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katiexpunk · 1 month

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Fuck Me, Fill Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader | W/C: ~4K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break. You spent years successfully avoiding one. Except things are different now, you're ready for more. Your husband Joel is more than happy to oblige.

Warnings: Joel has one mission in this one -- knock you the fuck up (if that's not your thing, kindly move on). Heavy on the breeding kink. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). So much dirty talk. Fingering. Dry humping/grinding. Praise kink. Size kink. Unprotected P in V. Rough sex. Semi-public sex. Sex in front of a mirror. Multiple creampies. No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: I have no excuses for this one except that I have Joel brain rot and baby fever. Shoutout to the Capital One Lounge at IAD for the idea. Written on a plane.

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Accidents happen all the time — people fall, knives slip, condoms break.

It’s inevitable, really. A known fact of life. Call it Murphy’s law, bad luck, or just plain stupidity…

You’ve spent the majority of your teens and 20s successfully avoiding an accident.

If it can happen, it will happen your superstitious aunt used to say, and you were a believer.

Lord knows you've had more than enough evidence in your life to back up her words. From the tummy ache after eating way too many cherries, to the conspicuous brown stain that ruined your pristine white blouse. A blister on your heel from shoes that were supposed to be 'broken in' but never quite were, and the painful crack in your skin that followed. Proof was everywhere, and you learned to expect the unexpected.

You hold tight to that belief, while Joel does the same to your hips, fucking you within an inch of your life in the airport lounge bathroom.

But how you both ended up in this position was no accident.

++++

It never seemed like the right time—you had so much more to explore, achieve, and experience. Becoming a mother would complicate everything; at least, that's what you convinced yourself. You were content to rely on that little orange pill each day, despite its own set of side effects, because it kept your options open.

You weren't sure you'd make a good mom anyway. Your own mother certainly wasn't a shining example, and you had no reason to think you'd be any different. You couldn't even keep a cactus alive—how could you possibly care for a child?

But something changed not long after you and Joel got married. Maybe it was maturity slowly finding its way in, like warm honey filling the spaces you once closed off. It softened you to the idea of chubby cheeks and tiny fingers, gentle coos, and quiet lullabies sung in the deep southern drawl that had become so familiar.

Initially, you weren't sure how Joel would take the news, but when you told him you'd reconsidered, his reaction was beyond anything you'd expected. He was over the moon, filled with an urgency you'd never seen in him before. It was like you'd handed him the key to his deepest desires, and he was eager, almost desperate, to turn it and bring new life into your world, yours and his.

He made it clear just how eager he was when he took you in his arms and twirled you around the kitchen in joy. Then, without missing a beat, he bent you over the counter, yanked down your jeans, and made his intentions unmistakably clear. He fucked his cum so deep inside of you that night that you felt the warm dribble of him the next morning.

++++

Good things come to those who wait.

The words seem almost lifeless as they peer back at you, the paper they're printed on showing signs of age and Scotch tape keeping it glued to the break room wall above the microwave. The optimism they once held has faded, leaving behind nothing but cynicism and wear.

Yeah. Right.

The shrill beep of the microwave snaps you back to the present, your shoulders tensing. You shake off your irritation, clutching the warm coffee that’s been reheated three times, its heat barely reaching the chill of your underlying pessimism. It’s a small comfort, but enough to soften the ache of disappointment that nags at you every month when hope fizzles out.

Back at your desk, you bury yourself in work, flipping through emails and juggling various applications. Headphones in, you’re almost lost in your own world when a notification on your phone pulls you back. It's your cycle tracking app, reminding you that you're due to ovulate in a couple of days. But wait—

No, no, no. You quickly count the days in your head, then scramble to open your work calendar. The schedule's a blur until your eyes land on the words "Work Trip: Jackson, Wyoming." They jump off the screen, almost mocking you. Looks like timing won't be on your side this month. Unless —

Would it be too ridiculous to change an entire work trip just so you could make love to your ridiculously hot husband, and let him fill you again and again? You think not, but you know your boss might say otherwise.

You spend the rest of your workday figuring out Plan B. The irony is not lost on you that you’re seeking out an entirely different kind than you used to.

++++

As you settle into the couch, your legs draped across his lap, he begins to massage the soles of your feet in that soothing way that sends a ripple of warmth up your spine. You can't help but glance at his side profile—the elegant slope of his nose, the chiseled cut of his jaw, and the effortless curls of his salt-and-pepper hair that rest at the nape of his neck. He's undeniably handsome, a sight that never gets old.

His touch spreads a slow heat across your skin, your stomach fluttering in response. It's always been this way—the world could be crumbling outside, but with Joel, in your shared cocoon, you feel entirely at ease, wrapped in safety and affection.

“You're really gorgeous, you know,” you murmur, almost too quietly to be heard. You swirl the wine in your glass and meet his gaze as you take a sip.

“Nah, that's you, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink, his touch transitioning to featherlight kitten caresses as his fingers trace a path up your shin. He's not trying to seduce you, not really, but his touch and the intent gaze he holds on you are enough to ignite a slow burn under your skin.

You relax into the cushions, your head sinking back into the pillow, reveling in this moment. When he pauses, even for a second, you squirm, and he chuckles softly. “Such a needy little thing, aren't cha?” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he resumes his gentle strokes. “Mhm, sure am,” you hum, your eyes closing as you melt into the sensation of his skin on yours.

He slowly journeys upward, callused palms gliding along the smooth skin of your thigh, alternating between soft strokes and firm squeezes. Each touch seems to awaken a deeper need within you, and you're all too aware of the growing bulge beneath your calves, a silent but potent reminder of the desire simmering between you. It's enough to make you ache for him, crave his closeness, the kind of closeness only he can provide.

You lift your head, and he's already adjusting, his broad frame looming over you. He locks eyes with you as he takes the wineglass from your hand, placing it on the coffee table with care, then shifts his full attention back to you. You push your hips upward, meeting his, and he presses down just enough to make it clear that he’s in control, his body holding you firmly but without discomfort. You know he’s got you right where he wants you.

Your eyes meet his, and the intensity in his gaze leaves no doubt—this is happening. He props himself up on one forearm, his other hand tangling through your hair, his knuckles brushing against your cheek with a tender touch. He thrusts his hips into you with more urgency, his lips descending to capture yours, drawing out a soft moan from deep within you.

“Fuck sweetheart, feel what you do to me?” he groans, pressing his lips harder against yours. He tastes the wine on you, and your tongues intertwine, each movement slow but deliberate. You work your arms free from your sides and slide your hands into his hair, tugging gently, your nails grazing his scalp. The deep groan that escapes him tells you he's feeling everything—the pull, the scrape, the heat. It rumbles from his chest, reverberating through you, and it's intoxicating.

With your lips pressed firmly to his, he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a teasing bite as he thrusts against you. The rough denim scrapes against your inner thighs, and he slots himself perfectly between your legs. His mouth leaves yours, tracing a path of soft kisses down your jawline, lingering at that sensitive spot just behind your ear before he pulls the lobe into his mouth. You moan, fingers tangled in his hair, while your other hand explores the broad expanse of his back, craving the feel of him, unable to get enough.

“Joel,” you whimper, his name almost a question on your lips.

He doesn't pause, thrusting with just the right pressure, almost ignoring your plea. You move your lips to his shoulder and whisper, “I’m ovulating.”

That makes him stop. He props himself up on one forearm, his free hand on your ribs, his intense gaze locking onto yours. His eyes darken, pupils eclipsing the rich brown you know so well, and he groans deeply. Fuck.

“Yeah, sweetheart? Mmm, big mistake telling me that, now I’m just going to pump you full of my cum all night, gonna fuck you again and again, keep you so full of me that it’ll have no choice but to stick this time.”

You whimper at the thought, and his words go straight to your already wet core, your pussy fluttering around nothing, practically begging to be filled.

You want him so bad, but right now, he wants you more — wants every part of you, wants to change you forever. His head dips back to your neck, and he's practically grinding into you, the pressure so intense it feels like he's already fucking you through your clothes. His beard rasps against your cheek, leaving a trail of red marks as he works his way down to your chest, hastily undoing buttons, uncovering your breasts, and teasing your nipples to hard, eager peaks.

It would almost be embarrassing how turned on you are right now if it were anyone but him, how easily he can fluster you, turn you into a babbling mess.

“Well, not right now, but I am next —” you start to say, but quickly lose your train of thought as his whole hand comes down to cup your sex and the feel of his palm pressing against your dripping center.

“Sorry darlin’, what was that?” He asks, doing little to hide the smug tone behind his voice, obviously pleased with the effect he has on you.

“I am next week, while I’m supposed to be in Jackson for work,” you manage to get out, the words coming out soft, a barely there thought, your attention mostly on the sensation of his thick finger that has now curled its way deep inside of you, your panties pushed to the side as they should never have been there in the first place, not with him in the room.

“Come with me,” you ask, your words a tad breathless as he adds another finger to your dripping center, your slick coating them completely, and when he doesn’t answer, you’re not sure he heard you behind the haze of his arousal, the blood thrumming through his veins. Not that you can blame him, it’s so hard to fucking think, to breathe, to string together a rational thought that isn’t dirty when you’re together like this.

“Gotta feel this pussy first,” he rasps, the words slightly muffled against the tenderness of your breast. His words sober you for a brief second, as you playfully push against him in protest.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," you laugh, and he can't suppress the goofy grin spreading across his face. He loves this—the playful banter, the way you bring out his lighter side, the perfect blend of passion and humor that flows between you. It's always been like this, effortlessly flirty, endlessly fun. You’re the perfect combination of sexy and cute, and better yet, you’re all his.

“Alright baby, I’ll come with you, on one condition,” he says, adding a third finger, and the stench of him is intoxicatingly delicious, perfect, and intense in the best way. You already feel so fucked out, you’re not sure how he’s managing to find the will to set fucking conditions right now, but still, you humor him —

“Conditions, huh?” You moan as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the pads of his fingers grazing at the soft spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

“Yeah, sweetheart, conditions,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and come all over my fingers, and then I’ll make sure that you’re full of me all week, whenever you want it baby, I’m all yours,” he rasps, his breath coming a bit more ragged now at the thought of your proposition and his.

His fingers are still deep inside of you, he positions his wrist just right and brings the pad of his thumb to your clit. Your slick, combined with his filthy fucking mouth, and his thick cock pressed against you, creates the perfect conditions for the inevitable. He’s never not made you come, and you sure as hell know he’s not about to change that narrative now.

If it can happen, it will happen.

“Come on pretty girl, show me how pretty you come on your husband’s fingers,” he says, not really asking, but rather ordering in the tone that lights every nerve in your body on fire with arousal.

The warmth in your lower belly spreads outward, wrapping you in a blanket of pleasure. Your limbs tingle, your vision blurs, and your toes curl as the intensity builds. For a split second, everything goes hazy, and you let go, surrendering to him completely. He takes control, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy, pulling you into a bliss that only he knows how to reach.

“So good for me, sweetheart. You are so perfect.”

He makes you come once more soon after and then fucks you deep and slow. It’s all whispered praises in your ear, a firm grip on your hips, and his cock barely leaving your cunt before he’s slamming back into you, desperate to keep the tip of him as close to your cervix as possible.

Come with me, you moan, and he knows exactly what you mean this time.

“Shit, baby, I can feel you squeezing me, taking me so good —” his words break with a moan as you come for the third time, falling apart on his cock, before he adds “gripping me so goddamn tight.”

His thrusts slow and he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, and paints your insides in thick ropes of cum, holding your gaze as he throbs inside, not daring to move and risk any of his spend coming out before he wants it to.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips and tells you that you’re going to look even more gorgeous with his baby inside of you.

++++

The delayed flight to Jackson was just another reminder of life's unpredictability.

What started as a simple 30-minute delay quickly turned into an hour, then two, and now you're both three hours past your original departure time.

You find yourselves in one of the newer airport lounges, sitting in overly posh chairs. It's surprisingly uncrowded given the chaos that usually comes with airport delays. Your luggage is safely tucked away in the lockers, your bellies are full from the free snacks, and the irritation from earlier is fading thanks to the complimentary drinks. The ambiance is unexpectedly chic. Even the bathrooms feel upscale—private, enormous mirrors, fancy soap, and paper towels so luxurious they might as well be hand towels.

Joel is deep into a well-worn Western novel, its cover frayed and spine cracked from countless readings. You're scrolling through an article about the best positions for conceiving, smirking when you realize you and Joel have tried most of them, and then some. Just as you're in the middle of your read, your cycle tracking app sends a notification—you're at peak fertility, starting now. Have fun! ;)

Shit.

Who knows when you'll actually make it to your hotel room in Jackson tonight? You glance up from your phone, stealing a look at Joel. He's always handsome, but there's something about him in his glasses—the way the frames sit on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow in his brow as he focuses on the words in his book. It's endearing how he still reads with such intensity, even though you know he's revisited these same pages countless times.

Your pussy flutters and aches at the sight, giving you a cheeky idea. He did say you could have him whenever you wanted.

You clear your throat, hoping to pull Joel's focus from his book, but he doesn't seem to notice. You try again, this time a bit louder, and all you get is a distracted, "You okay, sweetheart?" without him even glancing up.

You know you’ll need to be more direct to capture his attention.

"I'm going to use the restroom," you say, and he nods, eyes still on the page. Once inside, you leave the door unlocked and hike up your dress, exposing your bare breasts. You pinch your nipples between your thumb and forefinger until they harden, then push out your chest, angling your smartphone for the perfect shot. The result is a provocative selfie that you know will make him put that book down.

You attach it to a message for Joel and quickly type out your request — come knock me up in the bathroom, Cowboy.

He’s joining you in the bathroom faster than you thought he would, careful to avoid any curious eyes or draw attention to the fact that he’s about to absolutely wreck his wife.

Once inside, he locks the door behind him and grabs your waist, guiding you back until your hips hit the counter's edge. His hands roam over your body, lifting the hem of your dress until it's bunched around your waist. He kisses you with a desperate hunger, as if he hasn't had you in years.

"You sure you want to do this here, sweetheart?" he groans against your lips, shifting between playful nips, gentle kisses on your cheeks, and heated sucks at your jawline. The anticipation in his touch is palpable, but he's still checking to make sure this is what you want.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life except for the day I married you. Please fuck me, Joel, need to feel you stretch me out” you say, your words crossed between a whimper and a plea.

God, just when he thought you couldn’t get any more perfect.

“Yeah? My girl wants me to fill up her tight little hole,” he teases, already knowing the answer. He moves his hand to your dripping core and lets out a deep groan when he discovers you’ve already removed the barrier of your underwear for him.

“Fuck baby, I’d do anything to taste you right now, wanna hear all those pretty noises you make and the way my name sounds when you moan it for me,” and you soften more under the heat of his words, letting your mind drift to thoughts of how good it feels when his head is between your legs, gently wringing orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s his fucking job.

“Gotta make this one quick, though. Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?” He asks, and all you can do is nod.

"Good girl—c'mere, turn around," he instructs, guiding you with his hands until you've spun around, your hips pressing into the sink. His hand travels down your spine, making you arch toward him slightly, and he bends you over even more. In the mirror, you see him behind you, his eyes locked on yours as he quickly unbuckles his belt and lowers his jeans to mid-thigh. The anticipation is electric as you watch him in the reflection, knowing exactly what's coming next.

He spits into his hand and jerks himself, all the while holding your gaze, admiring the way your breasts are pressed up against the counter, perky and perfect. His cock twitches at the thought of what they’ll look like all swollen and full of milk.

He lines himself up against your wet and waiting hole, holds your hips steady with one hand, and gathers your hair in his fist with the other. He gently tugs it so your chin is angled up, eyes even straighter looking into the mirror. He loves watching you take it.

“You’re gonna watch as I fuck you, sweetheart,” He rasps as he presses himself into you in one stroke. You’re so fucking wet, your greedy cunt accepts him easily, despite his size. Like it knows what it wants, and what it needs. There’s a dull delicious sting at the intrusion.

“Oh my god, Joel, you’re so bi—” You break off in a moan as he pulls out and then slams himself into you deep and hard.

“God damn, look at you, my perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, like this cock was made for you, huh baby?” His voice is firm, but quiet, just above a whisper. He’s not wasting time, he sets a punishing pace, and all you can do is let him use you.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fill me, fill me” you cry out, and he brings his hand to cover your mouth.

“What’d I say about being quiet, baby?” He holds you like that. You slip your hand between your thighs and rub your clit, a dangerous combination when he’s fucking you in this position. You come so fast that you think it might be a record. The tightening of your cunt has him on the precipice of his release.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growls, fucking his cum into you over and over, using every drop of him to give you what you want.

It might not stick this time, hell, it might not stick next time, but one thing is for certain — Joel will keep you full and fucked either way.

Part 2

A/N Continued: Thank you so much for reading! On a side note, my engagement here has been really low lately. :( As much as I'd love to say I don't care about the notes, I won't lie and tell you I don't need them for validation. If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I'll love you forever.

Tagging some moots for visibility (lmk if you want to be removed if the subject matter isn't your thing. No hard feelings!) @endlessthxxghts @syd-djarin @auteurdelabre @morning-star-joy@theoasisofthings @chulopascal @morallyinept @sweetercalypso @xdaddysprincessxx @burntheedges @punkshort @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @morgaussy

#joel miller smut #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #breeding k1nk #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #joel miller #joel miller fanfic

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dearly-somber · 3 months

Text

hyunga’s sleeping | l.mh

-> pairing. idol!minho x non-idol!reader (f)

-> genre. Established relationship, domestic fluff.

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 1101

-> warnings. None!

-> a/n. This was fueled by pure, unadulterated Minho & Soon-Doong-Dori (SDD) brainrot.

-> skz drabble, oneshot & series m.list

-> started. Feb. 23rd, 2024 @ 16:51

-> fin. Fri., Mar. 1st, 2024 @ 19:40

-> edited. Sat. Mar. 2nd, 2024 @ 15:40

-> divider credit. @plum98

“Eomoni!”

“Y/N, darling, come in!”

Minho’s mom wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling you inside with a big smile on her face. She waves you off as you slip out of your shoes and into a pair of bright pink Hello Kitty slippers Minho bought for you as a joke years ago, forcefully prying the bag of goodies you bought on your way here from your fingers.

