiled a little, lapping at the dripping pre-come at his slit like he was your favorite flavor of ice cream. Which, he kind of was. Heady and masculine and Joel, knowing that he was dripping because of you made you want him even more.
Instead of taking the more gradual route, you took him into your mouth and throat all at once, having to swallow around the head of him as he pushed past your gag reflex. His hand flew to your head, fingers twisting in your hair and sinking into the thin layer of flesh over your skull.
“Oh fuck,” he panted. “Oh my fucking god…..”
You sucked him and moaned, the vibration of your vocal chords working the tip of him as it was lodged in your throat. You pressed your tongue against the thick vein that ran along the underside of him before you started pulling back, his grip on your head relaxing just enough to let you do it. You worked is cock up and down, sucking and licking and taking him into your mouth until you started to cough. He panted and moaned as you worked him until, eventually, he was clinging to the sink to stay upright.
“Fuck, please Baby, I need to come,” he groaned. You smiled as much as you could when your mouth was full of his thick cock. “Lemme… can I…”
You looked up at him, eyes wide, as you slid down him so he was buried in your mouth to the root and you hummed your approval. His hands immediately flew to your head and he started fucking into your mouth. You took it, swallowing past your gag reflex with each deep stroke. He didn’t last long, just a few pumps, before he was spilling into you, moaning quietly as he did. You swallowed it all, his cock so deep in your throat you could barely even taste him as he pumped his come into you.
“Fuck,” he all but collapsed against the sink and you carefully slid his cock from your mouth and got up, wiping your mouth on the back of your wrist. You adjusted your bra and tied your shirt again.
“Worth it?” You teased.
“Jesus Christ woman,” he groaned. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You smiled and kissed his cheek before you went to leave the bathroom but he grabbed your arm, pulling you back against him to kiss you deep and long. You tried to hide your surprise. Other guys you’d been with weren’t huge on kissing you after you went down on them. Joel didn’t seem to mind. But then, Joel just wasn’t like other men. You smiled as you pulled back from him and he laughed a little.
“What?” You frowned.
“We made a mess of your makeup,” he jerked his head toward the mirror, tucking his cock back in his pants as you checked your reflection. Your lipstick had smeared and you laughed a little, too.
“Good thing I have more in my bag,” you said, grabbing a sheet of toilet paper and cleaning up what you could. “See you back out there?”
“Once I remember how to walk again,” he teased.
It was sheer luck that Maria came in to use the bathroom as you adjusted your lipstick in the entryway mirror and not a few minutes earlier and you popped a breath mint so you could think about something besides the fact that the last thing in your mouth had been Joel’s cock when you talked with Sarah.
You left only about an hour later, giving Sarah a long hug as she walked you to your car.
“I’ll be back again soon for Thanksgiving,” she smiled, squeezing you tight. “Just manifest with me!”
“I’m manifesting so hard I might break something,” you smiled back, trying to ignore the knot of guilt in your stomach about hiding something so big from her.
“And seriously,” she said, stepping back from you. “If you need a friend before I get down here…”
“Call the whole Miller clan,” you smiled. “I got it.”
“Good,” she said. “We’ll just make a Miller out of you yet.”
You tried to ignore how your heart skipped a beat at the thought of that.
“Sounds good to me.”
Joel came straight to your place after dropping Sarah off at the airport the next night. You answered the door in a sundress - as promised - expecting to go to dinner.
Which, in hindsight, was foolish.
“Fuck,” you said, looking Joel up and down. He had flowers. He was in a plain, dark t-shirt that was tight around his biceps, his jeans hanging just right on his hips.
“What?” He frowned.
“Just get in here and let me fuck you,” you said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into your apartment.
The flowers were quickly abandoned on the breakfast bar in your kitchen as you kissed him, tugging his shirt off and casting it aside before you dragged him to the bedroom.
“We gotta eat at some point tonight, Baby,” he said between kisses as you shoved him down on the bed.
“That’s fine,” you panted, stepping out of your panties and casting them aside. “We can do this twice.”
“Fuck, you’re fucking perfect,” he said, lifting his hips so he could slide his pants down a little and sitting so his back was against your headboard. He started working his cock, already hard in the palm of his hand. You straddled him, the skirt of your dress hiding your dripping pussy and his leaking cock from view. He kept one hand on his cock but the other went to your hips as you lowered yourself toward him until your pussy brushed his thick head. “Oh shit, fuck Beautiful, I need… Fuck, need inside you, I need to be inside you…”
“I know,” you breathed before sinking onto his cock with a shaking moan. His other hand flew to your waist, too, pulling you down on him so his whole length was sheathed within you. You panted for breath as your body adjusted to the intrusion. “I need you, too.”
“Fuck,” his head fell back against the headboard. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good every time, s’like I belong in this pussy, like your pussy was made to take this cock.”
“Made to ride this cock,” you moaned, starting to rise and fall over him with a satisfied groan. Joel somehow hit all the right angles inside you, the thickness of his shaft stretching you deliciously, his head finding the sensitive place deep inside you and pressing against it, making your pussy start to tighten around him.
“Oh shit,” his grip on you got firmer, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of you. “Want you to come on this cock, Beautiful. Want you to use me to get yourself off, fuck, Baby, make yourself come on my cock…”
You buried your face in his neck and breathed in his deep, clean, masculine scent and started riding him harder, adjusting your hips so your clit was leaving an obscene, messy streak of your slick up and down his bare stomach. You licked and sucked at his neck as you rode him, fucking down on him hard and fast and grinding your clit against him. As your body tightened, you sat up straighter, pressing your forehead to his own so you could see his face, the liquid heat in you centering around where he was inside you until you came with a desperate moan around him.
“There we go,” he almost sounded like he was in pain he was so desperate. “Fuck, you come so fuckin’ pretty Baby, so goddamn pretty. Feel so good, coming on my cock, better than anything else, fuck Beautiful, I can’t…”
Joel took control of your hips then, pumping you up and down his shaft and you tried to help as best you could as you rode out your orgasm. His hips fucked up into you hard and fast until he was emptying himself into you, moaning as he did.
You collapsed on top of him, panting for breath and he went from holding your hips to wrapping his arms around you, holding you close to him. You stayed like that for a few minutes, your breaths synchronizing as you both came back down from our highs.
“So,” you said, breathing not quite back to normal yet. “Dinner?”
He laughed.
“Dinner.”
When you fell asleep in Joel’s arms that night, all naked and entwined with him, you were starting to think that you could get used to this. That you wanted to do this all the time, every day. Do all of life’s stupid little things with him, go grocery shopping with him and pay the water bill with him and deal with traffic jams with him.
You just weren’t sure how to talk about that yet.
But that was OK. You were getting there, you could tell.
When Joel kissed you goodbye in the morning, he brushed your hair back from your forehead so he could kiss you there too.
“Leaving already?” You mumbled.
“‘Fraid so,” he said softly. “Need to get an early start at the job site. Can I see you tonight?”
You just hummed in response. He frowned.
“That’s a yes, I hope,” he said. You nodded and you opened your eyes just enough to see him smile broadly. “I’ll text you. Have a good day, Baby.”
“You too,” you mumbled into your pillow.
When you got up an hour later, there was a sticky note on your coffee maker, telling you to check your fridge. Inside was an iced latte from the coffee shop down the street and you smiled so big it was hard to do your makeup as you got ready to go.
You were still on cloud nine when you were getting ready to take a client to lunch that afternoon, doing a last check of your makeup when you got a call from the reception desk downstairs.
“Someone’s here for you,” the receptionist sounded skeptical. “I’m not letting him back without you.”
“No problem,” you laughed. “We’re going off site for lunch, tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”
You went to the lobby, looking for someone who at least vaguely resembled the headshot from your client’s website when you did a double take.
The man sitting on the couch in reception smiled when he saw you and your heart sank into your stomach as he headed for you.
“Hey Angel,” he smiled.
You couldn’t smile back.
“Shit.”
Next Chapter
#fanfic#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#smut fic#new in town#joel miller x oc
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🌸 The negligible self 🌸 chapter 1, p.18 to 22
Read part 1 here!
Read part 2 here!
Part 3 of that comic based on a serirei (from mp100) fanfiction written by @homosexual-fanfiction (@/ch_am on Ao3)! Go read the fanfic there too it’s amazing!!!!!!!
