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quizzyisdone · 1 year

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It Will Come Back (Part I) | Ghost x Fem! Reader

Chapter Title: Witch Image Word Count: 4.3k Pairing: Ghost x Fem! Reader Synopsis: The instant you joined the 141, you took special notice of a certain member was not like the others, in both appearance and personality. The way his intense stare ignited a feeling within you that you could not put words to. For months you pretend not to notice him. But Ghost does not play pretend. Warnings: Strong language, canon-typical violence, slow burn romance

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Masterlist

**Chapter title inspired by Witch Image by Ghost

I have always kept you closer than you've known I am riding in the shadows behind you On a pale white horse

He always lingered in the background, and were it anyone else, his presence would have been insignificant from where he stood. Ghost was different, though. Even from day one, the day you first met him, always in the back of your mind could you feel his cold, harsh presence emanating over you like an aura.

The first time you had met (although “met” is a strong word for what truly happened), you took notice of him immediately. Price had greeted you right off the heli with most of the team, including Ghost. Everyone had at least offered a greeting, but he just stood there. Several feet away from the rest of the group, staring at you, sizing you up. His mask was off putting, but what stood to be more intimidating was his stature, stare, quiet nature. 6’5, roughly 250 pounds of pure muscle and utter silence.

The balaclava that he never took off seemed comparatively minor in terms of intimidation when contrasted to everything else about him. You weren’t the type to scare easily, but to say Ghost was off putting was saying it mildly. When the group dissipated and went their separate ways, you stole one final glance at him. He simply nodded in acknowledgement then walked off, his assault rifle in hand with the safety notably turned off.

Why the hell was the safety off on base?

Price chuckled when you informed him of the encounter later that day.

“Sounds ‘bout right.” He took a puff of his cigar. “You’re lucky he acknowledged you. Must’ve caught him on a good day.”

The window in the makeshift debriefing room was propped open, allowing the cool desert breeze to sweep through the room, little wisps of your hair fluttering as it flowed by. You sat slumped in a chair waiting for Price. You were trying damn near everything in your power not to fall asleep at this late hour, but also to avoid glancing over at Ghost, who had elected to stand and restlessly pace about the room in silence, making you a bit apprehensive of him in the moment.

Something had to have happened to make him this restless, and his current demeanor reminded you of that first meeting with him.

Since that first encounter all those months ago, something barely bearing a resemblance to an acquaintanceship had formed, forged through the very few covert stealth ops you both had been on together with some of the others. It was a strange, unspoken bond between the two of you, like you both completely understood yet misunderstood each other at the same time. It was weird, but you had grown accustomed to it as he had.

Ghost never spoke to you outside of missions, he didn’t really do that with anyone (but his eyes seemed to linger a little longer, you realized). Like the others, he beheld you in a cool, stoic regard. You returned the favour and pretended not to notice him as often as you truly did, only ever standing in his presence if Soap, Gaz, or Price was present.

You two were never alone together like you were to be this time around. You don’t know if being alone with someone he didn’t trust on an op was causing his restlessness, or it was some other inexplicable reason.

You also didn’t know if it made you nervous or euphoric being alone with him. On one hand, he was unnerving, and ruthless by reputation. He was willing to sacrifice his teammates for the greater good, and as noble as that is, that often meant a bloody, horrific death for whomever he sacrificed to get the job done. On the other hand, he was a natural leader who embodied the spirit of professionalism, and his seeming omniscience and considerable skill bordered on the supernatural.

There was also a small part of you yearning to impress this enigmatic man that admittedly scared you at times, and this was the perfect opportunity. You didn’t quite know if that desire extended from a strange attraction or admiration of the man. Perhaps both.

Price opened the door, slamming it shut. His face set into a deep frown, clearly his mood over the next week hinged on the success of this op.

“Evening.” He greeted the pair of you curtly. “Let’s cut to the chase.”

Ghost stopped his pacing, crossing his arms as he stood and you sat up straight in your chair.

Apparently, you were tracking one of Makarov’s main weaponry smugglers, an ex-Spetsnaz ultranationalist known as Vadim Ivanovich. Intel uncovered that Vadim not only armed some of Al-Qatala’s army, but also a certain ultranationalist infantry battalion. While arming AQ would’ve made him inconsequential to the bigger equation, a job better suited for another taskforce, arming the battalion who were designated to protect key strongholds that Makarov used as bases of operations was what made him notable.

Vadim is your key to getting in close to Makarov. Ever since Ghost had killed Hassan and Makarov reemerged as a threat, he had remained, for lack of a better term, a virtual ghost. No leads had popped up. Until now. This was the first breakthrough the 141’s analysts had made in months.

He was operating from a farm turned Al-Qatala safehouse, located in a rural area on the border of Urzikstan and Kastovia. Intel states that this acts as his main transportation hub and base of operations. Given that tensions are heating up, with ultranationalists joining Makarov’s cause in droves, he’s most certainly there to oversee the operation at the orders of the kingfish himself.

With heavy AQ presence and Vadim’s penchant to flee at any sign of trouble, this mission was best left to stealth rather than a fully fledged gunfight with the whole task force. Perfect for you and Ghost to infiltrate, grab the target, and exfil — quietly.

“Target is intended to be captured and brought back for interrogation. You cannot kill the target under any circumstances.” Price stressed to the two of you, his expression was stern, a far cry from his normal, relative leniency on ops. “We cannot afford to fuck this up.”

“Yes sir,” You nodded. “What’s the plan?”

“You’ll land in a helo two klicks out from the safehouse. Ghost, you’ll position yourself on a nearby ridge, at a critical position overlooking the farm, providing overwatch and sniper cover as needed for L/N” He pointed at the table, Ghost’s name written in a circle on a topographical map of the area. “L/N, you will silently infiltrate the base, subduing and capturing the target with this stim provided by Laswell.”

Price handed you a sizable syringe, containing a mysterious orange liquid meant to incapacitate rather than eliminate.

“CIA shit.” You chuckled, looking the syringe up and down, examining it. “I like it.”

“Aerial reconnaissance of the farm revealed that Vadim’s personal vehicle is parked right outside the house at night.” Price said, directing your eyes with his hand to a photo with the vehicle attached to the map with a tack. Nice car, a 2020 Mercedes. “This is what you’ll use to get him out of the area without alerting AQ. You and Ghost will RV at a spot below the ridge, and exfil two klicks north of the safehouse. I’ll be on comms, in a helo for exfil.”

“Understood, sir.” Ghost’s hoarse, rough voice chimes in. You didn’t hear him speak often outside of missions, and this was the first time in days you’d heard a word out of him. His deep, scratchy, baritone voice always sent shivers down your spine, and you weren’t always sure if it was a good or bad thing.

“Wheels up at 2200 hours tomorrow.” He dismissed the both of you, and Ghost left as soon as he was given the order. You glanced at Price before he left, taking in his features. He was stiff, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched in stress. The past few years had clearly taken a toll, evident by the wrinkles that had formed on his face that weren’t there when you first met him in Credenhill. “Nervous, L/N?”

You nodded. “A little. It’s pretty high stakes.”

“Well I’d be more worried if you weren’t.” Price offered you a small, reassuring smile. “I know this isn’t your tactical specialty like it is for the lieutenant, but given your past record, I think the both of you are uniquely qualified for this.”

“Yes, sir.” You dismissed yourself, Price was right, stealth wasn’t your tactical specialty. You were decent at it, better than some on the 141, which earned yourself a spot on some of those ops, but it was not what you excelled in. If you didn’t have to be on it, you didn’t want to be on it. But you trusted Price’s judgement and his insistence, even if neither you or Ghost seemed to understand it.

As you made your way to your quarters, you made a pit stop at the mess hall, grabbing a bite to eat before going to bed. There, you spotted Soap, Gaz and Ghost eating and conversing at a table in the corner. Well, Soap and Gaz were talking, Ghost simply sat there silently, a barely touched tray before him.

He had immediately taken notice when you walked in, shamelessly glaring at you as he sometimes did and you pretended not to notice. His eyes, which were his only visible features, were indiscernible in emotion. You couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or simply trying to intimidate you, but if it were the latter, it certainly worked. He followed your figure until you sat down next to an empty seat, diagonally from where he sat cornered against a wall.

“‘Evening, boys.” You smiled, patting a back on Gaz’s shoulder. You were met with a round of friendly hellos from two of the men, but with silence from the third. You side eyed him, hoping to goad a word out of him, if only to hear that rough voice again.

“Good evening, sergeant.” Ghost replied nonchalantly, which admittedly surprised you that he responded. You raised your eyebrow at him, but he simply shrugged, glancing away, and your heart skipped a beat. Soap laughed in response.

“Now ye finally got to say something to her now that yer going on an op alone with her, eh LT?” Soap nudged his shoulder, and Ghost once again shrugged, this time lifting up his balaclava just enough to reveal his mouth to shove a quick bite of bread, then pulling it back down immediately.

For that split second, you noticed ashy blonde stubble decorating his well chiseled jawline. Coincidentally, Ghost had also caught you stealing a glance in that moment, and you could’ve sworn you saw the outline of a smirk on his balaclava that vanished in an instant.

“It’s not polite to stare, sergeant.” He said, his voice muffled by the large chunk of bread he was still chewing. You almost chuckled, you could say the same to him.

“Facial hair, eh? You don’t shave?” You shot back, ignoring his statement.

“Does it matter?” Ghost swallowed, his question harsh and laced with a hint of hostility that didn’t deter you, even as you inwardly cringed at the nerve you seem to hit inadvertently. You looked over at Soap and Gaz, who were watching this conversation unfold with great interest.

“Well, a girl sometimes wonders what’s underneath that mask of yours.”

“Well a girl can keep wondering, sergeant. You’ll never know.” His gaze was intense, although whatever emotion and intent he had behind that statement was unintelligible, whether it was vexed, humorous, or simply neutral.

“You’ve seen his face, haven’t you?” You asked Soap, and he smiled and nodded. “Does he wear it because he’s ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.” Ghost interjected. “Right, Johnny?”

“Eh,” Soap glanced at Gaz and then Ghost, clasping his hands together with a chuckle, harking back to Las Almas. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

Ghost elected not to respond, simply turning back to his tray, lifting his balaclava to eat once more, this time, he ensured you saw the smirk on his lips and that you met his eyes, even as you quickly shifted your eyes elsewhere, feeling inexplicably warm in the face.

“This is Bravo 7-0, I’m in position. How copy?” Ghost’s voice came through comms, its gruffness exacerbated by the graininess of the headpiece. Although he didn’t really need an answer, he could see you through the scope of his rifle. Your back was pressed against the tall wooden fence surrounding the farm, laying in wait for the lone guard right behind the fence to come by so you could neutralize him.

You ignored his question for a moment, so as not to give yourself away. You readied your knife, and as he turned the corner, out of view from any other AQ, you grabbed him by the scruff, pushing him against the fence and slitting his throat. As his dead body slumped against the fence, you wiped your knife against your thigh and sheathed it once more.

“This is Bravo 7-2. About to infiltrate.” You poked your head around the fence, sizing up the AO. You saw several guards, two of them positioned at the front entrance of the barn, which had its wicket gate propped open, armored SUVs parked inside, being loaded with weapons to be shipped off to Makarov. Separated by a field of crops, the main building, where Vadim was located, lay completely opposite of you, and there was little besides the barn to offer cover.

“Sergeant, recommend we do this smart and take down all personnel at the barn first, then proceed to the main house.” His statement was less of a suggestion, more of an order. “After the barn, I’ll neutralize who I can at the main house but the interior is up to you. Visual on several AQ and ultranationalists through the windows. Won’t be easy.”

“For you, maybe.” You chuckled a bit uneasily, as you sniped a lone enemy positioned near the side of the barn. “For me it’ll be a walk in the park.”

“If it’d be even somewhat hard for me to do, it’ll be damn near impossible for you.” Clearly, the lieutenant was not pleased with your boasting that you used to mask the nervous pit in the bottom of your stomach. Even if he wasn’t here in your presence physically, you could feel a shiver go down your spine. Silence ensued as you made your way to the barn. Just as you reached the side entrance, an enemy came out the door in front of you.

The guard took notice of you immediately, grabbing you and pinning you against the wall, his pistol to your head as he shouted something in Arabic. However, Ghost quickly took care of the problem, and a bit of the guard’s blood spattered on your face.

“Walk in the park, eh?” Ghost jived.

“Thanks.” You said, wiping the blood off your face, a frown forming at his well-earned arrogance at saving your ass. That taste of instant karma might keep you off of boasting like that again.

Clearing the barn went off without a hitch, and more importantly, without the need of assistance from the LT. Something which you hoped he’d remember next time he doubted you like it felt like during the debriefing. It was a simple job, you cut the power from the generator, picking off one by one the enemies left stumbling in the dark.

Toggling your flashlight on, dead bodies scattered the vicinity, but you took notice of a desk in the corner, laptop still on but papers, maps scattered around it. One map in particular caught your attention, a map marked with routes and coordinates, filled with lines leading to circles. You folded the paper, placing it in your pocket for you to give to intel later on. Might prove useful.

“Barn’s clear. Might’ve found some intel.” You informed Ghost as you loaded your tactical gear with some flashbangs you found lying around. This was a weapons goldmine, RPGs, grenade launchers, innumerable semi-automatics, and even a few machine guns were simply lying around.

“Good job.” Your heart, against your brain’s better judgement, jumped a little. “Price will be happy after tonight. Provided you don’t screw it up down there.”

“I won’t.” You reassured him, back away from the desk to the front entrance. When you turned around, you were met with a pistol cocked against the center of your forehead, a man with a wicked grin smiling at you as the butt of a gun slammed the back of your head.

Some seconds went by, and not a peep from you nor did he see you exit the barn, which was unusual, given how talkative you tended to be. Raising his brows, he pressed the button on his radio.

“Bravo 7-2, how copy?”

Silence.

“I repeat, Bravo 7-2, how copy?” His voice grew angrier. He looked into the scope of his rifle, scanning the perimeter for any sign of you. Nothing. “Fuckin’ hell, do you copy?!” Ghost slammed his fist on the ground, his stomach dropping when he looked in his rifle again, seeing your limp body being carried by the target intended for capture, being brought into the house.

“Fuck.” He hissed. “Bravo 6 do you copy?” Ghost radioed the captain, trying to hide the desperation he felt growing.

