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lethalchiralium · 6 months

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Dial Tone | Happiness Series

a/n: here we go.

warnings: kidnapping, babies, mentions of pregnancy and sickness, mentions of violence. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+.

summary: It’s the afternoon, rain thundered against your home so you couldn’t hear the footsteps that backed you into a corner.

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“Repeat after me. Stay within sight.”

“Stay in sight!”

“Have fun.”

“Have fun!”

“Don’t play with boys.”

“That’s not fair!”

Simon smiled under his face mask at his four year old, her curly hair unruly after she pulled off the sock cap she demanded to wear earlier. “I’m kiddin’, love. But stay in sight of Mum or I.” He pulled her little hand, forcing her to come close before he pressed his cheek to her forehead. She squirmed and he let go, a mumbled, “Okay.” was the best he was gonna get from her.

Winnie ripped her light coat off, tossing it into her father’s lap before she sprinted away to play on the playground with the other kids her age. Simon watched her intently, detail in his memory how she smiled at every kid who passed her by. She’d wave, begin to speak, and play with whatever kid was in the closest vicinity. She certainly didn’t learn social expression from him.

He sat back on the bench, his spine prickled with displeasure as he tried to relax. It seemed to be reflex for him to be on edge - straightened back, clenched fists, jaw so tight it could be wired shut. It was windy, not too many parents weren’t out and about to let their children play on a Tuesday afternoon; school was in session, plus this park was off the beaten path. Hidden and safe, just how he preferred. There were about four kids playing with Winnie, only two sets of parents.

Your hand then settled on his thigh, warmth pooled in his belly as he looked down at your perfect hand. A bracelet gently hung from your wrist, your preferred metal with four colored gems. It was your latest gift from your husband, it meant so much to you - having the four birthstones of your family on it. He was proud of how you smiled when he gave it to you, upset that he made you cry - even if it was tears of joy. He settled his cold hand over yours, you laughed a little.

“Your hand’s freezing, Si.” Your shoulder pressed against his, his nose scrunched a little as you squeezed his thigh.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, moving to pressed a clothed kiss to your hair. “Didn’t think it’d be this cold. Shoulda worn gloves.” There was a small sneeze, Simon looked down at your lap to see Mellie, bundled up and warm as she watched her sister play. With his free hand, he poked her button nose - she giggled before she leaned back, trying to get a glimpse of him.

You squeezed his thigh again, watching your oldest like a hawk as you gently spoke, “I’ll hate you forever if you miss Winnie’s birthday party.”

Simon smirked. “I won’t.” He wouldn’t miss it for the world.

“Or your birthday party.”

He rolled his eyes, his good mood began to sour but he took in a breath, flushing it from his system. He always knew you mean well, even when you drop things like this, knowing he doesn’t want a party since he swore them off at nine. So, he changed the topic. “Why haven’t we had one for yours?”

“I’ve had plenty of them, Simon. You haven’t let me throw you one. And the ones you told me about, they weren’t good.” You rubbed his arm then looked up to him. With your best puppy eyes, you asked, “Please let me throw you one so I can show you how fun a birthday can be.”

“…Fine.”

“Thank you.” You placed a kiss right where his lips were - no matter the mask, you always knew where to kiss his lips. It’s like they were magnetized to fit his perfectly. “You know, there was this post I read the other day, talking about kindness and gentleness doesn’t need to be so flowery and gentle like the movies.” Your hand turned to hold his, linking your fingers together as you turned back to watch your daughter on the playground. Simon couldn’t tell keep his eyes off of you, hanging on every word you said. “And I thought about you.” There was a moment where Simon felt warmth flush his cheeks, his chest, his hand that held yours. “I think about my 21st birthday and how you made me cry when you walked in that restaurant, you were nervous and your tie a bit crooked - that was kindness.”

“That was love.” He corrected, his voice gentle and low. “I loved you since that day. You were so happy to see me.”

“I was. I always will be.” You squeezed his hand, the one you were never scared to hold. “I think about how you bring me things you thought I would like, and I always do. It’s like you’re in my head, like you know everything about me.”

Simon smiled under his face mask. Not the small smile he would usually show you, the cheek straining smile that would make your face ache after a while. “I always want to know everything about you.”

You sniffled a little, a small laugh left your lips. What he couldn’t see were the warm tears that threaded down your cheeks. “I didn’t spend too much time on the post because I thought about how you were cold to me when we first met. And how you have changed so much since then, in such little time. That…” You sniffled again, leaning your head to rest against his shoulder once more. “That I loved you enough for you to recognize that you’re safe with me.”

He squeezed your hand, pressing his cheek to your hair.

“Just like how you’ll always be safe with me.”

He let go of your hand, moving to settle it on Mellie’s chest - her little gloved hands instantly grabbed his fingers, moving to chew on one of them. He didn’t mind. Your hand squeezed his thigh again.

“Ten more minutes, then I want to go home.”

He nodded a little, cheek still pressed to your hair. “Whatever you want, my love.”

•••

You barely got any sleep. With a crying Mellie who wouldn’t settle down and a clingy Winnie, you were amazed you had gotten a wink of sleep when you woke up at 7am to a cry of discomfort from your baby.

You checked the time, noticing that you had a couple of notifications but tossing your phone back on your nightstand before pulling Mellie into your arms. Her little fingers scratched at your sleep shirt, which was one of Simon’s old shirts, and her little face was buried in your neck. Her forehead felt so much warmer than last night, you were almost instantly in the bathroom - with one hand, you wet a washcloth with cold water. A gentle movement of Mellie’s head and the wince of a cold washcloth on your neck gave you chills. You pulled it away from her nose and mouth, holding it to the top of her head to try and give her relief and cool down her temperature.

“Mama?”

You looked up to see Winnie sitting up on your bed, her hand rubbing her eye as she started to wake up.

“Yes, baby?” You asked, Mellie still crying on your chest.

“Wanna sleep more.” She toppled backwards, dragging your pillow over herself. If you weren’t so worried and tired, you would’ve cackled, you did give her a small laugh. You looked back down at your baby, whose little face was scrunched up as she cried. You were swift as you made your way out of your room and downstairs, hating that you were most likely waking everyone in the house-

“Morning.”

Laswell was already sitting at the kitchen table, coffee on a coaster as Roach sat beside her, eagerly scarfing down a bowl of Cheerios. You were startled a little, not used to more than just Simon in your home. You made your way to the medicine cabinet. “Sorry if she woke you guys up, she-“

Laswell interrupted you. “She’s fine. Don’t worry about her, she’s still a baby.”

That made your heart swell a bit, you whispered a gentle, “Thank you.” You grabbed her medicine, preparing her syringe of bitter liquid while you heard the front door open and close. Heavy boots that sounded nothing like your husband’s entered the kitchen, you didn’t even glance to know that it was König. He was taller and most likely heavier than Simon, so it made sense he would also be louder. You were sure he was making noise to ease your mind.

“Guten Morgen.” He spoke, Laswell mumbled something into her coffee as you sat the baby on the counter in front of you. She sat up, face still stained with tears and her wails turned into whines as you took her little hand - you administered the medicine, Mellie gave a sour look and her eyes swelled with tears again. Not long after, her whines turned into wails again. There was no winning.

You were quick when you grabbed a small snack for yourself, carrying your infant back upstairs. The only plan you had was to keep a cold cloth against her head and debate whether or not taking her into A&E was a good idea. She’s terrified of new people, she’s screaming and crying non-stop, you weren’t sure if the added stress of new people would do her any good. But at least she had some prospect of getting some relief from this.

You swiftly gathered a cold wash cloth, Mellie grabbing your hair and t-shirt in distress as you did, wailing. You didn’t react to the hair pulling, you squeezed the water out from the cloth into the sink before letting the small cloth rest on top of her head. The baby squirmed, squealed, and whined - but the wails instantly ceased. Her tear stained face looked up at you before she slammed it into your collarbone, you winced in pain. “There we go, girlie. That’s gotta feel good.”

Winnie was still passed out in the middle of your bed, snoring away. You brought your baby back towards the bed, sitting down on it so you could keep an eye on both of your girls. Whines escaped Mellie for a few more moments before she finally calmed down, your hand cradling her head and arm holding her to your chest. You kissed her head then leaned back onto your pillows, trying to fight the exhaustion in your body but it was too much. Your eyes fluttered closed with your five year old beside you and your almost one year old finally napping on your chest. With every breath, you felt more comfortable - even with how much your head and lungs hurt, you would always feel comfortable when your girls slept beside you.

•••

“Paying attention, LT?” Gaz whispered from beside your husband. Ghost threw him a dirty look in a casual side eye, going back to marking up his map as Price continued to present on the mission. Ghost’s phone was in his hand, he was waiting for a call or text from you, like you usually do. It’s not abnormal for you to forget, Mellie can get clingy and he knows first hand how demanding Winnie can get.

“More than you are, Sergeant.” He answered, pencil dragging across a section of London suburbs where the target was likely to be hiding. Brent and Tower Hamlets. He vividly remembered finding his father on the streets in Tower Hamlets, fucked on some drug but still conscious to recognize that his thirteen year old son shouldn’t be in London. Simon still has that scar on his forehead from how hard his father hit him that night. The pencil skritch-ed around in a circle, those two suburbs seemed the right area the target would hide in. Easily to slip in and out of alleyways, a lot of drug activities and violent crime. When you’re an outcasted former Russian Mob drug mule, you can’t exactly sip the finest champagne on a balcony in The Ritz.

There was something bugging him in his head. Something he was missing. He had gone through his Ghost rituals in the car on the way to base, then on the plane to the small Piccadilly Circus safe house. Simon was not even a thought in his mind, nothing about Simon’s life was supposed to be distracting him - yet, all he could think about throughout this meeting was you.

How scared you must have been, giving birth to Mellie alone all those months ago. How hurt you were when you had lost your son. How happy you were that Simon finally got to know that you were pregnant again. How you were graceful in knowing he was leaving again. How he could recognize the pain in your eye when he told you, how his heart felt like it was being repeatedly stabbed when he watched you fight back tears.

Simon loved you. Ghost was not meant to love. He was meant to be a soulless monster, but after the nine months he spent at home with you and his children, the lines between Ghost and Simon Riley seem to bleed together. Where the mask couldn’t cover seemed to stay the devoted husband and father, while underneath the fabric balaclava, Ghost was ready to find his prey like the hunter he was.

“Dismissed.” Price’s voice broke Ghost from his thoughts, he instantly closed his folder of information and stood. He shuffled out of the briefing room, his hand crept to his phone in his pocket.

One phone call wouldn’t hurt.

•••

You felt nauseous when you woke up, but it passed easily after you sat in your dry bathtub, cheek to the wall of it. Maybe Mellie’s cold was passing, you wouldn’t be able to function if morning sickness caught you this time. You narrowly escaped it with Mellie and with your miscarried son, so you were genuinely praying you wouldn’t be throwing up every chance your body had for the next three months. Your baby monitor sat in your hand, Mellie was placed in her crib around 9am when she finally cried herself to sleep.

Laswell and Roach had taken Winnie to the park after lunch, which Laswell was gracious enough to make. It seemed the three operators were comfortable in your home, it made the stress of it all seem to ease. König stayed behind, stating that he was here to help with Mellie - which you thanked him but told him it wasn’t necessary. He had a job to do, which was to protect your family until the whole… whatever was blowing over. You weren’t sure if it was necessary that they were there, but after coming face to face with your supposedly non-existent father-in-law, the added security was more than welcome.

You only had one more day until the doctor’s appointment, you had given yourself by mid-afternoon to decide to take your daughter to A&E to get checked out sooner. If she got worse, you’d pack up your self, your baby, and your security detail and go. But now, you were cleaning up Winnie’s room. Making her bed, putting away what little toys she had gotten out.

It seemed like last week that you were putting a ten month old Winnie down for a nap, nestled in her Winnie the Pooh themed nursery. Now her soft yellow walls were a soft green, a color Winnie begged for to her father. He bent with little resistance, now she gets to hang her drawings of flowers and dinosaurs on her green walls. It wouldn’t be long before Simon would paint Mellie’s room whatever color she wanted, then the last upstairs room from its nursery yellow to your last baby’s favorite color. Your hands gripped Winnie’s duck patterned comforter, tucking it up to her pink pillow. You patted the soft object, just reminiscing on how much your life had changed in such little time.

There was barely any time for you to rest in your daughter’s room before you heard your baby begin to cry. You rose to your feet, moving out of Winnie’s room and crossing directly into Mellie’s nursery - where a cool breeze brushed through the room. Your eyebrows furrowed.

The window was open.

Mellie had stood up in her crib, hands gripped onto the side and screaming, face full of little tears. You were over to her in only three strides, pulling her up into your arms. She was still so warm, you were very worried now - you bounced your baby on your hip for just moment before you made a move towards the changing table. “Oh baby, baby, Mama’s gonna help.”

You tried to lay her on the table but she rolled towards you, still screaming and crying like someone was burning her ears off. “I know, honey, give Mama just a second-“

Something in your head clicked. Your hands instantly picked up your daughter, running your hand over her hair to try and smooth her as panic settled into the center of your chest. You needed to hold her, something in your body demanded you keep your hold on your daughter.

The window was open. When it wasn’t before. You did not open it, you would have heard her door opening on the baby monitor if König had come up to open a window. You never even thought it could be opened, you never tried. You took a step back, going to turn towards the door of the nursery. If you get downstairs quick enough, you may be able to warn König to tell Laswell and Roach not to come back. To keep Winnie away.

There was a loud thud from downstairs, your heartbeat in your throat as you heard it again and again and again. The air around you turned cold, goose flesh invaded your skin as you held your breath, waiting for König to come upstairs and tell you it was a false alarm. Mellie’s crying was loud in your ear, but the voice that came from downstairs was deafening.

“Y/N! RUN!”

You took one look towards the door and solid metal was pressed against the back of your head. Your body went still, your daughter screaming in pain right next to your ear. You heard a gunshot muffled by the walls of your home, your eyes squeezed shut as you cradled your daughter closer. With your heartbeat in your throat, you heard a low growl,

“Don’t move.”

••••

Simon pulled the phone away from his ear, watching the time begin to tick as your voicemail began to play.

“Hey love, I know you probably napping with the baby but jus’ wanted to check on ‘er. And you. Love you, see you soon.”

He settled the phone down on the table of the mess hall, a late lunch was what he was used to with planning extensive missions. Price gave him a curious look from across the table. “You usually don’t call her.”

“I know.” He answered, metal fork pushing around mushy peas on the tray. Something was scraping away in his chest, he couldn’t place the feeling.

“The girls will be fine.” Price assured Simon, taking a bite out of his stew. “There’s two operators and Laswell there. If anything were to happen, your girls would be safe.”

Simon glared at Price. “Still don’t appreciate being called in from my paternity leave.” The fork pierced a piece of cut up potato, eyes never leaving Price’s face.

“You didn’t have to agree.”

“If I didn’t, I’d get a disciplinary.” Simon took a bite of the stale potato, it was bland and soggy. “Can’t exactly lose my only income for my family.”

The table jostled as Soap ripped a chair out from beside Ghost, he didn’t even react as Soap dropped into his seat and his tray clattered onto the table. He began to chatter with Price, a happy smile on his lips and he ripped apart his bread roll to place on half on Simon’s tray. Simon took his phone back into his hand, opening it to a picture of his daughters. He gazed at it, tracing the shadow on your hand as it held up Mellie - your engagement and wedding rings glittered in the sunlight. He could remember that small smile on your face from that picture.

There’s no need to worry. They’ll be fine.

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screaminglygay · 7 months

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KINKTOBER day 4

pairing: witch!wanda x fem!reader

summary: trick or treat? definitely a treat!

warnings: smut!!!, dark!wanda, dubcon!!, anal, overstimulation, edging, grooping, kinda voyeurism, inserting tentacles, over all dark themes! if you find anything else - I’ll add it!

words count: 3.6k

an: to be honest im not really sure what i did here, umm this fic was written with the biggest block ever, so I do apologize, also it wasn’t proofread, so yeah

(italics = your thoughts)

!MDNI!

Enjoy this spooky time and be safe!

"I´m coming! Just a minute," was heard on the other side of the door as soon as you knocked. Every second bring your body more anxiety, so you try to shake it off by fidgeting with your ring.

After few minutes the door finally opens - and a pretty tall lady, with red hair and aboslutely georgous black dress smiles at you. Your eyes scan her whole look under a second and you look back into her eyes. Her emerald green eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, glisten with a captivating emotion. Her gaze is drawing you in with a mysterious charm. These stunning green eyes seem to reflect the beauty, but also the mystery that comes with the readhead infront of you.

"Trick or treat!" you say as you smile back at her.

"Oh sweetheart," now it´s her turn to look you up and down. Her smile is raplaced by a confusion. "um... and what are you supposed to be?" The redhead tilts her head.

"I- uh a witch." You try to answer with confidence, as you bring your wand up to show her your full fit.

You wouldn´t win an award for the best costume this Halloween, but you tried and everything is homemade, so you should definitely get some bonus points for that. Full black outfit with some spider webs around your torso sounded like a good idea, but maybe it was really hard to tell who are you trying to be.

"Oh- i see now." She nods, but you can see the disappointment in her face. She throws some candy into your bag, but you notice right away that it was only a licorice sweets, which is the worst thing she could give you. "Where is the rest of your group?" She asks as she looks behind you as if she´s waiting for someone else to come.

"Uh... it´s just me. No one wanted to go with me, since they think my outfit sucks." You sigh as you look down, deep down feeling like they might be right.

"Oh no, sweetheart. None of that." She steps closer and her soft fingers touches your chin, lifting it for you to make eye contact with her. "How about I´ll help you with your outfit and at the end of the night you´ll have every candy you ever dreamed off?" Her fingers gently caressing your chin.

"Really?" Your eyes spark with excitement. So much excitement.

"Come on in." The redhead let go of your chin and steps away from the door so you can come inside.

"Thank youuu-" Your eyes met hers again.

"Please call me Wanda." She smiles.

"Thank you, Wanda." You smile back.

As you come inside you can notice that her house is magnificent, everywhere you look you can see architectural details and many ornate decorations, especially on the stairs. It feels kinda like a labyrinth of richly hued tapestries, ornamental vases, and mirrors that capture the light just perfectly. Every corner of the house is a organized, with towering bookshelves that look like a billion dollars worth collection of books, with lots of knowlage in them. The overall ambiance is like a old charm, a sensations of history and elegance. To be honest you wouldn´t be shocked if an 150 old lady lived here, not a beautiful young lady like Wanda.

"Ohh so you like witches too?" You look through her library, reading some of her book titles.

Spells - and everything that comes with them, Spreading your power, Flying around the world: positions, Potions - third edition (extremly addicting)...

Wanda hums as she watches you being interest in her books. "I wrote most of them myself." She says, her voice was still sweet, but you could hear the little harsh tone she added to it, raspy growl with an accent, once subtle and charming, and now pronounced and intense. But you couldn´t put the accent anywhere, maybe somewhere in Europe? East? West? You really didn´t know where to point.

"So you´re an author?" You turn to her.

"You could say that, yeah." Wanda nods.

"That is so cool," you mumbled as something weird and pitch black caught your eye. It was a really dark book, more like a journal that definetly had some history, "what´s that?" you took it from the shelf.

"That is a something like my personal journal." The readhead steps closer to you.

"Oh sorry, I didn´t meant to invade your privacy!" Her hand fall on yours as you wanted to put the book back, where you took it.

"It´s okay, I don´t have any secrets. You can read it." Wanda smiles again.

As you open the book you notice that even her handwriting is so neat and beautiful. It suits her somehow, but as you continue to flip the pages her writing went from tall and pretty to harsh and short. Reading few sentences seem like a good idea, since you had Wanda´s approval. Your face went from smile to confussion real quick. But then it hit you. The woman infront of you you, known as Wanda, is a witch. Despite this revelation, you find yourself not scared but rather intrigued by the truth.

This whole time Wanda was looking at you, waiting for you to speak first.

"So... you´re also a witch?" You try to ease the situations by a joke.

"Also?" She chuckles. "Darling, this poor outfit looks on you more like a trash bag then a costume." Her words hurts. More than you want to admit.

Is my outfit really that shitty?

"Do you want an honest answer, sweetheart?" She steps closer.

Oh so she can read minds now, great.

"I can do more than just read minds." Her accent is very strong by now.

