#calling a cab and tossing him over my shoulder

[ms0milk]

nanami kento, you will know no rest until i’m dead in the ground

#my dick is on the floor #my face is up his ass #muzzle me #put me down #take the shot #calling a cab and tossing him over my shoulder #nothing for us in shibuya let’s kick da bricks princess #happy nanami day #jjk #nanami

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

Cold nights, red Flannel

Joel Miller X Afab!Fem!Reader

Summary: when the power goes out in your building Joel is more than happy to let you have his bed, but when his already sore back flares up in the middle of the night he’s given no choice but to share with you. Things play out differently than expected when he wakes up in the morning tangled up with you in between the sheets.

Warnings: SMUT (MDI) 18+ only, slow burn, dead child, dead people and the fire pit, cussing, age gap (reader is in their thirties), alcohol, Joel gets a ✨massage✨ thigh riding, teasing Joel, Dom!Joel, fingering, multiple orgasms, over stimulation, Joel is… big, slight breeding kink, raw p in v (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk.

Joel Miller Master List

Word Count: you’ve read my other stories right? This is long, buckle up butter cup.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The worst jobs earn the most money, it was something you were quick to pick up on, and if you wanted to live the best, you had to do the worst.

The burn pit was busier than usual, truck after truck with what seemed like no end in sight. Everything from your hands to your feet ached, clothes covered in the grey ash irritating your lungs, and the smell was unforgiving. You’ve already added your second bandanna, the lack of clean air nearly suffocating.

“You’re slowin’ down.” The man beside you notes, Texan accent laces his words as he crosses his arms over his chest, voice gruff from being here as long as you have.

“Coming from the man who has taken a water break every thirty minutes.” You snip back, lighthearted in your accusation, looking over to find your ‘coworker’, Joel Miller, tilting his head, brown eyes glaring under salt and pepper eyebrows. He points to the truck behind you, silently telling you to get moving.

You smile even though he can’t see it and turn on your heel, heading for the last body, but your cheeky attitude slips away. You swallow thickly, eyes scanning over the hooded and bound body. They are small in stature, an old cartoon character printed on the back of their white, clean shirt. They look so out of place on the blood and mud stained truck bed.

Only a child.

Joel is quick to notice your sudden hesitation, his own small smile falling as he follows your gaze.

“I’ll get ‘em.”

“No, it’s fine.” You stomp down your emotions, scooping the kid up, to light and frail, and walk them over to the fire. You whisper a prayer, like you’ve done with every child before and toss him over the wall. Soot blows up into the air, orange and red embers dancing among the cloud and you’re forced to pry your gaze away as the flame swallows their body.

“Last one!” A driver yells, the screeching of the reverse alarm cutting through the air. Relief washes over you, closing your eyes momentarily, the day was almost done.

“Son of a bitch.” You turn then, Joel’s looking at the truck in disbelief and when your attention lands on the man in the bed your jaw physically drops open.

The man before you is a literal beast, his height alone impressive but the muscle on him makes you thankful you never ran into him when he was alive.

Had to of been some kind of enforcer.

“Hey, yo, can we like get a horse or something? This guys fucking huge!” You call out to the truck driver who only sneers before disappearing back into the cab.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it.” Joel shushes you, steeping up and dragging the guy by his thighs closer to the edge of the bed, huffing and grunting looking for the best leverage point.

You laugh slightly, steeping back. “Sure, whatever you say cowboy, he’s all yours.” You cross your arms, excited to see how this pans out as Joel tries to position the hulk. To your surprise he’s able to lift the guy onto his shoulder with a strained groan. “Oooo okay, you’ve been working out.” You let out a sharp whistle, his eyes glancing to yours as he stumbles for the fire, giving you a playful wink.

The banter is cut short with his next step though when he cries out in pain, nearly crumbling under the weight as something in his back spasms. You rush forward, grabbing onto the body, helping carry him the rest of the way and over the wall.

“Fuck!” Joel barks, face pinched as he hunches over, hand pressing into his back.

“What happened?”

“My back… I’m fine. “ He grits out between clenched teeth, sucking in a few breaths before trying to straighten up.

Someone blows a whistle, signaling the end of the day and people start to rush past you both for the pay out line, ignoring Joel’s insistent cussing.

You offer your shoulder for him to lean on but he waves away your concern, telling you he just needs a minute to collect himself before you both make your way to get your ration cards.

Instead of signing up for another shift you decide to give yourself the next two days off, hoping to sleep as much as you can before hitting the next work period hard. You walk off to the side, waiting patiently for Joel out of habit as he goes down the list, rubbing at his spine.

Being this far from the fire you realize how cold it is, the setting sun the only indication that it’s about to get colder, and you know spring is still a few months away.

You glance to Joel as he haggles with the enforcer, probably over the shortened pay. Over the last five years you and Joel have worked together on numerous jobs, and he’s never shy to insist the right pay for the services you both provide. Though at first never coordinated, you both realized how effortlessly you worked with the other, always fast and to the point with whatever resources given, both searching for the most money.

You recall noticing him when you arrived at your first job at this QZ, his hair a little less grey back then but eyes just as intense. It wasn’t until your fifth job did you say something to him after catching him watching you for the first hour of your shift at the pit.

With whatever confidence you had, you’d walked right up to him, hands on your hips and chin tilted up with a sarcastic smile. “Does my stalker have a name?”

The notion had been so wildly outlandish that after he stared at you for a minute, mouth open and eyebrows raise, he barked out a laugh. A true belly laugh that had everyone turning their heads in shock and confusion.

It was the talk of the job.

Some new girl got the old grump to laugh.

From that moment on Joel decided to stick close by, your fiery attitude attracting him just as much as your smarts. He taught you how to play the system, which officers were more lenient than others, and when he grew to trust you he began taking you on contraband runs. You picked up on the trade quickly, surprising him when you started going out on your own and Joel knew he’d chosen well.

Joel now limps over, pulling you from your thoughts. “Ya know I have this stuff that can help with that.” You state, turning and walking with him towards your apartments.

“Got some icy hot, I’ll be fine.”

“20 year old icyhot? Yeah that most definitely will do the trick.” Your sarcasm isn’t lost on him as he glares done at you. You raise your hands in surrender, walking the rest of the way in silence as the street bustles with life around you.

Parting ways at your building you watch for a moment as Joel limps along, shaking his head back and forth, a clear sign he’s talking to himself. You snort, grabbing for the door handle only to have it ripped away, your next door neighbor nearly knocking into you as she storms from the building.

“Woah, Joanne, maybe next time you can just run me over and we will call it a day.” You snap, glaring as she turns at the sound of your voice, she’s the buildings ‘manager’, a lose term for someone who takes your money and doesn’t fix a damn thing unless it involves her apartment directly.

Not much has changed since the end of the world.

“The entire building is out! I’m trying to get someone to fix it!” Her wrinkled face is red with anger, greying hair disheveled like she’d been pulling at the roots all day.

“Wait what?”

She rolls her eyes, exasperation clipping her words. “There was construction going on next door and they clipped a line or something. No lights, no heat, no fucking water to the entire building.” She turns on her heel, not bothering for what you have to say next and stomps down the road.

You throw your hands up in frustration, groaning at the sky, mentally cursing whatever was out there when a thought comes to mind. You bite your lip, weighing out your options before you are rushing down the street in search of Joel.

Luck seems to finally be on your side as you round the street corner, finding him leaning against a light post, talking to a man you recognize but can’t place with a name.

Jogging over the shaggy haired man’s eyes flicker to you, his posture becoming rigid before he quickly dismissing himself. Joel turns, expecting an officer or worse, and his expression softens as you slow to a stop beside him. “Heya Sunshine.”

When Joel decided to take you in, he made it very clear to others that ran around in the same under ground circles that you were not to be fucked with, being one of the few in his inner circle gave you a type of immunity not so sparingly given out.

“Hey… shit… my power is out.”

“Did ya forget to pay?” He’s mocking you only slightly, concern still underlining his tone.

“No, it’s the whole building, Joanne said someone must have cut a wire or something… I was wondering if maybe… we’ll I’m still covered in all this…” You hesitate, hoping he will fill in the gap as you gesture to yourself but he only stares. Joel always made you use your words. “I was wondering if I could borrow your shower, I’ll be super quick, I swear.”

Joel nods, looking down the road towards his building. “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem, give me about an hour to soak my back first and then you can come over.” You’re washed with relief, throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug, catching him by surprise.

“Thank you, thank you so much!” Before he can reply you’re sprinting down the street and around the corner, he stares after you blinking slowly before looking around, a blush staining his cheeks.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Having only been to Joel's apartment a handful of times, it took you longer than you would of liked to admit to find his door, and there may have been the help of an elderly man along the way.

This time though, as the door opens, Joel is on the other side. His greying hair slicked back and still damp, he’s dressed in a long sleeve shirt with matching black sweats. “Well, don’t you clean up nice.” You make a point to look him over as you step into his apartment, breathing in the warm air.

Joel only snorts. “Yeah, sure. Bathrooms that way, should still be plenty of hot water, I rigged my heater a few months back.”

You smile at that, “What a naughty boy you are, Joel Miller.” You wink following his direction, closing yourself in the bathroom.

Joel leans against his front door for a moment, appreciating this side of you that is rare to see, as much back and forth as you two give each other at work you personality blossoms when it’s just you and him. And damn was it flirtatious. Some way or another you’ve kept a spark of life through the last 20 years that has Joel hooked like an addict, even if he could never bring himself to say so.

In the bathroom you’re pulling out your bath products, setting them next to his and the contrast of them makes you laugh a little. Pinks and purples next to dull grays and blues. You have the fleeting thought to look for something special just for Joel on your next run as you twist the shower nob. The pipes groan before sputtering to life, you wait until the waters just a little to hot before undressing and stepping in. You hiss involuntarily, skin blushing under the heat before you relax.

This was the hottest shower you’d had in years and you might just have to start lying about your power being out to get more of this. You allow yourself to relax for a moment longer before you begin to wash away the day.

*~*~*~*~*~*

You emerge thirty minutes later, steam following behind you, you’re dressed in your better winter clothes, but even that’s a stretch. Your sweater hangs on your frame, three sizes to big and moth eaten, your sweatpants in much the same condition.

Joel glances up at you from his rickety table, two mix match glasses and a bottle in front of him. “Is one of those for me?” He simply pours you a shot, sliding the glass across the table as you take your seat, curling your legs up under yourself. You lift the amber liquid in cheers, Joel mimicking your actions as you down the shot. It burns your taste buds, dropping into your stomach like a lead weight.

Coughing you turn the glass over, face scrunched in disgust making Joel laugh as he pours himself another. “Can’t handle your liquor?”

“Was never much of a drinker before all of this, haven’t acquired the taste just yet.” You manage to wheeze out, rubbing at your chest where it still burns. “Thank you again, it would have really sucked to of gone to bed still covered in that shit.”

Joel stands, chair scrapping across the floorboards. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t need the whole building knowing I’m giving out free showers.” He gathers the glasses and takes them to the small sink, before opening his fridge, “How do you plan on staying warm tonight?”

“Um, probably throw on a extra layer and pray I wake up with all my toes.” You drum a rhythm on the table, watching him as he pulls a container from the fridge, grabbing two forks and walking over to you.

You attentions stays on the container as he drags his chair closer, setting it on the table. Inside is beef and rice and your stomach grumbles at the sight of it. Your eyes jump to Joel and he give you a smile, handing you a fork. “Eat.”

You know not to look a gifted horse in the mouth, splitting the container down the middle and enjoying the cold food as much as you enjoy the comfortable silence.

Joel suddenly lifts his head, sniffing the air before turning his gaze on you, stopping you mid bite to stare back.

“What?”

“Do I smell… cookies?”

Your face lights up with a grin. “Oh yeah, I was baking in the bathroom.” He doesn’t look amused and it adds to your enjoyment. “Sugar cookies, specifically. You have your contraband, and I have mine.”

Contraband consisting of feminine products you’ve scored over the last few years, keeping nearly 70 other women fairly stocked and your pockets lined.

“Where ya hiding them? Under this?” He plucks at your shirt, distaste written across his face making you laugh, a sound Joel likes a little to much.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Miller.” You raise your eyebrows suggestively earning an eye-roll, his foot nudging your chair.

He slides you the rest of his food as he stands. “You can sleep here for tonight, I’ll take the couch.” He’s talking over his shoulder as he walks into his joined bedroom, leaving you to shovel the rest of the food into your mouth.

“Wait… your back, you should really sleep in your own bed Joel.” You can hear drawers opening and closing before a soft grunt of satisfaction as Joel finds whatever it is he is looking for. “I really don’t want to inconvenience you any further.”

“It ain’t an inconvenience, and my backs fine, the icy hot did the trick, just like I said it would.” He comes back into view carrying a very large red button down flannel, tossing to you. It’s thick, the fabric soft to the touch and smells clean with an underlying musk that’s unmistakably Joel. “That’ll keep you warm, a lot better than what you’ve got on now.”

“Really? Are you-.”

“Don’t argue with me. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. Okay?”

A light blush tints your cheeks, glancing up at him through your lashes with a sweet smile that has his stomach tightening. “Thank you Joel.”

“You’re welcome.” He rejoins you at the table, watching you pick at a loose thread on the shirt.

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t know much about Joel, or maybe it’s the fact that this is the very first time you’ve been alone with him, no one else in the room, no traders. Curiosity sparks and it’s a hard flame to put out.

“Do you… are there things you miss about before?”

He glanced at you, your eyes still trained on the garment. “What do you mean?”

“Well like… I use to do kickboxing, I miss that a lot… I miss going on coffee dates with my girlfriends… things like that.” You shrug, refusing to meet his gaze incase he thought this was silly, ridiculous even. You were never good at small talk.

Joel is silent for a moment longer, biting at his lip. “I miss football with my brother.”

You smile. “Tommy right? My daddy loved football, he wasn’t going anywhere on Sunday night.” You laugh softly, resting your chin on your knee. “I miss mall Chinese food, they always loaded up so much on those plates and I could never finish it.”

“That was about the only thing I liked at the mall, we didn’t go there much though. I miss my guitar, I don’t even know if I could play it now if I remembered any songs…” Joel chuckles, “I loved the SNL show, tv in general I loved to stay up at night with…” His voice fades off, fist clenched slightly out of your peripherals and though you don’t know much you know at some point during the start of everything he had lost a child.

Clearing your throat you jump to change topics. “Do you like wine?” You lock eyes with him then, his expression a little more retreated.

“I haven’t found one I’m a huge fan of, but I never turn down a glass.”

Your smile does that thing to his stomach again and he can’t stop his gaze falling to your lips for the briefest of seconds. “Well good, there’s this lady I trade with in my building and she makes wine. I’ll have to bring you a bottle one night.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up, “trying to wine and dine me, Sunshine?” A blush creeps up your cheeks turning your smile sheepish.

“Maybe, only if you pay for dinner.”

Joel scoffs, the ease returning to his features as he tilts his head to the side. Your heart hammers a little faster under his gaze. “What a cheap date you are.” He mumbles softly, resting his elbows on the table leaning his head against interlocked hands.

“The cheapest.” You breath back, mirroring his posture. He smiles warmly butterfly’s erupting under your skin giving you that giddy school girl feeling that takes your breath away and turns your brain too mush..

“I’ll look forward to it then.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

You’d only been asleep a few hours when your name reaches your ears, startling you awake. You sit up mattress squeaking under your weight as you peer into the darkness.

“J-Joel?”

His sleep riddled voice bounces back to you. “I need help.” Instantly your scrambling out of bed, flipping on a light as you round the wall to find Joel looking up at you from where he lay on the couch, red faced and defeated.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t get up… I gotta take a piss.” Joel hasn’t felt this level of embarrassment since throwing his back out working with his brother and had to be carried down to the hospital. The feeling only digging deeper as he watches your face fall padding over to him, extending your hands.

“I told you to sleep in your own bed, Joel.” You abolish gently, pulling him to his feet. His grip tightens on your arms, hissing as his back straightens out, taking the moment to get his bearings before he releases you, grumbling something under his breath and limping to the restroom.

You sigh, going to your duffle bag and rummaging through its contents before you finally come across a small bottle of chamomile and lavender.

Joel comes out a few minutes later, eyes trained on the floor. “Sorry.”

“Hey it’s okay, I tore my shoulder apart when I was in highschool and could hardly use it for a year. Had to have people help me all the time.” You try to sympathize with his situation, your expression soft and warm as his eyes find yours. “But, luck for you, I think you only pulled a muscle. And I have something to help with that.” You lift the little bottle shaking its contents.

Joel eyes it suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest, “I ain’t taken that.”

You scoff, grabbing his bicep, pulling him towards his bed. “You don’t take it, now lay down and lift up your shirt.”

Joel turns on you, looking horrified like you’ve grown two heads all of a sudden. “Excuse me?”

“Just trust me.” You pull him again, squeezing his arm, Joel hesitates, glancing from the bed then down at himself. “I use to be a message therapist. I’ve seen a thousand naked backs, yours isn’t going to be any different.” You encourage, smiling at him as he glances your way.

Sighing Joel relents, kneels onto the bed, pulling his shirt over his head and laying down, folding his arms under his head.

Okay.

Maybe you were wrong.

Joel’s back is defined, scars littering in various stages of time, some more purple compared to others. Shaking your head you swallow your sudden nerves, kneeling beside him. You open the bottle, the smell instantly filling the room and dump it into the palm of your hand, the oil slipping between your fingers, soaking your sweats and you curse silently, setting the bottle onto the night stand.

“Tell me where it hurts the most.” You instruct, rubbing your hands together to warm the oil before placing them on Joel’s lower back, his hips twitching slightly at the sudden contact.

“A little to the right.” His skin is warm and he hums softly under your touch, shifting his shoulders and head, wishing he could see your face. “There.” You set to work, finding the knot in his muscle and kneading the area, digging your thumbs and palms into his flesh.

Joel groans, long and drawn out and a thrill works it’s way down your spine at the sound, “To much?” Your voice is softer than you initially intended it to be, much to sensual sounding.

It’s just a back rub. Nothing more, be more professional.

He shakes his head, his body relaxing fully. “You weren’t lying.” He’s muffled slightly by the pillow but you can hear his smile.

“Yeah I went to school and everything. It’s like riding a bike, you just never forget.”

“Get an A from me darlin’.” Your heart swells with his praise, staying quiet as you continue messaging his back, traveling up to his shoulders and back down to his hips, the silence interrupted occasionally by a soft grunt or groan coming from Joel.

It’s only when he goes quiet, his breath turning even and deep do you stop, whispering his name. When he doesn’t reply you ease away and into the restroom, washing your hands and shedding your oil soaked pants.

Joel’s soft snores are all that can be heard as you stand at the foot of the bed, chewing on your lower lip trying to decide what to do from here. The couch is now free, but there is only one blanket, which is now trapped under Joel. There are enough pillows to maybe set one between you both, make a little barrier of sorts…

Would Joel be mad if he woke up in the same bed as you? You shift your weight from one foot to the other, mind racing with every possible reason as to why he would be mad, before you finally take a deep breath and tiptoe to the other side.

Without giving yourself time to talk yourself out of it you climb under the covers, setting a pillow in between you, praying that Joel won’t be upset in the morning as you drift off.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Joel wakes up slowly, conciseness coming to him little by little with the early morning sun lighting the room. He’s warm, body heavy and mind sluggish from what has possibly been his best sleep in years. Selfishly he wants to hold onto it a little longer, screw whatever he thought he needed to get done today and bury himself back into his dreamless sleep.

It’s only when he shifts, his chin bumping something firm, does he feel the weight on him. Blinking slowly he lifts his head, looking down to find himself tangled up with you. Your head is resting on his shoulder, leg slung over his hip while his own is slotted between your thighs, and you’ve seemed to have lost your pants; Joel being granted a perfect view of your black panties that hide little to the imagination.

And all of the sudden he’s overly aware of you, of how soft your waist is under his callused palm, of how you still smell of sugar cookies and lavender, of the little puffs of air leaving you full lips ghosting across his neck. Then there is how his flannel has morphed to your curves, twisted around your body showing the pudge of your stomach and his blood is rushing somewhere… South.

All he can think about is how damn good you look wearing only his clothing. Joel’s heart rate picks up, his fingers drifting to your hair on their own, carding themselves through the soft strands, “Sunshine.”

You hum in your sleep, grip tightening around him as you nuzzle closer, lips brushing the column of his throat making him hold his breath as you settle again.

I’m going to hell.

