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matryosika · 3 months

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Attraction, obsession, infatuation

Pairing — Hyunjin and fem!reader Wordcount — 7,680 words Includes — Explicit sexual content. Alcohol consumption, mentions of jealousy and possessiveness. Smut warnings under the cut. Summary — It is easier to hate than to admit loving. Alternatively, where Hyunjin realizes he might be tired of pretending he doesn't want to be more than just your toy. Author's Note — First 2024 full story! One of my New Year's resolutions was to keep on writing, since the last two years have been a bit too rough with my creativity and, overall, life. I hope I can continue posting stuff this year, but I literally can't ignore the fact that I am graduating college this June and that the adult life is, inevitably, catching up to me. Still, writing is something I love so I am determined to take this hobby very seriously, since it's one of the few things I enjoy! I hope you like this, please remember that english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes in advanced. If you wish to support my work, please leave a comment, reblog or ask 💌 Post divider by @/cafekitsune

Smut Warnings — Dirty talk, (very) mild humiliation, oral sex (m. receiving), face fucking and deep throating, voyeurism, female (solo) masturbation), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, marking (and mentions of pain), dacryphilia, creampie.

Humiliating.

There is no other way to describe the situation that perfectly.

[21:19 p.m., Hyunjin: Seems like you got yourself a new toy]

[21:19 p.m., Hyunjin: You don’t want to play with me anymore?]

[21:20 p.m., Hyunjin: I mean, we both know why you agreed to come here in the first place. It's not like you're the best of friends with any of my roommates, anyways.]

You hate how right he always is —how shamelessly he speaks, how pridefully he carries that ego of him.

People say there is a thin line between hatred and love, but they never talk about how tempting it is to walk on it. Especially because said line doesn't involve any of the former—if anything, that line represents all the carnal pleasures.

Pure lust.

[21:21 p.m., You: Please]

[21:21 p.m., You: You’re so full of yourself, you know that?]

Hyunjin rolls his eyes right in front of you, tongue poking through his cheek while he reads your messages.

[21:22 p.m., Hyunjin: That never seems to be a problem when you're in my bed]

It's a never ending bickering. A never ending teasing.

Hyunjin has always loved the thrill of doing things he isn't supposed to —no wonder why he ended up fucking you, out of all the women he knows.

Attraction, obsession, infatuation.

No amount of words could describe what happens between the two of you.

[21:23 p.m., You: I’m busy, in case you haven’t tell]

His cheeks grow hotter, killer eyes darting between you and the man you're talking to; appearing all sweet, gentle, collected, and everything you're not when you are with him. Your hand lays peacefully over your companion’s thigh, playfully hitting it when he says something remotely funny.

Your smile hasn't worn off since you entered the party, and Hyunjin genuinely wonders if you’re that happy and comfortable to be around any other man. Inevitably, he begins to wonder if you'd let him touch you like he does, kiss you like he has. He stares at you two for a little too long, and questions if you'd let that man do everything Hyunjin is entitled to do with you.

Would you let him treat you like he can? Let him fuck you like he does?

He chugs down the alcohol from his cup and uses that as an excuse to calm his masochistic urges, walking away from the scene he has been staring at for almost 10 minutes now.

It's like pouring lime over a wound, like pulling out a loose tooth. It hurts, but it makes him feel something.

“If you didn't hate her I would say you're totally drooling over her,” a black-haired man that smiles teasingly with his eyes is quick to ambush Hyunjin as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“What? Did your date get tired of you too early tonight?”

Changbin’s tongue pokes his cheek, and he can’t help but smile at Hyunjin’s moodiness. “She went to the bathroom, I just came here for some drinks”.

“Well, get to it,” Hyunjin commands, stretching his shoulders in an attempt to release all the build-up tension over them.

“Man, you've been acting so out of your element lately,” Changbin remarks, placing a bottle of vodka and another of pineapple juice aside with two red solo cups. “You’re always in a fucking mood, this is actually the first time I see you outside your bedroom in like... a while”.

Hyunjin won't admit it, but he is sulking.

Because of college, because of work, because of things he can't begin to fix and because of you.

“Just busy, I guess,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry I can't spend all day sticking my dick in different holes and doing an 8-hour shift at the gym”.

Changbin scoffs bitterly under his breath, nose flaring at his friend's harshness. “Maybe that's exactly what you need,” he nods, pouring a drink for himself and his date, “a good fuck”.

He rolls his eyes.

Yeah, maybe he needs that, but he also needs for you to stop touching your date's thigh, laughing amusingly loudly like you want him to hear how much of a great time you're having. Maybe Hyunjin needs to relieve all his anger on you, or he just needs for you to spare him a fucking glance because you haven't even looked at him since you walked in.

“Yeah,” he finally exhales, stealing the vodka bottle from Changbin’s grip to pour some onto his cup. He chugs it down quickly, and clears his throat when he feels the liquid burning inside, “that’s what I need”.

Changbin pats his right shoulder and abandons the kitchen when he spots his date closing the bathroom door behind her. And Hyunjin is left alone once again, wondering if it's time to ditch the party and lock himself inside his room or if he should hurt himself a bit more to get a grip on reality.

Inconveniently, he chooses the latter. Resting his hips against the kitchen counter, and turning his back on the full view of the living room, Hyunjin begins to thread a line of questions that may never have a proper answer.

Had he met you in another context, and in a distinct light, would things be different? Would your dynamic be different?

Maybe he would've apologized when he had time, for all the useless bickering that always took place between the two along the friend group. Had he surrendered to your stubbornness, rather than putting up a fight like it's typical from him, would the anguish be less?

Now that he reflects on it, Hyunjin can't even tell why you two hate each other these days. He never questioned it, the hatred you felt for each other, but he no longer knows why it's still there. Maybe it was a first impression, maybe it was a dumb comment or joke he cracked when you were introduced to the friend group. Maybe it was the fact that you two are so alike, personality wise, that you never seemed to get on.

Maybe you keep on hating each other because that's how it always has been, because there hasn't been a room to question the "what if's".

Or maybe you hate him just for being him, and the only thing you've come to mend with is the fact that he is nothing more than a good fuck.

His heart aches because of this last thought, and he stares at his phone screen for a bit too long, hoping to get a text from you. But you're busy, you said it yourself, and he is just feeling out of place.

“Hey,” the familiar voice it's enough for him to lift up his eyes from his phone, encountering a sheepishly grinning, red-eyed Jisung. “Changbin told me you’re in a mood, again”.

“He should put his mouth to good use,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

“He is worried about you though,” his friend says. “We all are, you know”.

Hyunjin sighs, “I’m fine”.

“Dude, come on,” Jisung drags his words lazily. “It’s about her, right?”

He shoots a killer gaze at him, “about who?”

If Jisung hadn't been higher than the fucking Empire State, he would've considered Hyunjin’s gaze a threat. But his mind is not precisely paying attention to any social cues, so he proceeds to say your name as a response.

"You should stop smoking that shit ever so often, you know?" he spits in annoyance, "it's making you delusional".

“Yeah, right man,” Jisung nods. “And you can keep being angry with the world just because you can't be angry with her”.

It disgusts Hyunjin how poetic that sounds, but his friend isn't too far from the truth —he would much rather project his anger and annoyance onto everyone else before you.

Because if you call, if you look for him, if you text him and ask him to see you, he will always be available. Even when he is not. Even when he has a ton shit to do. Even if all you want is his dick and a couple of dirty words.

Every time you ask, Hyunjin will give you anything you want.

“We don't have to talk about her though. Just wanted to check up on you,” his friend continues after an excruciatingly long silence, patting one of his shoulders like Changbin did before.

“There’s nothing to talk about, anyways,” Hyunjin says.

“Are you on, like, bad terms?”

“We’re not on any terms,” again, the urge to deny everything. It's always easier to pretend nothing it's going on than admitting there's a huge fucking elephant in the room. “We fuck, occasionally, and that's it. Not friendship, not intimacy, not trivial conversations about each other's days”.

“Well, that's some sort of the ideal to a fuck buddy relationship,” Jisung tilts his head. “It’s supposed to work”.

It should.

And it did, for a while —when the feelings were minimum and could be repressed, when the anger only translated to hatred and annoyance, and not jealousy and possessiveness.

These days, it's just not enough.

“Yeah well,” Hyunjin scoffs bitterly, holding the almost empty bottle of alcohol to his lips.

Thank God he isn't a light weight, because he would've been screwed by now. Vodka isn't his greatest match, but neither are you and he knows he has to sacrifice something tonight —whether it’s his rationality or his heart.��

“Alright,” he finally exhales, pushing the empty bottle away from the edge of the counter. “I’m going back to my room”.

"Already?"

“That's the beauty of people using your apartment to host a fucking party, I guess,” Hyunjin says, leaning down to one of the kitchen pantries to grab his favorite bottle of wine. “You can just walk a minute and be in the comfort of your own bed”.

“Haven’t you drunk too much?” Jisung asks.

“Definitely not enough,” the dark-haired replies, grabbing both the bottle and a glass with one of his hands. “Tell Jeongin to kick everyone out by 2, I’m not paying for another noise complaint again”.

And as he makes his way to his room, it's inevitable for Hyunjin not to spare a glance at the couch you were once sitting on. But his eyes meet Changbin and his date instead, without any trace of you or the man you were with. And he doesn't know if he should feel relieved or worried because you're no longer in his eyesight, and as comforting as that thought should be is nothing more than anguish-inducing.

He says goodbye to some of his friends, and also deals with Changbin’s insistence to stay around before he is able to lock himself inside his room. It was, at best, a 3 minute situation from the kitchen to his bed, but it felt like ages. Mostly because his eyes kept on scanning the whole apartment, hoping to find something that could tell him you're still there and you didn't leave the party with that man although you probably did.

Much to his surprise, when he opens the door to his room, he finds you sitting at the edge of his bed.

You don't say anything, and neither does he. So you two stare at each other for a while before Hyunjin closes the door right behind him, leaving the wine and glass on a small table by the door.

“Wine? At a college party?” You finally interrupt the silence, using that playful, teasing tone you always use when you want to get on his nerves. “You really are something else”.

Typical Hyunjin would think of a comeback rather quicker than the speed of light —he has always been witty and good with his words, and that's something you find utterly, despicably attractive in him.

But after 4 shots of vodka and an unamusing mood, all he wants it’s to kick you out and plop down onto his bed.

“Weren’t you busy?” he asks in a murmur, too lazy to make himself be heard. But it is loud and clear for you to hear, even with the bustling coming from down the hall.

“He bored me,” you admit. “Kept talking about his football team, and how he is going to work at his father's company once he graduates”.

Hyunjin lets out a bitter and quiet scoff, giving you his back while he pours some wine onto his glass. You can’t fool him, even if you try like right now.

But he attempts to ignore his rapid heartbeats by keeping a nonchalant, even annoyed countenance, albeit a part of him can't ignore the fact that you're in his room.

Just you and him, finally.

“Are you going back to the party or…”

“I’m tired,” he cuts you short, chugging down the wine like it's a shot of anything else. Can't care less about etiquette when all he wants is to lose his sobriety along with his rationality. “I want to sleep”.

“It’s 10:30,” you tease him, cocking one of your eyebrows and giving him that look that always makes him feel ridiculous.

On any other day, that would've been fuel to erase that smile off of your face by pushing it onto the pillows while he fucks you from behind.

Tonight, though, it just blatantly stings.

“So?” The coldness in his voice makes you shudder, and when he doesn't respond like he usually does it's when you realize there's something different going on.

You and Hyunjin don't share that kind of intimacy. You don't tell him your problems, and he doesn't tell you his problems either. You don't comfort each other through words or romantic touches. You don't give words of encouragement and you don't talk things through.

If there's something to say, you do so through sex.

But right now, that you've interrupted his night, you feel somewhat compromised to ask if he is alright.

“Bad day?”

Bad week, bad month, bad year, a bad fucking life.

“Don’t have to act like you care,” Hyunjin says, resting his hips against the furniture while he pours himself another glass of wine.

The comment catches you off-guard. First and foremost, because you're not quite sure you don't care about him at all. And second, because he is making it seem like you are the reason behind his bad mood.

But if he doesn’t want to talk, you’re not going to force him to. After all, you’re in his room for one reason, and one reason only.

“Shit, sorry for asking,” you murmur, gripping the edge of the bed sheets with both of your hands. It's a common ground you've walked in, thousands of times. You've been in his bed for far more times than you can remember, and you've fucked a lot more than you can count. So you're not afraid of asking the question: maybe you should release some stress?

Hyunjin knows what you mean. He knows the sexual connotations of it, and knows that’s exactly the reason why you're in his room.

On any other day, Hyunjin would've taken your word. But right now, when his eyes can only focus on the crimson bruise on your neck, the proposition enrages him.

He walks towards you, completely towering over your figure. One hand holds the glass of wine, while the other cups your face and maneuvers it harshly, leaving the hickey for him to see.

“He bored you?” The way he spits such a question makes your heart skip a beat. Don’t leave a rough mark, you told the guy, just a faint hickey. Of course he wouldn’t care, and neither did you —otherwise you would’ve checked yourself in the mirror before approaching Hyunjin wearing someone else’s lovebites, “or he just wasn't the one you wanted to fuck tonight?”

You move your head away from his touch with a swift movement, immediately missing the warmth of his skin against yours, "does that even make a difference?"

But it doesn't.

In the end, you only look for him because you want a good fuck and it seemed like your date just couldn't get the job done.

Not because you want him, particularly.

“No,” Hyunjin replies coldly. “But you should at least have some decency, you know?”

You know he isn't teasing you, like he always does. He is not saying all this to get a reaction from you, and that unsettles you.

He is acting and saying such things because he means them. Because he feels like them.

“Since when do you care about what I do or I don't?” you ask him, the tone in your voice increasing as Hyunjin’s gaze intensifies.

“You can do whoever the fuck you want,” he murmurs, uncrossing his arms to grip at the edge of the furniture behind him.

“Well, I want to do you”.

“Maybe tonight I don’t,” Hyunjin gulps down the wine, having a way harder time swallowing the euphoric sensation of his ego rather than the alcohol coming down his throat.

And you stare at him like he just said something controversial. Something weird, something unusual coming from him.

“You’re lying,” you say, darting him a challenging look. “You always want me”.

“Why would I want something that everyone can have?”

It’s his anger talking. His rage, his uncertainty, his jealousy.

You're not wrong. He wants you, he always has and most likely always will.

But he is too proud to admit it, both to you and himself. Especially after you’ve walked into his room with the ghost of another man’s hands and lips, wearing a mark on your skin that will never compare to how Hyunjin has been allowed to mark you.

“So that’s the issue?” you defy him, standing up from the edge of his bed to walk forward. “You’re acting like this just because I was with someone else?”

Your mocking tone makes it seem like it's something ridiculous and irrational, but you've aced your initial hypothesis.

You are the reason behind his bad mood.

“Just get out,” Hyunjin says, tense jaw and cold eyes locked into yours. “You're getting on my nerves”.

Your tongue pokes through your cheek and you look at him in disbelief —you feel taken aback because of how he is acting, and you want to blame it on the alcohol he has ingested throughout the night. But he looks sober, and way more serious than his immature facade has ever made him appear.

“If I wanted to be with someone else tonight, I would’ve left your apartment a fucking hour ago,” the boldness in your voice only challenges Hyunjin to this staring contest he didn't know he is playing. Without blinking, without parting his gaze away, all his undivided attention is on you, and the way you're spitting your words like you're truly the one with a reason to be angry.

Needless to say, your audacity only infuriates him further.

“If you wanted to be with me, you would’ve come into my room the second you step a foot into the apartment,” he shoots back, straightening his body against the furniture and causing it to move an inch closer to you, “I mean, you know the way well, don’t you?”

He raises one of his eyebrows, and it’s embarrassing.

Pathetically embarrassing.

Stupidly idiotic.

“You've crawled on all fours from the door to my room before,” Hyunjin continues, tilting his head while his gaze falls from your eyes to your parted lips, “I'm sure that was enough for you to remember the path fairly well”.

It was one time, you say to yourself. And you'd rather die than having to admit such a humiliating thing to anyone other than him.

You'd rather die than having everyone know what you allow Hyunjin to do to you. You'd rather disappear into thin air than having to deal with the judgemental gazes from all of your friends.

The Hwang Hyunjin? The one you say you can't stand? The one that gets on your nerves because of how childish he is? The one you tell your friends you'd turn down a thousand times even if he was the last man standing on earth?

“Go fuck yourself, Hwang,” you're so close to him you can practically taste the red wine off of his lips. You're breathing the same air, hearts beating at the same rate.

You want him worse than you wanted him before —you like the feeling of his jealousy and his possessiveness. You like it when his hatred towards you transforms into hatred to anyone who dares to touch you; no one is allowed to have you like he is entitled to, and no one is allowed to hate you the way he does.

So he leaves the empty glass of wine behind, and guides one of his hands to your heated cheeks. He caresses it, pushing away the hairs from your face —the intimate touch might feel out of place and context, but you know damn well it's nothing more than the calm before the storm.

A calling.

A warning.

You know Hyunjin more than you'd ever want to admit, and you crave him worse than you'd ever allow yourself to think.

"God fucked you up by giving you this shitty ego,” he murmurs, brushing his lips ever so slightly against yours. It seems as if Hyunjin walked right into your trap without knowing, blinded by instincts and completely ignoring the awful show you put up earlier with a man you don't even know his name, “and he fucked me up even more for making me like it”.

It all happens in a fraction of second, too fast for you to catch some air and too sloppy for you to get the kiss right.

You're tasting the red wine, and his rage, and the longing lust you are always demanding from him whenever your body is against his. He kisses you ardently, teasing your tongue and biting your lower lip trying to fill you up just with him —to get rid of whoever kissed you first that night, and to intoxicate you with all of him for whoever will kiss you next.

One of his hands wraps around your figure, pressing you tighter against him, while the other swims through the roots of your hair, already in position to manhandle you like he knows he can.

The way he knows you want him to.

And you don't stop him when you feel the sting in your scalp, forcing you to break the kiss and down to your knees right in front of him in a careless way that will probably leave bruises.

“Said you wanted to do me?” Hyunjin asks, unzipping his pants with his available hand while the other holds your head still, despite your efforts to wipe away the drool from your lips and the hair sticking to your cheeks with his spit. “I’m right fucking here, do me”.

You look at him with loathing but it is nothing more than a projection: you hate yourself for how much you needed this.

For how much you need him.

“Don��t give me those eyes,” he falsely pouts, but the sound gets drowned in a grunt when he wraps his hand around his dick to stroke it a few times before guiding your mouth to the tip of it, “you want this”.

His gaze finds yours in the midst of the struggle, and the only way you can think of letting him know you're consenting to this is by sticking your tongue out and licking the tip of his cock, collecting all his salty precum and tasting it like you've been starving for it.

At the sight, Hyunjin chuckles lowly. Still as cold, still as enraged.

“Did you suck him off too?” he asks, using the grip on your hair as his favor —with ease, he slams his hips against your mouth, letting the tip of his cock reach parts of your throat that are still tense. “Does he taste as good as I do?”

Hyunjin doesn't need to know that you planned this all along —that you purposely did everything to get him jealous. He doesn't need to know that you like the thrill of it, of watching his possessive and jealous side.

He doesn't need to know that you utterly adore when he fucks you like he actually hates you. Like you mean nothing and everything to him at the same time.