“Loud and clear. What’s happening?” Price responded in an instant.

“L/N was captured. I’m going in.”

You were awoken with a cool feeling of liquid trailing on the back of your scalp, accompanied by a pounding headache, your head throbbing. Your hands were bound behind you as you sat in a simple fold up chair in a windowless and barren room. There was a heavy, steel plated door shut tight in front of you about 10 feet away. Your weapons were gone, but your tactical gear remained on you.

“That didn’t take long.” A thick Russian accent could be heard from behind you and your heart began to beat out of your chest. He placed his hand on your shoulder as he presented himself in front of you. Vadim. “At least they brought me a pretty one this time. I do get tired of the large, stinking brutes they bring me. You’ll be easier to break.” His thumb going to rest on your lip as he cupped your face in a sick, twisted attraction. Oh how wrong he was. “What’s your name, girl?”

You stayed silent, staring defiantly into his eyes.

“I said what is your fucking name?” Vadim screamed in anger, swinging his fist to hit square onto your nose. You gasped in pain, feeling blood trickle out of your nose and lightheadedness as the impact combined with the head wound you sustained.

“So you think I’m pretty?” You smiled in faux flirtatiousness, your eyes half lidded in lightheadedness as you tauntingly smiled. If he wanted to play that game, you’ll beat him at it. That had earned you another punch, this time the impact colliding with your eye.

“I tried being gentle with you.” He huffed, turning his back around, rummaging through a briefcase containing weapons. “I know that you know of the treatment disrespectful little girls get around here.” Vadim turned around, brandishing a knife with a taunting smile mimicking your own, and it only grew wider as fear grew in your eyes. “So, let’s try again. What is your name and rank?”

He held the sharp end of the blade to your cheek, threatening to break skin if he applied any more pressure. The realization that should’ve settled earlier came, he meant business and rescue was nowhere in sight. You remembered the first rule of being interrogated: Give them what they want, omit where you can, and lie only when necessary.

“Sergeant Y/N L/N.” You answered meekly.

“See, we can be nice to each other, Miss L/N.” His pressure on the blade lifted slightly at your admission. “So, why are you here?”

“To find your guns.” You glared hardened as your ears perked at the ever so faint sound of gunfire in the distance that Vadim seemed to not take any notice of. He smiled at you, even as the sound of fighting grew louder. “And to find you.”

“Makarov will be interested in this.” He tutted. He opened the door that separated the room from the main hallway, muttering something in Russian to one of his lackeys who was standing guard outside the room. The man saluted him, and walked away from his post and Vadim shut the door. As you could hear the fighting getting louder, you almost laughed. Idiot. “You’re coming with us.”

Soon enough, gunfire could be heard loud and clear in the vicinity, and that same soldier who he was talking to earlier cried out.

“Vadim, blya-” The soldier was cut off as a gunshot rang out.

“No, I don’t think I will.” You smiled, and in an instant, Vadim grabbed your neck harshly and pulled your back straight against his chest to use you as a human shield. He held a pistol against your head and backed into the corner with the table that had the briefcase.

The inside of his elbow pressed harshly into your neck, making it difficult for you breathe, especially so when you struggled against him. As you gasped for air, the door swung wide open, Ghost, who’s mask and gear were drenched with the blood of the no doubt many, many people he killed to get here so quickly.

Your heart jumped and you smiled, even as you were gasping for air and the sudden movement made your lightheadedness sustained from the head injury worse.

“Drop the weapon.” Ghost barked, although his gun was not aimed towards Vadim, instead just a little bit above his head. He was clearly still adamant about the objective to bring him back alive.

“I’ll fucking shoot her!” He screamed back, his iron grip now tightening impossibly hard on you as your vision began to tunnel.

“You kill her, you’ll die a long, painful death.” Ghost threatened, his eyes, normally indiscernible, now clearly enraged. “I’ll make fucking sure of it.”

He looked straight at you as he uttered that last statement.

As the two stood off in a battle of wills, you slowly inched your hand toward a screwdriver that lay on the corner. Even as your vision began to collapse on itself from the lack of air, you somehow managed to grab it. Using all the strength you could muster in your clouded, delirious mind, you drove it into Vadim’s side and he let go, falling to the ground. You stumbled to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

Now that you were free, it wasn’t lack of oxygen clouding your judgement -- it was anger. Before either Ghost or Vadim could react, you used the same screwdriver and drove it as hard as you could through the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

In your anger, Ghost’s screaming at you to stop fell on deaf ears. Even if you could, it was already too late, the damage was done -- you killed him.

No longer gasping for air and your vision returning to normal, you pushed yourself away from his body until you reached a wall. You pulled your knees to your chest, feeling a sudden urge to sob, which you fought desperately to control.

“What in the bloody hell was that sergeant?” Ghost yelled, but you didn’t respond, still staring at his body just five feet away from yours. Shame began to set in as you realized what you had done. The only lead to Makarov was now dead. Because of you.

The urge to cry strengthened as it sunk in further. This was your fault, you thought as you felt a burning stream of liquid well up in the corner of your eye, which you quickly wiped away.

Ghost kneeled in front of you, and his signature intense gaze burned into your eyes once more. “Why’d you kill him?” His voice was not as booming and rough as it was the first time, but a notch of hostility could still be detected.

“I-I don’t know. He hurt me a lot and he just made me so angry and I-I just lost my shit.” You stuttered. He sighed, and his eyes looked down for a moment, as if he was lost in thought for a second.

“You can’t lose your shit like that.” Ghost muttered quietly. He glanced back up at you, a certain softness in his eyes. For a moment, for the first time, you understood him and he understood you. For once, you were not afraid to look him directly into those eyes that seemed to burn right inside of you.

But sooner than it came, that moment was gone. His gaze returned to that normal, shadowy, vague stare that was oh so typical of him and he stood up, reaching his hand to pull you up. “You broken?”

Shaking your head, you grabbed his hand and he pulled you up with precious little strength and you stumbled forward, grabbing onto his shoulder for balance. Ghost tensed at the contact, and you quickly moved away as you gathered your bearings.

“Bravo 6, L/N is okay.” He looked over at you, watching as you gripped at your head, trying to get the pain to stop. “Relatively.”

“Good. And the target?” Relief seemed to wash over his tone.

“KIA.”

“Fuckin’ Christ!” Price yelled through the comms, Ghost’s disappointment etched itself into his ashy blonde brows that peaked right below the mask. You averted your eyes, grabbing a handgun from the dead body of the man that was so imperative you brought in alive. “Just get your asses back to base, we’ll talk then.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

#hi this was barely proofread sorry in advance #if u squint rlly hard there's a life of boris reference in there #that was almost accidental #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #captain price #john soap mactavish #john price #mw22 #modern warfare 2 #cod #call of duty #quizzy writes

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n4tsum1-san · 1 month

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GUESS WHO FINALLY WATCHED BANG DREAM IT'S MYGO!!!!!

#bandori memes #made by yours truly #except for the first image (i'm not sure where that's from)#high cloud quintet #bandori #bang dream girls band party #bang dream it's mygo #mygo!!!!!#tomori takamatsu #taki shiina #anon chihaya #soyo nagasaki #raana kaname #tomotaki and tomoanon if u squint rlly hard

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xxswagcorexx · 1 year

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not related to the prev 2 asks at all. hehe

#tw caps #media.warning.caps #religious imagery #also im rlly sorry if i mess anything up :sob: i didn't grow up in the church or anything so uh #feel free to tell me more stuff if u wish! id love to learn but also the bible is (fear) and im bad at reading old texts so Uh #Anyway ash isnt really eve coded to me but yk the argument thing might sorta relate to him kinda. if you squint really really hard #anyways ya hehe #fallen angels. upvote if u agree #text.core

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jaaankiey · 1 year

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theyre SOOOO SUTPID for each other i love them

also this is mayb jus a minor thing 2 my Insane Mind Only but there's definitely a height difference between these two

#jankiey arts #leafy is tall real #if u squint rlly hard in canon #i will DIE on this hill goodbye

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2018-01-20 · 2 years

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nya :D

HELP KK HIII <33 the kitty is being so funky HAHAHSB AWWHH the curtain pulling their ears back will never not be funny to me HAHA

#im squinting so hard to see if thats peanut or not LOL 😢😢#my eyesight has gotten rlly baddd 😔😔#HOW R U MY DEARESSST #୨୧ — 📬 : boo’s penpal !

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rowarn · 6 months

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hi tonight i'm thinking about rlly pent up simon coming home. he's wound taut, a short fuse. he just needs to let off some steam and be a little mean with u ): just a lil tho!!!

while he whispers about how soft and sweet you are, how cute you look pinned beneath him, how pretty your moans are as you lick and squeal as he makes u cum on his cock — he has his big hand wrapped around your throat.

he makes you stare right into his eyes while he has u creaming and squirming. he's glaring even tho he's saying sweet nothings <3 he's got u pinned, his chest pressed against yours, rendering u completely immobile and at his mercy as he stuffs his cock into ur drooling cunt ):

when your eyes inevitably roll back, breaking the eye contact, he lightly slaps you across the cheek. the impact makes your eyes fall back to his and he squints in disappointment.

"eyes on me, sweet one," he growls, "told you to keep your fuckin' eyes on me."

and when he hits just right, nailing that gooey little spot inside you, eyes flutter closed and he smacks you again. it's not hard enough to hurt but the fact your sweet simon is the one treating u so meanly is what gets u really clenching around him <3

"filthy thing," he spits, "gettin' off on me smackin' you around? fuck, you're a lil pervert, love."

you whimper, toes curling in ur fuzzy socks when his pelvis grinds right up against your clit, as he says those dirty things to you ): and he keeps just humping your pretty little pussy until you're cumming again around him with a weak cry of his name, hands helplessly slapping against his broad shoulders.

"i'm not done, sweetheart," he coos in your ear, deep timbre of his voice making your heart race, "gonna keep fuckin' this precious little cunt until i cant remember my own name." <3

#*clears throat*#so yeah #that's what i'm thinking about (:#and now you are too <3 #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

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atsuwumus · 4 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : who sees the human face correctly — the photographer, the mirror or the painter? dr ratio had always had an obsession with pretty things. so when you seek his guidance for one of your artistic pieces you find yourself in for more than you bargained for.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : mature content, minors dni 18+ only. dom! dr ratio x fem! reader, teasing, fingering, objectification if u really squint hard enough. p-paint play??? I wrote this with my coochie okay ʕ•͡-•ʔ

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐀𝐈 𝐌𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 : nobody perceive me after writing this (๑﹏๑//) rlly messy one but wanted to get something out tonight on the new bloggie :3

"𝐌𝐘, 𝐌𝐘, 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 aren't you a pretty sight."

His voice is low and as smooth as velvet, vibrating off the walls of the empty display room and shaking you right to your core. His voice shouldn't have such an affect on you, but it creeps into your veins like a slow acting poison, tainting your thoughts from the inside out.

For weeks now you've tried to get his attention, ready to beg on hands and knees for just a slither of recognition. You see, your artwork hasn't always made the biggest impact. Many found it rather mundane and boring.

One failed exhibition after the next had led you to seek out the only person you knew would have the answers you so desperately sought, the only person who would either see your vision through strokes of paint and blurred lines — or who would be able to tell you to give it all up for good.

A shaky breath leaves your chest when the door clicks closed behind him.

Another leaves your lips when the slow and purposeful stride of his feet draw closer.

Rows upon rows of paintings of the finest details line the walls on either side of him but all he seems to be focused on is you.

Delicate strokes of paint stain your skin, spanning from one naked hip to the next. Swirls of green and blue meet in an intricate dance across your nipples and span to intertwine around your neck, a true display of intricacies and colors. You're bare to him, attesting to the advice he had given you with a shrug of his shoulder weeks ago.

"And what is this supposed to be?" he drawls, his voice coming from behind you. It takes every last ounce of your strength to scrape together enough willpower to remain still where you are, plastered on the small pedestal for him to see.

You inhale, exhale. Count to three and back again before you speak.

"You said I needed to be braver with my art," you say yet your voice still shakes. "That I needed to start taking more risks. This is me taking that risk."

An understanding hum vibrates low in his chest, a pleasant sound that eases some of the tension in your shoulders. But the closer he gets, the more he inspects, the hungrier his gaze gets. A calloused fingertip runs from the blade of your shoulder down to your hip. He taps his chin, feigning to be deep in thought.

"Risqué," he murmurs. "But not quite complete. Not to my liking."

Curiosity burns in your gaze as your eyes follow each shift and shrink of his body, watching avidly as he picks up a tube of paint, squeezing some red ink onto his fingertips. There's a half smile tugging at the corner of his lips — one that you aren't sure is entirely there — before he lets his fingers dip against your skin.

You gasp.

The paint is chillier than you expected against your heated skin as he draws long, precise lines along and around your breasts. He takes his time, idly moving his digits back and forth, keeping his gaze trained on the way the red brings your skin to life. A low chuckle follows when he runs his inked fingertips across your pert nipples, ensuring to outline them properly with thick layers of paint. Once satisfied does he pick up a deep mauve, smearing it across your abdomen, sinking lower and lower until you finally let out a whimper.

It's only when he sets the tube of paint down that he says, "Do not for a second think that I don't see you rubbing those thighs of yours together. Did no one ever tell you to not disturb the artwork?"

It should be embarrassing for you — how debauched you look right now, on the brink of being ruined, letting him paint, prod and process whoever he pleased, without any objection. You bite down on your bottom lip, pursing them together when you catch a flicker of his gaze — warm and wanting, like a predator ready to sink its teeth into his prey.

It's a weak protest but you let out a small, "Dr. —"

"Be quiet."

You swallow your words with a thick throat, chest heaving as he steps closer to you, right between your thighs, ever so slowly tilting his chin up to meet your gaze as he cleans his fingers off with a damp cloth.

"I believe I told you to bare a side of yours to me that I haven't seen before in your art," he drags out, letting his fingers smooth over your hips and thighs, admiring his work like a proud master. "But I never expected this from you. Tell me, have you put on a show like this for anyone else before?"

"N-No." You shudder with a shake of your head.

His lips curl into what you could only presume to be a satisfied smirk. "Good. It would be such a shame if I had to share something from my private gallery from the rest of the world."

