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gracieheartspedro · 10 months

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Cool About It

joel miller x fem! reader

Description: you've only patrolled with him a couple times, which made you kind of hate him. but after a night of subtle flirting at the tipsy bison, tons of alcohol, shooting pool, and making fun of some guy's tattoos, you realize you're really into joel. after you get him, you realize maybe you shouldn't want him.

Part 1/3

PART TWO IS HERE

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, post!outbreak joel, drinking, playing pool(?), possible age gap (not specified really), very smutty, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, joel is a menace a bit, ellie is also a little shit haha

hi lovers, how's it going? this is going to be a three-parter, inspired by Boygenius' song "Cool About It". it's gonna be smutty in all three parts so be ready (: please reach out if you have any requests or just wanna talk! I'm friendly I promise lmao

Met you at the dive bar to go shoot some pool

And make fun of the cowboys with the neck tattoos

Ask you easy questions about work and school

I'm trying to be cool about it

Feelin' like an absolute fool about it

Wishin' you were kind enough to be cruel about it

Tellin' myself I can always do without it

Knowin' that it probably isn't true

You keep your head held high while you walk into the Tipsy Bison, the only bar in Jackson. You were not familiar with the walls of the establishment, but the plan was to get out of your comfort zone. You were good at being a social outcast, and Maria, the only friend you had here, told you to try to break out of your shell.

So here you are, at a bar.

Immediately you recognize a couple of familiar faces, including the Millers.

Tommy and Joel were the patrol leaders for Jackson. You always felt comfortable around Tommy. He was more laid back and funny. On the couple of patrols you did with him, he always made sure the time went by quicker. While serious in times that are pressing, he brought light to darker situations. Maria, his wife, was the first person to introduce you to life in Jackson. She got you set up in a house by yourself and had you start patrolling when she realized you were an excellent shot. She was kind, always making sure you were looking out for yourself and invited you to family dinners sometimes.

Joel was different.

Very quiet and deadly serious when he was speaking. He made you feel insecure about your abilities, always double and triple checking things behind you. You couldn’t bring your own horse out of the stable without him checking your pack and ensuring you packed extra bullets.

“You never know what’s out there, girl,” He would tell you.

You find an empty seat at the bar. Only one seat away from Joel.

The bartender approaches you, asking what you’d like. You gesture towards Maria.

“Whatever she’s havin’.”

Maria finally takes notice from beside Tommy and waves at you with a huge smile plastered on her face. It warmed your cold little heart.

“Hey pretty lady,” She hops out of her chair to give you a half hug, “Glad you are doing this.”

Tommy was looking at you from beside Joel, a smirk playing on his face.

Joel stared forward with no emotion, not even daring to glance your direction.

“How’s it goin’?” Tommy asks, scooting his chair back to begin his way over to you, taking a spot next to Maria.

You nod, “It’s going.”

“You were on that patrol with the raiders a couple days ago, right?”

He was referring to two days ago when a couple of shitty raiders took down your partner’s horse and almost shot you through the back. You guys got the upper hand, of course. You never went without packing two guns, so you had quickly slid off your horse to find cover behind a downed tree and used a hunting rifle to take two headshots. Your partner wasn’t so lucky. He was an older man and he fell hard when his horse went down. You had to race back to Jackson getting him into the infirmary as quickly as you could. Turns out he broke his arm and a couple of ribs. He would be off patrols for awhile.

“Sure was,” You reply, “Luckily Eugene got out with just a broken arm. I was happy to be there for him.”

Before Tommy could reply to you, Joel quips up.

“He told me you got both of the guys between the eyes,” He mumbles, “That true?”

You shake my head positively. You didn’t even want to speak to him in fear that you’d say the wrong thing. He would overanalyze you at the drop of a hat.

“That’s impressive,” Tommy remarks, “Glad you got out of it unscathed.”

“My girl here is a badass,” Maria pats your shoulder, “Glad you are doing better. I know you were a rattled a bit.”

You take a sip of my drink, noting the intense burn, “Yeah, me too.”

You guys make more small talk, mainly about some recent patrols and what you found. You try to act interested, but the truth was you wanted to go home and read. Your mind was better occupied with made up stories than the stories that were playing out before you in real life.

“I think we should get home to Ian,” Maria says to Tommy, referring to their newer son. He was about five months now, very cute, and chunky. He resembled your nephew before the world stole him and his mother from you. So you always refused to hold Ian, knowing it would send you into a spiral as soon as his little fingers found yours. Maria understood, telling you she knew exactly how you felt. She’s felt loss like that before, too.

“Ellie probably wants to be relieved of her cousin duties,” Joel grumbles from beside Tommy, “Poor girl doesn’t know what she agreed to.”

“Ian’s sleepin’,” Maria says putting on her coat, “She is probably bored.”

“Tell her to head home when you see her,” Joel comments.

You have met Joel’s girl more than once. She was kind of stand-offish, intially. Now that you’ve met her a couple times, she was more chatty and goofy. She was a spitfire towards Tommy, which always made you laugh.

From what you understood, Joel had a daughter before the outbreak. Tommy and Maria keep her name on a little memorial above their fireplace, with Maria’s son’s name scribbled beside hers. You didn’t know the backstory behind Ellie, but you realized the last time you were around all of them, she doesn’t call him dad. Just Joel or old man. Maybe she adopted?

Maria pulls you out of your thoughts, nudging you a bit.

“Stay awhile, have another drink.”

You nod giving her a gentle smile, “I will. Get home safe.”

“See you around, girl,” Tommy says, giving you a half hug. You turn back to face the bar, noticing Joel’s still sipping on his whiskey.

You two sit in awkward silence when they leave, not saying much to one another. You drink your second round quickly, calling over the bartender for another one. Joel says he wants the same. Once you get your pours, he finally decides to talk again.

“You still with that one guy?”

You look at him curiously, not sure who he’s talking about. You rack your brain trying to figure out who he’s referring to and then it hits you.

“Kendrick? Oh no, he’s not anything,” You respond.

Kendrick was one of your patrol partners. You two hooked up once and realized it was too weird. He was younger than you, which didn’t mean much. But that was a huge factor in his performance. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t know what foreplay was, which meant the sex was dry and not pleasurable in the slightest.

“It seemed like something the other day,” Joel notes, “Wouldn’t stop staring at you at the town meeting.”

You could not help but notice the slight venom in his tone.

“Interesting you’re taking notice to other guys who look at me. You jealous, Miller?”

He turns to you finally, his eyes a bit glassy. The whiskey was making him bold, you could tell.

“Just observant,” He remarks, “He doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Oh, now you know my type?”

He shakes his head at your response, “I imagine you like them a bit older than him.”

Maybe you were overanalyzing the situation, but it seemed to you that Joel Miller was flirting with you. You felt like he was suggesting you were into him.

Truth be told, you did like them older. You liked a rugged man who was a bit of a mystery. You also liked assholes. All things Joel Miller was. So maybe you were into him.

You lean in to speak to him quietly, “Are you trying to suggest something?”

“Not at all,” He murmurs, “Just answering your question. Am I wrong?”

You purse your lips, “Not wrong.”

Another awkward silence.

“Wanna play some pool?”

You furrow your eyebrows, not knowing how to respond. You think his goal was to change the subject and avoid more silence. So you just nod, hopping off your barstool. The two of you make your way through some occupied tables to the one empty pool tables. You grab a stick while Joel starts to corral all the balls and set them in place.

You’ve played pool before, but you were never good. Your ex found a pool table once while you two were traveling and he spent hours teaching you how to play. It led to a screaming match. You decided after that, it just wasn’t for you.

Joel was patient, watching you line up the white ball and hit it with hardly any force, not breaking up any of the balls. You just shake your head in disappointment.

“You ever play?”

“Yeah, I just suck.”

“Fair enough,” He replies, taking his shot. You guys go back and forth. You getting no balls in the pockets, him getting all the balls in the pockets.

You ask him about patrols he’s been on recently, trying to make light conversation. You really just wanted to see if your conversation would lead back to where it started.

It didn’t.

Instead you two got more rounds of drinks and played more pool. He became more chatty, standing behind you every time you tried to take a shot, giving you advice here and there. Once you stood straight up after finally getting a ball in a pocket, he leaned in a bit.

“You see that guy over there?”

He gestured towards an older gentleman at one of the far tables. He seemed like the type to have a Confederate flag hanging outside his house. He also seemed like the type to call a woman a slur if they turned down his advances. Maybe you are just a bitch and assuming all of this. Or your assumptions about a man were right, per usual.

You turn to Joel, glancing up at him. He was close, his face centimeters away.

“Mhm?”

“He’s got all those tattoos,” He looks towards the man again, “The one on his neck is a skull with one of those Native headdresses. Looks fuckin’ dumb.”

The way he says it sends you into a fit of giggles. He starts to laugh, too. It was the first time you saw him genuinely smile and damn did it look beautiful on him. His eyes crinkled a bit, his shoulders falling in a very relaxed way.

You finish up your round of pool and decide it’s time for the both of you to retire back to your houses. Conveniently, your house was right off Rancher Street just like his. You grab your coat off the one barstool, watching Joel put on his.

“We are going the same way, do you mind walkin’ with me?”

“No problem.”

You two walked side by side, your steps almost in sync. It was much darker now, the sun set hours ago. You felt like you went through a time jump. You didn’t feel like you spent tons of time at the Tipsy Bison.

Joel’s house is before yours on the street, so when you arrive in front of his steps, he stops completely.

“Here’s me,” Joel mutters, “You comin’ in?”

“Should I?” You question, stupidly.

“Well I invited you, so yeah,” He suggests, “You should.”

He walks in front of you, reaching for his front door. His house was comfy and warm. Looking around, you could tell he kept it well maintained. It was clean, only a couple dust bunnies lined the hallway baseboards. He had pictures on the walls and blankets littering the couch.

“I ain’t done this in awhile,” He says, sliding his boots off at the front door. You follow suit, not really taking in the words he said. He stares at you carefully, waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry, what exactly?”