Hyunjin doesn't need to know a lot of things, so you tag along with the fantasy of everything you've yet to deny.

“Relax,” more than a soothing word, it’s an order. He maneuvers your head all along his length, applying more pressure when your nose hits his pubic bone and then forcing you away to let you breathe. “You’ve taken this cock before, you know exactly how to do it”.

You try to regain control of your body, and your rationality, but it seems a rather useless task —when you're with Hyunjin, he is the one that does the thinking for you. When you're with him, you can't think of anything else but him, his voice, his eyes, the way he touches and kisses you, the way he tastes and the way he feels inside you.

“Too big,” you gasp in between thrusts of his hips against your lips. Your hand flies to reach the base of his cock, but he is quick to force you backwards with the grip on your hair.

“Do not touch me”.

“Hyun-”

“I said, do not touch me,” he repeats when you try to touch him again. “Do you really think you can go around touching other men and I won't do anything about it?”

Hyunjin wishes he wasn’t as prideful as he is —if he could swallow his ego easily, he could have your hands all over his body by now. But he is proud, and vengeful, and stubborn. No matter how much his skin is burning to feel the softness of yours against it, he needs to make his point.

“You’re- you can’t be serious,” you struggle between moans, with a voice so hoarse it's barely audible.

“There’s the door,” he forces your head towards it, “you can leave if you don’t like it”.

Your doe eyes, filled with anger and defy, dart between him and the door. Hyunjin is always the one in control, you're not really unfamiliar with that —the fact that he is acting like this, offering you a way out if you’re not willing to do things his way, makes you feel uneasy and curious.

You choose to stay only for the latter. Not because of anything else, right?

Right?

You don’t say anything, but fix your gaze on the man in front of you.

And Hyunjin gets it, he gets the look you're giving him. That, paired with the fact that you're not doing anything to get away from his grip, tells him that you're more than willing to keep on going, so he continues manhandling you around.

“C’mere,” he mutters when guiding your head along his cock again, making you swallow him full without giving you any kind of warning whatsoever, “just like that”.

You're gagging, and tearing up, and clearly struggling to take all of his cock. But never have you felt this hungry, and never have you felt this emptiness between your legs that only Hyunjin seems to be able to fill.

Your hands ache for his flesh, and so desperately you want to sink them on his thighs or ass; intertwine them with his, latch your fingers against his and squeeze them while you prove to him that he's the only one that gets to fuck your mouth like this.

“Please,” you cry out when he gives you a break to catch some air, “I need- let me touch you, please”.

"Should've thought of it before putting your hands on someone else," he hissed, brushing your hair wet with drool and tears away from your face. “Should’ve thought about me before running to another man”.

“Hyunjin”.

Oh, how pretty his name sounds falling from your lips —especially when accompanied with sobs and whimpers. You're always so cool and collected, like you control everything and everyone around you. You never cry, never show anyone else a crevice of what you truly are, but he is the only one that gets to see you like this. The only one you really trust, the only one you give control to.

If you hate him that much, why do you always come crawling back to him?

If you hate him that much, why is he the only one that gets to use you like this?

And if you hate him that much, why can't Hyunjin forget what he truly feels about you?

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, cleaning your mouth and chin with the back of your hand. “I’m fucking sorry, okay? I’m sorry”.

“For what exactly?” He is so close to you, you can feel the tip of his nose brushing against yours and get drunk on the wine that lingers in his breath. He is so close to you, he almost can't resist the urge of crashing his lips against yours again and taste himself off of you.

“I don’t know,” you look at him with teary eyes. You feel like crying, and Hyunjin can tell. “I don’t know, it’s just- I’m sorry, okay? If that’s what you want to hear, then I’m sorry”.

His eyebrows furrow.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he says. “Your apologies mean nothing to me”.

Your heart stings, and it is unusual. He is unusual, painfully real unlike all the times you've pretended to hate each other just for the dynamic.

Blame it on the alcohol, or the stress he has been feeling lately, or the fact that you've been nothing but a brat these days, but Hyunjin is angry. And hurt.

“Your actions, on the other hand,” it's all he tells you with his bright eyes boring into yours. “I want you to show me how sorry you truly are”.

“Wha-”

He maneuvers you from the floor to his bed, forcing you on your back against the sheets you've grown to know fairly well. Your body writhes under him, and you fight back the urges to wrap your arms around his neck and force his body close to yours.

“How- am I supposed to show you?” you ask in between the struggle, moving your body to Hyunjin’s will. With your help, he unbuttons your jeans and scatters them along the floor, just like your blouse and underwear.

He lets out a soft scoff, blowing air through his nose, amused. "As if you don't know me that well".

And because you know him well, you can't avoid the eerie feeling of fear that settles up in the deepest pits of your chest when his cold gaze makes contact with yours.

“What are you going to do to me?” You ask, with your heart ringing loudly in your ears.

“You should be asking what you're going to do for me, instead,” he murmurs, caressing the sides of your body with a creepy delicacy that doesn't match his demeanor at all. "Don't you want to be forgiven?" It's a rhetorical question, you know that much. And you do want to be forgiven, but you're not quite sure what twisted idea Hyunjin has of an apology.

So you stay quiet, and hope for the best.

“You said you wanted me, right?” He asks yet again, fixing his eyes on yours. You just nod. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Yes,” you rush to say, “yes, I said I want you”.

“How bad?”

The endless teasing is making you frustrated, but you're used to that. However, you're not used to feeling tears prickling at the corners of your eyes with each second that passes by.

You need him desperately. You need his kiss, and tongue, and hands on every part of your body that you'd never allow anyone else to touch.

No matter how much you say you dislike Hyunjin.

“So fucking bad,” you cry out, kicking you head back against the pillow.

Hyunjin hums, peppering wet and sloppy kisses over your tummy and inner thighs. You feel his breath so close to your wet center that you can only hope he gives you the attention you need.

But that is not going to happen any time soon, and you know that.

“Fuck yourself,” he commands you, kneeling between your spread legs on top of his bed, “prove to me that you want me”.

You know the catch, know why Hyunjin is asking you such a thing.

He never does, unless he wants to punish you. And albeit not a rough punishment, there's nothing sweeter than watching you fall apart in frustration, to watch you deny yourself because he said so, to see you squirming in pain because you overstimulated yourself.

But then again, you'd do anything he says, just to be one step closer to him.

So you comply, with your index and middle finger shaking in anticipation as they make contact with your folds. Slowly but surely, you start fulfilling his demand —bitterly, with a look of disdain.

One of his hands spread your legs further, and he stays kneeling between your thighs as he watches you.

Impatient, eager, angry.

“I don’t have all day,” he finally snaps after a good 30 seconds of you just timidly teasing yourself. You can’t admit it out loud, but it is embarrassing —to have his eyes all over you but not his hands, to have your legs spread for someone who has no interest in touching you.

It's also embarrassing how wet you are by all of this. By his attitude, his anger and his jealousy.

“Sorry,” you barely mumble, sinking two fingers inside your throbbing pussy.

You feel nothing. Not pain, nor pleasure. Just nothing.

“One more,” Hyunjin tells you and you comply. But after getting used to him and his size, nothing fills you up anymore.

“You don’t- you don’t expect me to come just by this, do you?” You ask with a nervous scoff, biting down on your lower lip as you pull your fingers out just to thrust them inside again.

Hyunjin doesn't answer, and that only fuels your anguish even more. Instead, he fixes his eyes on your fingers, and the way they glisten with your wetness. He focuses on the sounds they make, and how warm you must feel after all the teasing.

You let out a whine, but it is not out of pleasure. It's a frustrated whine, a desperate one. You kick your head back, and fuck yourself harder with your fingers.

All your efforts are pointless.

“Don’t you dare,” Hyunjin warns you when your other hand slips to touch your clit.

“I- I can’t just come with this,” you groan.

“How is that my problem?”

It is humiliating —the way he is looking down on you, the way he is clearly amused by how stupid you must look right now touching yourself without feeling anything.

“Keep on going,” he tells you, licking his lips, “you won’t stop until you come”.

You shake your head and kick it against his pillow, trying to go impossibly deeper in hopes of finding that spot inside of you that only Hyunjin seems to know well.

Again, pointless.

“Come on,” you whine, now really on the brink of tears, “don’t do this to me”.

“You did this to yourself,” he simply says, and his digits graze against your naked legs.

The stimulation on your flesh is enough for you to clench around your fingers, and Hyunjin lets out a twisted smile when he sees the goosebumps flowering.

“Hyunjin”.

“Can’t come by yourself?” He asks with a fake empathy, “you need me for that, right?”

You know where this is heading, and you’re willingly letting him lead you that way —you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Yes,” you admit, hoping such a confession is enough to do something. Anything.

“Am I the only one who can make you come?”

“Yes, Hyunjin,” there's an inner conflict between your lust and your ego —you wish to fight back, but your mind is already surrendering. Your answer isn't far from the truth anyways, so why is it so difficult to admit it out loud? “Yes, you’re the only one”.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers quietly, dragging the tip of his digits along your spread thighs.

You’re aroused and whriting in anticipation, You’re aroused and trembling in anticipation, your whole body is ready for him, anything he wants to give you, and he can tell.

That's probably the worst part of it all —your mouth can always voice how much you hate him, but your body will keep on betraying you every time.

“I can’t,” you murmur, relentlessly trying to get yourself to your high, “I can't do this on my own anymore, you're the only one who can”.

It's embarrassing to admit such a thing, both to him and yourself —it's not like you're saying so just to get what you want.

You're saying so because it's the truth, because not even you nor your toys can get you to come like Hyunjin does.

“Remember that every time you even think about being with someone else,” Hyunjin’s body hovers over you, fitting perfectly between your open legs. “No one is going to make you feel like I can”.

You drown a moan when you feel his clothed erection pressing against your folds. The fabric of his pants is rough, but your body unconsciously grinds on it.

“Just fuck me, Hyunjin,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his hips and feeling his warmth spreading from your chest to your limbs, “please, please, please”.

He needs you just as much.

And his intention was never to deny you, but to remind you that you belong to him. Whether you want to admit it or not, whether you even know it —your body responds to Hyunjin, and Hyunjin only.

“Patience is a virtue, you know?” He scoffs, sneaking a hand between your bodies to slide the tip of his dick against your folds, “I spent all night looking how someone else got his hands all over you”.

You tremble underneath him, begging for anything he might want to give you.

“It wasn’t a pretty sight, you know?” Hyunjin continues, “it kills me that no one knows you're mine”.

Your heart skips a beat at his rageful words, as you breathe the same oxygen that leaves his lungs.

“Hyunjin”.

“I hate the fact that I just can’t kiss you when I feel like it,” he presses his forehead against yours, taunting your lips with his. “Can’t even fuck you when I want, without caring if someone hears or not”.

There's a pinch of frustration and despair in his voice. Like he is asking you to read between the lines, to give some sense to his words.

“We hate each other, don’t we?” You remind him, digging your nails in the flesh of the sides of his body.

“Do you really think this is hate?” He asks, and presses his hips against yours. You feel his hardened length getting coated with your wetness, and you can’t help but moan.

“Everybody thinks we can’t stand each other,” you wrap your legs around his hips, forcing him to make a move. And as if on cue, he gets what you’re demanding —he slides the tip of his dick in, so easily that it's hard to believe your body wasn't perfectly made for him.

“But no one knows what we do behind their backs, do they?” He asks, grunting quietly when he finally bottoms out, “they don’t know how good we fuck each other, how good we make us feel”.

It's not the time to pause and reflect about the dynamic you've shared with Hyunjin over the past year. It's also not the time to think about what could happen if you were to reveal to your closest friends what you and Hyunjin have.

It's exciting to keep things a secret, but you're not quite sure how long you can go without one of you getting tired of it.

It's not the time, and you don't dwell on it because you soon feel Hyunjin's hips slowly pulling and then bottoming out again. The sudden hit of his pubic bone against your swollen clit sends shivers down your spine, and you hug him tightly against you.

“Because you make me feel so good,” he murmurs, leaving a wet trail of kisses from your lips, to your chin and jaw, “so fucking good”.

You clench around him at his words, and he lets out a raw moan.

“You too,” you swallow thickly, “you too- make me feel so good”.

“Just me?”

“Just you Hyunjin- fuck,” you bite down the flesh on his shoulders when his hips snap against yours, making your whole body jolt, “like that, fuck me like that”.

With painfully slow but hard strokes, Hyunjin pounds his dick inside your wet pussy.

The lewd noises it makes, paired with his skin hitting yours, drowns his bedroom. They also drown the bustle behind the door, the faint voices of those who are still outside partying and drinking.

Those who don't know how much you love fucking Hyunjin, and how much he loves fucking you.

“I have to make sure it's only me who gets to have you like this,” and with that being said, he sinks his teeth and nibbles at the flesh where burgundy and purple bruises rest.

You arch your back in pain, feeling your neck burning. He holds you in place as you writhe beneath him, placing all his weight over you to prevent you from squirming away from him.

“It’s just a little pain,” his soft voice coos, grabbing the sides of your neck with one of his hands while his lips attack the love bites made by someone else, “nothing compared to what you made me feel tonight”.

Your heart starts beating faster at his words.

“I’m sorry,” tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you still let Hyunjin mark you.

You want him to, anyway. No matter how painful it can be.

“I know you are,” he hums, satisfied with the way you’re clenching around him.

He kisses your flesh softly, trying to soothe the pain away, and you move your hips, desperate to have him moving inside of you again.

He loses no time into it, holding his weight back off of you to continue on fucking you.

“You look so pretty now,” he twistedly smiles, with a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead and nose, “my lips and teeth look so good on you”.

The minute he bites down his lower lip and his eyes go blank, you start feeling the tension building up inside your abdomen. You’re close, and you’re desperate to come.

“Hyunjin,” one of your hands holds his bicep, while the other makes a mess of the bed sheets beneath you.

“Not yet,” he warns you, and at that you let out a frustrated sound, “hold it a bit longer, come with me”.

You close your eyes shut and kick your head back, hoping that if you don't look at him, you can prolong the time before you come. But he is fucking you so good, and his dick is hitting all the right spots inside of you, that you really don't think you can hold it as long as he wants you to.

“Please,” you cry out, this time tearing up. You can’t help it —the tears fall from your closed eyes without a warning. They stain your cheeks, and get lost in the crook of your neck that is still burning with Hyunjin’s love bites.

“Open your eyes,” his hand cups your face, and you snap them open as a reflex, “let me see you crying”.

His words ignite a fire inside you, just as much as your tears do to him. His cock twitches at the sight of your clouded eyes and the way they beg for his release.

It’s the first time he sees you cry,

and it shouldn't arouse him as much as it does. He knows what's behind those tears, and maybe that's the reason why he is enjoying them.

Frustration, rage, despair, attraction, obsession, infatuation.

He buries his nose on the flesh of your cheek and kisses your tears, one by one, as he continues pounding himself inside of you.

“Can’t-” you murmur, digging your nails on his shoulders. Hyunjin hisses at that. “I can’t hold it”.

“Give it to me,” he finally exhales, increasing the movements of his hips. And you comply —you give your orgasm to him, squeezing his cock almost aggressively. Your body trembles and he hugs it tightly, fucking you through your high as he comes with you.

“Fuck, Hyunjin,” at one point, your body goes limp —the pleasure becomes too strong that you melt into his arms.

He moans your name, over and over again, until his voice becomes a whisper, and his hips relax into yours. His body rests on top of you, hugging you, pressing kisses to your forehead and temples while you wrap your arms around him. He doesn't pull out, and you don't want him to —at least not yet.

Sex with Hyunjin always goes a little bit like this, but it never feels as intimate as it does right now.

Your sweating bodies are pressed against each other, and your hearts are beating at the same rate. Your mouth tastes like red wine, despite you not having drunk any, and Hyunjin’s chest smells like your perfume.

The crescent moon-like imprints from your nails are still pulsing on his shoulders and back with desire, and your neck still burns with his possessiveness.

It seems as though you two are one, and it is impossible to deny it.

If hate is another synonym for infatuation, you might as well be willing to hate each other until death.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #kpop smut #hwang hyunjin smut

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wlntrsldler · 28 days

Text

poisoned mercury | delicate

friend group shenanigans | set after pink skies | series masterlist

song: delicate by taylor swift

“good morning,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes as you exited your room. travis was taking up the entire couch, doubled over in pain. “woah, what happened to you?”

“food poisoning,” he replied, wincing. he had a blanket draped over him, acting like he was on his deathbed.

connor walked in with a bowl of chicken soup for his brother, rolling his eyes as he shoved travis’ feet off the couch to have somewhere to sit, “and whose fault is that?”

clarisse was sitting next to chris on the love seat, shaking her head, “told you not to get a hot dog from the gas station.”

“rookie mistake, babe,” chris chimed in, “whenever you tell trav not to do something, he does it. it’s in his dna.”

“connor shares the same dna as him and he’s not like that,” you called out from the kitchen, making yourself a bowl of cereal. the dining hall was already closed for breakfast since you woke up so late, thanks to the boy who was still passed out on your bed.

you couldn’t remember the last time you slept so well. you felt bad for leaving him alone, sleep in your room but your stomach was growling and if you didn't get some food in your system soon, you were bound to catch an attitude.

“that’s because i got the brains between the two of us,” connor joked, scoffing, “i let him borrow some brain cells once in a while.”

“fuck you guys,” travis complained, sitting up. “i’m dying here and you’re making fun of me?!”

you walked out into the living room, pulling one of the bar stools to sit closer to the group. your eyes darted to the screen in front of you, internally cheering at the familiar scene. they were watching barbie. the five of you watched in silence, letting out little laughs at the jokes, until the door of your room opened.

luke walked out, half-asleep, and made his way over to you. he kissed your lips, mumbling, “g’mornin, five star.”

“mornin’, pretty boy,” you squeezed the arm he wrapped around your waist. he sent you a lazy smile, nuzzling his face in your neck before disappearing into his bedroom. you turned your attention back to the screen, shoving a spoonful of fruit loops in your mouth, “oh, i love this part!”

when you were the only one who burst out laughing at ken’s “sublime!” you turned to look at your friends, wondering why none of them were laughing. they were staring at you with wide-eyes, jaws ajar. their eyes were bright, lips breaking out into teasing smiles. oh. oh.

“castellan get your ass in here, now!”

luke walked out of his room with his eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why chris was screaming his name like bloody fucking murder at 12 pm on a sunday. surely, he hadn’t done anything wrong yet– he just woke up! he put his glasses on, finally able to see the looks on everyone’s faces, including your red cheeks and sheepish smile.

luke didn’t even realize what he did until that moment. it just felt natural for him to greet you good morning, like he always did anyway, but it’s just sweeter this time around because he’s allowed to kiss you now, at least he thinks he’s allowed to. he was a little butthurt that he woke up alone on your bed this morning so when he walked out and was only able to make out your silhouette, he didn’t think twice before placing a chaste kiss on your lips. he got a taste of what it was like to kiss you and he couldn’t help himself to do it again.

he thinks now, though, that perhaps he should’ve thought twice because there was no way your friends would let the two of you leave until you explained. luke’s face paled at the sight of his friends. were you mad at him for kissing you in front of people? if his head wasn't spinning with all the negative thoughts he was having, he would see your face and understand that you were happy your friends knew about the two of you.

clarisse clicked on the remote to pause the movie, “soooo… seems like we skipped a few chapters.”