"I- can you not read my mind?" You look at her, noticing she got really close to you.

"Your thoughts are really loud, sweetheart. It´s kinda hard to resist." She almost whispers.

Are they? I can´t think- how do i stop thinking? Oh she´s really close. I don´t mind that. Fuck. (Y/N), not now. I would take her. On a walk, definetly on a walk. No in other way.

Wanda just laughs at your poor tries at calming down your thoughts. "Im glad you´re not afraid of me. That will ease things."

What things? Am I afraid? No. Maybe a little. Who knows? She does.

"Well helping with your new outfit, silly. Which will also help you make more sweets throughout the night."

"Oh! Right!" You nod, immediately following her to her living room, you guess.

You both enter the living room, a space illuminated by the warm, flickering light of few lit candles. Your eyes caught a few wine glasses, each bearing the mark of different shades of lipstick on the enormous wooden table. However, your attention remains fixed on Wanda, who is eager to assist you in making your new Halloween costume.

"Sit over there and I´ll bring some stuff." Wanda smiles and with that she leaves the living room.

You get bored very easily so not even after two minutes you´re on your feet again, glancing around the room. Your eyes are drawn to a paintings adorning the walls. Each canvas is a totally different theme. A dark landscape with rolling hills and a small lake makes you to step into its peaceful scene. Beside it, a bold, abstract burst with vibrant colors, evoking a sense of energy and excitement, which is something you definitely wouldn´t put in a place like this. The figurative portrait of a dark figure seems to watch over the place, which freaks you out a little, since you feel like it´s watching every single one of your steps, even though you can´t really see its face. As you watch these paintings, you don´t even hear Wanda come back.

"I thought I told you to sit over there." Her tone was once again very harsh, which made you feel like a kid that didn´t listen to their mother.

"Sorry, I was just admiring art." You shrug as you sit back, where you were in the first place.

Wanda didn´t say anything, she just started to take things from her bag and list through a book. "Here it is! This will definitely earn you bags full of sweets." She looks at you. "If you´re still in?"

"Yes, of course!" You nod and before you even fully stand up Wanda push you back down with her magic. "Oh wow, that was... so cool." You smile as you notice the red mist flying around.

Wanda smiles at your fascination and comes closer to you. "I need you to close your eyes and trust me, can you do that?" She tilts her head.

"Yes, Wanda. I can do that, if I´ll have a lots of sweets by the end of the night, I will do it!" Your eyes are sparking with bigger excitement than before as you imagine all the chocolate you will eat.

"Okay." She helps you lay down on the couch, which feels really soft on your skin and it makes you close your eyes instantly. "Good, just no matter what, I need you to have your eyes closed, I want it to be surprise." Wanda´s whispers trailing right down your spine.

"I love surprises, I will keep my eyes closed, I promie. Pinky promise!" With your closed eyes you held out a pinky. Almost punching her in the face, but she quickly dodge it. Wanda just smiles at your antics and extends her pinky to make a promise with you.

It took you one more shift on the couch to feel fully comfortable. "I´m ready." You mumble to let Wanda know, even though she can read your mind. Right after the magic start to float around once again.

You feel a lot of silly sensations right away, it feels like a tickling, which in fact makes you giggle out loud. "Tickles!" You say between the laughs.

"I know, it will be just a minute, darling." She smirks, knowing that the tickling feeling is just her magic taking your clothes fully off. At the same time Wanda reagulates your body tempeture with her spells, so you don´t feel even the slightest changes.

The ticklings stops and you fully relax on the couch again, taking a deep breath in and out. Nothing is happening for a few minutes, so it´s very tempting to open your eyes and look what´s going on.

Did she left? Um... should I-

"Absolutly not! If you can´t keep your eyes closed I´ll help you with that too, since I believe you can´t do anything on your own." Wanda scoffs and slides a blindfold over your head. Even if you tried opening your eyes now, you would see pitch black.

The spells and magic start to float around again, red mist tangling around your body. Wanda just sits in her fluffy chair on the other side of the living room. Glass with red wine in her hand as she watches you with hunger in her eyes.

As you open your mouth to talk, you let out a moan. You suddenly feel a warm rush of embarrassment wash over you, your cheeks turning a shade of crimson. It's as if a spotlight has been directed on your momentary lapse, and you can sense the weight of her eyes on you. You fumble for words and wish for a way to disappear into the floor, but the awkwardness lingers.

You feel something touching your body, something that is soft, yet very hard. A delightful sensation begins to spread across your entire body, as if invisible hands are gently caressing your skin. It's like a soothing, expertly executed massage, relaxation and comfort. This wave of bliss sweeps through you, releasing tension and stress with every touch, and you surrender to the embrace of calm that envelops you.

What the hell is that?

"What is what, darling?" Wanda asks, you can hear her voice on the other side of the room, so she can´t be the one touching you. "Oh that? It is just measuring spell, for your outfit to fit perfectly, sweetheart."

"O-okay." You kinda whine out. "I thought that-"

"Oh don´t be silly!" She laughs. "Just stay still." She adds with her raspiness again.

You´re staying still as much as you can. The sensations coursing through your body are unraveling the knots of tension that once held you captive. Muscle melting into a state of pure relaxation. Each touch seems to release a sigh of relief from deep within, and you sink further into a state of blissful repose. "I need you to be relaxed, otherwise it´s not going to fit, darling." Wanda adds.

Fit? Fit what?

"All the accessories." Once again she answer your inner question.

Wanda felt like you were ready and like you can and will take whatever she give you as a addiction to your costume.

You can feel something spreading your legs a bit and moving you little of the couch. The warm feeling never leaving your body, it´s the other way around actually, it´s just increasing. It’s weird how come you can feel a touch all around your body, when Wanda is on the other side of the room. You can hear her cutting out some cloth and time to time her soft humming.

"Oh my god-" you yelp as you can feel something wet between your legs.

How come I´m this wet? Did I pee myself? Oh my god! What is going on?

"Everything okay, darling?" Wanda asks as she´s looking at your hips, slowly going up and down. Your pussy is leaking and she didn´t even touch you.

"Yes! All good!" You´re hoping you´re just feeling things, but Wanda would already say something if things wouldn´t be okay. So it is just silly feelings. Oh you know what it is, it´s the little axienty from being blindfolded, now it make sense. You’re just anxious.

Wanda listen to your thoughs as she´s having the time of her life. It´s time for the actual fun to begin. She extends her hands, conjuring four crimson, ethereal tentacles of pure energy. These serpentine tentacles undulate, glowing with the passionate and dangerous red hue, slowly extending toward their target, you. It's a captivating display of Wanda's magical skills, a vivid manifestation of her power.

As each of them lay on you, you can feel a little wetness, that sticks to you right away. It feels... good. Really good. Whatever measuring device this is, you want to feel it in you-

'Your wish is my command' is Wanda´s first thought. One of the tentacles are slowly teasing you on your inner thighs. Moving slowly up and down your leg. "I need to measure your thighs, darling. Just to make sure your costume is the perfect size. Just give me a moment." She say from the other corner of the room, sipping on her wine.

How come I can feel her, when she´s over there?

Your thoughts are quickly swap away as you feel something really hard enter your already drenched pussy. And before you can think things through, you felt absolutely nothing in your head, just pleasure. The world seems to align perfectly with Wanda´s and yours desires, creating a warm and euphoric feeling, gentle you could say. Or moan at the current state your in.

You feel like your in a dream. A very good one may Wanda add.

The enormous thing is going in and out of you like it was nothing. Wanda´s eyes are on you as she watches in awe how you didn´t resist at all. How naive you´ve been the whole time. How come little thing like you survived for such a long time in this cruel and scary world by yourself? It´s a miracle and Wanda already knows she can´t risk your well being any much longer. It is just the right time for someone to take care of you. And she´s doing a really good job at it.

As you think nothing can make you feel better, you feel the same wetness that is going in and out of you, sliding up and down your ass. Subconsciously you move, so your in better position for whatever is coming. And trust Wanda, there is always something coming.

It´s way slower and more gentle. Your mind is waiting only for one thing, a slight push. But Wanda wants to tease you for little bit, she wants your body to beg for it, when your head is too foggy to do so. You don´t feel embarrassed anymore, you don´t care. You need everything that Wanda will give you.

Wanda is still sipping on her wine as she watches you struggle, but she is feeling generous tonight, especially when she found you in this poor state, scared, weak, but mostly alone with no one who would saved you, but that will change, starting tonight at this moment.

She let her magic finally push in. As one tentacle is going in and out your pussy at the speed of light, the other one is sliding out of your ass so slow, that you start to move your hips for more. The third tentacle is slowly making its way to your clit, making you feel overstimulated.

And if Wanda was afraid you´ll be overthinking too much, now she knows you won´t ever think again. The sight of you, ruining her expensive couch with your juices is something she will make you do often. Because this is what you´ve been made to do.

You´re close and your voice is cracking from all the screaming you did tonight, Wanda finally stands up, putting her glass on the table and walks over to you, her hand finally touching you and going up and down your stomach as her red tentacles doing their own job. When her hand touches you, it's like a soothing embrace, that is also very harsh. You can feel the warmth radiating from her touch. In that moment, the outside world fades completly away, leaving you with the sensation of her touch.

She knows your close and she would love to see you fall apart, but she knows she can´t rush things. So after few squeezes of your tits and light pinch to each of your nipples, she stops. Completely. Everything. All of her magic disappearing and she makes a step back.

If you´d had any energy left you would scream, but right now, you´re just shaking on her couch. As the cold sensation envelops you, it's as if a thick dark fog descends upon your mind. The chill seeps into your thoughts, causing confusion and a sense of detachment. This cold, fuzzy feeling blurs your senses and creates an unsettling disconnect from the warmth and clarity you once knew. This is totally different from your fuzzy mind before, because at that time you were in pleasure, but now? You don´t have even that.

After a few minutes of you just laying there Wanda takes off your blindfold and you´re back in some clothes, that feels very soft. You blink a few times.

"What´s wrong, darling? You don´t like the new costume I made you?" She shushes you and wipe your falling tears. You look down, touching your new outfit, that honestly looks way better than the one you made yourself. You've got a long, black, flowing dress and a purple cloak with cool silver designs next to you. "I assumed you wouldn´t want a hat, since you didn´t had one earlier. But I made you this..." She gave you a small version of her pitch black journal.

"I- um..." You´re still shaken up from what happened before.

But what even happened before?

"You fell asleep, silly. It was hard to put those on, but look at you now!" Wanda smiles.

I slept?

"You had an intesne dream?" Wanda looks at you with concern and all you could do is just nod.

After a few minutes of complete silence Wanda comes back with a big bag full of sweets.

"Oh my god!" And your little mind is now occupied with sweets. Everything is good now.

"It´s all yours... like I´ve said. Your new outfit will make you bag full of your favorites." Wanda smiles and hands you the bag.

"Oh my god, thank you!" You take it without a beat.

"No, I thank you, darling. You know where to find me if you want more." Wanda winks and you feel this ache between your legs.

"I- uh huh." You nod once again.

As Wanda closed the door behind you, she knew right away, that you will be back soon. She needs you to come back by yourself, if she captured you now, it wouldn’t do a single good. And till that time, her magic will follow you everywhere, to make sure her new thing is safe. And that your mind is always occupied by really important things.

Wanda comes into the living room to clean, she looks at the couch that is still very wet and as she´s in her head a group of people appears behind her.

"How the hell do you always do this, Maximoff?" A tall blonde asks with jealousy in her voice.

"You always have the most naive ones and they literally come to you!" Other lady snarks.

Wanda smiles and turns around. "Well I think that this one will be open for some sharing. Literally." She smirks at her own joke.

Knock knock.

Wanda opens the door and to her surprise it´s you.

"Hai, um... i was thinking- I really like this one chocolate, but i found only one in the bag you gave me so uh, do you have maybe another one? I can trade it for something!" You smile at her.

Wanda is just looking at you with smile on her face. As you came way sooner and she doesn’t know what to say.

"Of course! We have plenty of those here and we will happily trade it with you for something else!" The blonde one almost pushed Wanda out of the way.

"Great! Thanks!" You happily walked back in.

Let´s just say, that after that night you had every sweet you ever wished for. And they had their own.

Oooof this was something. I need to get my writing spirit back, cuz this ain’t it.

Anyways thank you for reading!!!

#adele writes #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #kinktober 2023 #day four #witch!wanda #marvel universe

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bones4thecats · 2 months

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Their S/O Is Related To Their Enemy

Type of Writing: Random Idea Name: Their S/O Is Related To Their Enemy Characters: Toffee of Septarsis, Bill Cipher, and Lord Hater Idea-Giver: Random Thoughts

A/N: Much like with my Vivziepop pieces, I will have the species of the reader underneath their header images. I had no ideas for HIM since I couldn't find a good connection for a reader and him in the relation to the girls context. I hope you do like this first creation of mine! Have great rests of your nights/days!

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Mewman! Reader ; Big Sibling of Moon Butterfly and Aunt of Star Butterfly

☄️ As the eldest child of Queen Comet Butterfly and Count Lazlo Marmalade of Lushreach, you were always held into high regards when it came to political affairs

☄️ While your parents mainly handled the more detailed affairs, you would watch over Moon as she aged. From looking over her when she was a toddler till when she grew old enough to organize herself into the many issues your kingdom faced

☄️ During those many years, you had held her hand throughout every single hardship that came her way. And you planned to hold her hand throughout this war that the Mewmans and Monsters faced

☄️ And even during these kind of dire situations, you always stayed strong to your family. But, when your mother and father decided to pass you up for your sister, saying she would fit better as the ruler, you snapped

☄️ You knew the only reason they chose her was because she was more like them; close minded on Monsters and Mewmans regaining trust in one another. While you were far more accepting and willing to work with the Monsters

☄️ Jumbling up all your stuff and jumped down from your room's window before sliding and sneaking outside with expect parkour practice, you landed by the woods and looked back at your sister's window, seeing the light turn off

" I am so sorry, Moon... but I cannot stay in such a corrupted land any longer... "

☄️ During your expedition to find some kind of Monster civilization, you had dodged many forced from your kingdom, each speaking of how your family needed you back home, much to your annoyance

☄️ It was during this travel that you came across an injured Septarsis, one that you learned the name of, Toffee. And, during your many years of living alongside one another, you shared your life stories, from your childhoods to your wishes, it was all out in the open to show your trust

☄️ Toffee wasn't very big on the royal family, viewing the abuse of power they held as illogical, and eventually viewing the magic they hold as overkill. But, for some weird reason, you didn't bother him

☄️ And he had to admit, watching the little offspring of his enemy Moon Butterfly look at you in shock as she tried fighting her blood made him smirk

" Uhm- Toffee? Why are you smiling at this? Isn't Y/N supposed to be just grabbing the wand and coming back here? " " Oh, you'll understand in a few seconds... "

☄️ Star was trying not to harm you, sending minor spells at you, trying to just knock you on your butt so she could just ask you why you had left and why you were siding with Ludo and the rest of his gang

☄️ Once she did, she was shocked to see that the markings on your cheeks, the ones that matched your mother's, but they were faded and covered with thin-lined x's

☄️ You then burst up and kicked the young girl away, bidding farewell as you pocked your cheek and stuck your tongue out mockingly before winking at where the camera laid for Toffee and the forces to see

" I-Is she...? " " I told you. You would find out soon... now! Y/N, I would like to congratulate you on retrieving such an important tool; Star's mistrust of her mother. Good job, my royal. "

☄️ Smirking at your husband, you pecked his cheek and looked at the boys as you handed Ludo a small portion of magic sealed from Star's wand, and just this amount would be good for now

☄️ Toffee then looked at your marks, which slightly glowed with magic... how troublesome could it be if that little brat got to your mind? He didn't want to even think of that...

Human! Reader ; Older Cousin of Dipper and Mabel Pines (Early-30s)

👁️ Being only a baby when the incident occurred between your father, Stanford Pines, and your uncle, Stanley Pines, you had often questioned the point of why there were so many weird things happening in your small town

👁️ Gravity Falls always had small details that made no sense to you, and as you grew up being raised by your money-obsessed uncle, you had written these things down in a journal that you had numbered 4 with a hand-print that, by what your uncle said, was your father's

👁️ You always had these small visions growing up, from seeing some kind of weird gnomes around the woods to seeing a kind of large minotaurs (which were supposedly called 'MAN-otaurs for some reason?)

👁️ But none of those compared to the small triangle man that appeared in your dreams and would mess around with you from time to time as you grew older

👁️ And, when your little cousins, Dipper and Mabel Pines, had come by to spend the summer at the Mystery Shack with you and your uncle, these visions seemed to happen more often and get more and more vivid

👁️ This 'demon' has you labeled him, had been caught by you staring at your cousins as they slept for weeks, and because of the worry you felt for the two, you began to lose sleep, alarming your family and friends

👁️ Eventually, after being scolded by Stanley and having been forced by Mabel and Wendy to lay down for at least a couple hours, you had fallen into a deep rest as Mabel's pig, Waddles, laid beside you

👁️ You had awoken inside of a dark field, one that you had been in multiple times beforehand, and hearing the very light-sounding maniacal laughter of a triangle demon you called a 'friend', you turned around

👁️ A flaming yellow triangle appeared and allowed the 'one-eyed Dorito' as you called him to be summoned

👁️ He adjusted his bowtie and floated with his cane leaning against literal air as you groaned and motioned for him to come nearby, making him laugh and ask if you missed him

" Oh, I didn't miss you par say... I just missed doing THIS! "

👁️ Wrapping your arms around his frame you wrestled the three-sided demon into the grass and made him laugh at your actions, his arms and legs flaying about to try swatting you away without any use of his powers

👁️ Once you finally stopped wrestling the demon, or rather, stopped wrestling Bill, he had popped his hat of his head and began to ask you the questions you always said you had no comment on

" So, about the two flesh-bags your related too. " " You mean my cousins? Dipper and Mabel? " " Yeah! Pine Tree and Shooting Star! They've been getting far too close to my plans, and you know what happens to those who get too close. They go- "

👁️ Holding his palm up to the sky, he made a small figurine of an unknown man before lifting his opposite hand and smashing it, making a paint-like substance flay onto yours and his 'faces'

" SPLAT! And, I know how much you care about those life-forms. Now, since your father and uncle aren't in my reach anymore, I figured that you could talk to them about maybe taking a couple days off from monster-hunting, y'know, and allow me to work on this more~ " " Bill. We've talked about this once and we've talked about it a million times- " " Actually more like 7, but go on... " " A million times. Anyone with a somewhat functioning brain like Old Man McGucket's can notice how stubborn they- well, Dipper is on unraveling this town. It'd take a miracle to show him enough to get him to back away from his mission. " " Yeah, a miracle. Interesting point, human. "

👁️ Cocking an eyebrow and holding your hand out as if to grab something, Bill narrowed and widened his one eye largely as a small cat with silver hair and yellow highlights appeared in your hands, obviously with one eye that's colors were opposite (white <--> black)

👁️ Smiling and petting the demonic-looking feline, you looked back at Bill and held the cat as he made a ball of yarn to play with the animal, underneath his eye a small pink flush growing

👁️ You were by-far the most entertaining human he had ever met- even if you were related to that traitorous man you had to call your father

Alien / Star-Nomad! Reader ; Wander's Older Sibling and Main Guardian

⚡ Your younger brother is a very energetic being, and if you were for certain, you'd call him the most energetic being in the whole Universe

⚡ You had spent most of your life watching over your brother as he and his friend, Sylvia, spread themselves around the many different worlds during their travels. With you being the one who had to get them out of many bad situations

⚡ But, a few years prior, you had given the two permission to travel on their own, meaning they could not afford to get into massive trouble since you wouldn't be there

⚡ They had been doing well as you traveled on your own, and during one of your more random leaps to another world, you had met a small eyeball with a tiny body who called himself 'Commander Peepers'

⚡ You had stared at the guy and cocked an eyebrow and heard a yell of Peeper's name, making you both look up in shock, though yours was hidden far better

" L-Lord Hater! To what do I owe the pleasure? " " You owe everything to this pleasure! Also, we're out of cheese dip. "

⚡ The cloaked man had looked up at you and lightly tilted his head before looking down at you and furrowing his eyebrows in both frustration and confusion

" Who is this, Peepers? " " I'm not sure myself, Sir. They had just appeared out of nowhere. " " You! Who are you?! " " I'm Y/N. Intergalactic Traveler. "

⚡ Lord Hater looked at you up and down, you looked like what the average Star-Nomad would appear, but you had a height advantage, maybe being a couple heads shorter than the Lord himself

⚡ You looked right back at him and scoffed lightly before asking him such a bold and broad question that not many would dare ask on that planet

" Why do you look like some kind of rock-emo with a deep voice? "

⚡ Commander Peepers looked at you in shock and back at Lord Hater, fear consuming his soul as he wondered one thing and one thing alone; How in the name of everything did you just ASK him that?!