“I hope I’m not intruding—?”

“Hush!” Mrs. Lee chides with a smile, “Stop worrying so much.” Her hand hovers by the small of your back, guiding you up the last step into the living room.

“Is Minho here? He said he was coming home today…”

“Yes, he’s here. He’s in his room.” Minho’s mom sets the plastic bag on the counter, and you naturally go to help her unpack what you bought, shelving things like you live here.

“I—hello, abeonim.” You bow at Mr. Lee, closing your eyes contentedly when he comes around the counter to give you a fatherly side-hug that squishes you against him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, ruffling your hair as he lets you go in favor of helping his wife unpack.

You shrug, walking around to the other side of the counter. “Thought I’d pop in to say hi. I missed the kittens very much.”

Mr. Lee laughs, shaking his head at you. “Of course, the kittens.” He wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.

You can’t help the grin tugging at your mouth, clearing your throat to speak. “Speaking of, where are the babies? I haven’t seen any of them since I got here.”

“Last time I checked they were all with Minho in his room,” his mom says, putting away the bottle of red wine you bought for dinner later tonight.

“Great! I can kill two birds with one stone.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

She snickers at you, shooing you away with a fond smile. “Go say hi and then come sit with us—we found a documentary we thought you’d like.”

“Okay, eomoni.” You smile at her and hope your pure love and adoration for her isn’t written too clearly on your face, afraid she might tease you. You walk with light steps in the direction of Minho’s room, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

“Minho-ssi,” you sing-song, rounding the corner with a light and airy step-a-step you’re pretty sure you saw somewhere in Thunderous’s choreography.

Mreow?

“Doong-Doong-ah?” Your lips jut out in a surprised pout, looking down at the talkative orange tabby with a tiny furrow in your brow. Following the lump of white sheets behind him, you finally make out Minho’s all-black clad body hidden under all the fluff.

You smile.

“Is hyunga sleeping?” you whisper, walking over on the tips of your toes before crouching in front of Doongie, scratching behind his ears with a soft smile. He mrews, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans his head into your hand. To your right, Dori hugs what you think is a bottle of lotion between his white socked-paws, his tail flicking with each nibble he delivers to the hard plastic.

You let your hand wander over Dori’s side and chide him with a half-hearted hiss when he clamps his teeth around your knuckles, shaking it off with a smile when he pauses a second before giving your hand a couple of licks.

You give his side one last pat before walking around Minho’s feet, only noticing Soonie as he’s cuddling into your boyfriend’s duveted stomach.

You can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips, crouching next to the sleeping cats to card your fingers through Soonie’s fur, feeling a familiar sense of pride swell in your chest at his appreciative purr.

And then you’re looking up at Lee Minho, your body tingling all over at the serenity on your sleeping beauty’s face, unable to help but reach out and let your hand run over his hair; a little frizzy at the ends but otherwise straight; he must not have been sleeping for very long.

You drag your hand over Minho’s head with an inexplicable softness constricting your throat, wishing you could lean down and kiss him without running the risk of waking him up.

You jump a little when Minho lets out an adorable grunt as he slowly pries his eyes open.

“Jagi?” he mumbles.

“Did I wake you?” you coo, combing your fingers through his fringe.

“Mmm.”

You chuckle, letting the pads of your fingers brush over his forehead, over his eyelids. “Ever the truthman.”

“Truthman?” he grumbles, bringing a hand up to loosely hold your wrist between his fingers.

“When did you get home?” You let your hand wander over his cheek.

“A few hours ago…”

“From practice?”

He guides the palm of your hand against his lips. “Mmm...”

He kisses your hand, turning onto his back (much to Soonie’s dismay) and throwing the duvet around his hips before tugging on your arm with surprising strength.

You yelp, practically falling on top of him. He lets out a back-of-the-throat kind of giggle that sends tingles down your arms, using his hands on your hips to shift you higher up his abdomen.

Minho lets out a satisfied hum-sigh against the top of your head, his fingers massaging the skin at your waist before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your trousers, letting the elastic keep his hands in place.

“Baby,” you say, softly—knowing his parents are waiting for you downstairs but feeling so tempted to sink into his warmth and stay there until the end of days.

“No,” he huffs, nuzzling your temple. “Lay with me for a bit.”

You can’t help but laugh, subtly shaking your head. Of course he knows. “Okay, but only for a minute. Your mom invited me downstairs to watch a—“

“Shh, jagi, I’m trying to sleep.”

———

“Y/N, sweetheart, we’re—“

Mrs. Lee stops in her tracks, right outside Minho’s room. The sight she comes across brings an immediate smile to her face, and she can’t help but take her phone out and snap a picture to give to her son later:

Minho, his arms wrapped around you as you lay on top of him, legs intertwined. And surrounding you, Soonie, Doongie and Dori; the youngest of the trio laying by his hyung’s head. Doongie lays by your feet, and Soonie sleeps just off to the side, his legs stretched out in front of him.

As she sits back down with her husband, Mrs. Lee can’t help but think: she can’t wait for the day Minho asks for her mother’s ring.

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jinkiezzsstuff · 3 months

Text

Met The Devil

lucifer x human!reader

based on folklore about the devil, cause i thought that would be cool teehee

Part [2]

Warnings: SMUT 18+, implied fem reader (clit use), based on devil folklore so possibly ooc lucifer, so sorry but lucifer our boy ain’t that caught up on lilith here, penetrative sex, didn’t proof read so lmk if you see any mistakes, no mention of hairtype/bodytype/skin colour, swearing,

Word count: 4K

Your shoes clacked against the concrete, water from puddles splashing out from underneath your feet. The rain poured down vigorously, and unforgivingly. Your hair ruined, your clothes soaked and your mood sour. It’s been a trying day starting off with a failed job interview and ending with bending over backwards for people who didn’t deserve it.

It wasn’t even like you couldn’t handle a problem, or a hurdle, but it seemed like every path you took led to a dead end. You were tired, broke, and felt drained, you would kill for just a break from the failure.

Your pace slowed long ago, not really wanting to return into a room full of loud family members with critical opinions. You dragged your feet through puddles of water, feeling the cold rain soak through. The storm raged on clouds continuing to pelt down fat droplets, you inhaled the smell of wet grass, damp concrete and mud as you strolled.

The amber street lights above you were dim, and your eyes danced around the street lazily, observing everything and nothing. Just a few feet away from you was a bus stop, with a shelter and a bench, figuring it’d be better to not be drenched completely, you decided you’d have a seat maybe the rain will dissipate.

You dragged your feet focusing down at them as you walked into the shelter. As you turned into it, you bumped into someone jolting you backwards slightly. Reflexively your head shot up from your feet to see a man’s back, he quickly turned to you. You observed his clothing his head held a rather out there looking white hat, shoulders holding up a long white chesterfield coat along with white boots to match his monochromatic look.

Meeting his eyes you admired the unique colour; they looked light brown, but they were such a concentrated colour it could’ve been mistaken for an amber or perhaps orange. He was very pale, and poking out of his hat extremely blonde hair you briefly had the thought of perhaps he just lacked in melanin; he was albino, and so you moved past it. Standing fairly short even with his boots, he seemed like a wealthy man, and perhaps a model too, there’s no way he couldn’t be with such a catching appearance. The man gave you a wide grin, showing off his sparkling teeth, perfect as you expected. “Hi!” The strange man shouted, a rich booming voice coming out of him. You didn’t know what voice you expected to hear from him, but the slightly unsure, sultry one definitely wasn’t it.

Stepping back from him lending him some personal space back, you smiled nervously. “Hi, i’m sorry i thought- well i didn’t see anyone in here, sorry.” The man ‘pfft’ at you, eyes closed momentarily, head tilted back. “It’s not a problem at all! Eh, i was just stopping by!” Waving at you he stepped futher in the bus shelter, opening his arm to welcome you in excitedly.

You watched him intently as you walked inside, you felt curious about him as he had an aura you couldn’t quite place. When inside you stood parallel to him, watching as his posture slowly decompressed like he was glad you were here. You briefly wondered what he meant by stopping by it didn’t seem like the appropriate term to use in this scenario, but you argued with yourself that he could’ve been flustered.

Gazing down at his arm a cane had appeared- one that wasn’t there before, you had to do double take, assuring yourself that you were seeing things correctly. As you did so, he leaned ever so slightly on it putting more trust in the cane then he probably should have. “An apple?” You questioned observing the handle that he grasped with gloved hands. His eyebrow rose with a confused expression gracing his gorgeously sculpted face waiting for you to elaborate. “Your cane, sir.” You smiled nodding toward it, feeling a strange sense of adoration him and for the far away look in his eyes, one you recognized. “Cane? Oh, OH! My cane, ha! Yes uh, apples. They’re, uh gods gift after all.”

Realization flooded his face, smirk reappearing as he leaned forward just a bit, as he did so you felt a sudden sense of familiarity that was almost sickening. You’ve never felt such a pull before to a person like you did in this moment. “Would you like an apple? It’s cold out, you must be tired after such a long tedious day.” Watching him as he dug into his pocket pulling out a decently sized apple- perfectly red as well.

Tilting your head to the side questioningly you ask; “How did you know my day was tedious?” The question came out gently, quiet, void of any accusation or fear. Instead you felt calm gazing from his captivating eyes to the apple, hand stallled just a bit away from yourself reaching toward. “It’s so evident on your face, you poor thing. Here go ahead sweetheart.” His voice that was once insecure, unsure and bouncing in pitch, was now relaxed, smooth and hypnotizing.

There was no malice or condescension in what he said, but rather an observation of what you failed to hide in your current state. Nodding with a short shrug, you reach further, the man meeting you half way to place the fruit in your palm. Your hand briefly touched his own gloved one, they were warm as ever, and you’d wish you could’ve gotten more of a feel.

Smiling at him you suddenly noticed his lids were covered in a lavender purple, perhaps you noticed because they were lidded at you now, unlike before when they were wide. His smile was lazy as he watched you bite into his fruit. It was probably one of the more fresher apples you’d ever bitten into, and as you swallowed the first bite your stomach growled, literally demanding more.

The strange man in white chuckled at the sound of your stomach, and before you could let embarrassment consume you he spoke. “See! So glad I found you, wouldn’t want you starving now would we?” It seemed he had gone back to his boisterous mood as he watched you crunch happily down.

“Thank you so much sir, this is such a good apple, really, did you grow this in your garden?” You asked him, he came closer standing beside you, the two of you now facing the road, looking out at the rain. “Mm, not my garden…” The man muttered under his breath, you quirked a brow humming at him barely hearing what he said. His eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. “Heh! Oh nothing sweets! Don’t worry, i was just, uh, remembering some stuff. From. Like, the past.”

It was as if he’d lost his cool for a moment, stumbling over everything that came out of his mouth, his gaze fixed ahead at nothing. You admired the side of his face as you chewed the last bit of apple, his head slowly turned to you, eyes catching your own.

“You’re eyes are ethereal.” You breathe eyes squinted in focus as you drank him up. You didn’t fully mean to say what you said, it was something just burst out of you without restraint because you felt so strongly about the beauty they held.

Stuttering, he blushed finding it hard to gather the words under the heated look you were giving him. “Thank you, YN.” The man finally said easy going smile once again present on his face. Before you could say anything in return- including questioning how the hell he knew your name, he again reached in his pocket this time pulling out a single playing card the king of hearts. Furrowing your brows you accepted the card but didn’t understand why he gave it to you.

“Love a good game of cards, always have! I think we’ll see each other some day soon!” The man exclaimed smiling brightly at you, behind you, you could make out the sound of a bus coming up to your stop. You smiled and thankedthe man regardless of the oddities, he returned the gesture smiling toothily at you. He rested himself against his cane again watching you intently as you glanced behind you. The bus lights lit up your figure, and you supposed you’d get on for the rest of the ride home. Turning with a smile to say your farewells to the mystery man, your stomach dropped. The man had vanished, and you’d only looked away a second. Stepping out into the rain, you peered up and down the long streets, unable to see his white coat or hat in either direction.

Standing next to the curb the bus whined to a stop, the compressed air blowing out warmly at your legs. When the bus driver opened his doors, you stepped on tapping your finger against the safety glass. The conductor looked at you exhausted by the night and the people he handled.

“Sorry if this is strange, but did you see anyone in the bus shelter with me?” The diver looked at you and it was obvious to him he couldn’t care less, but you stayed put waiting the vocal confirmation. “No ma’am, but if i’m being honest i wasn’t paying attention.”

You nodded quickly eyes casted down, thanking him you put your toll in and walked your way down the isle. When in your seat, you pulled out the card once more to inspect it in the light. Your eyebrows lifted looking down at the card, written on the back where there was nothing before, now had beautiful calligraphic writing with an address on it.

Typing the address into your phone, it directed you to what looked to be a website where people posted looking for house sitters. Turning your mouth in a disgusted manor, you silently questioned why the hell this man would give you such a thing. Scrolling through the different enlistings, you boredly read through descriptions and pay killing time until your stop.

Just a few stops away from home, your thumb stopped on a house, it was a pretty decent home appeared to be some sort of log cabin. The pay they were willing to give was generous, and it was only for three days, oddly enough. Clicking on it, you read through the description, they asked not to bring pets, eat their food, or sleep in their bedrooms asking to bring something to sleep on.

It was a two hour commute by drive, but seeing as you didn’t drive, it was a four hour commute with the train. You sent the owner a quick message telling them that you needed the pay and you were willing to comply to all the rules no issues. After sending your message, you stood mirroring the robotic voice as it called the name of your stop.

—

“Hi welcome!” Marie greeted you with a handshake, smiling at her you shook back. Walking into the cabin alongside Marie she explained that she needed to pick her husband up from a business trip from the middle east, and her house was too high maintenance for her to leave behind. “Occasionally, the pipes will freeze if the temperature drops, you the heat will need to controlled carefully. There’s a garden outback i am very proud of, i’d really appreciate you checking on it daily, just to make sure no pesky animals intrude.”

Walking through the house, you notice different things hanging, but no family pictures. The house was filled with mahogany and oak woods, which were really gorgeous, the house was dark and lit by yellow lighting from different chandeliers and vintage looking collectors lamps.

“Oh! Also if you need we have a prayer room! Don’t touch anything in there as they’re very expensive. Besides that, you’re good. Alright i gotta run, this willl be a very tedious trip. Call me if you have any problems.” Nodded as she spoke, you walked along side her towards the front door. You smiled at her assuring that all would be well, and if there was any problems you wouldn’t hesitate to call.

—

Another rain storm moved into the area thunder shaking the cabin. You had a cot set up in the living room per Marie’s request, and your food was put away in the fridge. You had gotten into shorts and a t-shirt now that you didn’t have to worry about being presentable and settled in the cot with your phone and laptop.

You’d been in the house for ten hours now, and you weren’t able to relax, paranoia filled your mind as you felt off about being in a strangers home. The urge and need for money fueled you in the beginning, but now alone in the middle of the woods, in a cabin that isn’t your own with a thunderstorm overhead, yeah you were filled with anxiety.

Just as you felt a bit of tension release from your shoulders, three knocks sounded from the door making you jumped from the disruption of silence. Standing cautiously you walked to the fire place grabbing one of the pokes that sat off to the side, and went to the door. Peeping through the hole you were surprised to be greated by the man from the bus stop. He held the rim of his hat down over his his face that held a scowl of discomfort, slumped over and soaked.

Opening the door you stood the fire poke off to the side against the wall. Despite your apprehension and confusion, something in you felt compelled to open the doo. “What the hell?” You exclaim, watching him perk up at the sound of your voice, eyes naturally finding your own. “Oh you! Y’know i had a feeling you’d be here, uhh, mind helping me out. It’s freezing!”

Grabbing his bicep you tugged him in, him letting out waohs as he stumbled in letting you do as you pleased. Slamming the door behind you, you grabbed his shoulders gently looking into his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing all the way out here? God, you’re soaked.” You saying eyeing him, he was wearing the white outfit he had on nearly two months ago.

Walking to your suitcase you pulled out a towel, t-shirt and joggers for the man. Turning you walked back to the entry to see him already half naked, gasping you spun on your heel. “What the hell dude! Put this on!” You screamed tossing all the items behind your back.

The man laughed, it sounded charming and he seemed delighted at your shock. “Don’t worrrryyy, its no biggie. Look as long as you please.” Scoffing you turned seeing him with the joggers on, hat tossed to the side drying his hair. “You look very good tonight,“ The man trailed eyeing you up and down.

You felt hot at such a statement making you feel like a horn dog. You crossed your arms and gave him a grin. “Can I help you by the way, maybe call you a car? I’m uh, house sitting.” You explain walking up to him, he shook his head smiling coyly at you. “No no, thats, fine.” You went to question further but he had other ideas and brushed past you wandering into the house.

“I don’t even know your name!” You say speedily following him as he observed everything in the cabin he passed. He glanced back at you briefly before muttering; “Lucifer,” Quickly before you could get a word in edge wise he turned aburptly stopping, you bumping into him lightly. “And I only ask that you spare me a few hours, maybe a meal?”

So there you two sat, you had ate with the man, and now sat listening to the stories of a man who swore up and down his name was Lucifer. He explained his predicament while you ate, saying that he just took a wrong turn and drove into a ditch.

You laughed along he told you interesting and funny stories of his life and the people around him, telling you about his crafting hobby. Which captivated you the most, honestly you were mesmerized by the man, and he seemed to feel the same about you.

His eyes lidded and relaxed, his chin rested on his hand, leaning forward completely encapsulated by your presence. You never had a man so focused on you, he hung on every word, and you felt that framillar tinge once again, pulling you into him.

The magnet kept pulling you in, and you were ever so hungry for the man in front of you. “Yeah, my daughter uh, she’s like me with the ambition. I’m just afraid she’s gonna end up like me.” Lucifer said shrugging while looking off to the side. You wont deny you felt the slightest bit upset at the statement, daughter implies mother. “Even if she does fail the only thing can do is be there for her through the trip. It’s harder to fail alone, i think.”

Nodding in contemplation the blondes eyes came back to you, his hands came the the middle of the table causing your gaze to drop. His hands twisted, flicked and your focus was now on a gold circle spinning on the table. His wedding band.

