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tremendum · 1 year

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Mr. Miller

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl)

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)

word count: 6.8k requested: yes. here and here :)

summary: “six months before you ran yourself into any trouble with somebody - that's no easy feat, considering your track record, so you like to call it a win anyways. but boy, talk about a rocky start with someone. Tommy's goddamn brother, no less.”

warnings: Jackson era, mentions of marijuana use, age gap (unspecified), sliiightly dub!con, smut (PiV, unprotected), creampie, overstimulation, pussy spanking, choking, spit kink, slight knife kink (do not look at me), dom!Joel (brat tamer!Joel if you squint), slight sir kink, so much dirty talk, lots of begging, degradation kink, dacryphilia, mean!Joel, this is just shameless smut i am horrible notes: okay i kind of modified these asks but I thought it’d be fun to write it like this!!! as always reblogs/asks/comments are always great motivations :’) this is not reread because i am INSANE! xoxo

( read the sequel other Joel fics: fever landmines )

★

to be completely honest, you never would’ve guessed you’d move to Wyoming.

of course, in this world you didn't really have much of a choice of where you end up; it was hard to travel, yes, but there was some guiding hand that invisibly pushed you upon Jackson in the middle of a really rough winter.

a girl, lost and on her own through the dangerous sprawls of what's left of the United States - of course Tommy and Maria had accepted you into the community; you were resourceful, willing, and strong-headed.

most of Jackson was nice.

the people were good, the community functioned, and you were finally safe - you found a job working partly as a patrolman if an extra hand was needed, but mostly as a gardener.

it was a beautiful basin valley with sprawling mountains that glittered in the snow even during summer.

you'd only been there for - what, maybe half a year? six months before you ran yourself into any trouble with somebody - that's no easy feat, considering your track record, so you like to call it a win anyways. but boy, talk about a rocky start with someone.

Tommy's goddamn brother, no less.

you didn't particularly get off on the correct foot with Joel Miller. when he showed up in town, people were thrown off. you surely understood that - but it was Tommy's brother, and Tommy insisted he would be fine; he and the girl with him had already been 'round Jackson before, leaving just a week or so before you showed up, apparently.

you'd definitely heard about him.

coincidentally, you'd actually moved into the house that Tommy had wanted Joel to have; the house that had the spare girl's bedroom which Ellie came through to ravage once they came back into town. (apparently the towels at Joel's were too rough no matter how many times they were washed, and Ellie really liked that Tamagotchi you'd found in the bedroom she once slept in.)

maybe that'd already put him off, the short time in which Ellie had found company in you. who knows.

but unfortunately, your first impression of him was muddled by a very real lens of beer-goggles and a long week's aching exhaustion in your brain. he was large, a tall man whose disposition dripped of domineering power; he didn't trust anybody here and by the looks of it, they didn't particularly adore him. he kept to himself besides Tommy - who unfortunately along with his wife were really your closest comrades in the community.

you almost felt bad for him, because that's how many people saw you at first. but on that night, you were just drunk enough, as you greeted Maria and Tommy at the bar with smiles and a joke about your libido, that you didn't quite realize that Tommy's big brother Joel was sat there, eyes watching you with a glimmer of something lurking behind the rim of the beer bottle.

to be fair: everybody in this life is unkind in their first impressions. that's just how the world is now - 'every man for himself' is an unfortunately ugly reality and those who are too soft to see that are rarely spared the gore.

but when Tommy introduces you to Joel with a huff of a laugh and a friendly slap on your shoulder, Joel's eyes are distrusting, judging. he doesn’t say anything to you.

you try not to be offended.

"pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Miller." you nod with a grin, your cheeks hot with slight intoxication as his large, calloused palm slips into yours. his grip is tight - your wince is covered with your words as you momentarily shoot Maria a look, turning back to the man in front of you.

"I met your girl earlier. stormed into my house like she owned the damn thing. was lookin' for some stuff she'd found last time, I guess. I'm just glad she didn't find my collection of big-girl toys."

okay. okay, yeah, maybe you are too drunk. Maria laughs, at least, and Tommy lets out a chuckle, eyes flickering to Joel. but he just hums, eyes glancing over you once more before returning to nurse his dark beer with a furrow of his brows. “right.”

and pathetic as it is, he was too damn irresistible; you’d imagined that stare -that brooding scowl- one too many times in the dead of night, hands down your pants or in a stranger’s bed.

and it hadn't gotten better in the months following.

it was of circumstances most unfortunate for you that Joel and Ellie moved into a house just a few down from you - as much as you wished to just never see the man and his censorious stare, it was unavoidable. especially when Ellie showed up nearly day-to-day with questions, excuses, or even just complaints of boredom to coax you into letting her inside your house.

a week or so ago, you’d overheard Tommy in a hushed voice down at the dining hall trying to convince Joel it was a good thing, that Ellie was learning to garden, learning about woman stuff (yes, he actually fucking said that), and - god forbid- make friends.

but you love Ellie.

she in't like Joel. she’s funny, and lively, and easy-going once you warmed up to her. in fact, you actually started to collect things from around town to show her on her ceremonious visits; books, tattered board games, once you even found a trumpet in the crawlspace of your old house. it was rusty and honestly probably still had dried saliva from whichever fifth-grader played it way back before the outbreak, but it was enough to entertain you and the fifteen-year-old girl for hours even if neither of you knew how to play it.

and maybe it was after Ellie mentioned to you with a giggle that Joel complains about you calling him ‘Mr. Miller,’ or maybe it was when she said he’d always ask about you and what you’re like whenever she returned from your days together.

no matter what the catalyst really was, you just know you have it bad for that man, in the worst way - because he is a fucking asshole.

but the worst of it was when Joel and you get paired up to patrol together on the outskirts. it means hours together of breathing and awkward looks, silence from you because he was silent and clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

you suffered through hours of Joel’s rugged sageness for survival, tugging you effortlessly through boulders, lifting yourselves high through dilapidated structures in the middle of the wilderness. he was strong and capable and fucking sexy, and that made it all the more unbearable when snide comments about your youth or your inexperience or your lack of punctuality would pass his lips. it was annoying how hot it made you.

as the summer rolled around, the horde was growing ever-present at the lips of Jackson county, festering like the moss that spreads along the woodsy forests in the northwest - hence your increased activity with the others who patrol the area and keep the community safe.

he was a many of almost no words, and though you were in no way the same when you were around people you trust, the man just brings out the skeptic in you - so for weeks, it was days of the two of you walking in silence, the only noise being weak impasses and jabs at the other’s self-esteem all veiled by a smirk or an eye-roll.

and still, each day out passed with your untrustworthy gazes pinned on the horizon just as much on each other's trigger fingers.

you're at your wit's end on one Friday evening as you finally return into town from patrol with him.

Joel is a man plagued by too many unnamed illnesses; the likes of which you so fondly call in your head 'can't-accept-help-itis' and 'stubborn-old-asshole-luenza.' part of his symptoms render him unable to say full sentences to you without a judgmental look or a skeptical scoff, and sure you're not always the best judge of character, but you're confident that Joel has his eyes on your backside every single time you bend over to move your marker on the trail. he’s thought about it, too.

but right now, you’re so tense you’re about to snap.

his gaze hasn't left your profile for - you swear to god - almost thirty fucking minutes. like, nearly the whole walk from the first outpost. he’s been staring at you like you’re a ghost, or a second head sprouted from your neck.

the heat of the summer night is unsullied; though you’re high in elevation, the warm wind blows a gust over your bare knees and ruffles your hair, coaxing a damp feeling to settle between your thighs under his gaze.

"if you stare any harder at me, you'll get a fucking nose bleed." you sneer, keeping your eyes ahead as you grit your teeth. his gaze is burning into your side and with your words, they maintain their heat.

whatever he was thinking, he keeps it to himself. you glare at his own profile, thick thighs, sturdy chest, hair that blows gently in the warm air. his jaw, glinting against the lights that guide you back into town. at least he’s looked away from you. good.

your victorious smirk is wiped off of your lips with his next words, the first in several hours from him besides grunts and directives. "d'you have the logs on you?"

you look at him with revelation. "shit." you sigh shaking your head, "they're- they're at home."

his face slides into a look of disdain, deep vexation at the task of now going back with you to your own house to sign the logs and confirm your findings for this patrol. "great." he mutters, feet kicking into gear to hightail it up the street, towards your house.

the heat is swirling around your legs in the darkening evening as you finally enter your house, sighing into the empty air. the lights flicker when you switch them on, and you'd bring yourself to be more embarrassed about the disheveled state of your things if it had been anyone else with you.

it doesn’t even matter, after all; his sights are set one one incriminating little piece of evidence in the corner of the living room.

the small nub that sits on the tray by your windowsill seems to be more salient for Joel than the hurricane that threw your belongings across the space.

your hands fall onto your hips, sighing as he accusingly lifts it from its ashy grave, eyes furrowed in irritation. your flannel sticks to your sleeves in the heat as his eyes meet yours.

"is this- 's this marijuana?" he's incredulous as his fingers pinch the burnt-out roach, and you screw your brows at him; is he serious? you ignore the dwarfed look of the small old joint in his large hand, instead rolling your eyes. "yeah, some folks call it weed. you can smoke it and it makes you feel real good. you ever heard of it, Mr. Miller?" you snark, the sarcasm spilling from your lips deliciously; Joel eats it up like a man starved, his jaw ticking as he tilts his head.

you know he secretly loves when you taunt him with the honorific; yes, it gets on his nerves, but there’s a secret air about him that suggests he likes it that way. it is easier to blur the lines between hate and desire than affection and desire, after all.

"Ellie comes over here every day." he hisses, eyes sharp. you blink slowly at him, trying to fight the laugh that creeps up your throat; his gaze is dark, furious - did he think you were smoking weed with the girl? she's, like, thirteen. (fifteen, she corrects you in your mind. but still.)

"that’s correct." you confirm, turning from him to search the kitchen for the log you'd forgotten in your haste to leave. his footsteps ring angry onto the floorboards. "if you're worried about that, I’d never smoke around her. 'm not that disrespectful." you defend, avoiding eye contact as you shuffle through your drawer of junk.

"doesn’t matter. she won't be coming round much more." he threatens it - tests the waters. as if he has the authority to punish you.

you lift a brow at him, "don’t you think she should be able to make that choice?" you throw back at him, tossing your switchblade onto the table to your right as you sort through the miscellaneous items with both hands.

uh oh, that struck a nerve in the man.

his eyes sharpen as he breathes harsh at your words; "don't talk about things you know nothing about, girl." he snaps, crossing his arms, "now find the fucking log so I can leave."

you glare at him, gesturing in front of you; your eyes scream no shit, Joel, I’m looking.

it's silent as you search through the drawer, gritting your teeth in the tense silence of anger, thicker than molasses.

you click your jaw, refusing to let it go, let him think he won.

"I do have self respect, y'know." you pipe up, lifting a brow as you finally stumble upon the log, pulling a dying pen from the drawer and scribbling notes as you plop down on a wooden chair at your kitchen table.

Joel stays standing; it does not go unnoticed when his eyes take in the contours of your body, the clothes that stick to you in the heat of the summer; a pair of jean shorts, torn from years of use, and a thin tank top, covered with an unbuttoned flannel. his eyes sear into you at your words.

wow. fuck him.

(no, not like fuck him, but- fuck him.)

"never said you didn't, darlin'." he mutters condescendingly, the pet name leaving his mouth bitterly. any form of backlash you were going to unleash on his dies in your throat quickly when he leans over your shoulder to sign his own name next to yours. your eyes widen to search his face as his own skim over your account of the patrol. he's- wow, he's closer to you than you would have expected.

holy shit. smoky swirls of gunpowder, pine, and dark amber whiskey. they fill your nostrils, dizzying your mind as you let out a stuttered breath - it's hot in here... your eyes glance as a small lick of sweat trickles down his neck. your throat is dry, heat swirling in your abdomen as he hums, "jus' think Ellie should start hangin' around with others."

"why's that?" you snap, daring him to say it. fuck, your heart is pounding in your chest. oh, if he just admits it; that he thinks he's better than you, that he thinks you're pathetic - lord, you yearn for it, you’d have a fucking field day. you want an excuse to hit him. or bite him.

fuck Joel Miller, and- okay, fine. fuck him, too.

his brows are furrowed as he glares hawkishly at your stubborn form; his gaze is serrated with disdain, jaw clenching with the words you're just begging him to admit.

"she's been cussin' and speaking...vulgar." he mutters, eyes flickering away from you. your jaw unhinges as you huff in surprise; he has the audacity to accuse you for teaching her to be foul-mouthed? hadn't she traveled with him for, what, a year? she’s a teenager - that’s what they do.

"oh, please." you snap, "that girl was far from a princess when you showed up here, you know." you mutter, tossing a look over your shoulder up at him, the buttons undone at the top of his shirt staring at you, mocking you.

"I know." he dismisses. his hand falls to stable himself on the back of your chair as he leans down towards you, "but you ain't helping. don't need her gettin' into any more trouble."

you narrow your eyes, "trouble?" you parrot, accusing.

the air is warm, thick as you cross your arms, the windows open and flowing the outside summer air into your nostrils. "how could I be trouble? you hardly know me." you snap, offended. you swirl with irritation.

"because I listen. people think you're harsh. untrustworthy." he spits, smirking down at you as if his words are poison that'll dissolve your whole being into a small puddle of regret. but no, it's gasoline; his words are enough to incite your flames, lick you alive with ardor.

he doesn't like you? oh, big fucking deal. you don't like him.

"you ever heard of the pot calling the kettle black, Mr. Miller?" you drawl, lifting an accusatory brow. “what if you’re the bad influence? it’s not like you have any more manners than I do.”

his jaw sets and his nostrils flare from his sharp exhale; you let your eyes swipe over the splattering of freckles that peek out from under the scruff beard that grows; a scar jags across his skin, frown lines creasing his scowl in a dark, terribly attractive way. you’re tip-toeing a line here, you can feel it.

he can feel it, too.

his eyes dip down, though you try hard to hold his heated gaze; they trail slowly over your shoulders and down, down to the dip of your collarbones and then over your breasts, heaving slightly with the proximity of the man. his gaze nearly melts the tank top that stretches over your torso and a flood of excitement rushes through you, pooling in the seat of your underwear. a smirk creeps onto your face at his wandering stare - resentful, loathing, heated.

something in you snaps, and you can't deal with it any longer; not with his proximity, leaning over your shoulder and staring you down, with half-rolled sleeves. his forearms, they’re thick- goddamn, he's so-

"-I can't tell if you're looking at me like that because you want to kill me, or you want to fuck me." you snap, breaking his spell as you snap his attention back to your own eyes with your bold choice of words. "either way, it'll have to wait. I got shit to do, Mr. Miller, and for some reason, you're still in my house giving me fuck-me-eyes."

"-you better watch your mouth." he snarls, chest heaving as he leans forward menacingly, his jaw clenched.

you let yourself smile up at him, "or what, Mr. Miller?" you ask kindly, voice dripping with perfidious innocence.

he sneers, eyes raking over your form, jaw ticking. your body flushes with warmth under his scrutinous gaze; one of your bare legs slides up to rest on the chair next to you, on full display snd illuminated in the light of the kitchen as you smirk at him. his dark chocolate gaze slides over the skin revealed; your skin tingles in excitement under his watch. it makes you chuckle.