⚡ Lord Hater began to chuckle and smirk at you, his skeleton eye glaring at you as they glowed lighter green in irritation

" Why do you look like some kind of wannabe villain? "

⚡ So, to sum it up, your first meeting wasn't the best one...

⚡ But, after a few more attempts to be civil to one another landed you a part as a new member of the Hater Army, your spot laying alongside Commander Peepers, though you were more of a spy than anything

⚡ And life was doing pretty well, you and Lord Hater had begun to court and try getting your traits to collide and mix well with your new lives together as Peepers had to keep you from snapping the hot-head's neck every week

⚡ When Wander, the brother that you had sent away, came back and found you alongside Lord Hater, his eyes sparkled; had you found someone that you loved like him?!

⚡ Sylvia and Hater do not get along at all, only putting up with one another for you and Wander, since they both knew how dear you guys were to one another

⚡ Commander Peepers and you always have to keep Hater from jumping up and trying to kill Wander for his antics, such as trying to play tag with him, resulting in you taking the day off and heading to a nearby planet

⚡ He and Wander see each other far differently

⚡ Wander adores your lover, whenever you ask him what he thinks of the Lord, he always laughs and gives you an honest and optimistic opinion as you smile and laugh at his small story of his last game with him

⚡ Hater on the other hand, does not share well things. Instead, it results in him whining about how annoying your younger brother was, and that turns into a sob story of a failed accomplishment, which led to him being curled in your lap with a large pink blanket around his frame

⚡ While they may not have the best bond, Hater can put up with your brother if it means you'll stay by his side. You're the best thing he had ever held to himself, alongside his planetary conquers of course!

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sillybond · 7 months

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As a send of here's my compilation of every detail/gag or pretty much everything that I loved about the Fionna and Cake finale.

First off, the lighthearded stuff.

First of all. That's Hunter!!! We finally get to see HW gender-swapped counterpart's design. Gotta say I love that they kept it the same, it does feel like it could fit anyone.

Talking about him, I LOVE that they are finally adding him to the gang. I didn't expect him to be so prevalent in the finale, but I couldn't be happier! It seems like the crew has finnaly learned to apreciate HW and they are inserting her (even if it's Hunter) whenever they can.

All the raw emotion of the lich would have been unheard of at any other point in AT's history. The depression and hopelessnes, such human emotions were amazing to explore in him. He poses himself as a "ceesless weel" a god-like beeing of pure destruction, but even he neels when he realices it was all for nothing.

For some time I theorized that Golb (and subsequently Golbetty) was, in fact, Scarabs and Prismo's Boss. Kind of like a ultimate deity, high up on the pantheon. But seeing how Scarab adresses her in such a careles way, emphasizing that she should "stay out of this" made me think about the real power dinamic between thees two. And thus, of the whole multiverse bureocracy.

This tittle card rips me apart. It's briming with thematic importance. But I feel so many emotions simply beacuse it says cheers, it's like a send-off, a happy cheerfull goodbye to all of us who enjoyed this show. It made me tear up a bit when I first saw it.

For thoose who aren't aware Pawn Swan's was created by Steven Wolfhard after CAWM alongside the pup kingdom. He has in his tumblr a gigantic amount of lore about it. I'm sooo happy they finally got to use his ideas and designs. Many of the pups seen all trought Shermy and Beth's sequence were in his drawings too. So go check that out!

I'm a complete sucker for happy endings and THIS was PERFECTION. I simply connot describe how much I obsolutely LOVE that they are able to comunicate and talk. it's just perfect, this show has me spoiled-rotten.

In pure Marceline fashion Marshal tries playing another song. And Gary is soo into this man it's unreal

But, also in pure Marceline fashion, he gets interupted. It kind of reminded me about Marceline's song to Bonny in Obsidian. But it's kind of the oposite outcome, Scarab isn't affected by it at all while Glorbo is finaly delt with.

Talking about Simon being happy. I'm just so glad that he has been able to reconect with Astrid!!! This man is such a DAD, I love him :,)

Before Fionna's world was finaly canonized we can see that it really just amounts to the city. Which makes sense because if you are trying to put a whole world in a dude's head, you are going to have to cut some stuff out.

Anyways, after they are made legit we can see that the city has expanded! And I also assume that now there's not only a city, but a whole world too!!

This really came as a surprise honeslty, but a welcomed one at that. I assume that since Jay agrees to stay in the city, even if it's not forever, Farmworld Finn must be fine. It doesn't make any sense for him to drop his 4 little brothers just to screw around in another universe.

The only sad part is that, since we don't see neither PB nor Marcy in the tank that means they are probably dead. In the end it does seem like they took eachothers life, together.

Now onto the heavy stuff!

"This is the world we want to fight for. The Scarab is kind of invincible. But we won't give up. If we die, we'll die together, as ourselves"

This cuts deep. At this moment Fionna was ready to die. She acknowledges that she had tried everything she could and that, in a way, it was her fault. But she also understands that this is what it is. And she's ready to depart. In what she thought were her last moments she found happines in thoose and that around her. Magic or not, they were all together, and that's what mattered.

"We made our choices. We could have made better ones, but I don't have any regrets. You were a wonderful experience"

We knew Simon had wronged Betty. She had put away everything for him. He didn't do it on porpuse, but he recognised he could have been more thoughtful. In the end, while Simon acknowledges his mistakes Betty doesn't demonise neither him nor the relationship that came bacuse of it. It's a very sentimental, heartfelt conclusion.

As humans we often try to make our best to navigate life. But with all the choices in front of us it's very hard to get it right. A lot of time might have to pass before we truly see how wrong we were. We realize that we hurt people, and that things didn't have to be this way. But once we acknowledge this we can finaly move on. At this moment, Simon realizes that it's okay to fail but, unfortunetly, we can't go back. We have to live with it and it can't prevent us from moving forward.

In the end all we can do is have compassion for ourselves, and for each other.

That was pretty much all of the details and highlights for me. There's some other ones but they are kind of too obvious to point out.

Thanks a lot for reading the whole thing! It means a lot :)

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yandere-sins · 9 months

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Control (Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

a/n: Finally I got to write about him! Thank Tiktok and music for inspiration, because otherwise I would have been sitting on such an amazing character for even longer! Glad to have that out of my system ♥

Characters: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Implications (grinding against each other, kissing), I don't speak spanish but tried to do my research, Threatening one's life, Fear of falling to death, Death/Suicide ideation mention, Long post

You were desperate for someone—anyone—to notice you, despite being in a room filled with so-called 'superheroes'.

No matter how many times you tried to establish eye contact with someone approaching, they wouldn't notice your feeble attempts to reach out or simply ignore the glances you exchanged. As if your presence meant nothing to them, your indigence only meeting indifference. They treated you like a ghost, or more fitting, a hologram they could dismiss for their own sake. As if you never existed in the same plane as they did.

Or perhaps, the presence of the man whose lap you were sitting on was completely devouring yours.

"Concentrate," he ordered, reaching up to pinch the cheek of yours that wasn't settled on his shoulder. You'd been staring off into the hustle and bustle, gazing longingly at the other spider-people doing their normal, everyday things, unbothered by your meager attempts to distract them. It was your own fault for not speaking up, screaming and crying, throwing a tantrum, but there was one thing - one person - you feared more than being left to your fate.

Miguel O'Hara.

Or the bane of your existence. Your enemy. Stalker. Psycho. An unexplainably respected man in this universe you found yourself in, the details still a little confusing. How anyone could respect someone that kept himself a human pet was incomprehensible to you. But he made it all too clear that he wanted you to not move off his lap or talk to anyone but him, as well as made sure to warn anyone approaching of the consequences if they came too close to you for his liking. And somehow, everyone just accepted his conditions. Even you.

Where would you go? You couldn't outrun him, and no distractions had been great enough to find a place to hide and wait him out. Even if no one acknowledged you aside from him - and Lyla, who, ultimately, was on his side in all of this - they'd become bloodthirsty hounds the second he wanted you to be tracked down and captured. You tried. You really tried.

And failed, and failed, and failed, and failed.

There was no way out for you, at least not at that moment. No matter how much it made your stomach churn, how much you hated to comply, you heaved a defeated sigh, sitting up straight as best as you could on his thighs with your legs hanging from either side of his, his arms around you keeping you safe from falling off—and locking you in place on his lap. Miguel O'Hara didn't do 'mistakes' and 'coincidences'. Especially not when it came to keeping you right where he wanted you.

"Do you get it now?" he asked when he noticed your eyes back on the screens, technical codes and video live feed running next to each other on countless smaller windows that began to envelop you two. The platform beneath his workspace shuddered briefly before it was put into motion, a mere swipe of his fingers enough to lift you two into the air, away from the crowd.

Maps started to show up, all similar but different, the same city in different universes. Places you'd never go. That he'd never take you to. Well… unless…

Unless you loved him.

The thought alone made you gag, and you covered your mouth to not give away the fact you weren't listening to him explaining how to use the statistics again. You wondered how many more times he'd explain it to you, only for you to say, "I don't get it," and him starting over again. It was a small act of pettiness. One that was wearing his patience thin and rigid. One that would cost you a lot if you upset him later. But it was better than to be his pretty little assistant 2, nodding and awing at every word slipping from his mouth while he taught you such an important task. For putting so much trust into your skills and helping him do… whatever the fuck it was, he was trying to teach you.

God, you couldn't stand that guy.

As if kidnapping and threatening you wasn't enough, now he was also enslaving you to do his work. All under the pretense of—as Miguel called it—putting your energy into useful things.

"Cariño, could you please just concentrate?"

Bumping his chest into your back, the slight shove forward was enough to tear you out of your thoughts. You held back your disdain for the new seating arrangement, only one of you two enjoying the closeness while the other dreaded it. Before, he'd let you sit at the edge of the platform, watch the people work and pass the time in your thoughts. But ever since you tried jumping off in a moment of boredom-induced insanity, Miguel had decided that a desk and chair would benefit his plan of keeping you caged by his side, ripping away your freedom piece by piece, one time after the other.

And you hated how gently he was doing it.

You felt the sigh he heaved, felt his chest brushing up against your back again as he let his hands glide down your arms. The man didn't have patience, but he had time, and he made sure to remind you of it. Time to break you. Time to make you submit. Time to make you love him. Miguel ever so slightly opened his legs, spreading yours while he interloped your fingers with his at the same time, placing your hands on the keyboard and mouse respectively. It was his way of asserting control, showing you that you were nothing without him and needed his guidance. All while forcing you to rely on him, as you'd fall without his support. He was in control of you. Of your life. And even in the most subtle ways, Miguel didn't want you to forget it.

You knew all his tricks by now, making you hate him even more.

"You have to click here and then enter the system password…" he mumbled into your ear, his hot breath grazing it. A cold shudder ran down your spine. You could assume all the innocence you wanted in his actions, but you knew he was far from it. In the reflection on the screen, barely visibly if you didn't focus on it, you could see the jerk in the corner of his lips. The bastard was enjoying this more than he hated repeating himself. But you were not going to sit there and let him have it his way.

"What happens if I click here?" you asked, feigning the same innocence as you led the pointer astray, clicking on some pop-up you couldn't decipher. Miguel turned rigid against your back instantly, muscles bulking and fingers curling into claws on top of your hands.

"Let's not–"

"Wait, that looks super interesting."

You stopped him before he could close the pop-up, pretending you were terribly interested in the colorful numbers running down the screen, certain that it was unimportant, perhaps dangerous, to have someone untrained like you work with easily modifiable code. Miguel halted, unmoving, gauging out if you were genuinely interested or if this was another one of your schemes. For good measure (and to confuse him), you let out a few more "wow!" and "I see!" wasting at least some of the time he had put aside to teach you before he saw through your terrible acting.

"That's enough–"

He pushed the cursor towards the X in the corner.

"Wait, I really want to see that!"

You pushed the cursor back, accidentally marking a few numbers and copying them with the help of the keyboard.

"No, you don't even–"

Once again, he tried to close the window, growing more forceful with your hand and the mouse.

"Ah! Don't close it! I was reading that!"

You struggled but pushed the cursor back over the numbers, clicking and adding the previously copied ones into the code.

"ENOUGH!"

Raising your hands from the mouse and keyboard, you stopped completely in your tracks, not even daring to breathe. You listened to him taking a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth to calm himself before he pressed his face into the back of your head. It was a short-lived defiance, but defiance nonetheless, and when you were sure he couldn't see it, it was your turn to grin like the rascal you were. A small victory in a war you were utterly losing.

"You're testing me again, Cariño, but this is no game. You could do some serious harm to people if you play around–"

A blaring alarm suddenly rang out, and you weren't the only one that jolted. Gripping you by the hips, Miguel stood up, setting you down only briefly before grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the edge of the platform. You were no longer the same person that wanted to jump off into the depths, at least not that day. But even though you took a tentative step back, Miguel made sure you were right by his side and in his peripheral by tugging you forward.

"What's wrong?!" he yelled through the alarm at some spooked Spiderman below. Surprised by Miguel's sudden yelling, the man jumped and looked around him in a panic, apparently not knowing what was happening either. Just as Miguel wanted to shake his head in frustration, the alarm stopped abruptly, and you both raised an eyebrow as you looked around, both confused and unsettled about what had just happened.

"Hey Miguel!" someone called from below, and you recognized the pregnant woman you saw standing down there with a tablet as one of Miguel's trusted henchmen, ushering the other Spiderman away. "Thanks for finally fixing that damn broken code! Now Sector 5 has functioning doors again!"

She walked off before Miguel could say anything, and you slumped, the realization of what you did slowly dawning on you. He let go of your hand, brushing back some strands of hair that had fallen into his face before chuckling. “Dios bueno, Cariño…”

It wasn't the outcome you had wanted, and it was driving you up the wall that you had done something that benefitted Miguel's cause even in the slightest. But you had no time to let the frustration take over your thoughts as he turned around to you, stepping forward, to which you instinctively took a step back. One after another, he forced you to go backwards, prowling like a predator that had his prey right where he wanted. Even with his posture relaxed, a hand on his hip, and a grin on his lips, you felt nothing but danger when you looked at him, urging you to keep avoiding him.

"Look at you, you're doing such a good job," he purred, and you stumbled a little, his gaze burning against your skin, raising goosebumps everywhere on your body. "Seems like I have to thank you for that, huh? A little reward?"

"No need!" you rejected without hesitation, taking another step back.

Only this time... it didn't connect with the ground.

Flailing your arms, you let out a horrified gasp. You were about to plummet off the platform, down to the cold, hard, metal ground, and other than the last time, you couldn't be sure Miguel was going to catch you. After all, it had been Miguel who directed you towards the edge. Surely he must have known you'd fall off if you took that last step, not saying anything.

You squeezed your eyes closed, not wanting his face to be the last thing you saw before you'd break all your bones and leave this world for good. However, with your body already tilted over the edge, his hand gripped you by the throat, holding you in place, the fear and panic coming to a sudden standstill as did your movement. There was nothing to catch you behind your back, your life hanging on to the whim of the person you hated the most. The one you were sure secretly hated you just the same, considering all the torture he put you through in the name of his love.

Slowly, unwillingly, you forced yourself to open your eye again, refusing to look at Miguel, and instead shot a glance over your shoulder. A mistake.

"Pu-- Pull me up!" you demanded, shaking after seeing how deep the fall was. Apparently, your survival instinct was still intact and very much active as you clawed your meager nails into his arms, trying to hold onto him. You tried desperately to find a grip on his arm, slipping off over and over as you tried to help yourself upwards, your fingers too sweaty to stick to the slick material of his suit.

"Please!" you whisper squeaked, tears filling your eyes when you finally decided to look at him. Miguel's slight grin disappeared as he pretended to think, humming thoughtfully and rubbing his chin. "You said I deserve a reward! I want you to pull me up again!... Please…”

He stepped closer to the edge, the grip on your throat never tightening or loosening. A horrifying way to be held in the air, not even able to twist out of it. The sudden closeness, however, gave you a chance to claw at his chest instead, your fingertips reaching out to try and grip the nape of his neck to find some halt, only missing a few inches to reach it.

"That's not how it works, Cariño. We both know you're not in charge here. Your reward is being saved from falling to your death."

Pulling you just a few inches upwards, Miguel had you close enough to bring your face before his, his body looming over yours, the threat of falling now spreading to both of you. "But you have to earn being pulled up."

"Mad… you're mad!" you could only hiss at him, the weight of your body slowly starting to hurt around your neck as gravity tried to pull you to your death. You winced when you felt your last remaining foot propped against the platform slip.

"Madly in love, perhaps, Cariño, but you've been very naughty back at the station, copying and inserting codes as you please, not listening when I told you to stop and interrupting me. You know I hate it when you go against everything I try to do for you."

"Okay!" you relented, admitting to his accusations. If that was enough to get your feet on solid ground again, you'd do it. "I'll listen now, okay?! I promise! I'll be good! I'll try to do better, just… pull me up, okay? Please? Please, Miguel?"

There were a few moments of silence, a few moments too long as your foot kept slipping away, your body shaking in his grip that you didn't know if he'd keep on you or let go any second now. His eyes merely drilled into you, trying to see if you meant what you said or were lying again. You couldn't imagine anything but horror and your lost pride reflecting in yours, but his expression softened ever so slightly as he looked at you, and for the sake of not plummeting to your death, you ignored the goosebumps returning when you noticed the affection in his eyes.

"Bésame."

Inwardly, you were fuming. For him to take advantage of your situation was the shabbiest thing you never expected him to do. But you should have! Shameless and mad as he was, you should have known better than to trust he'd help you without gain in your moment of need. Infuriated, you grimaced, the tears burning in your eyes as did every ounce of shame you felt about having to stoop so low as to survive. Maybe you hadn't hit rock bottom yet, but the decision between kissing him and falling to your death was as bad as could be.

"Fuck you!" you hissed angrily.

"No? That's fine then–"

Miguel tried to play it cool, shrugging his shoulders and averting his gaze as if he truly didn't care. As if he wasn't the obsessed freak you knew he was deep down, broken from his experiences and unable to act like a reasonable human being anymore. His grip on your throat loosened ever so slightly, your body sinking lower, pulled by the weight of gravity. Dread, fear, and horror spread through you, but the adrenaline also brought forth the last bit of pride and spite you had in you.

What he didn't expect were your hands shooting forward, nails digging into the flesh right above the collar of his suit before he could get too far away. Miguel's eyes widened as you tipped the scales, pulling him forward, both of you tumbling over the edge. "What are you–?!" he started to argue when you managed to wrap your arms around his strong neck, his hands pressing into your back as he instinctively enveloped you in his arms. As scary as the situation was, Miguel would never allow any harm to come to you. At least not harm that he wasn't responsible for. But what really caught him off-guard were your lips finding his in the middle of the fall.

The kiss seemed to drag on for a small eternity, as if time had stopped in Miguel's favor. You had closed your eyes, making everything so much more bearable as you didn't allow anything to break your lips from his. No pause, no air, nothing was to get between your mouth and his, not even the shock of you two landing on the ground, you in his arms while the metal bent under his feet. Only when he roughly pushed your back into a wall did you allow a gasp to escape, enough time for Miguel to deepen the kiss finally, prying your lips open to slip his tongue inside.

You had always cringed at the term 'tongues battling for dominance' in the fanfiction you read about your favorite characters from shows and TV, but now that you were caught up in a real battle with Miguel, you made no show out of fighting him off, trying to push his tongue back to where it came from… and failing miserably. It had been dangerous to awaken a sleeping beast, giving Miguel something he couldn't get easily but wanted desperately. A kiss was as good as a death sentence to you, but for him, it was heaven incarnated in the little pleasure of having a taste of your lips.