“more like we finally got to the next chapter,” travis snorted, earning a smack on the back of his head from connor. the older stoll hissed, “don’t act like y’all weren’t tired of their pining.”

chris rolled his eyes, eyes darting between you and luke. he was trying to fight the smile threatening to show on his features, “so care to enlighten us, guys?”

"luke?"

luke's head snapped to the sound of your voice, pulling him out of his head. you had an arm outstretched, beckoning him over to where you stood. it made luke feel giddy inside as he trotted over to you, finding comfort in standing behind you and placing his chin on top of your head. he swung an arm around you, hoping that you wouldn't see the thumbs-up he sent to the boys.

"yeaaaaahhhh castellan's got the girl!"

"oh my god," you whispered, turning around to bury your head in luke's chest. you were blushing furiously at the cheers from your friends. you think you might've even heard travis complaining about losing a bet to connor. clarisse and chris were babbling about how double dates would be fun, though clar mentioned that luke and chris would end up third and fourth-wheeling the two of you more than anything. "our friends are crazy."

the arm he had wrapped around you pulled you in tighter. you felt the rumbling of his chest, "they are."

"you guys are so fucking cute," clarisse said, a hand over her heart. "y/n, he finally made a move!"

you turned back around to face clarisse and the group, "actually i made the move!"

luke scoffed, "you did not. i kissed you."

"i asked you to come in last night."

"yeah i believe, y/n," connor piped in, shrugging. "luke was not gonna make a move."

clarisse gasped, placing a hand on chris' bicep, "we should compare notes."

your eyes widened, "do not compare notes."

"wait, what do you mean notes?" luke asked quizzically. "was five star talking about me?"

"clarisse i will never forgive you if you tell him anything."

"i'm not gonna tell him directly," she hummed, lacing her fingers with chris', "but if i told my boyfriend who happens to be his best friend and he tells luke, then, technically, i haven't done anything wrong."

"y/n, i assure you, you should not be embarrassed," travis said, snickering. it was luke's turn to panic. "whatever you said to clarisse about lover boy here, i'm sure it can't be any worse than what he's said about you to us over the last two months."

chris cleared his throat, putting on his best luke impression, "five star is so pretty. i don't think i've ever seen anyone so beautiful."

"five star is so funny. i can listen to her talk about anything for hours." this was travis.

"oh, luke where were you today? we haven't seen you all day," connor said in his regular voice before deepening his voice a tad bit to match luke's, "oh, i was hanging out with five star and we accidentally fell asleep by the lake."

"not to mention the dozens of songs he wrote about you," chris teased, "thanks for inspiring the second album, but bro was like alexander hamilton writing those songs."

luke whined, tugging on his hood to cover his face, "guys, stoppp."

"oh my god, y/n, you should see his tweets."

"do not show her my tweets!"

you burst out in laughter, getting up from your seat. you wrapped your arms around luke and he took the opportunity to hide his face in the crook of your neck. you could feel the heat on his cheeks against your skin. you played with the hair on the nape of his neck, "all right, guys, enough."

"can we go back to your room?" luke whispered in your ear, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"mhm," you couldn't deny him of anything if you tried, "come on, pretty boy."

you couldn't help but laugh and throw up the middle finger to your friends as they called out jokes and kissing noises as you and luke went off. it was funny, really, how they all knew there was something between you and luke before the two of you did. it was nice to know that your friends were supportive, regardless of how annoying they would be now that you and luke were together.

luke collapsed on his side of your bed, unable to wipe the dopey smile on his face. you sat on his lap, leaning over to press kisses on his cheeks, "just so we're clear, i wanna see the tweets. and hear the songs."

"well you can't ask me that while you're sitting on top of me because i'll fold."

you giggled, kissing his lips passionately. his hands gripped your waist as he sat up, getting in a more comfortable position, "that's the point, castellan."

luke pinched your side, chuckling when you squealed, "you're evil."

"uh huh," you mumbled, "you know we're never gonna catch a break with our friends now right?"

"honestly, i haven't caught a break from the boys since i met you," he admitted, "but at least i get to kiss you now, so it's really a win."

you couldn't agree more.

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

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venus-haze · 11 months

Text

Got No Reason To Run (Homelander x Supervillain!Reader)

Summary: Homelander fantasizes about you, his supervillain arch-enemy, and getting the revenge he so desperately craves.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on some of the headcanons I wrote here. I’m definitely open to writing more of a supervillain!Reader with Homelander. This is short because it's PWP, honestly. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content which includes masturbation. Non-con, violence, intentional scarring, mild bloodplay, and dacryphilia in the context of a fantasy. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Homelander’s eyes were glued to the television as soon as the story about you began to run. Rosethorn. More like a thorn in his fucking side. Ever since Vought decided to let you wreak havoc on the streets of New York because having an arch-enemy was good marketing, you were inescapable. Every interview inevitably derailed into questions about you, the Homelander Vs. Rosethorn comic series was almost out-selling his solo ones, and to make matters worse, half of the internet seemed to ship you, the marketing team bafflingly thrilled the first time #Roselander trended on Twitter.

All of those things he could reasonably deal with, but among the people who regarded you as an anti-hero rather than a supervillain, they’d developed a conspiracy theory of sorts that you were somehow as powerful as, if not more so than, him. He often seethed in rage over it. You were only alive because you were useful to Vought. At least, that’s what he told himself after the first time the two of you were face-to-face, and you spit your venom at him, burning through his costume and blistering his skin, to both of your shock. The faint scar on his arm became a point of sensitivity for him, few people had ever seen it. To him, it was a symbol of failure, but even worse, it fed into the paranoia that what your handful of supporters were saying was true.

He watched the news replay the security footage of you and your accomplices, a rotation of other, less powerful supes, robbing a bank. You could secrete incredibly potent, acidic poison through your saliva and breath at will, though most people were too scared to put up a fight and see what damage you could do to the human body. You practically skipped over to the vault, spitting on the metal door which quickly melted into twisted scrap. Your goons wasted no time in collecting the money and valuables that were then ripe for the taking.

Your gaze landed on the security camera that had caught the whole crime in action, and you grinned, staring directly at it—eyes crystal clear and haunting, as if you were looking into his soul as you stalked over like a tiger waiting to strike.

“Homelander, you can come and get me,” you said with a playful wink at the camera before disappearing in a toxic haze.

Something stirred in him at that. He grabbed the remote, playing the clip back over and over until his cock was half-hard. If he were there, that bank robbery would have gone a hell of a lot differently. He licked his lips as he thought about how he would have made his appearance, crash through the ceiling or laser through the wall—no, he would’ve walked through the doors like he owned the damn place.

He had a firm grip on his cock as he pumped the length, imagining the bank was empty and dark, after hours with no hostages in sight. You grinned at him from inside the bank vault you’d just half-obliterated. It was all a game, as usual, playing cat and mouse until you’d make your escape. Not this time.

Vought’s orders to avoid grievously harming you were endlessly frustrating, but in this instance, he was the one calling the shots. If he had his way, he’d make sure you faced the specific brand of justice a supervillain like you deserved after years of getting away with countless crimes with little more than bruises and scratches. You were too cocky, too smug. He’d be more than happy to knock you down a few notches and remind you who exactly your arch-enemy was and what he was capable of.

“Homelander, come and get me,” you repeated, voice light and airy, clueless as to what his true intentions were.

He strode across the threshold of the bank, his steps strong and purposeful as he closed the distance between you. The ensuing fight was laughably easy since he was actually trying to cause some damage, and from your place on the floor, disheveled with blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, you looked betrayed.

You attempted to push yourself off the ground, only to be met with his boot on your chest, his gaze nothing short of mean.

“Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?”

Your confused silence infuriated him.

“Answer me!” he shouted, his eyes glowing red.

“You’re—you’re The Homelander.”

“That’s right. So I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, Rosethorn, but injuring me? Scarring me? I don’t bleed. I don’t break. I sure as hell don’t scar,” he raged, droplets of spit flying in your face. “I can’t let that stand.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered pathetically.

He scoffed. “You can do better than that.”

“Homelander, please, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scar you. Forgive me.”

His silence was accented with the sound of your racing heart, the blood rushing through your veins. You were terrified. Good.

“We both know you’re not sorry. You loved every second of it, didn’t you?”

“No, Homelander I didn’t–”

“I think I should return the favor.”

Your eyes widened, and you began shaking your head frantically upon realizing what he intended to do. He grabbed your arm, and his teeth broke the skin with ease, just a bit of pressure from his razor blade smile to cut you open. Your blood on his lips almost tasted sweet, at least, he imagined it would.

"Scream all you want, there’s no one to hear you," he would snarl at your weeping figure. Now you had matching scars, now you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror without being reminded of him too. In a disturbing display of dominance and possession, he licked your open wound. You wailed. He squeezed your arm tighter. You should have been grateful he didn’t try to cauterize it himself. Finally, he released you, but this temporary freedom wouldn’t last.

“You’re a monster,” you sobbed, clutching your injured arm.

“Me? No, I’m The Homelander. I might as well be god. You? You’re only around to make me look good.”

Then he heard it, the way only he can, the sound of your spit collecting in your mouth. He grabbed you by the throat, hauling you to your feet. “Try it, and I promise I’ll take all the time in the world to kill you.”

Teary-eyed, you nodded. When he released your throat, he heard you swallow.

“Now, how to properly serve you justice for being caught red-handed robbing a bank," he mused.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not a bad idea at all.”

The fear that would glaze over those eyes that he couldn’t get out of his mind made him jerk his hips, and he slowed how quickly he was pumping his leaking cock. He didn’t want to cum, not yet. Digging his teeth into his bottom lip, he exhaled through his nostrils, trying to ground himself.

Where was he? Fear. You were afraid of him, of what he’d do to you, as you should be. You weren’t rivals, the implication that you were as powerful as him was outright offensive. His lip curled in disdain.

He pushed you against the wall, tearing off your clothing with little effort, reveling in the way your body shook against his as it was suddenly exposed to the cool air in the vault. He reached from behind, his gloved hands feeling how wet you’d gotten. The squelch of leather squeezing into your wet pussy made him moan out loud, but in his fantasy he was in control, mocking you for being turned on and how easily he was able to fit two–no, now it was three fingers inside you.

Tears streamed down your face as you begged him to be gentle, to slow down. Your legs were shaking as you tried to stay standing despite the overstimulation from his strong fingers curling inside you and pumping in and out. He wouldn’t get exhausted, not from brutally fingering you until you were little more than a blubbering mess. You begged him to stop, to at least have some mercy and give you a break.

“What’s the matter? You told me to come and get you, and here I am,” he taunted. “Don’t think I’m even close to being done with you.”

You cried out in response, or maybe you’d just cum. It didn’t matter, this was about his pleasure. In that moment, watching you sob and struggle got his proverbial rocks off, and he turned your head to capture your lips in a messy kiss. Your mouth stayed open as your desperate protests disappeared down his throat. His tongue curled. He wanted to swallow the noise, digest it, let it sit in his stomach. A wave of pleasure rocked through him. He was close, dangerously so.

He pulled his hand from your cunt, soaked and stretched out for him. Your juices glistened on his gloves, and he broke the kiss to suck each of his fingers as you utilized the time to catch your breath, or at least try to while he gave you this short break. You’d taste perfect, and he’d lick his fingers clean, his mind almost wandering to what it’d be like to eat you out.

Instead, he unbuckled his belt, observing the way you clenched your thighs at the sound of the metal hitting the floor as he rid himself of his spandex bottoms. His hands gripped your hips tightly, and you gasped as he pulled your ass to press against his hard cock. You tried wiggling out of his grasp, and he almost laughed. Stupid girl.

“Beg me not to break you in half right now,” he ordered, his voice low and husky.

You choked out your plea through sobs. “Homelander—don’t do this—don’t—please don’t break me in half.”

“No promises.”

With that, he slammed his cock into your wet cunt, grinning to himself as your eyes squeezed shut and you clawed at the wall, a near-animalistic howl tearing from your throat. He kept a steady, unforgiving pace that made your legs finally give out on you, relying on him wrapping a strong arm around your middle to keep you up. He dipped his head down to press a kiss to your temple.

“C’mon baby, you’ve made it this far,” he purred. “Why not see this thing out to the end?”

He kissed down the side of your face, his lips lingering along your cheek and jaw, covering them in open-mouthed kisses as he moaned into your skin. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and when he glanced at the wound he’d inflicted on your arm, he gave a forceful thrust that had you reaching back to grab some part of him to hold onto.

You were his. You wanted to be his. You wouldn’t have permanently marked his skin if you didn’t. You laid claim to him first. It was only a matter of time before he reciprocated, showing you what you were really in for. Part of him wanted so badly to just kill you, but the part of him that was winning out was buried deep inside your cunt with the intention of filling you with his cum.

Briefly, his mind wandered to keeping you in the tower, maybe in his own suite, tied up pretty like a present for him to come home to at the end of each day, or maybe isolated in one of the supe containment cells where through time and pressure you’d be begging for him to use you, just to get some physical contact.

As much as he could dream, the main event beckoned him back to that bank vault he’d conjured up, his thrusts into you still strong, but more erratic, and he felt your pussy milking his cock as you came, your voice strained as you cried out his name.

Homelander, you can come and get me.

He orgasmed, and you were gone. Back to reality, just him, his hand, and the remote control he’d accidentally crushed. Fuck. He ran his clean hand through his hair, taking another look at the paused frame of you smiling in the security footage.

Maybe he would come and get you.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #the boys x reader #the boys x you #the boys #the boys tv #the boys amazon #homelander

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cherrsnut · 3 months

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Hostage - Chapter 2

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 4.5k

Previous // Next

Chapter 2

The television was on. Very important Capitol hosts, by which Mr Flickerman was included, were wrapping up scenes of previous Hunger Games. Talking about their ‘favorite’ moments, arenas, and even victors.

You were sat on an armchair, your gaze fixated on the scene playing out. Two boys, fighting in a game of death. The hosts never mentioned their names, nor from which district they came, but the bloody moment when that year’s victor was messily cutting the other’s throat paralyzed you. The cut was done from an odd angle, and you murmured a curse when you saw the adrenaline of survival almost decapitate his victim. You cringed your nose and eyebrows, and with your surgical knowledge, you could bet your finger that, that Tribute could have been killed in a cleaner, faster, and more painless way.

You didn’t notice just how your air had been trapped against your throat. So when you released it, your chest felt emptier and cleaner from the bloody mess the hosts were laughing and joking about.

“Ok so, we need to prepare for the Games” Scarlett, the pinkish escort of District 4 appeared from behind you two, grabbing the remote and turning off the screen. Two more people trailed behind her, an older woman with uncontrollable silver curly locks, and a man all too familiar, especially to the civilians of District 4.

“But first things first. Let me introduce you to your mentors. This is Mags” Scarlett pointed at the short elder impatiently. Mags simply smiled brightly at the two of us. “You needn’t me to tell you, I know you already know. But still, I introduce you to Finnick Odair” To this Finnick turned up a smug smile with a silent chuckle rumbling just beneath his Adam’s apple.

Sacreltt went to sit at the crown of the large table. She was impatient and too upbeat, just like a kid waiting in line to ride a rollercoaster for the first time, it sickened you. You went to grab a chair, not before giving another glance at the victor from your District from two years ago. His bronze hair shined with the sun that started to set through the transparent clear window.

Scarlett called for tea to the nearest Avox girl. Specifying for English tea, with exactly two spoonfuls of brown sugar, and for the drink to be scalding hot. Then she grinned and looked at you and Vito again.

“Alright, babes. First things first, tell us about yourselves” Scarlett slightly tilted her head to the side. You noticed just how her makeup was still intact. It was rather simple compared to the other Capitol civilians you had seen. A pink tint with a golden shine added onto her lips, with an eyeshadow of the same hue. A purple eyeliner, as a means to contrast colors, curved around her eyes with the added cat tail coming off the corner of her eye.

You and Vito looked at yourselves, wondering just who to start with. Vito was the first to speak.

“Well, my name is Vito.” he seemed nervous, or perhaps he wasn’t prepared for the question.

“I work with my dad on my family’s prawn farm” he looked up at shyly Scarlett, and you had to focus on not getting distracted by how he nervously peeled onto the skin next to his fingernail.

“My dad, he trained me to be here…” Vito suddenly declared. Leaving you speechless, and questioning as to why he kept it hidden for so many hours. This changed many things for this year’s Hunger Games. And maybe, District 4 would claim another victor this year.

Scarlett’s eyes sparked up in excitement, and she clapped twice without realizing it. You were glad she was at least, happy about one of the Tributes since it's not like you could offer much more.

Finnick eyed Vito for a second before asking. “Your dad trained you?” a passing curiosity crossed his eyes almost playfully. Just then you could truly take in the treasure of a man he was. Sitting across from you, you could see his facial features quite well.

The tan of his skin perfectly complements his blonde hair. The way his cheekbones were so prominent it highlighted his eyes if that was even possible when his eyes were so green and lively like nature itself planted a seed, and a forest grew in the summer breeze inside. And still, it almost seemed hypnotizing just how you wanted to trace your fingers across his cheek, then down to his thin lips that were stuffed with the beautiful color of candied pink. His clean-shaven face revealed the otherwise cute face he had. Not hard looking or intimidating, but soft, and just like his eyes. He reminded you of the summer under the silhouettes of maple trees, of warmth and refreshing sunlight.

“Correct. He used to tell me about how he used to train, and how he wished to have gone to the Hunger Games. I guess he wanted me to live his dream” Vito explained, a perplexed look on your face very much visible to the rest of the people present.

He didn’t add anything else, and you forced a few blinks to take in what he said and try to comprehend as much as you could. Your eyes left to stare off into the wall for barely three seconds, with the only conclusion that some people didn’t deserve to have kids.

“What about you, birdie? Who are you?’” Scarlett spoke in a more reasonable calmer tone than before. But you still struggled to understand the people you are sharing a room with. None of them seemed to be the least concerned about what Vito just said.

You were more lenient with the victors, especially Mags. You supposed it wasn’t great seeing so many Tributes you mentored, just to be brutally assassinated in the arena, and you supposed she’d already seen her fair share of wild parents stories, all with with questionable parenting skills. And Finnick probably was still succumbed to what he had to go through two years ago.

But why was Scarlett so nonchalant about it? It was rather bitter having her in your surroundings at almost all the time. It wasn’t exactly that she was completely indifferent, but she was excited to see one of the most God awful things in the world, laughing along to the cruelty that many children were subjected to, an you would soon join into that statistic.

However, you knew you had to get used to her behaviour sooner or later. Even when everything seemed so nauseating, and you knew it was bad when you could taste the bile coming up for your throat. God, you hated this.

So you ignored your sentiments and carried on. Because now taking pity on the way he was raised was not the right moment. Not when the both of you had been thrown into the same deadly game, when anyone’s background means absolutely nothing to spare your life.

Even if you hate to admit it, Scarlett was right, we need to trace a plan, and we only have a day to take a look over every card we were setting on the table.

“Well…” You started. “You probably already know this, by my name is Y/N L/N. I’m fifteen and I’m a doctor” You took a sneaky look over Scarlett, seeing her energetic face come back, and you retracted a bit. “Well, kind of. I work at a herbal shop. It's just a lot of fishermen get injured during the day, they normally come in when they need immediate care” you explained.

“Immediate care?” questioned the escort’s sparkling eyes. You internally sighed, you could already predict this was going to be a prolonged conversation. Over something that woudn’t be much of use once you’d be dropped off in the arena.