"what, you don't like the way I speak?" you hiss, glaring at him. "chastising me for shit that you do, too?" you mutter snidely, pulling your leg back down as his eyes glare into yours. "I'm an adult, you can't tell me what to say. fucking hypocrite."

your hand presses into his chest, standing to your full height. his chest is firm, hot, but he lets you do it easily, moving back out of your space; giving you an out, offering you a chance to say this-isn't-what-I-want. but you won't take it. no, instead you slide up closer to him, until you're too close.

"why so quiet now, Mr. Miller?" you almost purr, your hand still toying with your switchblade, the glint of it reflecting in his eyes. slowly, you lift the blade to trace it gently, softly over his jawline, as you’d do with your fingers. he watches you like a damn hawk, breathing heavy.

the scratch of it against the facial hair is enough for him to snap; suddenly snatching the blade from between your fingers in one quick motion.

“you’re testin’ my patience.” he growls, shaking his head as he holds the handle of the knife in an iron-like grip. you shake your head, “yeah, well, you’ve taken all mine.” you counter. “so…” you start, raising a brow at the knife in his hands, the way your legs are turning to putty, “you going to kill me, Mr. Miller? or fuck me?” you whisper it into his ear, up on the tips of your toes as the peppering-gray curls at the base of his ear tickle your lips.

a sharp exhale - almost a surrender. then, a rough hand pushes you down against the table, hard. your body is pliant, willing, excited as his force brings you to thud against the wood, his hand flying down quick just to your right in a loud thud.

your head snaps to your right, eyes wide and jaw open; your switchblade pins your own flannel to the table, stabbed down and holding the material and your arm in place. christ, it barely missed nicking your skin.

“depends on if you can learn some goddamn manners.” he growls, leaning over you, his hips slotting between your thighs.

maybe it’s the look on his face, or just how damn long it’s been since you had someone, or just because it’s Joel – but your facade falls so quick and you’re soon keening up towards him, arching your back so your chest sticks out.

“I’m a fast learner.” you promise; at that, he merely hums, his hips grinding slow over yours. you let your eyes squeeze shut, groaning lightly at the bliss of his rough denim sliding against your shorts-clad cunt, throbbing with desire.

you’re breathless; shivers cascade down your spine at the press of his hips against yours, licking your lips to wet them; “fuck, Joel-“ your breath is strangled, “please. I can be good for you.” you try to convince him, blinking your eyes up at him. his smirk is downright evil as his hands fall to your top, skating over the tops of your breasts before one hand grips your jaw in his large palm, squeezing hard onto your cheeks and forcing you to stare into his eyes.

his grip is unforgiving. “y’think you can jus’ bat those pretty eyes at me?” he sneers, his breath hot and fanning over your face. you’re overheating- god, it’s so fucking hot in your house; your hand raises to grip his forearm, swallowing your pride for the sake for finally getting to feel him inside you, “’m sorry, Joel.” you mutter, cheeks squished by his hand.

his brow furrows, shaking his head. a chastising tutting noise escapes his throat as he rolls his hips, grinding sloooow and smooth against your dripping cunt, aching with desire.

“no, you’re fucking not.” he spits, pushing you harder against the table. your throat is dry, a whimper of desire escaping your throat. his lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans more of his weight on you, your legs wrapping around his hips and your own surging up, up in search for some friction, “say it. say you’re not sorry. you like it, I can tell.”

shivers spill down your spine as you bite back a moan, cheeks alight with heat at his teasing. Your eyes lull over towards the blade that holds down your shoulder, pinning you against the table. a hot rush of arousal floods your underwear as you swallow, eyes rising to meet his in a lidded gaze.

“I like it,” you admit in a shameful gasp, hand sliding up to explore his chest, “I’m- I’m not sorry. I like it, ‘m not sorry.” you mutter, voice desperate, pathetic; you’re swallowing a whimper as he grinds slowly against you again, his hardened cock straining against his jeans.

his hand snaps to pin yours down to the edge of the table; your eyes snap up to his, meeting the swirling lust within his deep eyes, searching your face with a dangerous smirk. “you aren’t sorry?” he asks, voice dripping with condescending cockiness.

you shake your head no desperately, searching his eyes to see if he’s pleased.

he smirks at your desperation. "you will be, darlin’." he mutters, his own eyes exploring your chest as it heaves, breasts barely spilling out the top of your tank top’s hem. you smile up at him despite your desperation; hunger curls in your chest as you move your hips up against him and his face falters, a groan escaping his throat. his eyes swirl with the dark shine of a man who is nothing less than dangerous.

the hand that isn’t pinned by the blade creeps up his arm, brushing the thick cords of muscle that rope his bicep and shoulders; soon, though, one of his hands is gripping your wrist and slamming it down against the edge of the table.

you gasp from the roughness, biting your lip as your fingers curls around the edge and hold tight under his grip.

“don’t move your hands,” he mutters as his lips dip low to trace over the seam of your top, breath brushing over the soft skin of your breasts. “or I’ll leave you here, pinned to this table.”

arousal floods you at his words and you nod silently, swallowing as his teeth bite roughly at your pressure point. “d’you hear me, girl?” he grunts, his hands moving to pull out one of your breasts from your top, your peaked nipple instantly tugged between his prying fingers.

you let out a yelp at the sensation and he huffs against your skin, biting again. “fuck,” you whimper loudly, bucking your hips as your hands grip tight against the edge of the table; one arm is pinned with the knife anyways, but your heart thunders as his tongue peaks out, brushing hot against your sweat-sheened skin.

A hand snakes to your throat and you can’t stop the moan you let out, air sucking through your windpipe at the light grip he keeps; you’re obsessed with how all-consuming he is.

Joel’s everywhere – his smell, his eyes, his hands, tongue – you want him to be inside you, you want him to be in you forever, ever, ever.

fuck Joel Miller. fuck him, and fuck him.

“I asked you something. answer me.” he squeezes your throat as he emphasizes, as he demands you; you buck up against him, convinced you’re soaking through your goddamn shorts, leaving disgusting proof of your sick, twisted arousal as you move against his crotch.

his dominance causes your face to flare with heat; you weren’t expecting him to seduce you into submission - you love it. “y-yes, yes, sir. I he-heard you.” you gasp, face flushing hot as the words leave you. he smirks darkly as he pulls away from you, danger lurking in his eyes deliciously as he nods, seemingly pleased.

he nods. “good.”

his hips are gone from you in an instant and your gasp is choked – but he wastes no time in popping the button on your jeans, sliding them and your underwear off of you in one long motion.

his pupils somehow blow even wider as he stands in front of you, palming his thick cock through his jeans, watching you pant hard.

you’re exposed in front of him – your pussy is swollen with need, pulsing with desire as one of your breasts rests exposed to the air as the knife pins you down by the arm of your flannel; you’re fucking exposed and you love it. he’s intoxicating.

“you’re soaked.” he says after a moment of silence so long that you barely register his gruff voice. you blink, bringing your eyes back up to his from where he’s begun to undo his belt.

you can’t help the light smirk as you stare up at him, “maybe I happen to like it when you’re vulgar with me.”

he glares at you but there’s a hint of something more that flashes through his eyes; adoration? no, it couldn’t be. Joel Miller can’t adore anything.

but then out of nowhere his fingers delve through your velvet, slippery folds in a fervor; your breath chokes yet again in your lungs as you tense with the sudden stimulation.

a low, guttural moan falls from your lips as the pads of his middle and ring fingers rub tight, slow circles on your clit, “bet you taste so good, don’t you?” he murmurs, his teeth finding purchase upon your neck, sucking a mark so hard you’re sure you’ll have it for weeks. christ. ��y’want me to taste you, pretty girl?”

fuck. images flash through your mind of him on his knees, tongue unraveling you, drowning in you while your thighs close around those thick greying curls.

your moan falls from you fast, nodding quick, “yes, yes, please, please, use your mouth.“ your whines are downright embarrassing – you’re not a wide-eyed virgin teen, for fuck’s sake – but Joel’s stirring you just right, making you purr with pleasure.

but instead of his tongue, a harsh swat falls onto your aching cunt and your hips jolt at the stimulation, your clit throbbing and the sting making you groan his name. you can’t help the moan of disappointment.

“well, isn’t that too bad?” he snarls, his voice mean. you feel tears of frustration spring in your eyeline as you huff a sigh, his fingers slowly, torturously moving over your clit yet again. “bet you’d love if I ate your cunt. probably dream about it, don’t ya? d’you think about me when you touch yourself?”

Christ, you’d never expected Joel-don’t-fucking-talk-to-me-Miller to be so fucking dirty; but you learned your lesson last time, so you nod quick, eyes lidded through the euphoric, teasing pleasure from the pads of his fingers.

“all-all the time, J-Joel, fuck, think about you all the time.”

and it’s true.

“that’s right. my slut, thinkin’ about me.” he spits, mouth peppering bites over your throat. “gonna have to make y’cum fast, baby. Maria’s probably waiting for us t’turn in the logs.”

the possession in his voice brings you even further towards the edge, catapulting you, sending you frustratingly close as your body tenses, puckering hole clenching around nothing as he slowly works you.

you nod your head, unable to open your eyes as your legs close around Joel’s fingers; in anger, his hand tears your thighs apart, swatting the soft skin of your thighs in punishment. you yelp at the sting, biting your lip as a new gush of arousal leaks from your neglected hole and drips down onto the table.

fueled by frustration and adrenaline and some desperate fire of attraction that’s been burning between you since he first showed up in Jackson, you nearly scream, “please, fuck me now, Joel, please I’ll do anything-“

his hand leaves his ministrations quick, his glare sharp as his fingers glisten with your desperate arousal; they’re soaked. you feel yourself flush in embarrassment until he smirks darkly, tugging himself out of the confines of his jeans. “there, see? learnin’ some manners.”

his cock is heavy and thick as it slides through your wet, slick folds. your breath, panting out and puffing as you watch in awe. his: stuttering as the tip of his dick notches at your clenching hole, teasing.

“Jesus, you’re trying t-to swallow me, darlin’.” His hand reaches out, grabbing a palm full of your tit as he rocks his hips, once again nudging your leaking hole.

your whole body shivers in anticipation; you will your eyes to not reveal how fucking turned on you are about his size - you’re more wet than you’ve ever been in your life and his cock is - well, it’s thick, long, bigger than you’d like to admit.

“greedy fuckin’ pussy.” he grunts to himself as you hold yourself as still as possibly, one tear escaping as you your eyes clench shut in desire.

“’m ready, Joel.” you whimper, eyes opening to find his hot gaze already searing through you; he just smirks, nodding slightly. “yeah, bet you are, pretty girl.”

he can’t thrust all the way into you, not fully- his cock is too thick, your cunt slick with arousal but still so goddamn tight. the rumbling moan he lets out as he inches in slowly is fucking heavenly.

a strangled gasp leaves your lips when he starts to slide into you, inch-by-inch, stretching you open and filling you full of him. your fingers twitch at your sides as you yearn to card your fingers through his thick curls; his head falls heavy against your chest as he mutters, “s’tight, baby, fu-fuckin’ tight.”

“so much,” you whimper, fingers tight and shaking as you restrain from grabbing his arms to stabilize himself, “‘s too much.” you mumble, tears stinging. he hums, the ghost of a kiss over your cheek before he’s in your ear, whispering, “am I too big for you, baby? gonna hav’ta work you open on my fingers first next time, yeah?”

his dark grin grows as you nod your head dumbly, “fuck- yeah, yes.” you agree, nodding,

his voice is starting to slur, accent getting thicker as he soon splits you fully, speared and sheathed deep, deep into you. you’re fluttering around him as you accommodate to his size, the feeling of him nearly breaking you open as he starts to shallowly thrust.

you let out a loud moan, his thickness stretching you and sliding deeper than expected, kissing against a spot that has you keening. your toes curl and your head falls back as he pulls out, thrusting back into you slow, grinding, deep.

all you can say is his name; it falls from your lips like it’s the only word you know, his hips soon pistoning into you with fervor, chasing the feeling coiling in your abdomen.

his hands roam.

they explore every part of you they can reach, his teeth marking every inch of your throat and painting you into a beautiful piece of art. for him.

the noise of your pussy swallowing his girth in is downright filthy as it echoes through your kitchen; your head lulls to the side as you let out a languid moan, the spot he's hitting making your eyes roll back. you can feel stray tears leak down your cheeks, hot and heavy as you whimper in desire; you're so goddamn close, already, you know he can feel it.

“y’gonna-“ he grunts, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as yours leak down your cheeks, body shaking with desire, “-gonna take my cock and say thank you, ‘s that right?”

a shaking rush of arousal just slickens you even more; the sounds of his body rocking into yours wet and loud in the room as you nod frantically, the pleasure coiling dangerously fast.

but it seems you weren’t quick enough with your response: Joel’s hips slow, then stop completely.

you’re left gasping, eyes wide as you stare up at him in shock: “wh-why?” you whimper, his pulsing length half out of you, teasing you.

Joel’s eyes meet your own and he sternly swats your tits, eyes watching as the breast exposed to the air moves in recoil.

“do you want to cum?” he asks, as if he’s asking what 2 + 2 is. your face fucking burns as you nod, “yes-“

but he grunts, hips too agonizingly still as he leans forward, “then take my cock, fuck yourself on it. and use your fuckin’ manners.”

you blink at him, spurring into action only after a very brief short-circuited moment. your hips stutter and shake at the angle, unable to move in a way that stimulates yourself enough to bring you back to the edge.

you shutter, muttering, “th-thank- thank you,” but you can’t do it. you glare at him as you move your hips, hands shaking, muscles straining, but you can tell he’s not pleased: brows drawn, a swat to your exposed breast that stings and spurs your hips quicker.

“come on, this is pathetic.” he snarls, fingers gently pinching your clit. the yelp you let out is dry, starved. “why so quiet now, darlin’?” he throws your own words back at you deliciously.

he stands stationary, eyes judging you, focused on where your cunt tries to swallow his cock, your movements choppy and weak. tears spring in your eyes; he feels so good, but you just can’t get it right.

“please.” you nearly whisper it, but it’s exactly what he was looking for. he rocks his hips shallowly, your body rocking gently with the slow, deep force of him splitting you open.

“please, what?” he whispers into your ear, teeth scraping your jaw. resentment and arousal flows through your veins as you let out a strangles, “please, s-sir-“

with the words, Joel’s hips cant up into you, the slight angle making your legs coil and your throat burn.

“please fuck me, y’feel- I can’t do it, need- you feel so good, fuck me hard, please, I want it.” you let go, begging and desperate to give you what you crave.

his hips pick up a brutal pace. your back is pounded into the wood below you, the cool blade of the knife cold against your flannel as one of his large hands moves you until your legs are thrown up, over his shoulders.

the stretch is unimaginable and he doesn’t give you any time to adjust; his hips are unforgiving, fucking you open and letting your juices of arousal spill over the skin of your thighs and onto the table.