You had no time or thought left to share about your surroundings, about what other people might think, and neither did he. All that mattered to each of you was control now that the upper hand was out of both your reaches. He had told you before that only you had the power to ruin him. That your actions would either make or break this man called Miguel O'Hara. But he wasn't going to make this easy for you. You had surprised him just now, overshadowing that he won a kiss from you. But it was what followed that would make the loser regret not trying harder to win, which kept both of you more than motivated. After all, it was your will against his.

Forcing out a moan many men would die for, you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling him tense and flex underneath your touch. You felt the bulge rubbing against your sex, Miguel not even trying to hide it but jerking when you ground into it. Your hands roamed up and down his arms, nails scratching over his skin as the fabric gave way to your feisty caresses, and Miguel staggered on the spot, pressing up against you even more. A win for you, nonetheless, as his knees were growing weak when you hugged him closer to your body.

When he pushed you forcefully into the wall behind you, however, you had to wince, his fangs getting stuck on your lips, drawing some blood. It was just a moment of being unfocused, and he had turned the tables. His win.

Sooner or later, one of you had to pull back. As your breath emptied into his mouth while his tongue pushed onwards, threatening to domineer, Miguel managed to focus all his willpower on withstanding the alluring call of your moans and feigned sensuality, you bitterly realized it would have to be you. With all his obsession and desire, he was slowly but surely devouring you, conquering the battlefield that was your kiss, not caring about the casualties he'd leave in his wake. It was very much like him to endure in terms of stamina and…

You couldn't keep up.

Coughing, you turned your head away, sinking into him and hiding your face in his shoulder, defeated. Immediately, he lowered his arms that he had used to cage you against the wall, exploiting the victory to embrace you tightly as he let out a shaky breath. Perhaps it only dawned on both of you then that he saved you from plummeting to death, the kiss having been a good distraction.

"Don't ever fucking do that again," he scolded you, the warning resounding loud and clear.

Don't hurt yourself. Don't put yourself in danger, is what he actually meant to say, words that went unsaid but not unheard, even if they disgusted you. Let me protect you. I'll keep you safe—always.

"Don't count on it," was all you could reply to spite him, your voice muffled with your face pressed into his chest. Miguel let out a single, short, breathy laugh before shaking his head.

"How can you be so stubborn?" he hummed, gripping the hair at the back of your neck and forcing your head back to face him. "Guess you still don't know."

"Know what?" you spit in his face with all the disdain you could muster, both of you very aware you were all bark, no bite after the fall, your knees surely caving in had he put you down on your own feet. Miguel returned your angry glare with haughtiness, a smile creeping on his face.

"Who is in control, Cariño."

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pink-apollo · 2 years

Note

Task force with S/O that have big breast please?

AHHHH. I saw this and got sooo excited😭 As a gal that has double Ds it can be such a pain. Buttons busting open, shirts tight in certain areas, just a struggle ;-; but they make wonderful pillows!

Wasn’t sure who you wanted so I added my main 3. If you want price and gaz let me know ^^ Also I am so sorry if Simon is very ooc, I’m trying to go with his current self and exactly pin point it which I find to be a little difficult😅

——————————————————————————

Task force with large chested S/O Headcanons

🎀Soap is a cheeky guy, we all know this. Of course he loves you for you! Not just looks! But at times he can’t but to just…stare. He knows it can be rude and weird, but when they’re right there in his face he can’t help it

🎀You could be mid conversation, babbling away at something you were talking about and John would be sitting there eyeing you up, tuning out what you were saying only to be met with your chest in his face as you looked at the man red from getting caught

🎀He means well, honest! But will try every chance he gets to grab them or lay on your chest because of how comfortable it is. A “perfect pillow” as he would say

🎀Purposely buys shirts that are rather a bit too tight for you. Although you may think it doesn’t look good, soap on the other hand is taking mental pictures to remember how you fit into the shirt

🎀Loves to feel you pressed up against him. Yes for the contact because he does enjoy it! But to also feel all of you and be a little more intimate

🎀In general loves to hold them. His thumb gentle rubbing your nipples to piss you off or to tease depending on the mood. But for the most part holds them, massaging them as he leans on your back , leaving trails of kisses along your shoulder to neck

🎀Is basically a child in a candy store

Ghost

🍁Simon is…well let’s say more sneaky than soap is when it comes to taking peaks. No, he doesn’t do it often, but if you just so happen to wear a shirt that fits just right and shows a bit of cleavage? He can’t help himself but to look, especially if he’s taller than you

🍁Although he does enjoy them, he’s more so focused on your other needs. Like if your back hurts or in general breasts are achey to to your hormones. He doesn’t mind whatsoever focusing on making you feel better before anything else happens. Your comfort comes first

🍁Notices every little detail when you move. Purposely walks behind or in front of you so he doesn’t glance down to see you walking with your chest slightly bouncing. Steps? Won’t say anything, but are his weakness when it comes to you. Thank god for the mask

🍁If you ask him to hold them he will. Might be a little unsure of how exactly to please you, again when it comes to physical things, Simon needs a little bit of guidance! He just wants to do right and to be sure you’re okay. But oddly enough finds it to be a stress reliever for himself

🍁Is very gentle with them in the beginning. Gives kisses all over before nibbling and leaving marks all over your chest. Caressing them with his hands, ever so softly pinching them to hear you sweak

🌹When it comes to you? This man looses all train of thought. With every step you take towards him, he can’t help but to look down. You know it’s his weakness and sometimes use it to your advantage, but other times simply oblivious to the fact that he was staring

🌹Alejandro tries his best to a gentleman, but can’t help but to glide his hands over your chest when alone sitting on his lap, squeezing them from pent up sexual tension that you caused

🌹Of course he always asks for permission regardless of how long you’ve been together. He just needs to know what kind of mood your in before he does

🌹Certainly loves when you straddle him and just hold him or perhaps ride him. Not only an amazing sight, but just being close to you is one of his many favorite things

🌹Lays on your chest very often! Just so squishy and comfortable to lay on! Has fallen asleep quite a few times on your chest, with his hand up your shirt on your breast. Could lay like that forever if you allowed him to do so

#headcanons #mw2 #modern warfare2 #Simon ghost Riley x reader #John soap mactavish x reader #Alejandro Vargas x reader #Simon Riley headcanons #John soap mactavish headcanons #Alejandro Vargas headcanons #x reader #modern warfare

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pablitogavii · 10 months

Note

Can u do one where reader is trying on swimsuits for a vaca with pablo and some friends like giving him a show and he starts getting over protective saying his friends won't stop staring and she shows him that she's all his?

( ik it's detailed sorry take ur time te amoo 🤍 )

Bikini show

Pablo was hanging out with Pedri, Ferran and Ansu playing some FIFA while you were trying on some bikini's you've recently ordered online in your shared bedroom.

"Amor?" you poked your head from the door and Pablo chuckled looking at you with raised eyebrows.

"Can I show you my bikinis??" you said excitedly and Pablo smirked nodding his head and laying back as you came to stand in front of him in your red bikini. He was certainly not the only one who was watching..all of his friends were suddenly lost interest in the game.

"Do you like it??" you said looking straight at Pablo who noticed his friends eyeing you so he pulled you between his legs and made you sit on his leg.

"It's precious..but they are looking at you and I don't like it!" Pablo whispered to you and you smiled kissing his lips which made the rest of the boys look away finally.

"How about I go to the room with you so you can show me all of them and then come back out when we are done??" Pablo suggested smirking seeing that his friends could clearly hear him.

"We can do it later if you wanna play.." you said feeling bad to interrupt his time with his friend but when you tried getting up he held you tightly on his lap.

"Amor..right now I wanna play with you" he whispered that part taking your hand and placing it on his now hard bulge and you blushed nodding your head. He wrapped your legs around his waist to hide his 'friend' from the rest before carrying you to the bedroom.

"I'll be back guys!" Pablo said before shutting the door and giggling with you while putting you back down.

"How many do you have princesa?" he asked and you showed him five swimsuits laid out on the bed all in different designs and colors.

"Let me help you with this one then.." he said undoing the bow from the back and slowly taking off your top while caressing your back and you blushed gluing your naked chest against him while kissing his lips.

"I think you will like this one the most!" you went to put on the green one next having a bit of trouble tying it on the back and Pablo offered his helps of course with a bit of dirty talk and wet kisses on your neck.

"So?" you said turning around looking at him as he laid back on the bed with his arms behind his head enjoying the view in front of him with a mischievous smirk.

"Fits you so well princesa.." he said and you blush looking in the mirror for yourself really liking how it contrasts with your tan skin.

"Then the pink one..if you don't mind?" you walked up to him so he can untie it again and he smirked nodding his head and pulling you to sit on top of him while undoing the knot on the back kissing your back.

"You know..I love everything you wear..but my favorite is when you have nothing on princesa" he held your boobs shamelessly and you giggled slapping his hands away before leaving to put another one on.

"This one is a little more sexy.." you said and he immediately looked up from his phone his eyes opening wide when he saw the small pink fabric of a bikini that left a little to imagination.

"Joder princesa! That one you can wear only when we are alone at my pool!" he had to sit up and pull you close to inspect it up close.

"I can't wear it at the beach this weekend??" you blush moving his hair form his forehead while he shook his head kissing your stomach and looking up.

"Not a chance princesa..unless you want me to fight everyone on the beach??" he smirked and you shook your head placing your hands on his shoulders and kissing his lips. You LOVED possessive Pablo!

"The next two are the same just different color.." you said when you pulled away about to walk away when he smacked your ass and you blushed hard.

"I like that one!" Pablo said with a smile and you nodded coming closer and sitting on his lap again snaking your arm around his neck and kissing his lips.

"Thank you cariño..for watching my fashion show" you winked and he smirked nodding his head and leaning in to kiss you again.

"Always amor..I enjoyed it very much!" he said into your lips while you both nodded and continued kissing completely forgetting that you were indeed not alone.

"Um..cariño..your..um friends are outside and we are done with the fashion show now.." you said holding in the moans although it was very hard now that his hands were on your body.

"Are you kicking me out princesa??" he pouted and you could help kissing his lips and playing with his hair when he was this adorable!

"I would love it the most if you could stay right here and hold me for hours cariño..but you haven't seen your friends in months..and I'll be right here later" you said still playing with his hair while he nodded kissing your lips again before letting you go so you can stand up.

"Alright, I'll see you later princesa..and then you will wear that pink one for me again" Pablo smirked and you blushed nodding your hair not letting him leave that quickly.

"Cariño wait!" you said and he turned back smirking

"You changed your mind??" he said playfully but then you fixed his hair before pecking his lips.

"Wasn't gonna let you go out there with 'sex hair' amor" you giggled and he smirked nodding his hair and kissing your lips again before opening the door and stepping out.

"Did you enjoy that fashion show Gavi??" Ansu joked and Pablo flipped him off although internally he was smirking thinking back on all those hot bikinis on your bodies.

"He doesn't like to share that's for sure chicos!" Ferran joked but Pablo didn't find it funny at all giving him a death glare.

"She's my girl cabrón!" Pablo said and al boys raised their hands up in surrender before starting the new game to play together.

I hope you enjoyed :))

#pablo gavi #pablo gavi icons #pablo gavi x reader #fc barça #gavi #gavigif #fc barcelona #fc barca #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi x y/n #gavi x reader #gavi x you #gavi x yn #gavi x vini #pablogavixreaderfluff #pablogavixreadersmut #pablogavira

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flowerui · 2 months

Text

♫ we both like apple cider, pgw

fluff & light angst, 4.1k words ୨୧ first fic on this blog! feedback is appreciated!! ^_^ i've had awful writer's block for MONTHS so i hope i havent gotten too rusty,,,

wherein dancing is your favorite way to destress, until a certain gunwook park goes and spoils it all.

꒰ requested. gender neutral reader (no pronouns or gendered terms used), reader is a year older than gw, dancer reader, bff hanbin, one-sided enemies to friends to lovers, college au, misunderstandings, set in the us, does this count as forced proximity? light angst, fluff (it gets so cheesy idk what happened to me), drinking/underage drinking ꒱

Dancing had always been your favorite way to unwind. After a long day of classes, practice is like a treat; the mental toll of having to listen to your professors drone on all day, and procrastinating assignments until the night they’re due is easily unraveled by dancing until you can’t feel your limbs—it’s unmatched.

That’s why, despite it being Wednesday (the second worst day of the week), you walk out of your last class with a skip in your step, like nothing could ruin your day.

Nothing except a man named Hanbin, that is.

After changing, you enter the practice room, ready to forget your worries. But before you can begin, you see a paper stuck on the wall beside the door—Hanbin must’ve finally put together the choreo for the solo and duet performances for an upcoming recital for some event on campus (truthfully, you can't be bothered to remember all the details, that's Hanbin's job), and decided on who’d best fit the roles. You’re a little late, so it’s just you who curiously shuffles over to take a look.

Seeing your name under Duet makes you smile until you read your counterpart's name. Gunwook Park.

You find a spot to sink to the floor in the back of the room. Suddenly, you’ve changed your perspective on dancing; it’s the worst thing to happen to you. You regret ever discovering this useless passion of yours, who even needs passions in this economy?!

Hanbin would tell you otherwise, but you believe that you have pretty good ideas.

You’d tried to take an easier route and complain to Hanbin that you absolutely could not work with Gunwook for a duet. But he was adamant about not making any alterations at this point, at least not just because you don’t like Gunwook—what a traitor, what happened to friendship?

Since complaining about your unfair working conditions did fuck all, you came up with a wonderful solution. You get paired with the number one person on your shit list? Just don’t show up to rehearsals. Boom, problem solved. Though it’s easier said than done; you’re a creature of habit, and the disappointment of remembering you can’t destress with dance is depressing.

And, of course, avoiding both Hanbin and Gunwook is a chore.

It’s on day four that you consider, maybe Hanbin is right sometimes. You were only successful in avoiding everything except schoolwork because college kicks everyone’s ass, and finding free time starts to feel like finding a needle in a haystack. But, maybe ditching practice when you live with the leader of your dance team wasn’t your best idea. On Sundays, both you and Hanbin usually end up being home at the same time.

And like an idiot, you forget this detail and trudge out of your room at two in the afternoon (no, you certainly did not just wake up, thank you very much) to find something acceptable to eat.

As you’re rummaging through the pantry, you hear your name called in that tone. The one where Hanbin’s voice sounds mildly shrill and a bit patronizing, the one that lets you know you’re in trouble.

Yeah, not your brightest idea—it might take over the number two spot of your top three worst ideas, followed by trying to gaslight a random group of people into believing that Play-doh is edible after you’d had a drink too many at your first college party at number one. (To be fair, you did not expect a twenty-something-year-old man to have Play-Doh on hand and tell you to prove it. Yes, you tried. You vomited on the guy’s shoes.)

Rigidly, you slowly turn to face Hanbin, who has a terse smile on his face.

“...Yes?”

“I thought maybe you hadn’t shown up to rehearsals because you weren’t feeling well, but yesterday, Gunwook told me every time he spotted you on campus, you naruto-ran away.”

“Uh,” you fake cough into your elbow, “Must’ve been someone that looks like me? ‘Cause I have been feeling kind of under the we—”

You shriek and make a run for it when Hanbin stomps over with that creepy hamster puppet you’d given him as a gag gift last year in hand. Eventually, you get cornered and get a creepy hamster puppet thrown in your face. “You can’t just ditch practice because you have some petty one-sided rivalry—or whatever it is—with Gunwook. You’re risking embarrassing the whole team! What are you planning to do, just not learn the choreography?”

“You know it's not a rivalry...” You grumble.

“You’re being childish,” Hanbin sighs, “I’ve already told you that whatever your deal is with Gunwook is some misunderstanding, he’s a sweet guy.”

“Yeah, whatever.” You huff, probably not helping the childish accusation. You’re tired of hearing that about what a good guy Gunwook appears to be because you know what you heard.

Without another word, you stomp off to your room.

If you had any hopes of getting out of going to rehearsal again, they’re promptly stomped on by Hanbin waiting outside of your class when you trudge out.

“Really?” You groan, and walk over to your supposed friend, “You don’t need to escort me.”

“I think I do,” Hanbin crosses his arms, fixing you with a look, like he knows you better than yourself… okay, he does ninety percent of the time, but that doesn’t mean he can act like it. “I’m pretty sure I saw you ready to head in the wrong direction before you saw me.” He says before grabbing your arm and pulling you down the hall.

“I don’t even get what your deal is with Gunwook,” Hanbin finally says when you’re about halfway to the studio, “I know you said you heard him say something… unsavory, but that just doesn’t sound like him at all. I think you should talk to him, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

“I know what I heard, Bin…”

“I’m not saying you didn’t hear what you heard, but maybe there’s some missing context.”

You try to consider Hanbin’s words, even as you absentmindedly head into the changing rooms, and reluctantly shuffle into the practice room afterward, you truly do.

But all the rational thinking and breathing techniques in the world cannot quell your ire when you see Gunwook. Calmly walking over and refraining from saying anything uncouth is a true test of mental strength—one that you are quite afraid of failing.

“Hey—” Gunwook rises from his spot in the corner of the practice room to greet you.

“Let’s get started.” You blurt out, aware of how cold and biting your dismissal comes off. To be fair, Hanbin didn’t tell you to be particularly nice, he just insisted you show up.

“Oh, right,” Gunwook’s expression wilts, but he clears his throat and plasters a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure Hanbin already let you know he wouldn’t be here to help us out today—he’s helping Natty with her solo. I’ve got the choreo down, so I should be able to guide you if needed.”

“I practiced at home.” You did. A little bit, it wasn’t easy with the limited space in your cramped—ahem, homey apartment. But practicing a duet by yourself, then giving up after stubbing your toe on every fucking piece of furniture in your home, and practicing it with your duet partner are two different things.

“Oh, that’s good… um, I’ll start the music.”

Your name is followed by an exasperated sigh. With reluctance—because your phone’s home screen is just that interesting—you glance up from your phone, to see Gunwook eyeing you through the mirror.

“Could we try to get through the routine? Maybe without you scratching me this time?” Gunwook gnaws at his bottom lip, sweat beading at his temple. He’s actually been hard at work, practicing while you sat in the corner of the room—essentially sentenced to a time-out after accidentally scratching Gunwook every time you tried to run through the routine with him. Accidentally.

You can’t help the frown that sets on your lips. Only to you, it seems, Gunwook Park is an enigma. When he first joined the team, he seemed nice, and he wasn’t much younger than you, you just never got the chance to properly talk to him. However, now you never want to speak to him, the fact that you have to work so closely with him is nauseating.

Tampering down all the ugly word vomit bubbling in your throat, you mentally repeat Hanbin’s words from yesterday to yourself, ‘You’re risking embarrassing the whole team’. Not only do you find most of your teammates to be more than bearable, but you also you can’t bomb a performance because you were too petty to practice the choreography, so, even though the thought of being so close to Gunwook—having to touch him makes you full body cringe, you suck it up.

“Sure.”

Begrudgingly, you get into position and wait for your cue. As the music starts up for what feels like the billionth time that evening, you miss the many nervous glances cast your way.

Succeedingly, you manage to not cause any more bodily harm, even when you have no choice but to get close enough to Gunwook to the point you cannot look anywhere but into his eyes. The urge to flee strikes, as unease among other odd emotions you will not address churn in your gut, but you deal with it (read: ignore it).

You manage to run through the routine once, then again, and again, and again, until your limbs feel like gelatin and you have no option but to sprawl out on the floor. It occurs to you how much you missed this feeling, you can barely believe you let your pettiness get in the way of it.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Turning your head to the side, there’s Gunwook, also sprawled out beside you. Huh, you don’t even have the negative energy within you to loathe his presence in the moment.

“You just did. But you can ask one more thing.”

A goofy grin splits Gunwook’s lips before he turns his head back to face the ceiling, expression shifting a little more seriously. “Did I… was there something that I like did? Or said to upset you?”

Oh. Right. So, you haven’t forgotten your distaste for Gunwook. You feel your good mood sour, as you scoff, and force yourself to finally sit up—your limbs are very much protesting, screaming at you, matter of fact, but fuck them. And fuck Gunwook Park. “Seriously?”

You glance over your shoulder, Gunwook, who sat up shortly after you, only blinks at you curiously, as though he hasn’t got a clue.

“You really don’t know? Do you just talk shit about everyone and that’s why you can’t seem to remember me?”

“What…?” Gunwook’s brows furrow, “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you." You push yourself up off the ground, fixing Gunwook with an exasperated look, "After our performance at orientation in August, you had a lot to say about my skill, and how ridiculous I looked.”

