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dancingtotuyo · 5 months

Text

3. pick up your clothes and curl your toes

Woman | Joel Miller

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settle into a routine.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (Reader is 42, Joel is 56). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: swearing, talks of & references to grief, death (child and spouse), and suicide. Anxiety. Reader has a panic attack. consumption of alcohol. Angst. Hurt. Comfort. SMUT. Explicit sex (P in V). Unprotected sex. Oral Sex (F receiving). Let me know if I missed anything.

Note: THANK YOU TO MY BEAUTIFUL BETA READERS @planet-marz1 @pamasaur & @kajashe

Words: 8926

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THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT OR READ.

Joel Miller is going to hell in a handbasket. He already was, but this is the seal on the envelope, the pretty red ribbon tied neatly around it. He felt relieved that your husband is dead. What kind of person feels relief over someone’s misfortune? Their grief? A bad one. A person headed straight for the gates of hell.

He lets out a huff of air, staring at the spinning ceiling fan. He tries not to think of you across the street, laying in bed in that fucking matching pajama set, but with most things the harder you try not to think of them, the more it’s at the forefront of your mind. The picture of your legs in those shorts jumps to his mind. He remembers those fleeting charged moments from tonight. Desire stirs in his gut drifting downward.

He groans, flipping onto his stomach. He buries his head in the twenty-something-year-old pillow as he takes deep steadying breaths. He won’t do this. It can’t happen. You’re a friend. A connection to the past. A connection to his Sarah. He’s not gonna fuck that up.

He falls asleep definitely not thinking of you and that fucking pajama set. Pictures of you definitely don’t invade his dreams. Joel Miller can only see you as a friend, and friends don’t do the things he does to you behind his eyelids.

The next evening, Joel finds himself hardly waiting on his steps, worried he missed you until you step out tonight in jeans and a sweater. For that, he’s all too grateful. A smile stretches across your face. He stands his lips tipping upward as he meets you in the middle of the road once again.

“Howdy, neighbor,” Joel says.

You push back the small shiver that runs down your spine. You chalk it up to the lower temperatures. “Look at you, adjusting to the Jackson way of life.”

“Learnin from the best, Sweetheart.”

The chills hit again and you chalk it up to the chill. Spring is breaking through, but winter still clings to the darkening air. You settle in your route. The crunch of Joel’s steps is familiar next to you, comforting even in the silence between the two of you.

It’s Joel who speaks first tonight. “It’s weird,” he says. He’s more eager to talk tonight. “Being here- safe. I keep expectin’ raiders to ride in or infected to pop out.” He looks over at a small cluster of trees.

“It takes a long time.” You watch the sun creep down, closing the gap between it and the mountain tops. “I’m not sure when it happened but one morning I just realized I’d stopped looking over my shoulder or listening for footsteps.”

“It happens though?” He asks. You catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes. It barely peeks through the weariness he wears like a badge.

“Eventually.”

“Not that I ever thought it was an option, but I’m not sure I wanted to find peace- to be still like this again.”

You cock your head to the side, but you don’t have to shed a word for him to tell you more.

“Spending life on the run was easy. Always lookin’ toward the next haul, the next run. Didn’t leave any time for thinking.”

You nod. You understand from the other side. You lived alone for years, wild, haunted by your friends, rattling around an empty house with only your thoughts and memories. Somehow, you’d found peace here, a family even.

“What about now?” You ask.

On good days, you can push back the when of it all. When will the world take another person from you in a new way crueler than the last? When will your son’s innocence be stripped away? When will it be you who’s taken? On the bad days, you shut yourself in your room, only to be dragged out by Carter’s small voice or Maria cooking in your kitchen. Today is an especially good day.

Joel studies the horizon. He takes in a hawk riding the air currents. It all mingles together in his chest: the grief, the joy, the pain, the acceptance. It’s hard to put words to it. “It still hurts. Can’t even say it hurts less… but I don’t fight it anymore. I think making room for someone else helped.”

You bite your lip. A pang shoots through your heart. You fight to push the door to your heart closed. You can allow him to exist in your life, but anything more than neighbors is too much. You think you feel the door latch, but you don’t catch Joel’s foot wedged in the door jam.

“How did you and Ellie cross paths?”

Joel spends the rest of your walk recounting his and Ellie’s adventures across the United States. You find yourself hanging on every description. You didn’t travel a lot before the world ended. Your parents had been die-hard Texans. You weren’t sure your dad had left state lines before meeting your mom. There were the yearly trips to your grandparents' house in the mountains surrounding Jackson, one trip to Disney World in 8th grade, and you’d gone to Mexico for spring break your junior year of college. That encapsulated your traveling days.

After Joel tells you about Silver Lake, he stops in his tracks. You look back at him. He’s staring at the darkening horizon again. His eyes gloss over. “When things like that happen- I find myself relieved that she’s not here- that she doesn’t have to go through it- do all the shit we do.”

You suck in a breath. In some ways you understand it. As a parent who willingly brought a child into this world, you often wonder if it was the right choice or just a selfish one. You nod.

“And then I feel guilty all over again. Because I would give anything to have her next to me, and see her smile. I mean, what kind of parent is relieved their child isn’t alive?”

You give the words a minute to roll through your head. You’re not sure of the best words because there really are none, but you pull from your own experience.

“I think that’s the reality of being a parent in this world. You feel guilty if they’re here because the world is fucked up, but you feel guilty if you’re relieved they’re not.”

Joel makes eye contact with you. “Bein’ around you makes me feel closer to her.”

Joel is not sure where the confession comes from. He barely talked to you before last night and hasn’t seen your face in 20 years, yet the words just slip out. Something in him says you’re safe and he thinks maybe, he might just have room for you too. The air between you charges like it did the night before.

It sends a hum of electricity through your veins. It’s one you recognize all too well. It feels good and exciting, the thrum of desire, but it’s dangerous. It’s something you cannot afford. You look away, breaking the connection, but mellowing currents still wrack over your body in waves.

“You raised a really great kid, Joel.” You force a smile. “and the world fucking sucks.” You kick at the dirt as everyone’s faces flash behind your eyes.

“You helped.”

Your head snaps back up, confusion on your brow. “I doubt that.”

“It’s true.” The memories flood to the surface- the ones you forget exist in the depths of your mind drowned by years of survival and trauma. “You helped her with all that stuff I was too awkward to boys, her period, shopping for her 7th grade banquet. I would’ve sent her in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.”

“I don’t think Sarah would’ve let you do that.” You manage a laugh. You appreciate Joel’s attempts to make you feel better even when he’s hurting. There’s a beauty to the way sadness and laughter coexist in the space the two of you create.

Joel shrugs. “I’m just saying, you helped. A lot. Even if you don’t realize it.”

“You should give yourself more credit.”

“So should you,” he says, eyebrows raising.

You fight against the smile that wants to sprout on your face. He’s just as stubborn as you remember and probably more.

As your walk draws to an end, you find yourself searching for anything to draw it out. You watch him walk up his porch steps, desperate to keep him in the street with you but his door shuts before you find the words.

Joel joins you the next night and the night after that, and the night after that it rains. You catch the disappointment, trying to let it go. Carter won’t settle, too intent on watching the rain hit the window. After 30 minutes, you give up, pulling a light sweatshirt over his head.

“You wanna sit out on the porch?”

Carter nods and you kiss his forehead. You see the sleepiness in his eyes, but you don’t have the energy to force him to sleep tonight. He grabs his two toy cars following behind you. You pull the blanket off the couch, opening the front door.

“Oh my god.” You jump, heart rate spiking for a second. Carter runs into the back of your legs, promptly falling to his bottom.

Joel Miller stands in front of you with a sheepish look on his face. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You turn around, picking your toddler off the floor. “You just hanging around on stranger’s porches now?” A grin starts to crowd the edges of your smile.

“I’d hardly call you a stranger, Sweetheart.” Joel grins.

That familiar feeling begins to seep through your chest, making you feel like a college student and not a woman in her 40s. Before it can completely overtake you, you push it down, clearing your throat.

“I don’t think you’ve gotten the chance to meet Carter yet.” You nod toward your son.

Carter waves. “Hi.”

Joel smiles back at him. “Nice to meet you, little man.”

Carter holds out his toy cars for Joel to admire. Joel’s eyes glance over the faded and chipped paint of the old Hotwheels. “Those are very nice.”

Carter looks toward you with a big grin. He’s a kid of few words but big expressions. You smile back with a nod and he slides out of your arms.