“such a foul fuckin’ mouth on you.” he spits, one hand gripping your jaw until it opens for him, your mind clouded with the chase of your highs.

he spits into your mouth, saliva warm and intoxicating as you swallow it happily, nodding in a daze. “gonna fuck you stupid, aren’t I? you won’t think about anything but me for weeks.”

he’s right, and he fucking knows it.

you nod at him, unable to form full words as he hits the spongy, delicious spot inside you that nearly makes you pass out. your hands fucking ache from the grip on the table, but you hope he’s pleased that they haven’t moved a damn inch this whole time; even as he splits you wide open and takes you apart.

you’re so close you might actually start to sob as the crest of your orgasm tingles your thighs, your toes curling and legs shaking.

he's close, too. his thrusts are getting slower, sloppier.

“whose pussy is this?” Joel grunts, his movements soon desperate and deep; his tip kisses your cervix and your body jolts up the table with each movement of his pubic bone against yours.

the pain is fucking euphoric, delicious as you grip the edge of the table so hard you’re unsure they’ll ever relax. his finger pinches your nipple and you yelp, sweat sticking to your forehead, “-y-yours, fuck, Joel- yours, a-always.” you whimper, breathless.

you feel his smile grow against your neck and the butterflies that grow in your chest seem out of place with the bruises that will soon blossom on your skin from his teeth, his fingers.

you smile, too.

"god, you're perfect- f-feel fuckin' perfect around me, baby. need you to cum." as his sentence ends, his head jerks up, one hand rising to grip your jaw tight. your eyes snap to his and the anger boils, festering with the desire and lust within his eyes, "know y'can't help it, can you?"

you shake your head fiercely as your orgasm nears. he hums deep, a rumble from his chest, “what do you say if you want me to let you cum?”

fuck. fuckfuckfuck you’re too close- your muddled mind spits a barely cohesive babble of pleads, “please, p-pleaseplease I-I’m sorry I’m sorry-“

“you’re sorry?” he presses, hips not giving up; your whole body burns as you wait for your orgasm, knowing in any second it’ll be ruined. “look at those pretty eyes. did y’learn your manners? y’gonna say thank you?”

you let out a sob of pleasure, his thrusts so deep you can feel them in your throat. “yes, Joel- please- let me cum, please-“

his hand slides to your throat. “cum now.”

you swallow around his grip and let out a near scream of his name as his other hand snakes between you; a finger brushes against your abused clit, the combined stimulation pushing you over the edge.

you see colors.

your orgasm explodes as you gush around him, pulsing, begging, unraveling around his touch. your voice is broken, mutters and whimpers of his name followed by thank you, thank you drifting through the room.

your thighs are soaked with your own spend and he feels you grip him like a vice; he can't help but kiss the tears from your cheeks as he milks you through your orgasm, muttering soft grunts in your ear.

"that's it, baby. there y'go, cum on my dick when i fuckin' tell you to." he kisses the column of your throat as his thrusts slow to deep, long thrusts. "atta girl."

you scream at his words and the overstimulation. he shushes you, thrusts slow. "'m gonna cum." he sounds almost desperate, his body so close to yours it's almost like he's trying to smother you.

he groans your name in a broken sound; his grip tugging your hair. he moves back, frantic to pull out and ride his high- but you panic.

"w-wait!" you rush, hands springing without thinking to push his hips hard against yours. you can't bear to imagine him pulling out of you so soon - you need to feel him, be full of him. "cum in me, Joel- I need it, j-just- fuck!"

his hand slams over your mouth, effectively silencing you with a loud grunt of his own, "shut the fuck up," he growls, sounding too close. “jesus, girl- gonna wake up the whole n-neighborhood-“ but even his shamefully dirty mouth falters when he chases his orgasm.

soon he thrusts shallowly into your pulsing cunt before he's moaning, spurting his seed into you.

hot, thick ropes of cum paint your walls as you flutter, whimpering as you breathe heavy, hands skittering up his back despite his earlier orders.

his lips brush over your skin as he lies on you, heavy; "jesus christ." is all he mutters, pulling out of you with a slick sound and tucking himself into his jeans.

you can only stare at the ceiling, the light above the table you’re laid upon swinging with the residual force of your bodies colliding.

a hand falls in a sharp thud to your right, pulling hard to dislodge the knife from its home against you; the notch it leaves reveals the patrol log; speared in the middle with the evidence of you and Joel's digressions.

oops.

you're wrecked. you're a trembling frame of a structure after the hurricane of Joel Miller took threw you, stripping you to your bare bones. a ghost of lips over the inside skin of your knees as they fall, weak, off of his shoulders. and then he stares at you as you shakily sit up, setting your clothes right, swallowing on a raw throat.

“‘m sorry about the flannel.” he gestures to the rip in your arm where the knife had pinned you down and something about it makes you chuckle, smoothing down your hair. “are you- are you okay?” he asks suddenly, hard eyes looking almost soft under the glow of the lamplight.

he hands you your underwear and jeans and helps you slide back into them in a surprisingly sweet turn of events.

“more than okay, christ. if you make me cum like that again you can do anything you want to my clothes.” you wink with a deep breath, smiling gently at him when he helps you stand back up on shaky legs. he actually sends you a half-smirk at that, and it flutters along your chest.

the nighttime air is not so suffocating as you and Joel make your way towards Maria, his hand grazing over the small of your back as you walk on Jell-o legs, faces flushed and sweat slicking to your skin.

it’s awkward.

“I-” he starts, swallowing air as you stare up at him. sweat trickles from his brow and you itch to trace it with your tongue.

“I actually think you’re not too bad,” he finishes, turning to walk up the steps to Tommy and Maria’s. you blink, heat fluttering in your chest as he admits, but soon whirls around to ensure you hear him, “for Ellie. just- don’t do that shit around her, right?” he clarifies.

you grin at his reddened cheeks as he tucks the log into the box set near the door, filing it under the western outpost for the date.

“yes, Mr. Miller.” you mock-salute him, smirking to yourself as his flush deepens, the scowl ever-present on his face softening slightly at your smile.

“christ.” he shakes his head, “you’re gonna get me into a lot of trouble.” you don’t miss the smile that creeps on his face as he starts to walk you back home.

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minimujina · 1 year

Text

you make me so nervous !

sᴛᴀʀʀɪɴɢ. heizou, albedo, wanderer/scaramouche x f!reader

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. reader has a dendro vision, and when you get flustered or injured your powers go crazy :0

ᴄᴡ. sickeningly sweet fluff, wanderer is given a name, wanderer’s is a bit different than the other two so specific warnings are right before his, ARCHON QUEST SPOILERS!1!

heizou had never met someone so easy to read in all his days of observing people.

the mere presence of the detective seemed to fluster you impossibly—and your dendro vision would react in accordance, much to your dismay.

take the time that you decided to go for a mid-morning walk—something you didn’t usually do. you were looking for easy ways to change things up, bored of the stagnancy that so often came with a rigid schedule.

upon seeing you, the detective was surprised, since he knew that you were usually in your garden at this time of day. he shrugged it off, though, approaching you eagerly. and i’m not saying that he had the intention of frightening you, but that’s exactly what i’m saying.

“my dear sweetflower!” heizou exclaimed, startling you with an obnoxious poke on the shoulder. sweetflower was an endearing nickname he’d come up with when he first met you. “what brings you here at this fine hour?”

mischief and arrogance seemed to just seep from his voice. but still, he was a good friend to you, and a good person. just a bit of a bastard.

you gave a loud yelp and a flinch—he had to steady you with his arms amidst good-natured laughter to keep you from smacking him.

after you’d calmed down and he stopped laughing, heizou noticed something peculiar and novel: flowers had begun to bloom in your hair. by the time heizou had released you from his grasp, the mess atop your head had become more than abundant with clusters of posies.

you were none the wiser, since you were too busy trying to sort out your muddled thoughts—but heizou brought the issue to your attention with a silvery hum and a grin, reaching behind your ear to pluck a single leaf from its vine.

“did i scare you that much, dear?” the detective’s voice was teasing, but kind, and his smile more than reached the marks under his eyes. he was clearly amused at this predicament of yours.

the next time, however, had nothing to do with you being startled. you simply took notice of heizou in the distance—and the next thing you knew, flowers were sprouting up like weeds all around you. the detective hadn’t spotted you, though, so you bunched up as many of the fresh sumeru roses and sweetflowers in your little arms as you could, scurrying away in a panic.

ever since then, this problem persisted relentlessly. you’d learned to control it more with time, but every chance encounter with the detective spelled your inevitable embarrassment—at least one plant would spring up somewhere in the vicinity, and more often than not it would be in your own hair. heizou honestly wasn’t sure what to make of it—he might have been good at discerning motives and teasing out evidence, but for the life of him, he couldn’t unravel your seemingly complex feelings about him.

it was the beginning of the end when the detective stumbled upon a peculiar path of flowers and droopy vines. it was painfully obvious that they did not belong there among the sakura, and heizou had a feeling that he knew just who the culprit was.

after following the trail for no more than a few minutes, he was confronted with an amusing sight—you, sprawled on the ground, snarled in the sheer abundance of plants that seemed to have tripped you. he wondered what you’d been running from that made you so afraid.

heizou flashed you a smug smile, but he leaned over to lend a hand anyways. and yet, more flowers sprouted to shroud you from his view, as if tucking you away. but the glimpse of fear he’d seen in your eyes was enough for him to finally come to a conclusion—it was him you had been running from.

but.. you weren’t scared of him. this he knew.

you liked him.

oh, what an ego boost this was for shikanoin heizou.

he sighed, almost dreamily. “oh, my little sweetflower, you can come out now—i know about your little crush on me, so there’s no need to keep running away.”

when you made no move to emerge, heizou smiled to himself. of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“love,” he mused, “what i’m saying is that i—“

suddenly, heizou’s throat tightened. it came out of nowhere; he was so confident when he started, and this went so smoothly in his head. so why did his tongue suddenly feel so heavy? why did his chest burn the way it did?

it took the detective a moment to collect himself—he found it difficult to quell the sudden thought that maybe he liked you even more than he realized.

deep breaths, detective.

“what i mean to say is..”

another deep breath, heizou.

“i find you rather.. endearing.”

he cleared his throat, unconsciously stuffing his hands in his pockets. oh, if only he could see himself—he was being so obvious that even an amateur could see right through him.

“well, that is—i like you.”

he hadn’t meant to say it so plainly, but it seemed that his words, however hesitant they were, gave you the push of courage you needed.

the flowers parted ever so slightly to reveal your eyes again, less terror-filled, though still quite shaken.

but what was most surprising was the detective’s expression—you caught it for only a split second, but it was there. his eyes were blown wide, as if he were incredulous with himself. but a whimsical grin that could fool anyone quickly replaced all evidence of that uneasiness.

“…really?” you whispered, voice thinned and small, as if you’d swallowed your confidence.

a baffling, earnest sincerity crept into heizou’s expression—of all the times he’d been able to conceal his true feelings, this was not one of them.

“really.” his response was firm, his gaze softer than it had ever been.

“and..” you took a deep breath, looking anywhere but at the detective. “…you aren’t bothered by the whole…flower thing?”

heizou laughed mirthfully—“why would i be?”

under the cover of your plants, you fiddled with the petals of a sumeru rose as you spoke. “i don’t know.. it’s just embarrassing, is all. i thought it was overbearing.”

“oh, dear,” heizou tutted. “was it blatantly obvious? yes, yes it was”—your expression turned sheepish—“but overbearing? you? never.”

heizou reached out to part the sea of plants away from your face so that he could properly see you, letting one hand linger to lift your chin. “ah, there’s my lovely girl,” he grinned. “now, let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

and with that, your shaky little hand emerged to place itself in heizou’s steady palm, and he pulled you up, watching as the leaves and florets spilled all around your form like water.

and for once, heizou had nothing to say. all he could think about was the feeling of your small hand in his own, and how beautiful you looked in that moment. if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were the long-departed goddess of flowers herself.

heizou very promptly decided that he could not tolerate the way his heart was acting. no, no, no, it was simply out of character. you were the one who was supposed to be flustered—not shikanoin heizou, the tenryou commission’s top detective, a young and brilliant genius whom nothing could unnerve.

the detective tugged you forward suddenly, fastening his hands around your waist as he stooped down—but he froze just before he reached your lips. he seemed to study you, admiring the brightness in your eyes, the dancing reflection of sunlight.

“wanna make out?” he asked out of the blue, a shit-eating grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

what you wanted was to slap him for his god-awful sense of humor.

but also yes, you did want to make out.

you decided to make this very clear by grabbing a fistful of his shirt and just making the move yourself for once. from the way he smiled into your lips, your intuition told you that he liked your spontaneous impatience.

when albedo discovered that his own presence regularly caused your vision to malfunction, his curiosity surrounding you became insatiable.

he would hum, stepping around you in a measured circle while he observed the various flowers that had sprouted from your vision. a thick vine had found itself stuck to the surface of your vision, almost as if it were trapped in the glass, not fully emerged. it trailed all the way to the ground of albedo’s workshop, branching off into more vines with sweet flowers, roses, and all sorts of pretty blossoms.

“how peculiar,” the alchemist murmured. “i’ve never seen anything quite like this before.”

yeah, me neither, you wanted to mumble and grouch, but you settled for a subtle pout instead.

albedo hummed thoughtfully again before completing a full circle around you, coming to face you eye-to-eye. you could see the mischief in his gaze, and your tummy fluttered with nervous anticipation—one could never know what the chalk prince would do next.

“i wonder… could we possibly encourage the vine to grow more? perhaps then it wouldn’t be stuck—which, again, is fascinating in itself.”

albedo was staring at you so intensely that you couldn’t make yourself meet his gaze. he continued nonetheless, “i’ve really never heard of someone’s powers emerging straight from the vision and manifesting that way. you are very curious—very curious indeed.”

seeing your blank expression and watery eyes, albedo decided to continue with his procedures in a more considerate fashion. he understood that you probably felt scrutinized, but he didn’t mean it that way, truly. he was filled with genuine curiosity about this predicament—though perhaps he did have an ulterior motive hidden somewhere.. but who’s to say?

“let’s go ahead and see if we can make it grow, then, shall we?” oh, there was so much mischief in his voice, and you did not like it one bit, nor did you like the way your stomach buzzed.

albedo suddenly leaned down very close to the side of your face—close enough that you could hear his gentle breathing and feel it fan across your blushy cheek.

“would this suffice to do the trick?” he asked lowly; you spotted his subtle grin out of the corner of your eye.

and sure enough, the floor all near ruptured with greenery, so many flowers poking up through the cracks of the dirt that it almost looked like a garden in the middle of this dry, frigid mountain.