“I don't…?” You watch as the confusion and then the recognition passes over Gunwook’s features, “No, I—shit,” he hangs his head with a groan, which doesn’t serve to dissipate any of your arising confusion. “That wasn’t about you.”

“I heard you say my name, don’t bullshit me.”

“I—okay, I definitely said your name, but it seriously wasn’t about you. There was this, um, character in a film my roommate watched for some project; they were supposed to be a dancer, but they were godawful. I was talking about the character, and I didn’t even think about how they had the same name as you, or about how loudly I was talking about that.”

“Oh,” you say, rather intelligently. You consider the thought that he could be lying, but he looks at you with such earnestness, remorse practically pooling in his eyes, you can’t even entertain the thought for more than a moment.

“Yeah, oh. I’m sorry you thought I was talking about you…”

“No, I’m sorry,” you quietly sit back down, anger gone as quick as it arose, and flop back on the floor with a sigh. Having your entire view of Gunwook Park debunked in a mere minute was not on tonight’s bingo card.

“I should’ve—Hanbin kept telling me it was probably a misunderstanding and to confront you, but I just stewed in my misguided hatred. God, Hanbin’s going to be insufferable once I tell him he was right all along.”

Gunwook huffs a laugh, “I’m glad we sorted this out, finally. Um, I guess we should wrap up for tonight since it’s getting late. Can I walk you home?”

“Don’t you live on campus? You don’t have to walk me home if you just have to walk back here…”

“It’s fine!” Gunwook smiles, oddly enthusiastic. Weird, personally, you dread having to walk home after practice. “I want to, and I guess now we can get to know each other? Now that you don’t hate me.”

“Yeah… okay, I’ll grab my stuff.” You sit back up again, as much as you’d like to become one with the floor.

“Okay, cool.”

“Cool.” you can’t help but smile, seeing the wide grin on Gunwook’s face. You’re going to choose to believe the warmth in your cheeks is because you’re still cooling off from rehearsing.

The idea of rehearsing is a lot more palatable now that you don’t despise your duet partner. The actual rehearsals aren’t too bad either… they’re actually kind of enjoyable.

Hanbin was, in fact, very insufferable when you spilled everything that’d happened that day to him. He’d been waiting up for you, sitting on the armchair in your living room, and nearly gave you a heart attack when he flicked on the lamp beside him; like he was your mother and he’d caught you sneaking back in the house.

“Hey, how was class?” Gunwook has taken to waiting for you outside your classes on rehearsal days, you even say hi to each other when you see the other on campus, and maybe talk if you’re not busy.

“Don’t get me started…” you groan, “I have no idea what my professor was on about today, but I thought his jaw was going to unhinge before he finally stopped talking.”

Gunwook chuckles, and grabs your bag from you, cradling it to his chest. “I thought I told you I could carry my bag myself?”

“And I told you that you could try to take it back.”

You did try, and you decided you do not like freakishly strong guys. “Whatever… what about you? How was your class?”

“Didn’t go today…” Gunwook trails off, glancing down at your linked arms. A habit after losing Hanbin in crowds one too many times. It feels nice with Gunwook, though. “Um, my roommate—” he clears his throat before he continues looking forward, revealing his red ears. Oh, that’s cute.

“He kept me up late ‘cause he needed help with his film project that he’s been procrastinating. I ended up waking up at like one-thirty…”

“Really? So, you just came straight here after waking up?” You tsk, choosing to look away from his pouted lips for your sake. “Did you even eat? Let’s stop by this café a few blocks away before we rehearse. It opened last month, Hanbin and I were supposed to check it out, but I think he forgot.”

You’re not blind, of course, Gunwook is, well, objectively attractive (subjectively as well, perchance). With much coaxing, you might’ve been able to admit it a week ago when you hated him. But, his attractiveness is far too illuminated when you’re a mere inches from his face; faced with his distractingly pretty brown eyes, and rosy cheeks. Oh God, he’s cute. He’s so fucking cute, and you are so fucking screwed.

Before you can say something so embarrassing you’d have to migrate to another country and assume another identity, you take the initiative to part from Gunwook, carefully backing away, and clearing your throat, “Should we take a break?”

Except that doesn’t even help, because when you sink to the floor to watch YouTube, Gunwook is beside you, smushed at your side to watch whatever you’re watching. You can’t even remember what video you tapped on, but apparently, you’re seven minutes into a video when Gunwook reaches over to pause it.

“Hey, um, one of my friends—his name’s Junhyeon, his frat, Zeta Rho Xi is having a party this weekend. He kinda roped me into going, and I was just wondering if you were free…? I would, um, it’d be cool if you could stop by.”

Parties haven’t been your thing for a long time; you tried to party freshman year, since people seemed to go on about the college parties. You just couldn’t get super into it, plus only things like the Play-Doh incident came from parties… and that’s why you’re not sure why you say, “Yeah, no, I should be free. I’ll check it out.”

You aren't even free, you have an essay you’ve written approximately two sentences for that happens to be due Monday. But the smile on Gunwook’s face makes agreeing feel like the right choice.

Immediately upon stepping inside, you remember why you hate parties. One, you lose Hanbin instantly. Two, trying to push through a bunch of sweaty, drunk people (who are surprisingly sturdy) is a pain in the ass. And three, it’s loud, you already feel like you need a drink. Or maybe three.

You manage to make it to a mostly empty kitchen, and at that point, you’ve lost any motivation to go search for Hanbin or even Gunwook. For the most part, you’ve given up caring about being ‘lame’, so, you’re perfectly content sitting in the kitchen on your phone at a party while sipping on possibly the worst quality beer you’ve tasted in your twenty years of life.

It’s maybe thirty minutes until you finally look up from your phone at the call of your name over the ear-damaging volume of music.

Hanbin stumbles into the kitchen, using Gunwook as support. You can make out your friend’s flushed cheeks, even in the dim lighting, you have no idea how he’s gotten drunk so fast. “There you are! I found Gunwookie, it looked like he was waitin’ around for you, ‘cause he was just in a corner lookin’ around… didn’t you guys exchange numbers?”

“I already told you I forgot to ask…” Gunwook mumbles.

“Oh,” Hanbin lets go of Gunwook to slide up beside you, “Hey, did you know that, um—” Gunwook rushes over to slap a hand over Hanbin’s mouth, are they both drunk? It’s more difficult to tell with Gunwook, his cheeks always look pink…

Hanbin removes Gunwook’s hand with a glare, “Don’t interrupt me,” he chides, as sternly as he can while drunk. “Anyway, ‘m so glad you two figured things out. I hope Gunwook tells you about his massive heart boner for you.”

Hanbin makes it probably ten times worse by continuing, “He’s—he’s had such a big crush on you since like, um, since like the millisecond he joined the team. But this whole time you thought he was mean to you, isn’t that silly?”

What isn’t silly is the look on Gunwook’s face, he looks positively mortified.

“...Okay, Bin, I think you’re ready to go home already,” you smile tersely, side-stepping the topic for now, maybe forever actually. “Gunwook, can you help me with him?” You ignore Hanbin’s slurred protests. It must take a moment for Gunwook to recoup before he’s at Hanbin’s other side, helping you pull the drunkard up.

You avoid looking in Gunwook’s direction, despite the fact you can feel him burning holes into the side of your head. Of course, there’s no avoiding the conversation—inevitably, you’re going to have to talk to Gunwook about what Hanbin said, but maybe you can get out of it tonight…?

It’s not that you’re particularly afraid… okay, well, you are, except it’s just unnecessary anxiety. Now you feel better about admitting to yourself that you’re interested in Gunwook. But what if Hanbin’s drunk rambling was just drunk rambling, and it was all nonsense? Well, Gunwook probably wouldn’t seem so nervous if that were the case, but maybe he’s nervous because he just doesn’t want you to be under the impression that he—

“Oh, hey, I’ve been looking everywhere for Hanbin…”

“Oh, Hao, hey.” you mentally thank Hao for unknowingly rescuing you from spiraling into your annoyingly irrational train of thought.

“Do you want me to take him off your hands? We were planning to ditch before he disappeared.”

Okay, time to put on your big person pants and be an adult. “Yeah, thanks.” Handing Hanbin off is pretty easy, the man completely unbothered that he’s thrown two of his protégés for a loop (he’ll probably feel a lot worse about it tomorrow, especially when he’s hungover). What’s less easy, is being left with Gunwook.

“Well, since Hanbin aired everything out…”

“Right, yeah. We should talk, maybe outside?”

Gunwook nods, leading the way to the back door, you follow closely behind him. As not to lose him in the clusters of people, and maybe just because you want to, you grab onto his arm.

Outside, your eardrums thank you for finally getting out of there, though your nervous heart is another story, rattling against your ribcage incessantly. Warily, you avoid looking at Gunwook, distancing yourself a good few feet away from him, “So…”

“I like you,” Gunwook blurts as if he won’t get another chance to say so, “like a lot. I initially joined the team ‘cause of you actually, I hadn’t even danced since middle school. But you were so—watching you on stage at orientation felt so… enchanting.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at Gunwook’s flattery, and he only continues, “I thought you were perfect, so obviously I immediately signed up for the dance team, even though I wasn’t even sure if I was any good at it anymore, just so I could have an excuse to see you. Only for me to never gain the courage to even talk to you…” Staring at the wooden planks of the porch beneath your feet, you see Gunwook’s beaten-up Converse come into view, urging you to look up again.

“Gunwook, I—”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel anything like that for me, I just can’t let the what-ifs get in the way of me trying anymore.” Oh, how could you not feel something for him? Surely anyone could fall for him just by staring into his pretty brown eyes.

The weird feeling in your gut, which must be those butterflies people talk about, amplifies, you think you’d have to be a fool if you didn’t feel something for Gunwook Park. “I don’t… not feel something,” you hastily avert your gaze, “I guess I’m not entirely sure what it is, but I am interested in you. I, um, would be open to exploring that.”

“I understand—wait, you… really?”

You look up in time to see the overjoyed grin split Gunwook’s lips. It’s infectious, you can’t help but mirror his smile, laugh tumbling past your lips, “Yes, you dork. You better sweep me off my feet.” You playfully shove at his shoulder.

“I will,” Gunwook grabs your wrist before you drop your arm, thumbing at the inside of it, “are you free tomorrow?”

“I…” You aren’t free, remember that pesky essay of yours? “Yeah, I am.” Oh, well, you suppose it can wait; likely until tomorrow night, when you finally open your laptop at eleven-thirty at night, when it happens to be due at midnight. You happen to work great under pressure!

“Perfect, can I pick you up at your place at two?”

“Sure, are you gonna remember to ask for my number this time, though?” You tease, making a ‘give me’ motion with your free hand.

Gunwook’s cheeks somehow get pinker, as he finally lets go of your wrist and retrieves his phone from his pocket, handing it over with the new contact screen open. Quickly, you type in your number and then your name, cheekily adding a heart beside it.

“Can I walk you home? Or, uh, if you wanted to go back to the party, that’s fine too…”

“Nah,” you’d rather do just about anything else than go back into that mess, you’ve had enough parties for the rest of your college life, “I’m pretty tired, and I have a super important date with a great guy tomorrow.”

With a coy smile to match Gunwook’s shy one, you cozy up to his side and link arms with him, “Let’s go?”

You’d still consider dancing to be a great way to unwind—still one of your favorites, it's just been demoted to second place.

Nothing ebbs away your stress like Gunwook popping into your room with your favorite food after you’ve been staring at your laptop screen for hours as if you were hoping your assignments would finish themselves. Or his hugs—always so warm, it’s like hugging an oversized stuffed bear. Or just… him.

Unrivaled after several years, dancing has finally met its match: Gunwook Park.

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the-writer-is-always-write · 2 months

Text

Thoughts on Dune: Part Two

General Impression: I adored this movie from start to finish. Having just rewatched Part One a week ago, it felt like a seamless transition hopping back into the story. The score, the set design, the costumes, all of it was impeccable.

Chani: her character arc was obviously the biggest deviation from the book, and although I felt a lot of surprise watching it unfold, I think some reflection has left me alright with it. I've admittedly only read Dune and Dune: Messiah, but both books are clearly meant to illustrate the dangers of religious fanaticism and the ways that religion and prophecy can be manipulated and utilized as a tool for oppression. While these ideas can (hopefully) be discerned fairly clearly by the reader, I think it makes sense to have an audible voice of dissent in a film adaptation, particularly from someone among the Fremen. The only concern I have is wondering how Denis will handle Dune: Messiah, since the plot sort of hinges on Paul and Chani being together. But I guess that's a worry for later.

MY BOY MUAD'DIB: Timothee is just so utterly perfect for this role, I genuinely could not imagine anyone else doing it with such grace and gravitas. Seeing the gradual spiral of innocent teenager to reluctant leader to religious icon was heart-wrenching. Paul has honestly become one of my favorite fictional characters because his story is so complex and layered with tragedy. He's simultaneously a product of manipulation and coercion, and an angry young man seeking revenge against those who have hurt him. He lacks agency in many ways, yet he still makes decisions that lead to so much destruction. He tries so so hard to avoid the holy war, but it becomes an inevitability he can't escape. Reading Dune: Messiah for the first time a few weeks ago really helped me to understand how the prophecy controlled him as much as he used it to control others. I could literally give a ted talk on this, and how it's such a fascinating take on the messiah figure trope.

Jessica: I saw an article recently where I think Denis called Jessica "the puppetmaster," and I think that's very fitting for her depiction in this movie. I like how it openly shows the manipulation tactics of the Bene Gesserit, particularly how they prey upon the "vulnerable" Fremen first. Rebecca did a fantastic job giving the creep factor.

Feyd-Rautha: I still don't know why Denis had a vendetta against Harkonnen eyebrows, but I guess it was cool? I LOVED the black and white lighting on Giedi Prime, and the arena scene was SO. GOOD. Denis really went for it. Feyd's accent caught me off guard a few times, but overall I think the ruthless and brutal nature of the character really shined through. He's the antithesis to Paul, and I think Denis captured that theme well enough.

I thought all the other characters were well done too. Stilgar was maybe a touch too comic relief-y at times, but nothing catastrophic. Gurney was great, but I would have liked at least one more baliset scene :(

Things we missed: I'm a little bummed we didn't get Harah. I know the movie was already pretty stuffed, but I honestly thought they could have used the actress that played Chani's friend (I can't remember if they ever mention her name). Even if the idea of Paul "acquiring" her was a little icky, they could have done something else with her character at least. I was also sad they didn't do the full funeral scene with Jamis, but oh well. I think the greater omission was Thufir Hawat, but again I can see why they chose to cut him. I just think the dynamic between the Baron and Feyd-Rautha had a lot more friction in the book, mostly because of Thufir conspiring them both against each other.

I'm honestly not upset we didn't get to see freaky-toddler Alia. I was excited for Anya though!

Overall, I really loved this film. No adaptation can get every detail perfect, but I can see the ways that Denis and the actors adored this story and wanted to tell it in a powerful way. I thought the themes stayed true to the book, and I'm really hopeful we get Part Three!

AND THE WORMS. THE WORMS WERE GREAT. LONG LIVE THE WORMS.

#dune #dune part two #dune part two spoilers #dune spoilers #frank herbert #paul atreides #chani #irulan #timothee chalamet #denis villeneuve #zendaya

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kairiscorner · 9 months

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OMG IF YOU WANT PLS DO WRITE THE FIC ABOUT MIGUEL SEEING OUR THIRST TRAPS 😭 salamat talagaaaa wala na kasi akong maisip maliban kay miguel

HELLOOOOO, OFC I WILL ANON, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS HEHE this is another excuse to make more text fics bc it's starting to feel fun for me LMAO <333

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

is it not for me? – miguel o'hara x reader (reacting to your thirst traps)

a/n: kind of suggestive shit underneath the cut, sorry if you don't like it, you have every right to scroll away ^^

after getting used to the controls and operations on social media and understanding the basic goal, or lack, of it–miguel had begun scrolling through his feed like you and lyla directed him to do. he scrolled and scrolled through the endless photos, videos, and posts sent his way by the very strange algorithm of the app. he still hadn't found the right thing for him on social media and he honestly wouldn't be here if you and lyla didn't force him to try it out so much, but when he least expected it... he happened upon your account.

he saw a photo of your back, it was you taking a selfie in the mirror with hardly anything covering your back. your behind was in full view but covered up, the lighting was dim, save for the flash of your phone's camera. the caption read: "for m, hoping you'll enjoy this three-course meal 🍓"

...that did something to miguel. it set some sort of feeling off of him, something that urged him to not just click like, but to comment right then and there: "who the shock is 'm'?" but if only he knew how to comment; all he knows how to do is click like and scroll.

he clicked the like button, unsure of how to feel about that very... eye-catching photo of yours. he tried shaking the feeling off, but he just couldn't; he couldn't stop thinking about it. he scrolled back up to see who else liked your photo, it took him a few tries to figure out how to do that. he also saw a few of the preview comments, complimenting your looks and tagging their friends who had 'm' in their names–joking that the photo was for them.

it pissed miguel off that these people could think your photos were for them, when you promised him you were all his. it damaged his ego slightly, but he figured these people were just douches, simple as that.

...but he needed to be doubly sure, so he click on your profile and looked through the posts you made. you really did love showing off your behind, it seemed like you were incredibly proud of it; miguel's totally in love with your ass, don't get him wrong, bur to know other people could see it and get to revisit the sight of your ass? oh, that made him feel a bit of a stinging pain in his chest.

he hated that feeling, where he felt like you were sharing intimate bits of yourself when you kept reminding and telling him you're all his. that, and as he scrolled through your comments, he saw a lot of people who not only loved your photos and sent you many compliments, but many who told you to get off the platform–many also catcalled you in the comments, too, much to his disgust.

"can't even keep this shit in real life, what losers." he muttered under his breath as he felt his anger rise as he kept scrolling through your comment section. he had gone through almost all of your posts, memorizing all the details of your posts and how you looked in them, feeling his face and chest flare up in a fit of heat as he looked through them all one by one. he sighed as he noticed you were a little too bold in these photos, in his opinion. he didn't want you to jeopardize yourself, seeing as how there were a lot of creeps on your account, he wanted to bring it to you attention.

hence, he messaged you all about his concerns.

"for... her mother?" miguel repeated to himself as he reread your message to him. he sighed, not believing your excuse one bit, believing you directed it to someone with an 'm' in their name, like him, but he decided to play along for now to get you to fess up eventually. that, and he doesn't think you'd wish your mom would have a lovely three-course meal with your ass picture, but he did see that you took pictures of food afterwards, so... it was plausible. but you were not off the hook yet.

he sighed as you laughed at his attempt at guessing who that post was for, who 'm' was. he felt a little embarrassed, a little ashamed he thought it was him, but then he thought of who would be closest to you, had 'm' in their name, and would enjoy the three-course meal that was... you already know what. he sighed as he typed and retyped his message after deleting the previous one, trying to get himself together after outing himself as being a little expectant that those thirst traps were for him.

he finally messaged you, trying to sound stern over text, but he was completely ignored by you when you sent him a selfie of your bottom half, with little letters on your bottom that read: "good????? bad????? should i get em....."

fuck, you baited him again.

he felt his cheeks grow hot and his breath hitch in his throat as he stared at your photo for a second, hoping you wouldn't post this, that this could remain as just a little thing between you two. but then again, he couldn't control you, so he'd just try to respond back–seeming unfazed. hopefully.

he was so easy to please sometimes.

moral of the story?

miguel loves your ass and wants to beat up the creeps in your comments section, while making it known to both you and the world that your ass is all for him–nobody else.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @fiannee @fictarian @yuridopted0 @arachnoia @meeom @ophanimgold @melovetitties @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @popeheywardssecretgf

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderman 2099 #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv imagines #atsv fluff #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff

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heich0e · 7 months

Text

begin - nicholas wolfwood/f!reader (trigun) prequel to the poly!au, bounty hunters!au, wild west-ish, tw BLOOD/INJURIES, reader is patching up a bullet wound so warning for all the expected nastiness that entails, tw mentions of attemped assault (not reader and not in detail), mentions of sex work, gratuitous mentions of nico's stubble

BOUND - poly!au masterlist

You live in a nothing town, in the dead middle of nowhere, called The Bend.