You can find Camp here too: @ch-am
Those 5 new pages took a lot longer than I thought, I didn’t think about all the paintings that I’d have to draw hdhdhfj (they were kinda relaxing to draw tho!) I hope you’ll enjoy them!!! 💕💕
Here’s the link to the fic!!
#serirei#mp100#mobpsycho100#serizawa#serizawakatsuya#reigen#reigenarataka#fanfiction#fanfic#thenegligibleself#comic
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A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader
Part 3: Intel
Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?
*GIF is from Pinterest, not mine*
A/N: Love you all so much, thank you for reading! Part 3 is set immediately after the cut in part 2, so feel free to go back and read part 2 if you forgot what went down!
MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.
Warnings: swearing, mentions of death (If missed anything, let me know!)
Word Count: 2.0k
Read on Wattpad or AO3
Masterlist >> Part 2 >> Part 4
===
“I saw that Sir. New intel on al-Hameed’s location?”
“Yep,” he replied. “Satellite imaging confirmed his arrival outside Ash Shamli. Khrushov and Osmund are him.”
Bear blinked in surprise. “Khrushov? Like Mikael Khrushov? The arms dealer?”
Harris nodded. “The very same. Air Force radar in Riyadh noted al-Hameed’s presence two days ago in Saudi.” He paused, grabbing a file off of his desk and began to flip through it. “It’s estimated that the pair and their entourages will be in Saudi Arabia for the foreseeable future as Khrushov is now wanted in Belarus as well as Central and Eastern Europe on several charges of arms dealing, terrorism plots, and more. Osmund, on the other hand, is wanted in over 20 countries for theft of government secrets and is behind several data leaks from major foreign governments.”
“So what does this mean for us?” Bear asked. Scenarios were running through her mind, possible alterations to their plans, supplies, and personnel were now at the forefront. “Will this be a collaboration with the Air Force? Because you know my history with them, Sir.”
“As of now, Commander, we have very little information on what this means. All I can advise you and your team to do is prepare for a joint operation. Extra weapons drills, covert training, the works,” Shark told her, his face grim. “I am assigning your team a detonation expert in the likelihood of you needing them.”
Bear just nodded, her face schooled into the most neutral look she could muster. “One more question. You mentioned a joint operation, who is joining us?”
Rear Admiral Harris nodded. “That is true. The USS Abraham Lincoln is heading out in a few weeks. I believe that Busan is their destination. Our inland target of, well…I trust you to fill everyone in at the meeting tomorrow.” He paused, fingers tapping on the desk in front of him. “Long story short, we have incoming air support to help us with a few fly overs. They have their own mission, but Admiral Simpson has okayed a squadron as backup for a brief interval while we do extra recon and then again as air support.”
She blinked. “Sir, pardon the question. But are we sure that’s wise? Riyadh is a US Air Force base. Navy pilots and the Air Force don’t get along. I’d rather not be caught up in the middle of a military pissing contest.” Bear made eye contact with Rear Admiral Harris and saw that arguing was futile. “I will make plans to speak with the officer in charge asap, Sir. After the meeting tomorrow.”
“See to it that you do, Commander. You have always yielded results, I see no reason for you to disappoint me. You are dismissed.” Harris waved her off as he returned to his paperwork, leaving Bear to retreat from the office.
As she walked off, it felt like her thoughts had been out through a blender. They were scrambled and whirling out of control, but for right now, there was nothing to be done. So she put them aside for the moment and hurried to her car, tossing her stuff inside and heading off to the bar where she would meet Phoenix. God she needed a distraction.
===
For some inane reason, they had gone to the Hard Deck and it appeared that nearly every other Navy member on base had the same idea. “Remind me why we decided to come here?” Bear yelled over the din. She elbowed past a few women, ignoring the indignant yelps and cries of them as she shouldered her way through.
“That was my bad! Sorry!” Phoenix yelled back. “But hey, we can just leave!”
“Grab a drink first? Then outside?”
A thumbs up from Phoenix, and she watched the pilot redirect herself out the door and onto the beach. Bear grimaced at the amount of people around her, the volume of everyone who’d packed themselves into the bar made it hard for her to keep track of everything going on. Sniper’s instinct, her Lieutenant had called it. She was hyper aware of everything around her and it was almost too much.
“You must be Bear!” Penny yelled over the noise, wiping a ring off the bar top. “What can I get you?”
The Seal snorted. Word traveled fast when pilots were involved. “Yep. Can I grab a beer and a lemonade from you?”
“For sure. Your tab?”
Bear gave her a thumbs up, and the older woman passed the drinks over a few minutes later. “There you go.”
“Thanks Penny.” She gave a quick wave before slipping back through the crowd, effectively disappearing. Once outside, Bear took a deep breath, relishing in the fresh air and the lack of noise.
She found Phoenix sitting in the sand a little ways away staring out at the water. “Here.”
“Oh, thanks,” came the reply as the pilot took the offered bottle. “What did you get?”
“Lemonade.”
“I swear sometimes that you and Bob are the same person,” Phoenix said, shaking her head in laughter. “You don’t drink?”
“I try not to,” Bear chuckled, shrugging as she did. “I hate the way alcohol tastes and I really hate the fact that it makes me less aware of what’s going on. But that’s just me.”
Phoenix hummed. “Fair enough.” She took a sip of her drink before setting it down in the sand. “What’s the deal with you and Bagman? Both of you were acting a little weird this afternoon.”
“It’s nothing. Pretty sure he’s just trying to piss me off,” the Seal replied, rolling her eyes. “And I’m not about to let him win.”
“Maybe. But it’s definitely more than that,” the pilot pressed. “I think that he’s into you.”
Bear choked on her lemonade. After a coughing fit, she managed to wheeze out “What?”
“Hangman, Jake, whoever, thinks that you, Bear, the Navy Seal, are hot as fuck and he seems to have a thing for women who have ‘resting murder face’.” Phoenix pointed at the other woman, before continuing. “And you have the best RMF I have ever seen.”
Bear just stared at her friend. “What the fuck Nix?” Disbelief was written all over her face and Bear found herself stunned at how her heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of having the cocky blonde pilot’s attention.
“I’m not wrong. And from your very dramatic reaction, I’d be willing to bet that you think he’s hot too.”
“Umm…you’re very wrong,” Bear spluttered. “But because you’re my friend, I won’t tell you how wrong you are.”
“I’m honored…” Phoenix deadpanned, taking another sip of her drink. “What happened when you left earlier?”
“CO wanted to see me. New intel for our next deployment, other than that, I can’t really say much.”
“Classified?”
“Highly.”
Phoenix nodded, looking back out at the ocean before them. “When do you head out?”
“A few weeks,” Bear replied, sipping her drink. “Heard through the grapevine that you Daggers are about to ship out too. Any idea where?”
“Nope. It’s a mission assist though, could be fun depending on who we get sent out with,” Phoenix commented. “We will meet with them tomorrow. Get a sense of the mission and see how much lifting we have to do.”
Bear opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a shout. Turning, she saw the rest of the Dagger pilots hurrying across the sand to them. “Oh great,” she pretended to grumble. She had rolled her eyes, but the gesture was fond. “When did you flyboys get here?”
“A few minutes ago,” Fanboy yelled back, beaming at her. “Why? You miss us?”
She pretended to think, humming. “Nah, I do enough babysitting as it is.”
Rooster let out a loud mock gasp, pretending to stumble backwards. “How DARE you?” He screeched breathily.
Bear made eye contact with Phoenix and the pair burst into giggles. “Oh I dare very easily,” she teased, standing up and bumping his arm with hers. “Whatcha doing out here? Thought you’d be the life of the party, Bradshaw.”
“What am I? Chopped liver?” Jake said jokingly as he sidled up to her. She said nothing, choosing to smirk instead. Green eyes met brown and Jake saw the amusement and mischief twinkling in them. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
“Smart man.” Bear had turned to look up at him, giving him a teasing smile in response to his words. A cough from Phoenix had Bear narrowing her eyes and giving the pilot a hard look. “No.”
Sensing the sudden burst of tension, Payback spoke up. “So Bear. Are we ever going to get the story behind that?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes!” A shout rose up from the group of pilots standing around her.
“Fine. Fine,” Bear said, giving in. “I’m called Bear, because I’m a grumpy fuck in the morning.”