“oh, my,” albedo chuckled, his mirthful gaze burning your face. “that did the trick indeed.”

you stepped back out of shame, though your flustered expression failed to escape him—nothing could ever fool those sharp eyes of his.

how endearing, he thought, amused at the manner in which your feet shifted and the way your cheeks bloomed a shade much darker than before.

hoping to quell your fears, albedo leaned down to pluck a single flower from its stem—a cecilia, native to mondstadt, yet fabricated by your own hand. he approached you to carefully tuck it behind your ear, his hand lingering for but a moment to brush your cheek.

another cecilia popped up from the ground, right next to albedo’s feet—your hands flew up to cover your face.

this prompted a warm chuckle from the alchemist. your anxiety subsided a bit at his comforting, familiar laughter.

his hand remained near your cheek, thumb just barely ghosting the skin; it was as though you were made of a delicate porcelain he was afraid to crack. and yet, oh, and yet, the way he was looking at you was so piercing that you thought you may fall apart at the seams. those eyes of his drilled holes into your face, but their gaze still held so much affection—how could he possibly analyze you with that cold calculation and still make you feel so warm inside?

“it’s still stuck in the vision,” he murmured without breaking eye contact, his even and composed voice dragging you out of a daydream; it took you a moment to realize he was talking about the plant. although.. his hand was still cupping your cheek. your heart thumped in your ears like a rabbit’s foot to the ground—why was he still touching you? this wasn’t like the distant, calculated albedo you were certain you knew… though it’s not like you minded.

the alchemist took a step forward with one foot, slow and careful. the other followed suit, bringing him ever closer, so that now you could feel his breath against your cheek again. it was a stark contrast to the frigid atmosphere, and a shiver racked through your body at his touch. and that was when you realized just how close he was—so close that your noses almost brushed; so close that he was craning his neck to meet your gaze; so close that you almost thought he might…

..well, albedo just couldn’t help himself, could he? archons, he knew he was supposed to be trying to fix the problem with your vision, but this entire experiment was his own self-indulgence at this point. but he would not be doing it if he didn’t already know that you were quite taken with him—your vision going haywire when he got close to you gave albedo all the evidence he needed to come to the conclusion that you were smitten.

and so, when the alchemist placed his other hand on your jaw, holding your face with that steadiness and carefulness you knew he possessed, more flowers sprung up around your feet. but neither of you cared.

“this should fix it, yeah?” albedo mumbled, and before you could even process what he had said, he was swooping down to capture your lips in a kiss.

it was gentle yet fervent, brief yet fulfilling. your whole body felt warm and fluttery, so when he pulled away, you found yourself leaning forward and standing on your tippy toes as if to beg him not to—but he did, just so that he could see the expression on your face: flushed, sheepish, happy, perplexed. he was satisfied knowing that his own affections were very obviously returned.

before you knew it, his lips were crashing into yours again, just a bit more eager this time. you had no idea the great albedo was capable of such a feat as this—you’d never even entertained the thought of him reciprocating your feelings. it was just out of the question to you, until now.

albedo’s lips were slightly cracked from the cold, but there was nothing unpleasant about it. he held your face so gently and rubbed his gloved thumbs over your skin so tenderly that you didn’t know what to do with yourself, but he took the liberty of grabbing your hands and placing them on his chest. you could feel his breathing, feel the air fill and vacate his lungs, feel how he shuddered when a sudden wind invaded the workshop.

the chilled air did not help your flustered state, for your knees had already buckled more than once, and albedo’s hold on you was the only thing keeping you standing. for now, though, his lips remained on yours, and plants continued growing in his workshop until there was literally no space to walk.

albedo didn’t mind. the vision had fixed itself due to your excitement, allowing the vine to mature properly. though not to mention…a few other plants had joined in on the process.

but he loved this. he loved the view, he loved your presence, and he loved how beautiful you looked when he pulled away: eyes shining, lips a bit swollen, cheeks rosy. the fact that he could no longer move in his workshop didn’t matter so long as you were here.

he was going to paint you like this when he got the chance, he decided—and there would be no lack of flowers to reference, that’s for sure.

ᴛᴡ. ARCHON QUEST SPOILERS!1!!!1!1!! FROM HERE ON OUT !!1! ……… mentions of the reader being injured, not specified from where (nothing too descriptive); flowers grow from the reader’s wounds (again, not too descriptive); slight angst but it is immediately fluffified and everything else is good :] auntie buer basically assigned him a babysitter and thats you ehehyeyegeh

the wanderer had gone by many names in his lifetime, names that engendered fear into his enemies and allies alike.

though, had he ever really had an ally after the losses he had perceived as betrayals? in reality, scaramouche held everyone at arms length no matter what, never allowing anyone close enough to see, much less touch, the fragile shards of his psyche.

but you—an insignificant little woman, his appointed caretaker—you had given him a name.

it was unlike any of the other titles he’d been assigned. rather, this time, it wasn’t even so much that you had assigned it to him, but that it had been set aside for him—like you had let him step into it on his own, try it on for size, and decide if it suited him.

it’s a name that was reserved for him by someone kind. someone with good intention. someone who reminded him too much of the ones he had lost.

you called him junpei. pure. genuine.

the wanderer found it amusing how ironic your choice was. but upon seeing your eager grin, he could not bring himself to reject the name.

junpei.

was that how you saw him? or was it what you wanted him to be?

“junpei, would you help me with this?” sure, he would—did he have a choice, anyways?

“jun, have you eaten?” no. food was not a necessity to him, as he was a puppet. but you would make him eat regardless.

“you look tired, jun, did you sleep alright?” no. he did not sleep alright. but he felt a bit better after hearing those words come out of your mouth, truth be told.

after hearing the name (and its subsequent nicknames) on your lips day after day, it began to feel less strange. in fact, he even started to like the way it rolled off your tongue so easily.

and he liked the way you cared for him.

why did you do it?

he didn’t know. he couldn’t even begin to guess why you took on the task of watching after him. he knew how much a piece of work he was.

it turned out that you just genuinely believed in new beginnings and second chances for everyone—and to you, the wanderer, junpei, was no exception.

he was not aware, but the reason you named him junpei was because of the first time he fell asleep in your presence. his face—it was so quiet. his expression was subdued. he had become gentle.

if it was possible for him to look so peaceful in his sleep, then you were confident that he was made up of something much milder on the inside—something tender, something soft, something placid that he had carefully tucked and folded away, hidden from the prying eyes of anyone who would ever try to hurt him again.

but you did not want to hurt him. you wanted to show him beautiful things, wonderful things—things that require that benign temperament to appreciate. and if you had to give him the stars and the moon to make him open up, to make him show you that small, humane fragment of himself, then so be it. you weren’t going anywhere.

he never truly began to trust you until your own insecurities and weaknesses were exposed.

it was beyond the wanderer how someone so seemingly innocent and sheltered could be littered with so many wounds—so many wounds, and so many scars.

but then, under that short cape you never removed, there were the flowers.

pretty flowers that grew from your arms, that sprouted from the ugly gashes like beautiful weeds, that made you feel ashamed and gross. lovely flowers that were not so lovely to you. flowers that illustrated your pain. flowers that only served to make your skin crawl and remind you of what you had suffered.

it astounded the wanderer when you admitted that you had never shared this with anyone else, had never taken your cape off in the presence of another. this was a secret, something special, a sign of your trust and dedication to staying by his side. even if this was your job, he realized in that moment that this had never been just a job to you. you were there for him.

but.. still, he had his suspicions that you only wanted to “fix” him. so it wasn’t until he’d witnessed your composed display crack, fissure, and boil over that the wanderer began to trust you completely.

“jun,” you cried. it was such a helpless, pathetic sight—or, that’s what scaramouche would have thought. but junpei found himself rushing to your side, something inside his chest pounding wildly against the ribs caging it. a feeling of desperation began to claw its way out of his stomach when he saw your tears.

and the flowers. they crowded your arms, one of your thighs. were they lovely, or were they horrendous? he could not decide.

there was one tiny flower on your cheekbone. a small, yellow daisy, poised there as if your face had been its home all along.

the wanderer spat curses under his breath. “you idiot.. you stupid, stupid human..” his breathing became erratic as a violent panic overwhelmed him.

“what did you do?”

his voice was painful and strained. quiet. but most of all, it was angry.

you couldn’t give him a proper response, only shaking your head as more tears spilled from your eyes. and at this, a hole formed itself in the wanderer’s gut.

that old fear. that feeling. that horrible, dreadful, terrifying feeling.

suddenly, he was kunikuzushi again, watching the people he loved abandon him. break their promises to him.

you promised. you promised him.

but hadn’t they all?

what could a promise even mean anymore if it could be so easily broken?

you could see the gears turning in his mind, the rage that you hadn’t witnessed in so long shifting and blazing behind his eyes. and you knew you had to say something.

“i’m not going to die, you know,” you muttered, using what little strength you had to give him a watery smile. “i’m only crying like a little bitch because it hurts, okay, jun?”

his expression immediately shifted, as if the anger had been doused by a bucket of water—but it wasn’t relief you saw. it was sadness.

“i promised you, didn’t i?” you whispered, noticing how his face contorted into something distraught. slowly, painfully, you extended your pinkie from your arm’s limp place on the ground, and though it took him a moment to consider, the wanderer linked his fifth finger with yours.

“you did,” he replied, his voice no more than a whisper. then, humorlessly, he smiled, all color drained from his face. “so you better not break it.”

“is that a threat, my dear wanderer?”

he couldn’t fight the genuine upturn of his lips—you always chose the most inappropriate times to make an attempt at comedy. the wanderer shook his head, gently pinching your unwounded cheek while he chastised you with something like affection in his voice.

from then on, junpei tended to you as if curating a garden, as if you were a little flower he had planted and helped grow all along. not once would he allow you to put yourself in danger—and if you tried, he would flick your forehead and make you sit in the tent in time-out. but if you really pushed him, really, he could get genuinely angry with you, but only because he cared for you. the worst he’d ever do was raise his voice at you, and even then, you could hear in his tone how worried he was under the aggression.

at some point, you realized that junpei had only become this caring since the day he witnessed you so vulnerable. it was as if he had not allowed himself to trust you completely until he was certain that you needed him, too.

you couldn’t blame him for it—you were glad to know that he no longer viewed vulnerability as a weakness. it was a sign that he was healing and finding comfort in something other than the despair he’d harbored for so long.

“juunyyy,” you sang from your tent, where you had been forcibly stowed away under a nest of blankets and shoved into junpei’s suzukake (outer robe). you were sick, and dreadfully so.

when he poked his head through the flap of the tent, the way your face distinctly brightened upon seeing him made the wanderer’s stomach plummet to the floor. granted, you were a bit loopy from the fever, but it’s not the first time you’d looked at him like that. he felt himself falling in love with you all over again every time he saw you—now in particular, since you were bundled up in his jacket looking so awfully adorable.

“what is it?” he asked, trying with all he had to conceal the fondness in his voice with a scowl. your coy smile hinted at his unfortunate failure.

“i have something for you,” you whispered giddily, even though nobody else was around, and there was nothing you’d said that even remotely suggested you needed to whisper.

junpei sighed, entering the tent with an air of indifference despite how his chest fluttered. your childish grin was really making it hard for him to keep up the act, though.

and when you placed a flower crown on his head, taking the time to smooth down his dark, inky hair to make a place for it, junpei thought it was really going to be the end of him.

this is it, he mused. i’ve officially become soft.

what would scaramouche think if he saw himself now?

but.. that didn’t matter, did it? no, no it didn’t. it truly did not matter. he was no longer bound by the person he had been—or rather, the puppet. the heartless balladeer. scaramouche.

maybe you’d seen this in him all along. maybe you’d always known he would thaw out someday. maybe that was why you had called him junpei.

if that was the case, he suddenly realized that you were smarter than he gave you credit for. perhaps he had judged that dense pea-brain of yours too harshly, no?

..archons, but you were still so stupid at the same time.

he found himself scoffing at the conclusions he’d reached about you—and he had the sudden urge to wipe that goofy little smile off your face.

so he threw all caution to the wind, grabbing your chin, albeit a little rougher than he’d meant to. there was nothing stopping him from kissing you anymore, so he did just that. although he was a bit stiff about it at first.

after a few moments, his rigid posture softened, and he let go of your chin to instead cup your face, a surprising tenderness to his touch—at the same time, you recovered from your shock, becoming lucid enough to wrap your arms around his neck and reciprocate the way he pressed into you.

a few minutes later, the two of you were breathless and rosy-cheeked, and the wanderer’s steady hands held you closer than they ever had before. you remembered when they used to shake and tremble—it warmed you to think just how much you’d seen him grow.

even though you’d both surely had your fill of kisses, he kept leaning in and stealing more small pecks from your lips while you dissolved into laughter. every time a giggle managed to escape you, it was swallowed by a chaste, almost playful, kiss, something you didn’t know your grumpy little wanderer was capable of. more uncontrollable laughter soon followed each time his lips left yours.

the wanderer’s assault of smooches finally stopped when your amusement started to die down. the two of you were left with a tender moment as he held you firmly, closely, his eyes making a silent promise to you that he was the one you could depend upon now. that you didn’t have to babysit him anymore. his loyalty belonged to you.

well, it’s not like you couldn’t infer that from the way he’d just desperately made out with you. but the reassurance was nice!

he rested his head on your shoulder, almost in a defeated manner, as if all that affection had truly exhausted him to the bone. you found that very amusing. and of course, as always, you’d spotted the perfect opportunity to say something that would no doubt ruffle his feathers.

“ . . . you know i’m sick, right? ”

thank you for reading😳

#mujimade #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #albedo x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #heizou x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #heizou #shikanoin heizou #albedo #wanderer #scaramouche #kunikuzushi

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stararch4ngelqueen · 7 months

Text

Overachiever

—

Time Written-12:01 a.m.

Jason Todd/fem!reader smut (gave up looking for an image for this guy so yea)

—

Faint blotches of muted blues and crooked gray shadows shroud your closed eyes, your heartbeat drumming in your head. Loud, thick gurgles ring in your ears, forcing all thoughts from your head.

Short, guttural grunts erupted above you. The sting along your scalp from a fistful of hair being clutched helped control your involuntary speed, coming to a sudden halt.

“I said,” his voice breaches through your muddled mind. “Keep those eyes open.”

On demand, you do so. Your watery eyes opening to a blurred vision of him; a rugged, sweat dampened mess, still clad in his leather uniform.

His hand eases off the back of your neck, allowing you to pull yourself off his fat, curved cock with a loud, lung expanding gasp. You cough after short chokes, a mix of spit and thick precum dribbling down your chin, seeping in between the valley of your breasts through your own suit.

“Look at you,” Jason huffs, guiding his heavy cock again to press against your glistening lips, feeling a sparkling pride over your ruined makeup.

“Pretty little whore. Y’see that?” He questions, guiding your head with his free hand to gaze down at him in question, focusing on the faint ring of bright red lipstick marking a good three quarters along the length.

“You’re getting better at this, Princess,” he breathlessly chuckles, tapping your outer cheek with his drenched dick.

“Bet your throat hurts, huh? Be honest.” His question has you nodding without much thought, feeling the muscles in your neck tingling after getting bullied and bruised by an eagerly horny vigilante.

“Tsk tsk. New hole’s just getting used to me, sweetheart,” Jason cooes with highly detectable mockery before leaning down, grasping your chin with two fingers to have you look at him, taking in his crinkled, amused expression.