It’s called that because a long time ago—long before your days, or your daddy’s days, or even your granddaddy’s days—there used to be a wide, rushing freshwater river snaking through the valley, and right where the town centre now sits is where it used to turn east to the far-away sea.

But the river’s dried up now, and it took the green grass with it.

The sea is farther than you could ever hope to travel.

And the B on the sign that marks the border into your dusty little nothing-nowhere town has rusted off and decayed away with the years, which means the only warning that any misguided traveller has to tell them where they’re heading is an ominous old sign, half-rotted, that reads:

Welcome to The end.

It’s fitting, you think. An omen to give anyone who wanders within spitting distance of the border a final caution that they have one last chance to turn around. A choice to get out while they still can.

It’s a choice you never had.

You were born and raised in The Bend. Your blood runs thick with the dust that coats the decrepit old town. It’s all you’ve ever known, and all you ever will know; your beginning, your middle, and your miserable, inexorable end.

Because that’s the thing about The Bend: few people ever show up here and those who do aren’t stupid enough to stay. And the unfortunate few that are born from the dusty earth and dried up riverbeds, like you? Well, those ones never leave.

There’s some comfort to be taken from that, you suppose; a kind of stability that comes from monotony. From certain inevitability. Every day the same, unchanging. A familiarity to the nothingness of your little town, your little house, your little life.

But then, on a night just like any other, something changes.

One night, you meet him.

Nicholas isn’t quite sure how he ended up here, but he isn’t all that surprised either.

There’s something kind of undeniably fitting about bleeding out in the middle of fucking nowhere, supported on either side by two of the finest prostitutes The Bend has to offer—and flanked by a handful more as the group guides him through the dark, dusty night.

The Bend isn’t the first hellhole town Nicholas has ever stumbled into. His line of work has brought him to more than his fair share of seedy dumps just like this one. Towns like this are the perfect place for someone to hide from the law after all, because not many people would bother to come looking for you in places that might as well not exist. Most bounty hunters don’t even know about this particular town, and they don’t care to learn, especially since half the maps on the market don’t even bother marking its sorry half-existence down.

But Nicholas isn’t like most bounty hunters.

That’s what brought him to The Bend.

There’s a vicious flash of lightning that suddenly forks through the sky overhead, lighting up the dim, depressing town and the dusty valley beyond it as brightly as the midday sun for just a blink. It’s followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that makes the packed earth under his unsteady feet tremble, and Nicholas knows that means the lightning’s closer than he cares for it to be.

“’s it gonna rain?” he slurs, tearing his eyes away from the sky and looking over to the woman supporting him on his right (or is that his left?)

He wracks his hazy, addled brain as he tries to remember her name. Starts with a V, he’s pretty sure. Victoria? Viola?

She snorts, her ruby rouged lips lifting at one painted corner. “Honey, it’s been almost five months since we’ve seen a drop of rain around here, and even then it was nothin’ to write home about. You just focus on puttin’ one boot in front of the other, and don’t go gettin’ your hopes up.”

All at once, Nicholas is reminded of the burning pain in his arm; the searing, radiating agony of a bullet nestled deep into flesh.

Oh. Right.

He got shot.

It’s not the first time he’s suffered a similar wound, nor will it likely be the last if he makes it through the night—God, or whatever all-knowing bastard’s out there, willing. That doesn’t make it any less of a miserable bitch to deal with, though.

How the hell did he get shot, again?

He ponders this question for a moment, reflecting on it through alcohol sodden introspection, and the answer comes back to him in bits and pieces as he keeps aimlessly shuffling along through the night.

The sound of heels clicking overhead at the town saloon—that’s the first thing he remembers. The clacking metronome of Big Annie’s working girls crossing the wooden floorboards of the brothel that operates above the only place in this awful little town to get a half-decent drink.

A drink.

Yes, it was something bitter and dark—completely nauseating to presently even think about. It burned on the way down, and now it sloshes unpleasantly in his stomach as he walks. The girls had made him down the better part of a bottle after he’d been shot—to help with the pain, they’d said, and he’d been anything but reluctant to heed their advice—and he’d already had fair a few glasses earlier in the evening as he’d occupied his table in the corner of the bar on top of that. Panic had palpably sizzled between the women while they watched the tattered cloth Nicholas held to his arm ink steadily darker with scarlet in the lamplight of the old bar following the shooting—the tension building amongst them like the perspiration beading at his temple. They were bickering about something then.

No, not something.

Someone.

“We gotta take him to see Mama!”

It was Charity who said that, he recalls—the pretty little thing with full lips and a mane of thick, curly hair that Nicholas had complimented the first time he ever saw her traipsing through the saloon. She can’t be a whole lot older than 20, and her voice is still high and childlike; even more so that particular evening as she stomped her foot petulantly, looking over at him with worry-filled eyes as she made her plea to the other girls watching him bleed out in the musty wooden booth.

“Mama won't want anything to do with this one.”

That was Violetta who’d replied to Charity’s fractious appeal. She’s one of the older girls who works for Big Annie at the brothel. She’s got a sort of seasoned air to her, with a husky rasp in her voice—like the sand that blows through the empty streets in town has roughened it. She’s still undeniably pretty, but she comes across a little tougher than the rest of them. Doing the job she does in a town like this one, Nicholas doesn’t blame her for it.

Violetta’s the one currently supporting his right side, leading him through the night towards the woman who’s supposed to be his saving grace.

Towards Mama.

But who the hell is that?

He’s sure he’s heard the name in passing while he’s been kicking around the town saloon between his work, nursing half-noxious drinks and flirting harmlessly here and there with Big Annie’s working girls—who seem to have taken a liking to lingering around his table between visits from johns.

Nicholas wasn’t even supposed to be staying in The Bend long, only for a day or two to follow up on a bounty lead he’d caught wind of three towns over—but the lead went cold, and a few days turned into almost a week. Nevertheless, while his stay may have been extended, he just he never thought to ask any more questions about this mysterious matriarch all the working girls seemed to know so well and speak so highly of. But now, as those very same girls are dragging his half-conscious ass to the other side of town in search of this Mama, he wishes that maybe he’d dug a little deeper.

“Mama’s gonna get you all fixed up, handsome,” little Charity appears on Violetta’s other side, her eyes wide enough as she stares at him that they reflect the next flash of lightning as it rips through the dark of night. She looks worried, in spite of her words—even in his present state of drunkenness and blood loss fuelled delirium, he can tell that much.

They all do. Even the toughest, Violetta—though she seems reluctant to let on as she stands stoically at his side and shoulders his flagging, stumbling weight.

Charity nods, but it’s a gesture that seems more to reassure herself than anyone else. “Mama always takes care of us; she’ll have you good as new by morning.”

Ah, so this woman must be a doctor of sorts—or as close to it as a shithole little town like this can offer.

It’s Nicholas’ turn to nod, a bobble of his cotton-filled head the only recognition he can muster to her words, as he just keeps staggering on under their guidance. He’s lucky that The Bend even has some kind of doctor to look after him, even if it’s just some old lady who looks after the saloon girls.

The unlikely group soon arrives at the doorstep of a little house at the edge of town—as slummy and dilapidated as all the rest of them—and Queenie, the girl who’d moments before been supporting Nicholas’s injured left side, raps sharply on the door.

“She’s not gonna answer,” Violetta mutters dourly under her breath, still at Nicholas’ right side.

“She will,” Charity counters with her arms crossed over her chest, punctuating the assertion with an indignant little huff for good measure. “Mama always answers when we come knockin’.”

But Nicholas worries for a moment—a long moment as the door stays firmly shut—that Violetta might just have a point. It’s the middle of the night after all, and this ‘Mama’ could very well be sleeping like any other reasonable person would be at this hour.

Queenie knocks on the wooden door for a second time, this time with an open palm. This series of raps is a little louder. A little more insistent.

“Mama? It’s us! Open up!” she calls, casting a worried glance over her shoulder at Nicholas—who’s got his entire weight slumped over onto poor Violetta, now.

Nicholas is bleeding out on the front porch, and part of him still almost feels bad for waking up some poor, unsuspecting old—

The door flies open.

“What the hell do you want?”

Oh.

Nicholas knows that his eyes travel up your frame in a way that can only be considered wholly impolite. But he’s not really in his right mind, after all—or at least that’s what he tells himself as he justifies his immodest stare. He starts at the uneven cuffs of your paper-thin trousers, before climbing up, up, up your body to the tight white undershirt your wear—appreciating the way it clings to the curve of your waist and sits snug around your chest, and he particularly admires the pretty little edge of lace that frills around the neckline at your breasts. Finally, his gaze makes it to your face, and you look irritated to say the absolute least on the matter.

He’s not all that sure what he was expecting to find on the other side of the chipped paint of this shabby front door, but he can say with a steady hand to his foolhardy heart that it certainly wasn’t you.

For a moment, Nicholas is convinced they’ve got the wrong house—as improbable as that might be in a town as small as this one. At the very least, he waits for someone else to come to the door—a mother, or grandmother even—because surely you can’t be the one that these women have been calling—

“Mama! You gotta help us,” Queenie exclaims. She’s luckily perceptive enough to stick out her foot once she sees you fully process just what’s waiting for you outside, keeping the door jammed open with her heeled boot as you rush to slam it shut.

“I haven’t gotta do anything,” you counter sharply from around the edge of the door, your face pinching in a blatantly vexed expression at the way the woman is keeping it ajar.

Your eyes flicker over to Nicholas through the gap between the door and its frame, surveying him with a look of disdain that might just have been enough to offend him if he were a little more himself.

“Mama, he got shot!” Charity suddenly bursts into what can only be described as a spectacular display of tears—blubbering noisily between each word as she elbows her way through the group towards your door. She reaches across the threshold and desperately clutches at the front of your shirt with both hands as she pleads to you. “P-please let us in, y-you’re the only one who can h-he-help him.”

“Bertie, what in God’s merciful name is wrong with you?” you sigh aggrievedly, roughly batting her hands away from their grip on your clothes. In the next breath, you wrench open the front door to your home, stepping back to allow your unexpected visitors the space to cross through the doorway. “And cut the waterworks or you’re gonna wake up half The Bend and get us all shot.”

As the girls help Nicholas inside and across the gnarled, warped floorboards of your little house, you slip wordlessly away into another room out of sight. When you return moments later, you’ve pulled on a creased button-down over that pretty little undershirt of yours.

Nicholas can’t help but notice that you’re dressed practically like a man, especially in comparison to the painted faces and petticoats of the other women in the room. But it strangely suits you, for reasons he can’t quite place.

“He got shot fightin’ some bozo tryin’ to rough up Ada on her way home,” Violetta explains when you look to her with an expression that demands context. She’s the most level-headed of the five woman gathered in your tiny home, so no one can blame you for turning to her first.

Nicholas feels dizzy, the modest lamp-lit room around him reeling like a child’s toy spinning top gaining speed.

Did he do that?

He remembers hearing something out back in the alley that runs behind the saloon and the inn when he went out to take a piss late into to the evening, well after it had dropped dark. He was already sufficiently drunk by that point, but there was no mistaking the sound of a woman putting up a fight the moment that he heard it. He followed the racket and found the pair quickly—on instinct more than anything—grabbing the drunken man by the scruff of the neck and hauling him off the poor girl he was trying to force himself on. In the ensuing scuffle, the man pulled a gun that Nicholas wasn’t expecting. With his senses drink-dulled, he didn’t react quickly enough to miss the shot entirely and caught it in his arm—but he’s lucky the guy had such terrible aim to begin with, or the night could have turned out a whole lot worse.

But who’s this Ada? He thought the girl he’d helped’s name was Priscilla—having met her a few times in the saloon. She was always quieter than the rest of them, a little more reserved. She didn’t say much to anyone from what Nicholas had witnessed in his time spent in The Bend. But Ada’s not the first name he’s heard since showing up at your door that’s unfamiliar to him.

“You've got a lot of nerve dragging some no-good, half-cocked brute to my door like this in the middle of the damn night, Sarah Jane,” you hiss through your teeth, your eyes flickering from Violetta over to Nicholas once more.

Violetta snorts, but offers no argument.

“Please, Mama,” Priscilla (or is it Ada? Nicholas can’t keep track anymore) says quietly, though her tone is unmistakably earnest. It’s the first time she’s said anything since the girls came stumbling through your door with the injured man propped between them. First time he remembers her saying anything at all—at least other than when he heard her screaming and chased off the scum that was hassling her.

Your attention suddenly turns to where Priscilla stands just off near the corner of the little room, with Theodosia (another one of Big Annie’s working girls) at her side with a comforting arm looped around her waist. It’s not hard to see the way the woman trembles as she holds her shawl around her shoulders. She’s got a bad scrape across her cheek, and her lip is split—evidence of the ordeal she’d gone through earlier in the evening. Her skin still looks clammy and sallow from the shock.

Your expression softens as you contemplate her.

“C’mere, Adaline,” you beckon to her, reaching out a hand. “Step into the light and let me take a look at you.”

She approaches you without any reservation, and you carefully inspect her wounds after taking her face gently in your hands. A long, resigned sigh slips from your lips once a moment has passed, having turned her face this way and that to fully scrutinize her condition. You look around at the women gathered in your home, and the man slumping between them, then your head hangs in defeat. Your hand lifts to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Bertie, go grab my bag from my room. Georgie, fetch some clean water from the basin in the kitchen.”

Charity and Theodosia move briskly once you’ve issued the order—like they don’t want to give you the opportunity to change your mind.

Nicholas finds it a little funny how easily these women yield to you, though most seem to be your seniors—you’re just a scrappy young thing, only a few years into your adulthood if he had to guess. As he watches you, he sees that you carry yourself with a certain quality that’s beyond your years—every action and word steeped with a sort of weary assuredness that you haven’t even lived long enough to properly earn.

He watches you move with the grace of a woman, and listens to you speak with the authority of a man—and It could be the blood loss talking, but Nicholas thinks you might just be the most interesting thing he’s stumbled upon in this god-forsaken little town.

“You’re a doctor?”

You freeze, your head snapping in his direction when you finally hear him speak.

Your lip curls and you bare your teeth to him, and Nicholas is suddenly reminded of those city cats that wander the back alleys in Julai, hissing with their hackles raised when you happen across their path.

“Do I look like a doctor to you?” you sneer at him derisively.

For some unplaceable reason, Nicholas almost wants to laugh—the sensation bubbling up in his stomach in the wake of your harsh words.

(Though, that might just be the liquor.)

“Her daddy was a doctor,” Queenie whispers to him quietly as she and Violetta help Nicholas up onto the wooden table at the centre of the room at your instruction, leaning him back until he’s laid flat across it with a grunt. “Only one The Bend’s seen in the last 80 years."

“Prudence, you better shut your damn mouth if you want me to do anything about this mess,” you snap without looking up, busy rifling through the ancient leather medicine bag that Charity just dragged in from the other room.

You tend to Priscilla first, fixing her up with a compress on her cheek and a salve for the cut on her lip. She’s not the most desperate case in the room, but no one tries to turn your attention to the man on the table until you’re good and ready to do so of your own accord—a unanimous, though entirely unspoken, pact of silence lest your precarious agreement to help be withdrawn. Once you’re satisfied that the woman’s been sufficiently looked after, leaving her once more in the dutiful care of Theodosia, you finally turn to Nicholas.

The lamplight is fairly dim, even though you’ve moved it closer to the table to help illuminate your work—and there’s very little oil in the grimy reservoir of the glass lamp to keep it burning.

You approach him slowly.

“You a lefty?” you ask him, plunking yourself down in the wooden chair nearest to his injured left arm.

“Luckily not,” he slurs, his head lolling over to look at you as you sit beside him at the table.

“Luckily?” You huff, and Nicholas thinks that maybe it’s as close to a laugh as someone as mirthless as you ever gets. “You must not’ve heard: luck left The Bend years ago, and it’s not coming back.”

Nicholas really does find himself laughing then in the face of your plain, bur distinctly dour expression—and he immediately winces as a sharp pain shoots through him from the strain of trying to hold it back.

Your eyes survey the sopping, blood-soaked handkerchief he’s holding to his injury, then you lean over towards the medicine bag and begin digging through it again. He watches as you pull out an inhumanely large needle and some thread.

“Clear out, ladies,” you remark flatly to the group of onlookers without glancing up from the contents of the bag before you. “None of you are gonna wanna see this.”

The girls delay momentarily even after you bark out the order, as though worried that once they leave the room your willingness to help may exit with them.

You lift your face in their direction, some gauze and a corked flask of an indistinguishable transparent liquid in hand. Your lips pull down noticeably at the corners when you see the way the women are hesitating. “Go on, then. I’m making this exception for you once, and never again. Get Ada back home safe, and then the rest of you oughta do the same.”

Still, no one seems keen to heed your words.

You and Violetta share a pointed look, and it’s clear your patience—hardly-there to begin with—has worn dangerously thin.

“Alright, whores—clear out!” the older woman says, turning on her heel and corralling Queenie, Charity, Priscilla, and Theodosia towards the door with her arms outstretched. “Unless one of y’all are keen to be the next one who needs stitchin'!”

It takes a moment to get everyone moving—Charity in particular putting up more of a fight than the rest of them—but eventually Violetta succeeds in ushering them out. She casts one final glance back from the doorway, and Nicholas catches the exchange of almost imperceptible nods of thanks between you.

It’s unbearably quiet once they’re gone.

You move swiftly but silently, and set to work without a single word exchanged between you and the man stretched across your table. Without hesitating, you drag a thin blade in two strokes up the front of Nicholas’s bloodstained shirt—one cut along the torso and then another up the sleeve—and then pull off whatever’s in your way. You don’t so much as bat an eye as the tanned skin of his chest and abdomen is suddenly bared; there’s no distinguishable emotion or thought on your face that Nicholas can make out, but he’s also fairly distracted as he bites back the groans of pain that threaten to slip out each time you jostle his injured arm too roughly.

Next, you begin cleaning the surface of the wound—as best you can given that it’s still unstitched—in preparation to fish out and remove the bullet still stuck inside. That little flask from earlier has some sort of antiseptic in it, which Nicholas discerns by the acrid smell and unbearable burning that rips through him as you let it trickle over the open gouge in his skin. He cries out as it happens, and the sound even takes him by surprise—guttural and completely instinctive.

“Don’t be a baby,” you sniff, dabbing away at the blood and antiseptic around his wound with some clean gauze.

“Sorry,” Nicholas mumbles through his panting breaths, pressing his opposite hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep himself quiet.

Your eyes flicker up to his briefly in the wake of his apology, and your gazes meet. You’re the first to look away after the momentary hold.

Next, you tip the flask into your hands, coating your palms in the stinging, astringent antiseptic. The lamplight catches in the little droplets as you shake them from your fingertips.

“My daddy told me once that doctors have to tell lies to keep their patients calm,” you say quietly, your lips pursing forward as you wrap one cool hand underneath his bicep. “Said that it’s just part of the job.”

You suck in a little breath, meeting his gaze briefly once more.

He can’t help but think your eyes look pretty when the light reflects in them like this.

“But I’m no doctor—and this is gonna hurt like fresh hell.”

Outside your rickety little house on the edge of this forgotten, nowhere town, another peal of thunder roars.

You don’t often patch up bullet holes.

In fact, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve tried.

But you’re not a professional, and you’ve never claimed to be; you’re just a doctor’s daughter who used to follow her father on his rounds through town, helping out whenever and wherever it was needed. Unavoidably, you learned some things along the way—like treatments, and time-honoured remedies, and how to sew a stitch so it won’t pucker when it scars—but you’re about as far as anyone could be from trained. You’ve got no education beyond your reading, writing, and basic arithmetic—what little education the school house in town could offer you until you just stopped going altogether—and your experience is limited only to the care you offer to Big Annie’s girls: whether it’s cleaning up the messes left by their particularly nasty customers or treating them as best you can when they fall ill.

You don’t bother telling any of this to the man bleeding all over your table, though. You doubt it would do him much good.

Daddy used to deal with gunshot wounds all the time. They’re about a dime a dozen in a town like The Bend, after all, where tempers are high and spirits are low—not to mention where the men outnumber the women by about ten-to-one.

And if there’s one thing you know about men, it’s that they all love slinging guns but less than half of them ought to be allowed to—because it always leads to injuries like this. It’s rarely ever women who walk around town getting themselves shot.