He approaches you slowly, his demeanor shifting. He looks down at you, his stature a lot bigger than most of the men you’ve been with, you note. He was broad and brilliantly tanned. His dark chocolate hair was speckled with grays. He had some fine lines on his face, especially where he furrowed his eyebrows 24/7.

“Brought a girl home.”

His brown eyes grow ever darker, his arm enveloping you for a moment. You don’t pull away, letting him bring your body closer to his. You feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach, something you’ve not felt with a man in years.

“Feelin’ a bit rusty?” You suggest, your hands resting on his chest.

“Don’t know about that,” He mutters, “Do know I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a while.”

His comment takes you back, completely sobering you up. The warmth from the alcohol subsides and you blink at him for a minute.

“What do you mean, a while?”

His face centimeters away from yours, again. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, having to get on your tiptoes to do so.

“Meanin’ every time ’m around you, I think of how amazing your ass looks in those jeans.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“You’re only now telling me this, Joel?” You ask, playing up that you were annoyed. You were kind of, because what the fuck, you could’ve had him sooner?

“Didn’t think a pretty young thing like you would want me,” He says, “Now I know better.”

He leans down, his lips hardly touching yours. You assume he’s waiting for your move, so you give in first, capturing his lips against yours. It was gentle at first, until he takes notice to how you’re pulling him down further.

He deepens the kiss, pressing your back against one of the walls nearby. His lips were soft, his mustache tickling you a bit. He adds tongue seamlessly, feverishly grabbing you everywhere. Your hips, lower back, your butt.

I can’t believe I’m making out with Joel right now.

Your brain stops for a moment when you realize one thing you never thought about before. Where’s Ellie?

It brings you out of the kiss. You pull away slowly, trying not to alarm him too much.

“Is Ellie home?” You mutter, your eyes fluttering open to meet his.

He looks to the side, glancing out the back window.

“Probably, but she stays in the garage out back. She has uhm,” He gestures towards the backyard, “Has a whole set up in there. She never comes in here, don’t worry.”

It reassures you enough to bring him back into the kiss. His hands return to your waist, pulling you closer. You couldn’t help but grip his arms, feeling his muscles through his long sleeve.

“Bring me to bed, Miller,” You moan between kisses, “Need you now.”

He doesn’t say anything before he leans down, hiking your legs up around his waist. He carries you like you’re a light little feather. You use this time to attach your lips to his neck, giving him soft kisses up to his earlobe.

Joel may be a bit older than you, but he carried you up the stairs like no other 50-something-guy could. He didn’t even fumble, his steps heavy and calculated. Once you two get to the landing, he readjusts you, his hands now holding you up by your ass.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” He murmurs in your ear, walking you into his bedroom. It smells like fresh air, which throws you off a bit. You notice the one window in the corner is cracked slightly, letting in the springtime air.

He tosses you on his made up bed, making you a bounce a bit. He’s standing over you looking a bit dishelved, his eyes dark with desire.

He unbuttons his shirt, shaking it off his shoulders. You watch the piece of fabric fall away from him. His upper body is toned, some areas of his stomach and shoulders are littered with scars. The moonlight highlights them, but honestly, they made him hotter. He looked more dangerous, more unattainable for a girl like you.

“You just gonna gawk?” He teases, leaning down to let his lips meet yours again. In between kisses, he tugs down your pants, leaving you just in your underwear and top. He throws your pants across the room, his hands trailing up your bare thighs.

“Let me get my top off,” You say pulling away from his eager lips. He sits back on his knees, watching you slowly peel off your top and undershirt. The undershirt has a built in bra that hardly keeps your boobs supported, but it was easier than wearing the uncomfortable bras you usually wore. You throw both shirts across the room before you lean back on your elbows again.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” He says, his hands reaching out to touch you. He finds your collarbones first, before letting one hand trace the swell of your breasts. He was taking his time with you.

“You just gonna gawk?”

He smiles.

“I am gonna ruin you, girl,” He spits. You stare at him with your best doe eyes, trying to see what kind of rise you could get out of him.

He grabs one of your boobs, before pushing you all the way on your back. His lips trace all over your body before ghosting right above where your underwear sit on your lower tummy.

“Joel-” You begin, until he starts tracing your slit with his fingers, right over your panties.

“Hm?” He chuckles, his soft touches making you writhe under him, “What, sweetheart?”

“Need you-” You choke out, “Please.”

He chuckles darkly, “Love to see you beg.”

You knew he was going to be dominant, but you didn’t expect him to be so candid. He seemed so quiet and steadfast in day to day life, so when you see him like this, you knew you were fucked. He was the type to talk you through the whole experience, something you’d never had with another man. Everyone you had slept with was so vanilla. No one was like the guys in the novels you read. Dominant, hungry for more, and vocal.

“Let’s take these off,” He says wrapping his finger around the band of your underwear. You were so giddy now, you lift your ass a bit so he could get them off you. When you do that, your bare pussy gets so close him that you could feel his breath on your mound slightly.

“You ever been eaten out before, girl?”

You shake your head, “Yes, but I didn’t really enjoy it.”

“Just let me know when you’re about to cum, baby,” Baby, “I know you will.”

You loved how cocky he was. It made the anticipation almost too overwhelming.

He leans down, his tongue flattening over your slit. You watch him close his eyes and instantly get into devouring you. He flicks his tongue up and down, eventually pressing his lips around your mound. You lose all ability to speak, so when he pulls away, you groan in displeasure.

He says nothing, just put his middle finger and ring finger into his mouth, covering them in his saliva. He looks up at you, those fingers beginning to trace you up and down.

“You-” Is all you can say before he’s sinking his fingers inside. He reattaches his lips to your clit, sucking as he fucks you with his digits. The wet squelching from the action sends your head into orbit. You cannot believe how good it feels because every other sexual encounter you had the guy would go in dry, maybe giving you kitten licks, and call it eating you out. But not Joel. Joel knew a woman’s anatomy. He knew exactly how to treat it.

You just moan out his name, letting his actions take you to that familiar heat build up in your tummy. Usually you had to get there yourself. You throw your head back into his pillows, your eyes crushing shut as you take in the feeling.

“Hey,” You hear Joel growl, “Eyes on me, or I stop.”

Your eyes fly open, watching him return to sucking your clit. As you stare down, you notice him adding another finger into the mix. The pressure felt so good, your walls feeling everything he was giving you.

“Can I please,” You are about to let go, but you remember you were supposed to tell him, “Cum?”

You can’t even form sentences.

He pulls away.

“Since you asked nicely,” His lips are wet with your slick, “Cum.”

The magic word that sends you into pure bliss. Your body quakes while he still fucks you with his fingers. You can only chant his name, begging him not to stop.

He removes his fingers, smiling at your post orgasm face. You blush, suddenly becoming extremely self aware. You had no reason to be timid or shy now, being splayed out like you are in front of Joel.

He stands tall over you, making you feel so small in his big bed.

“That was so good baby, but I ain’t done with you,” He pulls you by your legs to the edge of the bed, “Need that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”

“Jesus fuck,” You moan, still sensitive from what he just did to you.

He groans, “Name is Joel. No Jesus here.”

He just had to give into the dad jokes. You slap your forehead in disappointment, making him grin a bit.

“Got you all nice and stretched, now.”

You realize he hasn’t even taken off his pants in that moment, because he pulls down his tented pants to reveal himself to you. He was bigger than you’ve ever had, which sent you gawking again. He pumps himself, watching your widened eyes.

“You’re too easy to read, girl,” He mutters, “I’ll inch it in, let you get adjusted nicely.”

You lean forward a bit, back onto your elbows, “You’re gonna fucking split me in half.”

He runs his dick between your wet core, which sends shockwaves up your body.

“Like I said,” He licks his lips, “I got you nice and stretched.”

Him repeating it made you smirk devilishly. He continued to run his cock up and down your wetness, getting ready to plunge into you.

When he stops right in front of your hole, he stares into your eyes like he’s trying to read your mind.

“Fuck me, Joel Miller.”

He sinks into you, inch by inch. You groan in pleasure. The stretch is nothing like his fingers, it’s even better.

He’s taking his time, pulling back a bit before pushing back into you. It’s slow, gradual. After three pumps, he leans down to catch your lips. He continues to grind into you, the mixture so intoxicating. You moan into the kiss, your mouth opening up for his tongue to slip in. He tasted like you, which was something you never really tasted before.

“Your pussy was made for me,” He moans, “Fuckin’ hell.”

He sits back, bringing the pace up a bit, his balls slapping into you now. The sounds were borderline pornographic. The panting, the wetness, the slapping.

“You’re takin’ me so well,” He grunts, “I want to hear you.”

You cry out as he speeds up, “Please, d-don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He keeps the pace the same as he fondles your boobs. He pinches your perked up nipples, clenching his teeth. You can tell he’s getting close, but instead of chasing that high, he stops.

He manhandles you, pulling you up like he did when he carried you up the stairs. He somehow keeps his dick inside you as he finds a seat on the bed. He’s holding you above him, completely switching positions.

“Want you to ride me,” He says, “Need to see those beautiful tits bouncin’.”

You take up the challenge. You rest on your knees first. You circle your hips, dragging your clit across his lower tummy. You never knew you could feel so full before, especially in this position.

He just stared at you in awe, playing with your tits as you grind down on him.

You take one of his hands in your own, placing it right below your belly button.

“I feel you right here, Joel,” You moan, “Fillin’ me up so good.”

You knew he wanted to cum right there because his dicks twitches inside you.

“You are one dirty girl,” He growls, “You’re lucky I’m even letting you cum again, talkin’ like that.”

You plant your feet on the bed, finding all your strength to start bouncing on him. He steadies you, bringing his hips up to meet yours. This angle hits different, especially when Joel’s thumb finds your clit again. You couldn’t help yourself, chasing that same high you felt before when his face was between your thighs.

You look down at him with hooded lids, “I’m gonna cum again.”

“Yes you are,” He smirks, “Cum all over me baby, I feel you.”