“Yeah.” you confirmed, but you furher continued. “For instance yesterday, a group came rushing to my shop because one of them had slipped and fallen on the deck, hitting his head in the process. They were logically concerned when he wouldn't wake up, even more so when a big bleeding cut appeared from his head” you recalled. If it meant this talk would help in any way, you give away the details of your former life. Still knowing there was barely a chance for you to survive, you still played along the planning game, even when you’d already convinced yourself of your eventual doom.

“That’s a pretty big injury, you can take care of that?” now it was Finnick speaking, his gorgeous face directed at you. It was something being in the presence of someone whose beauty was ethereal, but them speaking to you was a bigger milestone. Your heart thumped hard, and you cursed at yourself for just how embarrassing you were being. You took a mental note, one which consisted of berating yourself infront of the bathroom mirror. It was fine being attracted to someone; it was fine to walk by someone and to instantly be charmed by you. But all in its context, yours was exactly of that in a few remaining days of your death penalty would be finalized. You were going to die.

You supposed then you mind must’ve churned itself. You already accepted this fate. You might as well give yourself the privilege to internally comment about someone’s looks, you at least had that last bit of freedom to do that, right?

“Of course. I also can take a look for infected wounds, just like finding antidotes to poisons. I especially like that one” You told him with a small smile appearing. Oh god, that smile. Right there and then was the evidence of his popularity in the Capitol.

You had to bite your tongue before any of your senseless thoughts spilled all over the table for everyone to hear your most inner provoking thoughts.

Then again silence to your gratitude. The only sounds of the railing echoing against the bullet train. You went to look over at Mags, and noticed just how quiet she was throughout the whole planning, and you supposed she fitted into a more calming human prototype, one where her peacefulness enhanced her rather ‘listener rather than a speaker’ personality type.

She realized your gaze on her, and she returned it with a small smile. With a continuous electric reaction that zip zapped it ways until it reached her gliting eyes.

That warmth her embraced you in stuck with you, and you coudn’t help but find her especially so meltingly cute. All the wrinkles were in full display, and it taught you that even after decades of experience, and traumatizing memories of setting foot in the arena, you could still smile just enough that Heaven’s doors would open up for you without further doubt of your light as feather soul.

But even in her gentle smile, and pure eyes, so pure it was easily to compare of that a riverbank flowing down a green mountain. There was still something behind her skull, a lurking darkness swimming in bitter water.

“I think I know why you look so familiar” Finnick changed to a new topic of conversation. He looked at you pointedly, scanning your every pore and mole hidden along your skin. And he nodded once he made up his mind, a sly smirk coming up to his lips. This had to be illegal.

It wasn’t fair just how easily it made you so jumpy, and you hoped and begged to whatever entity, whatever you were feeling wasn’t reflected on the mirror of your body.

“I’m pretty sure you bandaged me up once, I remember going to an herbal store when I was younger when I cut myself with a fishhook,” he said. His smile should absolutely be prohibited for being under some sort of national scale threat, because the way his eyes landed on yours with that slow creeping smile made your heart trip hard… several times. But then you had to keep reminding yourself. Stop. Being. Weird.

You needed to think straight, freezing your heart and mind. If you could you’d punch yourself, and open your eyes at what was at stake here. A few more slow breaths and you’d be able to consume yourself with reason, at least you tried to convince yourself of that. But it was hard, the screaming helplessness surrounding you like a heavy poisonous fog, choking and hurting you with the sole purpose to remind you it was just days away for you fight for your own survival; and then, Finnick was the whispering thoughts. He was the only thing taking you out from a self-absored battling arena, almost like a human stoned oasis. You never has spoken to him, at least not that you oculd recall, but if it meant a pretty stranger would be the one to distract your distressing thoughts, then so be it.

“How old were you though? Edna never let me touch her things until I was nine. Which quite frankly never stopped me from using it behind closed doors…” Finnick chuckled at that last comment. He was slowly removing the bitter taste left on my tongue with his sweet presence. But to you, it was beginning to be a little too much. Having his attention was considered a precious treasure in itself, and you weren’t blind as to why. The way he had some sort underlying flirt in his normal talk was starting to put you on edge. His very own voice was just like caramel that melted in your tongue, and there was no dial it tasted just like high-class pastries.

The very moment you realized that this was in his nature, you were able to calm down slightly. There was no point getting internally worked up when he didn’t mean anything further other than to make conversation. A sigh of relief escaped escaped your mouth.

“Is that so? I suppose it must have been Edna then…Edna was it?” he trailed off with a more relaxed smile. Yup, you were confident to state that his entire being was a nuclear weapon, and you should fear the day they’d try to put him in use, because you were sure all of Panem would be doomed.

It was increasingly becoming harder trying to talk to someone in a noirmal conversation with your running mind.

“Very much correct” You leaned back against your chair, to try and find a more comfortable spot. Vito gave an odd look at the exchange of words given between me and the victor, the very same you plasmated earlier. One of indecipherable shock, and you coudn’t blame Vito for the way he was feeling.

“I. Just. Had. The. Best. Idea” Scarlett stood up, she looked like she was talking to herself in her usual loud manner. Her abrupt pauses were very much loved and used in everyday form by the people in the Capitol, they simply loved that sweet exaggeration they coudn’t get over. “No one will see this coming,” she exclaimed in excitement, and unlike her she mumbled her words out. “Y/N, the Healer of our Capitol’s Darling” She made a movement with her hands, just as if displaying the front title from a big article, and every word that left her mouth, the more she fell in love with your marketing strategy she just came up.

“Well, actu-” you tried to put out a single sentence. But Scarlett’s ideas were much louder than the what hjappened in reality.

“If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes” She went to walk away, presumably to her room. So happily she was one step away from dancing around the salon car to her sleeping chamber.

You exhaled a sigh, not in the mood to refute Scarlett, so you let her go on with her planning.

“Well, as long as I gain sponsors, I suppose it’s alright for me then” you absentmindedly talked. You felt a yawn crawl out of your mouth, so you went to cover it while rolling your eyes to the window. You were pleasantly surprised to find the beautiful view of the night. The moon and the stars shone across the sea, painting an alluring picture over it.

“You tired? Maybe you should head back to sleep?” Vito’s voice is concerned. You looked at him, still in a slight trance from the yawn, and smiled briefly at him. “Don’t worry. I’m fine”.

Just then, the red clothing of the Avox came into view. She was carrying a ceramic tray, traced with golden line art. Placed on top, where the cute tea cup along with the teapot and and a differently designed cup for its special use of storing sugar cubes. You concluded the ceramic products were all bought as a designed set.

The large teapot had a trunk of that of the elephant you have only seen in adventure books targeted to children. You respected the artist’s innovative cheeky drawing on it. Many types of birds, which reminded you of the representation of the higher class of society, things like peacocks and cranes showing their beautiful feathers, all in the shimmering brushstroke gold. The five teacups followed suit with the same design.

Along with drinks though, the Avox seemed to bring an extra treat. Two layers of plates hung, and above were many pastries you’d never thought you’d be able to digest. Your eye had caught one shortcake specifically, one where the top was filled with freshly cut strawberries, glazed over with molten sugar, its provocative appearance rumbled your belly with eagerness.

Then after placing everything on the table, the Avox gave a knowing look and walked off with the tray, presumably to the kitchen, or perhaps to knock on Scarlett's room and give her the requested drink.

Your attention was back to the contents of the table. Not wanting to come off as rude, but very impatient to try them out. You looked over the people’s faces. Vito was reclined against the chair, a gloomy expression on his face, and you didn’t need to ask to know why.

So you stopped. And while your belly was moaning for that sugary treat, you ignored it. A sensation similar to guilt washed over your chest. You supposed you wished you felt like him, to be worried about the arena. He felt like he was being skinned by the tumultuous thoughts of his, and tlhough differently, you understood that emotinal pain. However, what set you and Vito apart was that since stepping your foot on the train, you had been accepting your impending death seantence.

Perhaps you hadn’t truly taken in the situation, maybe the idea you were going to fight in the arena was so disorienting, your psychology couldn’t fully comprehend it. It hadn’t connected the wires, and once you’d be face to face with the rest, you’d probably sink and drown in remorse for not taking this situation as you should have.

The sleepless nights you’ve been having since the first Reaping you attended left you wondering if you’d be trapped in this hunting competition. Maybe you exhausted your brain with so many different scenarios, that it had simply got used to the idea of your death.

Just maybe that’s why you took more importance of the delicious snacks you’d never imagined you’d taste, because this is more of a shock than the Games itself. And you could imagine for Vito, who has family and friends beside him, it was much harder to take in. Because for you, the only thing you were leaving behind were just physical, instead of Vito, which were the built relationships he created long his nlife. The memories, the feelings, and the what could’ve been in the future with their company.

You touched his shoulder, rubbed it slightly to get his attention. His dark-as-coal eyes roamed to yours, worried traces evident on the wrinkles he formed. He didn’t say much else, and he found himself being unable to utter a word, not knowing what to say. You gulped down nervously.

You didn’t quite know what to do in this type of situation. You normally would scurry off and cry alone, but that was because you were used to your lonely life. Edna was your only friend, even adopting as a grandma figure over the decade you had spent together. And even so, she wasn’t a very sentimental person, and you were unable to read off her emotions. Naturally, you eventually learned that side of her, and you kept repeating to yourself you didn’t need anyone to comfort you, that you were just fine to deal with yourself.

But for Vito it must be different, he grew up in with people surrounding him. When you climbed up the car that led you to the train, you were able to catch fragments of his family. His father was there along with his mother, a baby in her doting arms. Three little girls, all with the same hair color as Vito's, waved him goodbye, with tear-stricken eyes and red cheeks.

He always had someone to talk to when needed to share something, and even if he didn’t, he was used to the physical comfort you lacked.

He looked away, staring off to the nightly ocean. You forced yourself to be that source of comfort that his sister must have provided him, because his pitiful expression was simply just too much for you.

“I hope this isn’t strange-” you cut yourself. You got reminded of the way Philip comforted Emi earlier that day. And as he looked up to see what you meant, you got up from your chair and leaned against him. A quick peck over his creased eyebrow while you hand found stability from his jaw, your index finger pressed over his cheek. You never saw his look of surprise, and if you did it would probably make you turn back and awkwardly sit back down on your chair from embarrassment. But you didn't, so with your chin resting on his shoulders, you pushed him further into your embrace. Your arms wrapping around his waist.

You didn’t say anything, and you obligated your body to relax from the physical touch you had avoided for so many years, for his sake. Because Vito was the one who mattered right now, and not your foreign feeling.

You closed your eyes. Your arm brushing passed to hold the nape of his neck. “Everything will be alright” you whispered into his ear. Even though you were copying everything Philip said to his sister, you still meant every word from your beating heart.

He wrapped his arms around you, and in doing so he pressed himself more into your body, in an attempt to hide himself from the rest. His tanned hands went along to grab your shirt from your back. His breaths were becoming shakier, and in some instances you felt him hiccup into your shoulder, whilst also trying to control his ragged breathings. You drew circles around his back for more added comfort, tickling his back with the phantom touch of your fingers slowly flowing around the body of his back.

“You’ll be fine” you whispered again, brushing his ears with the warmth of your breath. You slightly removed yourself from him, finding more room to untangle yourself from him. You noticed how his grip on you had become stubbornly stronger. But you didn't mind. Not when you hand crawled up to his hair and cupped the back of it. Your fingers laced with his onyx hair. You faced him, giving him another peck of his cheekbone. And you found yourself with the salty only tears could make, no matter how salty the sea may be, you let his pure tears flow down your taste glands and welcomed it into your stomach.

He hadn’t cried much you realized, maybe just two tears, one for each eye. And while you brushed his head, you felt his breath deepen and exhale, trying to calm himself down as well.

You stood up, your fingers planting over his jaw and nape. Tilting his head upward to you. You could see the shine of his tear river going down to his cheek. A small smile, one you hoped to encouraging, all the while you dried his tears with your thumbs.

His eyes locked with yours, traces of humidity on his lashes as he looked up at you. A shining sclera evident with the way the light bulb reflected on his eyes.

“I’ll make sure of it. '' Your smile widens, showing just slightly your front teeth previously hidden by your lips of affection.

You traced a few messy hair strands behind his ear, and he leaned deeper into your hand’s touch. He suddenly got stuck to you. He missed the warmth your body provided him, how hidden from everyone he felt, and how it made him feel like a little child being protected from the world’s cruelty.

His head was pressed against your chest, and you only chuckled, a few tones lower than your usual voice. You pet his head, sliding from the crown of your head to his neck, just to put it back up, and repeat that move over and over again. You closed your eyes, and a closed-lipped smile appeared in your features, forgetting the upcoming Games. He needed you to be strong for him, and today, you’d protect him from whatever threat lurked behind the dark corners “I promise” you gave him an oath with the very intention to keep it.

The victors sat across from them looking at the two Tributes. Mags looked over at Finnick, and just repeated what you had just done, she placed her hand over his shoulder. She grabbed onto it tighter, her look reflected on his green eyes. Mags closed her lips and eyed him more intensely. Finnick’s frown was present, and he interlocked his eyes with his mentor. She gave him a small smile, and slightly nodded at her, reassuring she needn’t be as concerned about him.

Finnick played with his fingers as he watched the both of you. He just felt something break seeing the both of you, like the only line that kept him sane, was suddenly cut and he fell to a dark abyss, one filled with the monsters he dreams about. He gulped down hard. And something in him wished for your empathic arms to wrap around him. He for once wanted to feel small and well taken care of, he wanted your words to help him cope at night. But he regretted how that could be disturbing for eyes of others, he was your mentor, and you were a Tribute who was most likely going to die soon anyway. He lamented just then, just how many souls, as clean as the white feathers of doves, would be taken for the Capitol’s entertainment.

Mags kept her gaze on the child she had started to consider her only son. She felt troubled over him, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty she couldn't erase his fragile and hurt soul.

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Heyaaa, hope you're having a wonderful day bestiess. I hope you're liking this Hostage so far. Just wanted to say two things

I could start preparing a Taglist for you all if you want to of course <3

Second, the next chapters are going to be DEEP, like a lot of emotional turmoil, so ye, be prepared.

#finnick #finnick odair fanfic #thg fanfiction #finnick x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x you #the hunger games #thg #thg finnick #thg x reader

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lovesickonmybed · 1 month

Text

crazy fuckin' phenomenon | 18+

masterlist | info about palestine | donate to gaza

pairing | dbf!joel miller x reader

synopsis | after your dad abandons joel to watch instagram reels in the bathroom, an argument over the remote ends in a new discovery

warnings | excessive use of bigfoot as a plot device, dbf!joel, explicit sexual content, smut, age gap (20s/late 30s), play fighting with sexual tension, wedgies, humiliation, degradation, kink discovery, semi brat tamer!joel, almost getting caught, blue balls

word count | 2030

a/n | this was co-written with one of my favorite people ever but they wish to remain anonymous! this was so so so fun to work on and i think it really shows. i urge you to not buy any of the last of us games, including the remaster as the creator, neil druckmann is a zionist. the second game is based off of the israeli occupation in palestine and you can learn more about that here.

“Joel I swear to fucking god if I have to watch one more episode of Finding Bigfoot, I’m clawing my eyes out.”

There’s only so much bickering between Matt Moneymaker and Ranae Holland that you can take, and apparently, you’ve found your limit. Approximately five minutes. Joel had come over to hang out with your father, they had planned to watch some war movie because they’re fucking old, but, in typical dad fashion, your father had gotten up halfway through to use the bathroom. After 30 minutes, Joel couldn’t wait anymore and switched the TV to Animal Planet so he could watch Finding Bigfoot reruns. That was two hours ago, and you’ve now spent an hour on the couch with Joel, pleading for him to change it. Of course, your TV decides to stop working the one time your dad actually wants to use the living room TV. So, yeah, you can be a little bit of a drama queen.

“If you can drag your old man off ‘a the shitter, we can go back to watchin’ Come and See. Three fuckin’ hours, startin’ to think he pulled an Elvis.”

“Seriously, Joel,” you bellyache, slumping back into the couch. “Dunno why they’re looking for Bigfoot when he’s clearly right fucking here.” You shoot him a glare from across the couch.

“Uh huh,” Joel drones, either not listening or either not giving a fuck while he watches one of the camouflaged hosts do a shitty imitation of a sasquatch mating call.

Well, since he’s distracted…

With the stealth of a super spy, you lunge over Joel’s lap towards the side table, reaching past discarded beer bottles and hunting magazines for the hijacked remote. You snatch it right up, victorious for a few seconds at most.

“Now what in the hell do you think you’re doin’? Gonna put on fuckin’ Euphoria or something?” You don’t have time to come up with a witty response before you’re pinned down to the couch cushions. Joel’s hulking form hangs over you, shoulders broad and his hair messy as he gives you a smug look. Cursing the cavewoman part of you that gets butterflies in your stomach from how easily he overpowers you, you writhe underneath him.

“Joel what the fuck? Get off me you old fuck!” You groan, grunting in frustration as you try to maneuver Joel off of you. You’re weak as shit but you remember something from the self defense class you took in high school. You knee Joel in the chest, causing him to fall back, giving you a chance to roll off the couch and onto your knees. You look back as he coughs and gasps, trying to catch his breath.

“Oh you little shit!” Joel groans, getting off the couch and looming over you like a killer in a slasher fic. He smirks down at you, tilting his head to the side like Micheal Myers.

You feel your heart start to race and your cunt start to pulse. You turn back and start to crawl away but Joel leans down and grabs your ankle, pulling you back to him. You definitely feel like you’re in a slasher film now.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re not gettin’ away that easily…needa stop acting like such a little brat. Your daddy was never that good at discipline.”

You don’t know what you’re expecting. But Joel’s warm hands sneaking down the waistband of your denim cutoffs is not it. You cry out as his fingers loop around your purple thong, drawing it midway up your back. Pain sears up your ass, and much more dangerous, pleasure tingles in your cunt when the front of your thong slips between your folds. Kicking your legs, you smack your palm into the carpet underneath you. “Joel!” you gasp out in surprise.

Maddeningly, Joel chuckles at your struggle underneath him. He shifts to straddle your upper thighs, weighing you down even more. “What, ain’t ever had a wedgie before?” Another sharp tug makes your head drop to the floor. You fight not to give into your body’s base desire to arch your back. “With how often you run your mouth, I’m surprised your friends never ran you up the flagpole in the schoolyard.”

You scrunch your fingers in the fiber of the carpet, trying to anchor yourself to anything other than the searing pain in your ass and cunt. It doesn’t work. You can’t focus on anything but this cruel and unusual punishment. Your dad’s best friend, wedgieing you into obedience.

Somehow, he pulls even harder. All of that contracting work isn’t for nothing. You’re silently moaning now, mouth open and your forehead dipped to the floor, desperate pants flying in and out of your mouth. “Hmmm,” he hums. “Wonder if I could get these over your head. Bet you’d have an easier time watchin’ my show with that.”

“Please,” you rasp. Your brain wants you to beg for him to let you go. Your cunt wants you to beg for him to be meaner. To go all the way and snap them over your head, leaving you ass up and face down, split in half for his enjoyment. You short circuit before you can get any further into the plea, because he’s pulling your panties even higher in brutal bursts.

“Begging ain’t gonna help, honey. You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.”

The waistband gets halfway up your neck before Joel gives up. The tension in your body lessons as you melt into the floor. “You ain’t off the hook yet, missy,” Joel says, smirk evident in his voice.