It’s all he can think, his body so readily responding to you and you’re not even aware of it. You’re in your thirty’s for fucks sakes he shouldn’t even be considering this… but…

Tentatively, his grip tightens on your hair, pulling your head back so he can finally see your face. You look so peaceful, your features soft and delicate in your sleep he almost hates to ruin it. Almost.

“Honey … sweet girl wake up.” Joel’s voice is firmer, cutting into your sleep, rousing you with a small grumble.

“What…” You voice is horse, rolling your head to the side as you yawn, sleep holding on tight.

“It’s just me.” He can’t stop himself, seeing the length of your neck exposed like that, he leans down, gently kissing the delicate skin and you gasp, body tensing slightly. “Just me.” His thigh shifts up, pressing between your own and he can feel the heat radiating off of you through his sweatpants and it makes him feral.

“W-Ah… what are you doing?” You whimper, eyes pinching shut, fingers digging into his ribs as he finds that soft spot just under your ear earning another small gasp.

“Repaying you… For last night.” His grip on your hair disappears, finding your hip and rolling you onto your back. Your eyes snap open, breath trapped in your throat at the intense look of lust etched into Joel’s face. Now that you can fully see him your stomach tightens, need zipping down your spine as your eyes drink him in.

Just like his back his chest is defined, shoulders broad with a light dusting of hair that runs down to his stomach, and just past the waistband of his sweats where you can clearly see the outline of his…

You swallow audible, causing Joel to snort. Your eyes dart back to his and you swear you can feel your body melting with the fire in his gaze. He dips his face closer, bumping his nose against yours and smiles as you nervously squirm, thighs clenching around his where it still rests pressed against your mound.

“This okay?” As he speaks his lips just barely touch your own and you already feel your thoughts emptying out one by one as you nod slowly, eyes never leaving his own. “Tell me, need to hear your sweet voice.”

“Th-this is okay.”

With that he’s on you, restraint snapping as he finally kisses you, rough and hungry and desperate. Teeth, tongue and spit, forcing a moan from your throat with the intensity of it all, that Joel is all too happy to swallow up. His thigh presses in closer, your hips bucking involuntarily, dragging a moan from low in his chest.

Your hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping anything you can find for leverage as he sinks you into the mattress, drowning you in the covers, the pillows, and him.

Arousal consumes you, sparking in your stomach and traveling through your veins making you light headed, having not felt this type of high in many, many years. You grind yourself up against his thigh, your slick wetting your panties and soon creating a darker spot on his sweats.

You moan as he pulls away, attacking your neck again and pulling at your shirt, trying to expose whatever skin he can. “J-Joel… m… what’s.. what’s gotten into you?” Your losing your breath, the hand he isn’t propping himself up with traveling over your body, down your thigh, up your side, fingers sliding along the other side of your throat making goosebumps raise the hairs on your skin.

“Just want you, been wanting you since I laid eyes on you.” He admits, your face flushing with heat. “D’ya know how many times I’ve fucked my hand thinking about you? All laid out and pretty on my cock.” A filthy moan leaves your lips, grinding against his thigh to relieve the ache building between your legs.

Joel sits back, both hands finding your hips, encouraging your movements. “That’s right sweet girl, just like that.” You whine into the air, hands dropping to the bed gripping the sheets. He stares down at you, lust darkening his brown eyes as you grind against him. “Make all those pretty sounds for me, it’s just us.”

You nod, chasing after your building pleasure, breathy moans falling from your lips. Joel ruts against the back of your thigh, hands bruising your hips in the most delicious way. “J-Joel… need more… please…” Your clit throbs painfully, the angle you’re at restricting you from rubbing it how you want against his thigh.

“So greedy, go ahead play with yourself baby, wanna see you cum on my thigh before I fuck you, senseless.” Your fingers find your clit and rub harsh circles through the damp fabric of your panties, flying to that familiar peak, teetering right on the edge as you moan his name, hips frantic, but you need more, you want more.

Joel coos softly, enjoying your struggle. The pinched look, the wobble of your lips, as you search for that last little something. “I know you can do it baby, cum for me. Show me how good you can be and soak my thigh.” His words are your tipping point, sending you spiraling into that void of dark bliss as your orgasm rips through you.

The noises that leave your delicate throat consume Joel, and he’s whispering soft praises that you don’t hear, watching your legs tremble and hand still. “There it is, did so good for me baby.” You go limp underneath him, chest heaving with each shuddering breath, eyes shut and mind to far gone.

“Let me get this off of you.” He takes his time, slowing down to let you ride your bliss, undoing each button of the flannel. “Sit up.” You hardly have to, just lifting your shoulders and head before he throws the flannel across the room and you’re sunk back into the pillows.

Your panties and his sweats follow shortly after. His lips back on you, kissing between your breasts his beard scratching your skin in the most delirious way. “Joel…”

But his fingers are finding your slick heat, a groan reverberating through his chest and into yours. “So fucking wet, you liked that baby? Like getting yourself off on my thigh?” Warm embarrassment fills your belly, reigniting that fire. You nod slowly, keeping your eyes shut to avoid his intense gaze. “You getting shy on me now? Just a second ago you were fucking my leg.” He smiles against your skin watching the red tinting your cheeks grow darker, turning your away from him.

“J-Joel don’t… Don’t be mean.”

“Not bein’ mean.” Two thick fingers are suddenly sinking into you, a shrill cry retching itself from your throat. “Just given ya what ya want.” Your brain turns to mush with each pump of his fingers, hands scrambling to find any perches, a set of nails digging into his shoulder, the other tugging at the sheets. “Fuck… you’re so tight, gotta get you ready for me.”

His thumb finds your clit, working the bundle of nerves making moans echo through the room. Those thick fingers press against that gummy spot inside you that makes your hips stutter, your moans a little louder and he smiles in triumph, teeth nipping your breast watching the skin bloom with red marks. “S’that the spot?”

“Mmhmm…” it takes everything you have just to hum out an answer, mouth hanging open, thighs trembling as you’re brought back to orgasm, again. Climbing that mountain, no running it, to your tipping point.

“Can feel you squeezing my fingers baby, you gonna cum again so soon?” Joel doesn’t need your reply, even if you could give him one, your hips rocking to meet the rhythm he’s set. He doesn’t ease up, watching you come undone below him with a few more expert swipes of his thumb across your throbbing clit.

You make him feel young again, his body thrumming with pure, carnal lust. Something he hasn’t felt in years as he draws his slick coated fingers to his mouth, tasting you for what, hopefully, will be the first time of many. “Mmm… So sweet baby, I could spend hours just eating you.”

You whine pathetically, shaking your head back and forth, hair clinging to your face with sweat. “C-can’t…” Joel shakes his head, laughing darkly before tapping your cheek with the pads of his fingers.

“Look at me, Sunshine.” The timber in his voice makes you obey instinctively, finding his steady gaze. He grips your chin, fingers pressing into your cheeks making your lips pout comically. “I know you’ve got one more in ya, I need to feel your cunt squeeze my cock. Think you can do that for me? Hmm?”

Joel shifts closer as he speaks, settling himself between your shaking thighs. His cock brushes against your puffy lips drawing a small whine from the back of your throat. You nod, Joel letting go of your checks as arousal washes through you once more, almost painfully so, as he rocks forward, the underside of his cock slipping easily through your damp folds, coating himself in your cream.

He hunkers over you, forcing your legs wider and rests on one elbow as he guides his cock to your opening, nudging in. “Relax darlin’, don’t wanna hurt you.”

Before you can even comprehend what is being said Joel thrusts forward, sinking in a few inches with a grovel moan. Your toes curl, eyes squeezing shut with a whine, the stretch hurting in a way you never want to stop.

“F-fuck Joel… s-so big.” A hand slips into his hair, tugging harshly causing him to gasp, a wicked smile pulling at his lips.

“You haven’t seen nothin yet, little girl.” He pins you to the mattress with his weight, thrusting until he’s fully seated inside you, heavy balls pressed to your ass. Your pussy squeezes him tightly, pain mixing with the pleasure intoxicatingly. He’s big, bigger than any man you’d been with in years, and as he pulls out only to thrust back in, the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

“Oooooh fuuuck!” You cling to his shoulders, his neck, his back, legs locking around his middle; anywhere to pull him closer as his pace evens out, fucking into you roughly. The old bed squeaks, headboard tapping the wall and above it all are the sounds leaving your lips to mix with his.

“Feel so good baby… been dreaming about this pussy.” Joel huffs out between thrusts, pressing his forehead to yours. The farther he slips into his arousal the thicker his accent gets, words dripping onto your nerves like honey.

“Wanted you to… so long Joel .” You pant, rocking your hips to match what he’s giving you. That glorious pressure building again in your body, cunt fluttering around his cock. “Don’t stop… oh fuck please don’t stop.” You can feel every ridge and vein rubbing along your walls in just the right way, his mushroom head bullying that sweet spot making your eyes roll.

“Not gonna stop, baby. Not gonna stop.” Joel groans, one hand gripping your waist to steady himself as he bullies his cock into you.

Your fingers slip between your bodies, finding your clit with a soft moan, rubbing tight circles. “I’m… im gonna cum…” you whine against his lips, noses bumping, breathing each others air.

“Come on then… cum on my cock baby, let me feel it.” Joel knows he won’t last much longer his thrust starting to turn sloppy. “Fuck… wanna fuck you full of me, watch it drip out. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Let everyone know who fucked you so good huh?” You thighs squeeze his hips in response to far gone to acknowledge him as you topple over the edge, crying his name as the pleasure blinds you momentarily.

Joel cusses burying his face in the side of your neck, your cunt sucking him in . “Fuck baby, fuck baby, fuck!” He pulls back, cock twitching and jets of cum landing on your stomach and abused lips. He fists himself, grunting against your shoulder as he comes down, body relaxing and dopamine flowing through him.

“J-Joel…” You breath, feeling his weight more and more.

“M’ Sorry…” He whispers, rolling himself onto his back, your stiff legs dropping to the mattress. You’re both panting wildly, chests heaving and sweat coating your skin.

You blink at the ceiling slowly, the neurons in your brain starting to fire again. “Well…” A small laugh bubbles out of you, Joel lazily looking over at you confused. “I’ve never been woken up like that before.”

Joel scoffs loudly and your giggle turns into a full laugh, lifting your head to look down at yourself. “Do I at least get a rag?”

“Better, ya can come get in the shower with me.” Joel groans as he sits up, giving you his hand. “Gonna need another one of those messages after that.”

#smut #apollyonsdarksecrets #joel miller #the last of us smut #the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel Miller breeding

[macfrog]

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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Just Pretend - MV

Ex!Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader (Rekindling of Past Relationship)

Summary: It had been a few years since you had seen Max. Since you had left him in Paris.

Warning(s): Flashbacks to verbal argument, google translated Dutch (Do I have to warn for this? Isn't it just implied at this point?)

A/N: Based on the song Just Pretend by Bad Omens. I have another few song-based fics that I'll end up adding to my masterlist that are for F1. And a second part is in the works for the Mini Verstappen Series, should hopefully have that up soon!

Words: 2.8K

Formula 1 Masterlist

It had been a few years since you had seen Max. Since you had gotten into that huge fight in his hotel room and left him in Paris. The words ever ingrained in your brain.

“I need you with me.” He pleaded to you, standing in his black dress pants and a white button-down dress shirt that was only slightly undone at the collar. 

“You’re only asking me to move in with you so that it’s easier for you. Not because it’s what you really want.” You spat back at him.

You had similar arguments before, where he would plead with you to stop working and move to Monaco with him. The thought was nice and all, but it wasn’t realistic. You couldn’t just spend your days lounging around Max’s apartment doing nothing. You needed a job to keep you busy.

You didn’t even spare him a look, just tossed your things into your suitcase and took your passport out of the safe before slamming the hotel room door behind you.

After that, it was all a blur. You called a cab, and got a ticket on the next available flight home. You had never heard from Max. Did you even want to?

You had been together for almost two years. You didn’t really think that it had anything to do with the breakup, in fact, it was probably the distance and the constant travel. It felt like you never saw him anymore.

In the years since you had ended things, you had gotten a promotion at work that allowed you to work from home full-time. You only had to show up to the office once every six months. It also meant that you could travel more often.

It was the first time that you had gone to Paris since the breakup. You and a few of your friends had planned the trip which was mostly shopping and trying a few restaurants.

You had spent the day before walking around the city. You found a dress that you were really excited to wear to dinner tonight. One of your friends made plans for some restaurant that you had never heard of, so you put on your dress, and heels, and made sure to grab your bag before getting a taxi to the address that she had texted.

When you had gotten to the restaurant it was quiet, and had a covered patio area. It was nice, with soft music playing while the other patrons chatted while they ate and sipped on their wine.

As your friends arrived you couldn’t help but start talking about what you had done the day before given that none of you had a set itinerary for your trip, you just explored the city.

“What about you, Y/N?” Your friend asked.

You went into detail about the dress that you were wearing and the sweet woman who had talked to you when you bought the dress. You were just about to reply to the question of who it was made by when you saw a familiar pair of shoulders sit down in a chair a little further down from your table. You weren’t sure if it was who you thought it was, but you let your eyes fall to your plate.

“It’s umm,” You said clearing your throat. “Chanel.”

It was something that Max would have bought you if he was with you in that shop. You had to try to keep your eyes off the back of that guy's shoulders, even if all you wanted to do was look at him until you found out if it was Max. It couldn’t be Max, he was working. He was always working during the start of summer.

You had avoided looking over at the table again and just focused on your friends and the dinner that you had before you. It was easier that way, blocking out the rest of the world until you left.

You had split the bill between everyone and then got up from your table to leave.

“Y/N?” You heard from behind you as you followed your friends out of the restaurant.

It was Max’s voice. Your name still rolled off his tongue so perfectly in that distinct way only he had said your name. You had told yourself that you didn’t miss him, but hearing him say your name left your mind spiraling through all those things you claimed you didn’t miss: the way that he left dishes in the sink after you made dinner, or that he left his glasses half haphazardly on his driving sim. You kept telling him they would break if he didn’t take better care of them.

One of your friends gave you a look, asking if you wanted them to wait for you. You just shook your head in answer before she made the call me gesture. You gave her a nod in understanding before turning to see Max as he walked closer to you. You wanted to shift uncomfortably where you stood but just waited until he got closer to you.

It had been a long time since you saw him, you could see the subtle changes. His facial hair was finally growing in. He had lost the baby fat on his face, he looked good, happy.

“Hey, Max.” You said when he finally stood in front of you.

“What are you doing in Paris?” He asked. 

Before Max, you weren’t much of a traveler, but thanks to him, you grew to have an appreciation for visiting other places and exploring. He got to travel all the time for work, while you didn’t. He had promised to take you to so many places when you were together. Paris had been one of them.

“Girls trip.” You said, hoping that it would answer his question enough. You almost wanted to lie to him and tell him that you were there to see someone, but couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Right, I…” He started to say. “I just didn’t expect to see you here, not after…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

Yeah. You weren’t sure if you could be in Paris again after you had been here with Max. How things ended here with Max.

“It’s good to see you again.” You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine.

“Yeah, you too.” You didn’t really know if you wanted to keep talking to him. It felt awkward, and you were just uncomfortable. But you couldn’t help but look at him and take in all of the changes. You wanted to know so many things, and at the same time, nothing at all. You wanted to ask him if he was happy. If there was anyone in his life. But you didn’t.

“I should probably go.” It was too easy to leave him standing there. You gripped your bag in your hand and turned away from him. 

“You were wrong.” He said just after you turned your back to him, his hand now on your arm. You couldn’t help but slightly shiver at the feel of his skin against yours. He knew that was your weakness. It always did you in. “What?” You questioned not bothering to look at him. “When you said that it wasn’t what I wanted.” His voice was steady, making it more pronounced how sure he was of himself.

You closed your eyes at his words. Why did he have to bring that up? Why couldn’t he just let it go? You had. You had buried the past before you moved, you buried your Redbull jacket that Max had gifted you one year in a box and never opened it again. You shoved it in the back of your closet; even if you were tempted to go in and wear it again, you knew better.

You felt the tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. You wanted to wipe them away or force them back inside. You didn’t want to let Max see you cry.

“I kept pushing you. That’s why you didn’t want to go further with me,” He started to say. “I was away too often, I kept making promises that I never lived up to.”

As he kept talking you knew that Max was blaming himself. For whatever he thought he lacked while you were together, and that wasn’t the truth. Or at least not your truth. You just weren’t ready then, you were only 20 and everything with him had been moving fast. You didn’t want to go 200mph in a relationship. It would crash and burn before anything else, pun intended.

“I didn’t call enough, and I kept pushing you to quit your job which wasn’t right.” You had to stop Max, as much as those words would have been appreciated a few years ago. Hearing him admit that all those arguments you had about you quitting your job just felt odd. Maybe now that you were working from home, you understood how much you liked not having to constantly deal with being in an office space. Max hadn’t been right to ask you to quit your job, but he had made a fair point about being at home. It gave you more freedom to do what you wanted.

“Max… Please, please just stop.” You stood there for a moment before turning to him and held up your hand so he could see that you didn’t want him to continue. You didn’t want him blaming himself. Although there had been problems in the relationship, you were happy when you were with him.

It was easier to live your life with Max around, he always enjoyed laughing and having a good time, but he was in no way a party animal. He was sweet and down to earth despite the fact that he made more money than one person knew what to do with in a single lifetime.

Your eyes met his and you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him. It was too easy to walk closer to him. His hands moved up your waist like no time had passed at all. His hands felt warm against the chiffon of your dress, you closed your eyes at the feel of his fingers fisting into the fabric.

“Max.” You whispered against his lips. He looked to meet your eyes silently asking if you wanted this.

You leaned towards him a little more, lightly feeling his lips brush against yours. Max deepened the kiss pulling you flush against him. Your arms moved around his shoulders, falling into the familiar dance that you did.

One of his hands moved to cup the side of your face, holding you there carefully. You could feel that his grip was getting lighter, his hands weren’t moving like he wanted to tear your clothes from your body.

It was like he wanted to take his time with you and cherish it. As if he would never be able to touch you again like you were fragile, breakable. He pulled back from you, looking into your eyes. He looked at you the same, he didn’t love you any less after all of this time.

“Take me back.” He murmured. You haven’t expected him to say that. You thought he would suggest sleeping together, one last time after everything. “Take me back and we can try again. I’ll do my best to make amends for all I did wrong back then.”

You couldn’t really find the words. You still tried to piece together your thoughts. After Max, you tried to date again. Your heart had never been in it. Like it was waiting for someone.

You didn’t think that it was waiting for Max to fix it after he helped break it the first time.

“I don’t know if I can Max.” You didn’t want to hurt him, you were just honest with him.

“Please, mijn liefje. I’ve waited long enough. I could barely let you go the first time.” This was news to you, from the few female friends that you still had from the world of F1, you had only ever heard stories about Max in passing. It was mostly about his career, never anything about his personal life, and you had thought it was because they knew that you didn’t want to hear about Max.

You never considered the reason that Max never reached out after Paris was because he had let you go. He had let you live your life without him. He had put what he thought you wanted above him. He had pretended that he was okay without you.

As you met his eyes you could see that all of his courage was slowly fading away.

You didn’t know if you should take this as a sign to give Max another chance. Your trip had been planned only a few months in advance while Max’s race schedule was planned 8 months in advance. You being in Paris at the same time as him couldn’t be a coincidence. And if it was one, then… you didn’t know what to make of it.

“Stay with me, ‘til the morning.” He pleaded as a last attempt. “Then if you never want to see me again. I won’t make you stay.” You knew that Max didn’t have a problem with going after what he wanted, that was why he was so successful when it came to his career. But you were surprised that he was just willing to let you go after all this time apart.

“Just til the morning.” You said. You could give Max until the morning. It would hopefully give you enough clarity if you could even give him another chance.

Spending the rest of the night with Max had been easy, you fell back into the rhythm of old conversations, and physical touches that seemed to come like second nature. Once you had done that he couldn’t seem to let go of you. You ended up back in your hotel room curled up against him on the couch with your legs over his lap as you talked about what he had been doing in the years that you were apart.

You could feel your eyes fluttering closed every now and then at the sound of his voice but forced yourself to keep them open. One moment you laid your head against Max’s shoulder and then next you were out like a light.

It had been the best night's sleep you had gotten in a long time. It was the most at ease you felt, waking up with his arms around you. Like no time in the world had truly passed between the two of you.

You looked over at him to hear the light sound of him snoring, and you couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle. Some things never change.