Your release hits you, making you fall to your knees again. Your hips girate, the spasming around Joel’s cock sending him into a moaning mess. He lets your settle for a moment before lifting you back up. His dicks slides out, which causes him to hiss and you to groan. Instead of laying you face up, he throws you face down into the pillows.

“My turn,” He says, dipping his cock back into you. As soon as it happens, you realize you weren’t done. That same sensitivity was back, but this time you felt the burning pick back up even quicker. He’s settling into a brutal pace, grabbing both your ass cheeks and spreading them apart. You turn your head, trying to get a view of him.

He was watching himself plunge into you, over and over again. It had to be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s dripping in sweat, his body glistening, clenching his teeth at the sight of your bodies meeting.

“‘m bout to cum,” He moans, “Where do you want it?”

“Fuck it into me, Joel.”

The words slips out so quickly. The tipping point hit you both at the same time, the spasming hitting you all over again. You scream into the pillows, biting into them trying not to be too loud. He releases himself into you, stilling his movements.

He doesn’t say anything when he pulls out, you both just breathe out loudly. You felt so empty without him.

You had never cum so much in one night before.

Joel Miller made you cum three times.

Without any help.

You hear his footsteps trail to his attached bathroom, hearing some water run from the faucet. You return to laying on your back, unsure if you could trust your legs to stand. Joel’s figure returns to the room, a damp rag in his hands. He smirks at you all the while nudging your legs apart. He slowly drags the rag around your sensitive area, making sure to get any cum that was leaking out of you. After he cleans you up, he wipes off his dick a bit.

He tosses the rag into a basket of clothes nearby.

“You want any water?”

You take note to how gentle and sweet he was being after being so aggressive towards you before. It was a side of Joel you really appreciated. He wasn’t talking down to you, he genuinely took your needs into account.

“I think I’ll be okay,” You respond, your eyes finally shutting, “Don’t think I’ll be able to walk home.”

“You can stay,” He grumbles, walking to the side of the bed, “We both have patrol in the morning anyway.”

Your eyes fly open, “Shit, I do! Wait-”

“Yeah I’m on with you. For the rest of the week.”

You could scream. This man just gave you the best dick of your life and now you had to patrol with him? You didn’t know how you’d be able to contain yourself.

“Fuck,” You place your hands over your face. You settle in the thought that you needed to sleep if you were going to be alive for morning patrol and you’d worry about your horny desires for Joel.

“C’mere,” He says, pulling you further up the bed. He positions you next to him in the bed, pulling some covers over you, leaving your boobs still out for his viewing pleasure. He wrapped one arm under you, letting it rest around your neck.

His sheets were flannel and so warm. His scent overtook you as soon as you relaxed into the pillows. One of them is the one you bite into earlier.

You felt at peace, wanting to stay in this spot for as long as possible.

“I’ll wake you a bit earlier so you can go home and get dressed,” He grumbles, “And…”

You don’t even realize how tired you are. Before Joel can finish his sentence, you fall into a deep slumber, praying sunrise doesn’t come too quickly.

You wake up when it’s still dark outside. Joel woke you up with a gentle nudge. You shoot up, scared for a moment before you take in your environment. You realize he’s fully dressed already. You groan, rubbing your eyes.

When you start to slip out of bed, you start realizing you’re still completely naked.

And in Joel’s bed.

You plant your feet on the wooden floorboards, using the light from the one lamp in the corner of the room to find your clothes. You could not find your panties for the life of you, so you give up and just shove your legs into your jeans and throw your shirt over your head. Joel lets you wake up in silence, not asking you questions until you make it downstairs.

“I’ll see you at the stables,” He mutters, pouring warm water into a mug that has a tea bag hanging off of it, “You go get changed.”

He was being short, you could tell. You feel a sinking feeling, like he probably regretted what happened last night. Before you could respond, the back door swings open and a smaller frame enters the dark house.

“Ellie,” Joel hisses, “What are you doing up?”

Her tired eyes are on you. You freeze in your spot, not knowing how to react or what to say. Your head just races with shitshitshitshit.

“I knew I heard your voice last night!” She laughs, “Y’all have fun?”

Your cheeks heat up instantly, not able to think of a response.

“Ellie!” His voice is stern and borderline scary, “Go back to your room, now.”

It was a demand.

She just chuckles, grabbing the door handle and pulling it close.

“See you around, Joel’s lady friend.”

You stand there completely dumbfounded and embarrassed. Joel sips on his hot tea, not really paying attention to your response to Ellie calling you his lady friend.

“Go get dressed.”

It was another demand. It sent shockwaves through your body. Maybe your sinking feeling was correct.

Joel only did what he did last night because of the alcohol. It didn’t change how he’d treat or talk to you in real life. You kind of wished he’d just be cruel about it. Like he would just read your mind and tell you how stupid you were to think this would change anything.

You felt like a fool. You don’t say anything as you walk to the door and put on your boots. As you walk out of the house, you promise yourself to take it one minute at a time. Don’t overthink everything. Just let it be a one night stand. Don’t make it about your feelings. Be cool about it.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

Note

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience.

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream.

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel.

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside.

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement.

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either.

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day.

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price.

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear.

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks."

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke.

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes.

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things.

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to.

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you."

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not.

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed.

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young.

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant.

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick.

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car.

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh.

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for.

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old."

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had.

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan.

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his.

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away.

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in.

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good…

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point.

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest.

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects.

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…"

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple.

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want…

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying.

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already.

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…"

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull.

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth.

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago.

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway."

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed.

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap.

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too.

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?"

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say.

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes.

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart.

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?"

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco.

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not...

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong.

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in.

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream.

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?"

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise.

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel…

And Alaska.

#john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price #mw2 smut #captain john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic

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blues824 · 5 months

Note

My request for the prompt list is what ever you want and who ever you want I'm happy with everything you write and what to see what you want.

I found this cute picture of sebek for you I don't know who drew it but it's beautiful.

If this man does not become our husband in the next 5 seconds @theunknowntravel3r

I requested: Dancing to Christmas Music, New Year’s Countdown, NYE Party

Sebek Zigvolt

Let’s be honest, if you are with him, he probably has told his parents about you. It was his first time being in a relationship with a human, so who better than to ask his parents? That being said, when Winter Break rolled around, they had sent you an invitation to stay at their house for the duration of your time off from school.

The half-fae had warned you to pack heavily and with cold weather in mind, and he even lent you one of his hoodies… totally because you needed it and not because you looked absolutely adorable in it. You also noticed that it seemed that he sprayed some of his cologne on it so that it smelled freshly of him, and your heart melted.

Going through the mirror, the weather was definitely much colder, and you were glad that you were already wearing some extra layers. It was freezing cold. You went to pick up your suitcase only to see that Sebek picked it up for you. His face was flushed red, as he caught you looking at him, but in his mind he blamed it on the cold.

“Sebek, I can get my own stuff.”

“Nonsense! It is a knight’s duty to help a citizen, especially if you are their significant other!” He shouted, not as loud as when he shouts at Ace or Deuce, but definitely louder than necessary.

So you said bye to everyone as you both headed to the dentist clinic, where you would meet his parents. You were nervous, and he could sense it. To be honest, he was more nervous about you meeting his older siblings, as they were very protective over their younger brother.

Walking in, you noticed that it was very clean and quiet, probably because they were just locking up the office for the holidays. Upon seeing her son, Mrs. Zigvolt ran and pulled you both into a hug, exclaiming about how it was so good to see you and her son had told her so much about you. Sebek was embarrassed, but it had been a while since you'd felt the warm hug of a mother, so you embraced it.

His father walked into the lobby soon, and waited until his wife was finished with greeting you both so that he could hug his son and introduce himself to you properly. You could definitely see that your boyfriend was a perfect mix of his parents, in both appearance and personality, and it was quite funny to you.

~~~~~~~~

The Zigvolt residence wasn’t anything too grand. It was actually quite comfortable, and you loved everything about it. You got to see Sebek’s room, and you were surprised at how plain it looked. You would have thought that he would have had crocodile-print blankets and pillow cases but no.

He actually had a bookcase filled to the brim with books, and they were organized by title. A few of them were romance novels that you were grateful to see, as you recognized them from your own world. Shakespeare, the Brothers Grimm, and the Bronte Sisters.

“Huma- I mean, Y/N, you will be sleeping in here, and I will sleep on the couch!” He announced, setting your suitcase on the bed.

“Why don’t we just share the bed? It’s a king-sized bed, we can both fit.”

“THAT IS IMPROPER, ESPECIALLY BEFORE MARRIAGE!!!” He shouted, face painted a bright, glowing red at the mere thought of doing something so intimate.

“Is it that? Or is it because we’re in your parents’ house? You do realize that we’ve slept in the same bed before back at Ramshackle, right?”

“I-I do realize that!” He said all too quickly, making you laugh.

“Alright, what’s got you so worked up, Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armor?” You stepped right in front of him, throwing your arms around his neck and playing with the ends of his hair. His hands instinctively fell to your waist.

You always knew when something was bothering him… and it was something that he both hated and appreciated about you.

“I have never brought a significant other home before, and I am nervous about how my siblings and my grandfather will take it… especially since you are human,” He admitted, and you could feel his shoulders sag a bit when he mentioned his grandfather.

“Your grandfather was forced to accept your father, wasn’t he? I will force him to accept me. I forced you to, so it shouldn’t be much more difficult than that, right?” You offered him a reassuring smile, and he knew that you could win anybody over. However, his grandfather still did not like his father. “And if he doesn’t, then he’ll love our children.”

It was lucky that he was half-fae and did not get whiplash as easily as humans do, otherwise his neck would have absolutely snapped with the velocity at which he turned his head to look at you, wide eyes and flushed face apparent.

~~~~~~~~

Over the course of the next few days, you basically stayed in the house. You did stop by the market to meet some of the townsfolk, but it was freezing cold out there. Besides, you definitely preferred seeing baby pictures of your boyfriend over the snow any day of the week. Mrs. Zigvolt was very happy to show you the most embarrassing ones, much to her son’s dismay.