“She’s been alone a long time, my wife, she left seven years ago, we’d been divorced since Charlie was a toddler, heh, kept hoping she’d return. I left Charlie alone too, kinda thought it was for the best. Not anymore. We work together.” He explained smiling at the mention of his daughter. Slapping his hand atop the ring ceasing its momentum he looked at you watching as you placed your hand ontop of his, gently caressing him as you did so.

The two of you stared at each other silently, for how long you weren’t sure. It wasn’t until he pulled himself to his feet sluggishly that the staring spell broke. The confidence returned to him, as did his mischievous smirk. You were under the assumption be was ready to go so you stood with him.

Just as you were about to speak, thanking him for the unique experience he granted you, he grabbed you by the arms and tugged you into him. You fell forward hands flying to his chest, meanwhile his head tilted and softly his lips met yours. You didn’t have time to question a thing before your lips danced in tandem with his. Perhaps you should’ve been less willing than you were but how could you not be? It was like a gift from god, this man.

You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him to your chest, his hand moved from your arm to your hips grinding himself into you needily. You whimpered at the contact feeling how excited he already was, when you whimpered he took the chance to sneak his tongue into your mouth. As your own tongue slid past his you stuttered feeling how long he could reach, and moaned at the way he tried to swallow you whole so nastily.

Pulling back slightly, Lucifer paused as you felt the fork of his tongue. Shocked you pulled back fully looking at his lustful expression, it was almost as if his eyes were a darker shade.

“What’s wrong?” He asked hands slowly travelling from your hips up to the hem of your shirt, toying with it. “Your tongue?” At your inquisitive tone, he stuck his tongue out. “Thish?” He spoke through is tongue that stuck out to your, normal sized and unforked.

Smirking at him you shook your head gently you must’ve been nervous. Pulling him toward your make shift bed you two crashed down on it haphazardly, he leaned back on his elbows watching as you crawled on top of him meeting his lips eagerly. His hair was slightly disheveled, his breathing jagged under you.

You slid yourself up and down, gliding yourself purposely right on his hard on. Pulling away from the sloppy make out session you two were in, Lucifer looked at you with glassy eyes. “Let’s make deal,” He breathed panting to catch some of the breath you stole straight from him.

“What?” You whispered inches from his lips. “Let me have you, all of you and when the time comes you’ll be a queen, you’re just a diamond in the rough.” There was almost a saddness you could detect, maybe something you could describe as mournfully lonesome. You felt the tug; the pull to him you couldn’t deny, so you took his hand away from your hip, and shook it. “Deal.” You say mocking something that would be business offical.

With a sly grin, he pushed himself up to you, your lips crashing into his instantaneously. You bit his lip gently as he grinded himself into you enjoying how unashamed he was of showing his desire. You met his grinding with your own, dragging your hands down his warm chest. Lucifers breath stuttered at your touch, his nails sinking into your flesh with anticipation.

You stopped at the band of the joggers pulling away from the kiss. As you did Lucifers eyes were wide, pupils blown and he robotically lifted himself by his hips, awkwardly shuffling his joggers down. You lifted yourself so he could get them the rest of the way down before tossing your shirt to the side.

Grinding down on his uncovered cock you moaned head thrown back, he was all consuming and the air felt so hot after the deal. It was desperation that was evident on both your faces, Lucifer hypnotized by you as you greedily grinded against him. Lucifer whimpered laying back down flat on the cot trying to stop himself from violently bucking up.

“Tell me what you want Lucifer,” You purred lifting your hips from his boner rotating your hips round and round while just barely touching his dick beneath you. “Fuck please, get on me.” Lucifer gritted out teeth clenched, eyes closed sparkling at how tight he had them sealed.

Manurvering yourself you pulled down your shorts and urged him to sit up. Lazily he followed your pull sitting up straight toward you. You liked this position way more, face to face as your sunk yourself down on his cock. His legs jerked, spreading out falling off each side of the caught causing you to bottom out, slipping right down to his balls.

“Oh shit you’re an angel, fuck, you feel so good, oh,” Lucifer whimpered voice wavering, although he smiled through the pleasure. Unwillingly he fucked up into you, your body unmoving jerked up with his hips, you were too busy getting used to him girth and size not to mention his all consuming presence. He was so hot, smug, and it made you feel hornier than you already are.

Sliding your hips forward you whimper and moaned. Face in your neck he breathed you in, whimpering as he continued to fuck up into every now and again, still trying to hold back for you. You wrapped your legs around his back clenching on unable to speak as Lucifer had your brain wiped of all thought.

Lucifer bit down holding back a groan, effectively drawing blood from the wound, licking it right up after. Suddenly like a madman, he gripped you like a life line, gently but swiftly flipping you over onto your back. He looked down at you with red eyes stunning you into silence. “Lucifer?” You whispered breathlessly as he smiled down at your form, his tongue darting, out forked once again, and dragged his devilish tongue against his no longer normal teeth.

Without responding he sunk himself into you, your legs on their own accord flew up around Lucifer as he slowly plunged himself into you. You cried out in pleasure as he picked up the pace slamming his hips into you, skin slapping filled the room as well as Lucifers gravel groans and growls.

Your eyes were closed as you reached up to him, your body jerked at his thrusts the cot creaking. You pulled him toward you, he made no effort to pull away from your tugging. His lips met yours pulling you into a hot kiss, you met him with need, teeth clashing and tongues twisting. You being to fucked out in bliss to realize the razor sharp teeth that nicked your lips and tongue, or the snake like tongue that explored your mouth.

You moaned at the sensations you felt all around you, your heightened senses picking up the cold snake like skin that whipped by your calf. Opening your eyes you clenched coming face to face with Lucifer, the devil, the literal devil.

Long red horns stuck out from his pale skin, red eyes lidded and glowing down at you, sharp teeth evident by his smirked. His pace never slowed as he watched you stare at him, and his pride swelled at the fleeing of you clenching him tightly, legs simultaneously pulling him in closer.

“Like what you see angel?” You mewled at his words grabbing his shoulders as he looked down at you eyes full of desire and pride. “Yes,” You gasped as he hit a pretty little spot inside you that made you sing to him.

“Please Lucifer!” A rumble sounded in his chest a noise you couldn’t describe. Attempting to stabilize your jerking body, your hands moved to grip his back but paused at the feeling of feathers. Lazily your mouth fell open, body jerking as your head tilted to the side getting a better look at the red and white wings that cascaded far across the room.

“O-oh, my god, fuuuck.” You moaned trying to make sense of the display in front of you but Lucifer pressed his finger down on your clit making you loose control of your mind once more, bucking up to him, begging him.

You pleaded to Lucifer like a chant to him, looking into his red glowing eyes. His smile was gone his eyes lidded eyebrows pinched as he fought off the urge to cum just a little longer.

With a shout your body shook tensing, toes curling, Lucifer muttered your name over and over worshipping your name as you did to him. His hips halted deep within you and he bit down on your neck leaving several different bite marks.

Pulling away he stared down at your sweaty body his demonic form shrinking away, his eyes going yellow with his natural red irises. You stared shocked at him, but he only coyly smiled at you. “How was your date with the devil?” He smiled brushing his hand down your cheek.

“You’re really the devil?” You asked in disbelief and astonishment. “Well y’know,” He coughed looking away, pulling away from you effectively pulling out of you. “Yeah that’s what they call me.” Another charming smile graced his face.

Your lurched upward eyes wide. “I made a deal with the devil?!” You exclaimed not feeling the way you expected if you were to meet the devil. Y’know fear.

“Yep, and, you promised yourself to me,” Popping his ‘p’ as well as accentuating the ‘and’, he tossed the ring at you. Swiftly you caught it, and by the time you looked down at it, and then back up to him, he was redressed in his suit, coat and hat.

“Speaking of which, I’ve got a kingdom to run.” Thunder rumbled shaking the cabin making the lights flicker out ominously, and in that brief moment, the devil himself, disappeared. Leaving you alone, with his ring, naked in the cabin.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar

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rose-tea-and-strawberries · 2 months

Text

Of Lions and Mice

Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Reader is intended to be female

Masterlist

Leona was annoyed.

Once again, his golden goody-two-shoes older brother decided to shirk his responsibility of being a father and dump the overexcited, disgustingly bright-eyed crown prince on him for the day. And not only that, it had to be today of all days - a rare day where you were free from picking up Crowleys’ slack, where the loudmouthed, nattering extras that always followed you were otherwise preoccupied (and bribed to bugger off with a bag full of tuna), where he was certain he’ll spend the day in bed with you right next to him.

But no. Just like with everything else in his miserable existence, his dreams were crushed and he had to spend the day playing caretaker to his nephew instead of wrapped up with you. What’s worse was that, you’d decided to carry the pint-sized load off of his back and gave your undivided attention to the cub when it should have been rightfully his. How he hated that selfless nature of yours, that sweet, caring, gentle nature that would make you look at anyone that wasn’t him with that loving gaze, that would make you brush your fingers through Cheka’s golden orange curls the same way you would Grim’s fur or the stray cats you’d find around campus or any other being instead of his mane.

He hated just how loving you were, how your eyes could see the beauty in everything.

How, now that it’s late at night, and he’s closed his eyes and pretended to sleep in his attempt to actually get some shut eye and so that the little hairball would quit bothering him but Cheka just continues yapping.

Even in the darkness under his eyelids, he could feel you cast a worried look his way from the spot where his bed sags a little.

“Hey Cheka,” your sweet, dulcet voice (which is currently being used to please his nephew and not sooth him to sleep with the sweet nothings it usually does) pipes up, “how about I tell you a bedtime story from my world?”

“A bedtime story?!” Wow, even with his eyes closed he could see the stars coming out of his nephew's eyes, “yes please!”

Once the little cub has settled into bed, he asks you, “do you know any stories from your world with lions in them?

“Any ones with lions? Hmm, well, I suppose I could tell you about Narnia but I think you might be a bit too young for that and - wait,” you punctuated your words with a snap of your fingers, “I know a short one. There was this man called Aesop who wrote these short stories called fables.”

“What’s a fable?” Cheka asked, his words covered in that innocently curious lilt that all six year olds seemed to have during every occasion Leona wished they wouldn’t - and that was all of them.

You, however, seemed to have much more patience than him, “A story with a moral in them. Like, always be honest, or share, or work together, that sort of thing. I had a book of them when I was younger and I really enjoyed reading them.”

Figures. Of course, the shining beacon of sickeningly polite goodness grew up with such stories. He would’ve teased you for that but he had a child who he’s still trying to convince he was asleep.

“That sounds so cool, Aunty Y/N! Will you tell me more?”

“Of course, I will,” he can hear your smile, “but I’ll tell you them later, okay. Now, it’s time for you to rest.”

“Okay, Aunty Y/N.”

“Alright so,” you clear your throat, “there was once a lion that lay asleep in his den. A shy little mouse came upon him and in her fright she ran away, only whilst doing so she accidentally ran over his head, waking him up.”

“Oh no,” Cheka gasped, “that lion is going to be so angry if he wakes up.”

Oh, so the little hairball does have a brain after all.

“You’re right. Furious that he had been woken up, the big lion slammed a paw down on the tiny mouse and grabbed her by the tail. Holding her up, he growled at her,” here you made your voice noticeably deeper, trying to imitate a gruff growl, ““How dare you wake me up! I am the king of beasts and anyone who interrupts my slumber deserves to die! I shall kill you and eat you!””

It took everything within Leona to not burst into laughter at your adorable imitation of a ‘big scary lion’. It’s a voice you’ve used before whenever you tease him, playfully repeating the words his old self would have said to you, and it’s one that he’s rather fond of.

He loves and respects you, Herbivore, and he’s the first to attest to your formidability and capability - even though you have the annoying tendency to not only blur the line between bravery and reckless stupidity but also play skipping rope with it - but intimidating you are not.

“This scared the terrified mouse even more. Shaking with fear, she begged for him to let her go,” you make your voice higher at this part, squeaking in a way that oddly suited you, in Leona’s not so humble opinion, ““please, your majesty, I beg of you, please don’t eat me. It was only a mistake and if you let me go I’ll be sure to repay you. If you spare my life one day, I might even save yours.””

“The lion looked at the tiny creature and laughed, amused at how such a small mouse could ever be of use to an animal as powerful as him, “You? Save me? How absurd. You’ve made me laugh and put me in a good mood so I shall be generous and let you go.”

“Thank you, your majesty, thank you,” the mouse squeaked as she was put back on the ground, before scurrying away as fast as fast as her little legs could carry her.”

“Yay, so the mouse is free.” Cheka giggled.

“He is,” you said, “but there’s still more left. A few days later, the lion was prowling around when out of nowhere he was caught in a hunter’s net. Try as he might, he couldn’t get out of it. He tossed and turned, roaring angrily as he struggled to escape.”

“Wait, so now the lion’s in trouble. How’s he going to get out?” Cheka asked in worry.

“You’ll see. Hearing his cries, the mouse followed the sound, recognising it from the lion he met earlier.

“I have to help him,” she squeaked as she scampered towards him.”

Upon seeing the lion in the net, she said, “hold still your majesty, I’ll get you out!”

And she quickly started to nibble on the ropes with her sharp little teeth, biting until all they broke apart. It wasn’t long until the lion was free.”

“So the mouse saved him. Was it because the lion helped him earlier?”

“It certainly was Cheka. “Thank you, little mouse,” the lion said, “I laughed at you and didn’t think you could ever help me but you saved my life.”

“It was my turn to help you.” The mouse replied, ”never forget that even a creature as small as a mouse can help a lion.”

And that’s the end,” you say.

“Thank you, Auntie Y/N, I really enjoyed that. Do you think the lion and mouse became friends after that?”

“You are very welcome, Cheka. I think they did. They did help each other, after all. Now I think it’s time to go to sleep.”

And once you were sure that the crown prince was asleep, you made your way next to your boyfriend, running your fingers through chestnut locks, “did you enjoy that little story, Leona.”

He opens his eyes to see your endeared smile. Rolling over so that he could wrap his arms around your waist he muses, “it seems awfully familiar don’t you think? A scared little herbivore wakes up a sleeping lion and ends up saving him later.”

“I’ll have you know, Your Highness, that I was never scared of you. Even when you were a rude old brute who threatened to knock out one of my teeth. And I’m certainly not little.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

He pulls, letting you flop down on his bed beside him so that he can spoon you.

“Sweet dreams, little mouse,” he kissed your forehead, “I hope you know that I don’t ever intend on letting you go. Not after you helped in ways you could never even imagine.”

And so the lion fell asleep, holding the prey who rescued him from the confinement of his past safely in his arms.

#leona kingscholar x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #fem reader

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

Hi! I absolutely love your writing and saw that your requests were open so I thought I’d shoot this over. If you don’t vibe with it don’t worry about skipping it. I was wondering if I could request a James x reader where they are living together and definitely love each other but they’ve kind of slipped into a roommate phase. Like they’re just living around each other and reader starts feeling insecure and scared and doesn’t know how to get back into normalcy. Maybe a little angsty with some fluff at the end

Thanks lovely!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.4k words

When James comes in the front door, his shoes squelch. You look him up and down, dripping wet and mud caked up to his knees. You wince.

“Rough practice?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” James says, dropping his bag by the door and heading for the kitchen.

There’s an exhausted slump to his shoulders, and his shoes leave a muddy trail of footprints, and you hate to do it, but—

“Would you mind taking off your shoes?”

“Oh.” James looks down. You see him follow the trail with his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

You hate yourself as soon as it’s out of your mouth, because that’s exactly the sort of thing you’d say if it wasn’t fine. And yeah, you’re a bit peeved that he’d track mud inside after you’d mopped the floors just yesterday, but you know he wasn’t thinking about it and you’d promised yourself just this morning that you were going to be nicer to him and now he’s sitting on the floor looking like his day is getting worse instead of better.

You try again.

“Um, I made dinner.” You step over him awkwardly, setting a hand on his head to help yourself. James doesn’t shrink from the touch, but he doesn’t lean into it like you could swear he used to either. The stove turns off like it’s relieved to do it, having idled for close to a half hour while you waited for James to get home. You wanted to try and eat together tonight; you used to do it all the time, but lately you’ve been having too many couch dinners by your lonesome. “Macaroni and cheese, is that alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You jolt a little at James’ hand on your back as he reaches around you for a bowl, and he looks at you, lips quirking like you’re funny.

You find yourself smiling back by muscle memory, a reflex almost forgotten. It lifts your heart.

“So, how was practice?”

James glances up at you, then goes back to filling his bowl. “I’ve already told you,” he says. “Rough.”

“Oh, right.” You huff out a little laugh. He passes you the spoon, and you take it without really looking at him. “Sorry.”

His answering smile is weaker this time. More a press of his lips than anything.

“Don’t be.” He kisses you on the cheek, then goes, pulling out his chair at the table.

You take your seat, too. A lot of these base routines have begun to feel empty lately. They used to be an assurance for you, like if you always wore your same paths into the carpet you’d become so entrenched in this house, in James’ house, that neither he nor it could ever let you leave. You loved knowing that if he was back from his run when you woke up in the morning, there’d be a glass of orange juice waiting for you on the counter. That when the flowers on your kitchen table started to wilt you’d come home to a fresh bunch, and that if you called and told him you were having a bad day lunch from your favorite sandwich shop would miraculously show up at your work. Those things used to make your heart feel full to bursting, because they meant he was thinking of you.

Now you’re not sure what they mean. They seem like things James does because he’s supposed to, like part of a script, a routine. Chores.

As soon as he’s sat down, he’s digging into his dinner. James eats like a boy. Wolfing, like someone’s going to take it away from him. You hope it means he likes it.

“What’d you do tonight, m’love?” he asks through a mouthful.

And see, he says things like that. Calls you his love, asks about your day. It’s all started to fall flat. You know he’ll take whatever answer you give him, because you’ve begun to suspect he doesn’t really care.

“Nothing crazy,” you answer honestly. “Shayna’s baby came early, so I’m taking on a bit more at work until they can find someone to fill in for her. So that’s a bit stressful, but it’s not awful.”

“Mm.” James nods, but doesn’t offer more than that. His mouth seems to be perpetually full.

You fork a macaroni noodle, pretending you have more appetite than you do. Truthfully, you’ve felt weird and off and vaguely nauseous all day.