“He wouldn’t go to sleep so we came out to watch the rain.” You hesitate a minute, but the pull of Joel’s familiarity wins out. “You’re welcome to join us. The porch swing is a little rickety, but it does the trick.”

“I was hoping you’d want some company.” Joel pulls a bottle of dark liquor from under his arm. You notice his rain-damp hair and shoulders for the first time. A few droplets slide down his curls.

“You getting used to me, Joel Miller?”

“You could say that.” He cocks his head to the side, smirk playing on his lips.

You turn your head so he doesn’t catch your own grin, but he does anyway. Spreading the blanket on the porch for Carter to play on, you disappear inside grabbing a couple of glasses.

When you come back, Joel is on his hands and knees with Carter, both making race car noises with their lips. It knocks the wind from you, and you brace against the door frame. You’d imagined this lost moment a thousand times. Sometimes you swore you could see Gabe sitting on the floor with Carter, the proudest smile on his face, but this is real and it’s not Gabe.

Carter makes a screeching noise, learning them from some racing movie they showed a few weeks ago, crashing his car into Joel’s. Joel makes his cart flip over and combust into flames. Carter laughs. There’s a piece of your heart that seems to mend, and another that seems to break. Gabe feels further away, a more distant past. Yet, you’re focused on what’s in front of you.

When Joel catches you watching, he smiles, says something to Carter, and rises to his feet. It feels like a scene from a movie where you don’t hear anything, but the single look is the most significant part.

Joel says something, taking the glasses from your hands. His lips move but you don’t hear him. His back is turned before you realize it, shaking your head to wake up your senses. “Sorry- what did you say?”

Joel chuckles, pouring a couple of fingers of whiskey into each glass. He hands one to you. “I said, I’m getting too old to get on the ground like that.”

You accept the glass, letting the liquid warm you. This feels so easy, too easy. It sends warning bells through your head, but you don’t want to deal with them. They're too easy to push away in Joel’s familiar presence.

“You didn’t have to.” You move to the end of your porch, easing onto the swing.

Joel’s eyes inspect the old swing with years of training before he decides it will hold for one night and settles next to you. “Nah- it was fun. I haven’t played cars in a long time.”

You take a sip of the whiskey to hide your grin.

“He doesn’t look a thing like you.” Joel teases.

“Spitting image of his father.” You laugh. “Gabe always said his genetics would win out. I can only imagine the gloating I would’ve heard from him.”

“He never knew him?”

You shake your head. “Gabe was infected while out on patrol when I was 7 months pregnant.”

You leave it at that. You don’t expound on one of the darkest times of your life, and Joel doesn’t ask. He’s being trained for patrol now. He knows a bite earns you a bullet in the head and your body burnt to a crisp. You sip from the glass, taking a little too much whiskey. It burns away the tears.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Joel says. You turn to meet his gaze, eyebrows raised. “Survive out here all those years alone. I wouldn’t have made it.”

“You did.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, I had Tommy and some friends along the way. And that almo- it wasn’t enough.”

He turns away subconsciously presenting his profile. You catch the scar on his temple. You’d never given it much stock until now. It hits you like a brick to the chest. Your fingers drift toward it, brushing over the old wound.

“After Sarah died- I didn’t see much point in going on.” His eyes land on yours again. Your fingers stay. “I flinched when I pulled the trigger. Missed”

He searches your eyes for judgment but finds none. He’s certain all he finds is understanding, a silent assurance that you know that hopeless feeling too.

Your fingers edge toward his hairline. The rain seems to fall heavier around you, creating a mist under the overhang, but it all seems far away with Joel Miller right in front of you. You’re both still, scared to spook the other, waiting for a sign you refuse to give yourself.

“Joel!” Clumsy footsteps clamber up the wooden steps to your home. Ellie appears with a lopsided grin and soaked hair. “You’ll never guess what I traded for, morherfucker.”

The tension snaps away until nothing. The space on the porch swing is seemingly greater than ever.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her, arms crossed over his chest.

Carter looks up at the intruder, taking stock before returning his attention to his cars.

“Oh, what? Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” you say, possibly too fast. You don’t leave time to consider what was potentially interrupted. You latch on to Ellie’s joy instead. “What did you get?” You ease back, casting Joel a teasing look. He doesn’t look your way this time.

“I knew I liked you, Nurse… er- Lady.”

Joel opens his mouth to supply your name but you beat him to it. “That’s me, Nurse Lady.”

Carter points at you. “Mommy.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eye. “I’m not calling you that.”

You laugh.

“What did you get, Ellie?” Joel asks, a little more give in his frame than a few seconds ago.

Ellie pulls a big, atlas-looking book from under her damp sweatshirt. “It’s pictures of space! Ones I haven’t seen before!”

“Space?” Carter’s head shoots up and a smile spreads across your face.

“Yeah!” Ellie exclaims, opening the book toward him. “See! Isn’t it cool?”

Carter ventures toward the new person carrying a book of great interest to him. “You like space too?”

He nods, watching with wide eyes for a few more pages, and then grabs Ellie’s hand, pulling her toward his blanket. “Sit.”

She listens and Carter climbs into her lap. “More.”

Ellie laughs. “Sure thing, bud.”

You go to tell Ellie that she doesn’t have to listen to the two-year-old. She can take her book home and enjoy it in peace, but you stop yourself. Something tells you that Ellie wouldn’t stay if she didn’t want to. She reads the words in the book with the same fascination that shines in Carter's young eyes until he falls asleep.

Joel stays next to you, the swing creaking rhythmically, the moment hidden away from the rest of Jackson by the cover of rain and a setting sun.

You and Joel go back to walking the next evening.

A couple of days later, Maria sits at your kitchen table when you come in from your walk with Joel. A steaming cup of tea sits in front of her and another caddy corner from her. You furrow your brow. The last time she’d greeted you with tea was when she told you she was pregnant. This welcome was usually reserved for serious conversations.

“Carter wake up?” You slide into the chair, taking the mug into your hands.

“No, just wanted to talk to you. It’s been a couple of days.” She eases back, hand resting atop her swollen stomach.

“I saw you at the clinic this morning.” You raise an eyebrow.

Now 7 months pregnant, you’ve monitored Maria and the baby closely. Tommy and Maria are so excited. You see it in their eyes every time it comes up. You’re trying your hardest not to let your fears cloud it, but you won’t be able to make it if something happens to Maria.

“We haven’t really talked though. Not since Sunday at dinner and Tommy has the guys over for Poker tonight.”

“You miss me after 3 days? I thought I was the codependent one.” You smile up at her with a laugh.

Gabe would have called it a sparkly smile. Maria clocks it immediately, and it stays, lingering across your features. She gasps. She’s seen nothing but glimpses and flickers of it since his death and now here it is on full display.

“Did I grow a third head or something?”

“No, just haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

“Like what?”

“Happy, Smiling.” Maria tilts her head to the side. “I thought I was imagining it this morning. Tommy mentioned it too.”

“I smile.”

“Not the sparkly kind.”

You pause, heart clenching at the thought. You know it’s what Gabe would have wanted. He loved your sparkly smile- given it its name. It feels like it should feel wrong for someone else to bring that out of you, but it doesn’t. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy.

“This have anything to do with your new walking partner?” Maria says over the lip of her mug.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You feign innocence, looking out the window. Joel’s porch light glows across the road. Your wedding band is cool against your fingertips as you twist it. A smile pushes against the borders of your lips.

“You act like your route doesn’t cut directly through town and past everyone’s houses 3 times.”

“We just walk together, Maria.”

She raises a suggestive eyebrow.

You roll your eyes. “Just walking.”

“More than walking is okay too.”

You cross your arms. “I thought you didn’t like Joel. It was all I heard about after he came through the first time.”

“He’s my brother-in-law. I have to try.” Maria bites her lip. “And he grows on you.”

You sigh trying to push away the thoughts that crowd your restless mind. Your attachment to him is beginning to feel inevitable like you never stood a chance because it had always been there. A holdover from before. It reminds you of the way you and Tommy bonded when he came to Jackson, that invisible tug from a former life tying you together, but there is something different with Joel. The all-encompassing crush from your early ears creeps up like a blush. You won’t say it lingered, but you know something is forming now as much as you try to ignore it.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you motion around you. “Building a life with someone just for the world to rip it all away.”

“That’s not-“

“Not what, Maria? You know it will happen.”

“Might not.”

“Might happen tomorrow.” You square your shoulders. Joel goes on patrol for the first time tomorrow. It’s a short shift for him to get the lay of the land, but so was Gabe’s. you’re terrified, and you’re terrified to admit you’re terrified.