His hands are definitive in the way he touches you, without hesitation or uncertainty, but with the elegance of a painter, parting your thighs with ease and running two fingers between your puffy lips, smirking when he realizes how wet you truly are.

"This is almost pathetic," he muses, continue to collect your wetness in between his fingers and using it to circle your clit a few times, always coming close enough to give you a taste of what you craved, but never indulging you. "How desperate you are for some attention. I almost pity you."

He gives your clit a smack with the palm of his hand, a deep chuckle bubbling in his throat when you yelp.

"Almost."

"P-Please." You almost don't recognize your own voice, how each syllable is painted with desperation. How your thighs shake with anticipation and you continuously clench around nothing each time he circles your entrance.

"Shhh," he chides, his voice sweet like honey but his eyes told you a different story. "I'm determined to enjoy the entire gallery. And I don't like being disturbed or disrupted. It takes away my focus."

He tilts his head up to look at you. "Do you understand?"

Your bottom lip wobbles a little when he slides two slender digits between your folds, curling them with ease and stroking along your soft walls until he heard you whine. "I do, I do!" you nod along feverishly, ready to beg and plead at this point — anything just for him to give you what you want.

"Good... Something tells me I'm going to be enjoying this spectacle tonight."

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail fic #honkai star rail smut #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio smut #dr ratio drabbles #dr ratio fic #hsr x reader #hsr smut #hsr scenarios #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr drabbles #hsr fic #veritas ratio #veritas ratio smut #veritas ratio x reader

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fuxuannie · 1 year

Note

Wanted to request maybe hsr men with a partner that's their exact opposite?

* pairing(s) : various hsr men (i actually do all of them i promise) x reader

* prompt : opposites attract, amiright?

* authors note : so you may have noticed a bit of a.. redesign.. in my layout 🙏 but hi requester!! here u gooo ♡ cleaning up my requests sweep sweep. also thank you for 200 u guys r crazy omg.

* brief warning : blade is blade, sssadism if u SQUINT RLLY HARD.

(my love for gepard rlly shows in this im sorry. HABSGJABA 😭😭!!! some r rlly long.. ooc.. or short.. sbsndhsks HANDGSHWS i love gepard IM SORRY HES PRETTY BOY)

DAN HENG appreciated his silence and alone time, you however, could not go 5 minutes without his supervision.

While he liked to plan and execute said plan perfectly, you were reckless and went into anything head-first with worrying about the possible failures later.

And because of this, Dan Heng was protective over you. He was a gentleman after all, and he would do the same for March 7th back then, so it's no surprise he'd do it for you now. Especially with your tendencies to get yourself into unnecessary fights.

It aches his heart, you know? Having to see your wounds and bruises as he patches you up. But you've made a compromise to give him the equivelant amount of kisses equal to the bandages he put all over you. (and there were A LOT)

Even if you make him worry 24/7, he'll still love you. It's not bad to have a chance of pace after all.

JING YUAN is a man with many routines, calm and collected, with many worries on his shoulder.

You were more outgoing, a trailblazer who rode the express and were the one helping people with their worries.

He was always surprised with how helpful you really were in your first meetings, not that he doubted your abilities, but didn't expect someone to be able to do his asks as well as you did.

What didn't surprise him was how he fell for you, the way your heart was always pure and gold, and you lived a life to protect and help others.. he admired you. You were his inspiration, his muse, to be a General with that kind of care for his people.

When you two decided to date, Jing Yuan had to get used to your impulsive actions. He was always used to doing the same thing everyday, but with you? He found himself doing 50 other things before the next part of his schedule.

Not that he minded, he likes the excitement, and he really really likes you.

GEPARD, the Silvermane guards leader, falling for his sisters co-performer.

He LOVED to watch you perform or practice, Serval always saw him with such a love-struck smile, head resting on his hand as he sat and watched his sisters and you practice. She'd tease him about it afterwards, calling him loverboy and such, but he never confirmed nor denied her teasing about him liking you.

Sometimes the guards would hear him humming your part of a song or the general tune of a melody you play, considering how much he watched you, it was no surprise that you were stuck in his head like a popular song.

He quite literally, loved you like a love song, because it's ALL he ever listened to. He'd be in bed, white shirts and shorts, his arm covering his eyes as he listens to the CORNIEST love song and smiles while doing so because he thinks of you.

When you two started dating, he was quick to realize your differences. He was a leader, an intimidating figure, and had goals and missions he swore on his life to constantly follow and pursue even outside of work hours.

You on the other hand, unless you're onstage, you're pretty shy. Not really standing out in a crowd when you're in your civilian clothing, and you liked it that way. Almost like you lived a different life from your almost idol-like persona.

Gepard did find it incredibly cute though, how you'd have an explosive personality infront of a crowd. But with him? You were at the mercy of his soft kisses and his chuckles as your face turns warm from fluster.

SAMPO was the COMMON ENEMY between the Overworld and Underworld.

Okay, maybe a bit of an exaggeration. But YOU?? Natasha's sweetest nurse and sibling?? with the likes of HIM??

He was a liar, seemingly the type to decieve people who put their trust in him, only to repay them randomly out of nowhere with random treasure maps or save them from tight situations. It seemed like any suspicious activity was ALWAYS tied to him.

You, on the other hand, worked with your sister in her clinic. Often times praised for your kindness and patience, how amazing you were with children and people in general. Nobody would've expected that you fell for him, hell, he didn't expect it either.

But you saw that somewhere, in that heart of his, he truly did care about his friends and loved ones. Somewhere buried in his rather annoying antics, were the intentions of someone who was just worried for the others well-being. He proved it to you when he caught you crying in a dark alley, wiping your tears as you were so tired and overworked. He listened to you for hours on end, and he got to see a side of you that you didn't show to people, and vice versa. You saw the side of him people thought they'd die to see exist.

WELT YANG was always rather serious at times, with his status and achievements, people expected it of him.

You were his closest companion, one of the few he had left from his journey, but you were also his partner. Despite being just about his age, you were so calm, so gentle. Compared to his seemingly stern nature.

You loved plants and flowers of the such, always telling Welt about the newest one you learnt from a new planet on each expedition through the galaxy. You warmed his heart with how you spoke, explaining each and every plant with such detail. He loved it whenever you spoke, 'music to his ears', he'd tell people. Anyone would be enamoured with your voice and way of speaking, he admired your intelligence, but more importantly, he admired you.

BLADE.. with Kafka's partner in crime?

Kafka can't say she's surprised, hell, she'd love you too. But the pairing was rather odd.

Blade was monotone, cold. His stare as sharp as daggers, and could care less about those he hurt.

You, on the other hand, found immense joy in hurting others. A wicked smile on your face whenever you're permitted to do so towards anyone who dare stand in their way.

Whenever you two would kiss, the difference once again shows. You're clearly enjoying it, but Blade's expression is blank. But I guess don't judge a book by its cover? As the kiss he initiated is passionate and intimate, he's enjoying it I promise, he just doesn't show it.

Either way, you're both stuck babysitting Silverwolf most of the time. Oh well, more time with him.

#✹ ִֶָ ꐑꐑ entos paw prints #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader #gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #sampo koski x reader #sampo x reader #welt yang x reader #yang welt x reader #blade hsr x reader #blade x reader

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arminsumi · 8 months

Text

it's the hair.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ fem reader

NOTE: lol this is just a dum fluff drabble i wrote instead of studying

SUMMARY — your childhood friend and classmate satoru positively kills you with his new haircut. but he misunderstands your reactions and behaviors, thinking he did something wrong.

WARNINGS — lowercase used, not proofread, misunderstandings between u n gojo, angst if you squint ??

WORDCOUNT ≈ 1.3k

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

you've been eyeing out gojo all day. he's not sure what to make of your expression — it's something mixed between comical worry and genuine distress.

"what? what is it?" he keeps asking you each time you give him the side eye look-over. "do i have something on my face?"

"no. it's nothing." you reply curtly.

he squints skeptically at you.

from class to class, he ponders alongside suguru. did he say something? were you mad at him? was it because he stole your soda from the vending machine yesterday? but he always does that, so why would you be mad now? maybe you were just not feeling well? did you not sleep well?

and suguru's ears flooded with all these theories.

"did i say something to y/n? she's acting strange today."

his best friend stifles a smirk. "dunno, did you?"

"i think she's mad at me. was it because i stole her soda? but y'know it's not my fault we like the same soda! and i promised to buy one for her next time!"

suguru now lowers his head into his arms, resting on the desk, trying so hard to keep his laughter in.

"maybe it's the weather — probably the flu — yeah, definitely the flu. i'll go get something for y/n at the store, d'you need anything, suguru? what! what are you laughing at!"

"nothing, nothing. i don't need anything from the store, thanks — unless maybe something spicy that catches your eye. 'better run quick, store's gonna close soon."

satoru furrows his brows in confusion, and eventually his entire expression becomes serious, like an old philosopher in deep thought about the universe. but it's not the abyssal void beyond the stratosphere that's in his thoughts, no, it's you — you're pervading his entire mind as he walks across the roads of tokyo, to the station, and boards the train.

holding onto the handles as it shudders and sways, shoulders taught as they always are when he's in thought. were you really sick? what if he did something bad? maybe it was nothing at all, and he was just overthinking it. maybe it didn't even involve him. did it have to do with suguru? or perhaps you were upset about something in the past, something irrational and long-forgotten, like the fact that he didn't attend your 7th birthday party. it's not like he had a choice, his parents barely allowed him to visit your side because they didn't want their prodigy son hanging out with...

he texts you.

satoru — are u home yet

he stares and waits for you to come online, then watches as those three dots move up and down and you start typing.

you — no why

satoru — where are u

you — bridge

satoru — what are u doing

you — lol so many questions

you — the sunset looks rlly good today i'm taking pics

satoru — wtf without me??

you — lol sorry didn't think u wanted to waste ur time watching the sunset

satoru — see u there

he's just boarding off the train, coming through its doors, when he texts you that. thank the benefit of his long legs for speeding to the store in time before it closes. he picks up your favorite.

when you see him come into view, you're waiting with your arms draped around the railing of the bridge.

"trying out for the track team?" you laugh, as he practically runs up to you. "did you run this whole way?"

he's catching his breath, clutching a plastic bag of goodies.

"are you sick?" he asks.

"what? no?"

"i thought you might have the flu." he's asking with genuine concern, it's bizarre. he usually doesn't talk like this unless he knows he's in trouble with you, or if something's really wrong.

"i'm fine." you blink, "i've just been watching the sunset. you missed the best part."

"i didn't know you enjoyed sunsets."

"why didn't you invite me!" he groans, coming over to assume an oddly attractive position by the railing. he slacks against the metal, leaning his weight on it. he lets the plastic bag with yours and suguru's favorites in it thud to the ground.

the cityscape is so pretty, and yet he's still prettier, you think.

"i don't care for them." he admits, "but of course i'll enjoy a sunset if you're watching it with me."

you look at him. he's not even facing the sunset. was something on his mind? you can hardly theorize, because you're giving him that peculiar look again.

he catches you looking at him, "what!"

"what?"

"did i do something wrong?" his breath is stable now, "are you mad at me?"

"no? why d'you think I'm mad at you?" you ask confusedly.

"because you keep lookin' at me like that!"

"like what?" you feel your cheeks warm up.

"like something about me is offensive to your eyes."

you break out laughing. "no! i'm not — it's not — you misunderstand me, like always..."

"what the hell?" he whines, "is it nothing serious? i've been worried. you've been looking at me weird since sunday and — oh... OH MY GOD."

you giggle, chin pressing on the railing. "did you just realize something?"

"is it the haircut!"

"it's the haircut."

"why do you not like it!" he fumes, that familiar satoru playfulness coming back now as he was put at ease knowing he didn't upset you. "you know it cost a lot, 'n i styled it and everything."

"i didn't say i didn't like it! it's the opposite."

"so you like it? then why do you look at me like you're having an internal crisis?"

you groan, "because you're giving me a crisis! you know i'm weak for undercuts!"

he shuts up. his heart races a bit. oh, so he misunderstood you not a little bit but entirely. oops. now why didn't he realize that his haircut would have this effect on you? when he subconsciously went to get an undercut because you mentioned you liked them in passing one school afternoon.

"oh."

"you're so dumb, satoru."

"well sorry!" he rolls his eyes.

now there's silence. he stops leaning his back against the railing and turns to face the final stages of the sunset. the streetlights come on, one is gleaming not too far from you two. it casts a dreamy light on his hair.

it really is a good cut, and it's styled in such a way that... well it gets your daydreams going, let's just say that. and here gojo was worried when he came out of the salon, thinking it was too short now. truthfully, it was a bit short compared to his other haircuts, but he wore it well. of course he did.

"so you like it?"

"i love it."

"well if you love it, then show it love." he teases.

"what on earth d'you mean?" you laugh shortly.

"fluff my hair." he says.

"no way, lice-boy."

"hey!" he pinches your cheek in retaliation, and your reaction endears him as much as it always has since you two were kids. "that was one time, i haven't ever had lice again."

he pouts. you look over. he is pouting. pouting. he's a nineteen year old boy pouting about not getting his hair fluffed by his childhood friend who he maybe sorta kinda has a crush on.

and then he encourages you. he leans his head on your shoulder. his hair tickles your cheek.

"damn. you're like an attention-starved cat." you joke.

he places your hand on his head himself. the brief warmth and glimpse at the size difference between his hand and your hand made him giddy.

you ruffle his hair lightly, and then he wears a satisfied smile. now early night has settled. it's quiet at the bridge except for the distant city sounds and lull of the highway.

"i was really worried that i did something wrong." he admits.

"i'm sorry."

he sighs, snuggling your shoulder. there's a nice silence between you and him.

then he breaks it.

"hey, i didn't say stop fluffing." his deep voice reverbs in your chest. he's playful and lively, but you can tell he's also tired from running all the way here.

"you're a menace." you tell him.

"but you like me, right?" it's more of an insecure question. he wants to hear you say it back, not as a playful joke.

"of course i do."

"good, good."

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riaki · 4 months

Note

OKAY EVERYONE IS SAYING GOJO DOESN'T DESERVE A HAPPY ENDING YES

BuT what if we could make it a little ANGSTY instead?? 👀 He gets his happy ending. His. Happy ending. You? Well.. Old habits die hard. This is what you wanted after all no? So what if he breaks his promises? What if your smile begins to fade? What if

What you said about later on reader and freckles growing apart cause freckles seemed nice it'd be a shame for him to be an ass

But that it's silly cause the irony is what if that freckle boy.. was just like Gojo but in a different light.