“All that big talk when you’re stealing shit, now you got nothing to say.” After a condescending chuckle, Jason traps you in a hot, tongue heavy kiss, feeling himself throbbing at the sounds of your measly little whimpers.

“Aww, What’s the matter? Too fucked out already?” He whispers in between short pecks, swiping off a hint of spit along your chin before bringing it towards his lips, sucking the digit clean.

“Maybe it’s a little too much for ya,” Jason insists in a second guess attempt, fighting back a smirk from your growing eyes loaded up with denial. “Bit too big for you to take—“

“N-no!” You insist, your once balled up fists reaching up to grasp along his wrists. “I can do it, I know I can. Please, Jay.”

“Easy, easy. Fun’s barely starting, babygirl.” Jason displays his full smile, sharp teeth making an appearance with his chuckle.

Alongside pride, he was still giddy that he got you to agree to this.

“I know you wanna make me happy. Know you wanna earn your little reward.”

A hot, gushy load down your throat became your solid priority in an instant. Jason had that ability to suddenly render you absolutely starving in seconds, manipulating you into wanting what hadn’t come to mind before.

Your answer was a solid nod, eyes glowing in anticipation to further please him. His heavy palm clasps your throat in a snug hold, holding your head in place. His voice is low, quiet and lustful, but you hear him loud and clear.

“Tell you what,” Jason proposes with a quirk in his brow. “You take all of me; every last inch, an’ I’ll give you what you want.”

Eagerness leaves you automatically agreeing; pretty, kiss swollen lips with a pretty pink tongue eager to lap at the fat bead that threatened to drip off his length.

“That what you want, pretty girl?” He questions. “Want to make me happy? Wan’ me to make you come?”

You feel your whole body heating up from the fire that's burning deep inside you; your pussy painfully untouched and drenched. Jason promised he’d give you what you wanted if you played along in being a pretend thief, the motivation keeping you barely stable as it is.

It was like your brain was hard-wired to urge him towards his release. Or, maybe the mix of arousal and oxygen deprivation swirling around in your head was making you more submissive to set your own desires aside for him.

Eagerly nodding was your only form of answer, but Jason would gladly take it.

“Prove it then,” His hands leave your neck and head, settling them back along his sides. “Show me.”

Adjusting your sore knees against crooked gravel, you greedily lap up the fat, clear bead of precum that called your name, the saltiness drowning your tastebuds.

He lets out a short groan, brows furrowing slightly as he watches a bit of himself disappear between your lipstick smeared lips. His hum rumbles low in his chest as you bob your head back and forth at a steady pace, swirling along him with your tongue.

He's quickly drunk off of your persistent eagerness to please him, peering up at him through wet lashes. You were more focused on his reactions, watching his head slightly raise, threatening to tilt back if he wasn’t so stubborn to watch every second of it.

You looked a gorgeous sight already as you changed direction, pressing your glistening lips along the underside of his heavy cock, feeling the majority of his heavy dick rest along your face, settling against the corner of your cheek, nestled beside the small grove of your nostril.

A perfect picture to capture the memory, if it occurred to him to pull out his phone. His obedient, needy girl eager to please whenever he needed you.

He's panting harder now, shoulders rising quicker with his slightly labored breathing.

“Ready?” He had the decency to ask, waiting for your muffled hum in response before grasping hold of himself.

“Open.”

You obey, sticking out your pretty tongue.

“Eyes on me,” he taps the fat head along the muscle at least three times, too impatient to warn you of what happens if they close.

His hips lurch forward, sliding himself deep in your throat with a relieved groan. He fills your mouth up easily, his tip pushing past something hard in your throat until he's blocking your airways. You try to settle your reflex, nearly choking on him at the start.

Your soaking wet lips slowly passed where you last reached, your nose brushing against thick curls at his base, taking in his musk while choking on cock, hooking your fingers over the tight harnesses securing his meaty thighs.

You furrow your brows, trying your best to keep your throat from rejecting him, but you're not able to hold him there for long before you choke.

The vibrations left him shivering, watching spit bubble from the corners of your mouth, dripping slowly down your chin and neck, disappearing down your constricting suit zipper.

“That’s it,” he grunts, his head tilting back in pure, raw pleasure, feeling his balls tighten with every constrict of your throat as he fucks your face.

Maybe it was his fault, getting off on your vile, arousing gags, your sickly gray tears rolling down your ruined face. The ultimate ego boost, nothing could ever top this.

You could've cared less of the mess you became, focused on him and his pleasure alone. His deep, aggressively hot tone serenaded through your brain like melted dark chocolate, leaving you addicted for more.

A rich, heavy moan left his mouth, vibrating through his chest as his head tilts back, Adam’s apple bobbing with thin beads of sweat as the nightly breeze bats against his shivering skin.

The sight of those gorgeously shiny lips clenching along the base of his drenched dick left him teetering on the very edge, your eyes watering from the sheer size of him being a bit too much for you to take.

Jason raised you higher up on his cock, nearly forcing your buckling knees off the ground.

The sounds that came from your pretty little mouth as you reached your limit, forcing you to take more than you were used to were vile and filthy, but he loved every second of it. A private symphony just for him alone.

“Nice and messy, babygirl,” Jason rasps out, glancing down at your flushed face with heavy lidded eyes.

“Gonna clean up that messy little pussy,” he murmured through heavy panting, reinforcing his interlocked fingers behind your head. “Then fuck those wet tits next.”

#who wouldn’t give this guy head on the top of GCPD #dc jason todd #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #I would 🙋🏽‍♀️#it’s me I’m y/n #jason todd x plus size reader #jason todd gotham knights

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radioisntdead · 19 days

Note

AHAHHAHAHSHSHHD I HAVE A REQUESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT IF YOU DON'T MIND BUT CAN YOU DO A HUSBAND ALASTOR X CRYBABY READER

Good evening my dear! Indeed I can!

I'm on a songfic fix at the moment so hopefully you don't mind me turning this into one, if you do just let me know and I can write a proper oneshot, drabble or headcanons

Crybaby

Warnings:

Murder, Alastor being weird, mild angst, OOC, the ending is a bit muddled because lack of motivation hit me like a TRUCK.

The song I chose for obvious reasons

You seem to replace your brain with your heart, You take things so hard and then you fall apart

You always had what one would call a bleeding heart, tears would overflow at the slightest instance, you fell onto the ground? Tears, you saw a rabbit munching on a carrot? Tears fell because it was just SO cute, you sobbed as you stabbed a guy to death, blubbering out apologies saying you wouldn't have to do it if he had JUST kept his mouth shut and didn't say those awful, awful things.

You try to explain, but before you can start

You met Alastor when the two of you were alive, he was an aspiring radio host at the time and well, your father ran a rather popular radio station.

Those "Cry baby" tears come out of the dark

You were considered the favorite child, (or the only child depending on the route you go) and Alastor knew that, he wasn't above using people to climb up the social ladder.

Someone's turning the handle to that faucet in your eyes

Everything was planned out, like how the two of you met, he found out what places you frequented, choosing a cafe to be the place to run into you.

You had accidentally poured warm coffee on his clothes, you cried out apologies as you patted him dry with napkins, offering to pay for drycleaning.

You pour it out where everyone can see

And that was it, it started with him charming you, asking you out for coffee, lunch, dinners and eventually he had you hooked.

Your heart's too big for your body, it's why it won't fit inside

Him eventually catching feelings for you was just the icing on the cake, a bonus, you and him felt similarly to certain affections.

His mother quite liked you as well asking him to bring you by again when you met her the first time.

You pour it out where everyone can see

As the relationship grew, he became a prominent radio personality, eventually proposing to you leading to marriage.

They call you cry baby, cry baby

Alastor was supposed to be working late that night, you weren't expecting him to come home as you washed the blood off of your hands, blood stained the bathroom sink, dried tears leaving faint streaks on your face.

But you don't fucking care

"Mon étoile?"

You slowly turned around as if you were in a horror movie, the one person you didn't want to see you like this.

Cry baby, cry baby

You burst into tears falling onto the ground, not even trying to explain yourself, Alastor grinned and moved next to you, gently wiping away your tears taking silent joy from them.

So you laugh through your tears

You laughed as Alastor gave a light smooch onto your face.

Cry baby, cry baby

And that begun a new era of your relationship,

You'd act as bait luring in the folks you and Alastor felt like taking away their living privileges.

'Cause you don't fucking care

You lived like that for years, taking many lives, shedding many tears, a killer couple.

Tears fall to the ground

Unfortunately all good things come to an end.

You'll just let them drown

Alastor went to dispose of a body while you cleaned up the aftermath.

You'll just let them drown

The police showing up and breaking the news to you that your dearest Alastor was shot in the head and attacked by dogs shattered you.

Cry baby, cry baby

You spent your days crying, barely being able to organize a funeral that no one other then you attended, after all who would attend the funeral of a murderer.

You're all on your own and you lost all your friends

You were alone now, sure your family urged you to move back home, you were still a sweetheart with a bleeding heart to them, you just fell for Alastor's schemes, that no one saw coming.

You spent your days crying, clinging on to any remnants of Alastor, your social life took a huge hit.

You told yourself that it's not you, it's them

They whispered behind your back, theorizing if you were apart of the murders or not, if you knew, if you were truly innocent.

You're one of a kind and no one understands

You were found dead in your home, alone.

But those "Cry baby" tears keep coming back again

You woke up in hell, you knew you probably weren't going to heaven but still!

Someone's turning the handle to that faucet in your eyes

Tears swelled up in your eyes but you wiped them away before they could fall deciding to look around and assess your situation.

You pour it out where everyone can see

Wandering around you passed by a shop with a radio present in it, reminding you of your dear Alastor.

Your heart's too big for your body, it's why it won't fit inside

The tears started pouring, and before you could do anything else, someone touches your shoulder.

You pour it out where everyone can see

You've been down below for who knew how long now, bring found by Mimzy of all people, a good friend of yours, and Alastor's.

They call you cry baby, cry baby

Mimzy showed up at Alastor's home banging on the front door, you stood a few feet away from her, He opened it displeased at the sudden visit but he smiled wide nonetheless.

"Mimzy dear, pray tell why you are banging on my door at this unholy hour?" He asked, simply hearing his voice the waterworks began as Mimzy pulled you out from where you stood.

But you don't fucking care

Alastor's eyes ever so slightly widened, it hadn't been that long since he died, he suspected you would follow suit eventually but not this quickly.

Cry baby, cry baby

"I believe this one is yours, they've been crying on and off, it's driving me crazy" Mimzy said shoving you into Alastor as you grinned up at him through blurry eyes

So you laugh through your tears

"I missed you." You said as Alastor touched your face, brushing a claw over it, you, much like him and every other sinner looked different from when you were alive, you had permanent gold tear streaks stitched into your face, how ironic.

Cry baby, cry baby

Alastor simply grinned, wiping away a tear.

"You haven't changed a bit, Mon étoile."

'Cause you don't fucking care

"You can pay me back for reunitin' ya lovebirds later!"

Mimzy laughed before running off to do who knows what, making a swift exit for plot convenience.

Tears fall to the ground

And that was that, you were finally reunited.

You'll just let them drown

While Alastor was given the name of The Radio demon you were referred to as the Crying demon,

How original.

Cry baby, cry baby

While Alastor stuck fear with a smile, hearing you wail in the distance stuck fear into others, you'd apologize as you ripped sinners apart just like you did in life.

You'll just let them drown

You watched as Alastor developed a cannibalistic taste for sinners, he opted to bring you sinner hearts as a token of affection,

You teared up from how sweet the extremely messed up act was.

Cry baby, cry baby

You also watched as Alastor's personal hygiene got worse, to the point where you'd chase him down with a sponge and a bucket of water, or before bed with a toothbrush and some toothpaste.

Much to his chagrin he was never able to escape you chasing him.

You'll just let them drown

Alastor's more sadistic tendencies were revealed in full force, with him biting and pinching your cheeks just hard enough to make you cry.

It wasn't a deal breaker but it did weird you out at first.

I look at you and I see myself

Alastor brought you to the Hazbin hotel after Husk and Niffty were pulled from wherever,

You quickly gained an affection for the hotel and it's residents, Alastor may have been using the hotel for his own entertainment but you genuinely believed in Charlie's dream of redeeming sinners.

And I know you better than anyone else

Becoming another parental figure for the princess you showered her with advice and familial affection, saying if you had a child you'd want them to be just like her.

And I have the same faucet in my eyes

Vaggie wasn't spared from the parental affection either, Alastor might not have been fond of her but you were.

So your tears are mine

You eventually became like the hotels therapist, a very prone to crying therapist but a therapist none the less.

You and Charlie tended to cry together especially if the two of you decided to put a emotionally charged movie on for movie nights

They call me cry baby, cry baby

You cried when extermination day happened, taking out exorcists left and right, your tears were filled with anger as you witnessed what happened to Sir Pentious.

But I don't fucking care

You cried tears of joy when the hotel was rebuilt and when Alastor came back from wherever he was.

Cry baby, cry baby

"You are an complete and utter MORON,"

"Mon étoile, W̴̝̖͙̩̹̓͆̏͌̒̔̑͐̕h̶͔̲̄ă̵̟̥͙̥͖͚̋̍̓̓̇̕ţ̶̧͇̞̟͈͔͉̦͋̄͂̌́̉͗ ̸̛̟̖̰͛͐̂̌̃d̷͎͍̦̩̯̂̐̈́̒̇͜ͅï̷̙͎͙̱̲̾̓̓̂d̵̛̛̲̤̺̟͒̈́̽́̑̈́̈͜͠ ̴̬̥̱͓̊̒͛ȳ̶̢̢̛̛̘͓̱̱̭̩̣͈̈́̀͋͘͝ő̴͓̜̥̪͇͙͉̞̜ủ̴̢̖͙̞͈̳̈́̑̋̂̉̈ ̵̩̈́̋̂̾̓̎̌̕̚j̶̛̗̲͚͖̼̻̥͕̚ù̸̫̯̎s̷̛̹̠̠̰͇̬̟̤͖̃̋͋ť̵͇̹͕̞͌ ̵̢̹͖̯͆̀̽́̎̐̐̽̆̃c̴͍̼̤̓̉̃̒̕͠a̶͖̙̭͂͋̓l̸̢̧̨͙̯̹̯̱̳̏̈́̀l̷̡͖͉̟̼̳̹͙̏́̄̃͋ͅ ̶̧͓͍͑m̶̨̡̠̖͇̫͓̅̈́-̷̞̱̪͓̞̅̈́͊̇̎̐͝"

"Don't pull that radio demon bullshit with me right now Alastor! How hard was it to arm yourself? You aren't invincible to ANGELIC WEAPONS!"

You shouted at Alastor as you paced around your newly restored shared room, first aid kit open, bandages wrapped around, angry tears in your eyes.

If you were anyone else, you would be dead for rubbing salt into the still aching wound.

Alastor sighed and swung one leg over the other, crossing his arms intending to wait until your 'temper tantrum' was over.

I laugh through my tears

Normally he rather liked your tears, in a Alastor way, but they were annoying to him in this instance.