She stares into your eyes with a still determination searching for any cracks to slip through as your impenetrable walls rise back up. All evidence of the sparkly smile is gone, erased from your face. Maria sighs, slowly rising to her feet, her cup of tea dried up.

The two of you say nothing as she moves about your kitchen with easy familiarity. She’s moving slower these days and for good reason. It eases your anxiety to know that she’s listening to you in that department.

She sets her cleaned mug on the dish wrack, drying her hands with a towel. You sip on your tea letting it warm you from within. It does nothing to ease your racing mind.

Maria’s firm, caring touch lands on your shoulder, drawing your attention up toward her. You know she can see it behind your eyes. It’s that same wild look she saw in you when she met you. You can only hold her gaze for so long until you have to look away. She can see too much in you.

Maria squeezes your shoulder. Her hands slide around your shoulders as she pulls your reluctant frame closer to her. She’s warm and comforting like a well-worn sweater. When her warm breath hits your temple followed by the soft kiss of a concerned parent or older sibling, you let your eyes flutter shut and inhale deeply. Your body relaxes as your sympathetic nervous system accepts the easy pressure of her embrace and your mind seems a little more quiet. You lean to the side, temple pressed to your best friend’s forehead.

“I’ll see you at Sunday Dinner,” Maria says. She’s using her soothing mom voice, and it works.

“Okay.”

She gives one more squeeze before releasing you. Your hands wrap back around the mug, searching for the warmth you lost.

Maria grabs her coat. “Oh, I invited Joel and Ellie too.”

You snap your head around. Maria wears a knowing grin but gives you a shrug. “They’re family now.”

You roll your eyes. Maria’s laugh is the last thing you hear before the front door clicks behind her. Silence falls over your home. When a tear falls from your eye, you swipe it away, stuffing down all the feelings rising to the surface.

The next evening, Joel isn’t on his porch when you come out. The worry you’ve pushed down all day bubbles over before you can stop it. Your heart beats in your ears as you stare at Joel’s front door, hoping, praying it opens. In the minutes you watch for him, you beg the world for a sign that Joel is okay, nothing happens. The house is still with no signs of life.

Anticipation melts to dread. They haven’t gotten back yet. That can only mean bad things. The same resolve hits you over and over. You can’t let this happen, not again. Stepping into the street, you try to go on as usual. Same path. Same pace, but the further you get from his front porch, the more you fight against the tug pulling you toward it- toward him. It wraps tight up your ankle like a vine. You think you can snap it with enough force and distance.

Instead, it climbs your leg further, piercing through your stomach. It constricts around your lungs like a snake and its branches encircle your heart. Your breathing quickens and shortens until you can’t see more than 2 feet in front of you. You can’t do this. Can’t let this happen. Your fingers bite into a tree as you stumble forward, grasping for stability. Bark digs under your fingernails. A sob releases from your throat, the one that sounds otherworldly but you’re all too familiar with, and you realize it’s tears that blind you because you refuse to give the world another person to tear from your arms, yet you fear you already have.

A warm hand lands on your back. You whip around in a fury of tears and ragged breathing. He recognizes it instantly. It’s the same look he used to see every time he looked in the mirror. He sucks in a breath and takes a step back.

You think the space will make it easier to breathe, but the panic sets in deeper. You don’t want him to go. It’s not fair. You thought you were stronger, but it only took days for Joel Miller to demolish the walls you worked so desperately to build. He had pinpointed the weakness in them as if he’d built them himself and came in swinging.

Your hand shoots out, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. You’re a dear in the headlights, unsure if you should flee for your safety or stay and get hit by what’s coming.

Joel’s hand slowly covers yours. It’s warm. It settles your breathing. His heart beats under your palm a little faster than his calm demeanor lets on.

You sniff back the tears. You realize you were so focused on the traps underfoot that you didn’t realize you walked right into the mouth of one from the very beginning. The moment you leaned into Joel’s familiarity, it snapped shut with no way out. Joel cautiously reaches out, swiping away the tears on one cheek. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he wipes away the others.

It’s a spacious trap. There’s room to roam around. You don’t feel confined, and Joel is in it with you.

“I don’t have to walk with ya tonight.” His voice is quiet. His eyes are soft and understanding. “I understand if you need some space.”

Despite offering you space, he squeezes your hand tighter and leans in, and godamnit, you like it.

“No.” You shake your head. “Stay. I like the company.”

His brow furrows. “You sure, Sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” You nod. His shirt eases back around his chest now crinkled from your grip, but your hand stays. “Believe it or not, I enjoy having you around.”

You force a smile.

“Yeah…” He smiles softly. “Me too.” He takes a step backward. You ignore the soft pang in your chest at the increased distance.

You and Joel settle back into the path as you have the past two nights, but he’s closer tonight. His shoulder brushes yours every so often. He keeps the conversation light. He doesn’t ask about your anxiety attack.

At the end of your walk, Joel’s arm slides around your waist pulling you against his chest. Your breath catches as his other hand slides across your shoulder blades leaving a trail of fire behind it, landing at the base of your skull. He comes over you like a wave, heavy and disorienting when it hits but peaceful once it settles. Your eyes close, resting your head against his chest.

His fingers knead slowly at your skull, releasing built-up tension. Sparks ignite low in your belly. You don’t try to extinguish them this time.

“Sleep well, Sweetheart.”

You swear you feel his lips on your forehead, but he’s gone before you have time to consider it further, back behind his door leaving you to wrestle with that moment all night.

On Thursday morning, Joel works in the barn fixing the big swinging door when Tommy strides in. Joel is so focused on his craft, the long-forgotten feel of wood beneath his touch that he doesn’t catch the grin etched on his younger brother’s face.

“What’s going on, big brother?” Tommy says with a prying tone.

“Can you hand me that hammer?” Joel says, sweat beading his forehead.

Tommy chuckles, handing it to Joel.

Joel turns an eye toward him. “You’re in a good mood.”

“A little birdie told me something.”

Joel lifts an eyebrow. He doesn’t have time for Tommy’s antics. There’s a door to fix and he knows his brother gets more joy drawing things out. Joel does not. “What?”

“Oh come on- you have to guess.”

“Tommy, since when have I played along with your games?”

Tommy sighs. “Buzz kill.”

Joel chuckles.

“Rumor has it, you’ve been walking around with a certain babysitter.”

Joel’s face falls stoic. “She’s not the babysitter anymore.” He sets down the tools with a sigh “What’s it to you?”

“Oh come on, Joel. Is that why she’s been smiling so much lately? You giving her a reason to smile?” Tommy grins.

Joel looks at Tommy through the corner of his eye. “You askin’ me if I’m fucking your dead buddy’s widow?”

It flashes across his face, the pain of losing someone so close before his smile is back in place. Joel doesn’t have time to feel bad for it.

“Not to sound crass, but he’d be happy if you were.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Joel lets the tool drop to the ground, giving in to Tommy.

Tommy sighs. “When I came to Jackson, she smiled all the time. Reminded me of when we’d get back from a job and she and Sarah were up to no good.” Joel’s nods. He’d felt the same pull toward you. “Gabe- he kept her smiling. I know we’ve all been through some dark shit, but she went at it alone. Since his death, her smiles have been few and far between ‘til now. He didn’t want her to go back to how she was before. Told Maria that much.”

“Maria?”

“Yeah, they were out on patrol together when he got infected.”

Hit stomach hit the ground. If Maria was with Gabe when- “Shit,” Joel breathes. “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah…” Tommy says but doesn’t let the silence linger. Gabe’s demise is still a sore subject for him. “Gabe, all he wanted was for her to be happy, for her to smile. You’re doing that, and it’s a big deal.”

Joel hopes his brother doesn’t catch the stutter in his breathing, the way his thoughts drift back to you. He doesn’t need anyone’s permission. You’re grown adults, but it’s there. Gabe wanted you to be happy- they all want you to be happy and somehow, he’s one of the people that does that. Tommy’s not judging him at the possibility of being interested in a woman 13 years his junior. If anything, he’s encouraging it. Joel feels easier and lighter. In it all, he realizes just how much he wants you.

The following evening, Joel is almost embarrassed at how quickly he clocks the missing gold band on your left knuckle. His mind races with possibilities. He knows you don’t wear it when you work at the clinic, but he hasn’t seen you without it outside of the clinic. Granted, the only time he’s noticed was on your walks. Did you forget it? His heart leaps a little. Did you do it on purpose? And you’re wearing those damn matching pajamas again. The same ones that got him here in the first place.

There’s something in the air tonight. The hairs on his arms stand on end. He walks closer to you. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable or make things weird, but the whole time his eyes keep drifting back to your bare knuckle. What does it mean? And he wants to know if you feel the same.