Being as it wasn't him who hurt reader, it was easy to overlook the fact of how similar he was to the old Gojo she knew before it became a shit show

Maybe she realizes that

Maybe she starts thinking

Maybe she drifts apart

And maybe Gojo comforts her but he's the last person she wants to see

Because it's these stupid feelings for Gojo that led her to this hell

And Gojo goes again

And he reels her in

And once he has her

Only to see as her smile begins to fade

As all the effort he had put in when he didn't have her start going away once again

And he starts to fall into old habits becoming the same as he was before, but this time, with you at his hand

As he slowly takes away your smiles again.

But it's okay, he'll make it right. Just...later. and later. And later...

You hope.

sorry I'm not good with angst sorry for any cringe 🤣

this is!! such!!! a good!!!! take!!!!!! on hsbully!gojo!!!!!! tbh this ask speaks for itself lol n dw anon! i rlly love the way u brought it :3 this is highschoolbully!gojo part 592727465527 *suggestive!

yeah. freckles boy isn’t that great of a person. maybe he tried but it didn’t work out; u dunno why but u keep seeing gojo in him— hints of satoru in ur life. like that stinky cologne he thinks is kinda cool but rlly doesn’t smell too good on ur bfs drawer, or the way he takes his coffee. honestly, if u squint, it almost seems like freckle boy is tryna copy gojo in a way…? but u don’t like thinkin abt him so u don’t blink an eye.

fast forward u broke up with freckle boy because something or other; the point is, u really didn’t feel anything with him. there might’ve been a spark, but it was really only artificial and had no wind to fan the flames. and since u got together gojo’s been distant; his smile seems dimmer and there’s always this faraway; foggy look that makes the brilliant azure of his eyes seem cloudy gray. but then ur catching up with him again and at some random frat party you get drunk and ur sense is inhibited and— u end up kissing gojo… oops.

so then u kinda enter this fwb state with him. and.. he’s pretty cool, right? he’s kinda evrything u want in a guy— tall, pretty, cool, strong, handsome, charming— it’s a package deal. but there’s also this… rift, between the two of you. see, ever since gojo lost u the first time, he’s always been so scared of pushing u away. so u stay fwb because he doesn’t wanna lose u again in case he’s feelin more than you are. but his heart doesn’t skip a beat when he sleeps with other girls and his chest doesn’t tighten like it does with u when he gets mouthfuls of fruity gloss from kissing other girls. but he forces himself to keep this wall up between the two of u because he just can’t risk losing you a third time.

it sucks for u too, though! gojo’s just a bit too dense to see it. whether it’s in his own nature, or he’s faking it. it’s probably the latter, but that��d mean he’s not being genuine again, n you don’t wanna think about it. but you’re gettin comfy with him and so is he, and you really do whole heartedly believe he’s changed this time, and for good. and it’s true! he has. but not in the way you thought. apparently, he’s exchanged being an ass with an unreachable ego to a pinch more genuine, but still an ass. it’s proved when u get to his apartment one rainy day ready to spend the weekend w/ him for a study date, but there’s clothes on the floor. dresses n stockings and a frilly blouse that you definitely think (or hope) don’t belong to gojo. unfortunately, your suspicions are confirmed when you lay eyes on the tangle of people on his bedroom through the crack in the door— this time, it’s your turn to run in a hurry. turns out, he got comfortable with you— all in the wrong way, thinking it’d be okay to sleep around. except he gives chase— after pulling on a pair of pants, of course.

eventually he catches up to you; you hate those stupidly long legs. catches your wrist and forces you to face him. in front of a chick fil a, nonetheless. he gets an overwhelming sense of deja vu— but he’s forcibly snapped out of it when je realizes you’re crying. and damn, you look gorgeous, and he wishes it would rain because the sunlight falls around you like liquid gold, framing your pretty face and reflecting prisms of rainbow in your tears.

once again, he doesn’t get it. why are you crying? it’s not like you were really serious or labeled, right…? and the entire reason you’d stayed that way was to avoid somethin like this. but gojo slowly comes to the realization that he’s fucked up big time— he has been since day 1. really, he should’ve found somebody cheaper to chase— you stole his heart and his pride, making him awkwardly and stiffly apologize to you in front of a fast food restaurant on some random crossing next to a train station. it’s only tense because he doesn’t really know how to apologize— he doesn’t have much experience with it, and for that he blames his ego.

but even so, he’s not ready for those big, sappy love confessions yet. you always made him feel so weird— correction: you still do. so you walk away somewhere between fwb and strangers. it’s always one step forward and two steps back with gojo. but maybe, just maybe— he can slowly rebuild your trust with some patience, empathy, and a lot of genuine love that he’s yet to realize he’s been nursing in his heart for you since the first time he laid eyes on you.

paaaaaaart one

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brainrotisseriechicken · 2 months

Text

pirate au able thingy

(couldn't fit in her markings without overloading the piece/covering up my rendering which i am Very proud of but atleast some of them r there if u squint rlly hard )

#scp 076 #scp #scp foundation #scp fandom #scp fanart #fanart #illustration #the hands barely perceptible because that angle is hard as shit to paint ok #i wasnt using any references for anything because i was stubborn and i might just die from a nervous attack if i did #she/her able #dunno how to feel about this one but its postable so ehh #whatever

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girlboybug · 1 year

Text

Ultraviolence

"he hit me and it felt like a kiss."

or the one where ellie finds refuge in your farm house, whereas joel only finds a challenge of self restraint when he meets you.

what’s playing 🎧 : ultraviolence by lana del rey

pairing : joel miller x female!reader

word count : 9k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, mean!joel, virgin!reader, loss of virginity, manhandling, rough sex, spitting, slight voyeurism if you squint, f!masturbation, m!masturbation, spanking, fingering, slight dom/sub dynamics, panties fetish, creampies, unprotected sex, breeding kink, light restraining, choking, tummy bulge, impact play if u kinda squint and tilt ur head, degrading, light praise, daddy kink im sorry yall (not rlly), unspecified age gap, dirty talk, fluff for 2 seconds at the end :p

TRIGGER WARNINGS : reader has emotionally absent/verbally abusive dad, takes place after the david incident but there's zero mention of it lolz just background for yall, joel is mean and rude tbh, kinda very toxic but im addicted to old toxic men sowwy (plz dont ever let a man treat yall like this irl!!) anyways this is all i can think of, lmk if i missed anything! otherwise pls enjoy!! <3

a/n : wouldn't be a fic written by user girlboybug if the reader didn't have raging daddy issues lolz

there’s creaking at the front patio, the old wood worn down by countless stomps from your boots never failed to act as an alerting system for any trespassers. your heart sinks when you force yourself to get up, the responsibility to inspect the origins of the noise falling on your shoulders alone.

yippie.

your hand finds its hold around the neck of your dad’s shotgun, sock covered feet waiting a pregnant pause at your door, swallowing down the brunt of your nerves thickly. you inch out the door, holding the shotgun as steady as you can, eyes fighting to not fail you by succumbing to the night blur that glazes over your vision.

your sights land on a figure of a man, anxiety hitting you with the heel of its fist into your nervous system once his silhouette becomes clear before you. you pointedly aim at him, praying that the act seems intimidating enough. “you’re trespassin’” you call out, prompting him to raise his hands beside his head, keeping his movements slow and careful as to not give you a reason to shoot.

“just lookin for shelter ma’am,” he replies, his voice feels deep when it hits your ears, not stopping short of rich. “not buyin’ it. now i’m not gonna repeat myself, leave before i blow your goddamn head off,” you shoot your threats in the place of bullets, but your tone gives out on you, giving in to your fear, cracking in on itself mid sentence.

a young girl moves from behind him, her hands also beside her head. “ellie,” he whisper yells, trying to move back in front of her. your hard glare falls into a guilty gaze, and your shotgun falters downward. “thought i told you to stay behind me–” she cuts him off, probably causing a vein on the side of his temple to burst with stress when she moves in front of him to speak.

“we’re just looking for somewhere to stay for the night, and we’ll be out of your hair by morning. we promise.” the now named girl swears, looking at the man that dwarfs her in size for extra confirmation. “promise her joel,” she hushedly instructs and he huffs, looking back at you. “promise.” he adds gruffly.

they look like father and daughter, and you don’t have it in you to turn them away, and despite the possibility that lingers in the back of your mind that this is all a ploy to rob you blind, you settle on the fact that it’s worth the risk to let them in.

your shotgun rests beside you, no longer using it as a shield from the fear of an impending threat. “okay,” you verbally decide, and ellie lets out a sigh of relief, leaning into joel. he holds onto her with a sense of care, of protection, and your heart pangs at the sight as they climb up onto the patio.

your lips drop open unintentionally when the man that now has a name and a face to go along with it, stands before you.

he’s tall, he’s handsome, much older than both you and the girl. “thank you ma’am,” he says, a curt nod from the top of his head, and ellie offers a small smile, joining in his nod. “thank you,” she whispers, and you smile back, moving to the side to let them in.

immediate comfort envelopes the pair, a quiet breath of it being expelled from them, and you close the door behind you, locking it to make sure that the warmth from inside doesn’t morph into the frigid wind outside.

“there anyone else with you?” joel questions, unintendedly sending a worried alert in your mind, your body language showing a visible uncomfortableness at the question.

ellie notices, nudging joel with her elbow. “dude?” she mouths, eyebrows furrowed, silently asking, what the fuck?

you find yourself trusting her more than you do him, which is just enough of an amount to get you to believe he doesn't mean to sound as sketchy as he comes across. “just me and my dad. he’s asleep upstairs,” you respond, and joel looks back at you, pursing his lips, nodding.

“i’ll show you where you guys can sleep, and i can even get you a change of clothes.” you say, flickering between the two of them before turning on your heel. they trail behind you quietly while you lead them to their temporary rooms.

walking up the stairs, and past the stretch of the hallway, you stop at one of the spare rooms, pushing open the door. “there’s this one, and then,” you lean over, pushing open a door to the room just beside it. “this one. up to you guys to decide whoever gets which,” you send them off with a nervous smile, rubbing your palms over your pajama bottoms.

“thank you,” ellie calls out, lowering her voice but keeping it at an octave audible enough for you to hear. you turn back, smiling at the young girl before going into your bedroom. you grab a pair of pajamas for the pair, trying to be quick so as to not keep them waiting.

you return to them, finding them both in the same room, sitting at the side of the bed. ellie’s head is leant against joel’s arm, his stare resting over her. the pang hits you again, but you push past it, gently tapping your knuckles over the door. his stare moves from her to you.

“these are for her, and here’re some of my dad’s old clothes for you. they should fit, but if not you can uh, let me know and i’ll find something else for you.” you set them down beside him, and he nods, a tight lipped inch of a curl over his mouth spreads just slightly, acknowledging your actions.

“these should be fine,” he places a hand over the folded clothes, where your’s was and you find yourself swallowing hard again. his hand is big.

“alright, well goodnight.” you wish kindly, making your way out the door, nodding a polite bidding. “night,” he responds, traces of southerness apparent in his vowels. “thank you,” he makes sure to say before you leave.

for everything he wants to add, but he doesn’t, which is okay, you can hear it through the crickets and the quiet peacefulness that passes through the room.

you leave him with an equally hushed response of no problem, the door closing behind you at the curt ending of your reply.

–

your eyes snap wide open, a low wince falling out at the sting from the rude awakening your body is being subjected to. your name rings as a harsh echo, and you’re quick to your feet, remembering the girl and the man staying in your home, unbeknownst to your dad. “shit,” you groan, hurriedly rushing across the hallway and down the stairs.

and there was your father, loud, angry, and yelling at…joel? if you remembered his name correctly. “who the fuck are these people and why are they tellin’ me you let them in last night?” he all but shouts, and you feel small, humiliated.

“i did, i’m sorry, they don’t mean any harm, they just needed a place to stay for the night.” you answer meekly, and joel’s fists tighten, every fiber of his being wanting nothing more than to plummet his fists into the side of your dad’s jaw.

“lord,” he exhales, shutting his eyes and pinching his nose bridge. he walks towards you, a finger pointed at your face when he speaks.

“if they wanna stay they better make themselves useful, if not, i want them out my goddamn house in 5 minutes.” he snipes irritatedly, eyeing you down with annoyance, making sure you saw the seriousness in his face before he leaves, trudging out the front door. ellie watches with sympathetic eyes as you flinch when he slams the door shut.

it’s quiet for longer than you’d like for it to be, but you’re unsure of what to say after being belittled in front of people who are virtually strangers.

“what a dick,” ellie exhales and joel looks at her, eyes wide, lips tight with chastising ready to be released. “ellie!” he chides and she raises her arms in disgruntled defense. “what? he is!”

you laugh, and they turn to you surprisedly. “yeah, he is. i’m sorry about that.” you sigh, and joel shakes his head. “no, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to impose and cause you all that trouble.” he apologizes, genuineness in his softened tone, a pane of his thick drawl behind it, and it soothes away the feeling your dad left you with.

“it’s alright, it’s just how he is,” you say, attempting to pacify their concerns, but ellie, blows out a quiet breath, eyes slightly wider when she tilts her head side to side. “massive asshole,” she mutters, and you giggle before joel can chide her once more. she smiles at your laughter, and joel just sighs his 100th sigh.

“you guys can sit, he’ll be gone for most of the day. i can make some breakfast before you have to go?” you offer, motioning towards the dining table, desperate to move past this topic. “mighty gracious of you, but we should get goin,” joel inadvertently rejects your offers, and you frown.

ellie turns to him, a hopeful stare chipping away at his decision. “dude please, there’s only so much chef boyardee i can take.”

you stifle a laugh at her pleading, tying an apron around your waist.

“fine.” he sighs, and ellie whispers a successful yes!