You also helped prepare the house for the upcoming New Year’s Eve party that the Zigvolt’s hosted annually. You were excited to see Silver and Lilia again, but you were sad that Tsunotarou was not going to be able to make it. It would be alright, because you needed to meet Baul Zigvolt as well as Sebek’s siblings.

On the day of the party, his sister was the first of them to arrive. She didn’t live too far away, but the snow made it difficult to get there. She squealed upon seeing you, though, and you made a guess that this generation of Zigvolt’s inherited their mother’s strength when she hugged you.

“YOU MUST BE SEBEK’S SIGNIFICANT OTHER!!!!” She exclaimed in excitement.

“WHO’S SEBEK’S SIGNIFICANT OTHER?!” You heard a man exclaim from the front door. Looks like the eldest son of the family is now present.

“I am! My name is Y/N L/N!” You were not surprised to be swept into yet another bone-crushing hug, but this time you were rescued by another woman who didn’t look like she was related.

“Honey, let them go! They can barely breathe, poor thing…” You shook her hand after being let down, and you noticed the ring on her and Sebek’s older brother’s fingers, making a note that she married into the family.

Lilia and Silver weren’t too far behind, and so the only person you all were waiting for was the grandfather of the family. Lilia tried to reassure you that you would be fine and that Baul would tolerate you, but it still wasn’t any less nerve-wracking. Sebek was in a similar state, not being able to sit still, and when he was sitting, his leg was bouncing.

What did manage to give you a bit of hope was that you were not the only human in the room. Sebek’s father, sister-in-law, and Silver were all there to stand beside you. Of course, the first person mentioned didn’t count, because Baul still didn’t like him. However, the other two were accepted with nearly open arms.

Then, the dreaded knock on the door sounded, making more and more terror sink into your and your boyfriend’s souls. You took his hand in yours, drawing absentminded circles on the back of it with your thumb.

“Where is the human who deems themself worthy to court my youngest grandson?” He said upon entering.

Whatever happened to ‘Hello’? ‘How are you?’ ‘My name is…’?

“I am right here, sir.” You stood up, walking up to him and extending your out to him. “My name is Y/N L/N.”

A moment of silence passed, and you could feel sweat trickling down the back of your neck, but he accepted your hand and shook it, telling you his name in return. The entire group behind you let out a sigh of relief, before the festivities truly began.

And by ‘festivities’, I mean sitting on the couch and talking. This is probably the most ‘unseasoned chicken’ family out there… just saying.

~~~~~~~~

It had been a few hours since Baul had arrived, and it seemed like he accepted you into the family. You were in it for the long haul, but you didn’t mind. Behind the scary facade, he was just a man who was concerned with the wellbeing of his family. You could appreciate that, and now you sat, sitting and listening to his and Lilia’s “glory days” from back in the military.

Sebek was listening with stars in his eyes, and you knew that he aspired to be like his grandfather. He was sitting on the couch, and you were sitting on the floor, leaning your head on his leg as you listened along. However, you zoned out a bit, feeling your social battery become low.

Mr. Zigvolt put on a Christmas record on an old gramophone that they kept in the family room, and walked up to his wife.

“Would you like to dance, darling?” He extended his hand out to her, and your heart melted at the sight.

“Why, yes I would.” And so they started to rock back and forth. In their home, they had wedding photos hung up, and they looked as in love as they were back then.

Sebek’s brother and sister-in-law joined them. It wasn’t anything too complicated, literally just rocking back and forth. You smiled, lip-syncing to the words and watching the two couples dance with each other.

“H-Human, would you like to dance with me?” Sebek stood up and held a hand out to you, offering to help you up. Poor baby’s face was flushed red, embarrassed or flustered, or maybe a mix of both. Plus, he was using a soft voice.

“I would like nothing more, my Knight in Shining Armor,” You said with a smile on your face, allowing yourself to be pulled up off the ground and into his chest. Placing your hand on his shoulder and holding his hand with your free one, you both also began swaying side-to-side.

The song was soft, creating a rather romantic atmosphere in the living room of the Zigvolt residence. Staring into Sebek’s eyes, you could see the pride he felt at his choice of a significant other being accepted by the man he looked up to the most.

“1 MINUTE UNTIL MIDNIGHT!!!” The eldest Zigvolt daughter shouted out. All of a sudden, your beloved knight looked panicked, and you were about to ask what happened when he looked back into your eyes.

“Human, I am aware that I have not been very straightforward with my feelings for the past year that I have known you. I, however, want to take this last minute in the year to express them. I love you, Y/N L/N,” You could here the others start to count down, “And I understand if you do not wish to say it yet at this point in our relationship-”

“3, 2, 1!!!” The others shouted.

Quickly, you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss, closing your eyes. Your heart was pounding as you felt all the oxygen in your lungs quickly disappear, and when you broke apart from him, you smiled.

“I love you, too, Sebek Zigvolt.”

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #twst sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek #twst sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek x reader

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suppose-i-was-worm · 11 months

Text

I Put A Spell On You

Fake Dating (Part 1)

**I know, it's not the one that I started writing and was really funny, I'm having a lot of trouble with that one. Enjoy this one instead!**

“I need your help.”

Damian frowned, stashing away the knife he’d hidden beneath his pillow. Danny was crouched on the sill of the window he’d come in through, looking at him with wide blue eyes.

“Tt. What do you need? It is well past midnight.”

“I need you to fake date me.”

“What?”

Danny flinched, and Damian realized how sharp his question had been.

“My apologies. Please explain to me what is going on so that I can best assist you.”

Coming fully into the room, Danny started to explain.

“So, you know my parents and holidays, right? They- they’ve started hounding me about bringing home a significant other since Jazz got married.”

Damian nodded- he was familiar with Danny’s parents’ personality, even having never met them.

“Anyways, for Thanksgiving, they’re threatening to invite Paulina over and make me sit next to her. Paulina, Dames! I wouldn’t survive. So I told them I had a boyfriend who lived here in Gotham, and now they’re insisting on coming here to visit. If they find out I lied, I’ll be dead! My grades are too good for an early death.”

“So you came to me.”

“You’re the only person I know well enough to pull this off, Damian.”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit picked up from his father.

“And you did not think to tell them about-“

Cutting him off, Danny grabbed Damian’s face and looked directly into his eyes, a serious look on his face.

“Damian, I assure you it would be a fate worse than death if they found out how we met.”

Damian pulled himself away from Danny, glad for the dim light of his bedroom hiding the blush heating up his cheeks. The other man had never been that close to his face, and Damian would probably say that Danny’s eyes were more dangerous for him than the entire League of Assassins.

“Please, Dames? It’s Paulina we’re talking about.”

Closing his eyes, Damian thought things through. Fake dating Danny would be- a blessing and a curse at the same time. A blessing, as it would require him to be close to the other man for extended periods. A curse, because he knew it would end as soon as Danny’s parents left Gotham. For Damian, who had been struck by Danny’s beauty from the first moment he’d seen the other, the brief benefits might just outweigh the pain of them ending. At least he’d have the memory of being close to Danny.

When he opened his eyes, Danny was holding his hands in a mock praying position, looking up at Damian through his lashes.

“Tt. Fine.”

Danny lit up, literally, and then darted forward, planting a kiss on Damian’s cheek.

“You’re the best! They’re coming in to town tomorrow- drop by mine when you can!”

The other man slid back out of the window and flew off before Damian recovered from the kiss enough to protest the short notice.

~~~

The next day found Damian waiting outside Danny’s apartment, flowers in hand. He had done some investigation as to what he ought to bring with him to meet a significant other’s parents, so he was also armed with a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates.

The door opened soon enough after his knock, revealing an older woman he had never seen before. He could see where Danny got his frame, though, as well as his delicate features.

“You must be Damian! Come in! Danny’s elbow deep in the microwave with Jack. I’m Maddie- we’ve heard so much about you!”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He stepped inside the apartment, handing Maddie the wine and chocolates after she closed the door.

“Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you? Danny!”

Danny poked his head out of the kitchen, and Damian almost swooned at the look Danny gave him.

“Hey Dames! Glad you could make it!”

He emerged, wiping what looked like grease off his hands, and took the flowers that Damian handed him.

“For you, Beloved.”

More importantly, he also took the short kiss Damian gave him over the bouquet.

When Damian pulled away, he was delighted to see that Danny was flushed.

“Uh- thank you! They’re beautiful.”

“Oh, you two are so cute! How long have you been dating?”

“Three years.”

“Not long.”

Danny and Damian spoke at the same time, and then Damian smiled smoothly, determined to fix his mistake.

“Perhaps I feel like our time together until now has been too short. Every time I see you, you are as beautiful as the day we met.”

He was rewarded with Danny flushing an even brighter red.

Maddie turned to her son, hands on her hips.

“You’ve been dating this polite young man for so long and hadn’t told us?”

Danny shuffled his feet, looking bashful.

“I didn’t want to scare him away. I really like him, mom.”

A large man came out of the kitchen, laughing a booming laugh.

“We can tell, Danno. It’s not like you haven’t been talking about him for the last few years.”

Damian looked over at Danny, doing his best not to let his expression show. Danny had been talking about him to his parents? For years?

Danny laughed nervously and then herded everyone into the dining room.

If he were being honest, Damian had pulled out all of his acting skills to charm the Drs. Fenton throughout the evening. He did not need acting skills for his interactions with Danny. He kept close to the other, wrapping an arm around his shoulder when he could and dropping light kisses into the shorter man’s hair when the opportunity presented itself.

It was heaven.

Danny walked him out to his car after dinner, and didn’t let go of Damian’s hand the entire way.

“Thank you for tonight, Dames.”

Damian smiled down at the love of his life.

“Of course, Beloved. Anything for my husband.”

With a scoff, Danny let go of Damian’s hand and stepped back.