But in spite of all that, and your lack of experience, you watched your father go through the motions frequently enough that the movements come to you now like second nature: disinfect, remove, keep pressure, suture, bandage. You know the order of things, and you find your mind clear and your hands steady as you set to work—starting by cleaning him up as best you can to prepare to extract the bullet.

You can see the very butt of it in peeking out from inside his ugly wound; a pesky little thing, slick with blood that catches in the light when his arm twitches towards the lamp. It’s not nestled too deep in there, thankfully, and he’ll probably be fine if he lets it heal properly—but it’ll still hurt like a bitch to pull out.

But that’s his problem, not yours.

Unfortunately, you don’t have a pair of tweezers you trust to pluck the bullet out—at least not a pair that isn’t rusty—so your god-given tools will have to be what you use for the undertaking. You disinfect your hands as best you can before you begin.

“Would you stop squirming?” you mutter under your breath as the man on your table flinches the first time your fingers graze his open wound.

“Sorry,” he mumbles back, and your eyes flicker up to his face again briefly.

This man keeps apologizing to you.

It’s unsettling.

His dark eyes are heavy lidded, but you can still sense them tracing along the lines of your face as you work. There’s visible sweat beading at his temple as he lies flat on his back atop the wooden table in the centre of your home, and his bare chest rises and falls with heavy, laboured breaths that shake every so often on the exhale—the lamplight at your side catches in the perspiration glistening there too, near the little smattering of hair that sits at the highest point of his sternum.

This guy—this stranger who’s bleeding all over the table you eat your meals on—really pisses you off.

He’s got an awful lot of nerve to show up here in the middle of the night, looking for your help after he went and got himself shot. A small part of you knows that’s not entirely fair to think, because he got shot helping Adaline and it was the girls who’d brought him to you in the first place, but you still can’t help but be resentful.

You feel yourself frown.

Your fingertips dip inside the wet heat of his wound for the first time, and he lets out a gasping, wretched groan from deep in the centre of his chest—so loud it almost makes you flinch.

“Don’t pass out,” you warn him flatly, pinning his injured arm more firmly to the table and prodding further in as you try to get a grip on the evasive little bullet with the very tips of your fingers. “You’re dead weight if you’re unconscious, and I’ll drag you outta this house in parts if I have to.”

“Noted,” the dark-haired man says through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as he attempts to stomach the pain.

You don’t have anything to offer him to dull the sensation—though you’re not sure you’d waste something so precious on him even if you did. After a while, and a bit more poking and prodding, he seems to acclimatize to the agony anyway.

Or at the very least he gets better at masking it.

“I’m Nicholas, by the way,” he grits out after a while of you unsuccessfully trying to remove the bullet—frequently having to pause and wipe away the blood that’s continued to seep from the wound, slicking you down to your wrist. It stains the cuff of your shirtsleeve now, and you regret ever pulling it on to begin with, because you know it will be a nightmare to pound out in the wash.

“Didn’t ask.”

“I know,”—miraculously, he manages to laugh a bit, even as you’ve got two fingers digging around inside his arm—“just thought I’d tell ya anyway.”

You don’t bother replying, your eyes honed in solely on the task at bloody hand.

“‘M grateful for your help, y’know. Even if it’s just an exception,” the man—Nicholas—slurs next, his head tipping to the side on your kitchen table. You can tell that he’s talking, if nothing else, to distract himself. A lonely bead of sweat drips down his throat as he looks at you. “It’s awfully nice of ya to take pity on a no-good brute like me, Mama.”

You feel a crick of irritation tighten in your jaw then, as he parrots your earlier words back to you. Your fingers, still poking around to retrieve the bullet in his shoulder, twitch—and you aren’t sure the gesture is entirely involuntary. The man on the table before you yelps, flinching away from the pain, and you lean closer with your eyes still fixed on the wound piercing his skin.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss through the dull scrape of your teeth grinding tightly together.

Nicholas lifts his right hand to his mouth, curled into a fist, and his pearly teeth bite down hard into the flesh at the base of his thumb as he pants through the pain. You finally, mercifully, manage to get a grip on that damned bullet, plucking it out and tossing it into the waiting dish atop the table with a delicate, terribly anticlimactic clink. You swiftly press a pad of clean gauze to the wound to staunch the bleeding while you reach for the stitching needle you left set off to the side.

“Hold this,” you order him, and the man lets his hand slip from the bite of his jaw to do as he’s told while you rifle through the bag at your feet. You can see the marks his teeth left in his skin as he takes the gauze from your hand into his own and begins to apply pressure.

You stand and wash your hands off as best you can in the basin of water Georgie brought in for you earlier, poised at the end of the table. The liquid tints pink as you first dip them in, and then slowly it turns an even darker, uglier colour as you properly scrub his blood from your skin. You shake as much of the water off your hands as you can, and then use the front of your shirt to sop up the rest—faintly rust-tinged handprints left in the cotton.

You take your seat once more, and Nicholas watches you through mostly-closed eyes as you set about sterilizing the needle.

“How come I can’t call you that?”

You light a candle using the lamp at your side. Then you swish the needle around in antiseptic before running it through the flickering flame until it sparks—careful not to let it lick too close to your fingertips. Your eyes slide over to Nicholas as you pluck it from the fire.

With his face tilted towards you, another little drop of sweat has tracked down his cheek towards his prominent nose, and it glistens against his flushing skin in the warm light of your oil lamp. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, too—from what you don’t doubt is the combination of pain and whatever booze he’s been guzzling to numb it—and lips part on a shuddering exhalation as you survey his face.

“Call me what?” you mutter, averting your eyes and turning again to search through your medicine bag for a clean roll of bandage.

“Ma—” A sudden, harsh glare cuts him off before he even has the chance to say it. He smiles a little, the expression half-delirious, and you can’t help but think that if he weren’t so weakened from the pain that wracks him, he might have even managed another laugh.

You kiss your teeth quietly. “Only the girls call me that.”

The man bleeding out in the middle of your table clearly knows your tone of voice means not to push it, because he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his head until he’s staring up at your dingy ceiling once more, though you can tell from the faraway look in his eyes he’s not seeing much at all.

“The girls,” Nicholas remarks quietly, speaking more to himself than anything. “You don’t call ‘em by their names.”

That’s right: he’d only know the girls by their working names. You’re surprised he even caught that.

“The hell I don’t,” you mutter, turning back to face him in your seat once more with your last roll of bandage clutched tightly in your hand. You set it down atop the table as you set your supplies up just how you like them. “I call them by the names their mothers gave them.”

Nicholas hums thoughtfully. “Sarah Jane, that’s Violetta?”

You grunt out an affirmative, threading the freshly cleaned needle with nimble, dextrous accuracy.

“And Charity, her real name’s Bertie?”

“Bertha May,” you correct him, snipping away the excess thread with a little pair of mostly-dull scissors—careful not to take more than you’ll need, but still giving yourself sufficient supply to work with.

“Priscilla’s name’s Adaline,” Nicholas continues, his eyes still tracing the cracks in your ceiling. “And what about Theodosia and Queenie?”

“Georgina and Prudence,” you supply flatly as you secure a tight knot in the end of the stitching thread.

Nicholas sighs before slurring, “’s a lot to keep track of.”

You snort. “Wait until you find out Big Annie’s real name.”

He looks over at you with wider eyes than you’ve seen on him since he came staggering through your door. He catches the expression on your face and his own softens, clearly sensing that you’d said it only in jest.

Annie’s just short for Annabelle, after all. Madam’s rarely need to take up new personas—why would they need to be someone they’re not if they aren’t the ones doing the dirty work?

Nicholas watches as you tug on the stitching thread one last time to test its strength—eying the glinting needle warily. You set the threaded implement carefully off to the side once you’re confident it’s ready.

“So you learned all this stuff from your daddy, huh?” he asks you next.

You swallow over the unpleasant lump you suddenly feel in the back of your throat and reach up, nudging his hand away from where he’s holding the gauze to his wound. He’s become a real chatterbox now, and part of you wonders why you’re even tolerating it.

You clean the area with antiseptic again—and Nicholas is just as dramatic as he was the first time as a low moan of pain tears through him. For a moment you worry he really might be on the brink of passing out, the whites of his eyes taking over as they begin to roll back, so you know you need to keep him focused.

“He used to take me with him on his rounds,” you mumble a reply to his earlier question.

Nicholas’s eyes open a bit wider when he hears your voice, a little more focused now than they had been.

“My daddy, I mean,” your tone is dismissive and flippant, but it seems to be an effective distraction. “I just picked things up here and there while I watched him work.”

“You’re a natural.”

You snort mirthlessly in the wake of his reply. “Don’t know about all that.”

“You just pulled a bullet outta my arm with your bare hands, that’s gotta count for something.” Nicholas hisses as you press the antiseptic-soaked gauze to his wound one last time, then he sucks in a sharp breath. “And the girls trust you a lot, so you must be good at it.”

“Somebody’s gotta take care of them.”

Lord knows no one else around here does.

You set the scarlet saturated gauze aside in the dish with the discarded bullet, then pick up your needle.

You make neat, even sutures through his skin, and you take your time to do it right. You’ve always been good at this kind of thing, even when you were young. You were born with a keen eye for detailed work like this, and your daddy used to get you to finish up the smaller wounds he was called to treat that needed finer stitching—said your little hands were just better at it than his own big, life-roughened ones. He always used to tell you that you got your steady hands from him, but your nimble fingers from your mother.

Not that you’d know anything about that.

Nicholas has stopped flinching now, a little more relaxed than he’d previously been, and you can’t help but look up at him every so often as you work—wondering if that steady, even rise and fall of his chest means that he’s finally knocked out. Especially since he’s suddenly gone so quiet.

But each time you check, you find his eyes are still open—though only just barely—and are peering up towards the ceiling. Sometimes you catch him glancing at you too.

Once the wound has been fully closed in a tidy little line of stitches, you wrap the roll of bandages around it with some gauze tucked underneath, just in case.

“You’re all done,” you say quietly, slumping back in your chair once you’re finally finished.

All at once, you feel exhausted—the adrenaline you didn’t even know had been rushing through you disappearing in a blink. It reminds you of how the wind dies in the valley in the wake of a bad storm, like it took the breeze with it. You’re all too conscious of the fact that it’s the middle of the night now, and that you ought to long be asleep.

“Thank you,” Nicholas says as he pushes himself up onto the elbow of his uninjured arm, though he still winces at the movement. You don’t make any attempt to help him.

His shirt is in pieces, and he discards it since it’s of so little use to him now, shaking his right arm to free it from the only sleeve that remains in tact on the garment. You watch as he pushes himself fully upright, throwing his long legs over the side of the table to stand. When he does, he dips slightly—like the sudden movement makes him woozy, and his knees are weak—and his right hand shoots out to balance himself on the edge of the tabletop on instinct. You suppose it’s not unexpected given the amount of blood he lost.

You watch his toned, tanned back as he stretches himself out as much as his injury will allow; observing how his skin pulls taught over the defined musculature that surrounds his spine. He’s littered with scars—a map of wounds that weren’t stitched as neatly as the new one on his upper arm—and part of you can’t help but wonder how he got them all. Can’t help but wonder what stories those marks tell, written in a language you don’t know how to read.

You look away, feeling an inexplicable heat flood rapidly to your cheeks.

You stand and quickly slip off your own overshirt—just some old button-up left behind from your father, though you have no memories of him ever wearing it. You clutch it in your fist and stick it out for him to take.

He eyes it in surprise for a moment before accepting it.

“Those blood stains are yours, anyway. You might as well have it,” you say, eyeing the red mark at the cuff on the right-hand sleeve as the garment passes from your hold into his, “in any case it’s in better shape than the one you came here with.”

It saves having to clean it, too. So it’s all the same to you.

“I’ll pay you,” he slurs, still unsteady on his feet as he begins rifling awkwardly through his pockets with his only useable hand. He almost tips right over in his haste, but you quickly slip beside him and steady his frame.

“Yeah, you will,” you agree, holding tight to his right arm to keep him standing. “Worry about it tomorrow.”

Nicholas’ bare skin radiates warmth with only your thin, lace-trimmed undershirt left separating you as you stand pressed into his side. He peers down at you curiously, blinking slowly like he’s being called to sleep. From this close, with him standing properly upright for the first time, you realize just how big this man is—tall, with a broad chest and defined muscles, and stubble dusted along his sharp jawline that you hadn’t noticed before. You take a sudden step away to put much needed distance between the two of you, these realizations making something stir in the pit of your stomach that makes you feel squeamish.

“Do you know your way back to the inn?” you ask him, your arms crossing over your front.

Nicholas bobs his head in a completely unconvincing nod. It’s not like the town is big enough to get lost in in the first place—and he very well might know his way if it were daylight, or he weren’t half delirious—but sending him out into The Bend in his current state would be as much of a death sentence as it would have been to turn him away when he first showed up at your door.

You sigh in resignation.

“Just sleep on the floor here for tonight. I’ll check your stitches again tomorrow morning before you leave.”

The man looks taken aback, but he nods quickly—as though he doesn’t want to give you time to rescind the unexpected offer.

You fish around in the depths of your father’s old medicine bag, eventually pulling out a bottle of murky liquid as Nicholas gets settled with an old cushion and a threadbare quilt near the unlit hearth of the fireplace. You use the edge of your nail to uncork it, take a quick whiff to make sure it’s the right one, and then tread towards the man on the other side of the room.

He peers up at you from his makeshift bed on the floor, resting with his knees apart and his long legs sprawled out in front of him. You pass the little glass bottle to him, your fingers brushing as it passes from your grip into his. “Drink this, it helps to fight off infection.”

He eyes it warily. The outside of the bottle is suspiciously grimy, and the putrid colour of the liquid inside is no less reassuring. “What is it?”

“Hog Fennel.”

He grimaces, peeking into the opening of the bottle with one eye closed. “Sounds foul.”

You snort. “It is."

Nicholas doesn’t draw it out any longer, tipping the vial back an draining it all in one shot. He winces once he swallows it down, his pink tongue peeking out a little as he pants through the taste—which you’re sure is bitter and disgusting.

“How was it?” you ask him wryly.

“I’ve had worse, honestly,” he says, shooting you a little grin you can’t believe he’s able to manage not only in the wake of such a disgusting concoction but considering what he’s been through that night.

You blink, your brow furrowing, and then eventually nod dismissively before turning and shuffling off towards the other side of the room where the door to your bedroom is found.

“Thank you.”

Nicholas speaks again as you’re just shy of crossing the threshold into your room, you consider pausing in your shock but then think better of it.

“You already said that,” you reply, your tone annoyed, and shut the door behind you.

You open it again a second later to poke your head back out towards him.

“I’ve got a gun in here, by the way, and I won’t miss. Just in case you were thinking of trying anything funny.”

Across the room, Nicholas is already laying down on his pitiful excuse of a resting place, looking strangely content.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says with a smile, though his eyes stay closed.

Part of you is annoyed at how comfortable he seems. How easily he talks to you. How normal his presence feels in your home.

Another part of you—one that’s deeper, locked away and hidden out of sight in a place where you think you’ve lost they key—isn’t.

You slip back into your room and close the door behind you with a soft click.

And in the silent stillness of your little bedroom with your shoulder blades pressed back into your bedroom door, you realize that the thunder outside has stopped but you can hear the softest, faintest pitter patter of raindrops through cracked glass of your window.

Rain came back to The Bend.

Maybe luck would follow.

#nicholas wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x reader #poly vashwood #trigun writing #trigun fic #writing

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theemporium · 1 year

Note

139 + steve harrington ❤️💫

Ily, hope you have an amazing day!! ♡

send in a prompt + name

139. “I bought a few pieces of lingerie. Want me to model for you?”

Steve Harrington loved nothing more than spoiling his girl.

For so many years he had more money than he knew what to do with, and for so long he was left with no idea what to do with it. Yeah, he could invest it or save it. Maybe even do something more selfless and provide donations to charity. And those were things he did.

But he used money for his own happiness too.

And nothing made him happier than knowing he could spoil the people he cared about. Whether it was getting Dustin that new comic he had been raving about from the fancy comic book store out of town, or surprising Robin with her favourite takeaway when he knew she had worked a long shift and probably didn’t have any groceries in her fridge.

Steve liked to use his money to make other people happier.

But god, there was something addictive about you.

Maybe it was the look on your face when he handed you another gift—that look that screamed ‘there was no need to do this but it makes me happy that you thought of me’—or maybe it was the way your face softened at how giddy he would get before you opened it. Or maybe it was because he really fucking loved you and it was the least he could do to show you how much he adored you.

Some days Steve liked to just hand you his card, press a kiss on your cheek and let you have a day to just spoil yourself on his behalf on your days off from work—even if he was working himself. And he would be grinning to himself on the way home knowing he couldn’t wait to hear every single detail from you.

Tonight was no different as he pulled into the driveway, grabbing his keys from the ignition as he headed inside the house, the smell of garlic bread and something else delicious attacking his senses the second he walked in through the door.

“Baby?”

“In here!”

Steve didn’t think anything was different as you settled the dinner plates on the table, flashed him a smile and pressed a greeting kiss against his lips before you both dug in. He loved to listen to you talk. Fuck, he just loved your voice and there wasn’t much the boy wouldn’t do to hear you keep going.

“I did a little shopping spree too,” you told him innocently as you took another bite of your pasta.

“Yeah? What did you get?” Steve asked with a smile, thinking you had probably went for those pair of jeans in the Levi’s store he knew you had been eyeing for the last few weeks.

What Steve wasn’t expecting was for you to look him dead in the eyes, a wide grin on your face and say, “I bought a few pieces of lingerie. Want me to model for you?”

His fork clamoured against his plate as he stared at you with parted lips, everything in his brain coming to a screeching halt as his brain tried to process the words that just left your mouth.

“What?”

But your grin only widened. “You know, I thought it was fitting I used your card since you ripped the last ones…”

The plates had been left abandoned on the dinner table as Steve grabbed your hand, dragging you upstairs where the bags of shopping had been left at the end of his bed. He was practically bouncing in his seat as he watched you disappear into the bathroom minutes ago, his hands itching to be touching you the second the word ‘lingerie’ left your mouth.

The truth was that you never made it past the first set (a fact you knew deep down).

You had walked out the bathroom, leaning against the doorway, scantily dressed in the dark red material and Steve was long gone.

He dragged you to stand between his legs, his hands exploring the planes of your body as they ran over your stomach and down your sides, as they squeezed your ass and thighs appreciatively before he leaned forward to press a kiss just below your belly button.

You barely had the chance to blink before you found yourself straddling his face, the material of your panties pushed the side as his tongue lapped against your soaking cunt.

“Shit, Steve,” you moaned out, hands gripping the headboard as your hips ground against his face, his nose nudging your swollen clit in a way that had your nails digging into the wood. “Just like that, baby.��

Steve groaned against your cunt, arms wrapped around your thighs to pull you down further on his face before his hands were all over you again. Fingers skimming along his stomach before reaching up towards your tits, pulling the cups of your bra down until his hands could squeeze them in appreciation.

“Fuck,” he grumbled as he watched you throw your head back, a string of curses leaving your lips as your body tensed under his touch.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the sound of fabric ripping echoing through the room as you finally tipped over the edge, your boyfriend’s tongue wrapped around your clit as he chucked your ripped panties to the floor before guiding your hips against his face until you could finally breathe again.

And the second you caught your breath, your face was buried in the pillows as he fucked you from behind, the other pieces of lingerie forgotten and kept hidden in your wardrobe before Steve could rip those too.

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #stranger things smut

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brinabees · 10 months

Text

Wild and Eager

4.7k of dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader. 18+

Summary: You’ve had a thing for your dad’s smuggling partner for years, despite (or maybe because of) his fearsome reputation. A deal gone wrong strands Joel at your apartment after curfew. Will this finally give you a chance to push the boundaries with your dad’s closest friend?

Set pre-show/game in the Boston QZ, Tess doesn’t exist, sorry Tess I love you.

Content: 18+, unsafe sex, too many pet names, age difference

Notes: This is my first real go at fanfic, so be gentle with me! I also can’t be arsed to proofread, so sorry if there’s any mistakes.