–

as time went by, you grew closer to ellie, but almost as a trade off, it seemed as though joel drifted further and further from you, leaving you with no idea as to why.

you’ve been nothing but kind to him, and the more you tried to do…well, anything, it only pushed him away instead of bringing him in closer.

granted, you did do things that prompt some kind of annoyed response from joel, like right now, as joel stands in the bathroom, his eyes falling to your discarded panties on the ground.

he marches out the bathroom, searching for you. “ellie, where’s the girl?” he asks, and she can hear the irritation building in the base of his voice. “uh, outside, she’s picking some fruit, why?” she queries, turning around from her seated position on the couch to face him.

he strides towards the door, eyes glaring straight ahead. “no reason.” he replies sardonically, and ellie rolls her eyes, flipping back on the couch.

your dad had gone into the next town over to collect more supplies, do some more trading and other various things, but you didn’t care, he’s gone for the time being, and you’re happy, at ease, with more time to look after your garden and spend time leisurely picking at the fruits that hang from the trees above you.

you’re resting on your knees, overalls rolled up to your thighs, bandana covering your hairline, nimble fingers plucking at the strawberries from the array of bushes. the rays of sunlight blanketing over your skin suddenly vanishes, and you turn, hand over your forehead when you look up at joel.

“oh hi joel! strawberry?” you chirp, offering a plump strawberry, and he exhales through his nose, eyes raking over you.

you have a habit of almost never wearing bra’s, and you just about live in overalls and shorts, always accompanied by some tight fitted top.

god, you make his life so hard.

little pink ribbons are tied over the top strap buckles of your overalls, and you look so adorable that it almost makes him angry.

“no, thanks, look, i know it was your bathroom before it was mine, but for the love of god, please stop leavin’ your…undergarments on the floor.” the subtle twang increases just a notch at the way he rattles about your sightly panties.

your face gets hotter than it was from the sun and you drop your arm, looking away embarrassedly. “oh my god how embarrassing, i’m so sorry, i’m just not used to sharing my bathroom, but that’s not an excuse, i’ll take care of them, i’m sorry joel,” voice pretty and soft, just like you, and he sighs, staring at you for a thick standstill, before going back into the house. “messy girl,” he mutters to himself.

he finds his way back into the bathroom, eyeing the suspect in question, feeling the strings in his chest pull in tight. he picks up the pair with a curl of his finger, eyeing it like a foreign object.

he clenches down on his teeth when he stares at it, the pink striped cotton is soft, a little bow adorning the front of it.

he feels dizzy.

he honestly considers pocketing them, but immediate disgust kicks in and he drops them, walking out.

dirty old man.

–

you are inescapable, easily running joel’s patience down into the dirt beneath his boot. your dad is still gone, but joel and ellie listened when he said to be useful.

they help you around the house, almost doin ’more than you, joel would grumble, but no matter how much he busied himself with chores, there was hints of you in everything.

when he’s feeding the chickens or collecting their eggs, he can look not too far out and see the clothesline where you air dry their laundry, not a single thought about letting your bra’s hang from the wire, taunting joel.

he imagines you in it, the racy little red number, nipples perked behind the flimsy material, shoulder’s beckoning to slide the straps down.

“shit,” he grunts, looking down and seeing the smashed egg in his fist, squeezed to pieces from the intensity of his perverse thoughts.

sometimes he thinks you do this shit on purpose, mocking an old man with something you would never give him, and he feels like banging his head into the wall.

and in this moment he feels it’d be an especially good time to do so, exhaling sharply from his flared nostrils while he searches around for you, calling out your name, only to be met with no reply. he can’t find ellie either and he’s panicking, he’s panicking bad.

he shouts your name from the very depths of his stomach, and he pushes every door he sees open until he stops at your bedroom door, pushing inside and growling with anger when he sees you laid upside down in your bed, hands resting on your tummy with thick headphones clamped over your ears.

he stalks towards you, bending down and ripping your headphones straight off your head. your eyes snap open and you jerk upwards from the bed, clambering off the bed in the most unflattering way possible, rushing to get to your feet.

“joel what the hell? what’s going on?” you ask, and he scoffs, mad that you have the audacity to be annoyed here.

“where the fuck is ellie?” he grits out, and you sigh, snatching back your headphones when you answer. “she’s in the stable with my horse, she’s fine joel.” you promise, and he squints his eyes, shaking his head frustratedly.

“y’can’t just send her off somewhere on her own like that and not even think to tell me, and – dammit, don’t wear those goddamned headphones when i’m callin for you, god you are so irresponsible,” he rants, his voice trailing up a ledge of loud anger, and it’s your turn to get mad.

“okay joel, you need to stop fucking yelling at me, she’s still on the damn property, she isn’t gone in the next town over, i’d never put her in a situation where she could get hurt and secondly, you don’t get to talk to me like that and tell me what i can and can’t do in my own house.” you’re in his face now, making an effort to stand up for yourself, but joel isn’t tolerating any of it.

“you listen here little girl and you listen good,” he moves in closer, and you suddenly feel overly aware of his proximity, almost immediately backing down to move away, but no, you wanted to talk back like a big girl, you’re going to face the consequences of one.

“you best lose that nasty fuckin’ attitude of your’s, i don’t care if this is your house or not, it ain’t an excuse to act like a goddamned thoughtless brat.” he’s breathing heavier now, his face too close to your’s, chest dangerously nearing your own.

your eyes nictate back and forth in his, desperately suppressing the tears that imperil at your waterline, biting on your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. “you’re such an asshole,” is all you can manage to fire back through a weak excuse of a response.

he scoffs at you, stepping back before marching out your room. “no shit sweetheart,” he sneers with a lowered baseline of exasperation.

you fall back on your bed when he’s gone and out of earshot, holding your face in your hands, allowing yourself to let out the tears that almost spilled out in front of joel.

your fists wipe the tears away, angry that they were even there, each stream down your cheek is a reminder of who caused them.

refusing to give in to the pain that gnaws at your chest from his spewing anger, you get up, walking out your room, deciding to make your way around back to the stables.

ellie was saddled over applejack, your only horse, with joel sitting behind her, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her steady, keeping her safe.

the gnawing bites down harder inside your chest, and you’re unable to fight against it. instead you cradle yourself, comforting the ache while leaning against the bulk of the tree behind you, watching them interact.

his gaze over her is so soft, so full of care, of love, and he’s laughing, which enables her laughter, and you find yourself smiling as you watch them despite what had just transpired.

you watch as ellie plops the cowboy hat you had left on applejack’s saddle over his head, and your back gets stiff against the bark of the tree when she does.

he fixes the hat atop his head, and it annoyingly suits him well.

he looks like a proper cowboy.

your eyes drift down to the way his hips roll with each trot from applejack, his back leant naturally, looking relaxed, confident, like he knows what he’s doing, and that he knows he does it well.

his hand runs over the side of applejack lovingly, his strong hand smoothing over her coat, and you feel like crumbling down into the soil of the earth, breathing in a little harder when you imagine those rough, strong hands of his on your skin instead.

you reach up, pulling a peach from the tree above your head, settling down to sit and just watch the two gallop along with applejack.

joel’s eyes find you, they always do, and almost like she just knew, ellie decides to lead applejack back over to where you are. joel’s hands tighten over the reins, jaw clenching when they make their way over to you.

“well hi there sweet girl,” you coo, petting applejack when she bends her neck downward, greeting you happily.

you bite down into your peach, laughing quietly to yourself when the juice spills down your cleavage. joel follows the way the juice rolls down your chest, disappearing behind the pesky coverage of your tank top, and he feels like it's a punishment for his previous yelling.

you hand the rest of the peach into applejack’s mouth, cooing an, aww there you go sweet girl.

“damn these look good.” ellie whistles, reaching up to pluck a peach down.

she drops it, and she groans when it hits the ground. “i got it, don’t worry!” you remedy, turning around to bend down and grab it for her. joel feels like dying when he sees the heart curve of your ass, it’s almost too perfect, and he wonders if this is how his heart finally gives out.

kinda looks like a peach… he thinks to himself, eyes tracing over the form of your ass for as long as he can before you’re turning back to face them.

you go up on your tippy toes, quickly grabbing another peach, handing the new one to ellie and tossing the one that fell over to joel.

“you get that one,” you half tease, half huff, and ellie laughs, waving her clean peach at joel. his eyes settle on you while you talk to ellie, ignoring his presence.

his teeth sinks down into the peach, his stare trickling over the way you’re squeezed into those stupid fucking tiny shorts, and he thinks about a different type of flesh to bite into.

–

nighttime visits your household once more, but it’s anything but peaceful for you and joel.

ellie knocked out as soon as she collapsed in her bed, but joel’s wide awake. he wants to sleep, wants to forget this day even happened, but he can’t. he replays everything despite his efforts to pretend that the events from today didn’t even occur.

however, guilt drags its spindly fingers across the muscle of his heart while flashes of his loud anger directed at you forces itself to be acknowledged behind his eyelids. with a disgruntled huff he rips the blankets off his body, climbing out of bed.

he pushes past the door, making his way to your room to apologize for his harshness.

the closer he gets to your room, the more he hears a concerning sound gently echoing from behind the door. his brows fly up and he grips at your doorknob, turning it. his knuckles tighten over the knob, his body standing still and stiff in the cracked entrance when he sees you.

you’re sprawled in your bed, sheets hanging off you, covering not a single thing, leaving joel to wonder if what he’s looking at is real or not, and if it is, should he even be looking at you like this?

he knows the answer to that, it's a big fat resounding no, but joel doesn’t exactly have the purest morals of all time, so he stays in spite of his conscience telling him to close the door.

he watches your head roll side to side tirelessly, back arching off the bed, bucking your hips into your hand, struggling to pleasure yourself the way you need. your fingers keep sliding off your poor clit, too soaked to keep a good grip on it.

it sounds sticky, even from where joel stands, it’s all so fucking dirty, your sweet little whimpers going straight to his cock, pushing up against his sweatpants that already hang low off his hips.

he palms at himself, trying to alleviate the throbbing ache. his eyes follow the curve of your bare chest, your tight tank top under your chin, pretty tits in the air, hard nipples that are begging to be in joel’s mouth.

you whine to yourself, eyes watering with frustration when your fingers refuse to stay put on your needy clit, trying to instead fill your fluttering hole that clenches around nothing.

joel’s fingernails dig into the doorframe, physically restraining himself from going in there and shoving himself so far into you that it hits your cervix, stretching you nice and open for him.

he thinks about how he’d make you take it, how you’d claw down his back while he fucks you like you deserve.

he feels disgusting, like a goddamn pervert, but he again wins the battle against any morals he has left and stays to watch. you sound so wet its fucking ridiculous, he just wants to lap it all up on his tongue and drink you in.

but what he really wants, is to make you beg, to make you cry.

you further test his will, when his name floats from your trembling lips, his jaw going slack at the unreal moan. his hand falls to his straining cock, squeezing it, silently pleading with you to be good and say it one more time for him, to confirm he heard you right.

and you do, you whimper his name, an airy little, joel, while grinding down on your finger, trying to angle your hips to hit a spot you hardly ever have success in satiating.

good girl, he grits without a sound, his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock.

you think back to him yelling at you, ignoring the pain of the memory, and instead rewriting how the fight ended. your brain conjures up an alternate ending, where he bends you over the foot of your bed, smacking his hand over the fat of your ass before he rams himself inside you.

you think about his back curling over yours, his cock too deep inside you, muttering for you to fuckin’ take it.

he’d have his face in the crook of your neck, his beard would tickle your skin while the dirtiest words you can think of would be listed off in your ear.

his beard, your hips rise in the air desperately, your mind now imagining his stubble between your thighs, how his mustache would brush over your clit until it’s raw. “please, want it joel, want it so bad,” you moan to yourself in a pleading fluttery little voice, and joel almost steps forward at your begging.

i’ll give it you, he promises to himself, wishing he could tell you instead.

he can’t fucking take it, he drinks in the bare sight of you once more, memorizing each curve, the way your voice trembles, the way your legs shake, the plump of your thighs and chest, and fuck, he thinks he’ll pass out before he can even make it back to his room.

he carefully closes the door, striding hurriedly back to his bed. he shuts his door, making an immediate dash to his awaiting mattress.

he pulls the blanket over his hips, tugging down his sweatpants and letting his cock spring up. he uses his precum as lube, too impatient to spit in his hand. he fists at his fat cock, pushing past the roughness from his palm, pretending that it’s your soft hand wrapped around him.

he thinks back to what he just saw, imagining that he did step inside, closing the door behind him before making his way to you.

you’d probably get scared at the sudden sight of him in front of you, but he imagines that you’d be too desperate to care about his actions.

you’d grab his wrist, bringing his hand to your poor little cunt. “touch me, please joel?” you’d plead with those watery eyes of yours, and he would, he’d touch you until you couldn’t take it.

but he’d make you take it, he’d stretch you out on his fingers before he’d get his cock in you. he can only fantasize about how good your tight little cunt would feel all around him, how snug you’d be, gripping him in, but no matter how hard he tries to pretend, he knows his imagination does your pussy no justice to how good it’d actually be.

he starts fucking his hand, head falling back into his pillow, his bicep’s flexing with straint while he goes to squeeze his cockhead, traveling back down to his shaft, struggling to please every inch of himself.

he wonders if you’re a virgin, wonders if anyones gotten to see you like how he did, or did they get to experience it themselves?

he gets jealous at the thought, but he erases it, instead thinking of the possibility of no one ever getting to touch you but him.

yeah, he likes that, he likes thinking about being the first and last cock you’ll ever have deep inside you. shit, he growls, thumbing over his leaking tip, he’s close.

he starts panting, chest falling more rapidly with heavy breaths, his hand working over himself faster now, the slick from his pumping fist around his cock is embarrassingly loud, but he uses it and pretends it’s the sound of him in your pussy, and that does it for him.

he cums in his fist, slowly thrusting into the tunnel of his hand before he releases himself, and he groans, letting his body sink deeper into his bed.

fuckin’ disgustin’ he mutters to himself.