“Sure, Damian. Drive safe.”

~~~

Danny Fenton knew when he was screwed. His parents had been in Gotham for a week, and Damian was still dropping by to see him on a semi regular basis. He’d even been touchy, and Danny knew that of all people, Damian Wayne wasn’t ever physically affectionate.

It partly gave him hope, and partly made him think this gambit was hopeless. He was aware of Damian’s extra-curriculars, after all, and knew the entire family were good actors.

And yet-

Damian’s parting kiss to him had been long and clinging the evening before his parents left, and he seemed reluctant to leave Danny standing in his own doorway. His hand lingered on Danny’s wrist, and his eyes were the last to tear away.

So, yeah. Danny was fifty percent sure that Damian might possibly reciprocate his feelings, but he didn’t have the courage to ask outright.

He hadn’t had the courage to ask much of Damian since they met, even though he’d been half in love with the other man the moment they laid eyes on each other.

It had been a routine summoning- He’d tasted the blood in his mouth, and while it did not necessarily taste like the blood of an innocent (he always went to bat for the victim in those cases), it piqued his curiosity enough to check things out.

He rose from the summoning circle, crown of fire wreathing his head as he showed off his less human appearance.

The cultists fell away from him, scrambling to bow and prostrate themselves in front of him.

“Oh great Ghost King! Please accept this sacrifice in order to take your rightful place as the lord of all worlds!”

Danny looked down to see a handsome young man in a well fitted suit glaring up at him, blood drying from a wound on his head.

When their eyes met, something changed. The summoning circle flared from Danny’s own ice blue to a sharp neon green, and something lit up under the chair the ‘sacrifice’ was tied to.

With noises of surprise, the cultists started to rise to investigate, but Danny snapped his fingers and caught them all in ice.

Landing, Danny inspected both the runes in the summoning circle and the one beneath the sacrifice, and then floated out of the circle to find the book the cultists had been using to summon him.

When he found it, he had the urge to finish these idiots off himself. They had somehow botched the ritual so much that they had turned it into something of a wedding, and now he was ghost married to a human civilian.

Turning back to said human civilian, he found the other on his feet on the opposite side of the room, holding an improvised weapon.

“Oh cool, you got free. Good news, you’re not going to die.”

The civilian stiffened even more, arching an eyebrow.

“Tt. What is the bad news?”

Danny shrugged.

“Oh, not much. We’re just kinda… Married now? I’ll find a way to dissolve it, or something, and you’re not obligated to have anything to do with me, but… Yeah. Supernaturally married. Is a thing. That we are.”

Civilian’s shoulders slumped, and he stalked out of the warehouse (why was it always warehouses?). Danny followed behind.

“Oh, hey, we’re in Gotham!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Close to my apartment.”

The man turned to him incredulously.

“The ghost king has an apartment in Gotham?”

Danny let his transformation wash over him.

“Well, Danny Fenton does, and I’m him most of the time.”

“Damian Wayne. A pleasure.”

Damian held out his hand, and Danny shook it carefully.

“Totally! I’m gonna- go. I guess. And look into the ghost married thing.”

“No rush. It might be advantageous to be married to an interdimensional king.”

With a laugh, Danny lifted into the air.

“Sure. I’m cool with being friends, if you want. Maybe we can work together.”

“I can do friends.”

#dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #dp x batman #danny phantom #damian wayne #dead serious #dpxdc #fake dating #idiots to lovers

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sweeneydino · 8 days

Note

I love love LOVE your Spikeangelo AU it’s so funny and so good!!

TBH I’m foaming @ the mouth to hear more about it. I wanna see more stuff with Titan and Raph cause Raph was already so close to Spike and making him Ronin Mikey adds a whole nother layer to it all and it’s so JUICY and ANGSTY!! Would Titan’s pewpaw nature make him act as more of an older brother figure to Raph? How attached would Titan be over Raph and the 2012 Turtles in general? The 2012 Turtles go through so much trauma ( even without Splinter’s second and final death being canon to your story ) so I can’t imagine that Titan would be pleased with seeing these alternate young versions of he and his brothers go through the fucking WRINGER when he ( probably ) had a strong desire to protect them from the horrors that he himself faced in his original universe.

I’ve been curious too… Raph Brainworm Arc in the Spikeangelo AU….. how does that work out? Especially when in canon it was Slash who kidnapped Raph and held his head in place for the brainworm to drill into his eye / head…….

I can only imagine how Titan would’ve felt about the events of the Fourfold Trap too. Karai ( under the control of a brainworm ) capturing the family and torturing the Turtles individually??? Bruh that must’ve been a NIGHTMARE for him.

Thank you Thank you! I'm glad people enjoy this silly au so much hsbsnwush it makes me feel so proud UvU

I can assure it will get juicer and angstier :))

For the questions, ahem

He lets his Peepaw nature slip out A LOT, lol. He'd def act more as an older brother despite Raph taking care of him as Spike. Spirit of an old man.

He already adopted them gsbsjsu. As soon as he realized how much Raph love him as spike, he was doomed. Also, doomed to get gray scales. 2012 is not nice to these boys 💀

Oh yeah... I definitely got something 😏

It's a bit(huge understatement) different from the canon as Titan is way more experienced than Slash, and more prominent, but the 2012 boys are gonna discover that Splinter isn't the only one holding back >:)

You have to wonder what will this guy has to not kill the shredder immediately, but it might be because someone is still on the fence.

For Karai, I'm not sure if she'd be brainwormed or not, mostly cause I have a few different ideas for how each path goes out... maybe I'll write it out, who knows. Probably not.

This peepaw is not having a good time 😩

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #art #crossover #tmnt crossover #vinny asks #asks #tmnt 2012 #spikeangelo au #spikangelo au #tmnt last ronin #tmnt the last ronin #the last ronin #last ronin #sketch #eyestrain #angst #some other asks asked about the brainworms too so ill expand on it more in them >:3c

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kenneduck · 7 months

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Would your Yona also have feelings for Link? Or perhaps she sees him as a good friend? Would Sidon get jealous seeing Link ride HER in the water lol

Hmm, so I've been hesitant to answer this, but I kind of want to! I'll just say that what I'm GOING to say isn't canon for Secret Confessions when it comes to Link, but this is how I like to write her character, and to make full sense of it, I'll just say how I imagine both Yona's relationships w/ Sidon and Link here...

Yona I imagine was a childhood friend of Sidon, who met him through her family member, Muzu. As she's from the same domain Muzu/Dorephan was from originaly before Dorephan married Sidon/Mipha's mother and moved into the Hyrule Zora's Domain. Yona was there to comfort Sidon after he lost Mipha, as the two both mourned her and leaned on each other. Though, the two spent less time together as Sidon grew older, so their romantic feelings didn't grow until after their arranged marriage.

I HC Yona to be like demiromantic + asexual, so I view Yona and Sidon's romance differently than Sidon and Link's. Yona loves Sidon as her husband. Her love for him is strong, and she feels so safe in his arms and by his side. She didn't have romantic feelings for him when they were first arranged, but he's just so charismatic and lovable, and quite honestly funny. In a way Yona didn't get to see much when he was younger. She can't get over how much heart he's grown to have, but still manage to be the most lovable ditz in her life. She worried at first with the marriage that it would be nothing more than a political one, especially as she grew very aware of Sidon's blatant attraction for his dearest friend, but she quickly realized how big his heart was. That she also had a place in it. Sidon fell in love with Yona's comfort, her genuine care, and the way she's able to speak so heartfelt with such ease and consideration. She's the smartest person he knows, and he's so happy that she's the Zora Queen. He also loves how cuddly she is, and that when the two are alone, it's spent in each others arms. She's so comforting.

After Link joins the picture, Yona is more than happy to see Sidon's heart full. That, and she most definitely can enjoy breaks from her husband, and even though she enjoys his cuddles and endless compliments, she also enjoys her alone time. She also feels glad that Sidon has someone that... loves him in a way she doesn't. She's never felt pressured by Sidon to be intimate. Even with him always explaining his love for her isn't defined by intimacy, she's found herself guilty for not loving Sidon in that way. The first time she spots a Zora bite on Link, she's overwhelmed with laughter. She's happy, and Link clearly is too, as he isn't trying to hide it at all. Yona feels a weight of sort off her shoulders from this... so thankfully Link had a mark on his LMAO.

When it comes to sleeping arrangements, if Link is there that night, the three share a bed in Sidon and Yona's quarters that is big enough for the three. Where Link and Yona sandwich Sidon between them, and the three cuddle the night away. Yona, at first, is cautious about sticking to her side of the bed. She wants to avoid Link, not because she dislikes him, but she knows he loves Sidon, not her. She doesn't mind sticking to her side of the bed, but one morning when she wakes up to Link cuddling her and Sidon snoring on the other side of Link, she's overwhelmed. Though, she strangely feels comforted, and she quite enjoys it, which only causes her alarm and she gently unwraps Link around her. This happens a few times, and Yona feels a bit confused at the experiences. She doesn't DISLIKE them, but she also feels a bit guilty when she admits she is finding Link quite comforting in the way she finds Sidon.

Yona finds herself giggling more at Link's feral like behaviors. Finding herself blushing a bit when Link and Sidon swim around the reservoir. When she and Link talk alone, she feels a comfort that leaves her confused. She wants to know more, be around him more, but she knows that isn't what Link wants.

But again, one morning after she wakes up, she's met with Sidon on the other side of Link. Sidon is awake, and with Yona's movements, Link awakens, too. Yona expects Link to give his usual morning kiss to Sidon, but with Link used to Sidon being to his left, he, without opening his eyes, gives Yona a peck, leaving Sidon AND Yona both confused and speechless. Link opens his eyes to the sight, and immediately apologizes, turning redder than Sidon. Yona explains all is well, but her heart is racing, and she's overwhelmed because she LIKED the kiss, and with her guilt, she runs out.

Later that day, Link meets Yona alone, and he apologizes for the morning. Link noticed Yona hadn't returned from the reservoir, and knew this accidental kiss was something they wouldn't just forget about. When Link apologizes, Yona apologizes too, as she admits she liked it, and that she apologizes for falling for Link, too. Link is silent for what feels like a long time. But when he walks over to Yona and hugs her, she's surprised. Link admits he's grown his own love for Yona with their time spent together. It's different than his love for Sidon, but it's more than just as a friend. He does love her, and he's sorry for the kiss, but if she's okay with it, he'd like to make a proper kiss next time. To which Yona agrees, and the two kiss again.