You saw his browns move in confusion before seeing his blue eyes open and meet yours. 

“Hi,” You said turning over.

“Hey.” He said back turning to meet you in the middle of the bed, you could see his smile grow for a moment before it diminished.

“I guess I should get going.” He was quick to move out of bed, collecting his jeans and shoes from the other side of the room.

“Max, you don’t have to leave.” You turned on your back before sitting up against the headboard.

“I do. You still don’t want me.” He wasn't looking at you.

“That’s not true.” You did want Max, maybe a little too much given how little time you had spent together. It shouldn’t have been that easy for you to want him again.

It was strange to think that this was all it took you to find your way back to one another.

“It’s not that I don’t want you, it’s that… I don’t want us to move fast again.” Max lived a fast-paced life during the F1 season. You didn’t want to rush back into anything.

“We don’t have to move fast, we were together for almost two years before I ask you to move in with me the first time. And every time after that… I knew you were going to say no.” You hadn’t said no, you had just kept fighting Max on the fact that you couldn’t because of work. That wasn’t an issue though anymore, that should make it easier now.

Max had put on his jeans before leaning against the arm of the couch before turning to look at you.

“Am I not worthy of you?” That question hit you right in the heart. Did Max feel like he didn’t deserve you?

You let out a deep breath, “Of course, you’re worthy Max.” More than anyone, you wanted to say.

“It’s just, if we do this again, we need to go slow.” You wanted to take your time with him, you weren’t the same people as when you were in your early twenties. Things had changed and you didn’t want the same outcome as last time.

“We can go slow, your terms.” He said slowly walking closer to you before reaching for your hand. You looked down at his hand before pulling him in by his neck, letting your lips meet his. There wasn't a reason to pretend that you didn’t want this again. You could no longer just pretend that you were okay without him.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #mv1 imagine #mv33 imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #Max Verstappen Imagines

[justlikemebutsixfootthree]

v. one time thing

this blog is 18+. minors, do not interact. this blog is a safe space. no hate or disrespect of any kind will be tolerated. all work is my own. do not reupload my work on any other site without my consent.

a/n: and here’s the long awaited final part!! thank you for your patience and support and i hope you love it as much as i do <3

part i. part ii. part iii. part iv.

548 words

he’s panting when he comes back to himself, his face pressed into the cold floor of his apartment over your shoulder. your hands smooth over his back, a hum passed from you to him and back again.

“well,” matty sighs, breathing in the smell of your hair. “i’m an idiot.”

he leans up on his elbows above you and gazes at the soft smile that spreads over your face. your cheeks are flushed, your eyeliner smudged, and he’s sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

he is a damned, bloody idiot.

“tell me something i don’t know,” you peek open one eye. “though i am feeling quite benevolent towards you at the moment.”

he nods and tries to hide a grin. “three orgasms will do that.”

“what have you been stupid about,” you swat at his shoulder. “this time.”

“you,” he answers quietly. you freeze underneath him and he drops a gentle kiss between your eyes. “this. i should have known you’d make a fool out of me.”

you blink up at him, wary and hesitant. “what are you talking about?”

“you’re not something i need to get out of my system,” his forehead falls onto yours. “you’re already there. you’ve been there for quite some time, and i find i don’t want it to go away.”

“thats just the sex talking,” the words rush out of your mouth in one breath. “we’ll talk it over in the morning. see how you feel.”

“i’ll feel the same.”

“okay. we’ll see.”

-

matty fucks you up against his bedroom window, bent over his desk, and in his shower. as the two of you were half-heartedly towelling off, sneaking hot, open mouth kisses over damp skin, you make some suggestion of calling a cab. he bends and heaves you over his broad shoulders in response, tossing you on his bed in a tangle of limbs and flannel sheets. matty lets his body fall over yours and curls calloused fingers around your waist.

he’s halfway asleep when he feels your nose press to his collarbone and the hand that’s tucked under his body curls into his hair.

“did you mean it?” you ask after taking a breath in. “is this—is this something you’ve wanted?”

with your words, matty lets out a deep breath and further buries his face in your tangled hair. “i’ve always wanted you.”

-

you’re not there when he wakes up.

still under the haze of sleep, he pats the space on the mattress next to him and feels cool sheets. he should have known. this whole thing was a stupid idea. he shouldn’t have even been at george’s party in the first pla—

just as his mind begins to spiral, the door creaks open and a mug of coffee is placed on the nightstand.

“i raided your kitchen.”

you’re smiling down at him, wearing his shirt, holding a piece of toast smeared with jam and he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“that’s okay,” he half-whispers and moves over to let you back in.

you smile softly and sit next to him, one hand immediately going to his hair and letting his curls tangle in your gentle fingers. his head turns into your thighs and he speaks into your skin.

“do you understand now?”

“do you?”

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© 2023 justlikemebutsixfootthree - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or claim as yours

#the 1975 #matty healy #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 fic #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy drabble #the 1975 matty

[f9clementine]

"Spark Plugs"

pairing: mechanic!Chan x afab reader // genre: fluff // words: 1.5k // warnings: just swearing.

Note: y’all… idk how to fix a car at all. I shamelessly call my Dad the minute something’s acting up in mine. So if you know how car’s work, just suspend that knowledge for a bit.

With a deep sigh, you slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the road, the brakes on your old truck screeching as you did. You quickly threw on the hazards and pulled the switch for the hood before hopping out of the cab. Immediately, the hot summer sun began to beat down on you, sweat perking along your hairline, but you were determined.

You unlatch the hood, pushing it all the way up to get a better look at the engine. You scan over it, frowning as you had no idea what you were looking at. But a quick glance up at the empty road next to you as well as the completely barren fields to your left and your right let you know you were on your own with this.

You pulled your phone out, glancing at the clock before you unlocked it. “I got time,” you mumbled, opening youtube and pulling up the video you had been watching the night before: ‘Replacing Your Spark Plugs.’ You hit play and began to get to work, listening intently to the instructions.

It took a half hour, along with some colorful swears when you accidentally smacked yourself with the plug socket you retrieved from the cab, but you’d done it. The spark plugs sat revealed in the engine, ready to be replaced.

You wiped a stray drop of sweat from your cheek, then grimaced when you realized you’d manage to smear some grease there instead. “I can clean up later,” you told yourself, focusing instead on the task at hand and reaching into the engine with the plug socket again.

It was a little arduous, but with a final tug you pulled a spark plug loose, emerging from the hood victorious with it in your (absolutely filthy holy shit) hands. You took a few steps back, looking at the spark plug for a minute. It didn’t look like it needed to be replaced, to be honest; it wasn’t brand new but there was minimal wear and tear. It should still work just fine.

To any mechanic worth their salt, it would give you away in a split second.

You turned to the field you were closest to, pulling your arm back before letting the spark plug fly. You calmly watched as it sailed through the air before landing somewhere in the field, and leaving you stranded on the side of the road.

You nodded, proud of yourself before turning back to your truck. You picked up your phone, the youtube video finished up as the instructor congratulated you on successfully changing the parts on your vehicle before you closed the app and looked at the time. Your heart suddenly began to race, realizing the time you thought you had was almost up.

Moving quickly, you put everything back the way you found it (sans spark plug, of course). Right when you tossed the wrench behind your seat, you could see the jet black car on the horizon, heading your way. Right on time. Places, everyone.

The 1970 Ford Mustang slowed to a stop next to your truck, the driver side window already down. “Hey neighbor, you having car issues?” Chan called out, lifting his sunglasses to sit on the top of his head.

You pulled back from where you had been leaning over your engine, flashing him a sheepish grin. “Yeah, she just stopped and I can’t figure out why.”

“One second.”

You watched as he pulled his car to your side of the road, parking in front of you on the shoulder before hopping out and joining you by your truck. 

“You just have the worst luck, huh?” Chan lightly teased, looking over your engine next to you. “First your water heater, and now this.” 

You hoped your ‘I’m so embarrassed’ giggle was believable. “Someone has it out for me, I guess.”

“Well, unluckily for them, you have me.” You were glad he was focused on your truck now, missing the way your cheeks suddenly burned- and not from the heat. “Can I see your keys?” 

You nodded, pointing to the cab of the truck. “They’re in the ignition.”

“Perfect, give me a second.” Chan moved around you, lifting himself into the driver’s seat. You took a step back from the engine, listening as he tried to start the engine. After a few tries, he rejoins you. “Well, it’s not the battery and you’re not out of gas.” He mumbled the last part to himself, dark eyes darting back and forth as he tried to think what could’ve happened.

“Maybe it’s your-” He stopped as he looked over at you, frowning for a second before reaching for his back pocket. “Don’t move.” He commanded and you froze. You watched as he pulled a red bendana from his back pocket, stepping up to you before gently rubbing it against your cheek. “You’ve got grease on your face.” His other hand gently grasped your chin, directing your face to turn a little.

You really hoped he couldn’t feel how heavily your heart was pounding against your ribs.

“There we go- all clean and pretty again.” Chan pulled away, repocketing his bandana and you were grateful since you were definitely on the edge of passing out. 

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You finally managed to wheeze out, simultaneously glad you had your space but missing how right his fingers had felt on your skin.

Chan grinned at you again before returning his attention to the broken vehicle in front of you. “But I think maybe it’s your starter or it’s your alternator… but I won’t know until I can really look at it. I can call Changbin to come tow you to the garage, if you’d like?” He offered and you nodded.

“That would be amazing, please.” 

Chan nodded, reaching for his other pocket to pull his phone out. “How long were you out here for?”

You shrugged, “Oh, not long. I only got off work about maybe an hour ago?”

Chan stopped and looked up at you, brows furrowed slightly. “You were out here for an hour? Did you call anyone?”

You blinked, suddenly realizing the hole in your plan. “Uh…” You hummed, searching quickly for an acceptable answer. “I thought maybe I could figure it out myself?” You timidly answered, unable to keep eye contact with him. “I was about to call my dad, though.” 

“The one that’s over two thousand miles away?” 

You groaned and scuffed your tennis shoe across the ground, “I figured he could tell me over the phone or something.”

Chan let out a laugh, selecting a contact on his phone and hitting the call button. “Next time, just call me. It’s a good thing I left the garage at a decent time today, or else you’d probably be waiting for help until nightfall.” The ringing stopped, Changbin’s loud ‘hello?’ interrupting Chan. “Hey, Changbin! Y/n’s truck broke down. Can you bring the tow to the road leading up to my place?” He paused, nodding as you could hear Changbin responding, but unable to make it out. “Yeah, that one. And then put it in a bay so I can take a look at it tomorrow… Perfect, thanks man.”

He hung up, sliding his phone back into his pocket before pulling the hood of your truck down. “Alright, so that’s taken care of. I’ll give you a lift home, obviously.” He leaned on the hood, tilting his head a little as he frowned, thinking. “I’ll give you a ride to work tomorrow, too.”

“Oh, uh,” You held your hands up, shaking your head. “I’m actually off tomorrow, luckily. But thank you for the offer.” 

“Gotta be thankful for small miracles, at least.” He stood up straight, nodding his head toward his car. “Let’s get you home and out of this heat.” He took a step and you began to follow before he stopped, turning to look at you again, a slight frown pulling at this full lips. “I wonder if it’s your spark plugs, maybe?”

Oh shit- play dumb, Y/n.

“What’s a spark plug?” 

Chan let out a loud laugh as he ushered you to his car with a hand on the small of your back before opening the door for you. “Y/n, I gotta tell you, you’re too cute sometimes.” Once again, you thought you were going to die as you slid into the passenger seat, ignoring how the leather seats were already sticking to your bare skin. 

Chan was still giggling as he came around the driver side, getting in himself. He grasped the keys, about to start the ignition before suddenly leaning over. You froze as you felt his soft lips brushing against your cheek, so dangerously close to the corner of your lips as he pulled away. 

“The next time you want my attention, pretty girl, you don’t have to sabotage your truck for it.”

He turned the engine of the mustang right then, the car roaring to life under you and drowning out your stammers before Chan shifted into first gear, pulling back onto the road as he continued to grin proudly.

Was this any of one my WIPs? of course not.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #Bang Chanxreader #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz drabbles #stray kids drabbles

[ghouljams]

I have become absolutely OBSESSED with your Cowboy!141 fics! And I just have to ask... pretty pleaseeee could you write about how goose met Soap? I gotta know if Soap was equally as surprised to find out the cap had a daughter! anywaayyyys, I love your fics! And I hope you know your amazing!!! <3333

Goose and Soap met years ago! They met after Soap’s punching an officer fiasco, Price offered him a place to stay while the whole thing blew over. This is where I tell y’all that Price and Duck got married quick and young, typical military move, and Price tended to keep his family life to himself while he was working. So Soap didn’t realize he was going to be dealing with a high schooler when he agreed to spend a few weeks laying low, but they were thick as thieves almost immediately(much to Duck's chagrin).

Two things happen when Soap steps through customs. First: he realizes how fucking hot the American south is in the middle of July. Second: he is immediately accosted by two women he’s never met before. Or one woman and one teenager who looks rather embarrassed by her mum’s antics. 

“Sergeant MacTavish, right?” The woman asks, and he nods to be polite. He was told he’d be getting picked up from the airport but this was downright familial.

“You can call me Soap, ma’am.” 

“Why’d they call you Soap?” The teen makes a face.

“Goose, that’s enough.” Her mum tells her, in the same voice Soap used to get from his mum when he was being rude to strangers.

“Why’d they call you Goose?” He asks, scrunching his face up the same way, and watching the teen smile.

-

Soap is almost cool. He’s what you think having an older brother must be like. Plus you’re learning a lot of neat swears. He crouches next to you, twisting gas covered strings together to link the fireworks your mom bought. 

“Yer aff yer heid,” You tell him, “Mam’s gonna kill you if you blow up the barn again.”

“Ah dinnae blow up the barn,” Soap hauls you to your feet and tugs you away from the mess, “Ah burned it.” He thinks a moment then moves you back another few paces. “Don’t move.”

“Aye that’s an idea I ‘adn’t thought of.” You tell him, taking an extra step back from the mound of danger.

“Why’d I let you help with this?” Soap asks, going to light the first fuse.

“Because I caught you nipping scotch from Momma’s reserve.”

“Bloody American drinking age.” He grumbles, clicking his lighter on and narrowly avoiding setting the whole kit ablaze.

Your mom calls the fire department about half way through your show and you both get a talking to from the fire chief. Soap only looks sorry he was stopped.

-

“Soap.”

“Go’way Goose,” He grumbles, turning away from you and tugging his blankets up over his head.

“Come on,” You whine, “you said we’d go shooting today, and it’s almost noon.” Soap grumbles further, a hand reaching out from under the blankets to smack around and check his phone.

“You keep yellin’ at me an’ am gonnae be cross,” He groans, tossing his phone and sitting up. He stares at you for a long moment, eyes narrowed and shoulders hunched.

“Howzitgoan,” You ask.

“Am fuckin’ trollied.”

“Don’t drink so late, now get your kecks on.” Soap smacks you with his pillow until you leave the room laughing.

-

“That your boyfriend?” Soap asks as you hop in the cab of the family truck. You make a face and click your seat belt on.

“Gross no, he’s just some ROTC dick’ead.”

“Enlistedmen more your type eh?” He jokes throwing the truck into gear and peeling away from the movie theater. You roll your eyes.

“With how often my Da’s off getting shot at? I’d rather shoot myself than be a military wife.”

#cowboy!Soap #oc: Goose #Goose 🤝Soap: adhd siblings #Soap years later giving Goose absolute hell for chasing after Ghost #“He's a cowboy now that's different” #as if Ghost isn't on his knees the first time she calls him lieutenant #johnny soap mactavish #soap modern warfare #They really just cause havoc the whole summer #it is one of the best summers of either of their lives #Price swears Soap to secrecy in exchange for letting him go back next year #Duck starts doing doctors without borders as soon as Goose goes to college

[joohanisms]

hi lizzie! i already know you by your main, i wanted to ask you some oneshots/thoughts about sex with jealous jiseok?

MY MAIN ?@?@@? was it from the obnoxious amount of likes i leave on every single work on the xdh tags LMAO thank you so much for the request <33 hope you like it

jealous jiseok thoughts 💭💫

cw: jealousy obv, oral (fem receiving), possessive tones, unprotected sex (on birth control. don't be dumb), cum play slightly wc: 1,1k

minors dni

jiseok doesn't strike me to be the type to get jealous easily But! once he does... oh no

let's say you're out somewhere, like a party. and he's going about the looks people shoot you the usual way: smirking back at people, all smug, as if he's saying "this is Mine <3 look at me having someone you'll never have"

he did not expect your own friend to hit on you though

they were always a little touchy, and jiseok's not usually bothered (hell, he's not even in a place to be bothered. his friends are hanging off his shoulders half the time – if it doesn't bother you, it shouldn't bother him)

but tonight they were too affectionate

it started with them casually touching you while you talked, then they started playing with your fingers and fixing your hair and now jiseok's threat radar is beeping

when they lean in to talk into your ear, he draws the line. he's intervening

he gets closer and hears the "come on, leave with me. he doesn't have to know" in the air

oh no. oh nononono

he's PISSED. not only are they flirting with you in front of him, they're also blatantly asking you to cheat?

you can barely begin to indignantly refuse as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, ignores the so called friend and goes "hey, babe." before he presses a kiss that lasts a second too long to your lips

"do you want to go home? i think we'd have a better time there than here," pointedly looks at the person in front of you and pulls you closer, "plus i really want to find out what's the surprise you said you have for me back home."

there's no surprise. he's only making a point. you don't think you're even wearing matching underwear

he didn't even wait for your friend to say anything – as soon as you open your mouth to agree, he's whisking you away (he Does look back to see their face though)

when you're finally met with the fresh night air outside the building, jiseok pulls his phone out to call you both a cab and starts his angry rant

"are they out of their mind? doing that when i'm a few feet away? trying to get you to fuck them when they know damn well you're taken! we're not seeing that asshole ever again, they should feel lucky i didn't punch their teeth right off, if i was the slightest bit crazier i would've–"

"jiseokie," a hand to his cheek, "are you jealous?"

he looks up from his phone to find your playful gaze. he huffed, "of course i am! who do they think they are–" he's cut off by a searing kiss to his lips.

"it's kind of hot."

the way you were looking at him... hell he could fuck you right then and there and even hope your stupid friend catches you. unfortunately, the cab is here and the poor driver shouldn't be subjected to seeing that

the second you arrive at your apartment, he's holding your face with both his hands and kissing you downright filthily in your little entrance hall

you need to take your shoes off though... that's not a problem at all – you hear his chunky sneakers be tossed to the ground while he keeps kissing you the best he can, and you only separate as he crouches down to unlace your boots for you

you can barely appreciate the view of your boyfriend at your feet before your boots are off and he's on you again

his lips attach to your neck, sucking and nipping on the flesh while his hands sneak under your shirt

he has half a mind to bend you over the couch and fuck you stupid until your moans are engraved on the couch, but he ultimately decides on pulling you into your bedroom

before you even get to the bed, you're shirtless, jiseok's hands fumbling with the clasps of your bra while you work on his jeans

you don't get very far before your knees hit the bed and you're falling backwards

your hair fawning around your face, your cheeks flushed, your lips kiss-bitten, your bra half-off, your eyes nearly desperate... jiseok is so glad he's the only one who gets to see you like this

(and if it's up to him he'll be the only one to see you like this for the rest of time <3)

but for now he'll just push your skirt up and pull your underwear down <3

and eats you out sooooo good like legs over his shoulders his fingers spreading you

after you cum, you try to repay the favor but he grabs your hands and goes "wanna cum inside you, baby, please"

and who are you to deny him !! it's not common to have him cum in you even though you're on birth control... my guy likes the visual of his cum on your skin

and so in a second his pants and underwear are off, your legs are around his hips and he's ruining your neck again while he guides his cock to your entrance

he pushes in bit by bit, and only when he bottoms out he detaches from your neck and grins, pressing the pads of his fingers into what you assume are the hickeys he left

"you're mine", he softly says, looking into your eyes, before he starts thrusting into you

it gets really fast and rough really quick

you can't help but moan a little too loudly, the way his hips are slamming into your thighs feels divine. and when he presses his thumb to your clit...... you're seeing stars wtf

he's kissing you desperately, in a mix of panting and actually kissing you properly. your arms wind around his neck, needing him closer while you feel a familiar wave of pleasure starting to come over you

what really does it for you is his little rushed whisper of "mine, mine, mine, you're only mine right baby? mine to fuck you like this, mine to ruin, mine"

he keeps mumbling possessives and filth while he fucks you through your high

"'m yours, ji– only yours," you manage to say through the fog in your brain, and you feel his release fill your cunt

when he finally stops grinding into you, prolonging his orgasm as much as he could, he'll pull out slowly so he can watch his cum drip out of your hole

scoops a little bit of it with his fingers and smears it on your cheek, kissing you deeply afterwards

"my baby," he whispers between kisses, "only mine."

when both of you have finally caught your breaths, jiseok gets up to fetch a towel to wipe you down

when he comes back, he cleans you thoroughly - except the cum smeared on your cheek

"you forgot something." you point to your sticky cheek.

he grins devilishly, straddling you. "that's for you to wear, babe. so everyone knows you're mine."

bonus: when you're cuddling later, ready to sleep, you remember something: "... so what was the surprise i had for you back here?"