–

he can barely look at you the next morning, he feels hot all over when you so much as walk past him, your scent always trailing behind you and filling his senses.

you smell like the sweetest form of vanilla and it makes him unstable, feeling like he’s gotta hold onto something to remain upright when you’re near him.

you make your own soap, and, of course you make your own fuckin’ soap, he thinks to himself, growing weaker by the second when you talk about how you used vanilla beans in your recipe for soap.

you offer to make some for him, but he declines as politely as he can, finding any excuse to establish some space. he can’t be near you, not now, and not later, he needs time to remind himself what self control is.

he decides to chop some firewood, the nights are getting colder and colder anyways, and he thinks this’ll be a good distraction for him.

he pours all his frustration into it, swinging the axe from behind his shoulder and down into the blocks of wood, chopping them up into logs.

sweat lines his forehead, his biceps bulging from the tight constraints of his rolled up flannel, and you watch from the window, staring at him as he leans back, taking in a few deep breaths while he wipes his forehead before continuing.

you swish your thighs together, walking away when you realize if you don’t move now, you’ll stay the rest of the day just watching him.

after a few hours outside, joel is beat, he thinks he deserves a break. he trudges back inside, sighing when he’s greeted with the fresh air conditioned breeze.

your legs hang off the arm of the couch, head resting on a cushion and buried in a magazine.

he eyes your legs while he walks into the bathroom, almost unable to tear away from them. but when he walks through the door, he closes his eyes immediately once they land on the ground, as if the sight before him physically hurts.

he exhales with aggravation when he sees your white cotton panties on the floor, and your cream lacy bra hanging off the towel rack, mocking him.

he’s had enough.

he stomps out the bathroom, and you brace yourself for the latest lecture when you hear the nearing ruckus of his boots connecting to the wood floors.

he yells your name, his voice curling around the curve of an upward rage. “what joel,” you yell back mockingly, he stands above you, looking furiously down at you.

“what did i tell you about your goddamn panties and bra in the fuckin’ bathroom,” he shouts, jabbing his thumb back towards the bathroom. you huff, swinging your legs from the arm of the couch, rising to your feet. “i’m sorry!” you throw your arms up annoyedly.

“i’ll get ‘em, i understand it’s annoying but joel you don’t need to yell over every. fuckin’. thing, you can talk to me like a normal person,” you contradict your own words, pointing a finger at him while you shout back.

he grabs your finger, pulling your wrist down and away from his face, beaming anger glinting in his eyes.

“thought i told you to get rid of that nasty fuckin’ attitude little girl,” he spits, words hanging in the air like a venomous gas, and you all but growl with irritation.

“i’m not a little girl and you’re not my dad, y’don’t get to talk to me like that you fucking dick,” you bark back, feeling a sudden fear when you see the way he’s looking at you.

his top lip curls with disdain, and he nods slightly to himself, like he’s just mentally made his decision.

he grabs you by your upper arm, dragging you along with him back around to the couch. “let me go,” you try pulling your arm from him, but it does nothing, his grip is stronger than your efforts.

he sits down, pulling you into his lap, grabbing you roughly and repositioning you so your tummy rests over his thighs. “what are you doin–” he holds your jaw, forcing you to crane your neck to face him.

“i’m gettin’ real sick of your fuckin’ back talk, you say you’re not a little girl yet all you do is act like one, a real rude one at that,” he grits in your face, and you feel small, wishing the couch would just swallow you whole.

“i ain’t your dad but you need some serious fuckin’ discipline,” he lets go of your jaw, letting you fall back into the cushion. he unhooks your overalls, pulling them down and under your ass.

he exhales lowly when he sees the hypnotic curve of your ass, clad in baby blue polka dotted underwear, it’s too cute that it makes him sick.

he doesn’t even think when his hand runs over your ass, smoothing over your skin, squeezing the thick flesh in his large palms. you whimper under your breath, squirming in his hold. “stay still,” he orders, his tone cold, riding on a mean line of pointed annoyance.

“you’re gonna say you’re sorry with every one of ‘em, you hear me girl?” he asks, resting his hand on your ass testingly.

you nod quietly, but it isn’t good enough, he’s grabbing your face again, forcing eye contact. “when i ask you a question you answer.” he sneers, teeth baring for a second and you squeeze your thighs together, feeling your clit ache embarrassingly from the harsh treatment.

“i hear you.” you reply meekly, and it suffices, because he’s letting go of your jaw, refocusing on the new task he has at hand, or rather, in his lap.

he rests his palm over one cheek, causing you to suck in a sharp breath, the warmth from his hand tingling your skin.

your clit is right up against his knee, and you want more than anything to rut on it, roll your hips to gain any kind of friction, but you figure you’re in enough trouble as it is so it’s best to hold back these desires.

he raises his hand, slamming it back down and eliciting a loud smack that resonates around the room. you cry out, gripping onto the cushion under you. “i’m sorry,” you whimper out, skin prickling with heat.

he does it again, his heavy hand rising up only to crash back down against the fat of your ass. “i’m sorry,” your voice trembles, your eyes already beginning to water, despite the fact that you’re just barely getting started.

he slaps over your ass, hard. his rough calloused palm emitting an even stronger sting over your soft skin, and you cry out, kicking your legs against the armrest of the couch, feeling the anger increasing with each rough impact from his palm.

“i’m so-orry,” you hiccup, wiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks. he continues with the abuse on your ass, feeling a twinge of guilt at the way you cry but manage to say your apologies with each relentless hit to your bottom one after the other.

“you gonna listen to me when i tell you to do somethin’?” he raises his voice, along with his hand, letting it fall down onto your pounding flesh when you don’t answer fast enough. “yes, yes gonna listen,” you wail, little feet kicking with pain.

“gonna lose that fuckin’ attitude of your’s?” he grunts, smacking your ass hard over where he just hit, watching you howl in anguish, back trying to arch away from the pain.

“yes,” you sob, nodding with earnest.

you’ve lost count of how many it’s been, the only thing that remains consistent is the hot pain that comes in waves over your bruising skin, the welts in the shape of his hand throbbing and aching in never ending flashes.

he rubs over your skin, soothing the soreness away, before he drops his hand against it once more, erasing the little comfort he was giving you.

you’re apologizing through loud wailing, not a care in the world for how embarrassing it is to be sobbing in joel’s lap, because it fucking hurts.

he swats over your ass, fast and rough, letting the sting of it settle into a prickling pain that spreads down to the backs of your thighs.

after a few more hard hits to your ass, he figures you’ve had enough, your crying making him feel a pang of remorse for not taking it easier on you. he runs his hand over your scorched bottom, mending the abused flesh in an attempt to calm you down.

you’re crying, lashes getting slick from your tears, lips growing plump with the loud hiccups of pain. he massages over your ass, gently this time, but your skin feels too raw to enjoy it.

his self restraint is weakening, he can’t stop himself when he tilts his head back, leaning into the couch to look down at your inner thighs. he sees a wet patch spreading over your panties, and he scoffs, bringing two fingers to it.

you gasp, trying to wriggle away from it, but he keeps you still. “interestin’” he half snickers, and you just about die of humiliation.

“reckon you want me to do somethin’ about this?” he murmurs, voice gruffly cascading in the teeming air. he circles over the wet patch, giving you a chance to turn him down, shut down his advances, but you don’t want to.

you bend a little, arching into his touch. “please?’ you whimper, all embarrassment gone from the pain, and he inhales a hefty breath, swallowing thickly.

he slides your panties to the side, drawing his fingers up and down your slick. you shiver, tightening your legs around him.

“can’t believe you’re soaked over that,” he taunts meanly, judgingly, and you whimper, your face getting hot from the base of your throat when he pushes in his middle finger.

“you’re s’mean,” you sniffle and he scoffs at your complaints, pushing his finger in deeper to watch you gasp and shake.

“i showed you what mean is,” he chuckles lowly, leaning down to make sure you hear him. he shifts his hips around, pressing something to your hip, making sure you feel it.

“and this ain’t mean,” he curls his finger right up into that little spot you struggled to reach last night. he starts curling his finger, right there, and suddenly you can’t breathe, you can’t even believe this is happening, but whether it’s real or not you don’t want it to stop.

“more,” you whine, pushing back on his hand with a devout need. his free hand grips at the bruising flesh of your ass, the plumpness of it filling the gaps between his fingers, and you wince, little hands trying to grip at the cushions for comfort.

“you’re a greedy little girl with no fuckin’ manners. do i need to do this all over again just to remind you to say please?” he raises his hand back up over your ass, and you’re shaking your head, turning back at him pleadingly. “n-no, no, i’m so sorry,” you whimper, the backs of your hands covering your stinging bottom feebly.

he laughs at your attempts, but decides he’ll let it slide. he moves your hands away, and pushes his finger back inside, filling you up to the knuckle. you moan deeply, relief at the pleasure entering you once more. the way he fucks you with his finger is all you need to even begin trying to ignore the resounding pain he instilled into your ass.

little pants leave past your lips, your cheek squished against the couch while you try to fuck yourself onto his fingers. “feel’s s’good,” you drool.

he can’t stop the downward spiral he’s letting himself fall into with you, he’s in too deep, and he’s just accepted that he wants to go deeper.

you’re rutting your clit against his knee just how you’ve been wanting to this whole time, and he watches you as a desperate little wet thing in his lap trying to get off with what he’s giving you.

"you know i saw you last night," he whispers in your ear, beard tickling your neck when he leans in real close, his finger picking up speed when he continues.

your face burns hot, and you can't bear to look at him. "oh god," you moan, half from pleasure, half from pure humiliation.

"heard you sayin' my name too, there somethin' you wanna tell me?" he pushes you a little further, watching and waiting to see how you reply.

you're so disoriented, you can't think straight past the embarrassment and the feeling of joel refusing to let up with his finger inside you. he rubs over that perfect spot right there, and it feels so good that it almost kills the shame that burrows itself under your skin.

"n-no? no, i dunno," you whine dumbly, and he rolls his eyes, flicking his wrist harder now, gripping the hand of yours that tries to hold onto him. "you don't know?" he parrots back mockingly.

"you just so happened to be tryin' to finger yourself while moanin' my name? that just a coincidence?" his words jab at your cheeks with taunts and you whimper, hiding your face away from him, still shamelessly grinding down onto him when he works another finger in you, stretching you out.

"i'm sorry," is all you can whimper, you feel stupid with his fingers in you, bullying your poor cunt until it makes that addictive pap pap pap sound. "apologizin' for the wrong thing, should've been sayin' that instead of talkin' back to me," he grunts, letting go of your wrist to smack the side of your ass.

you cry out, shaking in his lap from the slap, the pain echoing over the sore flesh. "i'm sorry," you draw out longly, chest racking with tears mixed with pain and ecstasy.

he pulls his fingers from out your tight hole, and you whine, looking back at him with those pretty, innocently guilty eyes of yours.

"quit your whinin'," he mutters, pulling you upright into his lap. he looks back into your gaze, and it only reminds him of how you're breaking him down into a weak, weak man.

his thumb runs across your bottom lip, dipping into it. "open," he tells you with a softer, hushed sternness. you obey, parting your lips for him.

he spits in your mouth, and you take it like a kiss, carrying the action like a caress. it mixes with your own saliva, ingraining himself in your dna.

he stares at you expectantly, hands lowering down to your ass, squeezing it indignantly, like a warning.

"thank you," you breathe out, feeling drunk on him. he seems pleased, his tight clasp over your ass gets gentler, but it's still firm, still there.

"got a real issue of rememberin' your manners there girl," he tsks, his thumb trailing down your chin, his other hand patting your bottom. "but i'll fix that, fix that right up." he promises, but it feels more like a threat, one that he intends on staying true to.

he lays you flat on your back onto the couch, and you allow him to, letting him do whatever he pleases with you, and he thinks he likes you like this, so sweet and so pliant.

he pulls your legs towards him, he feels hungry, feels impatient, he wants all of you and he wants it all now.

joel hasn't wanted anything in years, because if you don't want anything, you won't be disappointed when you don't get it.

but now he's got you in front of him and he can't take it. he wants you. he's greedy, and he's dirty, but he doesn't care, you've done irreversible damage that he expects will be somehow repaired if he can just get a fix of you, just enough to gratify his bodily needs.

your legs find their way around his hips as if you've done this before, as if his body has been with your's prior to this, connecting like they're supposed to. he slots himself between your thighs, feeling almost overwhelmed to finally have you like this for him.

you want to kiss him, want to hold him, want him him him, and although you've already got him, you still feel like there's more of him to be had.

he unbuckles his belt, the sound urging your legs to tighten around his waist. his eyes drag over you, slowly taking in the vision that's you, as he unbuttons his jeans. he pulls himself out, your gaze dropping down to him, feeling your heart sink immediately.

you never assumed he was small, not that you thought about what was under those jeans, (lies) but shit, this was just obscene. near unnecessary, because how in the hell does he function carrying that…thing around?

he sees your gawking, and an annoying pride fills him to the brim at your visible awe. "is that gonna fit?" you finally ask, and he laughs, pumping himself when he inches closer. "we're about to see aren't we?" he answers, moving your panties to the side.

you get stiff with nerves, holding onto his strong bicep. "joel i-i dunno if it'll fit," you admit, you sound scared, because you are, and he almost feels bad. almost.

"if you don't want this tell me now," he places your panties back, but you're shaking your head, pulling him back in. "no i do, i do, promise," you sound so desperate, so needy, and he's trying so hard to not just fuck you right now.

"just, scared…i never uh..you know." you motion between you two and he swears he nearly punched the air with obnoxious success. "this your first time?" he confirms, and you nod, feeling shy under his stare.

"not like i've been trying to save myself or anything, there's just no one around over here," you explain, not that you needed to, if anything joel is ecstatic with a primal possession that he gets to be your first.

"so you're jumpin' at the first man who gives you some attention? 'specially an old man like me?" he circles the tip of his cock around your clit, and your lips part, hips instinctively lowering down on him. "n-no, i," you don't have any words for him, his actions rendering you silent.

he starts slowly inching in, and your head falls deeper into the cushion behind you, nails crescenting into his forearms. he goes in with no resistance, you're so fucking soaked around him, gripping him in like a warm welcome.

"shit," he shudders, fully sheathing himself inside you. his hand lands beside your head, panting above you, and he looks so beautiful like this. he's so handsome, his eyebrows are in that furrow that they're always in, but this time it's for a different reason.

you look down at where you're connected, and you feel as though you're now one, he's a part of you as you are of him, and you never want him to leave.

you start rolling your hips experimentally, no matter where or how you move, you feel him deep inside, the fat head of his cock hitting there, over and over, and it feels so good, you don't think twice about continuing your little ministrations.

he forcibly pauses your actions, halting your hips down with a rough grip from his hands. he's glaring down at you, uh oh.