He guides your arms through the leg holes of your panties, and you moan helplessly as he snaps them over your shoulders, leaving you in the equivalent of a wedgie bodysuit. You feel like you’re being split in half.

You can’t help it. You roll your hips, grinding into your panties and the floor. The pressure is everywhere and it’s perfect. Perfect against your burning asshole, your leaking cunt, and your throbbing clit. Every movement also propels you up against Joel, something you can’t even bring yourself to remember right now. You’re wet – unbelievably fucking wet. “What the hell are you doing to me?” you whine, still humping the floor as heat blossoms in your core.

Joel stiffens above you. “Are you…” He clears his throat, a rough noise. “Are you fuckin’ into this?”

The question alone makes you whimper.

Every rock of your hips has the wedgie slicing deeper, pulling you apart piece by piece from your most sensitive place. You arch your back properly, that way every time you go up, you can feel Joel’s bulge against your rear. Joel’s quickly hardening bulge as he watches you lose all of your dignity while humping the floor with your panties rammed up your ass.

“Shut the fuck up, Joel! I’m not into this…I just-” He cuts you off by flicking the string of your thong. Tellingly, you moan out.

“Just what? Just get off on getting split in half by your fuckin’ panties?”

You try to speak but he shoves you forward, pressing your face against the carpet and pinning you down, “Just shut your mouth, don’t want your daddy findin’ ya like this do ya? God, just imagine what he’d say…. Seein’ his precious ‘lil girl gettin’ all wet from a well-deserved wedgie up these plump fuckin’ cheeks.” His hand glides down between your ass cheeks and slaps against your denim-covered bottom. You jolt, moaning where he’s pressing your face into the carpet. You’ll be surprised if your drool isn’t soaking it.

“Joooooel,” you pout, still fighting underneath him. You kick your feet, and they barely graze the small of Joel’s back, a sort of flexibility you can’t afford very much of right now. “Can’t… can’t take much more. Hurts.”

“I’ll tell you what you can take, you little brat. You’re lucky you’re not hangin’ up by these,” Joel grabs the waistband of your light wash denim shorts, using it to lift you up off the floor while you grasp at the carpet in a poor attempt to stay on the ground.

It doesn’t work. Joel hauls you up, grabbing the front and back of your wedgie. You can’t stop yourself from moaning again, dimly away that your dad is still in the bathroom and still could walk out at any given time. You hope Joel’s good ear can hear if the toilet flushes, because you can’t hear a damn thing over your own pulse rocketing in your ears.

He yanks the back of your thong, and then the front, effectively flossing your ass crack and cunt. Your hands fly down to your thighs, but it’s not like you can do anything, because the next thing Joel does is lift you fully off the ground. You cry out, hastily clamping a hand over your mouth, and decide three things back to back to back.

One – fuck Joel Miller.

Two – fuck Joel Miller.

Three – you might actually really like this.

The third one you realize when you look down to see your arousal seeping through the denim. The humiliation stings on your cheeks with a sort of heat you’ve never felt in your life. He bounces you in the damn thing, pulling you up and down with a strength you’d never fathomed he could have.

You can’t stop yourself from grinding down when he brings you up, pulling your panties even deeper into your ass and cunt. You whine and grab at Joel’s forearm for purchase, nearly fucking yourself against the thin fabric that’s cutting you in half. Joel’s satisfaction at it all, the way you can feel him getting sadistically hard behind you from your cocktail of pain and pleasure, is what truly makes it for you. You buck against your panties even harder, letting out a truly ragged moan when it brushes your clit just right.

“You’re taking this so good, ain’t even cryin’ or nothin’. Should I hang you up? Get your eyes just as wet as your cunt? Could you even take it, or are you gonna cream your pretty little panties before I even get you on a hook?”

The answer is yes – you are going to cream your panties before he gets you on a hook.

Your orgasm rips through you violently, lighting you on fire as you hang in suspension and just take it. Ass burning and your cunt dripping like Niagara Falls, you clench and grind on your panties as desperately as you can to prolong your orgasm. Your eyes water, heart beating out of control. Joel’s hand cups your mound, heel rubbing against where your clit pulses. You’re still tremoring by the time you come down. Everything feels like it’s in technicolor, easily marking the most powerful orgasm of your life.

You realize Joel has deposited you back on the ground. It’s a miracle you’re even standing at all with how limp-boned you are. Chest rising and falling, you stumble back around to face Joel, whose cock is straining against his jeans. You’re about to put him out of his misery, not even taking the time to pick your wedgie as your hand flies towards his belt when you hear it –

Wooooooooshgluglgulglug.

You take your wedgie out like you’re racing to get rid of a ticking time bomb, frantically yanking it down your shoulders and tucking the strings into your waistband. Still burning up from your orgasm, blatantly freshly fucked, you give Joel a half-apologetic look (he had given you a hellish wedgie, after all) and scamper upstairs.

You barely acknowledge your dad as you brush past him. “Hey sweetie, goin’ back up?”

“Mhm,” you get out, almost tripping up the stairs.

“Hm, wonder what’s wrong with her,” you hear your dad reflect to Joel.

“No idea,” Joel says.

You’re about to close your door when you hear more commentary from downstairs. Your dad’s voice. “Woah there, man. Got a thing for bigfoot?”

Your eyebrows shoot to your goddamn hairline as your heartbeat spikes and your brain fills in the gaps.

“Fear boners, crazy fuckin’ phenomenon,” Joel says, just as casual as ever. Yeah. Crazy fucking phenomenon is right.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic

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kjack89 · 5 months

Text

The Wikipedia Page

For the Hoeshold <3

E/R, modern AU, developing relationship, all shenanigans.

“Can you fucking believe this?” Enjolras said, incredulous, staring down at his phone.

Combeferre sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man who was about to enter into a conversation he knew he would deeply regret. “For the billionth time,” he said, with the patience of a saint, “when you’re looking at your phone, I can’t see what you’re looking at.”

Enjolras scowled and thrust his phone at Combeferre. “Here,” he said shortly. “Look at this shit.”

Combeferre glanced down at the phone, his brow furrowing. “It’s a Wikipedia page for – oh.”

Enjolras nodded grimly. “Yeah,” he said. “Exactly. Someone made a fucking Wikipedia page for me.”

“Of you, more like,” Combeferre murmured, scanning the page with an almost academic interest. “And not a very good one. Some facts are wrong.”

Enjolras’s scowl deepened and he yanked his phone back. “So now they’re just making up lies about me?” he seethed as he scanned the article. His own brow furrowed and he glanced up at Combeferre. “I don’t see anything inaccurate here.”

Combeferre frowned and took Enjolras’s phone back. “Well, for starters, it says you’ve been brought up on charges of domestic terrorism—“

“Which is true,” Enjolras interjected.

“You’ve been accused of domestic terrorism, but never indicted,” Combeferre corrected. “Thankfully for everyone involved, there’s a bit of a difference.”

Enjolras smirked. “You and the US Attorney’s office would probably disagree on that.”

“Secondly,” Combeferre continued, the long-suffering tone of regret back in his voice, “it says that you graduated from Harvard in 2016.”

Enjolras suddenly seemed unable to meet Combeferre’s eyes. “Oh,” he said. “Right.”

Combeferre’s eyes narrowed. “And of course,” he said, “you were kicked out of Harvard your senior year.” He paused before adding pointedly, “Right?”

“About that,” Enjolras started, and Combeferre gave him a look.

“You really lied about getting kicked out of Harvard?”

Enjolras’s face was roughly the same color as his usual hoodie. “I mean, I did get in trouble,” he mumbled, “and I wasn’t allowed to attend graduation.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Because that’s even remotely the same thing.”

Enjolras’s flush deepened, and he quickly attempted to change the subject. “At least that narrows it down somewhat as to who created this asinine Wikipedia page,” he said, “since very few people know about Harvard.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t take a genius to contact the alumni office and put two and two together,” Combeferre said dryly.

“But that would require someone to know my full legal name,” Enjolras countered. “And that list is even smaller.”

“Well, while you obsess over who put this page together, I’m going to be over here reconciling the fact that you’ve been lying to me for the past nine years,” Combeferre muttered.

Enjolras looked shame-faced before he paused, his own eyes narrowing. “Hang on,” he said. “You’ve done background checks on every single one of us, myself included, and this absolutely would’ve shown up.”

“So?”

“So what are you actually mad about, since you’ve known all along?” Enjolras didn’t even wait for Combeferre to answer. “You had a bet going for how long it would be before I came clean.”

He didn’t pitch it as a question, and Combeferre didn’t bother with a denial. “Yeah, and if you’d have held it together for another year, I’d’ve won,” he said sourly. “I took the over on a decade.”

“Do I even want to know how many of you were in on this bet?” Wisely, Combeferre stayed silent and Enjolras groaned and put his head in his hands. “Maybe no one will see it?” he said, a little desperately. “After all, our friends have lives, or at least better things to do than stalk Wikipedia.”

Combeferre made a small noise of dissent. “Has our conversation taught you nothing about underestimating our friends?”

Enjolras just sighed heavily. “Then maybe they’ll go gentle on me.”

“And now I think you’re overestimating our friends.”

— — — — —

By the time of the meeting that night, everyone had seen the Wikipedia page. And seemingly, it was all any of them could talk about.

“Can we all just agree,” Courfeyrac said, with actual tears of mirth running down his face, “that it was a stroke of absolute genius to title a section, ‘Personal Life’ and then leave it as ‘This section is being created, or is in the process of extensive expansion or major restructuring’?”

“Personally, I’m a huge fan of the blind quote they used in the section on his politics,” Bossuet said, grinning.

“Where Enjolras is described as, and I quote, ‘so far left that he’s basically circled back around to authoritarianism’?”

Joly sounded positively gleeful, and Bahorel guffawed loudly. “Isn’t that what that idiot wrote about Enjolras in The Epoch Times?”

“That’s how it made it on the page,” Jehan said helpfully. “There was a news story a few years back about an author who couldn’t get her Wikipedia page updated to reflect her divorce until she stated it in an interview.” Bahorel gave him a look of surprise and Jehan shrugged. “I did some amateur Wikipedia editing back in college.”

Enjolras sighed heavily, staring determinedly at the ceiling. “Can we please,” he said through clenched teeth, “talk about literally anything else?”

Naturally, everyone ignored him.

“I really feel like we’re overlooking the best part,” Feuilly said. “Which, of course, is the bit where his personality is described as, quote, ‘has many red flags’.”

“The question, of course,” Combeferre interjected for the first time, “is if the page is referring to Enjolras’s collection of physical flags that are red, or his many charming personality traits that many could consider red flags.”

“Traitor,” Enjolras said through clenched teeth.

“I think the real question is whether someone—” Joly didn’t bother with subtlety as he nudged Grantaire while emphasizing the word ‘someone’. “—would consider the amount of red flags to be a red flag.”

Grantaire pretended to consider it. “I can only speak for myself, but I’d call it a beige flag.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together hard enough to make his dentist weep, glaring at Grantaire. “You’ve been awfully quiet until that little quip.”

Grantaired leaned back in his seat in a somewhat self-satisfied way, raising his beer bottle in a mock toast. “There is such a thing as gilding the lily, and frankly, I’m not sure I could top this.”

“That has literally never stopped you before.”

Grantaire just winked at him, and Enjolras sighed. “Very well,” he said, resignedly, aiming for dignified and falling drastically short. “You all keep having fun at my expense, but if we’re not going to get any work done, I’m going home.”

He gathered his stuff in a huff and marched out with his head held high. At least, that’s what he told himself, though in reality, he probably looked more like a petulant child stomping away from the playground to take his ball and go home.

He had sulked his way about half a block away from the Musain when Grantaire called, “Hey, wait up.”

Enjolras glanced over his shoulder, scowling. “Come to mock me some more?”

“Arguably speaking, we’re all making fun of the Wikipedia page,” Grantaire reasoned as he fell into step next to Enjolras.

Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Which is clearly making fun of me.”

Grantaire cleared his throat delicately. “If you’d like to count yourself amongst those who take offense to the truth…”

“Asshole,” Enjolras said, but for some reason, his foul mood was lifted, at least slightly.

Grantaire glanced sideways at him. “So, uh, dare I ask why, exactly, a Wikipedia page posting mostly accurate information about you has got a stick so far up your ass you can taste wood?”

Enjolras snorted. “Poetic.”

“I try,” Grantaire said. “But seriously, the reaction does seem a bit over the top. If it was Courf, sure, I’d expect this level of histrionics, but you’re normally a better sport about this sort of thing.”

“That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me,” Enjolras said mildly.

“Probably because I’m lying, you’re a notorious drama queen and frankly, I’m surprised that little detail didn’t make your Wikipedia page,” Grantaire said cheerfully, and Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his bark of surprised laughter. “That being said, clearly something about it is bothering you, and I figured buttering you up might help.”

Enjolras’s smile faded. “Honestly?” he said. “What I’m most upset about is that it’s about me, with barely a footnote about our work.”

“Right,” Grantaire said. He glanced at Enjolras again. “And naturally, that upsets you because…?”

“Because it’s not about me!” Enjolras burst, his frustration spilling over. “Because it’s never been about me. The whole point of quasi-anonymity is that anyone could be me. Anyone could step into this role and try to change the world.”

Grantaire let out a low whistle. “And you called me poetic,” he said. Enjolras didn’t smile and Grantaire nudged him gently with his elbow. “I think you’re forgetting that while you may have been aiming for anonymity, you’re still an incredibly recognizable figure who hasn’t exactly been camera-shy.”

“Sure, my face may be well known, but not my name, and certainly not my face and my name together,” Enjolras said hotly.

Grantaire was quiet for so long that Enjolras had to look over at him to make sure he was still there. Then, Grantaire shook his head. “The rare valid point,” he said, more to himself than Enjolras.

Enjolras just sighed. As much as he had planned on sulking for the rest of the night, he was finding it more and more difficult with each passing step, as if just venting about it had made it slightly better.

Or maybe that was more about who he’d been venting to.

“Anyway,” he said bracingly, “I’ll get over it, I just need to, you know, feel my feelings.”

“And you’re being very brave about it,” Grantaire assured him.

Enjolras laughed again. “Well, you can head back to the Musain.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Grantaire said solemnly. “You’re in a fragile state of mind. I better make sure you get home safely.”

Even though Enjolras rolled his eyes, he couldn’t help but smile, just slightly. “You’re missing out on some prime comedy.”

Grantaire winked at him. “You forget,” he said smugly, “I’ve got a phone with 5G and an entire walk to do a dramatic reading.”

Enjolras groaned. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“That’s for me to know and you to spend the rest of your walk worrying about.”

“Asshole,” Enjolras repeated, but he was laughing.

And besides, he suspected Grantaire wasn’t serious.

— — — — —

Over the next few weeks, things with Enjolras’s Wikipedia page took a turn – for the weird.

Despite Enjolras’s multiple attempts to get the page shut down, it continued on its merry way. And worse, it kept being added to by the same anonymous Wikipedia editor who had created it. But bizarrely, while it had originally been mostly accurate, it was quickly becoming flooded with complete bullshit.

Each new edit brought with it a different fabricated detail about Enjolras, some of which were close to the truth (“Enjolras came out publicly via instagram post in the lead-up to the Obergefell ruling” – Enjolras had come out publicly in the tenth grade via Facebook, or, if he was being truly specific, in 2nd Grade when Kaitlyn H. had tried to kiss him and Enjolras had screamed and hidden in the classroom closet), and some of which were just completely wrong (“He wrestled in high school as a heavyweight, weighing in at 250 pounds” and “Described as shorter than average (5’6”) with shoulder-length brown hair, police have been actively searching for Enjolras and his associates for almost a decade”).

Well, that last bit was true, but not so much the description.

Which, based on Enjolras’s now extensive knowledge of Wikipedia’s editing rules, was how whoever was editing his page was getting away with it: by linking to news sources that were also incorrect. For instance, his instagram post had been falsely called his coming out by The Advocate’s round up of notable activists. The story about wrestling was a hilarious mix-up of a picture of Enjolras from a riot with a caption about a high school wrestler in the local paper.

And so on and so forth – each edit was painstaking in being both false and, somehow, verifiable. Which would have been brilliant if it hadn’t given away the entire game.

Because a few days later, one final falsehood was posted.

And there was only one other person in the entire world who knew this one.

“Enjolras’s first brush with the law came in high school, when he was charged as a minor in possession of alcohol, but his father allegedly asked the local authorities to drop the charges,” Enjolras said without preamble, brushing past Grantaire into his apartment.

“Normally I’m really good at keeping up with your trains of thought,” Grantaire said mildly, closing the front door. “But I will need some additional context.”

“My MIP,” Enjolras said, glowering at Grantaire. “The one that I told you about in confidence because you had confided in me about your struggles with drugs and alcohol—”

“That’s a very polite way of putting it,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras ignored him. “The one that only you knew about. Somehow it ended up on my Wikipedia page.”

Grantaire looked a little bit like he wanted to bolt out the door he’d just closed. “Combeferre might have found it in your background check,” he said weakly.

“No, because the charges were dismissed, but not because of my father,” Enjolras said impatiently. “Which means the only person it could’ve been was you.”

Grantaire paled but didn’t try to deny it, and Enjolras took a deep breath before saying, “And which means the only question that I have is why.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go live,” Grantaire blurted.

“What?”

Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth. “The Wikipedia page. It wasn’t supposed to be published.”

Enjolras blinked. “So it was you.”

Even though he had known it, he hadn’t really reconciled himself with it until hearing it more or less confirmed. Grantaire nodded. “It started as a joke,” he said. “We’d had a fight, I don’t even remember what about, and you said my sources were one rung below Wikipedia. So I figured, y’know, I’d show you what Wikipedia’s sources are like.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Which was for the best, since Grantaire barreled onward. “I never actually intended on publishing it, but I clicked the wrong button and didn’t even notice until, well, you did. And at that point, putting the genie back in the bottle was pretty much out of the question.”

“But then—” Enjolras broke off, still struggling to put his thoughts into anything resembling coherence. Of the million questions he had, the only one he could manage was, “Why all the edits?”

Grantaire shrugged. “It occurred to me that I could at least use this accidental platform for some good.”

“And there’s some good in telling the whole world that I’m 5 foot 6, 250 pounds and have shoulder-length brown hair?” Enjolras said dryly.

“I mean…” Grantaire shrugged again. “I figured it may help the FBI in their search for you.”

He said it innocently, and Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “And why the hell would they believe that description?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Grantaire said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “After all, it’s on Wikipedia.”

Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his own smile as realization hit. “You laid quite the convincing trail of inaccuracies for them.”

Grantaire ducked his head. “Well,” he said, “never let it be said I did nothing for the Cause.”

“For the Cause?”

Grantaire met his eyes, his smile crooked. “For the only cause I believe in, anyway.”

There were a great number of things that Enjolras could say to that, but there was only one thing he wanted to do.

And so he did, closing the space between him and Grantaire, reaching out to tip Grantaire’s chin just slightly upward to kiss him. Grantaire’s hand closed in his shirt, pulling him even closer as his mouth opened against Enjolras’s with a sigh.

Suddenly, Grantaire laughed, his lips curving into a grin against Enjolras’s. “Who knew a fucking Wikipedia page was all it would take,” he said, with something like wonder.

“Please,” Enjolras murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “If you’d’ve tried this even six months ago, I would’ve just kicked your ass.”

“So what’s changed?”