Fucked. That’s what you were. Totally, irredeemably fucked. Why? Well, it’s all because of Joel Miller. Your dad’s favorite “business associate” (read: smuggling partner) and the most devastatingly sexy guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. He and your dad have similarly unsavory pasts, so when Joel first arrived at the Boston QZ he fit right in with him and his smuggler buddies. Most of the other guys your dad works with always give you the creeps, but not Joel, with his unruly, dark curls and surprisingly soft, brown eyes. No, Joel did not give you the creeps, despite what little you knew of his tumultuous past. As far as you’d gathered, he’d survived as a raider, killing indiscriminately and taking whatever he needed. Your dad had tried to shelter you from the worst of his own misdeeds, but you knew the truth. Your dad and his cohort were all the same, all comfortable taking any life that got in their way.

That’s why you typically kept your distance from anyone who worked with your dad, a distance your father was only too happy to enforce, always wanting to protect you. But, as soon as Joel came into the picture, you couldn’t help yourself. Suddenly, you’d linger outside closed doors when they were having important “business meetings,” hoping to catch the sound of Joel’s deep voice. He seemed to be a man of few words, but when he did speak, no one else dared interrupt or challenge him. You lived for those moments, when the whole room went quiet and you could take in the sound of him. When your dad and his buddies would hang out in the kitchen afterwards, drinking home-brewed beer and sharing stories of past triumphs, you found reasons to join them. Of course, your dad never liked you hanging around these men, and usually he ushered you out as soon as you’d gotten the glass of water you didn’t really need or the canned food you weren’t actually hungry for.

And so it went. Anytime Joel was over at your shitty QZ apartment, your world suddenly revolved around him. Catching glimpses of him, listening to him talk, finding any reason you could to be near him just for a little while. As far as you could tell, your infatuation wasn’t returned. Joel rarely spoke directly to you or even acknowledged your existence. Whenever you tried to catch his eye, he always found something else to look at. You figured he probably didn’t think twice about his partner’s young, sheltered daughter.

So there you were. Totally infatuated and totally fucked.

All that changed one night, when your dad and Joel burst into the apartment mere minutes before curfew. They both looked like they’d been through some serious shit, their clothes torn and their skin bruised.

“What the hell happened to you two?” you asked.

“Deal went bad, don’t worry about it honey.” Your dad’s shutdown was as swift and final as always, and you knew you wouldn’t get anymore details from him about what really went down.

Your dad turned to Joel and clapped him on the back, thanking him for presumably saving his ass.

“Joel, it’s past curfew and with our luck today, I think trying to sneak past FEDRA maybe isn’t the smartest move. You can crash on our couch tonight,” your dad offered.

It was like a dream come true! Joel fucking Miller, in your apartment for a whole night. You felt giddy.

Your dad and Joel took turns cleaning themselves up in your single, cramped bathroom, before you all sat down to eat. Rations distribution hadn’t been kind that week, so all you had were a can each of baked beans and sliced peaches. Hardly a culinary match made in heaven, but it was all you had. The three of you ate in silence, all too preoccupied to hold a conversation. The two of them were likely thinking of their deal gone wrong, but you had other things on your mind. Well, other thing. All you could think of was Joel. How close he was sitting next to you at the small, round kitchen table, his knees nearly bumping yours. How he commanded the room with his presence even while not saying a thing. How he was covered in bruises and had a small cut on his left cheek, wounds you wanted so desperately to soothe. How he smelled, like leather and sweat and smoke. You wanted to bottle that smell and spray it on your pillow every night.

After you all finished eating, your father announced he was turning in early after his rough day and went to his bedroom. That left you and Joel alone. You’d never been alone with him before, and it practically made you gasp. You stood awkwardly from your seat at the table and then, feeling bold, brushed your hand over Joel’s shoulders as you passed him. A quick touch, easily dismissed as accidental, and yet, Joel’s hand immediately shot up and grabbed you roughly by the wrist. For a second, you both just stared at each other, the most eye contact you two had ever made. You felt a throbbing between your legs, induced purely by this one act.

But, then Joel moved your hand off his shoulder and dropped it at your side. The loss of contact made you want to cry. You’d been too forward, touching him without preamble or permission, and now you’d gone and made it awkward for the both of you. You practically ran out of the kitchen to your room, where you grabbed an extra pillow and a spare blanket for Joel to use.

“Here, you can use these, hopefully the couch isn’t too uncomfortable for you,” you said as you laid everything out on the couch. He grunted in what you assumed was thanks, and you turned around and went back to your room to get ready for bed. You didn’t know what was going on with you tonight, but even after the complete failure of the shoulder graze, you still felt driven to take advantage of this rare time alone with Joel. So, rather than dressing in your usual, frumpy flannel pajamas, you put on a baggy t-shirt and your sexiest pair of underwear. They were just plain black, but sexy was a relative term when you’re trying to find underwear in the apocalypse. You took a check look in the mirror, noting how the shirt was just a little bit too short to cover your whole ass cheeks. Perfect.

You left your room and headed to the bathroom to brush your teeth, making sure to saunter right past where Joel was now sitting quietly on the couch. After you were finished, you asked him if he needed anything else before you went to bed.

For a long time he didn’t say a word, and you were about to turn on your heel and go right to bed, accepting that your meager attempt at seduction hadn’t done the job, when he finally spoke.

“I can’t have what I really need.”

Well, that stopped you in your tracks. What the hell did that mean? When he didn’t say anything more, you gathered your courage and asked, “and what is it that you really need?”

Joel stood, took one glance at your dad’s closed bedroom door, and walked over to you, stalking like a big cat hunting its prey. He crowded your space and then some, forcing you to step back until you felt your back hit the wall. You’d never been this close to him. His scent nearly overwhelmed you, and your breaths were coming in quick, sharp gasps.

“What do I need? I need for my partner’s daughter to stop staring at me all the time.” Your heart fell. “I need her to stop trying to touch me. I need her to stop walking around in nothing but her panties like a slut.” At that, you gasped.

“But most of all, I need this girl, but I can’t have her” he said, stepping closer, so close that your chest was touching his. Your heart stopped. Surely he wasn’t really saying he needed you, that was ridiculous. But the hard press of his erection against your lower stomach told a different story.

You stayed that way for a while, chests rising and falling as you both breathed each other in. Finally you gathered enough courage to respond, “why can’t you have her? She’s right here for the taking.” He released a rough groan.

“You know why baby girl. Can’t be messing around with my partner’s innocent little daughter.”

“One second I’m a slut, now I’m innocent, make up your mind.”

“You’re an innocent, acting like a slut to try and get what you want.”

“What we both want,” you argued.

“Your dad would kill me. Rip my guts out and string them up as decoration.”

“So, you’re scared?” At that he growled. Good, you were getting him riled up, just like you wanted.

“Baby, I’m not scared of anyone, including your old man. I just can’t go messing up my business for a quick lay.”

“Oh, so it’d be quick? How disappointing.” Another growl left his lips. He raised his arms, putting his hands on the wall on either side of your trembling body.

“You better stop teasing me little girl”

“Or what, you’ll punish me?” This was going better than you could have dreamed.

And then he slapped you. Right across the cheek, which now burned in his wake. As you recovered from the shock of it, you noticed Joel staring at your father’s door, as if he could will him to sleep through the noise. When no light turned on, no door opened, you could see him breathe a sigh of relief before turning his gaze back to you.

“See what you made me do? Almost made me wake your dad and have him catch us like this. Doubt I’d get a word out before he ripped me off you.” You didn’t disagree, your dad was exactly that protective.

“Go to bed, baby girl,” he said, almost softly. But you shook your head at him.

“What about what I need?” You’re all I can think about some days, Joel.” You figured it was time to lay it all on the line. “I ache for you. Want you so bad it drives me crazy.”

He groaned audibly, before tipping his head down and resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re really that obsessed with me, huh?” His tone is bordering on mocking. But you had no more shame, nodding your head in affirmation immediately. “Bet you’re up late every night, stuffing those pretty little fingers into your cunt, wishing they were mine. Wishing they were my cock.” You nodded again, blushing.

“Want you so bad, ever since the first time I saw you,” you said breathily. You could see him raise his brows. You were barely 18 when he first came to the QZ.

“Naughty little girl, lusting after your dad’s friend for so long. Tell me, sweet thing, are you a virgin? Have you been saving yourself for this dick?”

You hadn’t. You’d had a one night stand with a childhood friend from just before the outbreak, who you happened to cross paths with after the world had already ended and you’d both grown into curious teens. You both seized the rare chance at some intimacy in this messed up world. But, would Joel be mad?

“No... I did it once, with a friend. I’m sorry Joel.” Your words were almost whispered, treading lightly with this beast of a man.

But his face softened a little at the sound of his name on your lips, and Joel brought his hand to your cheek almost gently.

“No, pretty girl, don’t apologize. I’m not mad. Just means I gotta work a little harder to make sure you forget him,” he said with a smirk. You thought it wouldn’t actually take very much work for you to forget your single stumbling night in the dark... Not when Joel was like this, so hungry, so possessive. It made your core ache with need to see him so unleashed. He hadn’t even kissed you yet and he already had you panting with his words alone. “I like it when you say my name,” he whispered directly into your ear. His intentions of restraint were nearly forgotten in the depths of his need for you.

“Joel. Can you kiss me already?”

“I make the demands here, not you, baby girl. Don’t make me punish you, we can’t afford to wake your dad now, can we?” he said, throwing a glance at the still closed bedroom door. You nodded your head no. “Gotta have some privacy to do that,” he said with a wicked grin. You dearly hoped he’d let you find out what kind of punishment he had in mind for you. As much as you wanted to push his buttons, this really wasn’t the time for that kind of fun, so you resolved to let him lead.

“I’m sorry Joel. I’ve just spent so long waiting for this.”

“I know, I know.” His hands landed on your hips and skimmed their way up your sides. You shivered at the gentle touch from such a rough man. His hands fell back to your hips and suddenly he was gripping you tightly, so tight you thought you might find bruises the next day. It was only a fraction of his true strength, you knew, and the thought of that made you so wet. Between his dirty words and his captivating hands, you knew you had likely soaked your underwear.

And then, finally, finally, he was kissing you. His lips came down on yours with a bruising intensity, as he brought one hand up to cup the back of your neck. You released a moan at finally getting what you wanted, no, needed, so badly. Joel fucking Miller was kissing you. And he was kissing you well, slipping his tongue between your lips and tangling it with yours. You felt emboldened enough to slip your hands around his waist, sliding one down to grab at his ass. He grunted in surprised approval.

Suddenly, he pulled his lips from yours and grabbed you by the shoulders, guiding you towards the couch. He sat down and gestured for you to climb into his lap, and like a good girl you proceeded to straddle him. You could feel his hardness pressed right against your core and you were dying for more. No one had ever made you feel like this. You ground your hips down into his, drawing moans from you both. One of Joel’s hands on your hip guides you to press even harder into him, while the other reaches up to toy with your breast. He cups his hand around it and squeezes gently, before bringing two fingers to pinch at your nipple through your shirt. You gasp in pleasure at the slight pain.

Feeling wild and eager to please, you brought your own hands down to the hem of your shirt, knocking his hands aside so you could pull it off over your head. You knew it was a stupid risk, that your dad could wake up and come outside at any moment, catching you straddling his best friend in nothing but your panties. You almost thought Joel would chastise you for taking the lead again, but he was too busy staring at the bounty of your tits revealed right in front of his face. That look alone made it worth the risk of getting caught.

He nuzzled his face between your breasts, inhaling deeply through his nose. You gazed down at him in awe, still half unbelieving that this was really happening. He turned his head from side to side, his nose and lips touching each breast in turn, a sort of gentle motorboat. He seemed to luxuriate in the scent and feel of you, finally getting to revel in this forbidden fruit. He’d noticed you right away when he first came to the QZ, the shy but mischievous daughter of his new smuggling partner. Noticed you, and promptly filed you away in his mind as “untouchable.”

Well, he was certainly touching you now. His hands roamed across your back and then down to grip your ass, while his mouth began leaving open mouthed kisses on your sternum.

He pulled away just long enough to say, “Lemme see how bad you need me, pretty girl,” and then his lips were at your nipple and his fingers fell to the top of your panties. Sucking and biting at your sensitive nub, he simultaneously slipped his hand into the waistband of your underwear and down to your dripping pussy. He gathered the moisture there with his fingers, before taking them out and bringing them to his mouth. He slipped two fingers into his mouth and tasted your essence, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Fuck, you taste so damned sweet. If we had the time and the privacy, I’d lay you down and eat you out like a feast, really make ya scream.”

“Joel, please,” you begged breathlessly. “I need you so bad.”

“Aw, does my sweet baby girl need her cunt stuffed full of my dick? Is she really just a cock hungry little whore?”

Your already inflamed cheeks flushed even redder at his words, but you nodded your head, too far gone to care about anything as silly as dignity. You had wanted this man for years and now finally you were going to fuck him. Who needs dignity when you’ve got dreams coming true right in front of you?

“Get up, darlin’, and take off those panties for me”

You practically leaped off his lap with eagerness and immediately slipped off your panties. You dangled them loosely from one hand, putting the other on your hip as you watched Joel take his time. He leisurely unbuckled his belt before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, slipping them down low just low enough to allow him to free himself from his briefs. Your mouth hangs open at the sight of him, long and impressively thick, with a pronounced head even wider than the shaft, a slick of precum already trickling out. You were by no means an expert, but you pretty much thought Joel Miller’s dick was fucking perfect. You were so busy staring, you barely noticed when Joel reached forward and snatched your panties right out of your hand, before bringing them up to his nose and inhaling deeply. He groaned at the scent of you and then dropped your panties to the couch in favor of grabbing you by the hips and bringing you back down to straddle him, skin to skin.

You could feel the hard length of him nestled right against your pussy, lightly nudging your clit in a way that made you want to fall apart for him already. You rose up to allow him access to your entrance, but Joel quickly pulled you back down, muttering, “Not yet, baby girl, gotta get you ready for me first.”

“I’m ready now, Joel, please,” you whined. But he just gave you a dismissing look and directed your hips back far enough to give him access to your dripping cunt. Without preamble he inserted one finger deep inside you, making you moan. “More, I need more Joel.” Not one to disappoint, he added another finger, pumping both in and out of you at a steady pace, curling them towards your g-spot. Your head fell to his shoulder as you writhed in pleasure, and Joel’s lips found your neck, suckling lightly. “No marks, Joel, my dad’ll see,” you managed to get out while his fingers continued driving you towards oblivion.

“Gotta mark what’s mine, baby. But fine, I’ll just have to mark you somewhere a little more private.” With that, his lips made their way to the underside of one of your breasts, sucking harder and nibbling lightly with his teeth. “I’m the only one who gets to see you here, got it? You’re mine now.” You nodded fervently, tipping your head back to look him in the eye once more. “My best friend’s daughter, all mine, practically begging for my cock.”

“Give it to me Joel, I’m ready, I need it.” His fingers pumped more furiously in and out of you.

“Fuck, baby, is that right? You ready for me?”

“Yes, yes, god, please!” you begged, louder than you should have given your dad was sleeping only a door away.

Suddenly he was wrapping his arms around you and flipping you over, crushing you into the couch cushions with the weight of his body. Then he sat back, admiration in his eyes as he gazed down at you. He fisted his dick with one hand and began to rub the head up and down your wet slit. Everytime he grazed your clit, your entire body seemed to jolt with pleasure.

“Joel, I swear to god if you don’t put it in right now I’m going to tell dad you were fucking with his little girl.” You’d had enough of his teasing.

“What did I say about giving me orders? Naughty little thing, I really will have to punish you next time.”

“Next time? How’s about you get the first time going before you start worrying about that,” you let out with a giggle.

“Fine, little minx, I’ll give you what you need so badly.” And then he was notching himself at your entrance before pushing in completely in a single, rough thrust. You felt so utterly full.

“Fuck, Joel, your cock is so good...” You were babbling nearly incoherently by then. When he began thrusting in long, deep strokes, you could feel the head of his cock drag across the most delicious spot inside of you, over and over. You could feel yourself building towards climax already.

“Tell me, did that boy make you come?” Joel asked as if he already knew the answer.

“No, no, I’ll only come for you Joel, it’s always been you.”

Joel picked up the pace, slamming into you rough and fast with every thrust of his hips. The sound of skin slapping together filled the room, all worries about waking your sleeping father forgotten. Still inside you, Joel sat back on his knees and reached his hands around to cup your ass, lifting it into the air so he could piston his hips into yours even faster.

“This ass is all mine, pretty girl,” he said as he kneaded your cheeks with his hands. “Wanna see my girl come for me, but only when I say so.” He took one hand off your ass in favor of stroking his fingers across your clit, rubbing little circles. You could feel your peak approaching, but held yourself back from falling over the edge. You wanted to be good for him.

“Joel, please, I’m so close.” Your words came out in a soft whimper.

“Alright baby girl, come all over this cock.” His words were all you needed, and suddenly you were freefalling into an ocean of pure pleasure. This put any climax you’d ever given yourself to shame. Joel just kept fucking you through it, still stroking your clit as you fell apart around him.

You came back to yourself slowly while Joel continued to hold you up and fuck you like a rag doll. You could tell he was no longer concerned with your pleasure, fucking you just like he wanted regardless of your oversensitized pussy. It turned you on, to see him so lost to his own desires; a predator gone feral.

“Come inside me, please Joel I need you to fill me up.” You weren’t quite sure where that reckless desire came from. You knew you’d regret it in the morning, but at that moment you were too lost to pleasure to care.

“Fuck, filthy girl, you know I shouldn’t.” But you couldn’t stop begging for it, desperate to feel the hot rush of his seed spilling inside you. “Just this once, wild girl,” he grunted out. He couldn’t deny the thought of coming deep inside you turned him on to no end.

His thrusts began to lose their consistent rhythm, though they remained rough and deep. With a last guttural moan, he thrust in once, twice, three more times and then you could feel the warm rush of his cum inside of you. It felt so right, even though it was a stupid risk, even though it was your dad’s off-limits friend.

Joel shuddered one last time before letting go of you, your ass hitting the couch as his softening cock slipped out of you. He gazed down at your used pussy, a devilish grin crossing his face as he watched a trickle of his cum leak out of you. Not wanting any to go to waste, you brought your hand down to your cunt and swiped through the mess you found there. After scooping up some cum, you brought your fingers up to your mouth and licked them clean, making a show of it.

“Fuck me, you perfect, naughty little thing,” Joel muttered almost to himself. As you both came down from the high of your lovemaking, you remembered where you were and both glanced in panic at your dad’s bedroom door. Thankfully, there were no signs of his waking, and you silently thanked the universe that he was such a heavy sleeper. Joel tucked his cock back into his briefs, pulling his jeans back up around his hips.

As you both sat side by side on the couch, Joel rested his head in his hands and whispered, “Fuck, we should not have done that.” That had your head snapping up instantly. He regretted the best sexual experience of your life?

“What happened to there being a next time?” you said timidly, trying to hold in your emotions which would surely only scare him away. But you felt like he was ripping your heart out of your chest.

“That was just dirty talk, darlin’, you’ve gotta forget about this. This, us, can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” You could hear the desperation creeping into your voice but were powerless to hold it in.

“You know why baby girl, can’t go fucking my partner’s innocent little daughter, let alone knocking her up.” You knew you were stupid for thinking it, but you’d really hoped he might see you as something more than just his friend’s daughter. But there it was. All you were to him was a quick forbidden fuck, never to be revisited.

“Fine,” you said, glancing down at your still naked body. Suddenly you were cold, the Boston chill seeping back into your bones. You picked your shirt up off the floor and tugged it over your head before standing and searching the couch for your panties. “Where the fuck did my underwear go? The least you can do is help me look for them. If dad finds them he’ll have some fucking questions.” But Joel just shrugged his shoulders, glancing around half-heartedly.

You knew you were about 5 seconds from breaking down and you didn’t want him to see you cry, so you gave up looking for your underwear and stormed off to your bedroom, shutting the door and climbing into bed. As hot tears began to flow from your eyes, you realized you could still feel his cum dripping out of you.

______________________________________________________________

Back in the living room, Joel still sat on the couch, thinking about what the fuck he’s just done. He fucked his best friend’s little girl. Fucked her hard. Came inside of her. And fucking loved every forbidden second of it. Jesus christ he was so fucked. Despite his harsh dismissal of you, his own resolve was crumbling as fast as it had when he’d seen you in nothing but that shirt and those panties. Those panties that he now slipped out of his pocket and brought to his nose once more, inhaling your musk.

Yeah, he was fucked.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #dbf!joel #brinabees fic

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