"greedy little girl," he grunts, starting to piston his hips inside you. you cry out, leaning forward to find solace in his broad chest, but he pushes you back down, pinning you still. he pauses for a moment, grabbing his belt. "wrists." he orders, and you listen without wasting a second.

he ties your wrists, pushing them above your head before he continues. he's groaning atop of you, fucking you with a purpose, and you take him, entire body bopping upwards with every harsh thrust being fucked into you.

you want to touch him so bad, it feels like torture, you want to put your hands under his flannel, explore the skin that lies underneath, but he's denied you of that privilege. "brat's got such a tight fuckin' pussy," he grunts, impaling you hard onto his cock, stretching you out so good you can't stop yourself from trying to meet his thrusts.

the moans that pour from you are endless, all you do is whimper his name, crying for him and it inflates his ego, but he can't have you being this loud. a hand clamps over your mouth, and you moan behind it, any touch from him is welcomed wholeheartedly.

"quiet down girl," he grits, leaning in close while his thrusts grow harsher. "startin' to think you left your panties for me to find, bet you wanted me to get mad, jus' wanted some attention huh?" he moves his hand away from your mouth, instead using it to grip your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips pucker. "speak," he orders.

"n-no, no i just fo-forgot, promise," you swear, words feeling difficult to pronounce and even think of when he's got you stretched out on his cock like this, fucking you dumb.

he doesn't believe you, his hands working around your throat soon after you squeak your response. "no?" he teases, his hands growing tighter around the pane of your neck.

your wrists wiggle around the confinements of the belt, wishing you could hold the hands that have you cradled like a glove.

"f'you just wanted my attention, or just wanted to get fucked," he rests on his haunches, pulling you with him, letting you slip down further onto his cock, the corners of his lips curling when you cry out. "then just fuckin' ask, don't need to be pullin' stunts like that,"

his hands around your throat feel loving, they feel safe, and perfectly fitted around you, like his hands were made for this. the lack of air feels right, feels like this is what you needed, and you want more.

tears well at your pretty eyes, rolling down your cheeks while you grip at the buckle on his belt, his cock moving so deep inside that you feel him in the base of your tummy.

he releases your throat, and you gasp for the air you didn't even realize was depleting. he pulls the belt loose, and you immediately go to his arms, running over them. squeezing at the muscles, feeling impressed with how they flex under your touch.

your hands travel up to his face, his beard tickling your palms. "feels sososo good joel, never felt like this," you slur, eyes falling shut at the pleasure. "yeah? this all it took for you to fuckin' behave?" he groans, your hands running across his wide back, trying to feel him, feel the muscles that you've only ever gotten to steal glances at.

he's letting you fall backward again, hovering close to your level, his cock filling you to the hilt, and then some, and you want to tell him how full you feel, how good it feels to have so much of him in you, but the words are lost on you, there are no thoughts left to be had, just pure physical manifestations of what he's doing to you.

"kiss me, please?" you beg, and he doesn't argue, doesn't mock you or tease, but connects your lips, kissing you hard. you moan into his mouth, calf resting on his lower back while he pushes in and out of you. his beard brushes around your chin, your nails gently scratching at the back of his head, eliciting his turn to moan in your mouth.

he kisses you like he fucks you, rough. it's rushed, messy, wet, but there's power in the way he does both, making you feel hazy, dizzy, and overfilled with rapture all at once.

every push, and every shove into the couch is registered as soft, gentle caresses, loving affection, so graciously given to you by the rough hands belonging to joel and you take it all in stride, left wanting more, craving more roughness that just feels like love instead.

his face falls to the warmth of your neck, nipping, biting down onto your shoulder when he buries himself further than you even knew possible, inside of you. your mouth parts, a string of whiny moans leaving past them when he grinds into you, bucking your hips to meet his.

"finally bein' so obedient, should've just gave in an' did this sooner," he grunts into your skin, hands holding you down by your hips. his fingers find your clit, rubbing over the sensitive nerves just like how you did last night, and you choke on a moan, tangling your fingers in his salt and peppered hair.

"so good, feels so good, thank you daddy," you cry like a prayer into his neck, and he sends an especially hard thrust into your cunt, knocking the air out of you. you feel frozen in horror when you realize what's just come out your mouth.

"that's real nasty y'know that right?" the sick curl in the corner of his mouth contradicts the shame he throws at you, and the way his cock twitches inside you acts as further proof that there's no truth in his mocking.

you cover your face in his shoulder, but no, he wants you to look at him when he fucks you, he wants to see the way those pretty lips of yours mold around the word that rightfully belongs to him.

"don't get shy now," he huffs, holding your jaw, head falling back when he feels you clench down around him. his hands fall back to where they belong, wrapped snug around your throat.

he watches the way your eyes roll back, bottom lip being sucked in while you try fucking yourself onto him. "dirty fuckin' girl," he grits, squeezing you while your fingers curl over his, intertwining with him. "s'all right, i can be your daddy," he grunts, pushing in and feeling you squeeze him when he lays his promises to you.

you force your eyes open, gazing at him hazily while he pounds into you. he brings his hips down to yours relentlessly, no mercy in the way he fucks you. he's growing messy, falling out of tune when he slows down, shoving himself all the way in you, letting the sensation of the way you wrap around him be appreciated like it's supposed to be.

"my fuckin' cunt, you hear me? repeat." he releases your throat, and you gasp, sputtering while you nod. "yes, s'all yours," you hiccup, watery eyes making out a blurry joel in front of you. he presses his hand to your lower stomach, groaning to himself when he can feel his own cock piston in and out of you.

he lessens the speed in his thrusts, slowing to watch his cock fill you up. you squirm at the extra pressure, pawing at his wrists. "so much, it's so much daddy," you whine, and he grunts, feeling pride at the way he's got you so fucked out. "take it," is all he says, sounding gruff and strained.

"can i cum please? promise m'gonna be so good for you daddy, gonna listen an' everything," you cry, wrapping your legs tighter around his hips, pulling him in deeper. he grits his teeth, chest getting tight at your pleads.

"really think you deserve it?" he grunts and you nod, gripping onto his shoulders. "yes, please, i promise, promise m'gonna be good, please please," he concedes to your begging, bringing his fingers to your clit.

you gasp, panting in all the air that'll fit in your lungs when it all hits you. your skin is tinged with heat, legs trembling on either side of joel's waist when you feel the tides start to ripple closer to you until it crashes, pulling you into the ocean and you're drowning. drowning in joel.

"thank you daddy, thank you s'much, so good," you muffedly sob, face in the crook of his shoulder while he fucks you through your orgasm, fingers running over your clit, winding you up just to watch you fall apart.

"fuck, squeezing me so hard," he laughs breathlessly, slipping into a heavy moan at the way you're clamping down on him. "so good baby, take what you need, that's my girl," he groans, holding your waist down, fucking you with a rushed need. the backs of your thighs rest over him, and you feel weak, but fulfilled, watching adoringly as he uses your body to cum. bursts of pleasure still erupting inside you at the way he fucks you.

my girl

you whimper at the fleeting affections, unknowingly clenching harder around him.

"shit, shit, gonna fuckin' cum, gonna fill this pussy up, greedy little cunt can't get enough," he groans, head falling forward while his orgasm envelopes him, the slick from your mixed arousal loud while he gasps, grunting with a few harsh thrusts. he pushes into you with finality, cumming deep inside you.

he slowly pulls out, and it stings, you're wincing, feeling bare and cold.

he pulls your panties back over you, eyeing the way his cum pools against the material, and he feels good, feels like he's permanently marked you as his. he tucks himself back into his jeans, catching his breath before he turns his attention back to you.

he dresses your limp body back into your overalls, his hands now ginger and gentle over your skin, touching you like you've suddenly become glass. he sits at the end of the couch, pulling you into his lap.

he's careful when he sits you down, aware that your ass still probably hurts. he lets you curl into his side, the last bit of trembling slowly leaving your body from what just happened. his palm runs up and down your back, feeling content at the way you rest on his chest. "feel okay?" he asks quietly, and you hum a sleepy yes.

your hand rests on his chest, toying with the buttons. "you've always been a sweet girl," he says, feeling like he needs to clarify that, and you smile against his chest, feeling relief and giddiness at his admittance. "a messy one but, sweet nonetheless," he pats your back and you shoot him a joking glare.

he holds you closer by tucking his hand under your thighs, cradling you into him. he kisses your temple, the first gentle action of the day. he tells himself he'll indulge in that more when he sees the smile that spreads across your cheeks.

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel and ellie #tv tlou #the last of us hbo #the last of us smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #the last of us #songfic

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lorre-verie · 1 year

Text

₊˚ʚ ᗢ. ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ᴏʀ ᴅᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴛ. ᴛᴡᴏ ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

the unfortunate pair: ao’nung x fem! sully! reader

chapter summary: ao’nung is doing his best to hide his discomfort by someone else getting closer to you, and you’re hiding a couple of secrets yourself 🤭

warnings: cussing, jealousy, the teeniest TINIEST microscopic pinch of possessiveness ever (u can see it if u squint rlly hard)

word count: 3.9k

“I dare you to say one more thing about my swimming, you pompous ass,” you glared at Ao’nung as he moved through the water with obnoxious ease.

His self-satisfied smirk made you want to vomit. “Challenge accepted,” he cocked his head back to look down at you.

It had been 5 days since you fainted, enough time for you to recover and enough time for you and your family to get acquainted with how things worked around Awa’atlu.

Your family was definitely concerned, your father was on the brink of calling Norm here to check up on you, but you insisted it was a one time thing. After all, it was probably just because you spent so many sickening days on your ikran.

Today Tsireya, Rotxo, and the tall blue frog had taken you and your siblings swimming to get you guys accustomed to the water, but he just wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Your tiny weak tail can barely support your movement, your body is rigid, your hair is all messy,” he went on and on about things that weren’t even related to your swimming, and you were this close to choking him out in front of his sister.

You were all floating in the middle of a reef, Tsireya and Rotxo were helping your siblings swim faster while the blue frog was berating your every move because he didn’t have anything better to do.

As he kept going on about the most minuscule things in your appearance and habits, the corners of your lips turned up as you’d found a way to make him shut up, at least for a little while.

The only good thing about his unabating whining was that it went long enough for you to formulate a good response by the time he finished.

“Your fingers flail around like you’re trying to conjure up a magic spell while you swim,” and as he paused, you’d found your moment to strike.

“Wow, Ao’nung!” you batted your eyelashes, pretending to be appreciative.

“It sure sounds like you’ve been staring at me for a while now. Tell me again why you were paying such obsessively close attention to my every move?” your sweet smile concealed the way your eyes narrowed wickedly, watching him choke on his sentence.

“That’s, that’s not..” he tried to explain himself, but you swam away to your siblings triumphantly, finally having gotten him off your back for at least an hour or two.

“Having fun with your true love, sister?” Lo’ak chirped as you passed him in the water, his smile way too wide to be genuine.

You made a small gagging motion before Tsireya popped out in the water in front of him, and you heard her say softly, “Lo’ak? Did you get that?”

His brain malfunctioned, as he could only stammer out a “Yeah, yeah, I uhm, I got it.”

Your mouth curved into a cheeky smile that mirrored his. “I dunno, are you having fun with yours?” you dipped your head under the water to swim away, and as you did so you saw his submerged hand flip you off, causing your smile to grow wider.

Your twin brother was swimming laps on his own along the surface like a pro, and while he took a break you decided to surprise him. He stopped his motions, taking deep breaths with his back to you.

You snuck up to him carefully, trying to make it seem like you were simply one with the waves underneath the ocean.

“BOO!” you slammed your hands onto his back, and the most laughable, unexpectedly shrill shout came from his mouth.

“Y/N!” he scolded, his voice cracking. “That was,” you laughed in between your words, “That was awesome– Oh my gosh–”

He scowled at you, clearing his throat as he noticed the rest of his siblings and the metkayinans staring at him, also holding in their laughs.

“Bro, you scream like a girl!” Lo’ak yelled. “Yeah, and you like a girl!” Neteyam rolled his eyes, amused by the flush creeping up Lo’ak’s cheeks, him whipping around to see if Tsireya had caught onto that.

Neteyam sighed, looking at you who was still laughing lightly. “To what do I owe this surprise visit from my favourite sister?” he emphasised the word “favourite” as if he was being sarcastic (he totally wasn’t).

“Nothing much. Just wanted to know what you thought of our new home so far.” The words came off bitter on your tongue. You wanted to spit them out and wish them farewell, to never see them again.

He exhaled sharply, “Huh. Well, it’s alright. But I suspect you’re adjusting well, hm?” he gave you a smirk, looking at Ao’nung who was talking to Rotxo behind you.

You turned to look in his direction, observing the pompous ass frog (Ao’nung). Your eyebrows scrunched together, eyes peering at his more relaxed posture.

You could only see the side of his face from here, but it was enough to see the clear difference when he talked to you versus when he talked to literally almost anyone else.

His shoulders were square, posture straight, and he exuded a natural sort of confidence, and not the assface kind. He gestured with his hands while speaking, your own fingers twitching when it dawned on you much larger his hands were.

He maintained eye contact, listening attentively to what Rotxo had to say and nodding or smiling in response. He seemed genuinely interested in what his friend was saying, and your mind wandered, wondering what it would be like to be able to talk to him in the same manner.

You gulped subconsciously before turning around, meeting eyes with a smirking Neteyam. “...He looks like a disfigured frog,” were the words you vomited out.

“Yeah, well you kinda have crushes on the strangest looking people.” he said with a teasing tone, an angry splash of water hitting him in the face right after.

“I do not have a crush on that idiot. He infuriates me!” you continued to vent to Neteyam about the frog’s condescending and foul behaviour the past few days, your frustration spilling out in a torrent of words. your brother only responding in satirical ‘mhm’s, ‘yeah’s, and ‘ok’s.

You were too invested in your ranting to feel the abnormal movement in the water, a small tap on your shoulder making your body freeze. You turned around and there he was, looking at you quizzically with a hint of a smirk on his face. Your brother (that skxawng) let out a low whistle before quickly disappearing into the water, leaving you all by your lonesome.

“I suppose you enjoy talking about me then, little forest imp?” he smugly crossed his arms, enjoying watching you try to regain your composure. “Just shut up,” you huffed before swimming away as fast and as far as your arms and legs could take you.

You had to admit that as annoying as he was, Ao’nung always being there to make fun of you served as good fun for the day. But then again, on days that would have been perfectly fine on their own, he was a little piece of shit.