So much more than Enjolras could ever articulate, the least of which was that he finally had tangible evidence of just how dedicated Grantaire could be – when it was something he cared about, at least.

But he settled for saying, after kissing Grantaire’s once more, “My height and weight, apparently.”

Grantaire laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “I suppose there is that.”

“By the way?”

“Yeah?” Grantaire said, his voice barely a whisper.

“If I see anything about this on Wikipedia, I really will kick your ass.”

Grantaire just laughed again. “Deal.”

— — — — —

The next day, there was a single addition to the Wikipedia page:

Spouse: Patria (m. 2023)

#exr #grantaire #enjolras #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #fanfiction #modern au #les miserables #developing relationship #wikipedia #hijinks and shenanigans #misinformation

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akariamai · 1 year

Text

Home

Part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Word Count: 1401

You were luckier than most. A wealthy family contracted you to fix up the bus they bought and convert it into their dream home. You managed to construct every aspect the family wanted inside the double-decker bus then the apocalypse hit. The members of your small town, including the family who paid you, left without a single thought. They left with nothing but the clothes on their backs while heading out with military soldiers. You stayed behind, taking the bus with you, and becoming self-sufficient from then on.

You scavenged through the abandoned stores searching for anything remotely useful to survival. Stocking up the pantry to its fullest and filling the closet with ammunition, guns, medicine and general supplies. You began to work.

The perishable meats and vegetables were going to go bad soon. Without constant refrigeration, they’ll rot swiftly. You thanked the heavens, the freezer the family wanted was large enough to stalk up. Shrimp, crayfish, lean fish, chicken and steaks were concealed in an airtight zip lock bag and left in the freezer. On the outside of the bags contained notes of the dates they’ll last within the freezer. All should last months and hopefully you’ll manage to stretch every bit of it.

Once the freezer was filled, it displeased you to see it all go to waste. Trimming off the fat of the meat, you made a marinade of spices that couldn’t fit in your pantry. You might as well not reduce your supplies before taking off. Your dehydrator was a god sent. You dehydrated jerky, salmon, fruit, and vegetables. They were your meals in the beginning of the apocalypse.

You were self-sufficient for a long time. Escaping from the dangers that lurked outside of your bus. You didn’t drive around often but it was necessary at times. While the infected were dangerous, it was arguable people were more of a danger to your well-being.

It was years before you found your way to Jackson, where the community welcomed you with open arms and bright smiles, your presence became well-known throughout the community. Your job was to dehydrate meat before winter hits. It was an easy job as you had the equipment and were given the meat from hunters. You never had to leave the safety of the community.

You were offered one of the available houses, but you declined. You were satisfied living on the bus. Instead, they gave you a plot of land to do as you wished. You proceeded to grow a garden and build a shed to hold gardening tools.

You were clearing the snow off the solar panels when you heard your name. Maria, a dear friend of yours, Tommy, her husband, and two strangers you had yet to meet slowly walked towards your small plot of land.

“Maria, Tommy.” You nodded as the couple and the strangers watched you work. Watching you collecting the snow into a canteen.

“[Reader] this is Joel and Ellie. They’re new.” Maria introduced them.

“Welcome to Jackson.”

“[Reader] is one of the hardest workers here.” Tommy boasted, “They’ve helped build several houses and know how to make delicious jerky. Occasionally, you’ll see them helping around with the community garden. That is if they’re not working on their own garden.”

“You must be very bored.” She replied with a bit of snark.

“Ellie.” Joel scolded.

You laughed, “True.” You looked down on their figures. “The apocalypse does leave one bored out of their minds.” You could attest to that. Before Jackson, you had gardened your herbs, prepared and cooked meals, occasionally listened to music, and reread the books you’ve found along the way.

She agreed with your statement, having gone through her own mind-numbing activities while surviving, “You’re telling me. I’ve been stuck in a car with this asshole, reading directions and shit.” Joel maintained a pained look on his face, muttering something under his breath, before quieting down.

“[Reader],” Maria drew your attention to her, “We wanted to ask if you could watch Ellie for a bit.” She didn’t specify after that.

“Sure.” You nodded, “You can come right in Ellie, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Thank you.” It was not Maria who thanked you but Joel. It was evident he didn’t particularly like being around crowds, probably an aftereffect of the world just beyond the walls of Jackson, it reminded you of yourself when you first walked into the community. Unsure if it was safe or not. A brief paradise before corrupt men or the infected came barreling through the gates.

You didn’t reply as Tommy and Maria began to leave. Joel slowly followed behind them, almost hesitant to leave Ellie in your care, but persisted forward. You climbed down the ladder and proceeded to gather a few items Ellie might need: clothing and hygiene products.

“Do you want to shower?” You asked, “I have hot water.”

“Hot water?” It must’ve been a long time since she enjoyed the luxury of hot water. You never had to know a life without it. The bus kept you sheltered from the horrors left in the wake of the outbreak.

“Plenty of it.” You handed her clean clothing. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Once you heard the water was on, you began to search for spare hygiene products the girl might need. A question lingered in the air as the decision to stay or leave was left uncertain.

“Ellie,” You called out, “Are you hungry? I can warm something up for you.”

“I’m starving.”

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“No.”

You left her alone to enjoy her shower and walked towards your kitchen. You were defrosting a portion of the vegetable soup for yourself, but Ellie needed it more. You proceeded to warm up the soup and searched for a bag of beef jerky you’ve made.

Ellie came down soon after and you motioned for her to have a seat. You pulled out the table and placed the warm soup in front of her. You offered her a smile, “Hope you like it.”

Ellie scarfed down the food as if it was going to disappear. You munched on bits and pieces of beef jerky, enjoying the sweet and spice, before Ellie called for your attention.

“So, you live here?” She looked over the bottom floor of your home. It was extremely organized and untouched.

“Yes.”

“Did they not give you a house?” Curiosity amplified as she awaited your response.

“They did.” You answered curtly, “But I refused.” You offered nothing else.

“Why not?”

“This is my home.” You didn’t want to mention you were waiting for the day the community would fall. It was a terrible thought, but you were a realist. Something or someone would come knocking and destroy everything that was built. It might not be today or tomorrow but someday it will happen. “It’s been my home since the beginning, and I won’t abandon it now.”

You gave Ellie the hygiene products you were willing to part with: a toothbrush, two bottles of toothpaste tablets, and a period cup with instructions. You know Maria would trade for other products she might need.

Ellie looked at the toothpaste tablets bizarrely. “This is toothpaste?”

You nodded, “Crush the tablet with your teeth. The tablet will mix with your saliva to create toothpaste.”