"shut up and go to sleep."

#xdinary heroes smut #xdh imagines #xdinary heroes imagine #xdh smut #xdh hard hours #xdh scenarios #xdh x reader #xdinary heroes hard hours #xdinary heroes x reader #xdinary heroes fanfic #gaon x reader #gaon smut #my fics #xdinary heroes imagines #kwak jiseok imagine #kwak jiseok smut #kwak jiseok x reader #gaon imagine

[makethatelevenrings]

Angel by the Wing - TWENTY-THREE

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy, anxiety, brief mention of throwing up

Series Masterlist (Mobile)

“Well this is pathetic,” you announced, your tone drier than a desert and laced with laughter. Jake looked up from where he was lying on the bathroom floor and glared at you. Bradley merely raised his middle finger, too scared to turn away from the toilet bowl.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who is supposed to be having morning sickness,” you added. A mug of peppermint tea sat in your hands and you sipped it, one eyebrow raised as you stared at them over the rim of the mug.

“You said so yourself,” Jake groaned. “We got shit-faced drunk last night.”

“I’m well aware considering I was the one that hauled your asses into the Bronco and got you out of your clothes and into bed.”

“Take a man out to dinner first,” Bradley said. You narrowed your eyes at him and made a pointed motion towards your stomach.

“Little late for that, Bradshaw. Once you two feel human again, I got some breakfast burritos from that food truck down the road.”

After breakfast, Bradley left to visit Maverick and have that talk they had been planning about. That left you and Jake puttering around the house. As you did the dishes, he folded laundry in the bedroom.

“Hey darlin’?” he called. You shuffled over and stuck your head around the doorframe, seeing him hold up a stack of your clothes neatly folded with every tag and hem tucked in like it was a retail store display. God, he was so cute.

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t…do you want me to put this in your overnight bag? Or I can move stuff around in my dresser.” Jake Seresin was normally so cocksure and arrogant that the bumbling, blushing man in front of you seemed like an entirely different person. You stepped further into the bedroom and gently took the pile from him.

“Do you want me to use one of your drawers?”

His blue eyes darted towards the closet where you knew he had everything neatly folded or hung in some kind of order he devised. Military habits die hard, you mused.

“Your apartment isn’t healthy for you or for the baby. It makes sense to have you here long term unless you would prefer to have your own space or maybe Penny has a spare room or-”

“Jake.” You set the clothes down on the bed and settled your hands on his shoulders. “What do you want?”

A slow smile curled up at the corner of his lips and he shrugged. “I’d like to finally have a chance to go through my clothes and get rid of some. Make some space for other items.”

You twined your arms around his neck and grinned. “Then let’s do that. We’ve got nothing better to do until I go to work tonight.”

Somehow cleaning out one drawer turned into two and then the two of you were hauling trash bags full of clothes into the cab of his truck. Well, actually, he was hauling them into the truck because Jake refused to let you strain yourself even a little bit. You initially wanted to protest but this gave you the chance to watch his biceps flex as he tossed three trash bags into the back.

“Hop in, darlin’!” he shouted. The San Diego sun beat down on him, highlighting the golden shine of his hair and the tan he always seemed to have. Dark aviators rested on the bridge of his nose and he was wearing some shorts and a cut off tank top with NAVY emblazoned across the front. All in all, he looked like the epitome of a California guy.

“Can we get lunch while we’re out?” you called back.

“If you say In N Out, I’m leaving your ass here.”

You cackled as you dashed back into his place to grab sandals and your purse before skipping out, locking the door behind you. You hauled yourself up into the passenger seat of his truck and leaned over the console to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Hey,” you said, catching his attention. He glanced over at you as the truck slowly rolled back into the street. “Thank you. For staying.”

His gaze softened and he reached over to place a hand on your thigh as the other hand spun the wheel with ease. “Of course, darlin’. Roo and I aren’t going anywhere.”

Sometimes when he couldn’t sleep on the carrier, he could hear your phantom sobs echoing in his ears as you begged him to stay. Everyone leaves me, you said. Who? Who would leave behind such a brilliant woman? His grip tightened minutely on your thigh. As long as his dresser held your clothes and that baby grew inside of you, he would never let you feel that way again.

“Hey, can we stop in at Barnes & Noble while we’re here?” you asked as Jake parked in the far corner of the parking lot next to the clothes drop off bin. He nodded without a second thought and got out to toss the bags in before he climbed back in so he could park closer to the store. He dashed around to your side of the car and helped you down onto solid ground.

“What’re we looking for, angel?”

You interlaced your fingers with his and pulled him towards the nonfiction section. “I figured we could look at some books about what to expect and shit. I know it’s early but…”

He noticed the way you nervously chewed at your bottom lip and Jake leaned over to bump your shoulder with his. “By all means, sugar, lead the way.”

A snort escaped you at his endearment and he grinned. Jake dutifully followed as you weaved through the stacks until you stopped in front of the parenting section. A whole wall of books stared back at you and you swallowed past the sudden dryness in your throat.

“Well…shit,” Jake commented once he took in the sheer amount of options there were.

“That’s a lot,” you murmured. You fingered the spines of some books and inspected the titles. Granola, wellness, breastfeeding, fetus development, Christ on a bike your head was spinning.

“I’m gonna throw up,” you blurted out. Jake immediately grabbed your shoulders and spun you so that you were looking away from the books.

“Okay, okay. Deep breaths. Let’s just get this book for now and then we can research at home if we need anything else. They made a movie about this, right?” He held up What to Expect When You’re Expecting and you nodded. Your eyes caught onto another title and you snatched it up and thrust it into his chest. Jake read the name and grimaced before dropping a kiss to your head and ushering you towards the cash registers with the promise of McDonald’s Sprite after this.

When Bradley returned home a few hours later, he found his two lovers on the couch. Jake was sitting up, his feet resting on the coffee table to give you leverage. Your head rested in his lap as you held a book above your head. Jake had a book in one hand, the other rubbing small circles into the small sliver of skin of your stomach that was exposed when your shirt rolled up.

“Hey,” Bradley greeted once he kicked off his shoes at the door and made his way into the living room.

“Hi bubs,” you replied. You lowered the book down to rest on your chest. “How was your talk with Maverick?”

“It was good. He wants to meet you. He also told me that he needs to give Jake the shovel talk.”

The blond snorted in response and flipped to the next page in What to Expect. You, on the other hand, were reading Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents. Bradley settled down on the floor next to you and you reached out to run your fingers through his curls, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. He practically melted under your hand and pushed up against the touch as though he was a cat.

“What’d you get up to while I was gone?” he asked.

“Well,” Jake announced. “Baby is as big as an orange seed now that we’re at five weeks.”

You gently poked your stomach, wondering what it must be like in there. There was still no noticeable bump or anything. How big would you get?

“Angel’s soon going to start craving gross shit,” Jake continued. “Add in heartburn and sore breasts.”

“Don’t say breasts,” you grunted. “Ugh, that’s so clinical. Let the doctor say breasts.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? Tits? Tatas? Boobies?”

“Stop stop,” you gagged. “I don’t know. Tits, I guess.”

“Are they sore already?” Bradley asked.

“Nope, so get your groping in now, fellas.”

“You might-” Jake raised his voice to be heard over you two. “-start being constipated.”

“Oh, orange seed, you better be so worth it.”

Bradley rested his head next to your stomach and ran a hand along your skin. “She will.”

Ever since you left the bookstore, your mind had been churning with anxiety. How the fuck could you do this? Would the three of you be able to do this? But now you were stretched out on the couch with both men holding you in a reverence kept for sacred objects and goddamnit, there goes those hormones again.

You blinked back tears and nestled your cheek against Jake’s thigh. “She’s gonna be so fucking worth it.”

Still that familiar insecurity nibbled at your mind. What happens when the paternity test comes back? Would the other person leave? Or would he stay?

Tag List: @mizzzpink​ @xoxabs88xox​ @dreaminglandsworld​ @khaylin27​ @loveforaugust​ @phoenixssugarbaby​ @atarmychick007​ @itsmytimetoodream​ @krismdavis​ @emma8895eb​ @startrekfangirl​ @hangmandruigandmav​ @lunamoonbby​ @startrekfangirl2233​

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #rooster x hangman x reader #abtw

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Ten Years Earlier...

All right, it's my first COD fic and it's smut (there's a running theme happening today). This is oc x canon which is know is not everyone's jam (DLDR). Also my first time writing Captain Price (so be gentle with me folks)

Set in 2012, Rory Sinclair (my oc) is a Corporal with the British army on leave and she just so happens to run into a certain Captain (Lieutenant at the time, this is mutton chop free John) at a bar where they share a bathroom cubicle together.

words: 3339

Pairing: Captain Price x OC

Fandon: Call of Duty: MW

Smut under the cut, 18+ MINORS DNI

P in V sex, hand jobs, fingering, semi-public sex, protected sex, stranger sex, with a big old heaping of praise and voice kink on top.

2012 - London, England - Lost Society Bar, Clapham 21:00 

Rory shivered as the night air kissed her bare shoulders. The bass beat of the rock music playing inside thumping in her skull the same way the heavy wheels of an armored vehicle did. The kick of the drum, the steady march of boots. Blowing out the last puff of smoke from her cigarette, she stubbed out the butt on the railing she was leaning over and headed back inside to the attic club. 

Five years she’d been fighting in Afghanistan, and leave always felt far too short compared to the time spent on the ground. Her father told her to take the time she was given and have some fun, it wasn’t too often a hero got to come home and rest, to everyone else she knew that meant going out on a Saturday night and getting piss drunk for fun. 

Sydney, her best friend in the trenches, a perky blonde who had the choice of the army or a juvenile detention center in Aberdeen all those years ago, took her by the arm. “Come on, happy hour’s starting.”

“I don’t think I need anymore, Syd.”

“Fuck off, you and me are out to get hammered and then head home with some fit blokes. We spent enough time getting shot at, I intend to get bent over and fucking railed.”

Rory rolled her eyes but followed her friend to the bar, ordering a whiskey – neat – while Sydney lined up a row of vodka shots, quickly tossing them down her neck. Sipping from her glass, she leaned her back against the bar, her elbows propped up on the counter as she scanned the bar’s makeshift dance floor. She couldn’t help her instincts kicking in, her battle-ready brain having her scan for threats… or perhaps a partner . 

Sydney tossed another shot back, her long lengths of hair shaking as she had a full body shiver, the liquor burning the back of her throat. “You need to relax, Ror. You’re going to scare the lads away. They can smell the fear on you like a pack of wild dogs.”

“Jesus Christ, Syd, I’m just getting the lay of the land.”

“We’re not in the fucking desert.” Tapping Rory’s army, she drank her last shooter and grabbed Rory’s hand to drag her to the dance floor. “Come on.”

“Nah, I’m gonna stay at the bar for a while. Might get a cab home soon.”

“Spoil sport,” Sydney huffed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rory said with a wave of her hand, unfazed by her friends mocking. “Have fun.”

“Whatever you say, Corporal,” Syd gave her a quick salute – which was nicer than the flip of the bird Rory had expected – before heading into the crowd, leaving her fellow soldier to her own company. 

Sighing, she took another sip of the amber liquor, her elbow knocking against the forearm of another, and her hazel eyes drifted over to a stocky man with a five o’clock shadow, his blue eyes sparkling as he met her with a smirk. “Sorry, love.”

Pulling her arms in towards herself, she gave him a friendly smile. “My fault, sorry.”

His brow furrowed slightly, leaning in towards her so he didn’t have to yell over the music. “Are you American?”

“No.” She shook her head, her long brown ponytail swaying against her shoulders. “Canadian.”

His smirk grew a little wider, blue eyes gleaming. “Should’ve figured that when you actually apologized.”

“Our reputation precedes us, eh?” She teased, putting on a heavier, more distinct Canadian accent, the kind that brought to mind Mounties and maple syrup.

“Only a little, yeah.” He waved at the barkeeper trying to get their attention. “On vacation then?”

“No. On leave – just got back from Afghanistan.”

He looked her over, straightening in his seat. His smile fading as he blinked rapidly for a moment, caught off guard to see someone like her as a soldier. “No shit.”

Her new friend tried once more to get the attention of the barkeeper, waving his hand, failing to even get a glance. Placing her hand on top of his, she winked, “Allow me.” Bringing her fingers to her lips, she whistled, the high pitch squeal enough to grab the barkeep's attention. Adding a wave and a smile on top of it, ensuring she was served next, she turned back to the man beside her and continued their conversation, “Why? You too?” 

“Urzikstan.” He said, nodding. 

He spoke in short, abrupt sentences. His voice gruff. She should have known he was a soldier. Her brows raised as she hummed into her drink, taking a sip and then hissing at the burn. “Small world.”

“Apparently.”

When the barkeeper came over, she was quick to continue the interaction. “Another whiskey for me, and one for my friend here?” She asked him with a cock of her brow.

“Yeah, whiskey’s good.” His grin was charming. The way his brow lifted, and his jaw shifted as he looked her up and down enough to tell her he was interested. “I’m going to have to remember that trick, though I doubt it’ll work as well for me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She stretches her arms out, pushing away from the bar. It had been so goddamn long since she’d flirted with anyone. “You’re handsome enough,” she said with a playful nod of her head.

He gave her a half smile and tapped the corner of his lighter on the counter, shifting his shoulders. “Glad someone thinks so.”

She leaned against the counter with one elbow, twirling the length of her ponytail around her fingers, her attention firmly planted on him. “Please, a strapping soldier like you, I’m sure you have a port in every storm,” she said half jokingly, but almost expecting it to be true. 

“Not really my thing,” he said with a slight narrowing of his eyes, his voice lowering. 

Looking up at him through her lashes, the lump in her throat suddenly formed. She could feel the flush coming on and she held out her hand to formally greet him before she said something that might get her in trouble. “I’m Rory. Rory Sinclair.”

“John Price.”

Shaking hands, he held her tight in his grip and she could feel the calluses on his palm brush up against her. She couldn’t help but notice how tiny her hand looked in comparison to his, and suddenly the battle-ready brain went quiet. On her own, dressed in a cocktail dress and heels, the combat gear nowhere in sight, she licked her lips, her mouth opened, and a soft sigh drifted from her.

…

The bathroom stall door burst open as John pushed her back into the cubicle, pressing her into the wall, their mouths locked in a kiss. Closing the door, he fumbled with the lock for a moment before his hand returned to her waist, the other with a firm grip on her jaw as he tilted her mouth up to meet his. Breathless, her hands grabbed at his back as she held him tighter to her. “I never do this sort of a thing,” she mumbled between kisses. Nodding, he kissed her harder, his lips overtaking hers, and she moaned into his mouth.  Hands slipping to his belt, she started to undo the buckle. Fighting with it, struggling, a nervous chuckle slipped from her as his large hands held hers. 

Breaking their kiss, he gave her a smile and a wink. “Lemme help you with that, love.” With a quick motion, his belt came loose. He had deft hands, used to having to work fast while under fire. Taking a piss in the desert sometimes meant life or death. 

Her hand rose to his shoulder, curling around the back of his head to pull him in for another kiss, and she purred as a hand drifted up the warm skin of her thighs, fingers trailing up the hem of her skirt to rest on the waistband of her thong. His fingertips just skimmed her flesh under the material, but it was enough to send a shiver through her. Looking down at herself, her dress hiked up around her waist, and his hands hooked through her panties, she weighed out her options. She was on the pill, but…

“Have you got protection?”

“A good soldier never goes in unprepared.”

She huffed out a laugh and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, shifting his hand to slip down the front of her panties, resting it against her mound. Heat radiated off her, building as his fingers began to stroke her folds. Swallowing thickly, her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips. Already aroused from them kissing, his touch was setting her on fire, biting her lip to hold in her moan as his thumb pressed to her clit.

“Already wet for me, Rory?” He purred, his northern accent getting thicker as he leaned down towards her, his mouth sucking on her neck, his tongue dragging against her thumping veins. 

“I said you were handsome,” she breathed. 

Chuckling, he pressed his free hand to the wall by her head, caging her in against the cubicle wall until she was pressed flush against it. Rubbing circles against her throbbing clit, his other fingers began to delve into her dripping cunt. Entering her, stretching her, sinking deeper inside of her. Pumping in and out. Slowly. His kisses became slower, deeper. His lips bruising hers, her pink pout made swollen and sore. With a lick of his lips, his tongue entered her mouth, and she could taste the smoke and liquor on his breath.  

Sliding her hand down the front of his boxers, she wrapped her slender fingers around the head of his hard cock, and it throbbed against her touch. Her fist slowly lowering along his shaft to the base, dragging the pre-cum that leaked from his cock down it, and a groan fell from his lips. Stroking him over and over, squeezing slightly as she did so, her eyes were glued to his. A hungry gleam in her stare, watching as his brow furrowed and he started to pant, a low growl building in his chest as his kisses became rougher, trailing from her mouth down her neck, and further still to her collar bone. 

His hand, once pressed to the wall, slipped down her shoulder and over her chest, sliding down the front of her dress, and in past the cup of her bra. He squeezed her breast, pinching her nipple until she whined. His other hand still fucking into her, making her a whimpering mess. She bucked her hips up against him, driving his fingers in deeper. Writhing up against the wall, her back arching as he brought her close to her climax.  Mumbling against his kiss, “Please, fuck me.”

Looking up at her through his brow, he gave her a smile. His voice kept low, “Oh, I like the way you beg, darling.”

Her breath hitched in her throat, the knot in her core tightening and right on the verge of snapping under his touch. Her legs started to shake, her knees damn near buckling. “Please,” she whispers a little softer. 

His hand fell to the underside of her thigh, clamping around it as he lifted her leg, her knee parallel with his hip. Pulling her panties to the side, he lined up the head of his cock with her entrance and thrust up into her, giving her a moment to settle around him. Gasping as he pushed up into her, stretching her more than his fingers did, she sank down onto his shaft and a low moan escaped her, her eyes rolling back at how full she felt. 

“That’s it, love. You can take it, can’t you?” He cooed into her ear, praising her as he stroked her thigh gently with his thumb. Thrusting his hips slowly, he dragged the first few inches of his cock in and out of her, her arousal allowing him to slide easily inside of her with little friction. She could do nothing but nod, her mind too addled by the feeling of his cock inside of her to even think straight enough to speak. She hadn’t been fucked in so long, she barely had the time to masturbate if she wasn’t at the barracks or back home, and here was this fucking man to take her.

“That’s a good girl,” his gruff tone sent a shiver down her spine, and she grabbed at his waist, pushing him in deeper, forcing a grunt out of him. His brow quirked up, and his blue eyes twinkled. She wasn’t some weak, timid little thing. “You want more, darling?”

“Yeah, I do.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and encircled his waist with her legs. Lifting her up in his arms, her back was shoved up against the flimsy wall of the bathroom stall, a breathy laugh escaping them both as their exploits made a thunderous bang. 

“I can give you more.” He let his jeans and underwear slip down his legs, wrapping around his knees and pooling at his feet, as he fucked up harder into her, filling her with as much of his length as she could take. His gaze fell to where his cock disappeared inside of her, watching as it stroked back and forth, in and out of her, glistening because of her. “Fucking hell. Your cunt feels fucking incredible. So fucking tight,” he groaned out. 

She had no answer, no response, all she could do was moan. Her cunt clenching around him, dripping all over his cock. She kissed him, hard . Her teeth dragging against his lower lip as she curled her hips up towards him, rocking against him as he continued to thrust, bouncing her up and down as his hips met with hers. The smack of skin on skin clapping together filling the bathroom even as other patrons entered and exited. It didn’t matter now, wrapped up in his arms, her head spinning – the good Canadian girl had been put to bed. 