He can't feel the way your skin burns, heat exploding like fireworks across your body blooming and fizzling one after another. You’re tempted to pull him off your beaten path early, dragging him in front of the whole town across your threshold after just the first lap, but you resist and spend the next lap wondering if he’s walking closer tonight, talking slower tonight. Even the timbre of his voice seems to change, conveying the burning need of desire. Still, you hesitate to confirm it. Maybe you’re wrong about it all. What if you’re wrong about it all?

Joel follows you to your porch tonight. Maria’s suggestive remarks fill your brain. More than walking is okay. It puts out any doubts filling your head. You glance up at Joel, you read it in his expressive eyes. Eyes you’ve come to know so well. You’re fighting the fire blazing its way through your body with logic and reasoning. Neither is good at fighting fires, and your limbs burn with desire.

Joel waits at the bottom of your porch steps. You rest against the support beam watching him with a careful eye.

He gives you an easy smile. “I enjoy our walks.”

He makes no moves toward or away from you. He’s leaving this in your hands. You’re not naive. Just sex in this world comes with its own set of risks. It requires trust in a world without STD testing, treatment, and contraceptives. You’re still well within childbearing age. Maria’s pregnancy is a constant reminder, but you trust Joel. You always have.

He stands at the bottom of your porch steps, hands in his pockets as you lean against the support beam. He’s staring at you with that look you’ve caught glimpses of this past week but it’s on full display now, burning into you like a raging wildfire.

You tip your head up, catching a glimpse of the moon under the awning. A smile plays on your lips. You’re buzzing like you’ve spent the evening sipping on cocktails at the bar. “I shouldn’t tell you this- but here we are.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. “Tell me what?”

His voice is smooth and bold like a cup of morning coffee. You can taste it on your tongue- bitter but full of life. You laugh to cover up the embarrassment flooding to the surface, but you feel alive for the first time in a long time. You wonder if he’s seen the desire in your eyes too. You know it’s been there. You want him, and you intend to have him tonight.

“I had the biggest crush on you in high school and college.”

Something about putting the words out there doesn’t seem as embarrassing as it did 5 seconds ago. You’re a grown-ass adult and that was 20 years ago. Joel chuckles and you join him again, laughing under the moonlight like he’s dropping you off after a first date and you’re playing with your keys.

Joel’s boots hit the first step, hand gliding over the worn railing. “You did? Must’ve done a damn good job at hiding it.”

“Or maybe you were just blinder than a bat.”

“Were you trying to make moves on me then?” Joel comes up the second step. His body heat is just out of reach.

“No. Wouldn’t have been appropriate. I knew that much.”

Joel rises to your level. You can smell him now- pine. It's one of the three scents you can trade for in this town. You didn’t imagine differently. Joel didn’t strike you as a Lavender or Lemon kind of guy. His hand rests above your head as he invades your space. You feel his body heat close in. You stand straighter, meeting his searing gaze. The air is thick between you as your breathing deepens.

“And what about now? Would it be appropriate now?”

His voice is low and husky. Just how you imagined it would be all those years ago, but you still catch the hesitancy in his eyes, the restraint pulling at his throat. It sets a fire burning across your skin.

You step back, ducking out of his space. You miss his proximity immediately. You catch the slight embarrassment that flashes across Joel’s face. He looks around nervously like he didn’t just read the situation completely wrong. You feel almost bad as your hand touches the door knob and you look back at him.

“Are you gonna come in?” You open the door. He looks relieved. “I think the neighbors are gonna talk, but I’d rather keep them talking than put on a show.”

You turn your back to him crossing the threshold. You try to calm your beating heart. His boots are heavy on the porch. Before you can comprehend it, the front door shuts. The hardwood presses against your back, and Joel’s hands rest against the door on either side of your head. You feel the heat radiating off him, but he doesn’t touch you. Your hands hang in fists at your side refusing to touch him first. You meet his wild gaze.

He leans in and heat rushes through your body settling in your core. You squeeze your legs together and wonder if he catches it. You tilt your chin up to meet his lips. They come so close but circle just out of your reach. His hot breath hits your ear making your toes curl. You want to fuss at him. You almost do, but resist. You’re wet and he has yet to touch you.

“Tell me this is okay. Tell me you want this.” He’s still hovering, refusing to touch you.

Your head turns to meet his gaze. He thinks he’s doing something wrong. “Joel, I’m a 43-year-old woman, not some naive-”

“Tell me.” There’s a force behind it, a desperation.

You look at his eyes, blow wide with lust. It shortens your breath. Your limbs feel heavy with need.

“I want you.”

He surges forward, lips crashing into yours. Your teeth nash against each other, but you don’t care. Threading your fingers in his thick curls, you pull him closer, craving him. Desire pumps through every ounce of your being.

His hand settles over your hip slipping under your pajama shirt. Your nipples harden as his hand glides over your skin, going up until he cups your breast. His thumb circles over your clothed nipple and you gasp into his mouth. He smirks pressing you further into the door. Your leg instinctively hooks over his hip and his hard cock presses against your core.

“Joel.” You moan, moving your hips against him.

A moan falls off his lips as he sucks on your bottom lip. “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

He moves to your neck. His fingers wrap around the back of your thigh guiding your other leg around his waist. He squeezes your breast again and your legs squeeze around him. He bucks into you.

Your head falls back granting him further access to your neck. You need to be out of your clothes. You want Joel out of his. You don’t care if it’s here or in your bedroom or somewhere else. It needs to happen and it needs to happen soon.

Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. There’s an urge to rip it open and let the buttons scatter across the floor like you’d seen in movies, but you don’t. Resource management is still essential even in the throws of passion.

The first two pop open. He’s sucking on your neck, nipping like a herd dog. “You tryin' to mark me, Miller?” He pulls your Texas draw out like honey.

He doesn’t respond, teeth grazing your collarbone, making you gasp. His hips jut forward and his name rolls off your tongue.

He pulls up your shirt, groaning when your sports bra comes into view. He’s not getting you out of that while you’re against the door. It’s like you can read his mind. “First door at the top of the steps.”

He glances up the staircase behind him. You think he’s gonna let your legs drop to the floor and drag you up the steps. Instead, his fingers dig into your ass. Before he can lift you away from the door, he realizes you’re not wearing underwear under your thin pajama shorts.

“How long have you been walkin around without panties, Sweetheart?” His cock brushes over your core. You’re sure you’ve left a wet spot on his jeans by now.

“How long have you known me?” It’s out of your mouth before you have time to think it through. Your cognitive function has been reduced to one goal: getting Joel Miller into your bed.

Joel considers the implication. For a split second, you think it might make him bolt. Remind him that he knew you as a teenager, but he groans, leaving you putty in his calloused hands. He presses hot, open-mouth kisses on your neck. Your fingers tangle in his hair to keep his mouth on your flesh. His hands adjust under your ass and he’s carrying you up the steps.

It doesn’t matter how fit survival made you, going up the steps with the extra weight of a toddler was hard enough, much less your entire body. It’s far from effortless on Joel’s part. He gives up on the third step. You applaud his efforts through your laugh.

“Come on, old man.” You wink, dragging him behind you up the remaining stairs.

“Who you calling old man?” He growls, crowding behind you.

He kicks your bedroom door closed and you pray it doesn’t wake your sleeping child.

You pull off your shirt. Joel backs you onto your soft mattress. Before you have a chance to catch up, his fingers are in the elastic of your flimsy pajama shorts sliding them down your legs in haste. Letting them fly across the room. Your bra joins them in quick succession.

He’s crawling over you so slowly, eyes raking over your bare body as he does. You burn under his gaze and he’s still not touching you, not in all the places you crave.

His jean-clad thighs push against yours, spreading your legs slowly. They’re rough against your thighs, but in the way you love. You reach up, allowing your fingers to play in his hair again. He pushes into your touch, eyes fluttering closed as his lips leave soft kisses over your palm.

His hand starts on your hip. You push into his touch a soft moan vibrating in your throat as you bite your lip. You’ve always loved the feel of your hips being touched. He chuckles, sliding his hand up your sternum. He comes just under your breast before ghosting his fingers back down. He repeats the path but this time with his lip. They leave a fire burning across your body in their wake. You watch him under heavy lids and low hums.

He doesn’t stop under your breasts this time. His tongue slips out as he makes it to your nipple, going over it with one smooth swipe. It pulls a sweet gasp from you. He repeats the process with your second breast. You roll your hips as his name rolls off your lips.