Last night had been a bit of a breaking point for you. It came on rather suddenly. You’d gone to bed long after James, but you couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t seem to tear your eyes from him, the way the moonlight snuck in through the slats in your blinds to fall across his sleeping face. He was so beautiful, and you loved him so much you didn’t know what to do with it all, and then you were crying.

You’d wept silently, wishing James would wake up, but you were unwilling to rouse him and he wasn’t going to do it himself. Eventually, you’d fallen asleep with your pillowcase damp and cold under your cheek and woke to find James’ side of the bed empty as usual. Orange juice on the counter.

“I was wondering if you might want to watch a film tonight,” you say lightly. “I saw they’ve put that sci-fi one you like back on Netflix.”

“Ah, have they really?” James swallows, forks another bite. “Wish I could, but I’m supposed to meet everyone at Spoons in a few minutes here.”

Oh. The realization hits you like a dull thud, smack in the center of your chest. He’s not eating quickly because he likes your food; it’s because he wants to leave.

“Can’t you stay here?” Your voice is small. James looks at you like he’s not sure what to make of it.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” He offers you a smile. His fork clinks in the bottom of an empty bowl, and his chair screeches as it’s pushed back. James brushes his lips across your cheek as he goes by. “We’ll have to do it this weekend, though, definitely.”

You know by now these sorts of promises aren’t meant to keep. They come written in disappearing ink.

He heads upstairs to change, and desperation grips you. It forgets he’ll be home later and puts you hot on his heels, your own dinner left on the table barely touched.

“Jamie, wait.” He pauses with his shirt half off, looking over at you in the doorway. “Don’t you feel like we’ve not had much time together lately?” you ask.

The plea is naked in your tone, and James’ eyes soften. He tugs his shirt off, straightens his glasses. “I haven’t had time for much of anything lately,” he says, shrugging good-naturedly.

It’s true. He’s been busy. His new coach seems to think the team has nothing but time, and as captain James is expected to commit even more than most. When he’s not at training, he’s keeping fit on his own or running errands for his mum or sleeping it all off in your bed.

“But you should come tonight,” James goes on brightly. “Dorcas and Marlene will be there, it’ll be fun.”

He tosses his clothes in the laundry bin and makes his way over to the dresser. You cross your arms, then uncross them. Parse your words. “I don’t…I just feel like you hung out with your friends last night, you know?”

“You could’ve come then, too,” he says, stepping into a pair of jeans. “They all love you, you know that.”

“I don’t want to hang out with your friends.” It comes out sharper than you intend, though not less sharp than the look James gives you. He’s finished getting dressed but doesn’t make to leave. “That’s not what I mean. I like your friends, but it’s not…the same as spending time with you. It doesn’t count, for me.” Your voice softens on the last two words, knowing that for James, it might very well count.

For him, you’ve gathered, social time is social time. So long as you’re there, he’ll feel just as connected to you as if you were curled up on the couch together having a private conversation. You wish your brain worked the same way, but it doesn’t.

He’s looking at you with something like trepidation now, so you state it plainly.

“I really miss you, Jamie.” A blockage rises in your throat. You swallow it back down. “I feel like…I don’t know what’s going on with us lately.”

“We’re the same as we have been.” He looks confused, worse when your face pinches painfully.

“And that’s all?” You try to blink them away, but tears burn in your eyes. “This is just what we do now?”

“No.” James looks appalled, but you catch the quick glance he gives to the digital clock on his nightstand. “It’s only for now, just until the season’s over and Coach mellows out. Where’s this coming from?”

You blink hard, angling your head away from him. “Nothing, sorry. I’m just being emotional.” Your breath scrapes on the way in. You pretend it doesn’t. “It’s okay if you have to go.”

He shakes his head, and when you start back towards the stairs anyway, he says, “No, come on.” In a few long strides, he’s got your elbow. He tugs you gently back into the room. “Let’s sit down, okay? What’s going on?”

“Sorry.” Your voice is pitchy and tight. You think you hear James inhale softly before he’s drawing you into a hug. It doesn’t feel quite like it used to, but it’s still warm, still nice.

He sits you both down on the edge of your bed, arms still wrapped loosely around you. “What are you sorry for, baby?”

“I was going to try not to make your life harder today,” you laugh wetly, pulling back from him to swipe under your eyes.

“You don’t make my life harder,” James says, somewhere near to dismayed as he slides his hand to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t.”

You give him a look meant to say, Oh, come on, but you’re not sure how it comes off with your face blotchy and snot starting to run from your nose. You take in a big breath, trying to calm yourself.

“I think I’ve made it harder more than I’ve made it easier lately,” you admit, looking at your bedcover and also at nothing at all. “I didn’t even really realize until recently, but I’ve just felt so…disconnected from you lately. It’s like even when you’re here, I’m just around you and not with you, and—” Your voice catches, and you inhale again. “And I know you’re really busy, but I’m just trying to find ways to fix it.”

James’ hand drops from your shoulder, into his lap, and you lift your gaze. He looks crestfallen. “What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly, his own voice starting to sound raw. “I can’t control these things. And we live together, I see you all the time. It doesn’t seem fair to ask me not to see my mates.”

“I’m not asking you to do that.” You’re horrified. “But that’s just it, Jamie, it’s like we only live together anymore. Saying hi when you come in, waving when you go back out, those don’t count as quality time for me. And I wish I could get the same feelings from being in a big group that you do, but I can’t.”

James looks at you helplessly. You shrug, just as powerless.

“I know it’s not your fault,” you tell him, and a tear drips off your chin. “I don’t know what to do, either. I just want you to know that I’m trying, okay?”

James nods for a minute. Thoughtful, heartbroken. He lets out a big breath. Your arms come around each other at almost the same time, so in sync you can’t be sure who reaches for the other first. You’re trying not to get snot on his fresh shirt, but he palms the back of your head, pressing your face to his shoulder.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “You’re right, we should both be trying more. I think I’ve let myself get so overwhelmed that I’m not…almost not even thinking throughout the day, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with all of this by yourself.”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, and a little laugh rumbles through James’ chest. He hugs you tighter.

“It is a little bit, though, isn’t it? I haven’t been paying attention. But okay, let’s make a plan for now.” His hand splays out between your shoulder blades, and you clutch at the material of his shirt, both of you wordlessly trying to get closer as if you can make up for lost time. “Come with me tonight, please.” You go still, but James goes on, “I know it’s not a solution, but I can’t back out and I’d really feel so much better if you were there. Please, angel. And tomorrow, we’ll stay in and watch something. Not a film only I like,” he gives your back a teasing little squeeze, “but something we can both get into. Or we can just talk, or play a game, I don’t care. Tomorrow is our night, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, nodding and pulling away slightly so you can wipe your face. James joins in, pinching your nose clean for you and wiping the snot on his jeans carelessly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try to clear my busy schedule.”

He smiles. It’s like the sun beaming through clouds. “I’d appreciate that. Really hard to get ahold of you these days.” You let out a little laugh, and his grin spreads. “Good, so that’s for now, and at training on Friday I’m going to talk to Coach about cutting down on our hours.”

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “Jamie, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he says. “I’ve been a wuss about it, but everyone on the team is miffed and it’s really my job to handle it. He doesn’t know everything yet, so I can at least give him some advice about how we operate best.”

James palms the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and meeting you halfway. His forehead presses against yours.

“I’m really glad you said something. Thanks for being the smart one, as usual.” Your smile is small at first, but James nudges his nose against yours until it blooms in full. “We’re gonna make it better, okay?”

You swallow thickly. “Okay. Thanks, Jamie.”

“Don’t thank me.” His voice takes on a tender quality, and you push your forehead into his. He palms your cheeks in response, stamping his lips to your forehead. “Love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too.”

That was never up for debate.

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vanderilnde · 7 days

Text

you lose your way on the pastures of a hidden farmstead. however, upon meeting the husky owner, being lost quickly becomes the least of your problems.

cw for noncon/dubcon, forced lifestyle puppy play, kidnapping

read on ao3

John sees you coming from over the horizon.

He heard the sputter of your van before seeing it. The plume of smoke that follows in your wake, orange and ashy, as you drive down the pebbled road.

He was rounding the house after letting the cattle out when he noticed you. He tips the brim of his hat back and watches, grinding his teeth into the wad of tobacco folded into his cheek, his hackles raised because you’ve decided to ignore the splintery No Trespassing sign in big, black letters pounded into the front of his farmstead.

He wraps a hand around his belt, watching as your camper van slows to a stop in front of him.

The hinges in John’s jaw lock. He’s ready to throw out an expletive, threaten you with the bare metal of his pistol, browned with age, and throw you into the back of his rust-bridled truck. He’d drive you into town and toss you onto the porch of the sheriff’s office, maybe teach you a thing or two about trespassing.

But your engine cuts, and your door swings open, and John’s tobacco turns heavy in his mouth.

He sees your shoes first, pressing tracks into the dirty road as you step out. Frilly socks that end below your knees. You’re wearing tight little denim shorts and a gauzy top that sticks to your chest, knotting your nipples in the summer heat.

You smile.

It’s a little sweet, dewy-eyed. It makes John’s cock chub up, makes him swallow his tobacco on accident, sticking to the spine of his throat.

“Hi mister,” you say. Light and wispy like the breeze that whorls through your ropes of hair. “Sorry to be a bother.”

John perks up. He crosses his arms over his heavily built chest, the hair on his forearms bristling with his newfound flush.

“Just trying to find my way here–“ you unfurl a map and point towards a little dot. “Mind helping a girl out?”

You giggle. It’s coy, John tells himself, just like the flutter of your eyelashes as you hoist your neck up at him, preening.

“Um… sure,” John takes off his cowboy hat and runs a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “Four hours. East. You jus’ follow the road.”

Gooseflesh creeps down John’s skin as you turn around and toss your map into the van, your ass spilling from the bottom of your shorts.

You turn back around and John coughs, averts his eyes to the cattle in the distance. He tightens the reel of his lasso around his knuckles, squirming.

“Thanks, mister,” you grin. “Know anywhere I can top up on gas?”

He gives you another look.

His eyes sweep a trail of flames over your body, making your blood churn. He keens at your nipples and the grain of your denim shorts digging into your cute pussy. He can see the barest outline of it winking back at him. Making his cock pulse.

He decides not to tell you about the gas station a kilometre west of here. Decides that would be too much trouble for a pretty lady like you.

“I’ve got plenty,” John says. Gruff, grizzled, like a bear that’s been in torpor too long. “Follow me.”

All John has to do is snap his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get you to follow him. He takes you into his rustic farmhouse, the place sparse in a red-blooded way, and leads you to the kitchen.

You don’t expect the dog, large with mud-felted paws, that pounces and almost knocks you to the floor.

Its tongue is rough and wet and gnarled against your cheek. You squeal, trying to push it away. It probably thinks you’re playing because it wags its tail, nipping at the divot in your shoulder.

“Aye,” John barks. “Off of ‘er, Dog. Git! Git on out of here.”

John shepherds the dog—aptly named Dog—into his crate by tossing a threadbare toy into it. The golden-haired mutt chases after it, following the toy into his cage.

“No way to treat a damn lady…” John mumbles under his breath. He smiles apologetically at you, his soft wrinkles puckering. He puts his hands on his hips, digging his fingers into his moth-eaten jeans and his sun-bleached flannel. He cocks his head to the side, squints.

“So, sweetheart, how about that gas?”

John brings you to a barn out back.

He leads you with a hand split on your lower back, past the stables and the paddocks and the roaming cattle beneath the blaring sun.

He pulls open the large barn doors, his arms flexing with the exertion, and puts his hands on his belt.

It’s an abandoned building. There’s no chicken, no stallions. It’s clear that the barn has been delegated to a storage space of sorts, going by the hay-bales strewn around and the miscellaneous staples of ranch equipment.

John smiles. It offsets his rugged look, makes you disarm a bit.

“Apologies for the mess,” he says, starting to tear through the supplies. “Just wasn’t expectin’ a pretty lady on my doorstep today.”

You stifle a giggle just to be nice, but John, in his time-honoured ways, reads it as coy again. It makes his cock stir against the metal teeth of his jeans, makes his mustache turn hot and wiry against the damp skin above his lip.

John rummages some more. Pretends to nick his finger on a metal steeple. Expels a heavy breath. His stomach paunchy and his chest strong, the hairs pressing against the gauze of his flannel as he rises to his feet and shrugs, hands set on his belt.

“Sorry sweetie,” John grumbles. “No gas here. How do you feel about dinner though?”

The change happens so quick you almost get hit with whiplash.

Your lips pop around stutters, and John’s balls turn heavy. He can imagine your lips parting around his cockhead, all the way down to his pubic bone which is stale with sweat and musky, steel-wooled. It makes him grip his belt tighter, white-knuckled, and undo the first few buttons of his flannel.

“Sir… I really should be getting out of your hair.”

“Nonsense,” John chuckles. “It’s the least I can do for havin’ no gas. I can go into town tomorrow and get some.”

You’re already impaired by the burning, penetrative summer heat. It doesn’t help the way John is looking at you, like a stray predator that made its way onto his ranch and forces him to lock up his animals for safety.

John senses the rumination written into your pretty features. He tacks on, “An old man like me never gets any visitors. None as sweet as you, surely.”

You have to nod, still a little hesitant. You say yes only because there’s a bulky rancher here keen on filling your belly and the sun is beginning to set.

John chuckles and claps his large hands together. He leads you back to the main house and ends up feeding you shepherd’s pie and a cold can of Cola. He pours himself a glass of whiskey and that makes you indignant, as if he sees you as a kid.

Dog stirs at your feet while you eat. Nosing at your ankles and nudging your legs for some food. John flares. He snaps his fingers and snarls, and Dog, moulded by his Pavlovian response, ambles into his crate.

“That’s where naughty dogs go,” John tells him. “You’ll stay there ‘til we’re done.”

You finish not long after that. John gives Dog the plates to lick before soaking them in soap water and shows you your room for the night. His room, actually, but he says he’ll sleep on the couch because he’s a gentleman.

That makes you smile.

But when you wake up the next morning, you’re choking.

Your throat is cinched with nylon webbing. The collar cuts into your windpipe, hindering your sprinting breaths, causing panic to lick up your spine. You sweat and the collar soaks it all up. Makes your skin itchy, flaring, as you chisel at your flesh to try peeling it off you.

You stumble out of John’s bed and hurry outside. He’s herding the cattle when you run towards him for help. Your mind is too scattered to realize he’s the only other person on this farmstead. He’s the one who did this.

“Mister, mister–“ your words come out stifled, cramped against the tight ruck of your throat. “Mister, I dunno what’s happened. Help-“

John puts a hand up and tuts like you’re nothing but a strident, misbehaving mutt.

“Easy,” he grunts around a cigar. “Jus’ calm down, will you? You’re hootin’ and hollerin’ and scarin’ the cattle.”

You choke around your tears. You hang your head, still trying to wrestle the collar off you, your fear ripening into panoramic horror when you look down and see golden fur embroiled into the collar. A bone-shaped tag engraved with a word that makes your blood run cold.

Dog.

It’s John’s name for his pet, but on you, it’s derogatory. Degrades you to a four-legged pup that laps water out of a basin and squats to piss, that needs a handler as rough as John to keep you in check.

He cups your cheek, passes his thumb over your fat tears.

“You don’t like it?” He asks, his voice distorted with a hint of disappointment that, despite you, makes you feel bad. “I took it off Dog. Now he’s runnin’ around the ranch with no collar. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

He curls his fingers under the collar and tugs you close. Your face puckers as he expels a plume of cigar smoke over your face, softly squeezing your bum.

“Good dogs say thank you though. Are you a good dog?” John asks. His eyes darken, eclipsed by something dusky. “Or are y’naughty?”

John forestalls your begging reply, squashing it against your throat as he grips your collar and drags you behind him. Taking his puppy on a walk.

You bridle at the deep-seated embarrassment. John’s other animals seem to have more freedom than you, watching from their pens and pastures as you kick and scream behind him. He pulls you into the main house and takes you to the kitchen. Bullies you to your knees in front of the crate.

He grips the scruff of your neck and forces your head inside. It smells stuffy, stale. The dog bed is moth-eaten and covered in fur.

John pats your ass. He rubs your pussy through your shorts, slowly pulls them off. Kisses your slick clit which is outlined by the dewy gusset of your panties.

“Y’gonna keep cryin’?”

A long cry quivers past your lips.

John’s fingers, although jaded, a testament to working with his hands, make you feel delirious. Makes you curl your pert ass into him, your cunt begging for more.

“Go on, girl,” he grunts. “Go on in. Git.”

He takes you by the collar and shoves you inside the dog cage, since–

“You wanna keep cryin’. I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about.”

There’s barely enough space inside to move around. Dog is a big dog, so you’re able to spin around and face John, but that’s all. You tuck yourself into a fetus position, resting on your knees, the metal grating pressing tracks into your hot skin.

“I don’t reward bad behaviour,” John says. “So for that you’ll spend the night here.”

John clicks his teeth each time you misbehave—clawing at the door, begging him to let you out—his kissing teeth bully the sound of your pleas, until eventually, you quieten, responsive to his clicking tongue.

“That’s it,” John says. There’s a thread of praise in his voice that makes you squirm. “You stay there an’ think about what you’ve done.”

He stands up and prepares his lunch. Eggs on bread and a beer to wash it down. John eats slowly, as if he’s teasing you. Disciplining you further. You don’t think he’s going to feed you, another component of his punishment, until he’s rising from his chair and squatting in front of you, his empty plate in his hands.

Well, almost empty.

Veins of leftover egg yolk are smeared around the ceramic. You look at it, and then at John. He passes his fingers over the yolk and sticks his arm in your crate because the gaps are big enough, waggling his coated fingers.

“Eat.”

You’re shaking. Hesitantly unfurling your tongue, working it around John’s thick fingers, swallowing whatever dregs of food he’ll let you. You become more eager as it goes on—lapping at his yolk-covered fingers as well as the mud and mire crusted into his nails. Sucking at his swollen knuckles, nibbling on his finger hair.

He belly laughs before pulling his fingers out of your cage. John stands up and soaks his plate in sudsy water, turning to look at you.

“Busy day today,” he says. “I’ll see you tonight, pup.”

You find yourself whimpering—not talking—as he turns to leave.