A man near the back of the group who she knew to be Harvard spoke up “That’s it? Not some deep dark secret behind it?”
“Why? You don’t believe me?” Bear asked, eyebrow raised.
“We have no proof that that’s even true!” Harvard argued.
“Send Jake in, he’ll get to the bottom of it,” Rooster joked, but his laughter stopped abruptly when he caught sight of the sharp look on Bear’s face.
“More like he’d bottom her,” Coyote whispered to Phoenix, who had to turn away to hide her laughter.
“Hey!” Jake yelled, his face going red. “No. Just no.”
Bear just sent him a wink, laughing to herself as he spluttered indignantly. “Nix told me that you ship out soon. Any idea when? Because I’m out in the next few weeks.”
“Unfortunately due to the classified nature of US Naval deployments, we are unable to provide that information,” Fanboy recited in a serious voice. The tone of his voice made the group crack up, himself included, with Bear rolling her eyes in fondness.
“Okay. Okay. Guess I should have expected that,” she said with a laugh, putting her hands up in mock surrender.
“Just messing with you,” Fanboy replied, still chuckling a little. “Sometime in the next few weeks too. We have a meeting tomorrow about it. Giving us details and shit.”
“Oh fun,” Bear said, eyes shifting around the group. Coyote and Payback had started throwing rocks into the ocean, yelling about how far they could throw, their loud voices seeming to echo around them. Harvard, Halo, and a few of the others had broken off into their own group and seemed to be chatting about nothing in particular. It made her smile at the easy camaraderie between them. She knew how difficult the Navy could be and she was just glad that they had their people around them.
===
Hours later, after night had fallen and the air grew cold, Bear finally stood up and stretched. “I’m heading out guys,” she said, to the protests of a few of the pilots around her. “My meeting is early tomorrow morning and I actually have to pay attention to this one because I’m leading it.”
“Aww c’mon!” The group protested, Rooster among the loudest. He admired Bear for her strength and the take-no-shit attitude she had. Plus he found it funny when she teased Hangman to no end.
“I know, I’m sorry.” She grinned widely. “I might see you all tomorrow. But if not, I’ll see you around.” With a wave, Bear began to walk towards her car.
A shuffle behind her had her shaking her head as she continued walking. “Can I help you, Hangman?”
Jake paused, stunned at the speed at which she’d guessed it was him. “How’d you-”
“I just do,” she said with a wide grin, cutting him off. Spinning to face him with a smirk, Bear spoke again “So, can I help you?”
“That depends.”
“Depends on what?” Bear raised an eyebrow in question, looking at him curiously.
It was Jake’s turn to smirk, green eyes seeming to glitter in the night as he peered at her. “On whether or not you plan on taking my offer, Teddy.”
Her confusion deepened. “What offer?”
“You know what? Never mind. I like my dick where it is and I would like to keep it there.”
“Oh, you mean that little line in the hallway earlier,” she said, smirking. “I highly doubt you can maintain the speed I need. You seem too much like a ‘one and done’ kind of guy.”
“My mama would have me by the throat if she ever got the impression that I treated women with so little respect,” Jake replied, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Especially if I left them as unsatisfied as you must be by some of the losers on base.”
Her eyes narrowed, but this time it wasn’t teasing. Bear looked angry; her face pinched and if looks could kill, Jake would be reduced to a grease spot on the sand. “Your mama would be so disappointed in your behavior right now, Lieutenant,” she snarled, her eyes nearly slits and venom coated every syllable. “And, for the record, my “satisfaction”, as you put it, is none of your fucking business.”
“Woah. Okay, chill,” Hangman raised his hand, almost placating the woman before him. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you wouldn’t be wound so tight if you took me up on my offer.”
“Well, I guess I won’t be so lucky as to fall under you,” Bear shot back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get going.” She turned and walked off, leaving a stunned Jake in her wake.
===
A/N: Kisses and hugs to my favourite editors/fangirls: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s and @dakotakazansky you guys have saved my butt more times than I can count!
Taglist: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @dakotakazansky @horseshoegirl @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @lavenderbradshaw @roosterforme @bobby-r2d2-floyd @bradleybeachbabe @twsssmlmaa @footprintsinthesxnd @dempy @fandomxpreferences @gizmodear @fighterpilothoe @chaoticassidy @eli2447 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @djs8891 @rhirhikingston @sisterslytherinog @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @heli991113 @thegoddessc @sgt-barnesveins @taytaylala12 @urmom-999 @formulapierre @pinkpantheris
#a gun amonst daggers#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin imagine#Jake Seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#jake hangman seresin x you#top gun maverick x reader#top gun maverick x you#hangman fanfiction#hangman x reader#top gun imagine#top gun x reader#top gun maverick imagine#top gun fanfiction#controlled chaos squad#callsign bruiser
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I Come With Knives Pt5
Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader
Am I happy with this chapter? I think so??? I think I was trying to get it to go somewhere it didn't want to go before but I'm happy with how it ends now. I don't know if the words I'm saying make sense I'm so tired lmao
This chapter was inspired by A Lover's Folly (the chapter Fear of Losing It, specifically) by @tripleyeeet! Please go give it a read it's so fucking good
Warnings: angst, blood, murder, canon-typical violence, swearing, hints to a panic attack, Macbeth reference
Word Count: 2,103
Main Masterlist
First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist
I Come With Knives Masterlist
AO3
Tag List Form
“A mystical and dangerous people, we travel the land, never settling in one place. We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters - your friend here has heard it all, I’m sure.” You look at Astarion from the corner of your eye. Despite his cool, confident demeanor, you can see how tense he is. He’s staring at the man before you like a steak on a silver platter. “I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer. A simple wanderer and monster hunter. But I’m no witchdoctor or cut-throat.”
“So what monster are you hunting?”
Astarion pipes in, a devious smirk playing on his lips. You’re shocked the self-proclaimed monster hunter does not take notice of his fangs or the punctures on his neck. Though, Astarion’s are far less prominent than yours - you feel fortunate to have a high collar. “Something terrifying, no doubt. Dragon? Cyclops?” He paused, a teasing lilt in his voice as he adds, “Kobold?”
Gandrel chuckles. “Nothing so dramatic. Actually, this quarry is a bit unusual. My people got word of a missing person, stolen in the night by a vampire. It’s unlikely they’re still alive, but with any luck we’ll find the kidnapper.”
You swallow, but the hunter doesn’t seem to notice. Astarion can hear the spike in your heart rate. “That’s not much to go on.”
“You’re right about that. We do know the victim’s name, though there’s not much work can be done with that save wander around shouting for them.” He tells you the name, and your heart drops. You make a good effort not to show it. Your face is still neutral as before, your body stiffly in position, but with a glance Astarion can see the way your eyes are distant. They flicker over Gandrel’s face, assessing the threat he possesses. You’re trying to work up a plan, an escape route, anything - but fear clouds your thoughts. Astarion can smell the anxiety wafting off you, even through the hunter’s stench.
This shouldn’t be as big of a problem as your mind makes it to be. You could lie, tell him you weren’t stolen, tell him you ran away. Perhaps he would take money for his silence. But what if he chose to take you back anyway? What if she is providing a much higher reward than anything you can offer? You can’t go back. You can’t.
Astarion clears his throat and steps forward. “And if you find them? Where will you be taking them, exactly?”
“With any luck? I’d be taking them back to Berdusk.”
Berdusk. Being able to place a name to the city of your tormentor somehow made it worse. You knew where she resided now - you could simply take a detour from Baldur’s Gate and kill her. But, that would mean going back. Walking within reach of her clutches. You could almost feel her hot breath against your neck. Her nails digging into your skin. You can’t go back to that.
“Are you alright?” Your mind is forced back into your body when the Gur directs his question at you. You search your mind for an excuse, but fall hopelessly short.
Astarion steps in where you falter. “Ah, yes, you remember then, darling?” He speaks, then, to the Gur. “I believe we heard that name along our travels. A mere whisper on the wind.”
The hunter lights up. “Really? Any information you have would be invaluable to my mission.”
He taps his chin, frowning in fake thought. “It’s a bit foggy - we must have crossed paths weeks ago by now. If only I could remember…” He looks at the Gur from the corner of his eye, smirking. “Perhaps I can be enticed to recall just where they went.”