Her head lolled back as she could feel the muscles in her legs tighten, squeezing around him, locking him in. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she growled, her nails dragging across his shoulders. The base of her spine felt like it was on fire, a quick stinging cramp, and suddenly she went rigid, fighting to get out words as she came, “You are so fucking hot.”

His laugh was warm and genuine, smiling against her lips as he kissed her, stealing what little of her breath she had left. “Much appreciated, love,” he stuttered between the bucking of his hips. “I’m getting close, you mind –?” He eyed down at his jeans on the floor. 

“Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry .” 

His grin was unable to fade as she continued apologizing. “And to think I thought you were American.”

She rolled her eyes and loosened the grip of her thighs around his waist as he lowered her back to the floor. Bending down, he looked up at her, his glance drifting to her cunt and the sheen of her arousal on the inside of her thighs. His tongue dragged across his lips before grabbing the condom from his jeans and standing up. 

“Yeah, you really don’t have a port in every storm,” she teased. 

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. Bringing the condom wrapper to his mouth, he tore it open and pulled out the rubber, slipping it down his still hard cock. His gaze drifted over her again, taking in her curves before focusing on her eyes. “You really are lovely.”

“Am I?” She said, with hands on her hips, pretending not to have fallen for his charms already. 

He nodded, his hand collecting her chin before he kissed her again – slow, languishing, heated. “Why don’t you turn around for me,” he purred. A hint of a command in his voice. 

She looked up at him and smiled, her cheeks blushing as she turned around and lifted up her dress for him once more. Glancing at him over her shoulder, he gave her another smirk as he dragged his fingers along his tongue and ran them between her thighs and across the folds of her still soaking cunt. Saddling himself up against her, grabbing her hips, he tucked up against her ass and pushed up into her still needy cunt. A tight fit at first, as he started to move inside of her again, penetrating her, she started to open like a flower. 

Rory moaned, resting her forehead against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut as he filled her to the brim. Slipping his hand down the front of her panties, he stroked her clit while squeezing her hip with the other hand. His thrusts were powerful, determined. Her nails dragged down against the wall with nothing to cling to, her breath fighting to leave her as she mewled, pressed up against it with nowhere to go. “Feels so fucking good. Jesus, god , your cock is amazing.”

His mouth fell to her neck, sucking yet more hickeys on her skin. Leaving his mark. “Yeah? You like that?”

“Mhmm,” her teeth dragged over her lip, and she was getting close all over again. Grabbing at his hand between her legs, she was forced to stop him as another wave washed over her and her knees nearly gave out under her. 

“Easy there, darling.” He held her, his body pressed tight against her, keeping her safe. Protected. “I’ll be gentle with you now, eh?” He whispered, nuzzling into the crook of her neck, his stubble burning her. 

She wrapped her arm around the back of his neck, clinging to him as he kissed her. His thrusts slowing, getting deeper. Groaning against her, mumbling her name as he got closer to the edge himself. His grip got tighter on her hip, his pace no longer maintained, his breath huffing out against her in hot blasts, fanning against her neck. “So fucking pretty.” His arm snaked around her waist. His. “God, I’m so fucking close.” His fingers dug into her hip, hard enough to bruise and with the last few stuttering thrusts, he came inside her. 

They stood there together, two strangers, only knowing each other’s name and occupation, and yet he held her tight. His hand trailing up her waist and letting her dress slip back down to cover her thighs as he slowly pulled away from her, trying to catch his breath. 

Fixing her dress and running a hand over her forehead and down the side of her face, she turned around to face him. They stood there, staring, not sure what to say to each other. “Listen, I, uh –” she stammered and looked down at her heels as he grabbed his underwear and jeans from the floor, pulling them back up his legs. “I’m only on leave for a few weeks, I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“Not to worry, love. I’m in the same boat.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smirk.

“I mean, it was…” she exhaled deeply, “It was very good. I would totally call you again.”

He clenched his jaw and smiled at her, his brow creasing as he looked up at her from under it. “You don’t have to stroke my ego, darling. I get it.”

“Well, um, I guess if I see you out there in the field, or whatever…”

He kissed her again, leaning over her. “Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?” Hazel eyes stared at his mouth as he spoke, his voice low and gravely. “It was nice meeting you, Rory.”

“You too, John.”

Saying nothing more, he ducked out of the stall, leaving her there to clean up. She shoved the door to the stall closed and couldn’t help but giggle to herself. Syd was right, they were there to get bent over and railed after all. 

That was certainly one way to spend her leave.

#skelly writes #call of duty #cod mw2 #captain john price #captain price smut #captain price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #ship: you are the sword to my shield #cod fanfiction

[sirthisisa-wendys]

i absolutely love "start over : rindou x reader"!!! it has been stuck in my head for weeks now. i'm begging you to make a part 3 because it's just so good 😔. i love the angst so much. honestly, i wonder what u put in your fanfics because they got me so addicted *biting my nails aggressively*

Done, done, and done! 🥰

Start Over (Final Part): Rindou Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 1k

tw: angst

masterlist

It's not like you to go missing.

Rindou knows that it's just a fluke, a random occurrence that you hadn't spoken to him in over eight hours. And that you left him with your son.

It's even more annoying that your phone is going straight to voicemail.

Part of Rindou wants to rush away from the house and go looking for you in the streets - he couldn't bear to confess that you'd gone missing to anyone. It would eat at his pride.

But...

Rindou takes a glance at that maid who is cradling his toddler son, whispers, "fuck it," and takes off for the garage.

"Mr. Haitani," the woman shouts, but he ignores her cries of fear. She can handle a child. She's a woman, after all.

"I'll pay you extra," he tosses to the frightened woman and shuts the back door on her roughly. He can hear his child's cries from outside the home, but he doesn't care. It's one thing for you to take some time away from the home - scheduled time, that is. But this random disappearance?

That's not in the plan.

Rindou is halfway down the highway when his phone begins to ring. It's only when he picks up that he realizes he's been riding in absolute silence the entire time.

"The maid called," Ran mutters. Rindou grunts, scanning the streets of the inner city with hawk eyes. "You alright?"

"I told the maid I'd pay her extra."

"Rindou." Ran's voice drops to a whisper. "Rindou, has she run off?" The silence between them only confirms this, and Ran sighs. "What is it with the Haitani family and runaway wives?"

"Beats me," Rindou answers on auto-pilot, but he feels like shit when his brother grumbles to himself. Ran went through this not too long ago - his wife left him for South Terano after a cheating scandal - and now, Rindou is looking at a missing wife, too. Except--

"You're not going to get her back." Ran's proclamation makes Rindou huff a laugh.

"Who says?"

You're in a small room, staring at the ceiling with no emotion.

"How are you feeling, miss?" Your eyes glance at a nurse by your side, her eyes hopeful and waiting.

"I'm fine," you reply, but truthfully, you feel dizzy and tired. When you get out of the bed, you steady yourself on the ground before walking out into the main area of the clinic. It's not like you to be seen in this office, but then again, there were lots of things you'd done in the last twelve hours that weren't like you.

You'd left your child and home and found yourself in the streets of a downtown area without permission from your overbearing husband. And now...

You stand in front of the clinic, fully free but too close for comfort.

So you run.

Not literally, but the airport is only a cab fare away, and you had ample cash taken from the two year's worth of allowances in your purse. You know you'll regret leaving your child behind, but it was the only way to avoid being charged with kidnapping.

When you get to the airport, you stand at the ticketing counter and look through the destinations you could travel to.

A flight to Kyiv at 2. A nonstop airfare to New Zealand at 3. A trip to California leaving in two hours. Where did your husband's reach expire? When?

Before you can make your choice, you feel a hand on your shoulder. A disgruntled passenger, perhaps, looking to hurry you along. When you turn to face the irate traveler, you're met with your brother-in-law's violet gaze.

"Y/n."

Your blood rushes through your veins so fast that you think you might pass out right there.

"I'm not going back." Your words don't even phase the older Haitani.

"I understand," he replies, tugging you out of line. You follow him to a bench, and he sits you down before wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You smell his expensive cologne and stiffen, but when he doesn't let you go, you feel tears prick at your eyes.

No one had held you like this in a long time.

"I don't want to go back," you sob, and Ran hums in acknowledgment. "I can't go back."

"I don't know what's going on between the two of you," Ran murmurs. "But this won't solve anything. Running away doesn't make things easier." You don't make any movements, but Ran pulls away, looking at your tear-streaked face.

"I don't have a choice. I can't stay there any longer." Ran pauses, thinking.

"What if we got you two marital counseling? I'm sure some things would be resolved that way." When you don't reply, he adds, "You should stay with your son and be able to watch him grow up."

Finally, you nod.

"Let's get you home, y/n."

And, with your brother-in-law, you stand to leave.

"Wait," you whisper. "I..." Ran waits patiently, cocking his head to the side. "I got an operation."

"Operation?"

"I was... was..." You look down, ashamed. "I was pregnant." Ran smiles sadly.

"That'll be kept between you and me." He takes your hand and pats it gently. "I promise."

When you're in Ran's car, a question comes to mind. "How did you know where I was?"

"It's not hard to find someone who is running away," Ran replies. He locks the car doors and pulls out of the parking lot with ease. "I always look for the person walking the fastest."

"What does that mean?"

Ran doesn't answer you immediately, but his face suddenly becomes serious.

"I've chased many people down over the years. Only one has ever gotten out of my grasp." His ex-wife. You don't remember much about her other than she was kind and beautiful. "And I won't let it happen again."

And slowly but surely, you come to the sad realization that neither of the Haitani brothers would let you go. Not without a fight; no matter what.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #rindou haitani x reader #rindou haitani

[writercole]

Settling

Summary: While Valkyrie gets back home, Jake gets his ass handed to him. Twice.

Squares:

Words: 1983

Warnings: Angst, language.

A/N: I can't tell you how much I need Phoenix to be my bestie and Anne to be my mom. They're just...they're amazing.

Tag list is done. Please follow @coleslibrary and turn on notifications for story updates.

She landed back in New Orleans in the pouring rain and headed straight for home, sighing in relief when she closed the door behind her. It had been a hard couple of days, leaving Jake behind and not saying goodbye to his parents. She felt like she’d lost a large portion of her life, the only family she had.

The tears started again as she leaned against her kitchen counter, sobbing as she felt the ripples of grief flowing through her heart. Losing Jake was the hardest thing she’d ever gone through, worse than when her parents kicked her out. Then, she’d had Jake to fall back on. Now, she had no one. 

She skipped unpacking to go upstairs and shower, promptly falling into bed after she’d exhausted all of the hot water. She wrapped her arms around her pillow and breathed deeply, the lingering smell of Billy’s cologne causing her to throw her pillow across the room in frustration. Tossing herself over to the other side, she curled up and stared at the wall, watching the dwindling sunlight cast longer shadows over the framed photos above her vanity.

A pounding on her door dragged her out of bed when the shadows were at their longest, just before the sun set completely over the Mississippi. She groaned when she looked through the peephole, swinging the door open with a force that would have put a hole in her wall had she not caught the door.

“Billy, what are you doing here?” she asked, her shoulders tense and her jaw set.

“Baby, I came as soon as I heard you were home. I hate it when we fight,” he cooed as he stepped towards the threshold of the door.

“No,” she spat, holding up her hand. “You’re not coming in.”

“Have you been crying over me?” he pressed as he took in her red, puffy eyes. “That’s so sweet that you miss me, too.”

“I’m not crying over you,” she sneered, “that ship has sailed, Billy. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m exhausted. I just got home from a month-long deployment. And I am going to bed.”

“Please, baby, I just need a few minutes,” he begged, his dark eyes the perfect mix of sorrowful and hopeful.

She sighed heavily, the weight of everything breaking her resolve. “Come back tomorrow and we can talk then.”

“I’ll bring breakfast,” he promised with a wide smile.

She shut the door and trudged back to her bedroom, allowing the tears to flow again as she wished that she could call her best friend so he could put her back together again, piece by shattered piece. But this time he was the reason she was in tatters.

Jake was leaning against the wall in his normal spot near the pool table, nursing his fourth beer as he tried to figure out what had happened, what he had done to make her run away the way she did.

“Hangman, where’s Val?” Phoenix questioned as she approached the pool tables at The Hard Deck.

“I don’t know,” he sighed sadly.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she pressed, irritation lacing her words, taking a defensive stance. “She left with you for the break. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” he exclaimed, “she just bailed!”

Phoenix looked at him, really looked, and saw the exhaustion in his face along with defeat, tears building in his eyes before being blinked away. She waited patiently for him to continue, softening her features as she looked at him.

“I don’t know what happened,” he whispered, collapsing onto a stool. “Everything was fine, great even, and then next thing I knew, she was gone. She said…she said she got a call from Simpson and he needed her back asap. I know that wasn’t true. She wouldn’t let me take her to the airport, she ran out the door, her cab was already waiting and now she won’t answer my calls. 

“Simpson won’t tell me anything. She hasn’t answered her phone. I don’t know what to do, Tash.” He looked up at Phoenix with sad eyes, letting his guard down in front of her for the first time. “I miss her.”

“Come on,” she said, pulling him up, “outside before these guys get ammunition you don’t want them to have.” 

Phoenix led them to the edge of the water and sat, Hangman taking the spot next to her quietly. 

“Talk to me,” she said quietly as she kept her focus over the water, thinking that maybe he’d be more comfortable if he had the option to avoid looking at her. 

He detailed everything. Their friendship over the years, the new friends with benefits arrangement, how she called it off after the Dagger mission. He told her about the girl who came afterwards and how she ditched him, how Valkyrie came home with him for the weekend. How they had sex again but this time it was different, it felt…different.

“You’re in love with her,” she stated.

“What? How -”

“You’ve been in love with her for years, haven’t you?” Phoenix pressed, turning to look at Hangman. “Did you even know it?”

“I had no idea,” he confirmed in a whisper. "Not until she left."

"First things first, we have to find her. Then you're going to get your head out of your ass and fix things with her," she threatened as she stood, "or I'm setting her up with Payback."

When she woke up, she noted that it was late afternoon. She checked her phone and found missed calls from Phoenix, from Hangman, and even from Coyote. There were nearly thirty text messages, all from Phoenix and Hangman. She scoffed when she saw there was nothing from Billy who had promised to be there first thing in the morning. As she debated what to do with her day, her phone started to ring in her hand, the caller id showing the face of the one person she knew she could trust.

“Hi, Mrs. Anne,” she answered, trying to sound cheery.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” Anne asked immediately.

She couldn’t answer; sobs wracked her frame and rendered her unable to breathe, much less speak.

“Where are you?” Anne pressed.

“H-home,” she got out through the tears, “N-N-Nola.”

“I’m on my way,” Anne said, hanging up the phone, not giving Y/N any chance to argue.

Several hours later, near midnight, she heard her front door open and shut. She tensed for a moment before remembering that she was expecting someone, expecting the only person who could comfort her in this situation.

Her bedroom door creaked open and the concerned face of Anne Seresin peeked in, finding Y/N in a ball on her bed, blankets strewn across the floor. She rushed in and climbed into the bed next to the woman who had become a third daughter to her, opening her arms and inviting her into her lap.

The moment Anne’s arms wrapped around her, Y/N lost control and let go of every emotion she’d felt over the last three days. She couldn’t believe it had been only three days since she’d seen the woman who had been more of a mother than her actual mother. 

Anne couldn’t believe the fact that she was, once again, holding one of her children while they cried. She was sure she knew why Y/N was upset but she wasn’t going to push for information until she was ready to talk. She cooed soothing words and held her tight, the best she could do for the time being.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Anne whispered when the sobs quieted. She felt a nod and loosened her hold, allowing Y/N to sit up next to her.

“I guess it started a little over a year ago,” she began, “Jake had just broken up with Suze and I had just started dating Billy. Jake hated that,” she scoffed, remembering how he’d tried to dissuade her from dating him. 

“We barely spoke that year. Billy was insanely jealous of Jake; every time I mentioned him, we’d fight. Billy left the day before we got called back to San Diego. I met up with Jake at The Hard Deck and we talked, really talked, about what was going on. He, um, god I can’t believe I’m about to say this to his mom. He made the offer to be friends with benefits.

“I balked, at first,” she continued, fidgeting with her hands in her lap and keeping her gaze down. “But I thought about it all night long and eventually decided what the hell. It’s not like sex is going to make me fall in love with him. I want to go back and slap myself for that decision.”

“It wasn’t sex that made you fall in love with him,” Anne interjected, “you already were.”

“I know that now,” Y/N sighed, “after the mission, we stopped the benefits and went back to just friends, and that’s when I felt it. But he had found Christina and he was happy.” Tears started falling down her face again and she shut her eyes, opening them when she felt Anne’s thumbs brushing them away. 

“He wasn’t happy, baby,” Anne cooed. “I talked to him during that time and he didn’t sound nearly as happy as when he was spending more time with you.”

“You didn’t see his face when she texted or called him, Mom,” she whispered, “it killed me every time. So I gave up. She hated me so I chose to step back, let Jake have the chance to be happy even if it hurt me in the process. Then she ghosted him and he begged me to come home for the party. I don’t regret that at all. I missed you guys more than I ever knew. I just wish I would have set a boundary and kept it as just friends for the trip.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I heard him talking to Suze,” she choked out, swallowing the sobs that were threatening to break free. “She said he should have been with her instead of me and…and he said we weren’t together. I couldn’t stand there and watch him with her and pretend to be happy. I couldn’t, Mom.” 

The sobs started again and she leaned into Anne who embraced her once again. She let Y/N cry herself to sleep as she figured out what she was going to do to get her son’s head out of his ass.

Jake was startled when he saw his mom’s name flashing on his phone at three am. He answered in a hurry, expecting the worst. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, son,” she said. Jake could feel the anger radiating through the phone and he swallowed hard as he waited for her to continue. “You have to be the biggest idiot I have ever seen. How could you hurt someone as sweet as Y/N?”

“Mom, what are you talking about?” he asked, truly confused since he hadn’t talked to Valkyrie in…ten days, ten hours, and forty-eight minutes.

“She told me everything! Your whole idea to be friends with benefits and then telling that Suze girl that you weren’t together. I raised you better than that, Jacob,” she scolded.

Jake heard the sounds of departures being announced in the background and he sat up. “Where is she?”

“Oh no,” Anne denied. “I’m not telling you that so you can show up and break her heart all over. You’re going to be lucky if you see that girl again, I can tell you that much.”

“Mom, please,” he begged, his voice threatening to crack.

“No,” she refused, “I have to go. My flight is boarding. I’ll text you when I land.”

She hung up, leaving Jake more confused than ever. He had to find Valkyrie.

Everything: @thelastpyle @deangirl93 @evergreencowboy @katelyn--renee @fictional-affairs @paintlavillered @buckys-zomdoll @polireader @b3autyfuldisast3r @welcometothefandommultiverse @mlovesstories @supraveng @xoxabs88xox

Top Gun: @princessmisery666 @evansrogerskitten @bradshaw-fanclub @saiyanprincessswanie @luckyladycreator2 @princessphilly @ahockeywrites @clints-lucky-arrow @wildbornsiren @shanimallina87 @fuckyeahhangman @blue-aconite @hope-love-equality2 @peachiicherries @marvelousmermaid @therebeccaw @green-socks @imjess-themess @jostystyles @mayhem24-7forever @callsignaries @a-reader-and-a-writer @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

#writercole #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman seresin #hangman angst #the best benefits #part 12 #top #tgm

[deans-baby-momma]

Law & Love Chapter 2

Sheriff Beau Arlen is quiet the whole way across town, only paying attention to the road in front of the vehicle. The police scanner squawks and buzzes a few times and he reaches to turn it down; that’s the only movement from his side of the cab. 

The vehicle stops at the edge of the sidewalk in front of the house I'm renting and I reach for the handle, ready to get out and let him get back to whatever a sheriff does. But a hand on my left forearm stops me. 

"Listen Y/N-" he says before swallowing hard. "I'm sorry for the unprofessionalism back there. I was completely out of line."

His confession takes me off-guard and I look at him, puzzled. What the hell is he talking about?

"Okayyyyy?" I drag the word out, hoping he will elaborate. 

He takes the bait. "I shouldnt've discussed the fact that we are both new in town and that I'm not the true, legitimate sheriff. I don't want you to think I'm not taking your break-in seriously."

I shut the door and turn to face him. "That never crossed my mind, honestly. You're still an officer of the law right? And you took an oath to uphold that law, correct?"

Beau nods and states a very genuine, "Yes Ma'am."

"Then I know you will do what it takes to find the thief. Thank you for the ride home."

I re-open the door and step out of the vehicle. 