That night, you’re woken with a scuffle and John clicking his tongue.

It rouses you immediately. That, and the thin sound of his belt unbuckling.

Sweat sticks to your skin, dewy, when John prods through the crate and gropes you. You can’t see him but you can feel him. Rubbing your puffy cunt, thumbing your clit. Flattening his tongue against your pussy and pulling your lips into his mouth.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against your clit. “Knew you were a sweet girl.”

John’s tongue travels up and wets your asshole. It makes you jerk against the metal, makes the cage rattle.

He pulls away and you moan, thinking it’s another punishment. You push your ass against the gratings, presenting yourself, the metal gridwall rubbing against your swollen clit and making you shiver.

John mumbles something about patience. It seems that he doesn’t have any patience either, soft-soaped by your pussy, because he’s pressing his tip against your opening and feeding you his cock.

John fucks you through the holes of your cage.

Your lungs barely have space to stretch. Your knees are folded into your chest and your collar is still biting into your neck. You’re being split open on John’s cock, your arousal turning your thighs sticky. Drool trickling from your mouth and sticking to your cheek.

You don’t know when it ends. When you come, thighs trembling, or when John paints your walls. You also don’t know when it starts again.

All you know is that it becomes a daily thing, lapsing into a weekly thing. You go to bed in your cage but, sometimes, when you behave, John will let you sleep on the foot of his bed. He’ll clip your nails for you and keep you well-groomed. Brushing your hair, cutting it for you. Bathing you in a galvanized tub out back.

Unlike with Dog, John will even let you eat while he eats dinner. He’ll unzip his jeans and let you slobber at his fat cock while he sips away at his blended whiskey and polishes off his meal with his full belly and his soon-to-be empty balls, mumbling all the while about how much of a perfect pet you are, how he’ll never let you go.

Not that he was planning to, anyhow.

#this is just to get my john juices flowing #if you couldn’t tell by the abrupt ending lol #cod mw2 #john price x reader #john price #price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #price smut #orions writing #price writing

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whatsnewalycat · 1 month

Text

SURRENDER

Part Two of Ruthless | Stepdad Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 6.2k+

Warnings: non-canon, Boston Joel, dub con, step-cest, sneaky sex, use of the word daddy in a sexual context, dad kink (that’s a thing right?), age gap, degradation, praise kink, avoidance, silent treatment, sneaking into bedroom at night, angst, collective grief, mentions of explosions and gunshots (nothing graphic), *it’s about the yearning*, hair pulling, no physical descriptions of reader aside from hair can be pulled, reader is 18-19, Joel being a bad dom and a bad caretaker, hot shower, food mention, mentions of religion, unethical D/s dynamics, dry humping, anal sex, physical restraint, face fucking, sub-space unlocked, dirty talk, dd/lg maybe i think, masochism, like a lick of fluff if u squint

A/N: Heeeey buddy. As stated above, this is a second part to Ruthless. Big thanks to my love @frannyzooey for the help and hype, you're the best. Please be mindful of the warnings and tell me what cults you think exist in post-outbreak tlou.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

———

As the 19-year anniversary of Outbreak Day draws near, unrest festers in the streets of Boston.

Whenever August ticks over into September, residents of the QZ seem to divide into three distinct categories: people who want to forget, people who won’t let them forget, and people who are too young to remember.

Born post-apocalypse, you fall into this third category.

Which doesn’t mean the ripples of loss don’t touch you, contrary to what some may think. You still lost something. Everyone did.

This fact is apparent when you take the scenic route home from your job posting at the distribution center.

Rubble crunches under your shoes as you walk down the crowded sidewalk, passing by a message spray-painted over the battered brick building: WE’VE BEEN FORSAKEN.

Graffitied sentiments like these pop up constantly this time of year. Overnight, almost. Your mom and Joel mostly blame Fireflies for the vandalism. The bombs, too. Apparently they stir shit up to make people uneasy, then recruit those who seem susceptible. That’s what your mom thinks, anyway. ‘Leveraging their grief against them,’ she says.

You think it might be more than that, though.

Yesterday you saw three separate arguments break out in the streets. When you were taking inventory of k-rations this morning, an explosion went off so close-by that boxes rattled off the shelves. It was the second bombing this week, and you don’t foresee it getting better until October.

Sure, the Fireflies lay claim to the lion’s share of vandalism and destruction, but their activity is consistent year round. They are the baseline. But this? This is different.

You attribute the excess chaos to this heavy, static feeling in the air. It clings to your skin and gets stuck under your nails like a thick cloud of invisible dust or spores. Microscopic particles embed themselves in the cracks and creases of each person inside the QZ, fertile ground for clusters of violence to sprout up at every turn.

If you had to guess, you’d say this phenomenon probably spans the globe. All of you felt the loss of Outbreak Day, the whole human collective. Echoes of what humanity lost will likely still be heard a thousand years from now.

Some people refuse to accept this.

Like the guy a few strides ahead of you, who walks by an orange spray-painted message that reads REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOST and sneers, “Almost twenty goddamn years, fuckin’ let it go and move on.”

You watch him. See his neck get all red as he mutters to himself and clenches his fists at his sides. He looks around like he expects someone to challenge him. Nobody does.

This doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

Further up the sidewalk, he encounters a memorial made up of candles and wilting flowers hugging the side of a residential building. He kicks it over and repeats his earlier sentiment, this time louder and directed towards the brick wall.

“It’s been twenty fucking years, get the fuck over it already!”

Of course, a passing spectator indulges him.

“Hey—watch it, asshole!”

The two men puff up their chests and start yelling back and forth, so you cut right down an alleyway to avoid the situation completely.

When you arrive home, you find Joel at the dining room table, hunched over a map, holding a glass of whiskey like it’s a lifeline.

Neither of you say hello, but when you glance up while untying your gritty shoelaces, you catch him staring at you.

A jolt of electricity shoots through you.

He corrects himself, returning his eyes to the map as he takes a big swig from his glass.

“Mom home?”

“No.”

Nodding, you rise to your feet and slip out of your shoes, squirming with the excitement that one syllable brings you.

“When’s she gonna be home?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey, too engrossed in his project to spare you attention.

For weeks, he’s been trying his hardest to pretend you don’t exist, which would be typical behavior if he didn’t fuck you dumb a few weeks ago. Sometimes you’re not even sure that what happened between you was real.

But, then again, sometimes… sometimes you feel him staring at you when he doesn’t think you’ll notice. Sometimes he touches your waist as he passes by. Sometimes at night you hear him pacing the hall outside your bedroom, the faint squeak of the warped floorboards giving him away.

When this happens, you stare at the door and will him to do it. Aching with something stronger than want, you pray for him to cross the threshold. But he never does.

You exhale through slack lips and wrinkle your nose at the canned goods.

“Hungry?”

He grunts in response, which is Joel for ‘I could eat.’

Tilting your head at the handwritten labels, you present the options, “Stew or… meat and beans?”

Another grunt, roughly translating to ‘Both options are fucking terrible,’ a sentiment with which you wholeheartedly agree. You grab the stew and empty it into a saucepan on the gas stovetop.

While it heats, you steal glances at Joel, noticing the rigidity in his demeanor. His set jaw and tense muscles. The deep creases in his furrowed brow.

You’ve coexisted with him long enough to understand he’s not immune to the heady thrum of anguish in the air this time of year. Like you said, nobody is.

Joel distinctly falls into the “people who want to forget” category of the forsaken, but carries whatever or whoever he lost on Outbreak Day like a ten thousand-pound weight on his broad shoulders. He white-knuckles his way through the season of chaos and mourning and tries to act like it doesn’t affect him, but it does.

You can tell, not just from the way he holds the grief captive in his body, but also from the obvious indulgence in his favorite coping mechanism: planning.

Joel is a meticulous planner.

Between smuggling runs, he comes home after a long day of manual labor at some job site and unwinds by plotting logistics. Drinking, too, but he clearly has a favorite.

Hours will go by while he pours over reference material, maps or blueprints, making addendums of any notable changes he and your mom discovered. After this, he deliberates. Joel could chew up weeks with this step. He plots out each possible route, taking into consideration all the penciled-in shortcuts and caches they’ve stashed within a 30-mile radius, then determines the most beneficial path for their next big adventure.

Given FEDRA’s current paranoid state, with the increased patrols and surveillance and whatnot, your mom and Joel won’t be making a trip outside anytime soon. But still, he drinks and plots and winds himself up into a tight obsessive knot.

You divvy up the simmering stew into two bowls, placing one next to his glass of bootleg booze while you take a seat across the table from him. He ignores your presence, just flicks his eyes around the map like it’s supposed to give him the answers.

When you’re halfway done with your bowl, you gently prod him, “It’s gonna get cold.”

Sitting up in his chair, he sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, then folds up the map and sets it aside.

The two of you eat in silence. Each wordless second twists hot beneath your skin. Your mind wanders to the dig of his fingertips in your soft flesh. The sting of his flattened palm. The stretch of his thick cock. The things he said to you—fuck.

You’re tempted to tell him to do it again. To tell him that you’re still abiding by his rules. That you don’t sneak out anymore. That you haven’t felt the sweet bliss of release for weeks because you don’t fucking come without his permission.

Over and over, you rehearse it in your head. You imagine yourself telling him, ‘I’ve been so good for you and you haven’t even noticed.’

The sound of him clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts.

He shifts in his seat a little, studying you, “You still seein’ that boy downstairs?”

Your heart stutters. Heat floods your veins as you shake your head.

“Why not?”

All you can do is stare at him while trying to verbalize an answer. For weeks, you ached for his attention. And now that you have it? The words are stuck in your throat.

You shrug, pushing your empty bowl away to lean your elbows on the table. When you look up at him again, he blinks. Waiting for a response.

A rush of adrenaline makes the world around you buzz.

“Why do you care?”

He clenches his jaw for a moment, then parts his lips to respond.

The apartment door swings open.

Both of you start at the intrusion. You jump to your feet to collect the dirty dishes while Joel turns to greet your mother.

“It’s a fucking madhouse out there,” she grumbles, then pulls out the seat adjacent to him and starts telling him about her day.

———

You step into the shower and hiss in reaction to the scalding hot water.

The fact that it's warmed at all surprises you. Not an unwelcome surprise, even if it hurts a little. Most days the water comes out tepid at best, and you’d gladly accept a third-degree burn over a lukewarm shower.

Besides, the sting feels right on your skin, as weird as that sounds. You relish the pain while washing yourself, thinking, ‘this is what I deserve for feeling this way.’ Hell fire, if the sidewalk preachers are right. If there is such a thing. If you’re not there already.

Only once the water runs cold do you turn it off and go back to your room, leaving the door cracked open behind you. After putting on a big t-shirt and some underwear, you turn off the lights and climb into bed.

For a while you stare at the water-stained ceiling and listen. You hear the roar of FEDRA’s armed vehicles patrolling the streets. Far away, gunshots ring out into the night. Some kid starts crying next door, then his mother lulls him back to sleep.

Closing your eyes, you try to tune it all out and focus on the noises within this unit. Concentrate on the drip-drip-drip of the bathtub faucet. The ripping sound of your mom’s snores.

Then, you hear it.

A creak from the floorboards. Footsteps.

Their bedroom door squeaking open.

Everything goes silent long enough for you hold your breath and scream inside your head, please please please—

It starts again. One careful step, then another.

His presence hovers there at the door for six restless seconds before he opens it and steps inside, closing it behind him.

Your pounding heart squeezes your breath ragged. It comes out this shallow, shaky push and pull that broadcasts your consciousness.

Still, you pretend.

You keep your eyes pinned shut and listen to the advance of his footsteps to your bedside.

Down by your feet, the mattress shifts under his weight. He doesn’t touch you for a while, only watches you, his gaze burning into your skin.

Then, he murmurs, “I know you’re not sleepin’.”

You blink your eyes open to look at him, in boxers and an undershirt, all hunched over at the foot of your bed. Always carrying that weight on his shoulders. The glow of the street lamp outside your bedroom window casts this perfect golden light on him that makes you kind of hate how good he looks.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a whisper.

Over the blanket, he rests his hand on your calf, then takes it back and shakes his head.

You roll onto your side, swinging one leg over the blanket and tucking it between your thighs, a wordless plea for him to touch your hungry skin. Joel shifts further onto the bed, turning his body to stare down at you with a straight spine. His gaze drifts up your exposed skin, fingers twitching in his lap.

This faltering self-discipline compels you.

Joel is nothing if not self-disciplined. That much is true for all the forsaken, yourself included.

Your working theory is that nobody wants after the world ends, they just need. Need to sleep, need to eat, need to fight. Anything to survive one more fucking day. It’s all any of you can ask for.

So do you want him, or do you need him?

And what about him? Joel fucking Miller, with his reinforced concrete walls and heavy heart. Was he ever capable of wanting?

“Joel,” you reach out to touch him, beckoning him to meet you halfway.

His eyes flick to your outstretched hand, then back to your face. He shakes his head, as if declining the offer, but you don’t retreat. You sit up and crawl across the bed to him.

The column of his throat bobs, head rocking back as he watches you come to a stop. He almost lets you touch his cheek when you try again, but snatches your hand away before you can make contact.

“Don’t,” he warns, the tone of his hushed voice deadly serious.

He squeezes your fingers while you study his stonewalled expression, tilting your head at him, “Why did you ask me that earlier? If I’m still seeing Bert?”

“I was curious.”

“Curious why?”

His lips part, then close, gaze dropping to your mouth.

Heat pulses through every inch of your body. You drop your voice to a breathy whisper.

“Were you thinking about what you did to me?”

Something flickers behind his eyes when they snap onto yours. It draws you in, urging you to scoot so close your knees butt-up against his jackknifed leg.

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” you ask quietly, smirking a little when his stern face twitches, “You loved how it felt to make me surrender—”

The dull throb of his tightening grip around your hand makes you gasp. A rumble slips from his chest, which could be read as a warning if you had an ounce of self-control left. If you didn’t need him to combust.

You let your gaze drift from his burning gaze down the slope of his nose to his lips, “Do you think about it every time you see me, like I do with you? How fucking good it felt?”

“It was wrong—”

“Then why are you here?”

Your question comes out louder than you expected. It ricochets through the charged space between his body and yours, popping the bubble of awareness around you.

All the little sounds you picked up on earlier seep back into the foreground. FEDRA patrolling. The whiz-pop of firecrackers going off maybe a block away. A faint murmur of conversation in the upstairs unit.

He holds your stare, but doesn’t make a sound until a snore rips from your mom’s chest, signaling crisis averted. When he speaks, his words come out hushed and calm.

“You need to be quiet. Understand?”

The command liquifies your bones.

You lick your lips and nod, “I understand.”

“Good.” He studies you as if deep in thought, finally releasing your hand to pinch your chin and assert, “You know why I’m here. Stop pretendin’ you don’t.”

It’s hard not to fall in line when he’s looking down at you like this, all hot-blooded and self-assured. Cocky, almost. But you try to push his buttons anyway.

“I thought it was wrong.”

“Don’t get cute with me. Yes or no?”

Your pulse flutters. Tongue goes numb. All you can do is nod.

He jostles your head a little, “Say it.”

“Yes.”

“Say yes please.”

“Yes please.”

He works his jaw back and forth, studying you, then tugs your shirt.

“Take this off.”

While you pull the offending garment over your head and toss it aside, Joel moves further onto the mattress, leaning back against the wall.

You follow him, swallowing the static buzzing in your throat as he ushers you onto his lap. The scrape of his rough hands on your waist may as well be a live wire crackling across your skin. He pulls you closer and closer until your belly presses into the worn cotton of his shirt. The heat between your legs settles on his stiff length. When he twitches against you, a heady electric current courses through your body and coaxes a whimper from your lips.

It seems too intimate to look at him, so you cast your gaze downward. Your shaky hands lay flat against his chest, absorbing the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Being with him like this feels strange. Not strange how it sometimes is with a new partner, that clumsiness before you know how your bodies work together.

It’s strange in a fucked up out-of-context sort of way. Of course, growing up around him never conditioned you to think of him like this. Joel fucking Miller, with his scarred-up knuckles and unending apathy. The only man who could make big brown eyes like that seem cold.

All those years, you never considered him anything more than an obstacle.

Even then, if there was some tiny shimmer of attraction lingering under your skin, a piece of you that wanted more from him, you never thought he could feel so solid and soft and alive. You never dreamed he could make you feel so fucking good.

“This stays between us,” he tells you, more of a command than a request.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your hips, and he purrs, “You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?”

You preen at the warm timbre of his voice, body arching into him as you breathe, “Yes.”

Under your touch, his muscles tense. He exhales hot against your cheek and guides your hips in a rocking motion, slow and steady, rubbing all those aching nerves hard against him.

“You liked it, too. Didn’t you? How I fucked you last time?”

A low-frequency hum throbs deep inside you, amplifying every sensation tenfold. You nod, rolling your hips faster, “I did, I liked it.”

“Yeah, you liked it? Or did you fucking love it?” he hisses, “Dirty little slut like you. Bet you loved getting fucked in the ass, didn’t you?”

“Oh my god, Joel—”

“Tell me.”

“Yes yes yes I fucking loved it—”

Too loud.

He ceases all movement, locking you in place with a steel grip. All ten of his digits bury themselves in your skin. The exquisite pain makes you gasp.

“Hush.”

You clamp down on your lips in an attempt to stifle yourself. Each heaving breath wiggles down to your core and back.

“Look at me.”

If you do, you’ll dissolve at the edges. You know it. You are sugar paper and he is a humid room and you are so incredibly fucked.

Pinching your eyes shut harder, you shake your head and whisper, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll come if I do.”

The confession makes him throb underneath you. He husks, “Do it, look at me.”

You do.

Even in the shadows you can make out his features, his parted lips and hooded gaze. The desire etched into his face as he stares at you, looking mystified in a way you’ve never seen before. Heat percolates beneath your skin, sending your heartbeat racing.

His hips arch into you just so, then he pulls you in and pushes you back, rubbing your body against his, “Do you wanna come? Come for me just like this?”

“Please—please,” you whine, feeling pleasure branch out from your middle as he slides you back and forth, “Please I wanna come for you it’s been so long—”

“Will you be quiet?”

Swallowing a moan, you nod frantically.