The man sighs. He reaches for his coin purse. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’s reaching for a weapon. He knows who you are. He’s going to kill you. He knows what Astarion is. He’s going to kill you both.
When your mind catches up, the man is on the ground. You kneel over him. Two hands hold your dagger within his eye, hilt-deep. The other stares blankly up at you, mouth gaped around a silent scream. Droplets of blood marr your face, mere specks of warmth and wet.
“Shit.”
Astarion grabs your shoulder, but your mind is still consumed by fear and paranoia. You whirl around, bloody blade bared at the vampire. Your grip is all wrong - you’re terrified. He steps back, hands raised. Your eyes flicker across his face over and over again, but you don’t see him. In his place is a stranger. Someone ready to steal you, haul you back to Berdusk, back to your master.
“As much as I love the offer, now isn’t the time,” he quips. He kneels down slowly, getting to eye-level. His whole face is dark. The reference to sex is completely masked by his seriousness. “You’re safe. You’re not going back - not if I can help it.”
Your hands shake. Drops of blood fall off the knife, landing in the dirt without a sound. His blood. This man’s blood.
Gods, what have you done?
You drop the knife like it burns you to hold it. It clatters to the ground with a dull thud. You didn’t notice before the blood staining your fingers, but you do now. It’s all you can notice. Well, that, and the body beside you.
“I-I killed him,” you stammer out, barely a whisper. Astarion says nothing. He realizes the irony in your guilt just as much as you. “I didn’t even think- I didn’t… Gods.”
Your thoughts are consumed by the red stains. You have to get them off. You have to rid yourself of this ever-growing weight in your stomach. But you don’t have much to wipe it off on. Your clothes? Then you’d have to wash the blood out. (Though, little flecks stick to your collar and sleeves already.) The ground? Rub dirt all over until somehow it removes the red? You couldn’t even entertain the thought. But you needed to get it off.
You frantically wipe the blood away with your hands, only serving to spread it further into your skin. But it’s all you can think to do. You have to get it off. You must. If you don’t… If… Would something bad happen? You’re not sure. It feels like yes, something terrible would occur the longer it sat on your flesh. But what? Why won’t it fucking come off?
You don’t even realize you’re speaking. Half-formed desperate, choked pleas to get rid of the blood. Prayers to higher powers to forgive you - even when you’d never prayed for such a thing before. Insults spewed toward yourself, damning you for being so fucking weak.
So you killed a man, so what? You’d killed hundreds to get you where you kneel. What made him any different?
I killed him in self-defense.
You’ve killed loads of men and creatures alike for the same reason.
He didn’t recognize me.
You don’t know that, do you?
All he had was a name. Not even a description of who he searched for. He wouldn’t recognize me.
And why dwell on that? If he’d recognized you, surely he’d drag you back? Tie you up, gag you, drop you on her doorstep. She’d recognize you.
And she’d punish me. Punish them. And then she’d see my scars. What then?
Then she’d gut you. Slowly. Keeping you alive for as long as possible so she can moan to your screams, so she can lick her fingers clean of your adrenaline-rich blood. She’d even do it in front of her spawn. And they’d love it.
I hurt them.
You fucked up and they paid for it. They’d laugh as you beg for mercy. They’d even join in if they could.
But he didn’t need to die. Astarion, he- He could have led him away. I would have been safe.
And when he realized Astarion sent him on a wild goose chase? He’d turn right back around. And by that point his suspicions would fall to you - the leader. He’d know.
He’d know you’re the monster he hunts.
Hands roughly grab your own, snapping you out of your restless trance. Your skin is not only red from blood, but from how much you rubbed and scratched. Small lines beaded with your own blood where your nails broke the skin. It stung. And finally feeling that pain grounded you further.
“Calm down, for gods’ sakes,” Astarion cursed. He hurriedly pressed a white handkerchief into your hand. It was soft and cool to the touch. Gold embroidery danced around the edges, quickly becoming stained and ruined. “You’re going to rip your skin off.”
You felt everything so vividly. You almost wished you were numb to it again. “I’m sorry,” you croaked. “I don’t know what happened, I just… I thought of her. Of what she’d do to me, and I couldn’t think of another way out.”
He sighed, annoyed but all too understanding. “I was going to send him off North. By the time he realized he’s been had, we would already be in Baldur’s Gate.”
“I’m sorry.”
He smirked wickedly, mischief twinkling in his eye, despite the tinge of concern underlying it all. “You’ve simply provided a more permanent solution to our problem.” He glanced over, but you closed your eyes. You didn’t want to look again. “No point worrying about it now.”
“He could have helped,” you chastise. The intensity was only directed toward yourself. “If we paid him or explained or- or something, he could have gone back and said I was dead. Then- then she might have stopped looking for me.”
“And if he didn’t?”
You couldn’t let yourself spiral through that argument again. You just shook your head, opening your eyes to watch as he wiped away the blood. Most of it stayed, requiring water to wash it off - a realization that frightened you. What if the blood never came off?
“I know it may seem hard to believe,” he began. His voice was strained, like he was forcing himself to believe in it too, “but you’re not alone in this fight. If she finds you - Do you hear me? If. - we can protect you. And if she takes you away, we know where to find you now.”
“Berdusk.” He hummed, pleased you understood his meaning.
“Karlach would go on a rampage before she ever lays a finger on you.”
You chuckled weakly at the thought. You could almost picture your companion barging down the front door of the manor, everybody else behind her, as she tears through the place to find you. It’s… comforting.
A shiver runs through your body as the adrenaline finally fades from your system. You sighed. And just when most of your guilt has left, another weight finds itself in your throat - a heavy lump of fear. “I’m afraid to go to Baldur’s Gate,” you admit quietly. He pauses to look up at you, red eyes scanning your face. “Berdusk is so close by.”
“If it’s any consolation, Cazador is in Baldur’s Gate.” You hum; he’s told you this before.
“And you’re walking back into arms reach.” You look up from your hands. “Doesn’t that terrify you?”
He huffs a humorless laugh. “Do I hide my fear that well?” he teased. “Of course I’m terrified. I have no idea how well these tadpoles block his influence. For all I know, the moment I step foot in the Gate, he’ll have full control over me again.
“But if there’s even the slightest chance I could kill him, I’m going to take it. I can’t go back to that life. Not after this.”
Not after experiencing freedom for the first time in too long.
Astarion curls your fingers around the handkerchief so you’ll hold it. He picks up your bloody dagger and cleans the blade on the dead Gur’s clothes. You can’t watch, but you can see the sneer on his face as he does so. He reaches forward and tucks it away in your sheath. It feels heavier at your hip somehow.
He holds you by your arms as you stand, continuing to hold your hands in front of you. It feels wrong to let them hand so casually by your side, and just the thought of using them makes you feel worse. He turns you away from the body, directing you back toward camp.
You can still feel the Gur’s blood in your skin, even after you spend two whole hours washing your hands.
---
Tag List:
@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie
#fanfic#fanfiction#astarion#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#bg3#baldur's gate astarion#baldur's gate tav#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate tav#bg3 astarion#bg3 tav#gn reader#x gn reader#gender neutral reader#x gender neutral reader#angst#i come with knives
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I Will Not Ask and Neither Should You
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar)
Chapters: 1/3
Notes: inspired by Hozier's Like Real People Do, this is unlocking a big chunk of Jag LORE (based off of her dossier I made), also Simon's backstory, there may be smut there may not be we shall see where the fic takes it, it's gonna be angstyyyy,
Part Two | Part Three | AO3 | MASTERLIST
Why were you digging? / What did you bury
Before those hands pulled me / From the earth?
I will not ask you where you came from / I will not ask and neither should you
___
“Ya ‘eard from her?”
“No, Simon,” there was a pause on the other side of the phone line. A flick of flint and a few inhales. “Think I’d be the first to know anyway?”
Simon wandered the sparse room like his namesake. The cracked curtains let in a dull, yellow light from the streetlights outside. It was raining again, as it does in Leeds in November.
“Supposed to be enjoying time off, not working holes in the carpet,” a longer inhale this time.
“They’re hardwood.” and Price chuckled on the other side. “‘Something I have to do.’” Simon read aloud your note again, not caring that his captain heard him. The paper was warped slightly from the warmth of his hand.