"Y/N?" he calls and I look up at him. "This is probably unethical and inappropriate, but-" he pauses and runs his hand through his hair "-would you like to go out sometime? Grab a bite to eat, get a drink, something?"

My smile spreads across my face as I look up at him. "You got my number on the report? Call me."

With that, I shut the door to his truck and watch as he waves and pulls away, going back to keeping the town of Helena safe and crime-free.

For the next few days, I receive little trinkets; both at home and at work. They make me smile and I am grateful that the bashful sheriff is being cautious but cute. The box of chocolate and the card that reads "I have my 👀 on you" is charming; the bouquet of Calla lilies on my front steps with a card that reads, "You look beautiful today" is heart-warming.

I hadn't noticed Beau in the area that day but that isn't too unbelievable; I am always pretty preoccupied with my job. And he knows where I live since he drove me home the day my car was broken into; it'd be effortless to have the flowers delivered.

It is almost noon and I am preparing for the usual lunch rush when the bell over the diner door rIngs out, alerting the staff of customers arriving.

I look up from wrapping silverware to see the very man who has been wooing me with his thoughtful gifts. 

Our eyes meet and a smile spreads across his face, mine matching it. Until his companion steps up beside him. 

She is only a few inches shorter than him, with curled blonde hair and practically flawless skin. She is downright gorgeous! Her jeans are so tight that they look like they’ve been painted on and her low-cut blouse showcases her ample cleavage. Her knee-high suede boots bring the ‘mid-western woman’ look to perfection. She turns her head and says something to him, causing the sheriff's eyes to leave mine and put his attention on her.

He nods and she walks away, sitting at a table in the far corner. Thankfully, it's not my section so I won't have to cater to them.

My eyes follow her and then turn back to Beau, who is now standing on the opposite side of the counter. 

"Hello Y/N," he says low, like he is trying to be discreet. Fuck being discreet and fuck him for asking me out when he apparently already has a girlfriend!

"Hello Sheriff," I greet loudly,  a direct contrast to his humble gesture. 

Beau looks at me confused, his brows furrowed. “Uh okay,” he hesitates, confusion clear on his face. “How are you today?”

I huff and turn away with a shrug of my shoulders but in my peripheral vision I can see him stare at me for a moment before he goes to join his date. In my mind I am already tossing the lilies that adorn my kitchen sink in the trash and burning the card he left me. If I hadn’t already eaten the chocolates, I’d have tossed them too!

Throughout the whole hour that the sheriff and his companion were there, I tried to not look in their direction but I couldn’t stop my eyes from glancing that way each time I’d head to the kitchen. 

They sat across the table from one another but leaned forward, their heads almost touching, as they studied something in between them. I couldn’t tell what it was but they were very interested in the pages on the table. Probably the itinerary for their wedding! Stupid asshole!

The bell above the door rings again and I look up to see a man in a policeman’s uniform enter and look around. When he sees the Sheriff, his eyes light up and he makes his way toward their table.

“Boss,” he says, drawing Beau’s attention to him. “We got a lead.”

At those words, both the Sheriff and the woman jump up and follow the officer out; the woman sticking behind to stuff the papers in her pocket before chasing the two men down. 

The other waitress, Deb, on duty approaches their table to clear it off and I go back to wrapping silverware,  trying not to let the 'Sheriff has a girlfriend' ordeal get to me.

"Y/N," Deb calls to me and I look her way. She has a smile on her face and a napkin in her hand, "I think this is for you."

Y/N it's not what you think. Please call me [phone]

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblinn @sea0405611 @delightfullykrispypeachh @larajadeschmidt1313 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspnn @squirrelnotsam  @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogarukee @deanwanddamonss @supravengg @deandreamernp @akshi82788 @lyarr244 @kazsrm677 @chriszgirl922

#law & love #jensen ackles #big sky #beau arlen #beau x reader

[gerec]

AU-gust 2023

18 & 19. Time Travel & Shapeshifters

Pairing(s): Xavierine, Cherik (sort of) Warnings: Violence

So I probably won't get all the prompts on the list finished but I definitely wanted to get this one done - it's a Terminator/DOFP mashup, two of my favourite things!

-------

It’s Saturday night and the club is packed wall to wall, the music thumping so loudly that it makes Charles’ head throb in time to the rhythmic beat. Everyone around him is high on drugs or alcohol – likely both – as eager to dance the night away as he is to numb his senses. Being here would be intolerable if not for the serum keeping his telepathy reined in, blocking out the onslaught of other people’s thoughts and feelings so he’s not utterly crushed by the deluge.

“Whiskey. Make it a double.”

He tosses the drink back with a grimace, savouring the burn, and waves the bartender to give him another. It’s still too early to decide if he wants company and stay overnight in the city, or take a cab back to Westchester and sleep in his own bed. For now, he only needs to focus on getting stupidly, blindingly drunk, so he can forget everything that’s gone wrong in his life; the school in shambles, and the people he loved who left him behind without a thought.

His phone buzzes when he’s on his third drink, and Charles pulls it out with a sigh. Sure enough, it’s a text marked urgent from Hank, along with apparently half a dozen missed calls from his erstwhile – and only – friend. Stifling the guilt and annoyance over what would undoubtedly be another unwanted lecture, he switches the phone off completely, and resumes his solitary drinking.

Unfortunately, he’s interrupted again by a rough hand on his shoulder.

He turns his head and growls, shoving the hand none too gently off him and snaps, “Piss off, mate. Find your own spot at the bar.”

“Charles,” the stranger says, low and fierce, eyes busy scanning the crowd. He shifts to stand solidly behind Charles, as though he’s using his own burly body as a shield. “You’re in danger. Someone’s trying to kill you.”

“Look, I don’t know who you are—”

“I’m Logan, and I don’t have time to explain everything right now,” the man growls, grabbing a hold of Charles’ arm and dragging him off the bar stool. “Hank is waiting in the car. We have to get you out of here. Now.”

“What? Hank is here?” He yelps, losing his balance and stumbling into the stranger’s arms. The alcohol he’s consumed isn’t doing him any favors, his mind sluggish as he tries to process Logan’s words.

He’s even more confused when the crowd suddenly parts and he sees Erik of all people, expression blank as he rapidly closes the distance from across the dance floor. Erik, who’s supposed to be in prison for murder and not here, in the middle of a packed nightclub in New York.

It’s like a nightmare, when Erik raises his arm and points the gun at him, aiming for his head; he can’t make sense of what’s happening, his mind and body refusing to move, unable to fathom the idea that Erik wants to kill him—

The bar explodes in a shower of broken glass, bullets riddling the space where Charles had been only brief seconds before. There’s so much screaming, and the crush of bodies as the crowd jostles to get away, as he lays stunned on the ground with Logan’s body sprawled on top of him.

“Come on.”

Logan hoists him to his feet and tosses him behind the bar for cover, before unsheathing claws from his hands and stabbing Erik in the throat.   

“Erik! No!” he screams, only for Logan to slash him again, vicious and brutal as he knocks Erik clear off his feet. He doesn’t understand why any of this is happening – why Logan is protecting him or why Erik wants him dead – but he can’t stand by and watch Erik die even after everything that’s happened---

“That’s not the real Lehnsherr,” Logan says, grabbing a hold of Charles again as he stares wild-eyed at the body twitching on the ground. “That’s a Sentinel, a machine, sent from the future. It can change its shape to resemble any mutant or human. It chose Lehnsherr’s face so it could get close and kill you.”

He wants to tell Logan he’s crazy, and that his explanation is too fantastical to believe. But even as he watches, the thing is slowly mending itself, the gaping holes closing over as bits of what look like liquid metal shift and morph over the body. Even the clothes return to their pristine state, and Charles is reminded suddenly of Raven, and her remarkable ability to change shapes at will.

Already, the Sentinel is reaching for its gun, and they have literal seconds before it gets up and resumes his mission.

Logan turns to him and offers his hand. “Come with me if you want to live.”

Charles takes it.

They run.

#cherik #xavierine #gerec writes #au-gust 2023 #day 18 #day 19 #time travel #shapeshifters

[emmymaehereeeeee]

Just uh..saw your post about opening up requests and I’m taking my hit 😳..

So first off, I’m a horn dog. So smut would be my first way too go? Could I ask for a smut/ angsty fic with Austin!Elvis? After (movie!!) Elvis shoots the tv’s in the international hotel, maybe he’s upset? And he calls up his best girl or what not for alittle..’alone time’? Maybe she’s just a occasional hookup, and like..in the heat of the moment, Elvis confesses feelings for this person? Lemme know if you need more info on this! I really like the thought of this request! Love your writing dear! 🤭

Elvis threw the gun down to the side of him, practically ripping the phone off of the hook, “Doll, need you.” He incoherently mumbled. Elvis felt dizzy, he didn’t know what to think, he kicked the gun under the dresser in an attempt to hide the memory of what had just happened. 

“Everything alright, E?” You asked, your tone similar to that of a whisper. 

“Doll, please.” He pleaded with you, running a hand through his hair.

“I’ll be over in ten minutes.” You said, hanging up the phone and grabbing a slip to put on, you looked in the mirror, making sure everything looked right, swiping some lipstick on over your lips. You adjusted your breasts one last turn before blowing yourself a kiss in the mirror.  You stumbled out into the night, waving down a cab, and making your way through the night to meet your caller. You leaned your head against the cab window, the lights of Las Vegas dancing across your face, you felt as though you were lost in a daze. The sharp brakes of the cab stopping at International shook you from your thoughts. You handed the man his money, bidding him goodnight. You stepped out of the car and walked towards the door, you briskly walked through the lobby and up to the elevator making your way to Elvis’s suite. The slight hum of the elevator making its way up the shaft filled your ears until finally ding the doors opened up to Elvis’s suite.  You stepped out of the elevator and walked to his door, you knocked quietly, adjusting the straps of your dress. The door flung open and you were met with your caller. 

“Hey doll, thank ya for coming.” He mumbled, closing the door behind you. You nodded, slipping into the dark room. “You know I will always come for you, E.” You said, stepping close to him your hands roaming across his chest. Elvis lowered his hands down to your waist, looking down at you.

“Knew you would, always been my good girl.” He mumbled, moving down to pull up at the edges of your dress.  He pulls the dress up off of you, running his hands down your sides, the cool touch of his rings leaving a trail of goosebumps across your skin. Elvis moved to unhook your bra, you moved to finish unbuttoning his shirt. He held up your bra, tossing it over his shoulder, pulling off your underwear, discarding of those in the same way. 

“Look so good for me, bet you’re already wet just thinking about me, hm,” He asked, pulling your hand to feel his hard cock through his pants. You lifted your head up, gazing up at him, feeling his hard cock all but pulsing under your touch. Elvis pulled his pants down and off, picking up off the ground and taking you to the bed. Elvis was never one for foreplay, especially not tonight, his mind was flooded with the thoughts of the unknown and all he wanted to do was engulf himself in your presence. He slowly slid himself into you, eliciting a quiet moan from your lips. Elvis reached two fingers up into your mouth tapping on your chin, prompting you to open your mouth and take his two fingers in. “Want you to suck on my fingers while I fuck you, alright?” He asked, waiting for you to nod. You nodded your head quickly, sucking softly on his fingers as he pushed and pulled his cock out of you. He kept a steady pace at first but soon sped up.

“Mm-Mm.” You moaned against Elvis’s fingers, rolling your hips up against his. Elvis pulled his fingers out your mouth, grabbing either side of your hips, and slamming into you. “E, Oh god.” You felt your toes begin to curl, and you reached up and drug your nails down his back. “Ha-ah.” You moaned out, arching your back.

“Fucking Christ, ha- I love you!” Elvis groaned out before pulling out and cumming all over your lower stomach and chest.

The sound of heavy breathing and the soft hum of the fan were the only noises that filled the room. “E?” You mumbled rolling over to face him, touching his face gently. “Did you mean it?” You asked, you tried to hide the look of hope from your face. You had always loved Elvis, but the fear of him rejecting you kept your mouth shut.

“Mean what doll, when I said I loved you?” He asked, kissing your fingertips that had been tracing his face. You nodded your head.

“Doll, I’ve always loved you, and I ain’t just saying that because I just got off on you, I mean it, honestly.” He pulled you in close, kissing your forehead, holding you close. You smiled softly, your eyelids feeling heavy. You closed your eyes and let the sleep overtake you

#emmy mae talks #elvis movie #elvis presley #elvis #elvis 2022 #ask box #austin!elvis x reader #emmy nominee #daytime emmys #friends #elvis the pelvis #austin butler #emmymaewrites💜

[imagine-darksiders]

Eden's Heir - Chapter 1

Worm-holes.

Strife x Reader. War x Reader Summary: A wedding day is supposed to be the most magical day of any bride's life. But even a on a perfect day, accidents can occur. Time and space can tear themselves open, at just the right moment, to send you spinning into a world of giants and demons and angels who struggle to believe that you're a human, because humans are not like you. Of course they're not - you're 40,000 years removed from them, sucked into a faulty worm-hole and spat out in the past, on another plane of existence. The Universe, after all, was never created to be free of imperfections, and not even a Creator is without flaws.

---

The lone, black taxi trundles lazily to a stop just outside the church gates, the purr of its engine rolling across a quiet graveyard and disturbing one, solitary crow from its perch atop a crumbling headstone.

Poised awkwardly inside the cab, stuffed in alongside an excessive amount of taffeta silk and lace, you gaze through the window, watching the crow flap into the air and soar away from the churchyard with enviable ease.

If only it were that simple for you.

“Here we are then, Miss! Ope, soon to be Missus,” the cab driver announces, twisting his mirror down to catch your eye in the rear-view, “Couldn't've asked for better weather, eh? When I married my old lady, it was piddlin' down.”

You can't deny he's right about the weather. Your fiancee, Cain, had chosen this Saturday in early September, and the cloudless sky that hangs above the pretty, sandstone church seems to bathe the whole world in warm, comforting azure.

There's no wind either - a stroke of luck that will no doubt please your soon-to-be mother-in-law if she insists on wearing that wide-brimmed, ostentatious hat atop her perm.

“I'm sure it was lovely, regardless,” you reply absently, straining to reach over layer upon layer of ruffled train to reach the little window divider and slide a fifty through the slot, “Here. Keep the change.”

The cabbie swivels about in his seat, taking the proffered note and giving it a quick once-over before he lets out a long, slow whistle. “You sure, Miss? Meter only says thirty five!”

Leaning back in your seat, you turn to face the outer window again, peering through the glass at the uneven, cobblestone path that will inevitably lead you to your groom.

Painted lips tug up into a rueful smile and you tell the driver, “Trust me, I'd rather give you a fifty than spend five hundred hiring a Fiat from some guy who slapped a white bow on the bonnet and called it a wedding car.”

At that, the cabbie throws his head back and lets out a loud bark of laughter, exclaiming “Economical! Your fella's a lucky man!”

You bite back the instinctive urge to impress upon him that you're the lucky one, really.

“Go get 'im then, love!” he exclaims, casting a final glance at you over his shoulder, “And try not to look so nervous, yeah? This is the most magical day of your life!”

Perfectly manicured fingers slide around the door handle and you pause just long enough to toss the driver a tenuous grin before pushing open the door and letting the excessive train of your wedding dress all but explode out of the confined space you've bundled it into.

You have to brace both hands on the open doorway in order to haul yourself out onto the pavement, grunting in a decidedly unladylike manner from the effort. But once you're out, the poise returns, you step away from the taxi and begin languidly rearranging your wedding dress, feeling in no particular hurry to begin your march. White silk sparkles in the bright autumn sunlight and a full length skirt cascades down to the floor in a waterfall of layers and embroidered tulle. It's quite beautiful - as well it ought to be with your own mother at the helm, dressing you up in the sort of extravagance you wouldn't have even glanced at if not for her.

But, she'd offered to pay the dress's rental fee and... well... it is a Westwood....

Cain will no doubt be impeccably dressed, as always, standing at the alter beside the best man in his tailored, black suit, sending a winning smile out at the throng of guests who have crammed themselves inside the church. You imagine there'll be an eclectic myriad of people attending, from his extensive family and friends to a handful of your own relatives, and four bridesmaids, all hand-picked, of course, by the Maid of Honour – Cain's sister.

They're all lovely girls, from what you could tell in the little time you've actually spent with them.

Your new sister-in-law is.... wilful. But she was good enough to appoint herself your Maid of Honour, ultimately saving you the trouble of having to choose one yourself, so you should really be grateful. She'd also been so kind as to pick out the flower arrangements for you, and you'll admit, during the rehearsal, the church's interior had looked absolutely stunning with black dahlias and vibrant, yellow carnations winding around the pillars and pews with loose petals scattered across the glistening, marble aisle.

Behind you, the taxi revs its engine and sputters away, leaving you to stand by yourself at the gates, twisting your engagement ring around and around on your finger, casting little flecks of light across the ground when the sun shine through the sizeable diamond sitting inside the band.

You take a moment to lament the absence of your father, but the hospital staff had made it quite clear that if he were to remove his IV lines and pumps to walk you down the aisle so soon after a stroke, he might not live long enough to see the vows. Your father had been willing to risk it. You, however, were not. Oh, certainly, it would have been lovely to have him hand you over to Cain, if only so you don't have to enter that church alone. You can live without that particular tradition, while your father might very well lose his life carrying it out, the stubborn old bastard.

Clenching your jaw, you draw in a lungful of fresh air, hoping against hope that it might be enough to clear away the heavy clouds fogging up your brain.

Your father's illness aside, everything is so, so close to perfect. Any bride would call it a win. Any bride would be lucky to have a wedding day like the one you're about to have, and any bride would be over the moon to marry a man like Cain Cox -Valedictorian, entrepreneur, home-owner and eventual heir to his father's lucrative business.

You're lucky.

You should feel lucky...

… Frankly though, you'd probably feel luckier if a pigeon flew by and dumped all over your nice, shiny wedding dress.

You're the only thing about this wedding that isn't perfect.

You're the freckle marring the day's otherwise spotless complexion.

You're the feckless idiot who can hardly stomach the idea of walking down that detestable aisle to say 'I do,' to your own fiancée.

But it's too late to back out now. So, with your heart pounding against your ribcage like a prisoner beating the bars of their cell, you begin to wobble your way up the uneven, graveyard path on your dainty heels, reaching up to flick your veil down over your face.

Perhaps you can muster a smile before you reach the alter.

Your fingers twist apprehensively around the strap of a silver bag that you plan on leaving somewhere near the entrance to retrieve later. Every step that brings you closer to the church feels like walking towards the precipice of a bottomless pit, which you're fairly sure isn't a feeling that brides are supposed to have on their Big Day.

Halfway up the path, you catch movement ahead in the large, wooden doorway.

One of the ushers has been watching for you, and he's just just dashed inside, no doubt signalling your imminent arrival.

Sure enough, seconds later, the air is suddenly filled with the melodic, easily-recognisable Wedding March, blasted from a pipe organ sitting high above the narthex inside.

Each resounding chord boxes at your eardrums and you wince as they seem to quiver in your head, leaving you digging your nails into the palms of your hands to refrain from trying to cover your ears.

The church looms over you, casting its great, unassailable shadow across your face, you hear a hush sweep over everything just as you reach the entrance, and then... without missing a step, you simply turn to the left and veer off the well-worn path, your heels sinking into the grass as you retreat past stain-glass windows and disappear underneath the darkness of the bell tower.

'Well, that was unexpected of me,' you muse blankly, tucking yourself in between two pilasters at the rear of the church and slumping down the stone wall until your backside hits the dirt, wide eyes glistening as you stare out across the graveyard beyond. One hand comes up to clamp over your mouth, stifling the rapid, uneven breaths that leave you in gushing bursts. Your other hand, in the meantime, you set on the grass at your side, fingers burrowing aimlessly into the grass and muddying up your perfectly manicured nails.

'Just need some air,' you tell yourself firmly, 'It's pre-wedding jitters... That's all.'

'Jitters...' another part of you scoffs contemptuously. There's cold feet, and then there's the icy crawl of dread that bites at your spine and leaves you feeling vulnerable and frightened and paralysed where you sit, not quite at the stage where you're bursting into tears, but there's a definite sting behind your eyelids that makes you glad you'd elected to wear false lashes over your waterproof mascara.

“God,” you sigh raspingly, peeling your hand away from your mouth and letting your skull thud backwards against the stone behind you, “What the Hell am I doing...?”

You seem to have been asking yourself that same question more and more of late.

Cain is waiting faithfully inside, probably wondering where on Earth you are by now, along with the rest of the wedding party.