His eyes flicker around your face and he breathes, “Go ahead.”

You’re not sure if it’s the flames in his eyes or the fact that you haven’t had an orgasm in almost two months, but the second he gives you permission, the ecstasy you tried so hard to contain spills over the edges and floods your body. It pulses through you hot and hard and makes your mind go white. You have to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle the guttural noises that try to escape.

“That’s it,” he coos from far away, still grinding your twitching body against him, “There we go. That’s my good girl, hmm?”

“Oh my god—” you whimper at the sharp aftershocks that shoot through you, “It feels so good, Joel, fuck—”

“Do you wanna come again?”

Nodding, you link your hands behind his neck and set yourself in motion, rubbing against him a little faster than his set rhythm. His eyelids flutter as he throws his head back, the muscles under his shirt going taught. Beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, he’s hard as a fucking rock.

Releasing the tight grasp on your hips, he roams up your sensitive skin to your breasts and tests their weight before squeezing. It shoots through you, the pleasure and pain indistinguishable, just a throbbing rush of need. Your breathing comes in heaving gasps and you pinch your eyes shut again, tilting your head towards the ceiling as you once again find yourself struggling to keep quiet.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you.

You snap them open and meet his.

“Good girl.”

And—god, the way he looks at you, his gaze hungry and wild. Fucking maddening. Simultaneously, you wish he would stop—the contact too intense, too intimate—and pray that it never fucking ends.

Heat bubbles up inside you. You bury your fists in his hair and roll your hips faster, chasing the scorching need for more.

He hisses and pushes back against your thrusts, murmuring, “That’s it, grind that pussy on me, make yourself feel good.”

“Fuck—fuck yes, it feels so fucking good—”

“I can feel how fucking wet you are, leakin’ all over me. You do love it, don’t you, baby?”

You start to tremble and nod, trying your hardest to whisper when you tell him, “Yes yes yes I do I fucking love it—I wanna come again, can I please come again, please please—”

“Listen to you. So good, askin’ for permission.” He brings a hand to your face and brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Such a quick learner.”

“Joel—”

“Do it. Make yourself come again.”

Something untethers inside you. Heartbeat pounding behind your ears, you work your body against him in jerky movements, each one more delicious than the last. His eyes burn into yours, all heavy-lidded and lust-blown in the darkness, watching your face twist up with pleasure as the hot gooey feeling between your legs stretches wider and wider, then overtakes you completely.

You give in to it with a shattered breath, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle your moans. He holds you down, making sure you smother your cries in the damp cotton of his t-shirt as wave after electric wave washes over you.

When your spasms start to peter out, and your rolling hips come to a stop, he releases his stronghold to pet your hair. Your heaving chests meld together, breath syncing up into a steady ebb and flow as he smooths his palm up and down your spine.

For a moment, it’s just this. Just the soothing motion of him rubbing your back, calming your boneless body. Soft and quiet with everything else stripped away.

Emotion swells in your chest and tingles up your throat, behind your eyes. You try to hide it, the fact that you’re crying, but it becomes obvious when a sob escapes you.

Joel shifts a little, then tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. He searches your face and frowns, furrowing his brow.

“I’m sorry,” you wipe your tears and cast your eyes downward, “I—I don’t know why this is happening, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

“No—hey, no,” he assures you, “It’s fine.”

You shake your head.

“Look at me,” he commands, and when you do, he cups your cheek and holds your gaze, “It-it’s normal to feel… emotional. Really, it’s ok.”

The warmth and sincerity of this—his touch, his eyes, his words—makes your heart stutter. It curls up inside you and sedates your jumpy nerves.

You sniffle and nod, “Ok.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he studies you, bringing his hands to your waist. The longer you stare at each other, the more all the subtle signs of his lust come back into focus. How his tongue peaks out to wet his lips when he looks at your mouth. The heavy thudding of his heart. His strained breath and throbbing cock.

Your gaze drifts to his lips. A needy, aching desire simmers at the base of your spine. It seems wrong to kiss him. More sensual than sexual, rooted in something he will never have for you. But still, you wonder.

You wonder how soft his plush lips would feel against yours. How he would taste. Whether or not he would use tongue, or teeth, or both.

Your fingertips twitch hesitantly towards his mouth. He doesn’t pull away or admonish you, even though you give him ample time to protest. When you make contact, smoothing your touch over the pillow of his bottom lip, he murmurs against your fingers, “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m never gonna be, either, I wanna make that clear. That’s not what this is.”

“I know you’re not my fucking boyfriend, Joel.” You scoff at the thought, “Boyfriend. I don’t want that. I don’t need a boyfriend. What I need…” you watch your touch drift from his mouth to his jawline, where you scrape your nails through his scruff, “What I need is someone to fuck the thoughts out of my head.”

“Fuck the thoughts outta your head,” he repeats, almost a chuckle, “That’s what you need, huh?”

“That’s what you need, too. Isn’t it?”

Something smolders behind his gaze as he searches your face.

“You can use me, you know. Take whatever you need from me. Use me like a fuck toy, Joel, I fucking need it.”

His whole body reacts to your request, muscles flexing taught as he clenches his jaw.

You bat your lashes at him and pull yourself close enough to feel his breath on yours when you ask, “Don’t you need a little fuck toy like me, daddy?”

“You’re a sick girl, you know that?”

“You like it.”

Neither of you can deny the other’s accusation, resulting in a stand-off that tingles beneath your skin and makes your heart pound in your throat.

Subconsciously, you rock your hips forward and suck in breath when his cock throbs against your clit. He pushes back, flooding your veins with fire, “Are you gonna keep quiet if I fuck you?”

“Are you gonna shut me up if I can’t?”

He lets out one single amused chuckle, then asks, “Are you really tryna test me right now?”

Suppressing a smile, you shake your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

Something in the way he says it blooms heat in your chest. His tone teasing, almost playful.

He gives your ass a light smack, then tugs at your underwear, “Take these off.”

You roll off him onto the mattress and slide them down your legs while he stands to strip naked. Seeing his cock makes your body hum. It stands at attention, bobbing a little when Joel catches you staring.

Sidling up to the bed, he beckons you closer, so you follow his silent guidance and crawl over to him, wrapping your hand around his thick length. You glance up at him, licking your lips as you await further instructions.

“Get it nice ‘n’ wet for me.”

Nodding, you bring your mouth to the head of his cock, exploring first with your tongue, licking up the salty dribbles of lust. You taste a hint of yourself on him too, arousal that soaked through his boxers and marked him yours. Temporarily, at least. At least for tonight, or at least for right now.

A pleased rumble erupts from his chest when you wrap your lips around him and start to slide up and down his shaft. He feels solid and warm and fills your mouth completely. The first time he hits the back of your throat, you gag and pull off him, working him with your hands as you catch your breath.

“Do it again.”

You take him in your mouth, rutting up and down a few times before sitting up taller to drive him down your throat. He buries his fists in your hair and thrusts his hips forward, “There we go, that’s it—fuck, you’re so fucking good at that.”

His praise sparks at your core. You whine around his cock and bob against his thrusts. It doesn’t matter that you can’t breathe. You don’t need oxygen, you just need this. The sting of his grip prodding your movements, the raw stretch of him fucking your airway, the wet squelch that fills the room.

When he yanks your head back and unclogs your throat, you gasp for breath and stroke him with both hands, churning his slick length. Fire roars in his eyes when you look up at him.

He grabs your chin and husks, “Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

He smacks your cheek and grabs your chin again, “Say thank you for fucking my face.”

“Thank you for fucking my face, I fucking love it—”

“Say please can I have some more.”

“Please can I have some more, daddy?”

Stifling a groan, he crams it back in your drooling mouth, down your throat, snapping his hips in sharp, quick thrusts that make you gurgle with pleasure around him. Far away, you hear him panting, “Take it take it take it—”

The chorus makes your body tingle. You think about your mom sleeping in the other room, how there’s just a wall between her and this. How she could wake up at any moment and follow the muffled, hedonistic noises. How she would find Joel balls deep in your mouth and you giving him something she never could: control.

This time when he pulls you off his cock, he uses his white-knuckle grip on your hair to make you flip over and turn around, ass in the air towards him.

The head of him nudges up against the tight ring of your asshole. You hear a wet splat, then feel the heat of his spit trickling down between your cheeks. Your body clenches with anticipation as he smears it around.

“Remember, you gotta relax,” he murmurs, releasing your hair to smooth a palm against your spine.

You inhale a deep breath and exhale the tension from your muscles, letting your heart melt into the mattress.

“Good girl,” he arches forward, breaching your entrance.

The sharp sensation splits you open. It pulls a wanton moan from your lips that rings through the silent apartment like a siren.

Yanking you up by your hair, Joel secures your back to his humid chest and clasps a hand over your mouth. Stars invade your field of vision as he drives his cock deeper and deeper, only stopping when he can’t go any further. You sob against his palm, so he pulls it down harder, muffling the noise until you stop.

Everything goes silent and still, but you can’t even bring yourself to worry that you woke her. Not when all you can hear is your thudding heart and his ragged breath, coarse with what you assume is rage or lust or both. Not with his lightning rod cock vibrating hot up your middle.

It doesn’t matter that she could walk in to find her common-law husband fucking your ass, or that this discovery would burn all your lives to the ground. All you care about is more. More stimulation, more attention, more Joel—more more more—

You try to move your hips in an attempt to create friction, but his vice grip renders you immobile. So you stay in place and try not to make noise as the flames lick at your insides. You squirm and ache and claw at his arms while he muffles your whimpers.

Then your mom snores in the other room.

He pulls his hand from your mouth and you gasp for air.

Thinking you can get ahead of the inevitable scolding, you plead, “I’m sorry—”

He drags his cock out of your body, then plunges it back inside, all the while hissing, “If you’re gonna be my little fuck toy—”

“Holy fuck—”

“—You have to be fucking quiet. Do you understand?”

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand, I’ll do better, I promise—please just fuck me, please please—”

You strangle a moan in your throat when he slips a hand between your legs and draws tedious circles on your clit.

“Try ‘n’ breathe through it,” he coaches, “I’ll go slow for you this time, ok? Just remember, shut the fuck up and take deep breaths.”

You suck in air until your chest is full, then release it, restricting its flow through a narrow space between your lips. You do it again. Tension begins to melt from your bones. It has a clarifying effect, allowing you to relish in the heat of his touch. You take another deep breath, only hitting a snag when Joel starts to rock his hips.

It feels fucking unreal. Rough and raw, the steady drag of his cock fills you with static electricity over and over.

“Oh fuck—”

“Shhh…”

Your inhale stutters, but you regain control on the exhale. Everything disappears except him. His heated skin sticking to yours. How fucking full he makes you feel with each thrust. The thick swell of pleasure that accumulates every time he flicks his wrist. You surrender to all of it, to Joel, entrusting him with everything except your breath.

“That’s it, baby, let go.”

“It feels ssso gooood,” you whisper, head rolling back onto his shoulder, “Nothing’s ever felt this good, holy shit—”

His lips tickle your ear as he purrs, “Such a good little fuck toy, aren’t you, baby?”

You gasp a little when the velvet of his tongue rolls against your pulse. Nodding, you reach back behind his neck to scrape your fingernails through his curls. He does it again, this time sealing his lips to suck on the sensitive skin. Your heart pounds thick and hot through your body. The edges peel back at the corner of your mind. You push back against his thrusts, panting out subdued whimpers as the fire in your belly begins to spread.

“Do you wanna come?”

“I do, I wanna come—oh my god I wanna come, please make me come, daddy—”

His hand covers your mouth and holds you down so he can fuck you harder, stretching you out wide and filling you deep. He works your clit faster. The bed frame thumps against the wall in a frantic rhythm that matches the wet slap of his thrusts. Tears prick your eyes and heat swells beneath your skin, pressure building more and more until you think you can’t fucking take it anymore—

His palm smothers your moans as you fall apart, breaking into a million pieces and coming back together again with a choked sob. Joel buries his face in the crook of your neck and groans as his hips snap forward, then stutter to a stop.

The two of you go slack propping each other up, too loose-limbed and lethargic to peel yourselves away at first. He makes the first move to separate, though, uncovering your mouth to brush the damp hair from your forehead, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you tell him instinctively, then second-guess yourself and look up to meet his eyes, “I mean, I don’t know. I think so.”

He studies you, nodding.

Hesitation buzzes in your chest when you contemplate whether or not to return his question. It seems unlikely he’d cooperate even if you wanted to know the answer. So instead, you give him his out.

“Is this goodnight, then?”

“Suppose it is.”

A flicker of something passes between your bodies as you stare at each other. It feels so hot to the touch that you chicken out, glancing away as you whisper, “Will you do something for me before you go?”

“Hmm?”

“Tuck me in?”

The noise that comes out of him is half-grunt, half-chuckle. Joel for, ‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.’ But he obliges, pulling his soft cock from your body at a mercifully slow speed before allowing you to make yourself comfortable. He sorts out your blanket and drapes it over your body, then starts fishing his clothes off the floor.

Tugging his shirt over his head, he asks, “Need anything else, princess?”

You’re sure it’s a dig, but choose to ignore it as you snuggle into the covers and hint, “Don’t make me wait so long next time.”

He sits down at the edge of your mattress and threads his legs through the boxers, “I’ll make you wait as long as you need to. What else?”

“Mmm. Goodnight kiss?”

“Goodnight kiss,” he scoffs to himself, then looks back over his shoulder at you, “Fine, then I’m goin’ to bed.”

He turns to face you more directly, folding a knee onto the bed as he leans in and tilts your head to the side, pressing a gentle kiss into your cheek. Even though you wish he had kissed your lips, you close your eyes and savor the affection while you can.

After murmuring goodnight, Joel leaves. He crawls back into bed with your mother while you memorize the sound of his retreating footsteps.

#joel miller #x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ruthless joel miller #whatsnewalycat writes #pedro pascal smut

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sukunasweetheart · 1 year

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sukuna is that one boy in class that will do anything to annoy u bc he doesnt know any other way of showing his affection

he loves to see you jumping up and down as he holds something above your head, a nasty smirk showing on his face

aims to get you eliminated first in any game played during p.e (yeah, no mercy for those legs of yours when its dodgeball)

or if you end up in the same team as him he’d use you as a shield for any incoming attacks from the opposite team (even tho we all know this bitch can dodge like a pro)

its so cute how he gets himself eliminated on purpose afterwards tho, so he can sit beside you and annoy you more.

messes up your hair whenever hes walking past... so now you have a habit of instinctively covering your head with your hands whenever hes walking by and it makes him and uraume chuckle...

would be the first to howl with laughter, clutching at his stomach, whenever you make a fool of yourself. you tried to kick a soccer ball, but missed the ball entirely and your shoe went flying instead. and then you had to chase after him bc he snatched it up and went running 💀

if youre a jumpy person, he’d take any chance to scare the living lights out of you. he loves seeing you get all freaked out, screeching (100% chases you around holding a roach)

but sukuna makes it very clear that he is the only one thats allowed to toss you around like this, he would kick the next person that tried to the same

if anyone else told you that hes usually stoic and moody you go 🤨 bc this man is so lively around you

sukuna is so BORED when youre not around, it drives him insane

he’d probably mellow out more as he gets closer to you but still, the teasing is relentless as always

if there is a day where he’s upset you fr bc, idk you were already in a bad mood or something, he would most likely not know how to cheer you up... maybe he’d leave u a drink from the vending machine on ur desk. what’s your go-to drink? strawberry or chocolate milk? pocari sweat? apple or orange juice? (hes around you often, so he prolly knows what you get the most from the machine)

you know that this is the closest thing to an apology that you can get from him so you accept it anyway

at some point, sukuna will assume that you’re already aware of his feelings for you. he gives you so much attention, surely you know by now, right? wrong. youre absolutely clueless, and when he brings it up one day, you just sit there like, what??

“are you playing dumb, or are you fuckin’ stupid?”

you get all defensive and the two of you start bickering.

“enough of that. well, now you know,” he nonchalantly tells you.

youre so confused bc youve never thought of him in that way and you tell him that youll have a think about it... to which he clicks his tongue in annoyance and says “fine”

he keeps pestering you for an answer after that! you keep running away from him. (its like youre triggering his hunting instincts, making him chase you around)

his usual teasing ensues but something feels different... you feel more flustered and your heart races more than it used to... (he notices it all)

when you eventually give him an answer and say “i like you too...” he will respond with “yeah, i thought so.”

watch out bc sukuna is the type to move things fast. blink once and you might already be married to him.

Masterlist

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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girlkisser13 · 1 month

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dating jason grace would include

• ugh, the chivalry radiating off this man is CRAZYY.

• jason is the epitome of a gentleman fr!! he’ll do little things like holding open doors for you (even if it means waiting a few extra moments), offering his sweater when you're cold without hesitation, or fixing up a plate for you during dinner, he's always trying to make life a little easier for you. <33

• if you so much as utter a complaint about your feet aching or your shoes being too uncomfortable, he's already kneeling down, his broad back facing you with his hands gesturing for you to climb on for a piggy-back ride. he’ll be running around camp like a lunatic, carrying you on his back or in his arms, but he doesn't care because he always puts your comfort and safety first!!

• his protective nature extends to the battlefield as well. even though he knows you're more than capable of defending yourself, he fights alongside you, ready to shield you from ANY harm.

• whenever you talk to jason, he always has a way of letting you know that he's listening to your every word. even if he's occupied with something else, he'll make a point to let you know that he is paying attention to you. he'll immediately direct his gaze towards you, and abandon whatever task he was previously engaged in, leaning in closer to you the longer you speak.

• even if you try to cut your story short or apologize for repeating yourself, jason will NEVER rush you or make you feel uncomfortable. instead, he'll hold you close with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, encouraging you to keep talking and sharing your thoughts. because jason doesn't mind hearing the same stories over and over again, as long as they're coming from you. <33

• you know that one tiktok trend where one person tries to switch foods/drinks with their partner? yeah if you ask him he will not hesitate to switch with you. he also shares his food with you with no complaints.

• but he also knows you well enough to get you something to eat even if you say you don’t want anything or that say that you’re not hungry.

• jason never fails to express his love for you verbally every day, but he also has a way of communicating it without speaking a word. he'll naturally reaches for your hand under the table, stealing quick kisses on your shoulder when no one is watching. even the way he touches you lingers, like he doesn't want to let go.