Cry baby, cry baby

You grabbed his face, locking your eyes with his,

"You could've died, You would've left me again."

"Dearest,"

"Al,"

"I won't leave you again."

"Promise?"

You asked dropping your hands from his face only for him to hold them in his hands.

"Promise."

'Cause I don't fucking care, Tears fall to the ground

With the hotel rebuilt, bigger, more grand then before, sinners began to trickle in.

Wanting to give redemption a shot,

Some wanted to see someone they knew that more then likely ended up going above, some had nothing left to lose, some just wanted to change, hating what they've become since they fell below.

I just let them drown, Cry baby, cry baby

You quite liked how things were developing, seeing Charlie's face light up when hotel residents improved, getting clean from addiction, proving to be better.

I just let them drown, Cry baby, cry baby

Alastor originally got involved in this place for his own entertainment or otherwise, bringing you with him, he didn't think that his darling crybaby of a wife would get attached.

But maybe he was getting attached too, not that he would ever admit it even to you.

You'll just let them drown, They call you cry baby, cry baby

You and Alastor sat comfortably on the couch in his radio tower, with you laying on his shoulder, his arm gingerly wrapped around you.

I just let them drown

"Al, look how cute they are!"

You said as you held your phone to Alastor, you had to remove a few qualities in order to keep the phone, you didn't mind since you mostly used it to communicate with the hotel residents or look at animal videos on the Internet anyways.

He simply hummed as he grimaced at the phone, you were trying to show him a group of hellborn kittens,

"We should get a cat,"

"We already have a cat."

"Husk doesn't count."

You said frowning as Alastor moved his hand to your cheek, pinching it until tears swelled up in your eyes.

Cry baby, cry baby

You were sobbing at the red creature you held in your arms,

"It's adorable!" You sobbed out holding the catlike creature that you found on the side of the road much to Alastor's displeasure you wanted a cat, and you got a cat thingy

"It looks like Alastor."

"Exactly!"

Alastor squinted at the cat thing you were crying with pride over, he would throw the damned thing out the window but unfortunately you were already attached, and he preferred you to cry over literally anything else other then the failed clone of his.

You'll just let them drown

Good evening folks! Thanks for tuning in! I scheduled this for Saturday so that should mean this is the last of the songfics! [For now anyways] [post-post edit, I LIED THERE WILL BE MORE SONG FICS THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING]

I wanted to go more into how Alastor would probably enjoy the readers crying but it got a little too weird.

Have a wonderful weekend folks!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor imagine

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prentissluvr · 11 months

Text

too cold — joel (and tommy) miller

gn!reader , (future)fatherfigure!joel (and tommy tbh) , takes place a year or two after joel and ellie settle in jackson , reader is in their mid/late teens , hurt/comfort, angst , cw : brief mentions of loss of friends and family, hypothermia , wc : 3.8K , special thanks to @piggyjeans for reading this for me and motivating me to wrap up this part and get it out to you guys !! <333

at this point, you’re beginning to wonder why you even try. you wonder if there’s a point when the scraps of any family you had left, found or biological, are long gone and you’re on the brink of freezing to death yourself. you managed a fire last night, but you’re shivering beyond control even in the daylight with your sore lack of a real coat. wherever you are, it’s cold as hell and winter is setting in far faster than you could ever combat. essentially, you’re screwed. it seems like it might snow more, there’s not a building in sight, and you’re running out of bullets and food. the cold bites at your exposed nose and takes permanent root in your bones.

night falls far too quickly, bringing the thick snow that you feared almost as much as infected or people; those you could fight, but the snow? against that you have no defense but a sputtering fire, measly shelter, and a slowly thinning sleeping bag. curled into yourself as much as you can, it takes a concerningly small amount of time for you to fall asleep.

by the time you finally come back into consciousness, the struggle to open your eyes scares you even in the muddled state of your mind. the sun is far higher than ideal; already you’ve lost precious traveling time now that your only hope is to find abandoned buildings to scavenge for supplies. and yet, the last thing you want to do is get out of your sleeping bag. it’s kept you as warm as you could be, and even now in the leftover warmth sleep, you’re all too aware of the snow that blew into the small overhand of rocks you slept underneath and the way it’s freezing temperatures will soak into your feet until it reaches every nerve of your body when you continue your trek through the forest.

but, despite that heavy question of what’s the point, there’s no way you’re going to let yourself give up and waste away in the cold without trying to save someone, even if that someone is yourself. so with every struggle, you pull your hands out from their haven in the swaths of fabric, fumbling slightly to zip open the bag and pull yourself out. you’re eternally grateful that you have gloves, but within the few minutes of packing up, the cold has already started to settle in your hands, feet, and face. begrudgingly, you swing your pack onto your shoulder and shove your hands into your pockets, looking for the most direct path to higher ground to scope out any buildings.

as you start out, it seems as though travel may not be the worst. but the thick snow from last night’s flurries and the still slowly falling flakes are quick to tire your legs from the effort, and the way that your jacket lets in too much of the numbing wind hinders your pace. you find yourself exhausted, taking moments to rest against trees that stretch into minutes, maybe longer as your mind becomes foggy and consistent shivering sets in throughout your whole body.

you stumble a bit and clumsily grab hold of the nearest tree. what the hell am i doing? you wonder. you let your whole side press against the rough surface of the tree, squeezing your eyes shut, then opening them in attempts to clear your head. but that doesn’t seem to help when you start to wonder if you’re hallucinating. just meters away your eyes land on a tall brown horse, an animal you don’t think you’ve seen outside of pictures. you stare at it in wonder for a moment, but a feeling of panic sets in when you process the fact that there’s a man sitting on the horse, a large rifle strapped across his back.

with your shaky hands you fumble around to pull out your gun, but it does you no good when the rifle is pointed at you in seconds.

despite the threat, the man’s voice isn’t harsh when he calls out to you. “’s alright. ’m not here to hurt you, alright? just drop your weapon.” without much resistance, you do as he says, seeing no other choice and feeling not an ounce of energy to fight back. within moments, he’s off the horse, one hand on its reins and the other put up in the air in a careful truce as he slowly moves closer to you. when he’s near enough that the snow doesn’t obstruct his view of your face, he can see the way that you’re shivering and the unfocused look in your eyes and can immediately notice that something’s not quite right.

“i need you to tell me if you’re infected. don’t lie now, alright? i’ll shoot you if i find out you do.” at this, his voice is more stern, stirring up a bit more fear in you. but you’re able to shake your head clearly.

“no. no, ’m not infected. haven’t run into any for days,” you speak aloud for the first time since you woke up this morning, and you don’t notice the way that your speech is slurred, but he does.

“alright, then. kid, i’m gonna get you somewhere warm, okay?” in the back of your head, you’re terrified to let him closer, to let some stranger lead you somewhere, but the promise of warmth is something you desperately need. even so, you flinch away when he’s finally right next to you and reaches out. “i promise ’m not gonna hurt ya. i’ve got somewhere safe and warm for you, you’re gonna freeze to death if you don't get some help now.” he’s completely right, you realize, so you just nod. “there ya go. do’y have a coat we can get on you?” he frowns when you shake your head, but doesn’t hesitate to unzip his own padded coat. gently, he pulls your pack off your back and sets it down. you don’t even realize what he’s doing until he shrugs his own coat over your shoulders and pulls it tight over your front. the leftover warmth from his own body is heavenly, but in the action, you lose your support against the tree and unconsciously lean into his firm frame. you don’t notice, but he stiffens at this, and his frown grows deeper when he feels how cold you are to the touch.

with strong hands, he pulls you away from him slightly. wordlessly, he guides your shivering arms into the sleeves of his coat, silently grateful for the warm jacket he still has on.

“we’ve gotta get on the horse, now.”

you just nod, letting him guide you to the tall animal. but you stop short at its side, completely unsure of how you’ll get up.

“first you put your right foot in the stirrup, right here.” you don’t have to say anything for him to begin telling you what you need to. “put your hand on the saddle here to help you up. i’m gonna hold you steady, okay?” you nod, letting him place his firm hands on your waist as you put the last of your strength into lifting one foot into the stirrup. “now you’ve gotta push up with that foot to swing your other leg over the horse.” it takes all of your concentration to understand what he says, and strength that you don’t have to actually do it. it’s messy, but thanks to his help and some miracle, you find yourself on top of the horse and putting all of your effort into staying upright.

“there ya go. i’m gonna get on in front of you, don’t you fall off now.” he quickly fastens your pack onto the horse, letting out a small grunt as he pulls himself up onto the animal. his body warmth right in front of you is precious and you don’t have it in you to feel awkward in the way he does as he pulls your arms around his torso to keep you steady. “just hold on and stay awake, alright? shouldn’t be too long til we get you warm.” once again, you just nod, knowing he can feel it with the side of your face pressed against his back.

as the horse starts forward at a decent pace, his instructions of holding on prove to be harder than ideal with your weakened grip. you don’t know how much time passes until the horse’s movement stops and the man’s voice, along with another, meets your ears.

you startle when the unfamiliar voice calls out. “joel! what took you so lon– what happened?”

“sorry, tommy.” you can feel the rumble of his voice while pressed against him, and turn your head to face the source of the other voice. “found ‘em leaning against a tree just a bit off the path. think they’ve got hypothermia.”

there’s another man on a horse, probably younger, but you can’t tell much else in the snow and the state of your mind. either way, you can’t help but read him as a danger. the man in front of you, joel, you assume, must have picked up on your fear behind him

“’s alright. that’s my brother, tommy. he’s here to help too, okay?”

another nod from you, and a “damn” from tommy.

“let’s get going, then. we’ll stay in the lookout for tonight then get them back to jackson first thing in the morning. it’ll be dark soon.”

joel agrees, and with that, you set off. every so often, his voice brings you out of your daze long enough for you to nod your head against his back when he checks if you’re still awake. your sense of time is long gone; all you know when you arrive at the mentioned lookout is a vague sense of relief.

“kid?” his voice rings out and you realize the motion of the horse has finally come to a stop. you do your best to sit up, hating the biting air that immediately hits your front now that it’s not kept warm by joel’s back. your hands stay resting absentmindedly on his shoulders in order to keep you from slipping off of the horse. “tommy’s gonna help you off, okay?” you let out a small hum of acknowledgement as tommy dismounts his horse and comes to stand beside you.

“here we go,” he gives you a small, encouraging smile as he lifts his arms up for you. “put your hands on my shoulders, and i’ll get you down safe ’n sound, alright?” it’s a bit of an awkward reach, and you begin to slip down before you have a proper grasp, but his hands are quick to secure themselves under your armpits, preventing you from falling and instead pulling you into his chest. your knees buckle the moment they hit the ground; tommy’s strong grip keeps you upright. “there you are, ’s alright. god, you’re shivering like a leaf in the wind. we’ll get you nice and warm now.”

there’s a bit of a struggle getting inside, your legs practically refusing to hold your weight. an immense wave of relief washes through you when you collapse onto the couch they bring you to and you let your eyes shut in exhaustion.

“now don’t you fall asleep on us quite yet,” joel warns. “we gotta get you warm first. tommy, get some hot water going.” you force your eyes back open to see him crouching in front of you. “listen, uh. some of your clothes are a little wet from the snow, and we can’t have that.” he pauses at that, studying your face to catch any sort of reaction.

“okay,” you whisper, somehow coherent enough to still understand what he’s saying and know that he’s right.

“okay,” he repeats. “can i take these jackets off?” you nod. his grip is gentle when he pulls you up from your slouched position, allowing you to lean into him when he slips off the coat he gave you, then your own slightly damp jacket. you begin to shiver even harder, your thinning cotton shirt doing nothing to keep any cold at bay. “alright, alright,” he mumbles, half to himself as he pulls his thicker, dry coat back around you. then comes a blanket, taken from the couch and wrapped securely around your shoulders. he shifts you to rest against the back of the sofa.

that’s when he pauses, at a bit of a loss of what to do because your jeans, despite your thick boots, are soaked from the snow almost up to your knees. but there’s no way in hell he’d feel comfortable taking off your pants, much less how you’d feel.

“i’m gonna have to cut your pants,” he concludes. “promise we’ll get you new ones in town, but you’ll never get warm like this.”

“’s okay,” you mumble. so he rummages in his pack until he finds a pair of scissors, doing his best to avoid touching your bare skin with his hands or cut you with the cold metal. it’s tricky business; the jeans stick fairly close to your skin, but he manages not to even nick you with the sharp edges. the moment you’re free from any damp clothing, he wraps another blanket securely around your legs so it won’t fall off.

moments later, tommy reappears in your line of sight with exactly what joel asked for. he leans down, holding it out to you. with shaky hands, you grasp the cup, sighing in immediate relief at the warmth that spreads right into your fingers through your gloves.

“careful, now,” tommy advises. “it’s real hot, don’t burn your tongue.” you do your best to follow his instruction, weakly blowing at the hot water when you bring it close to your mouth. resisting the urge to down the whole thing, you grip it tighter and bring it to your chest, hoping to let some of the warmth permeate through other parts of your body other than your hands. it feels like a little piece of heaven when you feel the steam rising up to warm your chin, your lips, and the tip of your nose and the heat from the cup itself travel through your thin shirt and to the skin above your collarbone.

when you finally begin to sip on the warm water, it’s almost glorious; you can feel its warmth spread through your body. so once you discover it’s no longer too hot, you take long gulps and heave heavy sighs of relief. your trembling doesn’t disappear, but with the third cup, it certainly subsides.

this, and the far more relaxed expression on your face finally convinces joel that it’s safe to let you fall asleep—you’re halfway there anyways. tommy takes the empty cup from your hands before it can slip from your hold, and joel unravels your sleeping bag. at that point, you can no longer process the softly spoken words being exchanged by the brothers, but you’re vaguely aware of tommy’s arms tucking themselves under your shoulders and knees and pulling you off of the couch. then you’re being maneuvered into the sleeping bag that now lays across the surface of the couch, tommy setting you down while joel ensures that you stay properly wrapped up in the blankets. sleep claims you so quickly that you don’t hear the agreement between the two men to take turns keeping watch over you to periodically check your temperature and breathing.

joel wakes you in the morning, his gruff voice quickly recounting the events of the previous day when your jumbled state of mind after waking from such a deep sleep launches you into a panicked confusion. his explanation and comforting hands on your shoulders calm you in moments as the memories return, however vague they are due to the haze of your sickness.

“thank you,” you whisper as he helps you to sit up, his hands still gentle and supportive on your shoulders.

“course. like i said, we’ve got somewhere safe for you if you need. and at the very least, we’ve gotta get you some new pants and make sure you don’t get sick. were you travelin’ all alone?”

“not at first,” you explain, knowing he’s probably wondering about finding someone so young alone. “but now… yeah.” he sighs as if that’s the answer he expected.

“’m sorry,” he frowns. you just give a tight-lipped smile in response. “alright. we should get moving so we can get you to the town doctor. tommy’s gettin’ the horses ready.”

your eyebrows raise at his words. “town doctor?” you question. that puts a small smile on his lips that you don’t quite understand.

“yep. it’s a good place to be,” is all he offers in explanation.