Already, you can hear the awkward crunch and slide of heels on gravel.

“Where the HELL are you!?”

Ah. There's his sister, Delilah, likely furious with you for disrupting her brother's big day.

You suppose you deserve her wrath. But right now, you aren't sure you're brave enough to face it.

And isn't that the plain and simple truth?

You're a coward.

You were too cowardly to tell Cain you didn't like him as anything more than a family friend who could only boast that title because his father was an old buddy of your own. You were too cowardly to cause a fuss when he invited you to his mother's sixtieth birthday party and thought it would be a good idea to propose to you as a gift to her, in front of his entire family.

Even now, you can still remember how you told yourself, 'I'll say yes now, and avoid an upset. But later, I'll take him aside and tell him the truth.'

Of course, by the time you'd mustered up enough courage to mention your... reservations, you got a call from your mother.

She'd just heard the news from Delilah.

She sounded so... so happy on the end of your phone. She'd even cried, you seem to recall.

“I've been worried to death about who'll look after you when your father and I are gone,” she'd gushed, unwittingly plunging a white-hot blade into your stomach and giving it a vicious twist. Later, you'd realise that knife had opened you up for panic to get in like a parasite.

“I'm so happy,” she'd added, “Cain is such a good man!”

You heard it often. That seemed to be the general consensus, and the more you heard, the more you found yourself wondering what any of it had to do with him being a good man.

'He works so hard.'

'He has fantastic prospects.'

'He's got money, with a view to come into even more when his parents eventually pass away.'

'He's the perfect match for you!'

… So why couldn't you fall in love with him?

You'd given it the old college try, of course, to appease your family and your peers. And besides, 'sometimes these things take time!'

Well, you'd given it time. You sucked up your reservations, you swallowed down the bile that rose into your throat whenever he kissed you sloppily after a night of drinking whisky with his boys, and you dealt.

The situation only proceeded to get a whole lot worse.

You can't remember who the first person was to mention the pitter-patter of tiny feet, but you know you hate them. So very much because not long afterwards, Cain started talking babies. You hadn't even married the man and he would stroke your belly whilst you lay with your back to him in bed, whispering about how many you were going to give him.

That, at least, you had the guts to shoot down.

“Bit early to start talking kids when I don't even think I want to have any.”

There had been an eerie silence following your reply, hanging over the bedroom like a suffocating cloak of unease.

You couldn't see his face with your back to him, but after a while, you felt his warm breath slide over the shell of your ear and he'd chuckled boyishly, crooning, “Whatever you say, darling.”

You'd hoped your refusal would be a deal-breaker for him. You kept up with it, repeating over and over to anyone who'd listen that you don't want children, always in the hopes that Cain might be the one who calls off the whole marriage and save you the trouble.

The wedding was already looming by the time it really hit you.

He wasn't backing out.

You started to get overwhelmed. You could see a dark, dizzying spiral coiling downwards right in front of your eyes and you were too anxious to do anything about it. You started thinking that while you might not have loved Cain at first, you could grow to love him through even more time and effort. He's a good man, after all, and you'd be an idiot to throw away the security and safety that marriage brings.

Looking back now, while you listen to the crunching footsteps round the side of the church in your direction, you can't be sure you ever really thought it would get this far.

Well. It did, evidently. So, more fool you.

The sight of the church, the sound of the organ drifting out through a heavy, wooden door... it's as if it's only just occurred to you that this is going to happen, and instead of nervous excitement that most brides attest to, your stomach is as cold and barren as an icy tundra.

Oh, you imagine you'll inevitably still go through with this whole debacle. Aloud, you can chalk it up to pre-wedding jitters, you'll get married, and then you'll focus on falling in love with him. There are too many people in that grand, open room to let down if you get cold feet now.

And his family really have sunk a lot of money into this thing.

All that wasted cash doesn't sit right with you at all.

The first tear finally escapes the confines of your eyelid and blazes a trail through the powder on your face.

Resignation, at last, begins to sink in.

This is happening.

“Y/N!” Delilah hollers, so close now that you're certain at any moment you'll catch a strong whiff of that Dolce perfume she seems to favour.

All you need is five minutes to yourself. Just to regain your composure, to get your head back on straight.

To breathe.

But then, this is your fault anyway, isn't it. You should have said something when you had the chance.

Now, you're going to have to lay in a bed of your own making.

And cope.

With a noisy sniffle, you swipe a finger under your eye and flick away a tear before you gather your feet underneath you and heave yourself up onto unsteady legs. All around you, the dress tumbles down in intricate folds and rustles audibly as you take a faltering step forwards, ready to face Delilah's ire and subject yourself to the scrutiny of hundreds.

But in taking that first, tentative step, you suddenly encounter an unforeseen problem.

Your silver heel doesn't even hit the ground.

“Wha-!” is all you manage to blurt before your shout of alarm is cut off and your foot simply disappears through the grass, and never once makes purchase on anything solid beneath it.

It's as though you've stepped off a bridge into thin air. You suddenly find yourself in a disorienting free-fall straight down through the earth that you're certain had been perfectly corporeal only seconds ago.

Nothing about the ground itself has changed. It still looks solid, from the brief glimpse you manage to catch of it as you descend. Instant terror steals the air from your lungs and you desperately throw your arms out to try and catch yourself on an edge of some kind.

It's decidedly odd being able to see a solid object right in front of you, and yet being utterly incapable of placing your hands upon it. Nothing ceases your rapid descent into the very fabric of the Earth.

You choke on a shriek, clamping your eyes shut instinctively when the ground rises up to meet your head...

There's a loud whoosh that sucks your eardrums inside out.... and you pass right on through an invisible worm-hole, into a world of darkness and rushing wind.

------------

There are those who believe wholeheartedly that nothing happens by accident. Every choice and outcome is predetermined by some great, omniscient being or higher power. The Universe, according to some, does not make mistakes.

Those people, sadly, would be wrong.

Sometimes, accidents do happen, even on a cosmic scale, even to space-time itself. Sometimes, there are pockets of magic on Earth that have remained hidden from humanity for thousands of years, portals placed in random locations by a species so ancient that their name has long been lost to history. Sometimes those portals, much like human electricity, can experience an extreme fluctuation, or a power surge.

The Universe, after all, was never created to be free of imperfections, and not even a Creator is without flaws...

---------

The Void....?

'Damn. Why the Hell would Samael whisk us off to such a gloomy in-between?'

The great magic of the demon Prince's portal fizzles and dies out as it closes behind a pair of titanic figures, leaving them stranded and seemingly alone on a vast, floating rock that hangs over a bottomless abyss.

The slightly smaller of the figures straightens up from his hunched position, still caught a little off balance after taking an impromptu trip through the fabrics of time and space.

Strife, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, cranes his helm back to gaze up towards the foreign 'sky,' or lack thereof.

It's all mist, as far as his sharp eyes can see... Just mist and floating rocks that stretch on endlessly into a wide, open nothingness.

“Welcome to the Void,” he drawls sardonically, turning about to check on the youngest yet ironically the largest of his four siblings, and the only one who has accompanied him to this lonely place.

War, an armoured behemoth even by Nephilim standards, is already on his feet with his favoured, blood-red hood pulled low to cast half of his pale face in shadow. Though even that extra effort isn't quite enough to hide the thin, blazing brand that stretches in an arch across his forehead, glowing with a soft light as if there's a layer of searing lava flowing just beneath the surface of his skin in lieu of blood.

If he hadn't already seen War bleed during battle, Strife would probably believe that his brother's insides consist of nothing but the liquid fires of a planet's core.

The Red Rider casts his narrow glare around the plateau they've found themselves stranded upon, and Strife has no doubt that he's scouring their immediate surroundings in search of an ambush, but when he finds nothing waiting to leap out at them from the shadows, his absurdly immense shoulders slowly drain of their tension and his hand twitches away from the grip of the broadsword strapped to his back. Chaoseater's bloodlust will have to be sated another day.

“Samael must have sent us here for a reason,” War announces, his booming voice ricocheting between the islands of stone and echoing back at them several times over.

Strife makes a mental note to yell into the Void later to test that echo, but for now, finding out why they're here takes priority.

Although to be frank, he's not exactly sure how eager he is to meet an associate of Samael's.

“C'mon,” he sighs, resigned, “Let's go find Sammy's pal and see what's what.”

Without another word, which is surprisingly rare in the older rider's case, Strife leads the way across their rocky platform. There doesn't appear to be any clear-cut path around the Void, and though the realm is bathed in a mystifying, if dim teal light, neither Horseman can determine its source when they surreptitiously throw their gazes about, both curious about their unfathomable surroundings, yet neither willing to admit to the fact.

Together, in silence, the brothers make their way along the most obvious 'path,' listening to their heavy footfalls bounce around between the suspended debris until they come upon a short, curved staircase.

Once they ascend to the top and emerge onto another flat, open plateau, Strife abruptly draws to a halt and lets out an obnoxious groan as War clomps up beside him and quirks a slender, white brow down at his fellow Nephilim.

Ahead of them, in the middle of the island, is a wide, circular dais, and at its centre sits a pool filled with some kind of viscous liquid that throws out a brilliant, cerulean glow. Carved into the stone around the pool's edge are foreign symbols, each emanating the same hue, neither Demonic nor Angelic in origin, nor are they reminiscent of the language pertaining to the Old ones.

Strife huffs beneath his silver helm. Death, the eldest of the Four Horsemen, would probably be able to read them... the brainy bastard...

Aloud, he throws his head back and gripes, “Ugh! Serpent Holes... I should've known.” He stomps closer to the humming pool and eyes its placid and shimmering surface distastefully, planting both of his gauntlets squarely on his hips.

“You are familiar with these?” War asks, stepping up next to his brother and sliding his eyes over to the trio of statues that encircle the pool, each depicting massive snakes coiled into a striking pose.

Sighing roughly, Strife drops his chin and grumbles, “Unfortunately, yeah. They belong to a... a guy I've heard of.”

“Samael's associate?” War guesses.

The other Horseman nods in reply. “If so, it sure would explain a few things...”

War's brows draw into an impervious line across his forehead and he gives his brother a serious look, lowering his voice to ask, “Can he be trusted?”

Strife's short bark of laughter leaps out of him before he can swallow it down, earning himself a withering glare from War. The older rider knows exactly why he's asking, but to question whether this guy can be trusted is like questioning if an angel can be funny.

The answer, categorically...?

“Uh no,” he chuckles, clearing his throat, “Absolutely not. In no way possible.”

Rankled from being laughed at, War nonetheless gives a resolute hum of understanding.

“But,” Strife adds as he swivels his helm around pointedly, “I don't see another way out of here. So, what're we waiting for?” With one, gauntleted hand, he gestures to the mill-pond in front of them. “Let's hop in.”

Dubious, War squints down at the puddle, his scowl somehow growing even deeper than its usual profundity as he asks, “Is it our only option?”

Shrugging one of his armoured shoulders, Strife replies, “We could just wait right here...” A pause, and then, “... forever.”

The larger Nephilim's lips purse and he seems to come to a decision rather quickly. Moving aside, War gestures down at the pool with a dismissive flick of his prosthetic wrist. “After you.”

“Such a gentleman,” Strife mutters under his breath, moving closer to the Serpent Hole and sparing it a quick once-over.

These things are a means of travel he's never made use of before. There are supposedly countless portals just like this one, spread across every corner of every world, like an insect hive with millions of entrances and exits, all converging in this one, shrouded realm.

The smooth and glassy surface looks stable at least, so it seems safe enough, or as safe as any portal leading to an undisclosed location can be.

But then... when has Strife ever concerned himself with safety?

Stepping confidently onto the dais, his golden eyes slip shut as that familiar, disorienting sensation sweeps his legs out from underneath him and an ancient magic pulls him down through the rippling surface and into the conduit's 'throat,' sensing War's presence close behind him.

At an impossible speed, the Horsemen's atoms are flung through the fabrics of space, hurtling them on towards the connecting portal.

Between one breath and the next, Strife's ears suddenly catch a strange, faraway noise, a high-pitched ringing that seems to grow from ignorable to downright earsplitting in a single blink.

'What the....?'

Solid ground materialises beneath the Horseman's boots and he's just about to peel his eyes open and search for the source of the noise when all of a sudden, something small and squidgy crashes into his torso and sends him staggering backwards off the Serpent Hole, tripping over the lip of the well and sprawling onto his backside with a shout and an almighty clamour of metal striking stone.

… At least the ringing has stopped.

The first explanation that springs to mind is that he's being attacked.

There's a weight tangled up against his chest and the tickle of hair or perhaps fur brushing the underside of his chin.

With lightening speed, Strife snaps a hand down and wrenches Mercy - one of his infamous pistols - from its holster, his blazing eyes enraged, and his lips curled into a snarl, ready to tear his unexpected assailant to pieces for daring to knock him on his ass.

The Horseman cranes his neck down at an awkward angle to look this coward in the face so he can give them his own, personal farewell.... only to freeze in his tracks, his eyes growing round and wide.

The snarl is wiped off his mouth as swiftly as it had appeared.

There's a... a person in his lap, clothed from head to toe in immaculate, white garb. Their hands – and, Creator, those are some tiny hands – are splayed out across his armoured chest plate, each finger tipped by an unnaturally pink nail. There's some kind of sheer, lacy veil poised daintily on top of their head, flipped back to cascade down the length of their spine.

Stunned into rare silence, Strife can only gawk as the person weakly pushes themselves up, using his chest as a prop and groaning in apparent pain.

A face rises from his dusty, old cowl, turning upwards, and all at once, the breath catches inside his throat when two eyes - each framed by thick, ebony lashes - flutter delicately open and lock onto his like a magnet to metal.

----------

Somebody must have hit you with their car. That's the only explanation your poor, frazzled brain can come up with when all motion ceases in a flash of brilliant, white light, and a jarring thud knocks the wind right out of you and causes your teeth to clatter around inside your skull.

After peeling your eyelids apart, it takes you a few, dizzying seconds to make sense of what you're looking at.

Everything is still spinning, the whole world is little more than a blur of greys and blacks until finally, you give a hard blink and focus on two pinpricks of golden light hanging side by side within a beclouded, silver blob.

With immense effort, your brain chugs into gear and you squint, face screwed up in exasperated confusion. Beneath your hands, you gradually become aware of a warm, solid surface moving steadily up and down.

Unfortunately for you, you're given no more time to try and decipher just what it is you're laying upon.

Without warning, something hard and unforgiving grabs a fistful of your dress's neckline from behind and your ensuing yelp is strangled out of you as you're torn away from the golden lights and hurled through the air. A split second of gut-churning free-fall occurs before you hit solid ground again with a hard 'whumph!' rolling several times over across an uneven surface and getting thoroughly tangled up in your skirts until you finally skid to a somewhat painful stop on your spine, eyes screwed shut.

You dimly make a note to get the plates of the god damn semi-truck that must have just ploughed into you... as soon as you can see straight, that is.

“Brother! Are you injured!?” a voice booms out, too loud for your pounding head to cope with.

It takes considerable effort just to roll your neck over until your cheek is pressed against the wonderfully cool stone underneath you.

Heaving out a weary groan, you pry your eyelids apart and squint through the strange, dull light to see a pair of... figures, you suppose, standing several yards away from you, slowly coming into focus. Blinking, you attempt to raise your head to get a better look at them, your neck straining from the effort.

One of the figures is leaning down and hauling a slightly smaller one onto their feet, only to have their efforts rewarded by being shoo-ed away by the latter, who huffs, “M'fine, War. Relax. She just caught me off guard.”

A beat of silence follows, and then... “She?”

The pair of them turn in your direction, and as they do, you promptly feel the blood in your veins run thick with cold.

Eyes. Those golden pinpricks of light you'd been staring into mere moments ago had been eyes.

The pain in your neck dissipates as your brain catches up with the situation and a neural pathway clears to make room for alarm and mounting horror.

What... happened? Who are these people?

...

… You need to get up...

Gritting your teeth so hard that your jaw begins to ache, you roll yourself over onto your front and push against the ground, bullying your battered body up onto trembling hands and knees as the familiar weight of your shoulder bag slides down your ribs and lands on the ground with a 'clink.' Thunderous footsteps shake the tiny stones beneath you, and, still in the throes of a daze, you watch them skitter about, wondering how large the approaching figure could possibly be that he might cause the Earth itself to quiver.

Stinging pain on your arms briefly draws your focus to a crosshatch of scrapes and grazes that litter the skin from wrist to elbow, though you don't have long to inspect them before that same, rough hand is snatching you up by the collar of your dress once more, this time tearing a yelp from your lips as the ground falls away and you're hoisted into the air, your shoes dangling several, alarming feet off the ground.

It abruptly occurs to you that you might be lobbed again, so, with unparalleled haste, you throw your arms out and tear your eyes off your wedding shoes, raising your head and blurting, “Wait! Wait, don't, ple-...!”

Whatever plea you'd intended to make is forgotten in the blink of an eye.

It is immensely disconcerting to find yourself hanging clear off the ground and still having to look up into the fierce, arctic eyes of a bonafide giant.

A crimson hood cloaks half of the strange man's face in darkness, but his teeth gleam starkly in contrast as he aims a snarl at you that could rival an angry lion's. With deliberate ferocity, his almighty jaw is pried apart, causing you to instinctively brace.

It swiftly becomes apparent that you were right to do so.

“What is the meaning of this ambush!?” he roars, and a blast of heat slugs you squarely in the face, forcing you to clamp your eyes shut and try to hunch into your shoulders before you're able to blink tentatively up at him again once the warmth recedes.

You can't think fast enough to formulate a response.

The man holding you aloft – though you hesitate to call him a man at all – has to be something straight out of the fantasy novels you read as a child. He's built like an ox on steroids, an almighty, armoured brute with shoulders as broad as a truck and a face like chiselled granite. He glowers down at you from beneath his crimson cloak with eyes that lack any kind of iris or pupil. Instead, you find yourself trapped by two, white-blue pits of light that burn the same colour as a roaring gas fire.

Your impromptu study is interrupted when the man peels his lips back even further to expose sharpened canines and he gives you a rough shake, as though you weigh no more to him than a dollar bill.

“Speak!” he demands, “Before I decorate this wretched abyss with your innards!”

Somehow, you don't think that's an empty threat.

Thoroughly jostled, panic bubbles up inside your chest like acid and your mouth turns as dry as a desert when you peel your tongue from the roof of it, parting your trembling lips and sucking down a lungful of stale, musty air.

If this man had been expecting a coherent response, he's about to be sorely disappointed.

“AAAAAAHHHH!”

The ungodly shriek that explodes past your teeth has the stranger's head jolting back, his brows unfurling by a fraction to give away his surprise.

Like a mouse caught alive in slowly closing jaws, you begin to thrash and struggle, twisting yourself from left to right and even bringing your legs up to paddle uselessly at his armoured stomach, screeching, “LET ME GO!”

The only indication that he's even noticing your efforts is the single, snowy brow that makes a steady journey higher up his forehead.

“Ha! What've I always told you, War?” another robust voice echoes across the platform and into your ears, momentarily drawing your focus away from your pitiful escape attempt.

'War? What kind of a name is that?'

The second figure emerges from behind the first - smaller and slighter than your captor, but still leagues bigger than you.

Boldly, he leans an elbow against his companion and cocks his head at you, drawling, “You sure have a way with the ladies.”

Jesus, there isn't an inch of this one that isn't strapped up in gleaming armour, gunmetal grey in the seams and dulled silver everywhere else. Even his head is obscured by an avian helm made entirely from metal, save for two, angular hollows carved into the front, from which a pair of eyes peer out at you, entirely featureless as well. These, however, spark with intrigue rather than rage, glowing gold like a freshly struck match.

The larger of the two has yet to take his own eyes off you. He ignores his friend's jab, instead jutting his square chin at you and growling, “What do you make of this, Brother?”

Brother?

“Whaaat the shiiiit?” you whimper breathlessly, reaching up and feeling for the back of your dress to tug feebly at the unyielding, steel fingers as if you ever had a hope in Hell's chance of loosening the giant's grip.

This has to be some kind of prank, or a hallucination - a full, auditory and visual hallucination. Tactile as well, apparently, though you've never heard that such a thing is really possible. But what other explanation is there? Perhaps that taxi driver had somehow drugged you through the... god, the air conditioning, or something.

All you know with any certainty, is that whatever terrible dream or trip you're having right now, it's a thousand times scarier than any stupid wedding. What you wouldn't give to be walking down that aisle now instead of dangling helplessly in the clutches of a man who's much too large to be human.