Sidon of fucking course is overly excited at the news, as this presents so many more cuddling and date options. The three get along swimmingly, and well, Sidon wouldn't get jealous of Link swimming on Yona's back. He'd just be waiting impatiently for his turn LMAO.

#sidlink #sidlinkyona #sidlink ask #sidon #prince sidon #king sidon #lady yona #yona #sidon x yona #queen yona #yona totk #sidlink headcannon #sidlink hc

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ladyblueberrymuffin · 7 months

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I feel like people haven't really understood The Lost Hero, because like... "I think the reasons Piper and Jason broke up make sense. Their relationship is based on fake memories and blah blah blah"

THE LOST HERO IS LITERALLY ABOUT PIPER HAVING AN IDENTITY CRISIS, BECAUSE SHE LEARNS HER MEMORIES ARE FAKE AND SHE HAS TO LEARN TO ACCEPT IT.

The whole crux of Jasiper in The Lost Hero is they're slow and shy and even ashamed to a degree about their feelings, because they are afraid it'd be those fake memories pushing them into this.

Like, I feel like The Lost Hero couldn't be more obvious about the fact that they like each other for real, and they're the only ones who can't see it.

Piper already learned this lesson in The Lost Hero, why is this treated like a new development in The Burning Maze?

Also,

Aphrodite smiled. “Because you are my daughter, Piper. You see possibilities much more vividly than others. You see what could be. And it still might be—don’t give up."

It wasn't Hera, or Aphrodite who gave Piper the memories of dating Jason. It was Piper. Like, the way I think about it, it's like when you meet this boy, and you develop a crush, and you start making up all these fantasies about dating him in your head.

In other words, all Hera did was "introduce" Jason to Piper's brain, and because Jason is very sweet, and nice, and funny, Piper's brain was like "Yes, this guy, more please."

I dunno. I always found it cute. She's basically just dealing with an unrequited crush, just dressed up in a magic packaging.

I do think there should be more emphasis put on the fact that there are differences between how Piper "remembers" Jason, and what he's really like, and over the course of the book, she realizes that she likes real Jason more than her idealized version of him.

No one gaslit no one into liking each other. Jason and Piper actively gave each other time to process things. The Lost Hero even ends with this:

Across the green, her cabin mates looked disappointed that they hadn’t witnessed a kiss. They started cashing in their bets. But that was all right. Piper was patient.

The patient bit was always the most important to me. Piper isn't rushing things.

I think Rick heard fans complaining that Jasiper is based on fake memories and how messed up that is, and course corrected. They wanted a major character death, more representation, a different personality for Piper, not having Piper constantly think about Jason, they didn't really like Jason...

And you know, I think he's valid. Like, this is a job to him. He's feeding his family. He doesn't have to care about these fake names on the page just because I do. He wanted to accommodate the fans, he probably wanted some more meaty character stuff after the last couple of books were kinda boring with Callypso and Leo and so on, he probably thought this would get people hooked and interested.

It's fine. I'm glad he's still making books, and getting work, and helping other creators. I don't think other writers are that invested in their characters either, but when I read like a Kami Garcia schmaltzy romance, it feels like it was written with the mindset of "How would I feel if my friend stopped talking to me? How would I feel if my loved one died?" and it makes the actions of the characters feel less cold and detached.

I'd have a panic attack if I was friends with Leo and he moved on a whim, and didn't seem all that broken up about not seeing me again. I'd feel like I am not worth a lot to him. Hell, I am 23, way older than they are, and I still cry, because my friend moved away this year. I pass his house, and I realize I feel nothing, and I don't wanna be there, because he's not there, and I cry. These characters don't cry about anything, unless someone dies. And even then, a few minutes later, it's back to normal.

I dunno, is this what makes it more accessible to middle-schoolers? I feel like middle-schoolers would be even more terrified of the prospect of a friend moving away and not even feeling that sad over leaving them behind.

EDIT: Furthermore, if you think Hera put fake memories of a relationship into Piper's head... TO WHAT END?! To what end?! How does that benefit Hera in any way? Why would Hera care? Rick has done a pretty interesting thing with Hera lately by making her actually love Jason like a son, but that relationship was a lot more reserved at the time of HoO. Why would she care if he gets a girlfriend? Why would she think Piper is a good match for Jason? I feel like the last thing Hera would want for Jason is a relationship with Piper, like, common, Hera hates Aphrodite, they're like polar opposites, and the Trojan War started because of their argument (Athena was involved too, but Hera has different reasons to dislike her). Hera is the goddess of marriage, who has stayed loyal to a man who cheats on her daily, do you think she would hitch her boy with the daughter of the only woman who's body count rivals Zeus'?

#heroes of olympus #hoo #percy jackson #pjo #toa #trials of apollo #the burning maze #can you tell i recently stumbled into the burning maze and got swept up in the angy again?#i'm sorry i'll try to slow down with these vent posts #jasiper #jiper #jason grace #piper mclean #leo valdez #i don't hate rick riordan i swear

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nevertheless-moving · 12 days

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From This AU (you might want to skim this for context on canon divergence), with thoughts and beta from @sorchasolas and @magentasomething

"Thank you again, Adolin,” Shallan said. “This was perfect — exactly what I needed to get restarted on some of my natural studies."

Kaladin rolled his eyes at the lighteyed chatter, trying yet again to tune them out.

It was a bit easier now that they were away from that menagerie; the moving crowds provided plenty of threats to draw his attention. Harder, because that also meant he had to stay close, which unfortunately meant hearing the two simper at one another.

His mind wandered again to Amaram, in his golden cloak.

So much for coming forward as radiant. His stomach churned.

"Kaladin," Syl said softly, floating beside his shoulder.

He shook his head, not looking at her, forcing himself to focus. For some storming reason, the Davar woman had insisted on walking back through Sebarial's camp to be escorted to her quarters, wanting to take the 'scenic' route.

On one level he was glad — an alternative arrangement might have led to sharing a carriage with Wit or Dalinar or Amaram —

He shook his head again. Threats, I’m supposed to be focusing on threats. My job right now is keeping Adolin Kholin alive. Focus on that. He scanned the lighteye marketplace: shops selling exotic fabrials, winehouses with noxious colored wines, lofty conversations containing sphere totals that could buy his hometown.

Snippets of conversation buffeted him.

"That horrendous scarf, I can't believe he actually thought that shade of green—"

"I know! Humiliating isn't it? So last—"

"Tell me more about this one?"

"Fine taste, my esteemed citizen, very fine taste. All the way from—"

"I'm terribly sorry, Brightlady, but I'm afraid you've been misinformed. We've been just as hard hit for supply by the... unpleasantness as anywhere else."

"Oh dear. So hardly any for sale?

Kaladin froze, turning back quickly.

No. Impossible. It can't have been her voice.

She's dead.

They're all dead.

He spun back to his charges, cursing when he realized how far ahead they had gotten. He jogged to catch up, pushing through the crowd.

Adolin turned over his shoulder to glance at him, frowning at his expression.

"Something the matter, bridgeboy?" The tone was light, but his eyes scanned the surroundings warily, hand slightly to the side.

"No," Kaladin answered brusquely. "Apologies, Brightlord, I thought I heard something, but was mistaken."

Adolin nodded, then turned back to Shallan. They only moved forward a few steps when he heard her again.

"Kaladin!"

Great, now he was imagining her calling his name. He tightened his hands on his spear, not turning back. It had to be in his head. He hadn't been getting enough sleep. Wit, The Whitespine in that cage, Amaram, Amaram being named Radiant — the day had rattled him.

"Kal!"

Adolin and Shallan stopped for some reason, turning back, looking...over his shoulder?

"Someone you know, bridgeboy?" Davar said with a bemused expression.

"Kaladin!"

Kaladin turned slowly, looking behind him, but all he saw was a crowd of lighteyes and rich citizen merchants. One Brightlady was pushing her way through the throngs of people towards their position.

She looked...familiar. Had he seen her in Sadeas's camps? He blinked. Something about her face didn't make sense. And her voice. She opened her mouth.

"Kaladin!"

The Brightlady had his mother's voice.

And face, older, with unfamiliar eyes but...it was her. She was calling his name.

His mind went blank.

- - -

"Someone you made angry?" Adolin asked, but the captain didn't seem to even notice the question. None of that funny wrinkled nose or slightly bulging forehead vein when he said something annoying.

"Captain?" Adolin asked, starting to get concerned at the way the man was white knuckling his spear. He didn't reply, and the look on his face... it was more haunted than before, after, or during their fight with the Assassin.

He looked back at the unfamiliar Brightlady; she didn't look like a threat, but...

"Adolin," Shallan whispered urgently, leaning in. "I overheard her when we were walking by. She's a slave trader, I think I heard her say she's in the Shattered Plains looking to buy, since the rebellions have disrupted trade elsewhere."

Adolin felt a sinking sensation in his gut.

"Captain?" Adolin asked more softly. "Is she...did she used to..."

He didn't finish the sentence. The bridgeman clearly wasn't looking his direction. Despite her height, it would be a stretch to call the woman physically intimidating. Adolin had never been property before. But he did know how cruel Brightladies could be to anyone they considered beneath them for any reason, worse for those of low dahn, worse again for servants. He didn't want to think about how terrible some might be to slaves, those without even a shadow of protection under the law...

Shallan was looking at the former Bridgeman with concern.

"I'll take care of this," Adolin muttered to the both of them, stepping in front of the still unresponsive guard.

"Kal! It is you!" The woman cried, nearly upon them.

"Brightlady!" Adolin said cheerfully, stepping forward and tactfully blocking Kaladin from view with his bulk. "I don't think we've had the pleasure of being introduced. I see you're familiar with my Captain of the Guard. My name, as you may know, is Adolin Kholin, Heir to the Kho—"

A boulder, or a chull — something suddenly hit him. He was airborne a moment, before hitting the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

He scrambled to his feet, heart already pounding for his Shardblade. A distraction for their guard, and an attack, it must have been planned — Shallan, she —