“okay.” you begin untangling yourself from the blankets and sleeping bag that did the job of keeping you warm throughout the night. still covered by his coat, your upper half stays comfortable, but the feeling of your exposed calves hitting the cold air is unwelcome, not to mention the slightly embarrassing sight of the jagged edges of your jeans at such an awkward spot.

“sorry ‘bout that,” he comments, “but we’ll keep your legs wrapped up with blankets for now and get you new jeans in town.” once you nod, he grabs a hold of one of the blankets he laid on top of you after you feel asleep, a rather small piece of fabric, but the right size to help you out. he wraps it around your left leg, using ropes from his supplies to gently secure the fabric, then repeating his actions for your other leg.

as he does so, he keeps his gaze focused on his task, but his gravelly voice meets your ears. “realized we never asked your name,” he phrases it like a statement, but the obvious question is there.

to be honest, you hadn’t even realized either, first, mind clouded by the hypothermia, and up until now too caught up in the oddness of your situation. one moment you’re all on your own and on the brink of death, the next you’re saved and seemingly on the way to what sounds like some sort of miraculous safe haven even from the vague glimpses of information you hear.

you state your name, hoping with all you can muster up that this isn’t some kind of cruel trick, and that the kindness the two men have shown you is as genuine as it’s proved to be thus far.

“well then,” he repeats your name back to you as he secures the last knot, still not looking up at you, “let’s get you home.”

those words nearly knock the air from your lungs. he throws them out like they don’t mean much, but in the most confusing way, because you’re sure he did it on purpose. you’re sure he does know that they mean a whole lot more than a casual tone and avoided eye-contact, but you suppose you can’t blame him. it’s often easier to pretend they don’t mean anything, certainly much more with people you don’t really know at all, people like you. and yet, you can’t help but think he said it to reassure you. to tell you that this place he’s talking about is one where you can find that thing everyone in this world has lost. as if it’s somewhere you already belong without having set foot in it yet. and you can’t tell the difference between hope and fear in that moment, so you shove it all away.

“sure.” you stand just after he does, grabbing your sleeping bag and beginning to roll it to the best of your ability while still weak. but he stops you, quickly taking over the task of clearing and packing up the last few things in the lookout after handing you a cup of warm water, not too hot. you finish it quickly, still more than grateful for any warmth that can be provided.

joel motions towards the door once he’s finished, and on still slightly wobbly legs, you walk up to him, stopping before he can lead you out.

“thank you, joel,” your voice is quiet, but sure when you say it.

“of course,” he assures, genuine in the affirmation.

“and tommy. tommy, too, of course,” you stutter, suddenly feeling awkward.

“sure thing.” he clears his throat, one his occupied hands almost moving up to rub the back of his neck. at that he turns, and you follow him out, back into the cold.

the shivery weather is not welcome by you, but in a properly warm coat and definitively out of the worst of your condition, it’s far more bearable. you feel bad for taking over joel’s coat, but he seems just fine in his jacket that’s clearly far warmer than your old, lousy excuse of a winter garment.

tommy and the horses are waiting there, just as joel said, and he smiles upon seeing you.

“good to see you up and alive, kid,” he grins with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

you answer his playfully reassuring attitude with a bashful smile of your own. “yeah, the alive part is definitely a plus,” you say in attempts of matching his tone. the way his grin grows tells you the joke landed, putting you at even more ease than before. unfortunately, it doesn’t make the way you formally introduce yourself to him any less awkward, but he seems glad to know your name. by your side, joel tightens one last strap on the horse before placing a careful hand on your shoulder.

“i think we’re good to go now. it’ll only be a few hours of riding,” he informs.

“sure,” you nod. pausing for a moment, you cast eyes down before speaking, albeit a bit timidly. “could you.. could you help me up again?”

you completely miss the soft look on his face at your request. “course i can, kiddo. i’ll get up first and help you from there, okay?” at your affirmative, he easily mounts the horse before holding a hand out to you. “just put your foot here, grab my hand, and i’ll do all the work, alright?” he moves his leg away from the stirrup so that you can use it yourself, his grip on your hand steady the moment you place it in his palm. gratefully, you follow his instructions, doing your best to use your own strength in tandem with joel to ease the effort he has to put forth to help you up. as you swing your leg over the horse, he guides your hand to hold onto his shoulder for you to grip far easier than his hand and succeeds in getting you into the saddle behind him. with that, you’re off, traveling somewhere that you somehow dare to hope is the sort of paradise joel and tommy have described.

part two here !!

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cozage · 11 months

Text

The Daughter's Return: Chapter Two

The Strategist of the Second Division

I had a few requests for this, so voila. Should there be a part three? Still unclear, but let me know what you think :)

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 5.5k CW: drunk reader

Part 1 | Part 3 | Table of Contents | Read on A03

“So, Ace?”

Marco’s voice broke through to you, and you realized you had been staring at the flame user again.

“Annoying,” you said, scowling.

Ace was up on a table, doing some kind of dinner show. You refused to admit that he had captured your attention. He wasn’t that big of a deal. He was just showing off.

Marco’s eyes flitted between the second division commander and you, and he smirked to himself.

“Then look away,” Marco said slyly.

You rolled your eyes, doing your best to let your eyes land anywhere else in the room. But they always kept coming back to the man on the table. They seemed to be doing that more recently. The two of you hadn’t talked since your first night back, which was fine with you most of the time. You were never the one to make the first move.

“There’s a mission briefing for the second division tomorrow,” Marco said. “Sounds like you guys will be going somewhere soon.”

“And?” you asked, irritated by the reminder that you weren’t invited.

“You’ll get him all to yourself during that,” Marco said, a cheeky grin appearing on his face. “You won’t have to share him with that posse over there.”

“I told you, Marco-”

“And you two can gaze at all the stars you want,” he continued, ignoring you.

You stared daggers at him, but he just smirked. You couldn’t intimidate Marco the way you could with everyone else on the crew.

“Fire boy over there told me all about it the other night,” Marco said, rising up from the table. Your eyes landed on Ace again as Marco bent down to whisper in your ear. “He’s quite smitten with you, you know.”

“I don’t care!” you yelled, louder than intentional. Eyes turned to look your way, and even Ace stopped what he was doing to glance over at you.

Marco had succeeded in what he wanted to be done, and as he walked away with a puffed out chest, you knew that you had fallen into his trap. You grabbed your dinner tray and booked it out of the mess hall, trying to hide your fluster with a look of irritation.

As you stormed down the hallway, you heard quickened footsteps approaching behind you.

“Are you happy, Marco?” you demanded, turning around.

You were instead met with the freckled face of Portgas D. Ace, his cheeks pinked and his breathing slightly high from running after you. His eyes were wide from shock and concern.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, turning away to hide your own blush. “Thought you were someone else.”

“Wait!” Ace yelped. “I, uh-actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

You turned back to him, your brows furrowing.

“What do you want?” Your voice came out harsher than you meant to, and you could see Ace’s eyes sadden for a second.

“I was hoping-” Ace stopped, looking around uncomfortably. “Well, there’s a briefing tomorrow for our upcoming mission.”

You scoffed, turning away. “Thanks for reminding me.”

You were about to storm off when he spoke.

“I was hoping you’d join me.”

You turned back to him, muddled with confusion. You could see that Ace was trying to read your expression, but you kept your face as neutral as possible.

“That’s not really protocol,” you said simply.

“I’d like to have someone in the room who knows their stuff,” he said. “I hear you're a strategist.”

Damn that meddling Marco. He was always up to something.

“Is this some kind of peace offering you’re handing to me?” you asked, suspicious of his motives.

Ace chuckled at that, but didn’t answer. “So, will you join me?”

You bit your lip, trying to decide if this was a pity offer or not.

“I’m surprised you want a hot-head being your strategist,” you answered instead.

Ace rolled his eyes, a smile dancing on his lips. “You are not a hot head,” he said.

You could feel your skin getting warm. “And how would you know what I am? You don’t even know me. We met a few days ago!”

“And every time you’ve gotten mad since then, you’ve gotten mad on behalf of someone else. Yesterday, when a couple of guys took the News Coo seagull hostage, and you went berserk on them. You blew up in the kitchen because someone intentionally messed with a recipe as a prank. When a few people were messing around with the sails and they got torn, and you got so mad you burned a piece of rope yelling at them.”

Ace paused to smirk at you. “You have righteous anger, which is why you’re a good strategist.”

You’re not sure when your mouth fell open, but you stood in front of him, mouth agape. You were stunned into silence by both his attention to detail and just how strange it all was. He knew so much about you in such a short amount of time.

“Have you been watching me, Portgas D. Ace?” you asked, still staring at him in bewilderment.

His cheeks turned red and his eyes widened. His fingers ran through his hair, a movement he did when he was nervous or realized he was about to be in trouble.

“Not in a creepy way,” he groaned, his voice full of embarrassment. “I just wanted to see if I could trust you.”

He had been watching you. Of course, you had been doing the same thing. Though you couldn’t admit that. There had been a few times over the past few days where your eyes had met his, but it always ended with you both looking away nervously. You assumed that he had just sensed your eyes on you. But no, he had been looking at you too.

“Right…” you trailed off, suddenly feeling the awkwardness in the air.

“Please. I want you there tomorrow,” Ace begged.

“Fine.” You found your heart quickening his words, and you turned away before your face could give it away. “I’ll be there.”

You took off down the hallway, leaving him standing there with a half-dazed smile watching you go.

You had trouble sleeping that night. You blamed it on the roughness of the sea, or the noise that came with staying in a bunkhouse, but your mind wouldn’t quiet. Portgas D. Ace was watching you.

When you saw the first hint of light start to appear outside, you finally got up. You had barely slept, but at least now you had a reason to be out of bed. You grabbed some of the strongest coffee they had from the dining hall and walked into the clinic, hoping to find Marco.

He was in his office, checking over some kind of medical chart, and you sat down on a stool, quietly sipping at your coffee until he was done.

“I swear, some things never change,” he mumbled, pulling his glasses off.

You hummed in agreement. You had always found your way to the clinic in the past when you needed a quiet moment, the two of you enjoying each other’s company compared to the loud scene of the ship.

He put his papers down and faced you. “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”

You looked at him, confused by his words. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled softly. “It’s Ace, isn’t it?”

You scowled. “I didn’t say anything about him,” you hissed. Why did everything always come back to that guy?

But you couldn’t help thinking about him, now that Marco had brought him up. You had noticed a few things about Portgas D. Ace over the past few days. People tended to gravitate towards him. He always managed to be the life of the party, no matter what the task was. He was overly affectionate, always slapping people on the back and thanking them when they helped him out. Sometimes he laughed so hard he’d send sparks flying out from his body unintentionally. He would randomly fall asleep; and always seemed unaware of his time spent unconscious when he woke up.

You had to admit, you understood why your father had made him a division commander. Though you’d never admit it, Ace had a sort of ability to rally people together and find a cause to fight for. It was admirable, even though a part of you still loathed him for taking your promised position.

He was strange, you had to admit. But you were intrigued.

“You’re drifting again,” Marco said. “Where’s your mind at?”

“Nowhere!” you claimed, though you both knew it wasn’t true.

“You didn’t sleep last night, I’m guessing,” Marco commented, looking at your coffee cup. “You better perk up, or it’s going to be obvious that something is affecting you.”

“Did you tell Ace that I’m a strategist?” you finally asked, caving in to your desire to know.

Marco raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile.

“It’s not like that,” you said. “I just don’t want some pity offer because he feels bad about taking my title.”

“Right,” Marco said, obviously not believing you. “I didn’t tell him anything about you, though…” he paused, a devilish look in his eyes. “He has certainly tried to get me to.”

You perked up at that. “What do you mean?”

Marco laughed at your reaction, and you blushed, angry for being discovered by such a cheap trick. Marco was always teasing you with such obvious traps, and you always fell for them. You weren’t even sure how you felt about Ace, but you couldn’t deny that he caught your interest.

“Forget it,” you grumbled. You picked up your coffee and headed for the door, tired of the conversation.

“He asks about you,” Marco said. “Almost every day.”

You could feel his eyes on your back, which was the only thing that kept you from whipping your head back around and demanding more information. It was another trap, you were sure of it.

“Don’t care!” you called back as you left the room. You kept walking out the door and down the hallway. You had a meeting to prepare for anyway. You needed to focus and work on proving your worth amongst your crew.

You sat quietly on the deck, trying not to let your mind wander too much. You knew you had to prepare for the meeting shortly, but you couldn’t bring your mind to focus on that. So you stared out at the ocean, sipping on another cup of coffee.

“Need a refill?” a familiar voice called, and you jumped. You turned and found eyes as dark as the depths of the sea, and you found yourself at a loss for words.

Ace stared at you quizzically, waiting for an answer.

“No thanks,” you muttered, finally breaking your eye contact with him and looking back out at the sea.

“Care if I sit?” Ace asked, already sitting on the stool.

“Kind of,” you grumbled.

Ace shot you a surprised look that was mixed with hurt.

“Sorry.” He started to get up. “I can go.”

“No!” you said, just a little too quickly. “I’m, uh, just not in the mood for conversation.”

Ace chuckled at that, and got comfortable on the stool again. “Agreed. It’s too early for conversation.”

You smiled and nodded, staring out at the sea. You were unable to relax now, painfully aware of him being so close to you.

“I know I said I wasn’t up for chatting,” you said, and you felt Ace’s gaze move to you. “But why did you ask me to be your strategist?”

Ace opened his mouth in surprise, but no words came out at first. You wanted to look over at him, but you were afraid that you would get lost in those bottomless eyes or endless freckles. You couldn’t afford to be distracted today.

“They say you’re the best,” he finally admitted.

“Who says that?” you pressed.

“Everyone,” Ace said, looking back to the sea. “Marco and everyone in the first division fawns over you, but Jizou respects you so much-I’ve never seen him respect another crewmember as much as you. Haruta talks about you with so much admiration, I think he actually has a crush on…nevermind.” Ace tensed for a moment, before rushing on. “Izou adores you, Ramba smiles when your name is brought up, and every time your name comes around, the Clandine Incident is too. Apparently you did some admirable stuff there.”

You smirked. The Clandine Incident had been about 60% luck, but people always gave you the credit for great strategy as well. And years later, you never corrected them. It stopped being worth the hassle long ago.

“I want you as my strategist because your reputation precedes you,” he said. “Not because-”

“Ace! You’re late!” Your father’s voice boomed across the ship, and you tensed. You’d both be scolded for your tardiness.

“That’s our cue,” Ace grinned, and got up, unbothered by the public reprimand from your father.

You followed him, curious of what he was going to say if you hadn’t been interrupted.

When you entered behind Ace, your father shot you a curious look, but didn’t say anything as you took the strategist seat next to your division commander.

“Second division finally got a strategist, huh?” Thatch quipped to the table. You could tell he wanted to jest more, but your father cleared his throat, and you all turned your attention to him for the briefing.

You had sat in on briefings before. Ever since you were a kid. First you sat at the table with Marco and colored quietly, and that evolved into taking notes and making plans with the other division commanders and strategists. It had been a place you felt comfortable speaking up and giving ideas.