“Cool.” She stuffed everything in her backpack. “Thank you.”

~~~

Tommy knocked on your door early in the morning. He wanted to trade, for Joel and Ellie, for several bags of beef jerky to last a few weeks. Joel and Ellie stood right beside him, as they watched the transaction inquisitively.

You noticed they carried their bags, presumably the ones they arrived with, and knew they were leaving. You sighed, “Without refrigeration, the beef jerky is going to last about a week. I have a few bags of roasted nuts that can last within up to three months.”

“What do you want for them?” Tommy questioned. It was a matter of substance or labor.

“Nothing.” You didn’t have the need for anything, and they were leaving to a place where food was scarce. But nothing was unacceptable to Tommy. You walked back inside and brought back several bags for the two. “Take care of each other. Stay safe.”

You hoped to see them again. Alive and healthy. You wished for them to live long and happy lives wherever life spurred them too.

“Goodbye.”

Masterlist

#joel miller x reader #the last of us #the last of us tv series #the last of us show #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel miller tlou #ellie tlou #joel miller one shot

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jupiterwrites99 · 1 year

Text

You're On Your Own, Kid

Chapter 5

Word Count : 4075

The night had come a lot of faster than Sage had anticipated. Dinner with the pack was eventful to say the least. She wasn’t used to that level of noise yet and a headache was quick to form. She had excused herself, more so snuck out of the dining room, to have a hot shower to relax her constantly tense frame.

No one had come to coax her back out of the room and she was grateful for the quiet.

She heard the heavy footsteps before the knock on the door, and if she hadn’t already memorised his scent she would’ve ignored it and pretended to be asleep.

Opening the door, she was met with a smiling Paul. His eyes drifted from her face to the shirt she had changed into after her shower. His shirt, she could tell from the lingering scent of his cologne.

“I snagged one for you.” He huskily said, his eyes had darkened as they met hers again.

She looked away reluctantly to the plate in his hands, a singular cupcake sat on the plate and she couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

She gently took the plate from him and opened the door wider, inviting him in as she made her way back to the bed where she had been watching reruns of her favourite show. “Paul?”

“Hm?” He hummed, sitting in the chair next to the bed again. Paul smiled down at the bedside table at where she had organised the things she had found at the beach. Including the little pinecones he had stopped and collected from a tree on his way back to Sam’s after his conversation with the woman whose name she still didn't know.

Sage hesitated, before saying gently, “You should go home tonight.”

“What?” Paul's brows furrowed as he looked at her with confusion.

“You’re only staying here because of me, right? You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

She quickly said, “Your…family probably misses you.”

He shook his head, telling her, “I live alone.”

“Still.” Sage looked at him pointedly. She didn’t want to take him away from his life because of her own issues. Even if he was the only person here who made her feel safe.

She watched as he locked his jaw, looking at her with hard eyes before he asked, “You want me to leave?”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay, I mean, you’ve done more than enough for me already.” She said honestly. Sage liked being on her own for the most part.

Paul looked at her with a knowing look, “Sage, I just want you to feel comfortable.”

“I am comfortable.” She wasn’t lying, per se, but she wasn’t exactly telling the truth either. Sage was as comfortable as anyone would be when their lives had been flipped upside down for a second time.

“You only talk to me.” He pointed out and she wanted to yell at him, that wasn’t true. She had spoken to Leah, as well. He just wasn’t there.

“I’ll do better.” She mumbled.

“That's not what I’m saying..I’ll leave, if that's what you really want.” His eyes were searching her face, like he was looking for a sign to stay. But, just from the sight of him in that chair, the chair that was two sizes too small to even be remotely comfortable for him, she knew she was making the right decision for him.

She nodded her head.

----

Regret.

That's what Sage felt as she laid awake in her too soft of a bed. The blanket wasn’t nearly warm enough for the cool fall air, nor was the tshirt and sweatpants she wore as pyjamas.

Sam and Emily had gone to bed long ago, and she could tell from the loud snores that Sam was completely out.

She regretted telling Paul to leave. He was her heat source the night before, she had felt it when she had drifted off during their movie, and even more so when she slept on the floor beside him on the couch.

As quietly as she could, she got up and slid her shoes at the foot of the bed on her feet.

Maybe a walk will help, she hoped.

It was a quiet walk. No cars were on the roads and especially no people were milling about.

She pulled the sweater she had found hanging up tighter to her body as a particularly cold gust of wind hit her like tiny frozen darts. When she noticed headlights approaching, instinctively, she wanted to hide.

But as the car drove past her, she let out her breath and kept walking.

The sound of the tires screeching against the asphalt as the car did a u-turn in the middle of the road made her speed up. She was searching in front of her for places to go, the woods being the safest choice but she didn’t want to risk phasing. Sams was too far to go on foot versus the car.

Maybe you could steal a car, the wolf suggested. Sage rolled her eyes at thought.

“Hey!” A man's voice shouted from the driver's side.

That voice is familiar.

She looked to the car that was now slowing to a roll beside her to see the man she had been laying in bed thinking of.

“Get in.” Paul said roughly, she ignored him and kept walking, causing his anger to rise, “Get in or I’ll put you in myself.”

The wolf whined at her. It's what she wanted.

But she also didn’t want to go back to Sams. Back to that cold room where she would just be staring at the ceiling until the sun rose.

Choosing not to fight him, figuring he would actually put her in the truck if she refused, Sage got in sluggishly. She immediately noticed Paul was shirtless in a pair of gym shorts, “How did you--”

“Sam called me.” He cut her off.

His voice was deeper than usual.

Huskier, even.

“I wasn’t running away.” She tried to explain, but he was quick to cut her off again. His anger was clearly getting the best of him and even she knew not to push it while trapped in a car with an upset wolf.

“I didn’t say you were.” He looked at her and she could see the stress in his eyes. Like he was really trying to keep his composure. She didn’t want him to be angry with her.

“I wouldn’t leave you.. Not without saying goodbye. Okay?” Sage said honestly. She knew what would happen if they were to be separated for a long period of time, she had seen it with her own mother when her father had died. She shutdown completely due to her grief, leaving Sage on her own to navigate her way through their pack dynamics.

“Good to know,” He scoffed lightly , the crease between his eyebrows deepened as he shook his head.

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say.

Sage had been too busy looking at Paul and trying to gauge his emotions to realise they had pulled into an unknown driveway. A new sense of panic set in, was Sam sending her somewhere else because she kept leaving?

“Where are we?” She asked Paul with wide eyes.

“My house.” He answered as he pulled his key from the ignition. “You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the couch. I’ll drop you back off at Sam's tomorrow.”

Thank God, she breathed a sigh of relief before realising what he had said.

“No.” She shook her head, she would not be sleeping in his bed. That was his!

“Sage, I’m not arguing with you about this.” He said through a yawn.

She grabbed his hand, forcing him to look at her, then down at their hands intertwined, “I don’t want to sleep in your bed.”

He takes a deep breath, “Why not?”

“It’s yours. I’ll sleep on the ground.” She stated, and rushed out of the car, pulling her hand from his in the process.

Paul let out a sound of annoyance, “You’re not sleeping on the ground.”

“I always sleep on the ground.” Sage rebutted, rolling her eyes in the process.

Paul cracked his knuckles, and stayed quiet. No longer arguing with her as he muttered “Let's go.”

He placed his warm hand on the small of her back ushering her up a small flight of stairs and into his home. He had clearly been asleep before Sam had called to inform him of her leaving. That much she was certain as she walked into his room. His bed was unmade, the comforter slung to one side and the lamp closest to the door was the only light in the room.

“What do you need to be tucked in?” He asked, looking over his shoulder at her. He had walked past her, plugging his phone back into its charger.

She shook her head, the guilt dwelling in her mind, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s fine. Now are you going to stand there all night?” She just blinked at him, feeling uncomfortable, “Look, Sage. I’m tired, you look tired, just get in the bed.”

“It’s yours.” She mumbled. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m aware.” He sat on the edge, “You can have that side, I’ll have this one. Your own little territory.”

She nodded in compromise, waving off the slight jab he had made. And quickly made her way to the side he deemed hers. She tried to make herself as comfortable as possible as he turned off the light, muttering a rough goodnight to her.

The heat emitting off of his skin was exactly what she had been looking for, allowing her to drift off to a dreamless sleep.

Though it wasn’t enough to fix the uncomfortableness of the bed as she tossed and turned on the cloud like mattress. She missed the hard ground.

Sage grumbled to herself as she awoke for the second time due to the bed, though this time there was the weight of an arm around her waist.

Paul had crossed the territory.

She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, fanning it with hot air. His arm was comforting, like a warm, weighted blanket. But it wasn’t enough to put her back to sleep, no, she wanted to lay on the ground.

She fully intended to until Paul tightened his arm around her waist and he mumbled tiredly, “Don’t go.”

She settled back into his arm, her back flush against his chest as she looked over her shoulder, “You’re really hot, you know.”

A sleepy smirk formed on his face. His eyes were still closed and she couldn’t help but marvel at his beauty. Sage groaned, “Not like that.”

Sage rolled over and faced him. She traced with her index fingers the sharp points of his face. Still getting used to skin to skin contact again, before sighing, “You’re quite pretty,”

“Pretty?” He blinked his eyes open. She smiled guilty, she really didn’t mean to wake him again.

“Mhm.”

“What time is it?” He asked lowly.

She shrugged. She assumed it was early morning from the birds beginning to chirp outside his window.

Paul let her go to grab his phone off of his nightstand, the numbers reading 4:23am in a bright white font. He dropped his phone down again before readjusting his arm around her.

“Back to sleep, Sage.” He said quietly as he reclosed his eyes.

She scoffed lightly, “Easier said than done. You’re in my territory.”

He groaned, and if his eyes had been open she had no doubt he would have rolled them, “C’mere.”

Paul used his arm to pull her closer, her head directly on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was serene.

He moved his hand to her hair. Raking it gently with his fingers as she fluttered her eyes shut, sighing in contentment, “This bed is too soft.”

“Hm?” Paul hummed.

Sage explained softly, hoping he would understand, “I slept on the ground for five years, your bed is like a marshmallow compared to it.”

“If this doesn’t work we’ll sleep on the ground, how ‘bout that?” He offered, shifting slightly so that their legs became a tangled mess beneath the sheets.

So much for having their own territories.

Though she wasn’t complaining. It was a much more comfortable position than she had been in previously.

She nodded her head in response to his offer, yawning as he combed through her hair with one hand the other rubbing circles on her back.

Her eyelids felt heavier and in his arms, it was the safest she's felt in years. This is what she had always thought it would be like to have a mate. Not what had been forced on her back in her old pack. Sage shuddered at the thought.

Leaving him would be heart wrenching, but she knew eventually she would have to if word got back to her old pack that she was seemingly a traitor.

------

Paul had dropped her off on the doorstep of Sam and Emilys home, almost as if he was making sure she actually made it through the door. Though he didn’t hover, leaving to go on patrol as soon as she stepped through the threshold.

Now she regretted coming back as she eavesdropped on Emily's conversation with the unknown woman from the beach.

“It’s not right, Em and you know it.” Sage could hear the unknown woman's voice through the open window, “This girl just shows up and suddenly he's capable of all the things I asked of him. He made me so many promises, promises that he was going to do better, that he was going to change, and he didn’t.”

“You know that neither Sage or Paul had any say in this.” Emily retorted.

It didn't take a genius to understand that this woman, who she didn’t even know the name of, was talking about her. Why, was something she couldn’t understand. Paul said he lived by himself, and there was no evidence of this woman in his house that she had noticed.

And now she was here, venting to Emily about her arrival.

“But he just gave into it, how many times did he say that if it happened he would fight it? That it wouldn’t matter to him?” The mystery woman ranted.

What was Paul supposed to be fighting? Sage questioned herself. There were no threats here.

“I don’t think this is how he imagined it to go, Rachel.” Emily’s soft voice tried to soothe the tension escalating on the other side of the door. “It’s a complicated situation that we are all adapting to. He’s just trying to make sure she’s okay right now.”

Rachel was her name.

Nobody had ever mentioned Rachel before.

“What about me? It's all Sage this, Sage that, as if we haven’t known each other since highschool. He’s known this girl for a week!” Rachel exclaimed loudly.

Sage frowned.

All this drama because she crossed the treaty line she didn’t know existed.

If Rachel wanted Paul, she could have him. She didn’t want to be here anyways. The smell she had caught a whiff of in the grocery store with Paul still stuck in the back of her mind. It belonged to a hunter who had been terrorising her pack since she was a child. She never thought she would catch the scent again after leaving the territory claimed by the Marshall pack. Though, she also didnt think that there were any packs along the coast of Washington, yet here she was.

The wolf in her growled at her thoughts, it didn’t like the idea of leaving Paul.

“Ignore her.” Leah spoke from behind the younger girl, Sage turned to face her, startled by her sudden appearance, “Rachel couldn’t take a hint if it hit her in the face.”

Sage smirked at the older woman's words.

“Sam wants me to take you along the perimeter, show you the treaty line and all that.” Leah continued, “We can walk it if you’d like.”

Sage nodded. Jokingly, she said, “I’ve missed being on two legs.”

She was just starting to get used to being on two legs again, and she liked that people could understand her now. Even if she didn’t talk much.Something she was determined to work on after Paul commented on it the night before.

PAULS POV

As soon as he had stepped through the backdoor, Sage was in front of him. A sheepish smile adorned her face as she quietly asked for his help to make the hot chocolate he had promised her.

Though his legs ached for him to sit down, and the onset of a headache after listening to Quil babble for the last 10 hours urged him to shut his eyes in search of peace and quiet, he agreed.

They had resorted to asking questions about each other while they waited for hot chocolate to cool down. More so than Sage firing them off, than him.

If it had been anyone else delaying his post patrol nap he would have told them to fuck off, but she was talking to him. That's all he's been wanting since they had found her, he’d be damned if he let his own arrogance ruin it.

Especially after she had bolted the night before after telling him to leave her alone for the night.

It ended up working out for him though, spending the night with Sage in his arms where he was absolutely sure she was safe and sound, even if it meant being woken up before the birds because of her tossing and turning. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Fuck, he thought, It’s been a week and I’m already in deep.

Paul had never wanted to imprint. The idea of his life revolving around one person, being at their beck and call, all because his ancestors told him to be, was never appealing.

But when it happened, everything just made sense.

Like the earth had shifted and everything was brighter. He was no longer living in black and white.

Only problem was, he didn’t have the patience. Paul was too much of a physical person, touching was his love language. Though he kept that to himself. He was jealous of his brothers for reasons he couldn’t say out loud.

He had been so relieved to find out she was twenty two. Only four years younger than him, yet, she had been a wolf for the same amount of time. They would have phased for the first time in the same year, how odd is fate?

Paul was shocked to learn how young she was when she had first shifted, the fact that she had her own pack was also bewildering. From the sound of it, she had grown up knowing she was going to eventually join the rest of her pack. Unlike Paul, who had been completely blindsided.

“Uh, green.” Paul said, after realising he hadn’t answered her most recent question.

“Like the trees?” She asked.

“No, more of a moss green, with just a little bit of gold in it.” His eyes scanned hers as he figured out how to put into words just how beautiful the colour of her eyes were. They were brighter than the day she was found, less wary. More trusting. It made his wolf beam to see her trust them. “What about you?”

“Silver,” She said without missing a beat.

“That's not a colour,” He teased, though he wanted to know why silver was her favourite colour. She had spent so much time seeing the world in black and white, stuck as a wolf, surely there was another colour she enjoyed more than silver.

She rolled her eyes playfully and Paul grinned as his wolf howled within from witnessing her blossoming personality.

Sage's eyes flicked around the room as she hummed in thought, “Fine, um, red.”

“Red?” He asked, looking for an explanation.

“Yep, all my favourite things are red. My first bike was even red, my mom had to hide it from me because I used it so much it was falling apart.”

Paul's eyes flicked down to the hoodie she wore.

His hoodie.

It was more than ten years old and he outgrew it when he began the shift. The faded school logo was barely legible now. Nothing about it was special.

But it was red.

The two wolves were interrupted by the heavy feet of Jared entering the kitchen, Paul couldn’t help but scowl. He didn’t want Jared to push Sage back into her shell and as he was about to tell him to get lost before that could happen, he was stopped by the mousy voice from the girl across from him.

“Hi,” Sage mused, a bright smile on her face that could brighten anyone's day.

Jared chuckled at her enthusiasm, or maybe the fact that Paul's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the greeting.

“Hi, Sage.” Jared responded, before asking, “What are you guys up to?”

“I’m going to the beach.” She piped, before looking at Paul and continuing, “Paul helped me make hot chocolate, do you want some?”

Jared grinned, looking from Sage to Paul. The familiar feeling of simmering rage began to take over him, or maybe it was jealousy as he bit back a growl.

They made the hot chocolate together, for them, now she wants to share?!

“Can I--”

Paul interrupted him before Jared could finish his question, standing up abruptly. Grimacing as he startled the young girl. “No, come on, Sage. The suns going to start setting soon.”

“Bye.” She said just as enthusiastically as she had greeted Jared and Paul ushered her out quickly. The thermos of hot chocolate clutched tightly in his hand.

SAGES POV

“You’re a little minx.” Paul said from beside her as they made their way down the familiar path to the beach. Sage furrowed her eyebrows, looking up at him with a squint as the setting sun shone in her eyes.

“I don’t know what that means.”

He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a scoff, “I make one comment that you only talk to me, and now you’re replacing me.”

“I could never replace you.” She said earnestly. And it was true. She could, and never wanted to replace Paul. He was her first friend, the first person who tried to help her get her life back.

Sage walked ahead of him, straight towards the largest rock she could find.“This is a good spot.” She said before sitting in the sand. Sage looks up at Paul when she realised he hadn’t sat with her. “What?”

“Nothing.” A hint of a smile on his chiselled features, “Do you want to sit down there or on top?”

“It's safer down here,” She remarked, sinking her fingers into the cold sand.

He nodded and sat down beside her before asking, “How is it safer?”

“I can hear everything from here, but nothing can see us. Or at least me, you’re kind of big to hide.” She explained, only to be met with a frown. Her eyes widened in worry, maybe she was wrong and this wasn’t the safest spot on the beach.

“Sage..You’re completely safe right now. Hidden or not.” Paul spoke gently,

“But--” She begins to argue but remembering, there's no one hunting them,“Right, nevermind.”

“It’s just going to take some getting used to.” He reassured her.

Quietly, she asked, “Can we switch?”

He nodded and the two stood to their feet before figuring out how to fit the both of them on the rock. The settled with her legs draped over Pauls, she was grateful for this position given how cold it was getting next to the water.

After sitting in silence, indulging in the hot chocolate he had handed her in the thermos cup, she asked, “Do you always phase back?”

Paul nodded, “Depends on if there's threats or not. The longest I’ve stayed as a wolf was three weeks.”

“That's it?” She asked in shock.

He chuckled, “Yeah. It's a good thing we’ve crossed paths, if i need to stay in wolf form any longer than that, I’ve got you to show me the ropes.”

Paul nudged her gently and she smiled up at him.

Her wolf whined at the prospect of him being in the same situation they were in.

“It’s not that hard.” She said nonchalantly before taking a sip of her hot chocolate, “Just avoid the hunters.”

“Noted.” He laughed before looking out at the water. The sun just upon the horizon, making a rare, glowing sunset. It was so peaceful. It almost made everything she was going through worth it.

“Paul?” She asked.

“Hm?” He hummed, looking down at her.

She fiddled with the thermos as she asked, “Do you have a phone I could borrow, there's someone I’d like to try calling…”

“You said there wasn’t anyone.” He commented, a hint of skepticism in his voice

Sage grimaced as his tone shifted, “I didn’t lie.”

“I never said you did.” He pointed out.

“I don’t know if he’ll even remember me, it's been so long..But he’s the only person who may actually believe me.” She explained, and it was true. The last time she saw him was at her fathers funeral.

The older man's tone was serious and slightly intimidating as he said, “Sage, you can’t tell anyone.”

She furrowed her brows, looking up at Paul, “But I trust him.”

“Well I need you to trust me,” He shifted his body causing her legs to fall off his, “It’s not safe for you, or the pack. No one can know.”

“I trust you.” She spoke honestly, before she asked, “How am I supposed to explain where I’ve been for the past five years?”

Paul sighed, running his fingers through his hair, “I’ll figure that out for you, then you can call…”

“Josh.” She said quietly. She missed him a lot. He was the only outsider she was allowed to be around, the only real human. Both of her parents trusted him as well. Sage regretted not telling him she was leaving the pack.

“Josh.” He repeated with a scoff.

She raised her eyebrow at his tone, “I think you two would get along, honestly.”

A nearby howl interrupted whatever Paul had opened his mouth to say, but she could tell by the look in his eyes, he disagreed with her statement. He didn’t even know Josh and he had already formed his opinion. The thought of him not liking her uncle made her frown. He was family, the only one she had left.

“I should get you back.” He muttered, standing up and reaching out for her hand to help her.

“Patrol?” She asked, “Leah explained it earlier.”

“Yeah, Sam’s just getting off so you won’t be alone at the house.”

“Im tougher than I look, you know”

“I know.” He said with a slight smirk, “It’s more so for my own sanity.”

He helped her down off the rock, his hand lingering on her waist as she returned the lid of the thermos.“Well, I had fun. Thanks for bringing me.”

“Sage?”

“Yeah?” She looked up at him expectantly.

“If your bed is too soft tonight, try the couch. It’s a little firmer.” He said, and she smiled for the tip he had given her. Though that meant he wasn’t planning on spending the night again.

“Where are you going to sleep?” Left her lips before she could stop it. She had slept so well in his bed, and the regret of sending him away still lingered.

“I’ll be out all night.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?” He asked gently, bringing his warm hand up to her cheek to make her look him in the eye.

“Yeah.. It’s just..” She trailed off, “ Nevermind.”

“What is it?” Paul asked, concern evident on his face.

“Emilys house is really cold at night.” She mumbled sheepishly.

Paul smirked, it was slightly arrogant but loved it anyway as he told her, “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

#paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x oc #paul lahote #twilight wolf pack #paul lahote smut #paul lahote imagine #twilight fanfiction

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alicent-vi-britannia · 10 months

Text

Talking a bit about Kallen's story arc

I came across a comment on Reddit not long ago (in case you don't know, it's a nest of C.C. fanboys) saying that Kallen was overrated since she had nothing beyond her relationship with Lelouch and the episode with her mom. It is not the first time I have read an opinion like that, although, fortunately, it is not very frequent.

Actually, Kallen does have a character arc. It's just that it's developed in a very subtle way. And by that I mean that I didn't realize what it was the second or third time I watched Code Geass, but much later. This is because the series doesn't tell you directly, they show it to you. I understood it better after reading Kallen's poem. Everything she says there is in the series. But they don't explain it to you with words like in the poem. The same thing happened to me with Euphemia's little story arc (yes, she has one of her own).

At its core, Kallen's story arc is about transitioning from a reckless and immature girl who finds herself adrift to a selfless heroine with a purpose that transcends her. It is a coming-age story in all its definition. In that sense, it is essentially similar to the Lelouch arc as the rebellion brings out the best version of themselves. This is compassion, empathy, altruism. It's not very noticeable because Kallen isn't Machiavellian like Lelouch is, although she is just as pragmatic. One of the best samples you have of Kallen's development is in the penultimate episode of the first season.

In the early episodes, Kallen is deeply concerned with protecting her identity to the point that she does not hesitate to take risky actions that include killing others. But, in this penultimate episode, when the members of the Student Council refuse to obey the Black Knights thinking that they would harm them, Kallen unmasks herself before them to calm them down and ask them to trust them. Kallen prioritized the safety of her friends over her secret. The thing is that she had already done it before. By Zero. Kallen comes out of her Guren to ask Suzaku to let Zero go in episode 18 of the first season. She again places more importance on the safety of her leader than her identity. The difference between the two moments is that she calmly makes the decision to reveal herself in episode 24. That was not her last option as it was in episode 18.

You'd think there wouldn't be any further development for Kallen in season two. But it's not true and, personally and based on Kallen's poem, I like to see her relationship with Lelouch as a temptation for her (temptation in the sense that it can lead her astray). Characters in visual media are often built on two pillars: what they want versus what they need, and up until that point, Kallen hadn't had to choose because the choice was so clear. That is, she had not faced a challenge. By the end, however, she must choose between the boy she loves and doing the right thing, and though Lelouch helps her choose the latter by keeping quiet about his feelings, Kallen decides of her own free will to do the right thing and, by extension, embrace her identity, her values and her brother's dream. Not caring that Lelouch has returned the kiss. Also in this second season Kallen is consolidated as the best Knightmare pilot of the series. Her most badass moments are here (and there are still people who have the nerve to say that she was relegated to the background; sorry, man, you're talking about C.C.).

I would like in the remote future to both write an individual analysis of Kallen as well as an analysis of her (misconstrued) relationship with Lelouch. On my Code Geass Facebook page I do it in Spanish and I use this space to address the international community. Now I am watching Code Geass again with a good channel of reactions on YouTube (since 2020 I have imposed the tradition of watching Code Geass once a year and with them I will fulfill my purpose for this 2023...) . I will see what new things I will discover now. I discovered what I have just told you on my return visit last year.

Fans only complain about her fanservice, spit on her relationship with Lelouch, accuse her of things she never did, and judge her harshly. They never take Kallen seriously. I want to be the first to do it, if no one with good analytical skills does it.

#kallen #kallen stadtfeld #kallen kozuki #code geass: lelouch of the rebellion #code geass

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buckys-little-belle · 2 years

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Hey I really like your story's Thay always helps me feel better and I was wondering if you be able to do something where Bucky and Steve comfort little reader after Thay had a argument with their parents. I have a lot with my parents and It scar's me a lot especially because Thay yell.

Protectors

Stucky x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Warnings - Talks of fights, a small snippet of a fight with parents at the begining, reader cries, reader is obviously sad, talks of reader moving in with the boys (I don’t dwell much on the fighting, it’s a prevalent topic, but it is hard for me to write about, so it’s pretty short in comparison, but I hope it’s what you wanted!”

Notes - I sadly know what it’s like to fight with parents, though mine don’t yell, and I’m so sorry yours do, I do understand and relate to your pain, I do want you to know that me and ‘the boys’ will always be here, feel free to send in asks or message me, I hope you’re doing well, and I hope you enjoy this Bub!

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

- - - - - -

The fights were always loud, usually irrational or manipulative, and so was this one. It felt like it had lasted hours, yelled phrases cutting deep wounds, tears streaming, and feelings hurt. “I have to go.” Y/n said, giving up, knowing that fighting to be heard wouldn’t get them anywhere, leaving so the fight could end.

Y/n hear scoffs from behind them as they walked away, grabbing a sweater and some shoes, putting them on quickly before leaving, practically running out the door, the true weight of the fight now landing on their shoulders, tears streaming as sobs wracked through their body.

- - - - - -

“Steve?” Tony called out, the halls of the tower vast, but the super soldiers hearing able to pin point the yelling.

“What?” Steve called out, walking towards Tony, Bucky behind him, the two of them getting ready to make some dinner. “What’s wrong?” Steve asked, Tony’s face reading clearly worried.

“There’s a, well, a kid.” Tony began. “Came in and said they needed help, named you two and held up this card.” Tony held up a small blue card, Y/n’s favourite animal where a normal ID picture would go, the card explaining they needed Steve and Bucky. “Is this a joke?” Tony laughed. “Are people making these for fun?”

“They have anything on them?” Bucky asked, grabbing the card, Y/n had been doing well lately, so he thought maybe they lost the card and someone had taken it.

“A green dinosaur stuffed animal, the poor thing needs a wash.” Tony laughed, looking to the boys to see their next step, but instead being met with them racing downstairs, literally down the stairs running.

- - - - - -

“Y/N!” Steve yelled, the whole building lobby turning towards him, including a distraught Y/n. “What’s wrong?” He asked, pulling them in for a hug as soon as he got close, Y/n crying even more.

“S’much fighting Stevie.” They sobbed, arms wrapping around him, stuffy in hand still. “I’s jus’ so loud.”

“Oh Bub.” Bucky cooed, guiding the two towards the elevator, the doors closing and Steve picking Y/n up right away. “Are you okay?” Bucky asked, his hand splayed across their back, their head resting on Steve’s shoulder, tears still streaming, but sobs slowly coming to a stop.

“Mm-mm.” They hiccuped, shaking their head ‘no’. “Jus’ wan’ some cuddles.” They murmured, nuzzling their head into Steve’s shoulder, him cupping the back of their head, sighing in relief that Y/n was at least with them now.

“We can do that.” Steve said, the three of them now on their floor, settling down on the large sectional, Y/n never letting go of Steve.

“Do you want some juice?” Bucky asked, wanting Y/n to stay hydrated, the crying already taking a toll on them.

“Yes pease.”

“What do you want to watch?” Steve asked, moving the two of them slightly to pick on the remote, grabbing a blanket to drape over the two of them while they sat.

“Octonauts?” Y/n questioned.

Steve assumed that would be the answer, playing the first ever episode, flipping Y/n around so their back met his chest, them now being able to see the Tv. “Here.” Bucky smiled, handing Y/n a sippy cup, green dinosaurs scattered on it, matching the one they held.

“W’s this?” They asked, holding the cup up, they didn’t have things like this at their home so they knew it wasn’t theirs.

Bucky just chuckled, giving Y/n’s forehead a kiss. “We have lots of stuff for you here Bub.” He answered, turning back to the Tv as the characters began to save the day.

Y/n wasn’t able to let the thought go, why did they have things for them? Why here? They were especially confused when they just happened to have a placemat, plate, utensils, and dino chicken nuggets on hand for dinner. “Where’s all th’s come from?” They asked, happy to have the fun things, but confused, did they have someone else who used these?

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other as they paused eating, the dinning table suddenly getting serious. “We know you’re parents aren’t great Bub.” Steve began, Y/n nodding in agreement, their parents were what drove them here after all.

“We wanted to be ready, have things for you, so you can move in with us one day.” Bucky added, smiling at Y/n as he watched the cogs in their head turn.

“F’me?”

“Yes, for you Bub.” Steve chuckled, looking to Bucky as if he was asking for permission to do something. “Come here.” Steve stood up and gestured for the two to follow him. “Whenever you’re ready, this is your room.” He opened a door, the soft painted walls coming in view, book shelf’s, bean bags, and tons of toys slowly being revealed, a bed with comfy blankets sitting along one of the walls.

“What?” Y/n breathed, slowly walking into the room, taking in all of the things around them, their feet hitting soft rugs and floor pillows. “N’more arguing? N’yelling?” They asked, turning towards the boys, their eyes pleading for a happy answer.

“No more arguing, you can come here, you don’t have to stay their.” Bucky smiled, watching as Y/n’s eyes lit up, tears once again filling them.

“B’they’ll be mad.” Y/n cried.

“Maybe, but you’ll be happy right?” Steve asked, Y/n nodding as Steve and Bucky kneeled down in front of them.

“Then that’s all that matters, we want you to be happy.” Bucky added, Y/n falling into him, hugging him tightly as they cried in relief. The yelling would stop, the hugs would continue, and they could play out in the open with their favourite people.

#buckys little belle #age regression fic #little!reader #age regression #bucky x little reader #bucky age regression #bucky x little!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x little!reader #steve rogers age regression #steve rogers x little reader #steve x little reader #steve rogers x little!reader #steve rogers x reader

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fallinallincurls · 2 years

Text

Die A Happy Man

september 1st is nate’s day so a fic was due!! happy birthday to one of my favorite hockeys ever. this whole idea actually sparked from the tags in a post that @sorryjustafangirl put up! and now, here it is all finished in a little adorable blurb. die a happy man by thomas rhett screams nate to me so that was also used as inspo for this concept.

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 940

~~~~~

“Gabe, look.” EJ elbows his best friend who is standing next to him on the back deck. It doesn’t matter that Gabe is currently in another conversation, EJ needs his attention before the moment passes.

“What?” He asks, turning around to face Erik but confused as to what the interruption is for. Without another word, EJ tilts his head towards the dock just across the large yard. Most of the team and their families are occupying the green grass for the team barbecue that Nate graciously hosted at his lake house to celebrate the team’s Stanley Cup win.