It was the only thing you’d left, when you left, two nights ago. He’d woken to an empty bed and an emptier room. The flat was Simon’s—a simple place to crash when he was on leave between missions. He never bothered to decorate since he was rarely there. Just kept the minimal furnishings that came with the gaff. But somehow you and your black duffel and your warm body had turned it into a place he wanted to stay.
“Have you even called her?”
Simon stilled in front of the window.
“Christ, Simon,” was all Price could manage, then a long exhale.
“If she wanted me to know about it she would have said something by now.” Simon stared out the sliver of window at nothing in particular; the beads of rain created a bokeh effect against the glass. "Think she’ll be back?”
“Dunno with that one,” and it was honesty. “Tends to not stick around.”
“She’s stuck this long.”
“Yeah?”
There was a lingering silence as Ghost set the note down next to his skull mask on the nightstand. The mattress sunk under the weight of him.
Price sighed on the other end of the phone. “People like her—like you—like their autonomy.”
Ghost let out a sharp exhale. “And yet ‘ere I am, still runnin’ headlong into shit missions with you.”
“Aye,” the other man chuckled. “You’re more desperate than she is, though.” There was a long drag of his cigar. “Needed somewhere to hone all that hate.”
Simon only grunted in response.
“It’s late, Simon. Sleep. You can figure out if you want to call her in the morning.”
“Sure.” There were a few breathes before, “Thanks, John.”
“Anytime.”
Laying down on the bed, Ghost stared at the dial-pad, contemplating what to do next. The archaic phone dimly illuminated his chest and face in the dark.
Missions were so easy—straightforward. Infiltrate and navigate all the unknowns until you reach the best outcome. But life outside of the task force was a muddle of grey. Simon never did fully figure you out; never fully made peace with himself either.
He shut the phone and turned on his side, willing futilely for a sleep that would not come.
___
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#my fic#my fics#my writing#Simon ghost riley#Simon ghost Riley x reader#Simon ghost Riley x f!reader#cod ghost#cod fic#mw2 fic#ghost#ghost mw2#oc#ghost x female reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost x jaguar#cod mwii#simon ghost Riley x you
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AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART I
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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.5k || ao3 || Part II -> coming soon! || masterlist ||
minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only
━─━────༺༻────━─━
“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”
***
Suguru tries to tame you.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
✧ SPRING FEVER collab masterlist ✧
cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader if you squint, biting, blood, marking, eventual forced bathing in later parts, eventual forced feeding in later parts, eventual smut in later parts; masturbation, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?
a/n: this is for @lorelune 's SPRING FEVER collab!! i have been working on this for awhile now and i am excited to share it! this should be about 3 parts...i am very close to finishing the whole thing so i should be releasing a part a week for the next two weeks!
thank you for reading!! i would love to hear your thoughts <333
━─━────༺༻────━─━
“I think you’d be perfect.”
Suguru’s voice is a caress, low and soft, as he sits across from you.
Somehow, he always makes you feel like he is just beneath the surface of your skin, even if there is a respectable distance between you. He always makes you feel as if he is lurking somewhere in the lowest parts of you, pulling at strings you once thought hidden to yourself.
You’ve kept your distance for this reason.
You swallow hard.
And then you manage to get your voice to unstick, to find it somewhere inside of you and bring it to life. It’s firmer than you’re anticipating and you’re proud;
“I don’t think I would be.”
Suguru looks at you in a way that makes you feel as if he’s seeing through you, pulling you open slowly to gaze at all the inner workings of you. His dark eyes are keen, so sharp, even if they’re shaded by half-lidded lashes.
He smiles pleasantly and indulges you, but you know he believes very firmly that he is, in fact, right, “why not?”
“I told you when I agreed to join you—all I wanted in exchange for helping you, was to be an unbound Omega.” You force yourself to meet his eyes and to not get sucked into the dark tide of them.
“You asked for my protection.” He reminds you.
Your eyes flash this time, heated, a little spark that skitters to life inside of you.
“I didn’t—“
“Is that not what you’d call it?” Suguru asks, “when I interfered, every time, to be sure no other Alpha got to you? Or when I scented you to keep them away?”
Prickling warmth dots your cheeks, can feel at the back of your neck, too, the tips of your ears. You try a different tactic.
“I’m not a homemaker.”
His smile is soft, “I don’t want a homemaker.”
“I’m not obedient.” You counter again, as if you could dissuade Suguru Getou once he’s made up his mind.
“You’ve been quite good for me.” Suguru says smugly and this time, a little noise of embarrassment or frustration eeks out of you. A short, sharp little growl from your throat, almost a groan of irritation.
“I—I’m doing your dirty work. That’s our agreement! You give me assignments that I complete and in return, I get my freedom.”
“I don’t know why you’re so opposed to this. Is it not similar already to what we have now?” He asks simply, “I’d still let you roam, if that’s what you’re so scared of.”
“No it’s that—that power and mentality that I don’t want you to have over me.” You snap.
“I already have it,” he says and it isn’t intended to be cruel, but certainly is, “how long do you think you’d last, without the protection of an Alpha?”
“I didn’t have any before you.”
“You were starving, injured, and constantly on the run before me.” You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off, “it would still give you what you want.”
“I don’t want to be yours.” You say frankly, perhaps to be cruel yourself. And then you show teeth a little, flash them in warning, “I don’t want your mark.”
Suguru looks amused, if anything, by your display.
His smile is knowing and insufferable. It makes your anger ratchet up inside of you, hackles rising. You feel a little growl working its way out of your throat. It tears out of you in annoyance, when he says, “I don’t believe you.”
You slam the door so hard on its hinges that it rattles the entire wall. You wish it would rattle all the world.
***
Your cursed technique rips to life like a star exploding outwards.
Beast that you are, it overtakes you, transforms you until you are all claws and dripping, little fangs. Your body elongates, elegant, and built for speed, viciousness. The horns atop your head are sharp, too, curled the slightest into a crescent shape. The beast in you stretches and pulls at your bones, fits your skin to it in a way that you have come to know well.
(“Cursed technique: Cursed Creature,” Suguru hums, “allows you to turn into a cursed version of yourself, a sort of,” he pauses, looking you over, “monster?”
“That’s right.” You tell him, body trembling all over, in dire need of food. Care. Sleep.
He places a large hand on top of your head, strokes gently, until his hand nudges your cheek, beneath your chin so you are forced to look up into his eyes. Depthless violet.
“You have a deal.”)
The sorcerer is cast backward with the force of your transformation. In this form, everything heightens, sharpening into brilliance. So much brighter, clearer. So much more overwhelming.
You are a flash of darkness when you move, a mass of lethality.
The sorcerer doesn��t stand a chance, the moment you dash past him with a deep swipe of your claws, you know this will be an easy match. You chitter in this form, excited, warbly little sound erupting from you before you careen towards him again.
This time, he is warped away.
But you are fast, changing your trajectory mid-step to catch up to where he was warped.
Except, this time, a white haired sorcerer takes his place.
Your claws meet air.
A growling hiss erupts from your throat.
Satoru Gojo.
Suguru told you to stay away from him. At all costs.
And speak of the devil, your name is called, whistled almost. Your head turns to find Suguru appearing, too.
Faintly, the more human part of you wonders what the occasion is.
For a moment, all you can see is threat. Your hackles rise as your growling gets lower, more sinister, your form moving behind Gojo as if you might circle him, unable to let down your guard.
“Call off your pet,” Gojo says.
Suguru calls your name again and there’s something else in his tone now, a little sharper.
(Fear, you wonder faintly, in some far away part of your mind. Is he worried Gojo would hurt you?)
You come to heel at Suguru’s side, remaining in this form, making a low, threatening sound still. Warning. Your claws still drip with the blood of that sorcerer.
“Go,” Suguru says to you.
Your head snaps to look at him, eyes narrowing. “I’m not leaving,” you snap and the words have a bite to it, around the curves of your fangs. You look back at Gojo. If this comes to blows, you don’t want Suguru facing Gojo alone–you don’t want to leave his back suddenly unguarded.
It’s counterintuitive to you, goes against all of your instincts. You don’t leave him, you don’t leave his side, his back.
“Go,” Suguru says, harsher this time and the command seeps into you. You waver. And then, “I won’t tell you again.”