But now it felt different, more tense than you remembered. Perhaps it was your return to the table that put everyone on edge, and you stayed quiet during most of the meeting. Ace occasionally dozed off, and you kicked him to keep him awake. It wasn’t until the end of the meeting that you finally spoke.

Kingdew’s strategist spoke up during the deliberation point. “I think if we have two divisions take the left flank and one take the right, we should be fine.”

You were looking at the map, frowning. You didn’t know the strategist; he must’ve joined the crew after you left. His strategy would probably work, but it would take a strong single division to pull off the right flank, and it was risky.

“What do you think?” Ace’s voice rang out, calling your attention back to the room. You looked to see who he was talking to, and you realized he was looking at you.

“It’s not a bad plan,” you agreed. “We could probably make it work if we had one of the stronger divisions flanking from the right.”

Ace looked at you expectedly. “But?”

You weren’t sure why, but you felt nervous. Everyone in the room was staring at you, waiting for your input. You used to have pride in that, but now it just made you feel small.

“How updated is this map?” you asked, looking at Namur.

“My guys got the layout two days ago,” he replied.

You hummed, staring back down at the map. It was recent, but things with the Navy could always change. Still, your confidence rating in accuracy was high.

“And you can only spare three divisions?” you asked your dad, who nodded in response.

“I think our best bet is to have one division flank each side. Have the strongest division hang back, communicate with the front two, and send assistance where needed. It saves our strongest fighters for the end of the fight, lowers enemy morale, and should be able to get the job done with little to no casualties.”

“Some things never change,” someone muttered, but you couldn’t tell who. A few people chuckled around the table.

You turned back to Ace, who was giving you a stupid grin, and you ignored the heat that was rushing to your face. “That’s what I propose, at least.”

“Then let's do it,” Ace said, shrugging. “Thatch, Kingdew, if you agree?”

They both nodded.

“We can get you a list of individuals in our division, but the Second division should be the one to hang back,” Thatch said.

“I think we could take a few members from the second division and place them under your temporary command for the mission as well, if that’s alright with everyone,” you considered. “Just to make sure the playing field is even.”

“Whatever you decide, we’ll go with,” Kingdew said, and Thatch nodded in agreement.

You could feel Ace grinning while you stared at the map again, making sure you hadn’t missed any information or any holes in your plan.

“Damn, pops,” one of the commanders grumbled. “Why’d you have to put Y/N in the Second Division? We could’ve used her.”

“Too bad!” Ace said, sticking out his tongue to his comrades. “She’s mine!”

Ace wrapped his arms around you to solidify the joke, and you felt yourself tense being so close to him. He was warm, the bare skin of his chest against your body. He smelled like campfire and apples, and you bit your inner lip to keep your focus.

“Off!” you hissed. You quickly pushed him away, your face flushing with pink. You pretended to continue looking at the map even though you were too dizzy to see straight.

Ace laughed nervously, and you could feel your father’s eyes on the both of you. He wasn’t the only one; you could sense Marco’s amused gaze, Thatch’s curious look, and Haruta’s envious stare at least. But you refused to look up.

“I’d like to get a list of all the division members so we can allocate division two properly,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

“I’ll get those to you this afternoon,” your father said, and you finally looked up at him.

You gave him a tense smile and nodded. “Thank you.”

Whitebeard nodded at you, and then turned his attention to the rest of the table. “Strategists, you’re dismissed,” he said. “I need to speak with the commanders now.”

You took your leave with the rest, and went back to your bunkhouse. Now that the adrenaline from the meeting was over, the exhaustion was catching up with you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You pulled off your nice outfit and threw on a comfortable crop top and shorts, and climbed into bed. As soon your head hit the pillow, you were out.

You awoke to the presence of someone beside your bed, and your eyes opened to find your father’s pirate flag, displayed on an open back.

“Ace?” you mumbled, grogginess thick in your voice. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, and saw the flame user frozen where he stood.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he smiled nervously. “Just dropping off the names of everyone in division two, four, and eleven.”

You sat up, reaching for the papers now on your nightstand. Ace looked tense and extremely nervous, but you didn’t pay him any mind. You did a quick shuffle through the papers, scanning all of the names. You recognized most of them, and it seemed like both four and eleven were pretty evenly matched in skill.

“Do you need a quiet place to work?” Ace asked you.

“I’ve got one,” you said, slipping on your shoes and heading for the door, still scanning through the names.

“There’s a party tonight!” Ace called after you, but you hardly heard him, already absorbed in your work to create a perfect strategy.

Your body went on autopilot, directing you to the clinic. There were a lot of names you didn’t know, and you would need Marco’s opinion for them to make sure the divisions were as evenly matched as possible.

“Help,” you said, entering the clinic, and you saw Marco jump up to see you.

“Tch,” he chided. “You shouldn’t call for help when you’re entering a clinic unless you need it. You worried me.”

You shot him an annoyed look. “I do need help.”

“This is a medical clinic,” Marco grumbled, taking the sheets of paper out of your hand. “I’m not a therapist.”

“You’d be a good therapist,” you commented.

“I don’t get paid enough for that.”

“You don’t get paid at all.”

You followed him back into his office with a smirk, and the two of you went over names you were unfamiliar with. You made it about halfway through Thatch’s division when the door to the clinic slammed open.

“Marco!” Ace hollered. “I need help!”

“You two, I swear,” Marco muttered under his breath. He rose from his seat and walked out of his office. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what to do.” You couldn’t see Ace, but he sounded flustered.

Marco sighed. “About what?”

“Y/N!” Ace cried.

Your cheeks burned at the sound of your name coming from Ace’s lips. You saw Marco’s eyes slide over to you briefly, before snapping back to Ace.

“What about her, Ace?” you could hear the mischief in Marco’s voice, and your stomach knotted.

“I think she hates me,” Ace groaned. “She’s always irritated by me and ignores me! I tried to ask her about the party tonight, but she totally blew me off.”

Marco raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you again. “Did you actually ask her?”

“Well, I tried,” Ace said. “But she ran off with the papers I delivered before I could even get it out!”

“I’m sure she’ll be at the party,” Marco said, a smirk on his face. “Especially if she knows you want her there.”

Ace mumbled something too low for you to hear, and Marco busted out laughing. Your stomach churned thinking about what had been said to get such a reaction from the doctor.

“Okay man, I need you to get out. I have some work to get back to. I’ll see you tonight. And I’m sure she will be there. ”

“Thanks Marco,” Ace mumbled, and you heard the door open and shut.

Marco came back into his office and you stared at the list of names intensely. You knew if you made eye contact with him, the teasing would never end.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “Aita Leynolt, how do they fare in combat?”

“Really?” Marco said, disbelieving. “You don’t want to talk about what just happened?”

“I told you already,” you huffed. “I don’t care.”

Marco let out a loud, sharp laugh, indicating he clearly didn’t believe you.

“You know what they say about division leaders and their strategists, don’t you?”

“Don’t. Care.”

“The time spent together. The high stakes. The authority dynamic. They can’t help but-”

“Marco!” you shouted, holding your hands over your ears.

“Oh, Y/N,” Marco laughed.

You gathered up your papers and stormed out of his office before he could utter another word.

You found a quiet unused corner of the library and laid out your papers again, sifting through the names you were familiar with. Even if you didn’t know the newer names, you could get a pretty good sense of the division’s abilities based on the names you did know. Before you realized it, you had to light a lantern to be able to see the list.

“Still looking at names?” spoke a voice from behind you, and you jumped.

You looked behind you to find Ace peering over your shoulder at the sheets curiously.

His eyes slid over to you and they widened nervously when they met yours.

“Can I help you?” you asked, slightly irritated to have had your concentration broken.

“Do you ever take a break?” Ace asked. “You’re always so serious.”

“I have things to do. People’s lives are on the line.”

Ace’s eyes grew soft at your sentiment, and you resisted the urge to melt.

“I can help you go through the names, if you want,” he offered. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” you questioned.

He nodded, reaching over you to grab the papers and shuffled them all into a stack. “Tonight you’re not responsible for any lives, okay? Just your own.”

“Just my own…” you echoed, trying not to get lost in his campfire scent.

He offered out his hand to help you up, but you stood up without accepting it. You could see he was hurt by that, and your heart felt an unwarranted pang, which you tried to ignore.

You reached out for your papers, but Ace held them away from you. “Nope!” he said. “You’re enjoying the night.”

“At least let me put them away,” you groaned.

“Nah, because I know what you’re going to do,” he teased. “You’ll stay on deck for thirty minutes and then you’ll sneak back down here to keep working.”

“I will not!” you gasped. You had planned to do exactly that, but you weren’t about to admit that he was right.

“We’ll just put them in my room for safe keeping,” he said, walking down the hallway to the division commander suites.

You groaned, but didn’t object any further. Every division commander had their own room, and they all shared a common living space and a bathroom. It was a pretty nice space, you had to admit. You had spent plenty of nights in Marco’s room throughout the years, both as a child and as a sick teenager, and your presence never seemed to cause him any inconvenience.

You walked into the common area and Ace quickly stepped into his room, threw the papers on his desk, and shut the door, locking it for good measure.

“Locking it seems a bit overdramatic,” you whined, but Ace just laughed.

“Party time!” Ace yelled, and a few commanders stepped out of their rooms to join you.

“Y/N,” Marco suppressed a smirk as he walked into the common room, but you ignored him.

“Hey!” Haruka called, bounding over to you. “It’s still weird to see you back on the ship, you know. I’m glad you’re back, though!”

“Thanks,” you laughed politely. “It’s really good to be back.”

Haruka started walking out the door, and you followed him. “You know,” he said, lowering his voice. “If you ever need to change divisions-”

“Oh, no no,” you said quickly. “I’m fine in division two. Thank you, though.”

“Offer is always open,” Haruka grinned at you, and you nodded.

The thought of switching divisions now felt weird, even if you had begged for it a few days ago. The only person you’d consider switching for was probably Marco, or maybe Izou.

“Drink for drink?” you heard Ace say to someone behind you, and Marco laughed.

“Like hell I’m agreeing to that,” Marco shot back.

Ace jumped up to you, casually looping his arm through yours. “Drink for drink?” he asked, looking at you.

You pulled away, shaking your arm out of his grasp. “No thanks. I value your life.”

Ace scoffed. “You think you can outdrink me?”

“I know I can.”

He held out his hand, eager to get you to shake on it. You grabbed his hand, forming a bet between the two of you. He was going to regret underestimating you.

Seven drinks in, and you were feeling comfortably drunk. You were chatting with a new crew member when you felt a warm hand wrap around your shoulder.

“Done with drink seven?” Ace purred in your ear, and you felt electricity jolt through your body.

“Ahead of you, as usual,” you giggled back, handing him your cup.

“Here’s eight, then,” he said, filling it and handing it off to you.

“You’re so kind,” you laced sarcasm in your words, but Ace pulled away and disappeared into the crowd without another word.

When you finished drink eight, you wandered off to find Ace, ready to make him finish the rest of whatever he had left. But you didn’t see him with his normal crew, and you searched the deck, looking for his familiar back tattoo and orange hat.

Finally, you found him, standing on the quiet part of the deck, watching the stars.

“Found you!” you called, bounding over to him.

“Hm?” Ace turned, and smiled when he saw that it was you. “Oh, hey. Sorry, I just needed a moment.”

His drink was still mostly full, and you frowned at it.

“I’m empty,” you pouted, tipping over your cup to prove it. “You have to catch up.”

“I think I’m done. You win.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You got sick already?”

He shrugged. “I want to remember this night, that’s all. I’m comfortably buzzed.”

“Lame.”

Ace chuckled and looked up at the night sky. “The stars are nice tonight.”

You joined him at the railing, your arm pressing against his warm skin.

“The moon is too bright,” you hummed. “The best time to stargaze is during new moons or when the moon is a little sliver.”

“And when will that be?” Ace asked.

“Not for another two weeks or so, probably.” You shrugged. “Guess we’ll just have to do this again.”

“Do what again?” Ace questioned, looking at you. Your droopy eyes met his, and you could see his freckles catch a hint of pink.

You pointed at the sky. “Stargaze, silly!”

“Oh,” Ace said, his eyes returning to the stars. “We can still do it tonight, if you want. The sky still looks lovely.”

“I’m too tired tonight,” you said, rubbing your eyes.

“And you just scolded me for tapping out early,” Ace smirked. “Hypocrite.”

“Hey now! I’m only tired because I stopped drinking!” You gave him a playful nudge. “So it’s your fault.”

Ace downed the ale in his cup. “One more round?” he asked.

“Only if you carry me,” you pouted.

Ace squatted down, and you scrambled onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold on. His arms grabbed your legs, and he hoisted you up into the air. You leaned into his tattooed back as he carried you back to the party.

“Ace?” you mumbled in his ear.

“Yeah?”

“I want to go to bed.” You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, and you felt him still for a moment.

“Okay,” he hummed, changing the course of his walk.

He started to walk past the commander's hallway, but you leaned away from him, making him wobble for a second.

“Your room?” you asked. You couldn’t believe you were being so bold. You blamed it on the eight drinks of liquid courage.

“No, not tonight,” he whispered.

You could feel his breathing was hitched and uneven. You made him nervous. You smiled into his neck at the thought.

“Then drop me off in Marco’s room,” you countered. “I don’t sleep in the bunkhouses well during party nights.”

Ace laughed dryly, and headed down the commander’s hallway. When you got to Marco’s room, he jiggled at the doorknob, but it was locked.

“My room it is,” Ace muttered. “I have to put you down to get my key.”

You let out a frustrated groan, but stood on your own two feet when he put you down. You stumbled for a moment, the room spinning slightly, but you managed to stay upright.

Ace quickly grabbed his key and unlocked his room, opening the door and ushering you inside. You found the bed in the dimly lit room, and collapsed into it. You shoved your feet under the covers, and curled into the comfortable sheets.

“Join me?” you asked, peering up at him through your lashes.

He stared at you as if he were a deer caught in headlights. His eyes briefly scanned your body before snapping up to your face, and he gave a hard swallow. You could tell he wanted to join you, but something was holding him back.

“Ace,” you whined, reaching a hand out for him to take.

“Not like this,” he whispered. He bent down and softly kissed your forehead, and you found yourself wanting more of his touch.

“I just want you to lay with me,” you reasoned. “Don’t be a pervert.”

Ace bit his lip, trying to resist, but you lunged forward and grabbed his wrist, pulling him into bed with you. You giggled as he tumbled into the bed, and he urgently shushed you to be quiet. He resigned himself to his fate, and you laid your head against his chest.

“You’re warm,” you mumbled. “But not an uncomfortable warm. Just warm.”

“Yeah, so are you,” he noted. “I’ve never had someone be warmer than me.”

“I can’t help that I’m hotter than you,” you replied.

“You could burn me.”

You giggled. “That’s the steam. The lava-”

“Would just melt my heart.”

You smiled and hummed approvingly at his joke, and nuzzled further into his chest, finally drifting off into sleep.

Maybe Portgas D. Ace wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe you could get used to having him be the second division commander.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d. ace #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace x y/n #cozage #the daughters return #✧˚ace✧˚

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