He groans nipping up your chest again. Your hands roam up and down his back. You catch the faint catch of scarring every now and then, but it’s all a part of Joel. It tells his story and you’re a part of that now. If it’s just tonight, that’s fine. If it’s more- you won’t think about that.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, pulling you back into the here and now. He doesn’t slow down as he ascends your throat crawling higher and higher until his lips are on yours. Your fingers are in his hair. He slides his tongue into your mouth and his hand over your breast, tweaking your tight nipple every third interval.

You push your pelvis against his. You’re slick and desperate for relief, and his jeans are still on.

Joel chuckles, squeezing your breast as he devours your mouth. Your hands make their way down his chest to the fly of his pants. You pop open the button before Joel pulls back. You try to capture him again, but he slips away.

You want to whine and throw a temper tantrum. “Joel.” You fuss, pupils blown wide.

He chuckles deeply. “I know, Sweetheart.”

He brushes over your hips with his fingers dragging them down your thigh. Before you can spread your legs for him, he pushes your knees up revealing your slick cunt.

You expect more teasing, for him to lean in and pull back right away, but he doesn’t. He leans in, nose running through your wet folds. You moan out his name trying desperately to get closer to him.

His hand drags down your stomach, spreading your lips. He eased down again, dragging his tongue through on his second journey.

Your moans grow louder. You tug on his curls. When he pulls your clit between his lips, your legs snap, trapping his head between your thighs. There’s a tug in your stomach. Joel continues to work the sensitive bundle over and over and over. Your pleas turn to encouragement until they’re no longer words at all. Please. Yes. Yes. More. More. More. The sounds marry together with your body, an extension of sensation until warmth spreads throughout like water soaking through a paper towel across your entire body in a crescendo long laid dormant.

Joel works his way back up your body with hot opened mouth kisses as you pant, catching your breath. Your fingers brush across his back in smooth trails. He shivers against your touch.

“So beautiful.”

Heat races toward your cheeks as if the previous minutes weren’t worthy of that. He smiles, dipping down to touch your lips.

Your hands work toward his waistband. You shove his pants down as best you can. Joel tuts your name softly but helps in your pursuit. His pants and underwear fall to the floor, his cock standing tall. You ogle it like it’s water in the desert. “Someone’s eager.”

“Wanna take care of you too.” You pant, still fighting for breath.

Joel's head falls back. “Fuck, not to tonight, Sweetheart.” His hand tangles in your hair.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw and then another and another. “I’m not gonna last long tonight and I wanna make sure I get the chance to be inside you.”

It is the damn truth too. Joel hasn’t been with anyone in almost a year. He hadn’t had the chance for much other relief while traipsing across the western states either. His body is only starting to come down from the constant alertness and tension that came with being on the outside.

You spread your legs out, your dripping pussy on display for Joel. He swallows, crawling over you. You hook a leg over his waist. Joel takes his time, igniting small fires over your skin. You whimper with impatience, making him laugh.

“Please, Joel.”

“So goddamn impatient for me.”

Does he know how goddamn patient you’ve been? That this picture embedded itself in your mind 25 years ago? A picture you labeled never gonna happen.

Finally, he eases into you, slowly, like he’s savoring it. Watching his eyes roll back in his head confirms that he is, sending shivers down your spine. You force your hips toward him, forcing him further into you. You’d forgotten the satisfying stretch of being wrapped around a man. Your moans tangle with Joel’s as he enters you fully, sweat forming across your abdomen.

His fingers intertwine with yours on the mattress. His eyes lock with yours, sending more shock waves across your skin. Your walls clench around him of their own volition. He falls forward with a hiss, catching himself on his forearm. “Fuck, Sweetheart. It’s been a long time. I ain’t gonna last if you keep doing that.”

You squeeze his hand and trail your fingertips down his chest and stomach. He shudders at your touch. It sends another thrill, another wave of electricity straight to your bones. You squeeze him again, and he gasps. You’ve forgotten what it was like to have this effect on a man.

“You gonna fuck me, old man?”

He groans, burying his face in your neck. Hot breath spreads across your skin in an uncontrollable blaze. Finally, his hips rock against yours, setting sparks off where his skin connects with yours. You moan, arching your back and baring for skin for him to consume. He nips at your neck and collarbone, teeth scraping behind. Your breath catches and Joel notices. His eyes sparkle down at you with mischief.

He nibbles at your ear lobe. “I’m going to keep that tucked away for later.” and then he picks up the pace, pulling out and pushing in over and over. Your stomach clenches at the promise of more. More than one night. Nights. You shut your brain off there. Any further and you’ll spiral.

You focus on the thrust of his hips. In and out. In and out. Your hands land on his hips, thumbs caressing the skin there. A bead of sweat falls from Joel’s brown. His lips land on yours again. You can tell he’s close, the tension of your orgasm building.

You slip a hand to your cunt, reaching for your clit. Joel smacks your hand away, replacing it with his own. “That’s my job, Darlin.”

Your nipples tighten. Your walls clench around him, your head swimming with incoherent thoughts and words as the sweat builds across your flushed body. Joel barely touches your clit before you’re crying out, muscles tightening before releasing with pleasure. It crashes over your body like much-needed waves after years of drought.

“Fuck,” Joel hisses, pulling out of you completely.

His lips connect with yours, soft and tender this time. His calloused hands cradle your face as small cries come from your mouth as words still fail to form.

“I know, baby. I know.” He kisses your forehead, pushing back your hair until you come back down.

Your limbs tingle and your body buzzes with a relaxing energy. You’d forgotten what the high was like- the comedown. You feel lighter than you have in months, years even. A smile begins to spread across your face, the bubbling of laughter in your chest. You run your fingers through Joel’s hair and he smiles back.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing really.” But the soft rumble of your chest continues.

“Is that so?” Joel’s crow’s feet crinkle making your heart clench. He presses another soft kiss to your lips, another to your forehead.

“That’s so,” you hum with contentment.

He chuckles. “We should get you cleaned up.”

Joel eases off the bed, entering through the open door of your en-suite bathroom. You take a second to appreciate his bare form before your gaze travels to your own body. Your brain finally registers Joel’s warm semen, sticky across your stomach.

You send up a prayer that Joel had the wherewithal you didn’t in the moment. You’re almost embarrassed how long it took you to realize he finished on your stomach.

Joel steps back into the room, washcloth in hand. “Thank god for modern amenities.” He winks at you as he sits on the edge of the bed, bringing the warm cloth to your stomach.

“I’ve got it,” you say, pushing Joel’s hand away as he tries to clean you up.

“I don’t mind cleaning up after myself.” A smirk plays in his eyes but flickers away when you don’t reciprocate.

You lean away from him, shoulders tensing. “I prefer to do it.”

His fingers glide over your bare thigh as you wipe away the last of him, setting the cloth on your nightstand. Goosebumps raise in salute with each of his motions. Your back rests against the headboard as you both sit in naked silence.

Not a word passes between you. His fingers continue across your thigh. You watch him, his profile, his fingers until the anxiety sets in. Your stomach twists in knots. Your frame is rigid. You pick at the sheets, unable to look Joel’s way.

He knows it. He feels your walls go up before you can’t look his way so he withdraws his hand, collects his clothes- all but the flannel lying downstairs- and kisses your forehead. Then he waits.

He’s waiting for you to look at him. His eyes watch your profile, burning it until you can no longer bear it. You push back the tears, meeting his eyes.

He smiles softly, understandingly. “Same time tomorrow?”

Your stomach clenches and turns in a ball of excitement and dread. “Same time tomorrow.”

With the reassurance, he kisses your head for a final time. “Sleep well, Sweetheart.”

Then he leaves for the night like you told yourself you wanted.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller #TLOU #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #woman #woman (joel’s version)#woman (joel miller)#pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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higanbana-writer · 1 year

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Everlasting Family

Pairing: Gyūtarō x Platonic!Mother!Reader x Daki Summary: Tanjirō fails to behead Gyūtarō after you intervene. Note: Based off the headcanon I did with Upper Moon!Reader turning Daki and Gyūtarō into demons.

“Brother! Do something will you, Brother?!”

Daki’s shrill shrieks sounded distant, muffled by the roaring blood in Gyūtarō’s ears.

How? How had things come to this? That Hashira and those other three demon slayers – all of them were supposed to be dead! So why was it that both he and his sister were on the verge of being beheaded by them?!

He’d been so confident in their victory not too long ago, but now, try as he might, he couldn’t suppress the fear that welled up within him. He could feel it so clearly, the way the cold blade sliced deeper into his neck as its wielder bellowed in desperation.

No. It wasn’t over yet. He could still fight back.