When you hiss at him in that warbling way of curses, he smiles faintly, almost fondly, as your teeth drip with venom. But you do listen to him this time.
And with your heightened hearing, you hear Gojo underneath his breath as you slink away;
“How interesting.”
***
When Suguru returns to you, he is unharmed.
You’d paced the length of the hallway outside of his room in the compound until you could have worn a hole into it.
Few would be brave enough to wait for Suguru outside his door.
When he arrives, he is mildly surprised to see you, before his expression melts into a sort of—smugness. A knowing glint to his eyes.
“Why would you send me away?” You snap.
“You could’ve gone in, you know, if it would’ve soothed you.” Suguru says instead, head nodding towards the door to his suite. “Would you like a key?”
You blanche, taking a half step back, “I don’t—“
It allows him to get to his door and open it. You’ve been here before, in the privacy of his suite, but now it feels strange. A little different. He holds the door open for you.
You glance at the threshold and feel as if you’re making an important decision.
“Come on,” he says smoothly and before you can think twice about it, you are being led inside, his hand drifting somewhere near your lower back. He never touches you, the feeling is a phantom one, the impression of it. You shiver a little.
But you round on him again, “why would you send me away?”
He doesn’t acknowledge you, instead he goes rifling in a drawer, digging around a little.
His suite is larger than others. The living room is open and attached is the kitchen. It’s all light wood, with tall windows that overlook the courtyard. You know, despite never being inside, that his bedroom is down the hall and to the left. The bathroom is across from it. You’ve sat many times on the floor of his living room with him, going over assignments, plans that he has, and what he’d like you to do.
When he finds what he’s looking for, he makes a soft noise, before turning to you with a small, gold key.
“I don’t want a key!” You snap.
“It’s a spare, take it just in case.” He replies and when you don’t move to grab it from him, he takes your hand in his much larger one, and opens your palm to him.
He places the key in your hand.
And then his eyes catch yours, “you were worried.”
“No-!” you get out, “I don’t like being—I’m supposed to protect you.”
Suguru smiles, hand still swallowing yours, “isn’t that sweet?” he remarks, “an Omega attempting to protect an Alpha.”
Immediately, you jerk away from him.
The key is still in your shaking fist.
“Don’t start,” you snarl, low and vicious and hurt, “I’ve always been the one at your side.”
“Yes,” he agrees, hand falling back down to his side listlessly. “I already told you that.”
You’ve always been at my side, he’d said, when he was trying to convince you to–
“That’s not what I meant!” Your voice rises without your consent and you feel an embarrassed, angry flush through your face for being so worked up. The room is thick with your worry and anger and frustration, all of your pent up energy like a knot in your chest, in your voice. It’s in your heart and the way you look at him.
“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” Suguru says easily, “it’s still the truth.”
When you slam the door this time, you hear something fall from the wall.
But the key is still in your trembling hand, digging indents into your palm, and your heart is still a beast in your chest.
And behind the closed door, Suguru Getou smiles fondly, and retrieves the fallen, shattered frame from the floor.
***
For a while, you avoid Suguru.
You stuff the key he gave you in your nightstand drawer, far in the back, in an attempt to keep it out of sight and out of your mind.
And at first, you think he is respecting your boundaries; you receive assignments through others from him. You see him only in passing and he never speaks directly to you. He hardly acknowledges you.
But after a week and a half, it begins to feel like punishment.
And the key is starting to burn and itch in your mind. You think about it at night, tossing over in your bed; you think about unlocking his door at this hour. What would you find? Would he be asleep? Awake? Alone? Fully dressed?
You think of him half bare and lounging, hair slipping over his shoulders, and the scent of sandalwood and fig. Tonka or something woodsy, maybe. You know it well and it lingers long after he leaves you.
You suddenly miss it, crave it.
Him.
You twist beneath your sheets.
Why did he have to–
You make a soft noise of frustration, turning over again.
You’re restless.
Something beneath your skin begins to itch and squirm.
Previously, Suguru had hardly mentioned your status as an Omega. He rarely acknowledged it; you were too brilliant of a sorcerer for him to care, you thought. You were too powerful. The only instance he brought it up was to scent you, a form of caution in a particular instance, for a particular mission. The memory still simmers in your mind, the way he’d rubbed the gland on your wrist with a careful thumb. He’d given you clothes of his to wear. He’d had you sit in his quarters for long hours, until it seemed as if you were his, in some way.
But now that he’s actually brought it up, offered you his bite, to be his, it paints him in an entirely different light.
Had he always…wanted you?
Was he always planning this?
The naive, desperate parts of you want to believe this is a recent thought of his. Previous to this, he only ever saw you as another sorcerer, a powerful one that aided him. You had always been one of the closer ones to him, at his heel, his beck and call.
You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought of Suguru this way; as an Alpha. An unmated one, who kept your company.
And he does, no matter how badly it burns to admit it, protect you.
You know he wards off Alphas.
You know he perhaps does more than even that.
But you don’t want—
You don’t want to be mated.
You don’t want to suddenly be coddled by him, held back, don’t want to be the little thing that keeps his bed warm.
Your face heats with the thought.
Images flash through your mind, flickering, melting together like film that bleeds and runs, of him overtop you. Shrouding you. His hair on your shoulders and back. You think of his mouth on your throat, teeth in your neck.
You rub at your eyes suddenly as if to clear them.
You know he leaves on a mission for a week in two days.
You assume, at some point, he’ll speak to you. And break this strange silence.
You’ll both return to normal then.
And then perhaps you won’t lose any more sleep over him.
***
Suguru never says goodbye to you.
It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does—you just figured he’d finally drop this silly little silence game.
You suppose he must’ve thought the same of you.
Besides, what were you expecting from him? An apology? It’s foolish to even entertain. You knew you weren’t going to apologize either. The least you’ll do, when he returns, is act as if all is normal again. Perhaps it’s better that way, not to address what he’s put in his head recently.
The more you speak of it, or think of it, the worse it unravels in your mind.
On the second day that he is gone, you realize you miss his scent.
You realize it has become such a staple in your everyday life that its sudden disappearance is almost alarming. It makes you more irritable, more vicious. You snap at the others faster, bite out insults and brutalities.
You—
Well, you miss it.
Him, maybe.
The admittance is a hard one to swallow around. It burns going down.
On the third day, you’re genuinely craving his scent in a way that makes your teeth ache. You had no idea you could even miss a scent like this, need it so bad that your body would betray you with a physical pain in your chest. Somewhere in your mouth, under your tongue.
You try to ignore it.
You go on with your life.
But by the fifth day, you are agitated and aggressive. Everyone knows something is wrong with you. You know something is wrong with you. You can feel it beneath your skin, crawling, squirming. It makes you want to tear out your hair, rip at your nails, or sink your teeth into something. You’re restless.
You can’t sleep.
You can hardly eat or think.
And as you lay awake in your bed, kicking at sheets, sweating and twisting, you know what it is you need.
You’ve known the whole week.
You throw back the covers and wrench open your bedside drawer.
The key rattles, hot, like it knows it’s finally about to be used. It’s musical sound a siren song, it’s been burning away in there the whole week.
You swipe it and turn sharply from your bedroom. From your own apartment.
It’s the middle of the night; not a soul sees you in the compound.
Like a person possessed, you walk. Your back is straight. Your steps are quick. Your mind is set, on fire.
Suguru’s door has haunted you the whole week.
The key in your hand digs into the flesh, carving it’s divots there like your hand might be the lock itself.
You try not to think about it–you unlock the door. You throw it open.
You shut it behind you, slide the lock back into place.
Darkness greets you.
You wander in like you know the place (you do, you do–)
You wander in like it’s yours to wander in.
Instantly, something loosens inside of you.
You exhale hard.
Inhale sharp.
The smell of him, fainter because he’s been gone, assaults your senses, sweeps over them. You take in a lungful like gasping for air, you smell faint traces of fig and sandalwood. Notes of tonka that you long for, that urge you to move deeper into his space.
In the dark, you make your way down the hall, towards his bedroom.
You haunt the arch for a moment.
Guilt or regret or embarrassment almost seize you. They make you pause.
Some sane part of you is clawing at your insides, wailing to turn around and leave. Leave now.
But he gave you a key.
He gave you a key, you think in circles, again and again. He gave me a key.
You cross the threshold.