• jason lovess resting his forehead against yours. it just brings him a sense of comfort and solace, really just your presence itself makes him feel safe. <33

• he most definitely places kisses on your hand. i'm talking regency era jane austen style kisses to your fingertips or palm, looking away with a visible blush.

• i feel like he radiates a mixture of golden retriever boyfriend and orange cat boyfriend.

• he is pretty romantic and enjoys meticulously planning dates for you both, such as movie dates, picnics, hiking, and more.

• one of his love languages is acts of service. whether it's helping you with chores, surprising you with breakfast in bed, or offering a shoulder to lean on when you’re having a bad day, he's always there to support them in any way he can.

• he’s 100% a morning person (due to his militaristic upbringing at camp jupiter). if you’re also a morning person, the two of you enjoy going on morning jogs together. if you’re not a morning person, he’ll spend hours admiring you when you’re sleeping (not in a creepy or weird way lmao).

• he’s a big reader but sticks with audiobooks (due to his dyslexia) and will read every single book that you read so that he can talk with you about them.

#pjo #pjo tv show #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #hoo #heroes of olympus #jason grace x reader #jason grace #pjo disney+#pjo x reader #pjo series #hoo fandom #hoo series #riordanverse #percy jackson and the olympians

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sepherinaspoppies · 3 months

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Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible.

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico.

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?”

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful.

“The bus–”

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude.

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her.

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her.

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear.

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting.

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin.

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it”

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid.

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.”

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news)

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?”

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away.

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist.

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance.

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision.

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection.

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together.

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile.

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies.

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run.

She ignored it, again.

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit.

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze.

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen.

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore.

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family.

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood.

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have.

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys)

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair.

Silver.

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?”

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth.

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight.

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.”

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.”

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever.

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so.

“I don’t—”

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye.

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist.

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.”

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down.

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.”

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her.

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp.

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic.

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully.

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic.

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out.

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative.

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red.

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe.

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic.

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand.

Blood. Her blood.

Run!

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face.

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor.

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…”

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there.

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.”

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.”

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned.

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.”

Fuck.

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?”

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one.

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass)

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.”

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#prince aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen

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mysticmunson · 9 months

Text

date night: alpha!steve harrington x omega!reader

summary: finally scoring a date, things go smoothly until you present, and only one alpha knows.

word count: 2.8k

authors note: hii so i wrote this like two months ago and tried wrapping it up to have it posted, but i enjoy this au so please request some expansion requests :)

warnings: a/b/o dynamics, smut 18+

The pungent smell of fryer grease sifted through the air of Benny’s, a mountain of food divided into a few plates as you sat with Robin, who was in the midst of discussing her most recent ‘study date’ with Vickie.

“Get this! We’re sitting there, talking about chemistry, and bam!” Robin exaggerates, voice lowering in fear of someone overhearing, “She looked at me and kissed me!”

You gasp, smacking her shoulder with the back of your hand, a french fry between your thumb and index finger.

The couple had kissed a few times now, but the excitement remained as you knew how badly your friend pined over the redhead.

“We just need to find you someone now.” She teased, taking a bite of her grilled cheese as a string of orange came from between the bread.

“I’m determined to get laid by the end of this month,” You proclaimed, giving yourself around 30 days, “I want to experience it because when or if I present, I want to be somewhat prepared.”

Presenting was a concern for your age group, freshly out of high school, as everyone awaited to discover if they would become an alpha or omega. There had been a few start to show, including your best friend, Steve.

His presentation was expected, his father a well-known alpha in town, and the traits of one showed early. He was fiercely protective of those he cared about, known to be more than good in the sheets, and strong. Having grown up with him, you saw it happen in real time, making it even stranger when you realized how attractive he became.

Still, Robin supported you on your journey, but worried for your safety. Over analyzing any recollection you shared of a man flirting with you, deciding he was a murderer or ugly, or both.

In her bedroom, you stood in a loose blouse, tucked into a jean skirt and a matching jacket. Applying another layer of lipstick, you fretted over your appearance as you waited for the clock to strike 6:30, and for your date to pick you up here.

“Steve is coming over.” Robin mentioned, sipping on her water bottle, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

“Okay,” You reply, “We just need him gone by the time Devin comes.”

Steve was a great best friend, but he could be a real pain in the ass. He had been scaring any potential boyfriend away since middle school, deeming them not good enough or them being too intimidated by him as he faked a macho persona.

For the plan to work, he couldn’t know. He would go on a tangent about how you didn’t have to have sex just to do it. That was true, but it was hard to listen to a guy who had numerous sexual partners preach it.

The front door swung open as if on cue as you and Robin went to the living room, Steve kicking off his shoes. He began his rant about work, Family Video making him lose hair from stress and children yanking on his hair.

You paid attention, but kept an extra eye on the clock, noticing the hands nearing 6:30. Cursing Steve’s tangent for not letting him leave sooner, you swallowed your anxieties, peaking to make sure a car wasn’t outside. As inconspicuously as possible, you stood and went to grab your heels from Robin’s room.

Toeing quietly, you were hoping to go unnoticed, but Steve decided to be aware for one of the first times tonight. “Where are you going? You’re dressed up.”

Shrugging, you leaned against the wooden door, “Just out for the night, a friend is picking me up.”

A terrible liar, you thought of something that wasn’t completely fictional, however, they both could tell. The sight of headlights caught your attention, standing straighter, “Okay, bye!”

Robin rushed to the front door to stick her head out as you walked away, “Wrap it before you tap it!”

Embarrassment crawling up your neck, you flicked her off behind your back, opened the car door, and stepped in.

“What!” Steve gasped, startling Robin as she shut the door and who hadn’t expected him to follow her or hear him. Thankfully, the car had pulled away, leaving a confused man with a bit too much heat in his cheeks at his best friend to get some.

“I’m just kidding, Harrington. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Robin snarled, shoulder-bumping him as she went back to her couch.

The date was fine, Devin was a kid you’d gone to school with since diapers. He had boyish features, cheeks a bit chubby with dimples, and was always polite. He had asked you to hang out a few days prior, agreeing on tonight.

Curls in your stomach that you attributed to nerves hadn’t vanished, even as you both mutually realized midway through your walk in the park that things were platonic.

Heat simmered within you, discarding your jacket and feeling beads of sweat trickle down the back of your neck. It wasn’t hot outside, even as you walked around and chatted.

“Are you okay? I don’t mean to sound rude, you don’t look well.” Devin questioned, a hand on your shoulder as your legs began to wobble.

Nausea flooded you before dissipating, wavering emotions as you tried to make sense of what was wrong.

Through the nerves, you kept thinking of Steve. How he would let his fingers trail against your lower back in hugs, kiss your head when leaving, and put his hand in front of your body when he hit the brakes too hard while driving.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled, feeling tears threaten through. As you made that statement, you felt the surge between your legs, knowing you had presented.

It couldn’t be happening now. Not with someone you didn’t know well. Not when you hadn’t been able to score a boyfriend first. Not now.

“I think I need to go home, I’m so sorry-” You began, huffing as streaks of mascara fell down your warm cheeks.

Assuring you it was okay, Devin drove you home, even stopping to get you a snack to make your stomach feel at ease. While it didn’t help, you appreciated the thoughtful gesture and thanked him as he waited for you to get securely in your apartment.

The space went from chilly to scorching, removing any amount of clothes you could besides a pair of boyshorts. Your mind raced with confusion as your nipples became hard, feeling a chill, but like a fire on ice.

Anxieties without category hit you, curling in a ball as you cried, sitting on your floor. It felt pathetic, but no stream of thought was strong enough to withstand the hormones.

Time slipped by as you tried regulating your breathing, applying slight pressure on your clothed core. A shrill ring came from your black phone, lifting the handle and pressing it to your ear.

“You were not supposed to answer!” Robin grumbled, already giving the heads up that she’d call to see if you were getting some, that no answer would be her answer. You had forgotten this rule, her tone making you bring in a fresh set of tears.

On the other end, Robin sat in her room with Steve walking in, not staying in the living room as she had asked. Her priorities were averted to the cry on the other side of the phone.

“Wait, what happened? Why are you crying? What happened with Devin?” Robin frantically questioned, Steve glancing over with furrowed brows as Robin had never stated who she was speaking with.

“Devin? From junior year math class? That was the friend?” Steve grimaced, toying with nicknacks in his friend’s bedroom, earning a finger on the lips to quiet him down.

“I presented,” You whispered, “I’m so scared and uncomfortable and overwhelmed! What alpha do you know, I don’t care who it is anymore.”

Though you would probably care later, the clouded judgment had you aching for any form of reprieve from the pain.

“Fuck, I don’t know!” Robin squeaked, not wanting to reveal your status to Steve for fear of your embarrassment, but she contemplated. The gears of her brain turned as she questioned his overprotectiveness, the way he was quick to frustration when discovering you were on a date.

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out, Y/N. I promise.” She concluded, hanging up and grabbing her yearbook.

The faces of former students made her ill, but word got around about presentations, and she hoped that seeing their faces would make her recollect.

“What the hell’s going on? Do I need to go fight Devin?” Steve eyed his friend, an unnerving worry in his stomach.

Biting her lip, she debated internally, “She needs help.”

“What is looking at that going to do?” Steve gawked, used to his friend’s antics, but still astounded when they acted erratically.

“I’m trying to remember who’s an alpha.”

“Why would you need to know who became an alpha-”

As the words left, his mouth ran dry, and he gulped while looking at Robin. She slowly looked up, watching the dark iris’ before her enlargen.

“Steve-” Robin began, the corner of a page between her two fingers.

The stern look on his face was withholding a multitude of emotions, ones she couldn’t quite make out. She made the judgment call that maybe Steve was your best bet.

“She’s at her place.”

That was all that needed to be said before Steve ran out her front door and into his car. He had driven your route a million times, but never this fast.

His blood pumped with nerves and excitement. He had spent his ruts alone, a fist full of himself with the occasional tears of frustration as he tried to alleviate his knot. But now you had presented as an omega.

Refraining from palming his crotch, he watched your streetlights come into view, throwing his car into park. The dark hallways were typically concerning, but your door was practically glowing within his mind.

He growled at the smell in the air, catching his attention more the closer he got. Gripping the door handle, it was unlocked, thankful no one else had noticed the compromising position.

Choking on his own breath, he fumbled with the lock behind him and trekked down the dim hallway. The protectiveness he already felt was consuming, his palms sweating as he made his way closer.

The door swung open too quickly as the handle slipped from his grasp, seeing you flinch from your curled position on the floor.

As if you were nothing, he lifted you from your armpits, making you stand in front of him. Eyes blazing, he looked pointedly as he undid his belt.

“Your door.” He stated, voice wavering with stability.

Furrowing your brows, you looked up at him, “What?”

His shirt was shrugged off, tossing it to the ground as your eyes drifted to his broad chest, whimpering at the sight to his delight.

“It was unlocked, don’t you ever fucking do that again.” He gritted pushing his jeans off, cupping your cheek with one hand and leaning forward so the back of your knees touched your bed.

His nose had skimmed against yours, breath fanning against your cheeks as you drank in every pheromone he perpetrated. Breath quickening, every thought coming to your head was vulgar, eyes softening in need.

“I won’t.” You whimpered, yelping as your back hit the wrinkled sheets, and his chest soon pressed against your bare one.

“I mean it, don’t ever do that again, you could’ve gotten hurt.” He gripped your chin in his grasp, looking down at you as your clothed centers touched.

The brief touch made you wail, your body suddenly aware of what was to come. Equally as impatient, he grabbed one side of your underwear and ripped it. Repeating the act on the opposing side, the shreds of fabric were now a relic of the you before this moment.

Palming himself, looking down at your frame as a predator and prey, he growled.

“How bad do you want it?” He egged on, ripping his own boxers off and onto the floor.

“Please, Steve, please.” You whined, watching as his cock bobbed. Blushing profusely pink, your mouth watered at it and your chest began to burn with greed.

He seemed far too composed, the performance of himself he was forced to obtain through most of his teen years floating to the top. However, his soft spot was you. It always had been and both of your fresh senses were sensing the discomfort in both of you.

“Alpha, please.”

That was all it took for his body to be pressed to yours and his lips to meet yours for the first time.

Grunts and gasps came from you both as the underside of his cock rubbed against your folds, too consumed with how he tasted and how you smelled.

“Keep that door locked, do you understand?” He gritted, fisting himself in his own grasp, his first thrust in synchronizing with your nod.

A pained cry rose from your lungs, tears already streaming down your cheeks, his lips kissing where the beads were.

Desperation reeked from you both as you grabbed at one another, needing any form of solidification that the other was there.

Steve found comfort in your warmth, trying his best to soothe your discomfort with affection. Kissing on your neck or rubbing your clit, the latter making you shriek from sensitivity.

“My omega now,” He sighed, balls reaching the curve of your ass as he settled against you, “my girl. Always have been.”

“Always yours, alpha, always Steve.” You trembled, the veins of his length stimulating every ridge within yourself. His brown hair crowned around his face, only able to see him in your state of need.

Though you were the one presenting, Steve felt the same wave of emotions he felt during his first rut, but now even more with another person. His person. The one who knew him since he had gaps in his front teeth, since he had graduated, and every minute moment before and after.

“Fuck, I love you.” He blurted out, feeling his own bashfulness creep up his neck.

To his relief, you began to be more overcome with emotion, agreeing. Each thrust hit your spongy spot inside you, convincing you more and more he was the only one who could make you feel this way.

“I love you too,” You revealed, locking his lips between yours briefly, “M’sorry I didn’t ask for you first, I was nervous.”

Your words were sweeter than honey, but the implication that someone else almost came to your aid burned him deeply. His hands pushed up your thighs, your knees coming up as he fucked you deeper than you could comprehend.

“Devin asked me out and I just wanted a boyfriend, but I didn’t want him, I swear-” You cried, unknowingly provoking more possessiveness.

“Honey, please, it’s okay.” He gritted, clenching sheets in his shaking hands, suppressing the urge to flick his hips quicker.

“I wanted you, alpha, please.” You sighed, stroking his cheek and hair, anywhere you could touch, “I’m so happy, I’m sorry, thank you-”

“Don’t worry, I would’ve found you anyway. You’re my girl, my omega.” He assured, gulping down the emotions he felt when you looked into his eyes.

His words appeared to have a larger effect than any physical reimbursement could do for you as your fingers clenched within his hair.

Your cry as you came made his hormones go into a flurry. He could feel your uneasiness being thrown into release. It was as if your chests opened in tandem, reaching out and moving in sync as he finished inside you.

White noise filled both of your ears as Steve’s body hovered over yours with much of his weight on top of you. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his chest, shoving your face against the crook of his neck.

Pumping himself within you until sensitivity took over, he gasped at how you clenched around him. His stature shook as he knotted, a hand going to your hip to keep in place, chest heaving to regain a steady tempo.

“Thank you.” You whimpered, hugging his chest closer to your front, an embrace he matched. Pressing a kiss on the side of your forehead, he trailed down to your ear with pecks and bites.

Rolling to his back, he pulled you to his chest, rubbing your back after you tried sitting up.

“Just relax, honey.” He cooed, the exhaustion already hitting you both, stilling your hips from causing you both more frustration in the compromising position.

“I want to make you knot again.” You whine beneath your breath, trying to sit up again, ignoring the pain shooting through your body at his swelling.

“Easy tiger,” He chuckles, biting his lip to stop his own need, “we’ve got time.”

tagging mutuals :)

@andvys @lilacletter @corrodedcorpses @munsonsreputation @berryfairy444 @poppy-metal @lesservillain @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint

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luveline · 3 months

Note

need need NEED more hop x reader w el they are the CUTEST

“So she’s coming?” El asks.

Hopper pushes a glass of orange juice in her direction. “Mm-hm.”

“And she wants to see me.”

“Yeah, kid, she wants to see you.”

Eleven’s hair curls just under her ears. Hopper hadn’t suspected her hair would be curly once it began to grow, but it waves gently, and tighter the longer it becomes. He doesn’t know how to take care of it. He only just taught her how to use shampoo and conditioner without leaving all the suds in.

She scratches it. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” He ruffles her hair. “Eat your breakfast. You can get changed when you’re done. You need me to help you find something?”

“No. I like choosing.”

Hopper knows. She isn’t good at matching yet, but she’ll get there.

She eats her breakfast too quickly, doesn’t drink her juice, and doesn’t put her plate in the sink before she goes, but Hopper doesn’t bother getting mad. He’s trying to be less moody. He’s also trying to be understanding; she’s learning to be a normal kid. Most normal kids are slobs.

“Can we have dessert?” El shouts from her room.

“You can have a snack later.”

“Please?”

“You can have some chips once you get dressed. Are you still hungry, or–?”

“Snacks,” she says, turning on her radio.

Hopper nods, laughing to himself when there’s a knock at the door. He’s been waiting to see you all weekend, and he walks to the door with a terrible smugness about him to let you in.

“Hello,” he says, wedging the creaky frame open with his shoe.

“Hi, handsome.” You look up into his eyes, fresh-faced like you’ve had a good scrub and dressed for a day in the house in cuffless sweatpants and a hoodie he thinks might be his. “Wow, nice shirt, hotshot. What is that? The Hawkins Police Department fun run of eighty two? That’s vintage.”

He leans down to kiss you hello.

“Oh, hi,” you flirt.

You’re confident when you know you’re loved, he’s found. Still the homespun woman he knew you to be, but affectionate once you’re comfortable. He smiles into your mouth and pulls you tight to his chest, lifting you off of your feet for a millisecond before placing you back down.

“Where’s my girl?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“El?” you call. You slide around him to find her but turn back, “Did you ask her about the hugging?”

“She says it’s fine.”

“Like, she wants to?”

It had been a strange conversation. Hopper is used to telling El things, or being told things by her. He didn’t ask her what she likes for breakfast, he just kept guessing until he found the right stuff. She never asked him if she could sit in his side during movies, she just inched closer until he put his arm around her.

“She wants to,” Hopper says. She’d seemed perturbed by the question, sure, but it ended with her happy little smile through a handful of popcorn.

“El?” you call again.