He had to.

Clenching his teeth, blood began to bubble at the stump of his severed arm as he tightened his grip on his kama, sinking it further into Tanjirō’s jaw in a last-ditch attempt to force him away. But the boy never faltered, not even seeming to register the pain. And a second later, Gyūtarō found his head flying through the air. Oddly enough, instead of the expected sound of Tanjirō’s blade slicing cleanly through his flesh, he heard the piercing screech of blades scraping against each other.

Rather than dropping to the ground as it should have, his head was suddenly seized by something and the next thing he knew, he was overlooking the demon slayers from atop a building.

“Wha-“

With everything happening the blink of an eye, he couldn’t understand what had just happened. Uzui and Tanjirō were still below, and he was certain Daki had been beheaded as well, so who’s hand was it that held him? It felt gentle and somehow extremely familiar.

“Goodness, I see that some pests have crawled their way into our home while I was gone.”

Upon hearing your voice, Gyūtarō inhaled sharply in surprise. What were you doing here when you were supposed to be away on a mission for Muzan? Had you completed it sooner than anticipated? Well, never mind that. Though your tone had been light and almost on the edge of playful, he could hear the simmering rage layered underneath it, threatening to boil over at any moment.

While he was unable to turn his head with no body attached to it, he was still able to catch a glimpse of you through the corner of his eye and what he saw sent a chill down his detached spine lying below.

A frigid smile graced your lips and your eyes, ever intimidating with the Upper Moon rank displayed, held nothing but a murderous fire as you gazed at the humans that had decapitated him. Never during the entire century he’d known you for, had he ever seen you this furious.

Just as Gyūtarō opened his mouth to call your attention onto him, he suddenly caught sight of an open folding fan clutched in your other hand. It was a weapon he was all too familiar with, having seen you using it numerous times during hunts for meals and times when you needed to blend in with the human courtesans. What he was unaccustomed to seeing, however, was the blood that dripped off its bladed edge. His own blood, to be more precise.

Had you perhaps… sliced away at the remaining flesh that had connected his head and neck before Tanjirō could fully behead him? That would certainly explain why he hadn’t started to disintegrate yet. Then, if it weren’t for you swooping in at the last second, both he and Daki would have been guaranteed to die.

He grimaced at the thought, shame quickly overtaking any and all relief he felt towards he and his sister’s narrow escape from death. The two of them had upheld their position among the Twelve Kizuki for almost as long as they had been with you, taking the lives of countless people along the way and continuously growing stronger. They were your pride and joy, demons whom you turned and taught yourself, honing them into the perfect weapons befitting of Muzan.

Or at least, that’s what he thought. But here they were, having been nearly killed by one measly Hashira and three brats not even old enough to be called men. An utter disgrace to their rank and to you. It would come as no surprise if you were to cast aside the siblings and leave for good, though he dreaded the very thought of his cherished family breaking apart.

“Gyūtarō.”

He couldn’t help but flinch when you called his name and while reluctant – perhaps even scared – to face whatever harsh words you had for him, he was left with no choice when you lifted his head to look him in the eyes.

Contrary to his expectations, however, you looked far from displeased at his and Daki’s loss. As a matter of fact, the burning ire you held towards the demon slayers mere moments ago was all but gone, replaced with a gentle concern for your children.

He had been prepared to plead with you, beg you for another chance if you decided to abandon them. But met with your worry and love, not a hint of anger or disappointment to be found, all he could do was croak out a quiet apology. “Mother, I… I’m sorry Daki and I couldn’t do better.”

You quietly shushed him, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “You have nothing to apologize for. I know you and Daki did the best you both could, and that’s what matters. It’s that boy who’s the problem.” Your gaze flickered down to whom he could only presume to be Tanjirō, your lips curling into a disdainful sneer. “Those hanafuda earrings – he must be the one Master Muzan wishes dead. I’ll take over from here, so could you please check on your sister, Gyūtarō?”

“Of course, Mother.” His reply was quick and he blinked in place of nodding. As much as he wanted to kill Tanjirō himself for nearly beheading him not just once, but twice, he knew he was in no position to argue with you. He and Daki were already fortunate enough that you were so forgiving of their blunder.

Gyūtarō raised his body off the ground from behind Tanjirō and Uzui, and though the latter had lunged at it to prevent him from reconnecting his head, he was far too slow. Gyūtarō’s body leapt up and landed next to you on the roof side, taking his head back when you handed it to him and placing it back on the stump of his neck.

“Now then,” You narrowed your eyes as you looked down at the humans, a cruel glint mixing with the returning anger in them. “I believe you have reinforcements on the way, yes? I can see that most of you here are already on the verge of dying, but do try to stay alive until they arrive. I’ll have you watch as I slaughter them all.” As you let out a fiendish laugh, blue flames began to flicker behind you, taking on the appearance of nine fox tails.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Uzui muttered in disbelief, the ever-irritating confidant façade of his finally starting to break with dread peeking through its cracks.

But who could blame him? One glance at the younger demon slayer next to him was all it took for Gyūtarō to know that his poison had already taken effect. It wouldn’t be long now before Tanjirō succumbed to it. Uzui was now alone in his fight against you, Upper Moon Four. Oh, how the tables have turned.

A smug smirk slipped its way onto his face and as he began heading towards the direction where Daki’s head should have fallen, he heard the clashing of weapons and your voice snarling, “You should have never touched my children, human.”

Your children.

No matter how many times Gyūtarō had heard you say it, it still filled him with a warmth that almost seemed…human. With your words echoing in his head, he leapt from roof to roof, scanning the ground until he spotted his sister, clearly fuming. Daki seemed to still be in the process of reattaching her head, holding a hand to each side to keep it still as her flesh fused together.

She scowled when he dropped down in front of her, immediately beginning to whine. “Brother! What took you so long?! Those brats beheaded me again! You killed them, right? Tell me you killed them all!”

Wasn’t this the fourth time her head had been cut off that night? As exasperating as that fact was, he had to admit, after knowing that they would have died without your intervention, he was relieved to see her being so lively.

“Mother is home.”

In an instant, Daki’s eyes lit up with delight. “Really? She’s back already? I have to go welcome her home then!” With her head now fully reattached, she rushed to her feet and started hurrying back to where they’d last been, eager to see you again.

As he followed after his sister, seeing how excited she was reminded him of the brief, mostly one-sided conversation he’d had with Tanjirō. It really was quite a pity that he’d refused his offer to become a demon. Gyūtarō had no doubt that if he had accepted, you would have welcomed he and his sister into the family. Well, not that it mattered anymore since the boy would be dead soon.

The three of you were a perfect family as it was and he knew that as long as you were together, nothing – no matter how many demon slayers or Hashira were sent your way – would be able to tear you apart.

#kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kny #x reader #gyutaro x reader #daki x reader #platonic

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ethereal-engene · 11 months

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promise you | donghyuck

pairing: bf!haechan x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, and comfort // warnings: mentions of death threats & cuss words

summary: The first and last time your boyfriend answers a call from a sasaeng who keeps calling your phone. // word count: 1695

note: I am in my delulu era per usual and apparently he said this once and ... this is my take on it "Ah, you really don't know when you should be scared. I'm going to sue you. I'm going to hang up."

Honestly there are a few things that one can expect when they’re dating a k-pop idol. However, nothing could have ever prepared you for dealing with your boyfriend sasaengs.

It was a big deal too because he didn’t want you getting hurt because of them since he knew he had many of them. It’s too bad that he couldn’t control them but he tried his best to keep them from you. Nonetheless, the extent to which some sasaengs were willing to go were farther than his power and influence could reach.

This just so happened to be another incident where he wasn’t able to protect you from it. A couple weeks ago, you kept on getting text messages from an unknown number. As one would do in this situation, you blocked them but of course they would just have another number to text you with.

These messages at first didn’t seem like much until they escalated with messages of threatening to kill you and to stay away from Hyuck. You still ignored a good chunk of them even if they did make your heart rate go crazy. To be fair, if they were serious about this, they would have already done it.

You would have brought it up to your boyfriend but you slightly felt bad to have tell him about it since you knew he would feel bad about you being hurt. When in reality, he shouldn’t be sorry and if they were his true fans then they would be happy for him. It’s just the unfortunate nature and conditions that come with dating an idol. Plus, the bare minimum here would also be fans respecting their idol’s privacy.

Even though you had not brought this up to your boyfriend, he definitely picked up on how your phone notifications would go off more than usual these past few weeks. You brush it off as it’s just your friend texting you about the drama happening at work.