But there’s only two people on the dock. You and Nate. No one seems to notice the two of you besides Erik and Gabe, of course, and the scene that’s unfolding is a shock to say the least.

“Holy shit.” Gabe mumbles, the biggest grin blossoming across his face. “Is that Nate? Like our Nate? Dancing in a public space? I don’t believe it.”

“Somehow, it is our Nathan. You know that must mean he’s totally in love with her. He never does that, ever.” EJ chuckles, a teasing tone evident in his words, but Gabe knows it’s the truth. Over the many years the three men have been teammates, it’s been obvious that it takes a very special person to get Nate out of his shell.

And up until now, they’ve never seen him dance with a girl before let alone in front of everyone.

“He must be.” Gabe agrees without hesitation.

The conversation doesn’t go any further because the longtime friends get roped into a game of cornhole against the rookies and neither you or Nate are aware of what his teammates just discussed.

Instead, your giggles are mixing with Nate’s sweet chuckles as you dance around the dock together. When you posed the simple question of “will you dance with me?” when the Thomas Rhett song came on, you didn’t think Nate would say yes. In almost the full year that you’ve been dating, you haven’t seen him do anything remotely close to dancing so you figured him agreeing to do so in a backyard that’s full of everyone he knows would be a long shot.

You were wrong.

After an eager nod from him as a response and kicking your shoes off, Nate pulled you onto the dock and wasted no time wrapping his arms around your waist. You’re still pressed close against his body, both of you swaying together to the music without a care in the world. Occasionally, Nate will spin you outwards only for you to twirl back into his arms or he surprises you with perfect dips that make you shriek in happy surprise.

The moment couldn’t have been more perfect.

Nothing but happiness and love flowed between the two of you. In your boyfriend’s arms, everything else fades away. But you swear there has never been anything better than right now, dancing under the warm summer sun with the man who makes you the happiest. Nate’s soft smile warms your heart and he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you almost every other second while you keep dancing. Seeing the joy on his face and how relaxed he is because of the Cup win and being here with you is something you are incredibly grateful for.

And because you’re both entirely lost in each other, the knowing looks and excited whispers coming from Nate’s teammates and families in the yard go unnoticed. EJ’s smirking, trying to plan out how to ambush his friend with the big question that includes the L word. But everyone else watches on in either awe or disbelief.

“You know,” Nate speaks up for the first time since the song started, his beautiful blue eyes full of adoration as he looks at you. His voice interrupts your thoughts, but neither of your movements falter. He kisses you one, two, three times before continuing. “If I never win another cup or get to travel the world or play for as long as I possibly can in the NHL, I’d still would be the happiest man alive.”

“Why’s that, bubs?” You ask, heart melting at his sweet confession. Your fingers tangle in the short hair at back of his neck and he hums in contentment.

“Because I have you and your love. That’s all I ever need.”

“You can’t mean that. Never winning another cup? Not playing as long as you can? Those are your lifelong dreams.” You argue, brows furrowed at your boyfriend’s confession even as your heart soars with each passing second.

“Yeah, maybe. They were my lifelong dreams. Until I met you. If I never get any of those things and still have you, I’m the happiest man alive. I would die a happy man.”

You can’t stop the swell of adoration in your chest at his words. Nothing you can say will properly show how much he means to you so instead, you pull him in for a tender kiss. Nate responds within a split second, hands keeping you close and kissing you back like nothing else in the world matters.

Because right now, it doesn’t.

The Cup surrounded by his teammates on his deck isn’t a thought. How warm his skin is underneath the summer sun doesn’t even register. And certainly, the hoots and hollers from EJ aren’t heard as Nate depends the kiss.

This is what he’s always wanted. And now that you’re here, he won’t ever let you go. Because if everything else fails and life doesn’t turn out the way it should, he has your love and that alone means his life is complete.

taglist: @tonyspep @miracleonice87 @princessphilly @starshine-hockey-girl @rosesvioletshardy @sorryjustafangirl @laurenairay @hockeyunits @stroopwaffle8 @musiclove-12 @ilyasorokinn @jostystyles @broadstflyers @breezymichelle99 @comphyjost @ya-pucking-nerd @beauvibaby @chokedwithaseaview @sourjoonie @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 @itrocksmysocks @typical-simplelove @boqvistsbabe @happer08 @antoineroussel @twpkstiles @suitandtys @equallyshaw @eightmakar @kailyn-writes

#nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon #nathan mackinnon fic #nate mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon imagine #nate mackinnon imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #colorado avalanche #nathan mackinnon x reader #hockey fic #hockey imagine #fluff #nathan mackinnon fluff #hwncloud #hwn cloud #mackinnon

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drabblesandimagines · 1 year

Text

Books

Pairings: Genesis x you, Crisis Core

Wordcount: 1144

You’d, quite literally, bumped into him one day. Rufus had been in for a very brief visit, or so you’d been told. Tseng said he’d only been in the building for a grand total of an hour, but before he’d left he’d requested that one of the Turks escort you to the bookshop, to which Tseng had happily agreed. You hadn’t been in months, so the result had been you picking up nearly every book you set your eyes on that looked remotely interesting. Tseng had escorted you safely back to the headquarter’s ground floor before heading off on other business. You were ecstatic about your new haul and the fact that you’d been outside for the first time in ages, so you would be forgiven that your attention was solely on the bag of treasures you held in your hands as you headed on autopilot towards the elevator, not expecting any obstacles to be in your way. It was then that you’d strode confidently into an unmoveable object, so strong that you fell backwards and your bag spilled, books scattering to the floor.

You looked up at what had blocked your path and saw the tall figure of the imposing Soldier, famous for his red leather coat as he looked down at you, momentary confusion across his face.

“I’m so sorry!” You bowed your head, realising just who you’d ran into. You’d crossed paths at events sometimes when Father deemed it necessary, but the two of you had never spoken. Why would you?

“Are you all right?” He’d crouched down in front of you.

“Yes, thank you.” You nodded, keeping your head down as you got up to your knees and started to gather your fallen books. You were reaching for one when a gloved hand beat you to one. Genesis Rhapsodos’ eyes lit up at the title.

“Now, this is an interesting one.”

“You’ve read it?” You didn’t mean to sound surprised and hoped he wouldn’t be offended. You’d only ever seen him with a rather beloved copy of Loveless.

“I have. I won’t spoil it for you though, Ms Shinra.” He smiled. You blushed at the realisation he knew exactly who you were.

“I heard people at the bookshop saying it’s trying to be a knock-off Loveless, but I couldn’t help myself.” You began to pack the books back into the paper bag.

“No comment,” he passed you another two titles. “But nothing holds up to the original.” Genesis watched as you carefully placed the volumes in the bag before he offered you his hand. You accepted – it would be rude not to – and he easily pulled you up to your feet. “I must commend you for your excellent taste – I wasn’t aware you were such an avid reader. Forgive my abrupt remark, but is this why we see so little of you?”

You blushed again at that – he knows who you are and enough to note your absence?

“I…” You hesitated. The reason everyone saw so little of you was that Father hardly gave you permission to do anything but stay in your room. Some days you’d tried to leave and found a Soldier stationed at your door, requesting you stay in there today for your own safety. On the days you were allowed out of your room, you weren’t permitted to leave the building unless escorted, so you spent the day wandering the hallways of places you did have access to, or could follow in the elevator.

You swallowed, “I’m sorry if I’ve come across as rude with my absence, I didn’t mean to. You’re all so busy and I don’t want to be an intrusion to anyone until I can contribute.”

Genesis nodded, but you were pretty sure he could tell you were lying. “Well, permit me to escort you back to your quarters to ensure these books arrive safely at their destination without any further incident.”

“That’s very kind but unnecessary, General. I’ll be perfectly fine from here. I promise to look where I’m going this time.”

“I insist, Ms Shinra. Why shouldn’t a general’s duties include escorting a young lady like yourself safely home?” He then deftly snatched the bag from your hand, holding the books hostage. “Besides, I would like to see what else you’ve purchased today – I’m always looking for recommendations.”

You hesitated, but surely you couldn’t get in trouble over this? He was a General in Soldier and you could hardly boss him around. “That would be very kind, General.”

“Please, call me Genesis.” He replied, offering the crook of his arm. You prayed your face hadn’t gone completely red as you slid your arm through. “Now, tell me, which one are you going to read first?”

You’d made polite conversation back to your quarters, but you couldn’t help yourself when you saw Genesis’ eyes widen as your door slid open, revealing your imposing bookshelves. Your quarters were small but it wasn’t like you entertained. There was a bathroom to the side, and a split living room and sleeping area. You had bookshelves lining all of the walls – a collection you’d started when you were quite young.

“If you have time, you can come in and have a look through the shelves. That’s only if you wanted to, I mean…” You trailed off, cursing yourself. He was a general, surely he had dozens of things to do rather than escort the likes of you back to your quarter and then look through your books…

“I’d love to.”

He’d stayed in your room for nearly an hour, marvelling over the contents of your bookshelves whilst you packed away your new purchases and noted them down in a notebook you kept. You’d told him he could borrow anything he liked the look of and he’d slowly began a small pile on the table. Eventually, his phone had rang. You’d busied yourself with something, not wanting to ease drop but the conversation had been monosyllabic on his side before he hung up.

“My sincerest apologies, but duty calls.” He forced a smile. “I must thank you once again for your hospitality, Ms Shinra.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine - I’ve enjoyed the company. Please, don’t forget your books.” You gestured to the pile and he hesitated, before snatching only one off the top.

“How about I take this one for now? Then I could call upon you again for the next, if you’d have me, that is.” He smirked at that.

“I’d… I’d like that.” You smiled, your heart skipping a beat.

“Excellent.” Genesis headed towards the door, before spinning on his heels and taking your hand instead. “Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand before he strode out the door, your face matching the red of his coat perfectly.

#genesis rhapsodos #genesis x reader #ghostdogwrites #fluff writing #crisis core x reader #genesis rhapsodos x reader #ff7 crisis core

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finniestoncrane · 1 year

Text

Your One True Nemesis

Chapter 8: also on AO3 Masterlist Here Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 2k do you think the hardest puzzle was the friends you could have made along the way but didn't because you are emotionally closed off as a defense mechanism??? asking for a... colleague💚🔧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst, alcohol, denial like for real

“Ok! Flip the switch!”

“There isn’t… what switch?”

Eddie dropped his hands, which he held maniacally above his head, down to his sides with a miserable frown.

“I know that, idiot! You couldn’t let me have my mad scientist moment? No flair for the dramatic in you, none at all.”

He tutted, waving you on with the task at hand.

Smiling, you picked up the remote control for the shabby, almost humanoid robot the two of you had been working on and pressed the button that broadcast the signal. With a jittering, sputtering movement, the prototype came to life, walking towards Eddie in a stilted manner.

“Ha ha! He’s alive! My child!”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, happy to be basking in Eddie’s good mood. Finally breaking down to your begging and pleading and demanding, he had let you participate in something a bit more substantial than making him coffee and handing him screwdrivers. This project, the first of his prototypes, you had completed together. And you could feel a sense of pride swelling within you, along with your cheeks blushing at the thought of you both creating ‘life’ together, as Eddie put it.

But everything, including the legs of the little mechanical man, came to a grinding halt as he fizzed and hissed, internally combusting in just the smallest of explosions, before falling to a heap on the floor.

Looking up at Eddie, you were met with a glare.

“You.”

“Me!?”

“If I had worked on that myself, this would never have happened!”

“If you’d worked on it yourself you’d be months away from even this moment!”

“Oh, I suppose you’re going to offer me the sentiment that we learn from our mistakes.”

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, I don’t make mistakes. People like you make mistakes.”

You could feel a lecture coming on, a dressing down, a complete and utter annihilation of your being, Eddie’s favourite pastime it seemed. Especially when he was furious.

“It must be humbling, being in my presence. The opportunity to even glimpse my greatness. The dawning realisation of just how insignificant and unworthy of note you are. Is that why you are intent on destroying everything I’ve worked for?”

“Hey! I helped, but you had already started on this hunk of junk before you let me even pass you the tools you were using.”

“Skipping past the irrelevance of the time you spent in relation to how much damage you could do, how dare you insult my robots. Hunk of junk? These are my masterpieces! When I have defeated Batman with the help of these mechanical hands, they will become monuments to my genius, and therefore, testaments to his, and your, stupidity.”

“Eddie, I’m not-”

“Mister Nigma, sir!”

Ah, the calling card of every argument. The shift back to formalities. Just as you got used to calling him Edward, or even Eddie, there was always something that pushed you away again, whether legitimate or imaginary, Edward always found a way. Sighing, you slumped down on the chair by the work bench and turned your back to him. You were exhausted. Tired of arguing, tired of being lectured, insulted, degraded. It was becoming apparent that this might not be the work you were cut out for.

But as you sat, martyring yourself and wondering how long it would take you to clear your room out, Eddie approached behind you.

“I’m not going to apologise.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

“I realise that there is no… one specific thing to blame. It could be you, it could be the parts, it could be the quality of the wires used.”

“It could be something you did.”

“Doubtful.”

You turned to him, rolling your eyes.

“Either way. You’re right. You could stand to learn from your mistakes. So next time, I am hopeful that you’ll do a better job.”

It was pathetic, but you were so grateful for the small improvements he showed. The willingness to end an argument on a somewhat neutral note being one of them, which you hoped to encourage. So you smiled at him and nodded.

“Next time.”

“Yes. But! Until then, perhaps a celebration is in order, for we just saw our mechanical man take his first steps, albeit crude and deathly ones.”

Our mechanical man. You repeated the phrase over and over, holding it as close to your heart as you could imagine. He had credited you, he had acknowledged your efforts. He probably didn’t mean to, and he might have corrected himself by now if he had noticed, but either way, you were clinging to this. It would be enough to stave off the thought of leaving for at least another week or so.

“So, what do you say, we autopsy this poor creature, scope out some plans for improvement, and then order food?”

You didn’t say anything, but your smile answered the question.

“I know what you’re thinking, my dear. Mister Nigma, sir knows how to meticulously structure a very good time indeed.”

With a wink, he crouched down and began separating the shrapnel of the robot’s chest cavity, and you joined him on the floor, sifting through the remains, smiling at him.

And while he pretended not to notice, Edward was well aware of the glances you stole. Just as he was well aware of the credit he had given you. It made him feel what he could only imagine was happy when he considered that he had a partner on a project. A partner. All he would admit to was that you were more of a help than a hindrance, but in reality, your enthusiasm, even just your presence, influenced his capacity for output and his joy in the work. It made everything go faster, smoother. You were like a good luck charm, if he believed in anything as ridiculous as luck.

It was strange to him that you made him consider such notions. There was something about your presence he still couldn’t put his finger on. But he was content to ruminate, to puzzle over it for now, pleasantly stimulated by just your existence as he stole his own glances while you worked on the broken and shattered pieces of the first of what he hoped were many projects you would complete together.

When the food arrived, Eddie offered to collect it from outside, leaving you to wander to the kitchen and set out the dishes. By the time he had come back in, you were grimacing at the fridge.

“Nothing to drink.”

“Hm… coffee?”

“Coffee and… pizza?”

“Italian?”

“Terrible. Oh!”

You jogged slowly to your room, picking out a crate of beer from the mini fridge you had added to the minimal furniture. An addition that Eddie questioned with a look.

“Warm beer sucks.”

“I’m more concerned that you keep them in there and not in the main fridge.”

“I do most of my drinking in bed at night, or before I go to sleep.”

“That’s probably not a good habit. What could possibly be driving you to that?”

You raised an eyebrow at him as you passed him a bottle, and he seemed to understand the slight jab at him that you were making. Raising the bottle to you he nodded, sheepishly.

“Understandable.”

Adding to the list of things you were learning about Eddie, as you watched him consume three beers with what was more than his fair share of the pizza, you realised he was a bit of a lightweight, at least in comparison to yourself. You were buzzed, for sure, but Eddie seemed completely drunk, and it was opening up another side to him. One that was just as talkative, but now, it was like he was actually saying something.

“So you should by now, I hope, be beginning to comprehend the uh… breadth! … of the tasks ahead of you, the sheer scale hic of the gauntlet I have thrown down!”

He sloshed his bottle as he gestured enthusiastically, splashing beer to the floor and delicately dipping his fingers to the little puddle before frowning.

“You have to help me build little robots…”

He brought his free hand up, fingers held very close together as he tried to emphasise how small these ‘little robots’ would be.

“… and you also hic have to uh… clean that spill up. Sorry.”

You giggled and smiled at him, and to your surprise he smiled back.

“I dunno why I don’t do this more often, I’m obviously much more… t-tolerable… I think.”

“I think I know why. And I don’t think you’re more tolerable. You’re just as intolerable as you always are.”

It was meant as a joke, the kind that he would usually smirk at, annoyed at you mostly for being as witty as he was. But he lowered his head and nodded.

“My father thought I was intolerable. Makes sense. Mother too.”

Entirely guilt ridden, you slid off the sofa to the floor beside him, allowing yourself to get closer to him than you really had been before.

“The guards at Arkham, the inmates at Arkham. None of them could suffer me. Biggest brain, smartest man, most intolerable human being. I suppose that’s why I have no friends. It’s… difficult for people to make the effort… for a connection.”

He looked to you for sympathy, but could see the hurt on your face.

“Before. No friends… before.”

Eddie placed his palm awkwardly on your shoulder, staring at it, as though he was surprised even at himself for making that leap. Which he was. He’d never before thought he would be brave enough to consider someone a friend, let alone have someone who seemed to be genuinely upset at the notion that he wasn’t a friend to them. He could feel his heart in his chest, suddenly very aware of the way his blood was circulating around, towards specific areas, the speed at which that integral organ pumped if around him. His throat, closing up, allowing him only the shallowest of breaths as he felt the heat on his palm, as though your body were on fire below him, too hot to touch, warning him to let go, or inviting him to enjoy the pleasant warmth.

Standing up, swaying slightly at the speed and the alcohol that he could swear he could feel swishing around in his stomach, he placed his hands securely in his pockets, as though containing them would prevent them from doing anything else without his specific permission.

“It’s very late. I think if we would like to be up early… in the… the morning time… we should perhaps go to our bed. Our beds. Separate… we have separate beds.”

From the floor, you looked up at him, watching the way he slurred his meanings and words, keenly studying the way he avoided eye contact, the way he struggled to look away from you.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

As he shambled off to his room, the door slamming three times behind him as he tried to close it in his stupor, you leaned back against the sofa, downing the very last of your beer and setting the bottle to the side. Staring at the arched brick ceiling, the stalactites of grime forming and reaching down to you, you could feel a scream rising up in your chest, desperate to come out.

It was the awkwardness, the tension. You could sense it the whole time, because you were the one with the crush. But if Eddie could feel it, it meant one of two things. Either he had feelings for you, or you were weirding him out with the way you insisted on being close to him. He opened up to you this evening, sure, called you a friend, in a roundabout way. But you knew which of the two options were likely. So, in the silence of the living area and with Eddie’s drunken snores giving you the security and permission to do so, you let out a long, hushed groan in place of the desperate howl you needed to get out.

#finnie writes #arkham riddler #arkham edward nigma #riddler x reader #arkhamverse riddler #the riddler #arkhamverse #riddler #the riddler imagine #riddler smut #the riddler fanfic #riddler fanfic #riddler x you #edward nigma x reader #edward nigma #arkham!riddler #the riddler fanfiction #arkham!verse #finnie yotn

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