You sink down into his bed and his scent is strongest here, even still, after several days it’s his.
You turn over the covers to get beneath them, cool sheets against your legs, sliding and smooth. You turn your face into his pillow and inhale.
A soft little groan works it’s way out of you.
Instantly, your muscles slacken.
Everything leeches from you; your anger and irritation and restlessness.
It soothes you so deeply and so swiftly it makes your head spin.
You curl beneath his blankets and take deep pulls of breath, squirming a moment if only to bring his scent tighter around you. You envelope yourself in it.You shroud yourself in it.
And finally, after five days of restless nights, you fall asleep almost instantly.
Not a single dream. Not one moment where you wake or stir.
You sleep deeply.
In the morning, the sun warms you through the broad windows like a content cat.
You stretch lazily like one, too.
Suguru will be home tomorrow.
You know you need to leave his bed, hope that your scent dissipates by the time he returns.
You didn’t do anything wrong, you know—he gave you a key.
He gave you a key.
But rather, you know he would never let you live it down. He would use it instantly, as ammunition for his argument, the debate that the two of you keep circling.
You don’t quite leave as quickly as you should still, though:
You linger.
You’re comfortable.
Calmed for the first time all week.
And when you do slip out, it’s silently, locking the door behind you.
Like maybe you won’t ever let yourself back in there, trying to shut it like it was a one time indulgence and gone now from your mind and body.
But his scent clings to you.
And little do you know, your scent clings to his sheets—and to Suguru, it’s sweet as can be and unmistakable—irreplaceable.
He collapses in his own bed when he returns and knows you’ve been all over it. He can smell the crush of dark berries, jasmine, the soothing note of vanilla that clings to you, that he’s come to adore.
He grins to himself and knows then, he’s got you right where he wants you.
***
For a moment, you think Suguru is going to make you be the bigger person and apologize upon his return.
Instead, he finds you.
And he doesn’t say he’s sorry for his recent behavior, but he does say;
“I’d prefer if you didn’t avoid me in the future.”
It feels like sorry enough.
And for some time, things return to a state of normal.
A version of it.
It isn’t quite like it was before—in fact, you seem to spend more time around him than previously. He calls on you more. He brings you into his space more frequently, often urging you to eat with him, beside him, at his table.
This is ideal for you. Close but not too close.
Although, he begins to ask, don’t you have your key? Can’t you let yourself in?
You say you haven’t used it.
He hums like he knows differently, but doesn’t press you.
Until finally he asks you to retrieve a notebook in his study and bring it to him.
Fetch, he says.
“It’s locked, isn’t it?”
“You have your key.” He answers simply, not looking up from the book he is reading.
For a moment, you almost protest, but something stops you. Maybe the twitch in his brow.
It’s a useless argument to pick, anyways.
You do have a key.
It would be fastest, easiest, to just use it.
So you do.
And you hand him the notebook he asked for, fingers brushing against his as he takes it from you with gentle hands.
“Thank you,” he adds, voice so smooth and low, almost tempting.
You swallow a little.
Then you quickly avert your gaze.
“Whatever,” you grouse, but he smiles fondly, amused.
And it opens another door, more than just the one to his suite.
***
Tentatively, you begin to come and go.
The first (second) time you use your key to enter without his order, he is careful not to react to you any differently than how he usually does.
His eyes brighten a little, though, like a leopard that’s caught something interesting in its sights and is waiting to see what it’ll do.
Still, you grow more comfortable entering his space on your own.
You claim portions of it; a corner of the couch. A particular cushion around his low table. All of the sunny patches in his suite become yours, scented with you, indented with you. More than that, some horrible, hidden part of you adores that your scent is all over his space.
It’s comforting to find it beside his scent.
It soothes a part of you that you don’t wish to admit to.
His hands grow bolder.
Now they’re always hovering at the small of your back, the nape of your neck. He tucks strands of your hair away from your face and though you jerk away from him, it’s often half-hearted. You snip at him and he only smiles.
Pleased. Smug. Knowing.
His hands guide you as you walk beside him.
You grow accustomed to his touch in some way—he makes sure of it.
Then, as if to prove something—
Another cult member begins to cause trouble with you; he is another Omega. He begins with snide comments and remarks that test your patience. He doesn’t stop until you are growling and bristled and ready for a fight.
And all it takes to stop you is Suguru’s large hand coming down on the nape of your neck.
His thumb rests atop one scent gland at your throat, fingertips pressing delicately into the one on the other side. Hand wrapped around the back of your neck.
“Easy,” he murmurs and just like that, you can feel some of your aggression slip from you, deflate like a balloon.
It’s involuntary, the energy and anger unspooling from your body in an instant. In the back of your mind, you’re alarmed; how easily it was for him to effect you. It’s terrifying.
You swat his hand away, lurching from him, another little growl in your throat.
But you don’t fight him or the look in his eyes, the way he tilts his chin up in the barest hint of dominance.
You storm off.
Instances as such continue to happen, though, where he’s able to sooth or quell your temperament with a touch. A word. A look.
It comes to a head while you’re eating dinner with him.
“You’re so wound up,” Suguru comments lightly, “your scent is so sharp with it. What’s bothering you?”
Reflexively, you snap, “you are.”
And it’s meant to be some sort of insult but Suguru’s lips twist into this hitched little smile. “It’s my fault you’re wound up?” He asks lightly.
“Don’t twist my words.” You respond, fixing him with a glare, “you bother me.”
He’s still deeply amused by this, you can tell by the twinkle in his eyes. The smug way he holds himself.
“Would you like me to help you?” He asks.
“No,” you say reflexively.
A beat of silence before he says, “come here. I’ll help you.”
There’s a command in his voice, laced there, and doing something strange to your head.
You hesitate.
He pounces, “just a massage.” He soothes, “I can tell your shoulders are knotted up and tense. I can see it.”
His voice has dropped into that soothing lull.
Warily, “away from my glands?”
He smiles, “of course.” And then, “come here.”
Your body moves easily now and he murmurs, “sit in front of me. Back to me—there, that’s it.”
It feels more vulnerable than it should to show your back to him, to sit in front of him like a child to their mother. You try to keep your posture straight and careful.
But then he sets large, warm hands to your shoulders. His fingers dig into the meat of them gently, pressing into your muscles which spasm and twitch in pain. You yelp, jerking away.
Suguru tsks, “see how tense you are? You’re in pain.” He scolds softly and you feel heat smart across your face, “sit still for me. I’ll be gentler.”
True to his word, he eases up, fingers careful as they run into your tense muscles.
He finds bundles of twisted up tension in your back and shoulders, pressing into them until a noise springs from you—a groan, a whimper, a little growl. He works the sounds out of you. You swear he’s doing it deliberately and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was all just to humiliate you a little.
But you finally loosen and slacken for him.
When you finally sink into his hands, he murmurs, “I don’t know why you fight this so badly.”
You let go of a heavy sigh, “you do know why. Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Because you’re stubborn?” Suguru asks lightly and you snort, despite yourself, “because you don’t know what’s good for you?”
“You’re no good for me.” You respond.
Suguru’s turn to sigh and if he digs his fingers in to make you yip in pain, he’d never say it was purposeful.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”
Reflexively, you jerk away from his touch, you turn to look at him over your shoulder with a sneer.
“I’m not a pet.”
Suguru does not heed your warning and instead gently pulls you back towards him by your waist.
“No?” He asks lightly, fingers resuming their steady massage. You go completely still like prey, unsure, wary. Angry. Humiliated. “It’s not a bad thing to be a pet. You’re thinking about it all wrong.”
His fingers ease up towards your neck and you stiffen again.
“Suguru,” you say in warning as he nears your scent glands. Perhaps to what he’s said.
“You’re my pet now,” he continues, “though you don’t like to admit it. It’s not so bad, is it?”
Stubbornly, you don’t answer him.
But after a moment, you say, “if I’m already yours, why do you need this last bit of me? If you already see me as your pet, why do you want me so terribly, in this way—“
Suguru suddenly pulls you back deeper, into his lap, against his chest.
You squirm, but he holds you tight, hooks his chin over your shoulder.
Alarm bells ring frantically in your head now that he’s so close to the glands in your throat.
“Don’t play dumb,” Suguru muses, half-mocking, “it doesn’t suit you.”
“Let me go,” you snarl low and hot.