But we both know that’s a lie and haechan knows one when he hears one. Especially when you sometimes pick up your phone and a small wince or sigh leaves your mouth as you read what’s on the screen. He decides to leave it alone for now because he believes that you will eventually tell him.

One night when you’re staying over with him at the dorms, you’re chilling on his bed as he plays. Your phone starts to ring and you forgot to take a look at the contact number before picking it up.

“Hello?” You ask. Haechan hears you on the phone so he tries to make less noise, but he also quiets down to hear who might be calling you this late into the night.

“Bitch, if you don’t leave Haechan tonight, I will literally kill you tomorrow so you will never see him again. I’ve told you multiple times to leave him but you still haven’t. This isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. Now take your things and go. And as always. Do. Not. Tell. Him.” The voice responds and you end the phone call. You quickly block this number and try to make your heart stop racing so fast.

Placing your hand over your heart and attempting to pace your breathing. Haechan can hear your slightly heavy breathing. His eyes leave the screen to look at you. You are clearly not in the best condition as you were a few moments ago.

“Jeno-ya, I’ll be gone for a few minutes. Make sure I don’t get killed this round, I’ve gotta go check on my girl.” As soon as he says that, he rushes to the bed where you are.

“Hey baby? I’m right here and if you don’t mind me asking, who called you earlier?” Haechan’s hands search for yours and when he feels them, he squeezes them to let you know he’s there.

Shaking your head left and right to let him know it was no one, he frees up one hand to tilt your head so you’re only looking at him. When he does it, he sees that your pupils are dilated. His immediate reaction is to figure out what the hell happened and how to comfort you.

No one in the world should ever make you feel this way. Haechan brings your figure closer to his. Wrapping you up in his arms and giving you small kisses. “Baby, I’ve got you. I am begging you to tell me who called you and what did they say? And don’t try to lie. You’re a really bad liar ya know?”

You’re too scared to tell him now because of how he’ll react. Scared to hear him tell you about how you’re supposed to go and tell him about these things because you’re in danger. Scared to hear him tell you that you shouldn’t have kept this a secret for so long. Scared to hear him tell you that this is all of his fault and that he doesn’t deserve you.

Silence fills the air. It starts to feel so stuffy and you want to escape it so badly. But he won’t let you go until you tell him. Right before, he’s about to say something else; the phone rings again. You’re quick to end the call before he gets a chance to see it.

But the phone just keeps on ringing and ringing after you click the decline button. With the way you react to decline the call quickly and your phone lights up with more messages. Haechan’s eyes skim over them and he pieces together what’s been going on.

You might have a death grip on your phone but you forget that Hyuck’s strength heightens when he’s frustrated like right now. The next time, they call. He snatches it before you can even try to grab it back.

“Oh, so glad you learned your lesson and picked up the phone again you bitch. Now as I said, if you don’t leave Haechan tonight. I will kill you. If you think I’m kidding, I’m really not. I have everything ready for you. Your choice.”

Haechan removes you from him in the best way he can without hurting you. Along with holding you back as you continue to try to get the phone back, even though you know you can’t win. All he sees is red but he composes himself to answer back.

“I’m not sure who you’re calling bitch unless you’re talking about yourself. If you know what’s good for you. You should stop contacting this number.” A laugh is heard in the background of the call on the other side.

“Oh my god Haechan!! I didn’t know that you were going to pick up. I’m so sorry but your girlfriend deserves to die because she’s not good enough for you.”

A ‘tsk’ leaves his mouth and continues with "Ah, you really don't know when you should be scared. I'm going to sue you. I'm going to hang up." And with that, he ends the call.

A long huff and puff is heard from him. He’s going through so many emotions right now. You look at him in the eyes and wonder what he’s thinking about saying next.

“I’m sorry, hyuck. I’m sorry for not telling you about this earlier. I don’t want you to blame yourself for this and please don’t hate me or yourself because of this.” You can’t help but start to let it all out. It would be a big lie to say that all of this wasn’t scary to deal with and it wasn’t painful.

Some of their comments were as if your insecurities started to come to life and taunting you about not being good enough or worse. You tilt your head down to look at the floor because you’re too embarrassed to look at him right now. Your eyes are all puffy and your nose is starting to leak.

After a few minutes of rubbing your eyes dry on your shirt and snot with a tissue away, he finally says something. At first, it’s not you. It's to Jeno telling him that something happened and he’s done for tonight.

Then he walks over to you and cups your face with his hands. Wiping away the falling and dried tears from your eyes. They’re bloodshot red and his heart hurts all over again.

He just keeps eye contact with you with his hands cupping your face. Haechan can’t help but laugh a little at your face when it’s all squished like this. “Y/n-ie. You are the love of my life. Without a doubt, you are one of the many people in my life that I love so much and couldn’t live life without”, Planting a forehead kiss and making sure that you’re still looking at him.

“I am not going to lie and say that you I’m not a tad bit angry or upset that you didn’t tell me about this. Because frankly, I am because it involves your safety and wellbeing.” You nod in agreement.

”You are right about me somewhat blaming myself for this. You are not responsible for my feelings and neither am I responsible for yours. From the bottom of my heart, I am truly sorry you had to go through this alone but I promise you that I’ll always be there. God forbid this ever happen again but if it does. Please tell me so I can do my best to make you feel safe and loved again. I promise.” Haechan finally un-cups your face to hold you in his arms. You whisper another apology and I love you too as you take in his warmth & comfort.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re one strong woman and I couldn’t be happier to call you mine. Just remember that you don’t have to be strong all of the time.”

You two fall asleep afterwards and the next day involves him getting you a new phone number along with the paperwork required to file a lawsuit. When all that is said and done, this phone call remains the first and last time he ever picks up a call from a sasaeng on your phone.

... another fic I’ll probably re-visit b/c this could be longer but for now, enjoy this! man, the # of sasaengs he has is 😔

as always please do give me feedback by reblogging this with your thoughts in the tag or leaving a note or even dming/sending an ask. it’s all that I ask for. please take care until next time

signing off

- ash

#kflixnet #haechan x reader #nct x reader #nct angst #nct fluff #donghyuck x reader #hyuck x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #lee haechan x reader #lee haechan x y/n #nct imagines #nct x female reader #donghyuck imagines #donghyuck scenarios #donghyuck x you #ash and queue

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itsclydebitches · 4 months

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This has got to be one of the most frustrating screenshots in RWBY.

Fans can deny it as much as they like that Qrow was not responsible for Clover's death but this screenshot proves that he did. Tyrian may have struck Clover through the heart, but Qrow was the one who allowed it to happen by fighting him and whittling his Aura levels down to dangerous levels before breaking it. AND there was literally no reason for Qrow to strike him, Clover had Tyrian restrained, the literal serial killer was ready to be taken back into custody and instead of stopping the fight and surrendering...he decides the best course of action is to attack the man restraining the serial killer. Okay. The worst part is Clover's death changes nothing, whether he lives or dies doesn't change the fact that Qrow still gets arrested and taken to James.

The concept of responsibility in the canon is so hopelessly skewed. Personally, I consider characters at least partially responsible for an outcome if their action meets three criteria:

Did this action directly allow for the outcome to occur, even if it wasn't the final step? e.g. Qrow breaking Clover's aura = Clover is now vulnerable to death via Tyrian. No punch = new outcome (Clover not dying then)

Did the character have agency in this moment? i.e. they're not mind controlled, not threatened into taking an action they otherwise wouldn't consider, not manipulated or lead astray by false information, etc.

Was the character aware that this action could lead to a horrific outcome? Are they reliably informed of the risks? e.g. Qrow ABSOLUTELY understands the dangers of breaking someone's aura, in the middle of the tundra, while a long-established serial killer is attempting to murder them

Now, note that when I say "responsible" I mean in the sense of, "You should be held accountable for this" rather than the equally literal and ethically simpler, "You just did the thing." I'm just plain old responsible if I knock a vase over like, "Yeah, regardless of this being a total accident I am the one who knocked it over. No one else did that. I'm the responsible party, but in a chill, very forgivable way." I'm accountable-responsible if I willingly throw a ball across the room, knowing full well it might hit something, but not really giving a shit for stupid, OOC reasons.

The show tries to play Qrow's choice off as just generic-responsible (when it's not irrationally blaming Ironwood), but he's accountable-responsible. He made a choice of his own free will, understanding better than most (as a huntsman and someone who has faced Tyrian before) the danger that choice presented to his friend, and that choice directly provided the means of Clover's death. Qrow didn't murder Clover, but he sure as hell was an accomplice.