The silver figment of your imagination tilts his helm down, then slowly brings it back up, and even without any recognisable detail in his eyes, you just know he's giving you a thorough once-over.

“Mm,” he grunts, cocking a hip and folding his arms across a proud chest, “Can't be sure. Maybe some kind of... fashion-forward angel?”

“Then where are her wings?” the one holding you speculates.

“Ah. Right, right, right.... Mmm, glamoured demon?”

'War' is quiet for a time, narrowing his glare at you before he blinks and offers a pensive nod. “... A fair assumption.”

On the verge of losing your breakfast, you whip your head back and forth between the two of them, bewildered by a conversation you can't possibly hope to follow.

“Although~,” the smaller one starts, and without warning, reaches down to pluck the front of your dress between his fingers, tugging the fabric up to inspect it and inadvertently revealing the wedding garter on your thigh, “This seems a little excessive for a disguise.”

For a split second, your unparalleled fear is abruptly overwhelmed by a rush of indignation, and before you can come to your senses, you aim a vicious kick at the silver gauntlet keeping your dress aloft. “Hey! Hands off!” you bark.

To your surprise, he actually lets go and raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Woah~! Feisty little filly, isn't she?” he chuckles.

The indignation doesn't last for long after that.

Receiving another sharp glare from the man holding you hostage, you gulp audibly and stop trying to kick out, turning limp in his grasp and ducking your head to escape his scrutiny.

“What business have you here, demon?” he spits the last word through his teeth like it's poisonous, “Are you Samael's associate?”

“Sam-eye-who!?” you squeak, a far cry from your earlier bite, “I-I don't know! I'm not.. I'm not a demon, for god's sake, I'm a human being!”

Anyone would think you'd just spoken the magic words.

Your enormous captor's eyes fling open wide and all at once, the pressure around your chest goes slack and you're unceremoniously dropped in a heap onto your backside, your dress fluttering down after to pool around your legs.

A jarring pain shoots up your coccyx and you wince, trying desperately to ignore the fact that that sort of pain would definitely wake you up if you were dreaming. Moments later, you're kicking and pushing yourself backwards across the stone, away from the looming titans.

An eerie change seems to have come over the pair. Now, they're both staring down at you in dangerous silence, at least until the silver one begins to stride after you, prompting a squeal of alarm to escape your lips. He catches up to you easily and plants one, immense boot down on the train of your dress, jerking you to a sudden halt and preventing you from retreating any further.

“What did you just say?” he utters slowly. Dangerously. There's none of the jocular lilt in his tone that had been there only moments ago.

Your chest heaves, your mind races... What did you say? What did you say that could have prompted such a change in their demeanour?

“Wh-what?” you splutter, “What, that I'm a human? I'm not a demon!?”

Why does that matter? You thought it was pretty, damn obvious.

The pair of them stare down at you in silence for several, uncomfortable seconds until you're sure you're going to burst if the tension grows any thicker, when all of a sudden, the smaller one throws his head back and lets out a sharp bark of laughter, successfully giving you a tiny heart attack. “Ha! Good one!” he snorts, extending a clawed thumb and flicking it between he and his companion, “Hey, you know what. Me and my brother are actually makers who got hit by a shrinking spell.”

Swallowing your heart back down your throat, you breathlessly ask, “What... the Hell is a maker?”

The pair of them share an odd look before peering down at you again. “It... was a joke,” he says slowly, regarding you as if you're being deliberately dense.

At last, he removes his boot from your dress and steps back, glancing at his brother. “Hey... You don't think...”

“No,” 'War' retorts with an air of inarguable finality, “She cannot be human. Listen to her. She speaks the Common tongue. Humanity's language is.. abstract. They still rely on visual communication.”

Incredulous, you stare up at him as if he's now the one being dense.

His brother meanwhile, gives him an impressed up and down, drawling out, “Well, look at you, brushing up on your human history.”

“They are not exactly a difficult species to understand,” the first scoffs.

If you weren't so busy trying to crawl backwards as stealthily as possible, you'd probably take offence to the slandering humanity.

As it is, however, you're more preoccupied with how they're referring to humans in the third person. You don't much like the implications of that.

There's a lot you don't really like about this whole situation, actually. Your brain feels like its firing all cylinders as it tries to make sense of where you are and how in the world you got here. Who are those two people? Is this real, or is it all happening in a dream?

Sniffling, you swipe the back of a hand underneath your nose and begin the arduous task of shambling backwards on your rear, keeping your eyes fixed upon the two strangers before at last swallowing a gulp of bravery and tearing your eyes away, flinging yourself over and scrabbling up onto your heeled feet.

Your plan, unperfected though it may be, is simple.

Run like Hell and hope you can out-pace the pair of heavy-weight brutes behind you.

Your own folly is that you'd been so busy watching them, that you have yet to catch a glimpse of your surroundings, a decision you instantly regret when you face forwards and have to slam on the brakes at once. “SHIT!” you yelp, your arms pinwheeling desperately as you slide to a sharp and clumsy halt right at the edge of an enormous, flat-topped rock.

Chest heaving, you let out a shaky breath and tentatively inch your neck out to peer down over the ledge.

Nothing waits below you.

Literally nothing.

There's only a thick, gaping abyss that plunges down, so far down until the ambient light fades and turns into pitch-black darkness.

You can even see the bottom of the rock you're standing on.

This, you think, must be what astronauts feel like, floating in the great expanse of space with no idea of what's out there, nothing above you, nothing below you... You could drift forever if you take a single step forwards.

It's a harrowing thought.

Sweat beads on the nape of your neck and you take a very slow, very careful step backwards, away from the ledge. Your head swings like a periscope from left to right in search of a way off this stupid boulder. There's nothing about this place you recognise, not from any book, or documentary or map. You have to look away when you spot a veritable mountain levitating in the distance, nothing to support it but the open air.

“This is a dream...” you mutter to yourself, “Surely to god, please let this be a dream...”

“You should watch your step.”

Your shoulders jump and you whip around, reeling your bag back threateningly, only to find the silver-clad man standing a little too close to you, regarding you curiously from several, meagre feet away.

God... even stood at your full height, you doubt you'd even reach the bottom of his sternum.

“Y-you stay away from me!” you stammer, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, “I mean it! If you come any closer, I'll... I'll-!”

Cocking his helm to one side, the stranger helpfully suggests, “You'll... make us regret it?”

Borderline hysterical, you latch onto his proposal at once, jabbing your bag at him. “Yes, yes! Exactly. Oh-ho! You would not believe what I've got inside this thing!”

Lipstick, tissues, tweezers and tampons. Truly, you're a formidable opponent for two hulking brutes with guns and a sword that's taller than you are.

“Okay,” you admit, deflating like a popped balloon, “Okay, I.. I don't know what you want from me, but, you should know, my family... we aren't very rich, so if you're going to ask for a ransom-”

You start to feel your lip wobble, but before the waterworks really hit, the stranger squints down at you incredulously and asks, “Lady, what the Hell are you talking about? You're the one who crashed into us!” He pauses to share a brief glance with his brother. “Well, specifically me. I think the real question is, what do you want with us?”

Your hands fly up and you splay them out in front of you, waving them frantically from side to side. “Nothing! It was an accident, I – I didn't mean to, I just... I...” Trailing off, your arms slowly draw close up against your chest and you drag your eyes down to the stranger's boots, aimless in their venturing. “I'm supposed to be getting married right now! I just want to get out of here.” Wherever on Earth here is.

Good god, your mother... She'll be so disappointed that you didn't turn up, after all the work she put into your own wedding. And your father! Watching you from a screen in his hospital bed, expecting to see his daughter walking down the aisle, only to see... nothing.

The thought hits you like a punch to your roiling guts.

Pressing a hand over your mouth, you thoughtlessly turn your back on the two men, ignorant of the way the largest bristles in offence.

Perhaps it isn't especially intelligent to expose your fragile spine to these... people. But nothing stabs or shoots you in the back for several minutes, so you turn your focus to a more pressing matter – retracing your steps and figuring out how you ended up in this otherworldly place.

Strife eyes the 'human' uncertainly.

It's odd, he thinks. You don't act like a human, you don't sound like a human. Heck, you barely even look human. There are hardly any hair follicles embedded in your skin and your jaw isn't nearly robust enough. And humans, so far as he knows, don't wear those clothes. They wear leathers and furs - sturdy things meant to protect them from the world they've recently made their home. Not stark, white silk that looks like angel-made fabric.

And yet... Well, you're either a demon who also happens to be the Universe's most convincing actress, or you really believe you're a member of the human race.

… Huh...

“Brother?”

He perks up at the sound of War's voice, casting a glance over a shoulder to see his brother has moved away and is standing at the foot of another stone staircase, watching the woman through narrowed eyes. “It is clear this... creature is not of sound mind.”

“But, she-”

“We have our orders from the Council,” he continues pointedly, cutting his brother off, “We've tarried for too long.”

“...Right...” Strife exhales softly through his nose. Their 'orders...'

With a pensive furrow to his brow, he spares a final look back at you.

One of your arms is wrapped securely around your middle, the other bent up at the elbow to press bone-white knuckles firmly against quivering lips, and those intricate, pretty eyes glisten in the dim light of the Void as they dart around at the ever-changing landscape.

Of its own accord, Strife's mouth stretches into a lopsided grin.

You sure are a weird little creature. Or misshapen angel, or glamoured demon, or... whatever in Creation you are.

And where had you even come from, if not from here?

He muses on it for a moment longer before War none-too subtly clears his throat, reminding Strife to get a move on.

Typical War... always more interested in upholding his honour than succumbing to even the barest sniff of curiosity.

'Still,' Strife supposes, heaving a one-shouldered shrug, 'shepherding wayward souls is Death's area of expertise. Not mine.'

… This soul does have a particularly wayward look about it though...

Strife wrenches his focus away and turns his back on the little 'human,' giving his helm a brusque shake to clear it of any lingering intrigue.

You are not his problem.

He reaches the steps and looks up at War, who gives him a steadfast nod before turning on his heel and lumbering on towards the apex of the staircase.

Tempering his curiosity by focusing on the grim duty they've been set by the Charred Council, Strife follows along at a lackadaisical pace, but just as his boot hits the fourth step, a timid sound drifts across the rocky landscape and twitches at his ears, just loud enough to slow him to a standstill once more.

It's a sound he seldom hears, but for all its rarity, it's recognisable nonetheless.

To begin with, he starts to think he must have imagined it, perhaps it was nothing more than an ambient sound cast by the Void itself.

But then, he hears it again, and there's no pretending for a second time.

It's the conveying of despair and worry and fear all wrapped up inside one, little vocalisation.

A wet, hitching, 'sob!'

'Oh no...' The rider squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to take another step forwards, jaw clenched in defiance of his own, wretched heart.

Damn him, he's a Horseman now. A Horseman of the Apocalypse, no less. Hell, he's a killer, a genocidal maniac, a dashing if not puckish scoundrel. The Horsemen weren't created by the Charred Council to solve trivial matters such as escorting strays back home, after all. That would be laughable.

What was it they had decreed him? Endless Spirit of timeless unrest. All that is unsettled in the hearts of that which lives and breathes...

Yeah. Something along those lines.

… He's a good-for-nothing...

Strife's head twists around ever so slightly and he catches a glimpse of you over his shoulder.

That flouncy, white garment trails through the dust behind you as you pace back and forth across the platform, head tipped to the sky and your chest heaving in and out with long, overcompensating breaths, none of which seem enough to fill your lungs.

In a word, you look... terrified.

When you turn to the side, his sharp eyes immediately zero in on the glistening shine on your cheeks.

They're wet? But... how could they be? There isn't any...

Oh...

Gently, the Horseman's gaze slides down to rest on the holster strapped to his left hip. Mercy rests inside, patient and pliant, always standing ready in the event that its master needs it. Gah, he must've been feeling particularly sentimental when he named the damn pistols...

Slumping on his haunches, Strife blows out an exaggerated sigh, defeated by his most tenacious opponent – himself.

“War?” he utters, resigned.

The younger Nephilim pauses his ascent and twists his torso around, cocking a brow down at his brother and finding his helm fixed unwaveringly in your direction.

“... I don't think she's a glamoured demon...”

War's shoulder pauldrons clank softly as he raises his head and glowers down at you, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. “What makes you so sure?” he asks after a beat.

This time, when Strife speaks, he starts to venture back down the staircase, never once looking away from you. “Demons don't cry,” he explains quietly, more to himself than to War, “They can't. Their frontal lobes are the smallest of any species. They literally don't know how to cry...”

“Your familiarity with demon biology is noted, but what are you getting at, brother?”

Reaching the bottom of the steps, Strife doesn't respond, prompting War to call out to him, slightly louder, “Brother?!”

But the older rider's attention is now solely fixed upon the small, unassuming stranger who'd quite literally barrelled straight into his life.

He approaches slowly, much like he'd approached his flighty steed, Mayhem, not so many weeks ago.

You turn towards him just as he draws within a few feet of you and when you spot him looming above you, you jump back, choking out a cry of alarm.

His fearsome stare trails from your head all the way down to your shoes that sit hidden beneath the hem of the wedding dress. “What is it?” you try to snap, grimacing when it leaves you as a pitiable squeak instead, “What are you staring at?”

If Strife were a more mannerly Nephilim, he might have recognised that it's rude to not only ignore people when they address you, but to stare at them so openly and unabashedly that they feel the need to cover their chests to preserve some modicum of dignity, or privacy.

But as it is, he isn't mannerly.

His name is Strife, for Creation's sake. Not Harmony.

The Horseman snorts at his own little joke, electing to save that one for later when he feels the time is right. War is sure to hate it, if nothing else.

Good.

But as for the matter at hand...

Strife has met some wolves trussed up in sheep's clothing before, but here he sees a wolf with no teeth, no claws, no weapons or magic.

In fact, aside from that unusual satchel you keep slung around your waist, you haven't raised a single weapon against them, and unless you have something hidden away beneath those frills and skirts – which he highly doubts – you've come here, to the Void, completely and utterly...

“Unarmed,” he muses aloud, appraising you in a new light.

Hardly even a wolf at all, then. Perhaps more of a sheep in lambswool.

You're defensive. Not aggressive.

What a jarring change of pace from their usual company...

And... you're still crying.

Unleashing a deep sigh that seems to emanate right from the darkest depths of his soul, Strife lifts an arm and cards his fingers through thick, black hair that sticks in an unruly mess from the back of his skull, more akin to a demon's spines than the soft, lustrous locks of angel hair.

“Look,” he pushes out, dropping his gaze from your face at last, “I, uh.. I'm not sure what you are. Or where you came from. But, I can't help noticing that you don't have a way to defend yourself...”

His eyes are on you again as soon as you shuffle away from him a little further, freezing you solid. After several seconds pass and you realise he isn't about to attack, you swipe at your damp cheeks and lower your stare to his pistols.

'Well, duh,' you want to scoff, 'Of course I'm not armed. I'm not a psychopath who brings guns to her own wedding.' Calling the gun-toting juggernaut a psychopath might not go down so well. Then, belatedly, you think, 'It isn't a shotgun wedding, after all.' But something tells you the humour wouldn't be well-received either by anyone except yourself.

...Cain would have hated that joke.

'Good,' a tiny, vindictive part of you whispers, deep within the most secretive corners of your mind.

At your prolonged silence, Strife mirrors your stance, bringing his much beefier arms up to fold them pointedly across his own chest. “Well, if that's the case,” he huffs, “Then you're either really brave, or really, really stupid.”

Pursing your lips, you slide your gaze to one side, apparently unwilling to divulge which of the two you believe yourself to be.

“You're in the Void, kid,” he presses, sweeping a hand out to the world around you, “This is no place for a vulnerable little speck like you.”

He's admittedly proud that he manages to put an affronted scowl on your otherwise fear-stricken face.

“And if who I think is here, is here...” Falling silent for the sole purpose of building suspense, he lowers his arms to his sides and drops his pitch, uttering, “Then you're in more trouble than you realise. We're here via invite. Can't say the same for you...”

At long last, you find your tongue. “Uh, what're you... getting at?” you say falteringly, retreating another step only to suck down a whimper when he simply closes the distance again in a single stride.

The stomping approach of heavy footfalls alerts you to the larger man returning grumpily to his brother's side with a face the very picture of exasperated irritation.

You shrink in on yourself when his shadow falls across you.

“Well,” the silver man pipes up, “You keep telling us you're human... And now, y'see... I'm kinda curious about that... Cause me and my brother can't exactly leave you here when you're supposed to be back on Earth.”

His words cause your brain to sputter for a moment before it kicks into gear again. Very carefully, you ask, “What do you mean, 'back on Earth?”

Disregarding your query entirely, he simply states, “You're comin' with us."

Your response to that is about as abrupt as they come.

You balk, stumbling away from them again on shaky heels. “I most certainly am not!” you blurt out, feeling your panic spike to its apex, “Frankly, I'm still not convinced that you two, or any of this-!” You throw your arms away from your chest. “- aren't just some kind of fucked up hallucination brought on by the stress of this stupid wedding!”

Strife's eyes crinkle with amusement, a stark contradiction to War's, who's own glare is so cold, it would give Death a run for his money. Nothing you say makes any sense. It's actually quite enchanting.

“...What... is a wedding?” War murmurs to him from the side of his mouth.

Shrugging, his brother replies, “Beats me. But, we should probably get this show on the road.”

“Agreed.”

“You thinking what I'm thinking?”

War scoffs. “The day I think like you, brother, is the day I shall finally ask Fury to cleave my brain out with her whip.”

Strife's grin turns sharp and pointed. “Ha,” he says flatly, “Funny. I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to do the honours.”

At once, your whole body goes rigid and you dart a suspicious look between them, bumbling, “Honours? What honours? What do you mean honours?”

The glare War is subjecting his brother to is nothing short of murderous, but after a moment of stillness, his cinched jaw works itself loose and some of the stiffness dissipates from his shoulders. Stoic, utterly impenetrable, he turns his hooded face to you and holds you still with a mere look of warning, eyebrows locked at the centre of his forehead.

Then, without a word, he marches forwards, and in one smooth motion, bends down and snakes a monstrous arms around your hips, sweeping you effortlessly into the air and slinging you across his shoulder like a sack of especially mortified potatoes. You slot neatly into the space between his hood and the solid, metal shoulder pauldron to your right.

At once, your palms slap down on the gigantic expanse of his back and you let out a bleat of terror when his metal palm lands on the seat of your dress.

Even through layers and layers of fabric, you can still feel the heat his appendage exudes.

“What do you think you're doing!?” you shout, kicking your legs and clawing at his armour to try and pull yourself free, “Put me down, right now!”

The silver man steps up to War's back and tilts his head at you, meeting your flabbergasted gaze with a coy wink.

“What? Not comfortable enough for you, Princess?”

Sparing him a distressed frown, you sag against the shoulder you're laying across and bleakly croak, “Why're you doing this?”

“I have to concur with the female, Strife-"

You yelp again and hurry to wind your fingers into the crimson cloak beneath you as War abruptly swings around to face his brother, adding, “-Why are we doing this?”

For a few seconds, the smaller Nephilim simply watches on in amusement as your comically diminutive shoes flick and flail helplessly through the air, poking out from under all those layers of white fabric until one wayward heel almost grazes War's cheek, prompting the Horseman to rumble out a low growl and raise his other hand to capture both of your ankles in one palm, keeping them secured.

“Don't suppose you'd accept, 'because it's funny' as an answer, would you?” Strife poses.

The Red rider's lip curves up and this time, he growls at his brother, and the strength of it causes your teeth to clatter around inside your jaw.

At the display of aggression, Strife simply snorts and spins on his heel, making for the staircase again as he beckons over his shoulder for War to keep up.

With an aggravated grunt, the youngest Horseman trudges unhurriedly along behind him.

“Fine," Strife sighs in mock exasperation, "We're doing it because if she really is human, then I wanna know how we missed an evolutionary jump this big, and if she isn't...”

A shadow falls across his visor and he drops back until he's stalking along just behind War's heel, a sudden ice to his tone as he watches you struggle about on his brother's shoulder.

“If she isn't human,” he murmurs dangerously, sending fingers of ice brushing up your spine, “Then I plan on finding out just why she thinks she can lie to the Horsemen, and live to tell the tale...”

#Darksiders #darksiders genesis #War/reader #Strife/reader #fluff #angst #marriage #hurt/comfort #Strife is kind of nasty thooo #War continues to be best boy #weddings #reluctant bride #runaway bride? sort of? #not an incest ship #horsemen of the apocalypse #Human x monster