“What are you scared of?” Suguru responds, “that I’d trap you? If you’d take my Bite, I’d let you roam further than I do now. You’d be safe.”
“Liar,” you hiss, “I’m not dumb.”
“I’m not trying to stifle you, I’m trying to set you free.” Suguru almost purrs and his voice is warm and low and creeping up over your spine and trying to find its way inside you.
You begin to squirm this time, thrashing in his hold until you manage to wriggle free, falling forward onto your hands and knees.
Instinctively, you turn to keep your back protected, scrambling away from him. You bare your teeth at him.
“I don’t believe you.”
He watches this show of aggression with amusement, tilting his head slightly. And then he sighs, “I don’t think anything I say will convince you at this point.”
You narrow your eyes at the tone. Your hackles rise.
In an instant, he has grabbed you by the ankle and pulled you back to him.
Underneath him.
You shove hard at him, twisting and fighting as he settles himself over you.
You realize how solid he is, how strong, and large. He doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Suguru,” you hiss at him, pushing as hard as you can on his chest.
“See how easy it was for me to subdue you?” He says then, voice smooth and low. “If I wanted to take you, I simply would’ve already. You’re no challenge to me; if I wanted to trap you, I would’ve.”
“Get off me!”
You thrash hard beneath him and in an instant, he has your hands uselessly pinned above your head, stretching you out beneath him.
His nose dips, near the scent gland at your throat. You squirm.
He squeezes your wrists, “stop squirming.” He murmurs low, “or my instinct will be to bite.”
Your stomach does a horrible flip, a flutter of—fear, excitement.
“Just—get off—leave me alone!” You get out, voice high and tight. You try not to arch away from the way he lets his face fall to the crook of your neck.
“Hush,” Suguru hisses, nudging his nose beneath your ear.
He’s scenting you.
He’s done this before and despite everything in you, you finally go slack. You force yourself not to tilt your head or offer up more, rather let him urge you into the way that he prefers.
He nudges his cheek and nose against your jaw. He lets out a relieved breath, fitting more of his body to you and you feel the push of chest into yours, his hips.
You squirm a little and a growl erupts from his throat.
You fight back the sound that almost works its way out of you now, swallow around it.
When he’s finished, he asks, “would you like to scent me?” And instinctively, you want to say yes, but you temper yourself. Then he adds, “I’m sending you away on a mission alone. I’ll be scenting you until the day you leave now.”
You catch his eyes, glinting.
“So, I thought it only fair if you’d like to scent me, too.”
You don’t know why, but something squirms inside of you, something a little hurt.
“You’re sending me away?”
Suguru hums softly, “I need you to take care of something for me. I only trust you to do it.”
You flex your hands a little in his hold, but he doesn’t budge.
He nudges at your jaw again, gentle, and murmurs, “this would be easier if you’d take my mark.”
You turn your head then to shield your throat, and face him. His nose nearly brushes yours and you look up at him through your lashes. You bite your tongue from any further complaints, dipping down to the crux of his throat now.
Easily, perhaps eagerly, he bares his throat for you.
Satisfaction erupts beneath your skin as his scent washes over you, dark fig and oud, sandalwood and musk. Carefully, your nose runs along the column of his throat.
“I’m not even—“ you huff, retry, “I haven’t had a Heat in—it wouldn’t take, anyways.”
“Ah,” Suguru says and you wish you hadn’t told him at all. Realization dawns over his features the way a cat might realize it’s caught its mouse beneath its paws. “Is this what you’re so scared of?”
“No—I prefer it this way. It’s another reason that you can’t. It wouldn’t work.” You say stubbornly and perhaps in your irritation, you burrow further down into the crook of his neck, tuck your cheek to his skin to nudge.
“I could give you a temporary one,” he murmurs, “I’d let you do the same in return, of course.”
You go quiet, brushing your lips against his skin, hesitating.
“I don’t need it.” You finally decide, even as you let the blunt side of a tooth nick gently against his neck. “I can protect myself.” You pull away to look at him again, “am I not one of your strongest?”
“You are my strongest.” He agrees, he praises. “But am I not also strong?” He asks, “and yet you still insist on protecting me.”
You open your mouth to protest, but he takes your chin in hand suddenly, words dying before they can escape.
“You are my strongest.” He says, “I would like the world to be aware of it.”
“I told you, I don’t want to be yours–”
“Then stop protecting me. Flee. Run away and never return.” Suddenly, his touch, his body, all of him is gone. He rolls off of you and onto his back beside you. Cold air sweeps in. You can feel his touch like burning imprints on your skin.
You turn your head to the side to look at him.
“You would hunt me down if I ran.”
A flicker of a smile ghosts his face.
“And if I ran from you?” He asks, “if I discarded you?”
Something twists so viciously and sharply in your chest that your eyes sting with it. You lock your jaw tight. You stare up at the ceiling.
“You refuse to speak but your scent is spiced with distress, sour with despair.” He turns to look at you, “not so easy to hear, is it?”
“I can’t stand you or your games.” You get out.
“There are no games.” He says evenly, “only the one you’re playing with yourself.”
You scoff, “which is?”
He sits up slightly, over you, looking down at you, the inky silk of his dark hair sliding over one shoulder.
“Seeing how long you can outrun what you want.”
You exhale roughly, in exasperation, and then you ask dryly, “and what do I want, Suguru?”
“To be taken care of.”
“I don’t need–”
He cuts off your growl before it can start, taking your chin in hand to turn your head towards him once more. “You never have, but it doesn’t mean you can’t want it.”
“I don’t want it either.” You snap. “You have some grand delusion of me in your mind that I am some weak, submissive creature in need of your care.”
“I’ve said none of that, have I?” He hums. “Now you’re twisting my words, being purposefully churlish–in hopes of, what? To scare me off?”
His palm opens up against your jaw, your cheek. His thumb touches your bottom lip.
“You snap and you snarl and posture as some ferocious, independent creature to scare everyone off. I don’t blame you–I am certain you protected yourself many times this way from lesser people.” His voice is soft, almost a lull, you allow his palm to open against your lips, to turn your face into the cup of his hands. “You don’t believe anyone can handle you and you hope if you bite hard enough, tear into them, they’ll run off. And then you’ll feel vindicated; you were right, you are too much to handle. You were right, you are a monster. You’re unworthy of care or companionship or protection.”
His hand moves upward, baring his wrist to your mouth now, “go on,” he encourages, “bite me. As hard as you like. Scream and cry and tear into me. Loathe me and scorn me.” He leans closer, over you, as he hushes like a mother to their child, “I’ll still be here, with the rings of your teeth marks littered in my skin. I’ll be the only one, bruised and bloody, still taking care of you–no matter how badly you fight me.”
Out of anger or frustration or something else entirely, tears prick your eyes. As if to hide them, you open your mouth against his wrist, gentle first–warm and soft lips and tongue. He looks enraptured. He looks starving.
You sink your teeth into his skin viciously.
He hisses in pain, sharp, but doesn’t pull away. “There,” he coos, leaning over you, sinking into the pain, “is that what you wanted?”
Blood bursts into your mouth in a way that is almost startling, sharp and metallic. It should be gross and horrible and–you whine a little, somewhere in the back of your throat and bear down harder.
If that’s what he promises, you’ll make him prove it.
If he wants to be the one beside you, you’ll make him pay.
He leans down to kiss at your cheeks, gentle, humming. You realize there are tears. Your jaw aches.
But you don’t let go and he doesn’t even flinch.
“Does that feel better? To get your teeth into someone who isn’t scared of you?” He murmurs, nudging at your tense jaw, kissing there. “Shall I do the same to you?”
You release his wrist and shove him off, hard enough that he gives and he goes.
You stand up and storm out of his chambers, slamming the door on its hinges as hard as you can. You hope it knocks over every painting on his walls. You hope the entire compound somehow hears it. You hope it breaks something in the same way that something has been broken open inside of you.
You wipe his blood from your mouth with the back of your hand.
Suguru doesn’t even bandage the wound. And he wears his sleeves high, so that all the world might see it.
#suguru getou x reader#suguru geto x reader#getou suguru x reader#geto suguru x reader#suguru getou x you#getou suguru x you#suguru geto x you#jjk x reader#jjk x you#cw: omegaverse#cw: yandere#cielo writes!#cielo's writing!
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