“Kid! Your best friend is here!” Hopper shouts.

Thunder from her bedroom, a door swung open and slapping the wall. “Y/N?” she asks, the skirt of her dress swinging as she pauses in the doorway.

You smile and step forward. You’re tentative but excited all the same, laughing as you wrap your arms around her shoulders, and pat her back. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Where have you been? It’s two weeks.”

“Yeah? I didn’t mean to not see you for so long, I’m sorry.”

“Hop says you have lots to do.”

“There’s a leak in my bathroom,” you take her by the shoulders. “Aw, this is nice. When’d you get this? It’s light and summery.”

“Hop… from a catalogue.”

You raise your brows at him, grinning. “That’s nice. How many did you get?”

“We got five.”

“Five! From the catalogue!” You hold her hand. “Hop must really like you, huh? Who can blame him?”

El looks down at your joined hands. Hopper feels his skeptic heart softening. “He likes you, too.”

“But do we like him?” you joke, letting go of her hand to put your arm behind her back instead. You give Hopper a look.

“What?” he asks.

“I was thinking we’d go out for milkshakes?”

Hopper bites his tongue. El has a birth certificate now, she’s his daughter, she can’t be taken, but going out with her into the world draws stares and derision alike. People can tell she’s abnormal, and he can’t stand that. She doesn’t deserve to be gawked at for talking a little slowly, or messing with stuff she doesn’t understand.

But he doesn’t want her feeling punished for those things either.

“Get your jacket, El.” She beams, rushing for her room. “She’s gonna love the jukebox,” Hopper says.

You meander back into his arms, kissing his stubbly cheek. He pretends to nudge you away.

#jim hopper x y/n #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper #jim hopper imagine #jim hopper x you #jim hopper x fem!reader #dad!jim hopper #dad!jim hopper x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #jim hopper fanfiction #jim hopper fandom #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #jim hopper fluff

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forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

Hi bb 💕 the premiere of TLOU was so damn good and I’m so excited for the rest of the season! If you’re still writing for Joel and taking requests could we maybe have some domestic fluff with pre-outbreak Joel? Hopefully that’s enough to go off of! ☺️☺️💗

AN | I couldn’t help myself, dinner is served, bone app the teeth. It’s just fluff with a lil foreshadowing! Enjoy ❤️

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was an early fall day that found you walking over to the Adler’s house and knocking on the door only to be greeted excitedly by Mercy’s barking. As soon as the door was open, the fluffy dog pushed his way past the screen door and over to you, weaving around your legs, tail wagging wildly as you reached down to pet him.

“Sorry about him, sweetheart,” Mrs. Adler looked at the dog with a raised eyebrow, “he just loves people, but you know that by now.”

“Good thing I love him too. Huh buddy, you’re such a good boy,” you bent down and scratched his ears before kissing his snout, “is Sarah here? I just got to their house and wanted to see if she wanted to come home and help me with some baking.”

“She is,” the screen door opened and you stepped inside, immediately overwhelmed by the smell of cooking and that odor that older homes often had. You spotted the young girl at the kitchen table, but as soon as she heard you, she turned around with a huge smile, “do you girls want to stay for dinner?”

“No,” you and Sarah chorused before looking at each other sheepishly. You gave her a wink before clearing your throat.

“Thank you for the offer,” you smiled sweetly, “Joel’s going to be home soon and we’d promised him some cookies so…we’d better get to baking!”

“Of course,” she seemed unphased by your lame excuse, which to be fair wasn’t a total lie, “well, you know you’re both welcome any time. And Joel.”

“Thank you,” you grabbed Sarah’s backpack as soon as it was packed up and herded the young girl towards the door, “have a good evening.”

As soon as the two of you were outside, after having given Mercy a few more pets, you exchanged a look before both breaking into a fit of giggles.

“You came just in time,” Sarah sighed dramatically, “she was just about to start knitting and insisted on showing me how to knit today.”

“I knew I was getting some distressed vibes for a reason,” you gently nudged her side with your elbow, “don’t worry kiddo, I’ll always be there to save you. Especially from old ladies and their knitting. I can’t imagine a worse fate.”

“Seriously,” she unlocked the door and the two of you stepped into the Millers’ quiet house. You liked it here, it felt so homey and lived in, filled with lots of laughs and love. You cringed when you realized how cheesy that sounded, even in your head, but it was true. In the almost two years you’d been with Joel, it had all but become your home too, “did you mean it when you said we’re doing some baking?”

“Sarah, my sweet Sarah,” you kicked off your shoes as you made your way into the kitchen, laughing internally at the half consumed glass of orange juice and cup of coffee from this morning. They had been running late…again. How very on brand for both of them, “would I ever lie to you?”

“You haven’t yet,” she grinned as you nodded.

“And I expected you to always be truthful with me,” you put the dirty dishes into the sink, “did you get all your homework finished?”

“Yup,” she grinned, “finished it with enough time to even sell some hardcore drugs.”

“I’m impressed,” you snorted in amusement, “you managed to get to Mrs. Adler’s, do your homework, sell some drugs, and make it back before anyone noticed you were gone. That is some skill.”

“Totally,” she laughed as you high fived each other. Truth be told, she’d hadn’t been sure about you when Joel first introduced the two of you. And you couldn’t blame her; she was fiercely protective over her father. It had been just the two of them for basically her entire life - her mother, Joel’s wife, had left the two of them when she was only a few months old. She didn’t even remember her own mother. And the idea that a stranger was going to come and change everything? It was terrifying.

But you never pushed or forced yourself into her business, and let her warm up to you. You wondered at first if it had anything to do with the fact that you were a bit younger than Joel, but quickly learned it was all just because she loved him so much. And he loved her just as much and then some. But over time, she’d come to love you too and you loved her.

These days it was Sarah pushing Joel to just finally have you officially move in. Again, that one was on Joel. You weren’t going to push him either. This was just as new for him; you were the only person he’d dated since his wife. But you loved the Millers and you knew that your future held both of them in it. That was all that mattered.

“How about some chocolate chip cookies?” you suggested and her face eagerly lit up as she nodded, “okay but, tell me how much your dad would hate it, if we tried to make pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.”

“He’d love them, but he’d never admit it,” she said and you knew she was right, “how about we make both?”

“A grand plan,” you smiled, “throw on a record and let’s get started. Maybe we can have everything ready before he’s home.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Something smells good,” neither of you had heard Joel come in, but when you turned around you found him leaning against the doorway, a lazy smile on his face. You shook your head in amusement as Sarah ran over to him and hugged, “hey baby girl.”

“You’re home early for once,” she grinned at him, and he playfully rolled his eyes, “that’s what you should be doing, as a man of such advanced age.”

“Thirty-five isn’t advanced, it’s-”

“Ancient,” you finished for him, smiling sweetly as he jokingly flipped you off, “we only tease out of love.”

“Some kind of love,” he huffed, affectionately touching Sarah’s cheek, “go on and set the dining table, okay?”

“Sure,” she smirked, looking between the two of you with a knowing little smile, “you just want to make out. I’m not a child, I know these things!”

“Table,” he groaned, taking her by the shoulders and gently ushered her out of the kitchen. She ran off, giggling under her breath, “and you are a kid!”

“Whatever!”

He turned his attention onto where you were leaning against the counter, setting his arms on either side of your body, affectionately trapping you in his grasp, “the two of you are always ganging up on me. Shoulda known you were going to be trouble.”

“Good trouble?” you reached up and put your hand on his face, swiping your thumb over the apple of his cheek. Joel always was a little rough around the edges, but you loved that about him. You loved how underneath that exterior, he had a kind, gentle heart.

“The best,” he took your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Despite his best efforts, you could still see the faintest blush in his cheeks, “just so you know, I want to make out, but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. We’re saving this for later.”

“Aye aye,” you mock saluted him and he snorted in amusement, “we made cookies. And your favorite for dinner, so I’ll be expecting a lot of thanks later.”

“Baby,” he closed his eyes and groaned softly, “you’re killing me.”

“And you’re letting dinner burn in the oven, so move it,” you put your hands on his hips and shuffled him to the side. You felt him watching your every move closely, “stop staring at my ass and help me, please.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, but it was nothing but fondness…and it didn’t stop him from teasingly slapping your ass as you made a sound of surprise, “now I’ll help.”

“You are the worst, Joel Miller.”

What you really meant was I love you with every fiber of my being, Joel Miller.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Are you even paying attention to the movie?” you looked up at Joel, and nodded sleepily, pulling yourself off him as if to prove a point. You’d been lying on his chest, his arm around you for the last hour as you tried to focus on whatever silly movie he’d put on, “mhmm.”

“Shh,” you waved him off, “it’s not my fault you have terrible taste in movies.”

“This is a piece of cinema,” he joked, just as someone else on screen was getting their head chopped off, “niche cinema.”

“Sure Joel,” you yawned softly, “it’s getting late. I should-”

“Just stay baby,” he insisted and despite the fact that you knew he would, your stomach flipped happily, “I don’t want you driving late at night when you’re this tired.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist as he tugged you closer to him. You were soft and malleable and let him pull you into his lap, “but you’ve convinced me to stay.”

You leaned in to kiss him, slowly at first, suddenly feeling wide awake. Your body hummed with energy as his hands found purchase on your waist and he kissed you back with just as much eagerness. He really did make good on his makeout promise from earlier. And he kissed you until you were breathless and dizzy, grinning at him shyly.

“You’re so warm and soft,” he mused as his hand dipped under your sweater and spread his fingers along your ribs, “and beautiful.”

“Is that what you say to all the girls?” you teased softly and he let out a bark of laughter.

“Just you,’ he promised, as if you needed some sort of reassurance. You beamed as you leaned into him and peppered kisses along his jaw and down his glorious neck, “you keep this up longer and-”

“We’re not having sex on the couch,” you laughed quietly, a sound that went straight to his heart. He really loved you, he thought at that moment, “where one - Sarah could walk in on us any moment and two - we all sit on here. Bedroom, Miller.”

“Fine,” he pouted and you turned his face up towards yours as you kissed the pout away. A serious look crossed his features when you pulled away, “I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh oh. That’s never a good idea-”

“Hush,” he pressed a finger to his lips and you pressed a kiss to it, “I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time you actually moved in. Officially.”

“Yeah?” your heart swelled and felt like it was about to burst with pure happiness. He nodded and there was a gentle hopeful look in his big brown eyes that you loved, “okay y-yeah. Yes. I’d really like that too.”

“Yeah?” This time it was his turn to ask for reassurance.

“Yeah,” you promised, cradling his handsome face in your hands. You kissed him a few more times, reverent and saccharine, before you pulled back again, “bedroom?”

“You read my mind.”

“Joel?” you paused for just a moment before either of you could move, “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“Forever?”

“Forever,” he smiled softly, “and then even longer.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #tlou #tlou hbo

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hai7ani · 3 months

Text

divorced parents au / with your faves

When your daughter turned two, you and your husband had brought her to Disneyland as her birthday gift. Growing up, Umi was always fond of the 12 Disney Princesses ー more specifically Princess Belle ー and she keeps a photograph of her and Belle at a meet and greet on her nightstand. Her father's half-expected her favourite to be Ariel, given that Ariel and Umi do go pretty well together. (Ariel and the sea.)

In Disneyland that summer your baby has had the time of her life, so she starts asking for it every birthday (which slowly turned into every milestone) and up until then you both have had no issues with bringing her there. He'd told you once that if going there makes her happy then he was willing to visit again, no matter the amount of times and the slight boringness he'd have to face when waiting in line to go on rides or booths.

Today she had learned how to properly draw a flying bird in art class after failing a few times and drew flying chickens instead. When you picked her up from school, the first thing she said after showing you her art proudly was, 'Let's go to Disneyland, Mama! Let's go with Daddy!'

You would bring her if you could. You know you would in a heartbeat.

But it has been two years since her last visit to Disneyland, and you and your husband aren't together anymore.

So when he comes over for dinner tonight ー just like he has been every Friday without miss ever since your divorce ー you show him Umi's drawing of the flying bird.

"Can I bring this back with me? I'd like to frame it up." He asks. In his head he plans to hang it on the wall of his living room, right on top of his television, next to your family portrait.

You eat a piece of the orange he'd peeled. "Of course."

At noon when your daughter asked, you told her no. So at night she is tugging on her father's shirt with a red face full of tears and she is begging for him to stay.

"Stay here, daddy. Don't go." She cries to him at the foyer. Only one side of his shoe is put on and he kicks it away quick when she attempts to climb into his arms.

"You'll see me again on Sunday, Mimi." He attempts to console her. "We're gonna go to the mall together 'n we'll find the toy you've been wanting."

Her father scoops her into his arms and sits on the floor. She kicks her feet in the air and wails.

"But I want to go to Disneyland with you and Mama." She sobs into his arms. He pecks her crown and shushes her a little.

When your chest gets too heavy you push yourself off the wall you've been leaning against and turn your back to them.

(You've been watching the duo since the moment her father was putting on his shoe, ready to leave, and your daughter came running after him in her pyjamas with wet tears already streaming down her cheeks.)

And Umi continues to cry while her father rocks her in his arms, trying his best to console her.

While walking away from the scene, you pick on the skin around your thumb. Your nose sours and you try pinching it in hopes of soothing it a little.

"Why d'ya wanna go to Disneyland?" You hear him ask before you disappear into the hallway. It's funny how he still asks even though you and him both know that going or not going to Disneyland was never the problem.

Umi sniffles. Her father hums for her to say it.

You hide behind the door of your bedroom.

"I want Mama, Daddy and Umi together again."

Just the three of us together in Umi's favourite place.

You cry.

"She's asleep now."

You pause from folding laundry at the couch and look up. He's got both hands in his pockets and a soft smile planted on his face.

He's also a mess, you notice ー his shirt a little stretched and out of place from how hard your daughter had been tugging on it earlier, the fabric wet from tear and snot stains, his hair a bit disheveled (you figure he was resting beside her when putting her to sleep), and he's moving to sit beside you on the couch now.

You smile back. "Thank you. I haven't been able to calm her down easily these days."

He picks up one of the garments from the pile and starts folding it beside you. "It's fine. You know I like doing it." I like being a dad, is what he wishes to say. But he knows you know it already and he holds his tongue.

Neither of you say a thing to each other after that and he continues helping you with the laundry. He folds your bra the way you prefer and your daughter's school uniform neatly so that it doesn't crease.

You steal a few glances at him without shame while stacking his sweatpants onto his pile of clothes.

"Your hair's getting long." You comment.

"Is it?" He raises his brows, genuinely wanting to know.

"Yeah." You reach a hand up to comb through his soft strands of hair. You push them back and try parting it on the middle.

"I've been busy." He's got a boxy, kind of nervous smile on his face when he explains. "Can't really see well through the mirror anyway." He rubs his nape.

You chuckle. "Want me to cut it for you?"

"Okay."

You still keep a room for your ex-husband even after the end of your marriage and he's given you the house.

You like telling yourselves it's solely for the sake of your daughter, for when she misses her father a little too much and refuses to let him leave.

But both of you know that's not really the case.

Somehow it didn't feel right when he was in the process of moving out to his new apartment somewhere in Meguro, and you slowly realise that you'd be having an empty room all to yourself.

(Back then you didn't think you could cope with living alone in the house you used to love each other in ー in the house you'd both created a life in.

You still don't now. Not really, anyway.)

So you transform the room that used to be his study into his own bedroom just right across the master (yours). He didn't reject the idea when you told him so.

And because of this, you leave your bedroom door open whenever he stays the night.

Tonight you do it again, and you watch him across the hall, in his room, drying off his freshly cut hair. Your head is resting on the edge of the bed with one hand tucked under your cheek and the other playing with a plush toy he'd gifted you many years ago.

When he turns to hang his towel on the wall he sees you like this. You don't shy away when he smirks.

"Goodnight." You mouth to him. You stay like that until he leaves his door open and finally gets in bed ー until he, too, shuffles around, and dangles his head off the edge of his own bed.

"Goodnight." He mouths it back to you.

You spend some time looking at each other like that ー really taking your realities in ー in rooms across each other with heads dangling off the edge of your beds, two hearts connected by the sea, and your daughter asleep in the room next to yours.

On most nights he comes over sometime during the night and helps you back on your pillow when you accidentally fall asleep like this, and every time, you'd unconsciously tug on his arm and beg him not to go.

He stays every single time.

Tonight, however, he pads over to your room while you're still awake with a pillow clutched in one hand.

"Hi." You scoot on the bed to make space for him as he throws his pillow next to yours and lays down beside you ー face to face, heart to heart. "Hey." He sighs upon getting comfortable on the bed he'd grown to find so much comfort in.

You bring the blanket up to cover his shoulders. He scoots closer to you, sneaks a hand under your shirt, and rubs a warm hand up and down your spine. (You always sleep better when he rubs your back like this.)

And while falling asleep you think to yourself that perhaps someday you'll get to try again as lovers.

You know for a fact that you'll always love him in your heart, and you'll never stop loving him even though it doesn't really make sense anymore ー just like how he'd sworn to never love again after your divorce.

Perhaps someday the both of you would be ready to move on ー still loving each other, but ready to move on from your past, from your love.

And perhaps someday the two of you wouldn't have to argue about money or time anymore. Perhaps someday he'll find a suitable work-life balance, and you're able to trust him enough to keep himself safe at work.

But for now, he's content with rubbing your back as you fall asleep next to him in the bed you'd once shared. You're content with the flowers he still buys you from time to time and cutting his hair whenever it grows out.

For now, you know that you're not ready to move on just yet. Both of you are not, and both of you have something else in mind...

You want to try again.

And you know that trying again will not be easy, but you both also know that you're willing to start all over again with everything you have if given the chance, the opportunity.

Maybe someday.

Maybe you'll give it more time.

(You feel a nudge on your elbow.)

Or...

"Wanna go to Disneyland tomorrow?"

(You smile.)

"Yes."

...Maybe tomorrow?

(He reddens all over.)

"Okay."

You'll see.

(just some characters i have in mind) TOKYO REVENGERS RAN, RINDOU, KAKUCHO, DRAKEN, NAOTO JUJUTSU KAISEN GOJO, NANAMI BLUE LOCK SAE, RIN HAIKYUU KITA, OSAMU & your faves

(i have never been to disneyland before. 😹)

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