He blinked starspren from his eyes, looking around for attackers. But all he saw was the Brightlady — hugging the bridgeboy? And —- the bridgeboy was hugging her back?

"Mom?" Captain Kaladin said, and Adolin didn't think he'd ever heard that much emotion in the man's voice.

"You're...alive?" the Captain whispered, just loud enough for Adolin to overhear. Yellow shockspren formed, breaking around him.

Adolin blinked again, not thinking right now about why those words sent a pang through his heart.

He stepped up beside Shallan, who was staring wide eyed at two, clinging to each other for dear life in the middle of the thoroughfare.

She wasn't the only one; they had drawn a bit of a crowd — the two cut fairly noticeable figures. A Brightlady and a shashbranded darkeyes crying in each others’ arms, both a good foot taller than the average passerby.

"Did — did the bridgeboy knock me over because I got in the way of him seeing his mother?" Adolin muttered to Shallan, only slightly indignant.

He perhaps should be angrier but...another pang went through him as he looked at the pair.

"No, actually," she replied absently.

"Then what—"

"His mother knocked you over. Guess she hadn't seen her son in a while and wasn't going to let anyone stand in her way, not even a highprince's son."

Adolin looked down at Shallan.

"...You're joking," he said finally.

Shallan coughed in her hand, not meeting his eyes. "I'm not actually."

Adolin squinted at her.

"I swear! It was..." she waved her freehand in a dramatic sweeping motion. "She sent you flying! It was... very surprising!"

She coughed into her hand again, and he strongly suspected she was laughing at him. He just wasn't sure if it was because of the lie, or because a distracted mother had knocked a Shardbearing Prince aside like crem on a doorframe.

"Begging your pardon, Brightlord," a nearby merchant said. "But she's telling the truth."

Adolin stared at him, and the man flushed, but held his ground. "It's really not the sort of thing you see everyday, I'm certain I'm not mistaken."

He shrunk back as Adolin continued to look at him.

Damnation, he thought, finally turning away. How strong is that woman? He had only been barely prepared to accept that storming Stormblessed could have knocked him that hard from a standstill let alone—

There is something not normal about that family.

- - -

"Mom—how—"

He pulled back, staring into her eyes. Her pale, violet eyes. Had she...gotten a Shardblade? The idea was insane. And yet...

"Kaladin..." she said softly, glancing around them and letting out a small huff.

A brilliant white spren appeared between them, and Kaladin leaned back, staring almost cross-eyed at it.

"My lady wishes me to inform you that she will be happy to explain her appearance at a later date, however—"

"Oh!" Kaladin said, things clicking into place.

"You...understand?" Hesina said hesitantly.

Kaladin nodded, smiling.

Syl zipped between them as well, squealing with delight.

"Ooh! Ooh! I've been wanting to meet you! I mean I've seen you before, because the winds were always with Kaladin, but oh! This is great!"

"You too?" Hesina said, smiling widely. "Of course. Oh, Kaladin."

"He thought you were dead!" Syl said growing uncharacteristically grave. "You never left Hearthstone before. And then Laral said you went to the city, to find him, and never came back, but there were reports of violent riots." Kaladin made a soft noise of agreement.

"You thought that...oh I'm so so sorry Kaladin. We had to look for you. Stormfather, we practically tore the country apart looking for you." Her hands moved up to cup his cheeks, the radiant spren shifting to either side of her arms.

"Is..." He couldn't get the words out.

"Is his father alright?" Syl asked quietly.

"Yes!” the ball of light — what type of spren was she anyway — said proudly. "The father is back in the tall town with the younger siblings."

Kaladin sighed in relief, then gripped his mothers shoulders, gently pressing in.

"Wait, what? Siblings?"

- - -

“Are they… talking in code?” Adolin asked, bewildered.

Shallan seemed to actually consider the question, which made Adolin feel less stupid, which was nice. She finally shook her head.

“I don’t think so. Not that I can tell anyway, and I have some talent in detecting patterns.”

They continued to talk in maddeningly half finished questions and answers, which the two of them seemed to understand perfectly, going by their reactions. Apparently bridgeboy had believed that both his parents were dead? But they weren't? And he had siblings he didn't know about?

Adolin hadn't even realized that he had been curious about the man's life.

She cocked her head. “I suppose this explains bridgeboy’s conversational skills, if he’s used to people who can apparently interpret and intend full sentences from and with grunting.”

“Oh, this explains more than that,” Adolin said, a number of bizarre behaviors slotting into place. The way he talked down to everyone, even lighteyes. The education that he had to have had — he had seen the Captain using glyph pairs to send orders through messengers. Storms, the way he carried himself. Adolin grinned. Yes, a Brightlady mother explained a lot, though not everything.

He was going to enjoy teasing the rest out of him.

Shallan seemed to have the same thought, eyes twinkling.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said demurely. “But perhaps you would care to join us in our walk, Brightlady…”

She paused leadingly, but Stormblessed’s mother just smiled.

“Please, call me Hesina.”

Not sharing a family name, Adolin thought in exasperation. Of course she’s as mysterious as her son.

“I’m afraid I really do need to check back with the rest of my party,” Hesina said, and he could see Kaladin’s hands tighten around hers.

“Well, we should be safe enough, if you want to take the rest of the day, b — Captain.”

“No,” the man said. He glanced around, glaring at the crowd. Several people bustled immediately into motion as his eyes fell upon them, and soon enough traffic was flowing fairly normally. Adolin rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure the king would have had a hard time — that was probably a bad example. He was fairly sure his father would have had a hard time clearing a group of gawkers like that, with sheer presence alone.

Hesina chuckled. “I’ve seen you’ve grown into your father’s disapproving glare. Ha! Oh, Kal you won’t believe who he stared down a few months back.”

Stormblessed, to Adolin’s delight, seemed to flush at that, lips twisting upwards into what one, if they were being a bit generous, could call a smile. “He’s well then? You — and my younger —“ Kaladin’s expression seemed to stutter at that.

“We’re all well,” she said softly, and Adolin's heart shouldn’t be aching this badly. It really shouldn’t. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her son’s forehead. Adolin looked away, feeling out of place. Shallan continued staring at the two of them, with…hunger in her eyes. A deep longing, that passed in a moment, smoothed over by genteel patience. If he hadn’t been looking right at her at that exact moment, he would have missed it.

“I’m sorry mother, I really do need to get back to my duty now.”

“I’ll find you later. We’ll talk about… everything. Oh my sweet boy. Kaladin. I knew we’d find you.” She smiled again, eyes watery, then pulled away.

Their hands stayed clasped until the last moment, arms stretching as they both stepped back, fingers reluctant to let go. Then she turned, quickly slipping back into the crowd, then turned a corner, and was gone.

Kaladin stared in the direction she had came around for a long moment, then turned back, face and posture stiff.

“Apologies for the interruption, Brightlord Kholin, Brightlady Davar.”

Adolin rolled his eyes. “I think, under the circumstances, I can forgive a small dereliction of duty.”

“Provided, of course,” Shallan added lightly. “You tell us all about your charming, brightlady mother.”

She clasped his arm with her freehand, then started slowly pulling him along into the current of traffic.

Adolin raised an eyebrow at her, and she jerked her head firmly.

Storms, where has this woman been all my life.

He pressed into the other side of the captain, slinging an arm around his shoulder so he couldn’t move behind or in front of them. The man, incredibly, grew even stiffer as they walked at a leisurely pace towards the Sabrial Manor.

“This is not an effective position for me to protect you from,” he said grimly as he was dragged forward.

“Less efficient than when you were frozen in place? Or having a touching family reunion in a crowded marketplace?” Shallan said, and Adolin winced slightly. She probably didn’t realize how seriously the man took his job.

Bridgeboy grunted as if wounded.

“Besides, this is perfect! You’re guarding my right, Adolin’s left. You don’t have to strain to hear what we’re saying to make fun of us; we don’t have to strain to hear your mean spirited snorts of derision.”

Bridgeboy grunted again, but Adolin wasn’t sure how to interpret it.

“So…” she said, sounding thoughtful. “She seemed rather well appointed to be a tenner. But anything higher must have been quite the scandal.”

He felt Stormblessed’s shoulders flex under his arm, and for one insane moment he actually thought he was going to attack Shallan.

Adolin cleared his throat. “That must have been…good though, right? I mean…it sounded like you thought she was dead. It must have been good. To see her.”

He grunted again, and Adolin felt a sharp, possibly disproportionate spike of annoyance. He brought his right hand around to poke the Captain in the cheek.

“Come on! That’s not enough to get you to crack a smile? You just learned your mother is alive!”

The Captain froze, soulcast to stone for all Adolin would be able to get him to move forward. Shallan stumbled.

Kaladin bent over slightly, breath escaping as if punched out. Adolin watched in somewhat sick fascination as emotions passed over his face, each clear as the purelake, intense as a high storm.

Grief, Rage, Confusion. Joy, Relief, Delight, Disbelief. Relief again, Pain, Guilt, Pain, Love.

Emptionspren flickered around him, disappearing too quickly to register as anything more than shifting light. He was vaguely surprised the man didn’t fall fully to his knees. Adolin felt dizzy just watching someone feel that hard. It reminded him of Renarin, before he learned to draw in on himself, boxing out the world.

“They’re alive…” Stormblessed whispered, hunching over further. “They didn’t die. They’re alive.” Tears streamed freely down his face, and another small crowd started to clump up. This time Adolin glared them away, waiting for the man to gather himself.

When the Captain straightened, Adolin guided their group to a nearby alleyway, where it would be at least harder for passersby to watch and listen.

“Well?” The Captain finally snapped, voice hoarse. “Going to mock me now? Ask if I’m a bastard? Threaten to have me fired for unprofessional behavior?”

He glared, red-eyed, at Shallan, then Adolin.

Adolin flinched, but didn’t look away, and neither did she.

“No,” Shallan whispered. Her eyes were…haunted. Ever-present smile gone. “No. I shouldn’t have made light of this. I’m sorry...I used to dream about my mother coming back…about it all being a misunderstanding. About us being a family again. I can only imagine how much you’re feeling right now.”

Kaladin’s eyes widened as he looked at her, apparently surprised by what he found there.

That pang from earlier ripped through his heart. So that’s what it was. “Me too,” he said, roughness in his own voice surprising him. “It didn’t make sense that political dissidents… I just kept waiting to hear that it was a mistake and there was some…”

He cleared his throat, wiping at suddenly burning eyes.