Today was the day you would learn how to bond with and ride the ilu, something you and Kiri were both equally as excited about.

You stood next to her in the warm light of the day, the beautiful water engulfing your body waist-deep.

Your siblings were all standing (Tuk clutching onto Neteyam like her life depended on it) in a circle around Ao’nung who was clicking his tongue, summoning a few ilu to assist us for the day.

“If you want to live here,” he made it a point to glance at you before saying his next statement, “you have to ride.”

Kiri groaned next to you, and you turned your head confusedly, “What’s up?” She gave you an unsmiling look, something close to pity in her eyes. “It’s nothing, just don't worry about it,” she waved you off, averting her attention to one of the ilu that had caught her eye.

Tsireya tread through the water to stand next to her older brother, using her finger to count the amount of omaticayans and the metkayinans to assign us into pairs.

“Alright, I will decide the pairs if that is okay with all of you?” she looked towards everyone, each person giving her a little nod of agreement.

“Okay!” she smiled. “Neteyam can be with Ao’nung,” you saw Neteyam roll his eyes, Ao’nung turning to look at his sister with accusatory eyes. Tsireya pretended not to notice, simply

“Rotxo can be with Lo’ak,” who both seemed a little downcast at this (clearly they were expecting to be paired with someone else).

“I will help Kiri and Tuk…” Tsireya’s eyes fell on you. “And Y/N can be with Veyä.”

You tilted your head, the name unfamiliar to your ears. Who’s Veyä? I don’t see anyone else here, you thought to yourself as you looked at your twin, but his eyes didn’t meet yours, instead pointed behind you.

You felt a sudden rush of a strange type of warmth as someone's hand landed softly on your bare shoulder, your body tensing in response.

“I apologise, where are my manners?” a female voice sounded from beside you, removing her hand from your shoulder. As you set your gaze upon her, you felt a sudden flutter in your chest. The woman before you was undeniably beautiful, and you found yourself momentarily lost in her captivating features.

She was about Neteyam’s height, maybe a little shorter, and the smile on her face was cheshire-like. Short locks of dark curly hair fell in front of the right side of her face, the left side of her hair woven into tiny braids leading back into a tight ponytail.

“My name is Veyä Te Tiva Iyrr'ite,” she introduced herself, bowing her head slightly, yet her eyes never left yours. “I will help you with your ilu training,” she smiled. Your cheeks grew warm as you summoned the courage to introduce yourself to her.

“My name is Y/N te Suli Neytiri’ite,” as the words left your mouth, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle curve of her lips and the gentle sparkle in her eyes.

However, what you didn’t notice was that a few feet away, a certain disfigured frog tensed up as he watched your interaction with Veyä, his jaw clenching in place when she kissed the back of your hand.

“You know, brother, if you want to be paired with her, you could just say so,” Tsireya giggled from behind him, never seeing this side of her brother before. “No, it’s fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

Veyä clicked her tongue, summoning who you assumed to be the ilu she rode most often.

“Come, Y/N. There is so much I want to show you,” she extended a hand. You took it reluctantly, hoisting yourself up onto the ilu and sitting as comfortably as you could behind her.

She reached behind her back, taking your hands and guiding them around her slender waist. “You’re going to want to hang on tight for this,” she said, you being unable to respond because of the closeness. She took your silence as an ‘i’m ready.’ and you both took off into the sea, another ilu trailing closely behind.

“That was painful to watch, dude.” Lo’ak chimed in behind Ao’nung, slapping his back.

He turned around, eyes shooting daggers into Lo’ak’s soul. He merely shrugged and trudged away in the water, unfazed by the frog’s hostility.

“That’s it, just lean into it,” she offered gentle encouragement and reassurance, her hands pressing firmly on your back to fix your posture as you sat on the ilu. You relaxed under her expert guidance, feeling more confident with each passing moment.

“You got it. Now try going for a spin,” she clapped, an exuberant smile on her face.

You inhaled, here goes nothing. You urged the creature to go, and you took off into the water. Fighting the pressure of the water pushing against your body you leaned forward as Veyä instructed, and you felt the pressure flow around your head, making it much easier for you to see.

You took the time to admire the beauty of the underwater terrain before resurfacing, shaking the water out your hair. The urge to cough appeared in your chest, followed by a sharp pain as Veyä swam to you on her ilu.

You ducked your head behind the head of your ilu; out of her line of sight, coughing uncontrollably. You could taste the unmistakable metallic tang of blood when you closed your mouth, making your heart stop momentarily out of fear.

There was a small dissipating amount of your blood on the surface of the water, the redness contrasting greatly with the deep blue colour of the sea, the sight making your heart race.

“Y/N? Is something the matter?” Veyä asked you. You forced a thin lipped smile, shaking your head.

“No, I was just clearing my throat,” you swallowed, feeling the warm liquid disappear down your throat. Fear gnawed at your heart, but you dismissed it and started a casual conversation with Veyä, asking about what she liked to do in her free time.

The next day, during the point when it was always the hottest, Kiri led you to a little island where your brothers and the three amigos waited.

“Oh wow, how nice of you to finally join us, Y/N!” Lo’ak marvelled in mock surprise, squatting on the rough rocky floor. “We’ve been waiting for like an hour.”

Neteyam flicked his forehead, muttering something along the lines of “you seemed to really enjoy that hour, alone with your girlfriend” before Lo’ak hushed him quickly.

You gave an apologetic look to Tsireya and Rotxo. “Sorry, I was spending time with a friend and I lost track of time,” you said softly, Tsireya and Rotxo assuring you it was no big deal.

Ao’nung snorted next to them, whether he was annoyed or amused you couldn’t decipher. “Yeah right, a ‘friend’” he put his hands up in quotation marks, making you wonder where he learned that from (there were certainly no quotation marks in na’vi).

Anyhow, you gave him your best stfu glare before sitting down in the only vacant spot, which conveniently was right next to Ao’nung.

You felt the warmth of the rock on your legs as Tsireya started to explain how to best breathe, making you feel a little ridiculous as if you hadn’t even been born yet.

Nonetheless, you did as she said.

Inhale through the nose, inflate the stomach, hold, and let go.

“pfft,” the frog watched you, his eyes judging your every move. You took a deep breath in, a fiery flame lighting up in your abdomen as you remembered what Veyä had said to you previously that day.

You blow a breath out before tilting your head in his direction condescendingly. “Ao’nung,” you sigh, giving him a look of sympathy.

“I know that everything I do is captivating, but I’m not sure that I’m ready for a stalker just yet,” you smile sinisterly, watching his nonexistent eyebrows rise, your response unexpected.

The rest of the group ignored you both, either sighing, smiling brightly (Tsireya) or rolling their eyes, not wanting to get involved in your antics. “There they go again,” Neteyam huffed, crossing his arms.

“Captivating? That’s a really strange way to pronounce vomit-inducing,” he lifted his chin up, leaning back to allow his arms to support his upper body.

“Mmm okay, so what? I can’t breathe right or something?” you gave him an eye roll, straightening your back. “Your words, not mine, forest imp.”

“Then teach me, you intolerable shit piñata,” you said, the last words leaving your mouth in english.

Kiri and Lo’ak covered their mouths to keep themselves from bursting out into laughter, your older brother shaking his head but unable to stop the small smirk that crept up onto his face.

Tsireya and Rotxo shrugged, not really caring what you meant. But Ao’nung? Boy, was he dumbfounded.

“What?”

“I said, you’re an intolerable shit piñata.”

“...What is s- ..shi…shit?” he sputtered, struggling to make the word sound how you said it. “You should be more concerned about what a piñata is,” you smiled grimly, taking in a deep breath, imagining an Ao’nung shaped pinata filled with….you know.

“Tell me what it means, Y/N,” he urged you, the smallest hint of desperation in his voice. Your lips parted at hearing him call you your name for once. It was always forest imp or some other crude amalgamate of sloppily stuck together words.

“Well if you’re so desperate,” you turned your body towards him, a fake smile plastered on your face. “Teach me how to do this properly, and then I’ll tell you what it means.”

He paused as if to consider, before giving you a slight nod.

You readied yourself, taking in a deep breath and closing your eyes. The air flowed through your airway, resting in your lungs. “No,” you felt a warm hand press on your stomach, and your breath hitched.

His touch was gentle, yet firm, and the warmth of his palm seeped into your skin, spreading a comforting yet alien sensation throughout your body.

“Try again,” he said softly, the sound of his voice like this running a shiver down your spine. You tried not to make it obvious you were flustered, pursing your lips together.

You inhaled again, your shoulders rising with the inflation of your chest. His hands lifted up from your stomach, one of his fingers grazing your top before they landed on your shoulders.

“Don’t move your shoulders,” his voice was tender, a big difference from his usual sharp tone. “Try again, inflate the stomach and not the chest,” he instructed.

His hands felt like cushy pads on your shoulders, and you struggled to not melt into the strangely comfortable contact. You did as he instructed, feeling your stomach get bigger as you inhaled.

“Good, now hold it for as long as you can,” he said, his hands still on your shoulders for unexplainable reasons.

Neteyam and Lo’ak glowered at your position, the metkayinan boy staring deeply at your face as you kept your eyes shut. “Who does that guy think he is?” Lo’ak hissed silently.

“He’s getting so touchy with her all of a sudden. In front of us, too,” Neteyam agreed, though he had an inkling that Ao’nung knew they were imagining his sudden, violent death.

Kiri sat there unbothered, choosing not to pay any mind to you both and instead imagining the hundred other things she could be doing.

“Lo’ak, focus,” Tsireya clapped her hands in front of Lo’ak to get his attention. “Right, sorry,” he rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, continuing with the breathing exercise.

You felt your lungs burning, finally exhaling to relieve the pain, your eyes adjusting to the light when you finally opened them. “That was….” Ao’nung paused, taking his hands off your shoulders.

They still felt warm.

“It was alright,” he said nonchalantly. “You need more practice though,” he stood up, walking to the shore of the tiny island, clicking to summon his ilu with you looking at him in confusion.

“Well? Are you going to come along or are you just going to stand there and look dumb?”

You quickly got up, hurrying to try and summon an ilu by making similar clicking noises, Ao’nung laughing at your attempt. An ilu got your point, in the end.

He took you to a spot closer to Awa’atlu, a shell in his hands as he floated in front of you in the water.

“I’m going to let this shell sink, and you’re going to take it from the bottom of the sea floor and bring it back up to me,” he explained.

You nodded, not thinking much of the activity. He smirked, dropping the shell into the sea with a plop!

“Okay, go fetch.”

Your eyes narrowed, realising that this wasn’t really an activity suited for two na’vi, but rather a na’vi and their 'companion'.

“You never wanted to help me did you?” you groaned, about to swim away from the assface. The sudden tug of your hand in his stopped you.

He gave you an eye roll. “This is a normal practice, calm down. Adults use it to train younger children. But in your case, you haven’t even been born yet,” he joked, amused by your scowl as you settled down, returning to your former position and shaking his hand off yours.

After submerging his head briefly in the water, he suggested, “On second thought, perhaps we should find a shallower area. This might be too deep for you.”

“I can do it,” you said confidently. You wanted to prove to him you were not to be underestimated.

“Are you sure? It's pretty far.” he says, the tiniest pinch of concern leaving his lips, but you were too focused on taking a deep breath in to notice. Without answering him, you dive into the water, the coolness enveloping you.

You search with your eyes for the shell, using your arms to propel you deeper into the water. And there it is, resting on the bottom of the sea floor, the purple shell glistening in all its glory, practically whispering into your ear for you to save it.

As you descended, you felt the pressure building in your ears, equalising it with a quick pinch of your nose. You made a grab for the purple shell, but as you got closer, you realised that it was just out of reach. You kicked your legs harshly against the water and reached out again, but your lungs started to burn, your vision blurring.

Despite your body's signals screaming at you to resurface, you fought to stay down, desperate to retrieve the shell. You tried again, grasping at empty water, your movements becoming sluggish and your arms feeling heavier by the second.

You felt your consciousness starting to fade, but you pushed on stubbornly, determined to succeed. Eventually, though, your body succumbed to the lack of air, and you passed out in the water, sinking to the bottom, the shell just out of reach.

“Where is she?” Ao’nung muttered to himself, deciding to submerge his head in the water again.

His eyes widened in a panic when he couldn’t see you swimming up to him and without a second thought, he dove down to find you. His eyes landed upon your unconscious body, and he quickly scooped you up in his arms, bringing you up to the surface.

BONUS (wonder what Veyä told reader that spurred her to continue her daily dose of insulting ao'nung instead of ignoring him?):

“Veyä, good morning. Was there a specific reason you called me over here?” you gave her a small smile, sitting on the sand next to her.

“Not really, just wanted to clear up something.” she chuckled a little, head turning to look at you. “Tsireya called me over yesterday to help you with the ilu because she said and I quote, ‘my brother needs to stop being a coward’”

Huh? Huh??????

“Wait so– The sudden intimacy and the kissing the back of my hand thing, that was to make Ao’nung feel jealous?” you asked her, shell shocked.

“Not really, I do that to almost every pretty girl I see,” she winked at you, taking pleasure in seeing your ears flush purple.

“He’s a lucky man, that one.” Veyä stood up, offering you her hand.

“What? We’re not together. We won’t ever be together. Ever. Yuck. I don’t know why everyone keeps thinking that,” you took her hand, pulling yourself up.

“Well then, you might be surprised by what Eywa has planned out for the two of you.”

P.S I’M EYWA

i wanted to get this out asap so i don’t lose my relevance 💔 and because i wanted to. thank u guys so much for all the love you showed part 1, i hope that this part is just as satisfactory 💗💗💗💗💗 i really did want to make Veyä a more rounded out character rather than just a temporary plot device, but i decided it wouldn’t mesh well with what i had planned for the rest of the story. I hope she made u giggle in your heart at the very least!

Taglist: @eywas-heir @elegantkidfansoul @yeosxxx @whoreforpomegranates @fanboyluvr @thecrazyswamp @shkudss @stvrligghtt @ratchetprime211 @dearstell @littlecrisisworld @itssomeonereading @goodiesinthecloset21 @ilovejakesullysdick @larkkyoris @opalescentblog @lovedbychoi @plzfeedmebread @holysaladapricothero

note: usernames in red are the ones I couldn't tag, so sorry 😭

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