“I didn’t,” Kaladin whispered. “I…thought something must have happened to them. I thought it almost as soon as I left home. Our Brightlord…a part of me was sure they would be dead If I ever made it back. Couldn’t afford to get letters back, so I just sort of…lived with the dread. Figured if I didn’t confirm anything at least I could hold onto a shred of hope. I tried not to think about them when I was…after the army. I couldn’t. Then, when I finally got free… and I learned more about the riot. I had heard that houses — I thought maybe I might be actually able to help, if they were in trouble. And I had real money for the first time…

He shuddered.

“I hired a spanreed... Laral said they went to look for me. They never left town before that. Never. And as soon as they did…to try and find me, somehow pay my slave debt even though that would have been impossible…” His voice grew bitter. “That was right at the start of the first riots in Sadeus. When they didn’t return, the town assumed they must have been caught up in the madness and killed. I thought they died because of me. Just like — just like everyone always—"

He laughed hoarsely, and Adolin didn’t know what to do, what to say in response to the terrible noise. He just gripped Kaladin’s shoulder more firmly.

Kaladin tensed, but didn't shake him off. “I don’t know why I’m trying to explain this to you.”

“The sorrow,” Shallan said softly.

Her voice grew so quiet Adolin couldn’t hear. He moved closer to her, reaching for her gently, not letting go of Kaladin, turning their awkward line into a small huddle.

"— feeling hope become stringy sinew and blood beneath your fingers as everything collapses?”

“Yes," Kaladin whispered.

Shallan looked up at Adolin, then blanched, turning to face the cobblestones.

When she looked back up, she was smiling, and it was beautiful — the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. He felt Kaladin draw in a surprised breath.

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing. They felt warm beneath Adolin's hands, and he didn't try to look for words.

Then a carriage clattered by, and the moment ended.

Kaladin cleared his throat, pulling away. Shallan arranged herself properly on Adolin's arm. The two of them left the alley, walking calmly, ignoring any curious eyes.

Bridgeboy trailed close behind, and the short rest of the walk to Shallan's residence went uneventfully, without any more words on the matter of mothers, without very many words at all.

Adolin waited until he was saying goodbye to Shallan to glance at the Captain again.

He was staring into the air, smiling.

Another pang went through Adolin's heart. He ignored it.

#stormlight archive #stormlight fanfic #words of radiance au #hesina #kaladin stormblessed #my au #nevertheless cosmere #hesina willshaper au #stormlight au no 2 #just a hint of shakadolin

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 10 months

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So I’m mostly curious about this for Muriel’s sake (he’s my favorite) but I have an HC request for if the M6, whether through a dream or magic, got to talk with their past selves from the darkest point in their lives, what would they say? Try to comfort/cheer themselves up? Assuming everyone got their Upright endings.

The Arcana HCs: M6 talking to their past selves

~ this is such an interesting one, @httyd-chocolate! thank you for the request, I hope you like what I do with it! (for hc purposes, this occurs as a magical dream where past and present selves interact) - brainrot ~

Julian

The dream is so vivid that he doesn't realize what it is until it's over

But right now, he's staring down at this gangly, scared, insecure almost-teenager, and every heroic bone in his body is telling him that this boy deserves all the safety and support in the world

It's weird to hear his young self saying the same deprecating things that he still does, but the jokes that normally make him laugh don't sound funny at all coming from a kid

And before he knows it, all the words he's heard you and Portia and Mazelinka say to him are spilling out of his mouth

"You're not alone. People are fortunate to be around you. You only drag everyone around you down when you refuse to let them lift you up. Sticking around to see the future is worth it."

At the same time, seeing himself in that kid's eyes is world-altering

Because to that younger self, the man he is now is smart, and heroic, and important, and somebody worth growing up to be

They stroll down to the seaside, at one point, as Julian listens to tiny Ilya's frustrations with his sister, and himself, and not knowing who he is or what comes next besides a call away from home

"You're pretty cool, mister," Ilya says at one point, "who are you?"

"I'm you," Julian says, and the look of hope and surprised delight he sees on Ilya's face makes him wake up with tears in his eyes

Asra

They know where they are as soon as the back alleys of the South End swim into view. They don't expect to see themself though

He's caught glimpses of the past once or twice, with you by his side, but those were moments of a childhood of wonder and escape. The kid in front of him hasn't found that magic yet

Little Asra is hiding in a corner behind a trash heap, clutching their lost mother's shawl and trying to hide the sniffles that shake their thin shoulders. Though all that disappears when they spot Big Asra

Suddenly, he's being scrutinized with the most curious gaze, and there's no hiding who he is. So he joins hands with him and starts wandering around, paying for lots of street food along the way

They'd forgotten how many questions they used to ask people

Until one hits him out of nowhere: "what's it like for us now?"

They don't want to leave that scared, lonely kid without something to look forward to, so they play with the dream a bit and lead Little Asra to a familiar magic shop a few streets away from the town square

In the dream, you're dozing by the fire, tea and snacks waiting on the table, and Big Asra watches his child self gaze at you in awe and remember what home feels like

It's sobering, to lead that child back to the docks and tuck them in to sleep under the pier, but it's a glimpse of warmth they're glad they got to share

Nadia

She has a suspicion of what's going on when she opens her eyes in her childhood bedroom, and that suspicion is confirmed when her 14-year-old self storms in and slams the door shut

She's ready to provide a haven. A listening ear. Ready to tell the young woman in front of her that she's right, that she's ready for more, that being held back and dismissed like this really isn't fair

Until the 14-year-old opens her mouth and starts to unload her day

For the first time in years, Nadia's not sure what to say. Does she want to tell this young woman that she's right, her parents and older sisters are being overprotective and unreasonable? Yes!

But does she find herself agreeing that a 14-year-old should not be allowed to go off to the battlefield her older sibling is serving as a medic on to lead the army to victory herself? ... yes ...

Does the embarrassed, hurting, angry teen in front of her need to know that? Absolutely not. So Nadia listens and nods instead

There are other things she sees that she realizes she remembers correctly. The fear of not measuring up. The frustration of having to wait to meet the milestones her siblings have already passed

So she tells this precocious, prickly young woman what you've been seeing in her all along: she is strong. She is smart. She is someone worth having faith in, and she doesn't need to be afraid

Muriel

He doesn't have to think twice. As soon as he sees that big, bony lad that was himself in his early twenties, huddled in a cell under the Coliseum after his first fight, he's breaking him out of there

He starts to wonder if this is a dream, when the iron bars give way under his grasp, but he's focusing on wrapping his cloak around those shivering shoulders and leading him out of the city

He's forgotten how scrawny he'd been before he bulked up on the meals provided for Lucio's prized fighter, and seeing spatters of his first opponent's blood on such a boyish face breaks his heart

They're both silent on the way through the woods. The younger him is still in shock, and the older him isn't sure what to do next

When the reach the clearing, the hut is more like what older him is used to. He helps young Muriel into the outside bath and begins putting together a hearty stew for the two of them to share

They both stay quiet. Older him watches every flinch and start and quiet pause of happiness and safety and keeps realizing that he deserves better. He deserves good things. I want him to have that.

They both turn bright red when younger him notices that the bed has two pillows on it, but they both know that that's a good thing

When the time comes for them to wake up, Muriel wraps that kid up in his arms. "... it gets better. Promise. You deserve it."

Portia

This is trippy, but after what she's been through with you, Portia guesses this is just par for the course. Why is she in Nevivon?

Her question is answered when a nine-year-old girl comes careening around the corner, fiery curls flying, just in time to collide with her and go sprawling in the dust by the road

Oh, Portia thinks, I remember being like this. I remember her.

Portia watches Pasha pick herself up, lower lip trembling with rage and eyes full of tears, getting ready to lash out at whoever just ripped her dress and made her day go from awful to terrible

And she pulls that little girl into the tightest hug she can manage

Once Pasha's made good use of the handkerchief she's been handed, she takes Portia's hand and shows her around town

She tells Portia all about her life right now. About the grandmas who take care of her, and the parents she doesn't remember

And she talks and talks and talks about her amazing older brother, the last family she has, who left several months ago to explore the world and find adventure and save people - without her

Portia listens and comments, but she keeps getting distracted looking at the strong, clear-eyed, purposeful little girl next to her

So she spends the rest of her visit telling that kid that she's strong, she's interesting, she's exciting, and she is so, so very important, even when it's just her

Lucio

He's back in the frozen woods. He doesn't like the frozen woods

And neither, apparently, does the six year old boy across from him

At first he's just concerned. Why is a small child alone in the freezing cold? He needs to help them get safe and warm

Then he recognizes the golden head of hair, and the big, silver eyes staring up at him, and the nose red from cold, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from yelling as he starts a fire and asks for a name

He likes having a different name, he realizes, when he gets to introduce himself as Lucio the Adventurer to little Montag

Montag, he learns, is alone on a quest to hunt down a bear per his mother's instructions, but he's cold and hungry and frightened

To Montag, Lucio is a hero. He's big and strong and has a cool arm and builds a fire to keep him warm and listens to him talk about how he wants to be a leader when he grows up, without scoffing at his dreams

So the two of them huddle together by the fire under one of the trees, sharing a cloak and talking about who they are

Lucio hears the beginnings of his downfall already in Montag's stories about growing up stronger than everyone so the people in his family and his tribe will have no choice but to praise him

And Montag hears humility and hope from Lucio, about the importance of recognizing mistakes and learning to love and be loved

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fluff #the arcana angst #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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