And RWBY is full of these moments that, like with Qrow, the story ignores or forgives a character because the action in question is taken by one of the heroes. The above criteria is why I hold Ruby largely responsible for them ending up in the Ever After (you made a series of informed demands that directly lead to this outcome), or why I hold Jaune responsible for Penny's death (you made the choice to end her life without persuasive evidence that she couldn't be saved), even though both obviously have villains taking that final step: Salem is the one actually attacking Remnant, Cinder is the one who stabs Penny. Yet neither character has to grapple with their choices; the story glosses over them by introducing a new emotional focus that makes us feel for the character instead, not their victim(s): Ruby doesn't have to own up to her actions as leader because she jumps straight to crying over how hard it is to be leader; Jaune doesn't have to own up to Penny's death because he jumps straight to being traumatized by a lifetime of Ever After isolation. As a side-note, this is very similar to one of my biggest issues with Bakugo from MHA: too often the story has him engage in horrific behavior, immediately introduces something Bad in his life - he's kidnapped, injured, upset that All Might doesn't love him best - and saving/comforting him becomes the new focus, bypassing accountability. Or, fans read the Bad Thing as divine punishment for previous actions... despite there being no connection between the two and thus no growth. Meanwhile, in parallel world, Ruby helps doom Remnant but it's fine because she's upset about something and all the story cares about is showing Any Emotional Reaction, not one that will demonstrate that the character a) understands how their actions lead to this outcome, b) understands why that's an issue, and c) strives to change their behavior in the future.

RWBY also plays the Dramatic Emotional Card. Like, you know that person who when you correct them about something they become SO over-the-top upset about their mistake that you wind up comforting them rather than allowing them to sit with the correction? Yeah. There's no space to let Qrow sit with his responsibility because the show is too busy having him rail against Ironwood, or stare his Super Depressed stare at Clover's badge. The cue to the audience is, "He's so upset! Feel for him!!" not "Damn, he fucked up... how's he gonna grow from this?"

Then to round things off the responsible hero is always narratively forgiven. Qrow stops the bomb with an unprecedented spout of good luck: Clover from beyond the grave helping him in his time of need (not literally most likely, but in a thematic sense). Ruby returns to a world with her image painted in alleyways as a martyr: Remnant overlooking all the ways she helped cause their predicament and, again, positioning her solely as the injured party, rather than a victim and a perpetrator (which, frankly, makes Ruby more boring!). You're not supposed to hold them responsible, but if you do don't worry, here's a "hopeful" scene that explicitly says blaming them is a mistake.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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dxwnstxr · 1 year

Text

Rain drops against your window

Fandom: Bungou stray dogs

Characters: Dazai x y/n (reader)

Genre: steamy-ish

Warnings: make out sesh :p

A/N: requests are closed!!! I've been so busy with my tiktok I completely forgot about Tumblr I'm so sorry! My requests have just built up and there's atleast 20 T-T. I'll try my best to finish them all but I can't promise I'll do all of them. I wanted to write this today though because dazai's been my new obsession. ^^ this is written in the readers pov.

Cold. That's all that I felt as I walked home. Raindrops hitting my shoulders and dampening my hair, along with my clothes. I had forgotten an umbrella on the one day it's supposed to rain this week, just my luck. By now all my paperwork was probably soaked and I'd have to redo them all.

I sighed and hung my head low. My house wasn't close to my work but it wasn't very far either. The closest bus had already left for the next few hours and no taxi was available, leaving walking as my only option.

I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag. Taking one more step in another puddle, a hard board hit me in the face. I tumbled back and rubbed my nose, groaning in pain.

"Cmon..."

I mubled, annoyed at my terrible luck. Looking up to see what a ran into I was met with one of my co-workers. He leaned down to me, face full of concern.

"Are you okay?"

He asked me. I nodded and kept my curses to myself. Dazai, was a well known person at my work. He was known for slacking and goofing off but when we truly needed it, he would help us as best as possible. He put out his hand, asking me to grab it. I put my hand in his and he helped me up a little.

"How far away is your house?"

He ask. I raised a brow.

"Why do you want to know where a live?"

I replied. He just rolled his eyes.

"I'm guess still a little far right?"

I tsked and look to the side. He wasn't wrong, which just annoyed me further. I sighed and nodded.

"My house is around the corner. You can stay there for the night. It's non stop thunderstorms till tomorrow morning."

He stated. I hated the idea of staying with him but it was the only option I had. I could stay at a hotel but I don't have a bunch of money on me.

"Alright.."

Dazai chuckled and took my hand.

"Follow me"

I let him guide me to his house which was actually a condo. He just calls it a "house" to make him feel like he isn't broke.

When we got the he unlocked the door and opened it for me. He lived on the second floor, so he had a beautiful view outside with his balcony facing where the sunsets. Too bad it was too clouding to see it tonight.

Dazai put away his umbrella and walked to his room. I followed him and saw him looking in his closet.

"Here. Go change in the bathroom"

He handed me some baggy close. Dazai was more on the thiner side, but he was still rather muscular. I nodded and he pointed to down the hall.

Stripping myself of the soaked clothing, dazai's warm clothes seemed to fit well enough, to the point the pants didn't fall off. I walked out and tried to find where he went. Walking back into his room, he was sitting on his bed, scrolling on his phone. He looked up at me and his eyes widened.

"I'll throw your clothes in the wash"

He told me, taking them from my hands. He soon left the room as I could hear him getting the detergent and oxi clean. I sat by the balcony window and watched the rain come down. I leaned my head against the glass doors and listened to the way the rain hit the glass.

I closed my eyes and focused on the sound. I didn't hear Dazai come back in until I heard him sit opposite to me.

I opened my eyes and he smiled.

"Fan of the rain?" He tried to tease.

"Only when it's not soaking me to death." I reply.

He just chuckled. The ac turned on and the chill came back as goosebumps flooded my arms and legs. Dazai took note of this and moved closer to me. He sat next to me, his shoulder pressed against the glass doors, and opened his legs and arms a bit. Almost as if he was inviting me to cuddle him.

I glared at him and he smiled in return.

"You're cold aren't you?" He asked me, smarkily.

I continued to glare and he just sighed.

"Do you want to freeze?"

I huffed and scooted to him. Pressing my back to his chest.

"See isn't that better~?" He teased.

"Just shut up" I told him, annoying at his teasing and he pouted in return.

It didn't take long for me to relax. Letting my body relax into his as I let his warmth surround me. I let out a hot breath and watched the rain pour. I titled my head to the side and was able to hear his breathing and the way his heart beated.

I listened close and tried to match my breathing uo with his. Though, even though I tried, It didn't last long. I turned my body around so my chest was facing his and he leaned back a bit, his back now pressed against the side of his bed. I wrapped my arms around his torso and sighed in relief. The heat finally reaching me as it surrounded my body.

Dazai tensed at my moments but soon relaxed and continued watching the rain pour outside. I looked up at his to see what he was doing and he looked down at me.

We both didn't move. In fact, we both stay in that position. He looked at my eyes then my nose, my cheeks, forehead, lips, and so on. His eyes moving around my face, taking in all my features as I did the same to him. At the same time our eyes reconnected and it shocked us both. Our eyes widenening then relaxing. I sat up and wrapped my legs around his hips, so I was sitting in his lap.

He placed his hands on my waist and pulled me closer. I swallowed nothing and blushed a little. Dazai cupped my chin and pulled my face to his. It took me a second to realize that he was kissing me but when I did I reciprocated it. His hand that was resting on my chin moved to the back of my neck, tilting my head up.

Doing that opened my mouth slightly and he licked my lips. Parting them he welcomed himself in and pressed his tongue against mine. His other hand that was on my hip moved to entangle itself in my hair. He held me so close that it felt like he was scared that I would disappear.

He pulled back and slowly opened his eyes, along with me. He brought his thumb to my bottom lip and rubbed the wetness on it. Not wasting a second more, he leaned back in. This time the kiss was more lustful than the last. Like he was trying to be dominant with me. Though... I didn't complain.

He pulled away with a string of saliva connecting us. He started peppering kisses down my jaw line and to my neck.

"Dazai..." I breathed out.

He picked his head up from my neck and studied my face. Dazai then sighed and his head dropped to my shoulder. He rested it there for a while before speaking.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered.

"For?"

"Not asking.."

I practically looked at him in awe. I pulled his head off my shoulder to get a look at his face. A adorable little blush was dusted across his cheeks and I smiled at it. I kissed his nose and cupped his face.

"It's okay" I whispered to him.

I brushed away the hairs that were in his face and rubbed his cheek gently. He melted into my touch and looked at me with his chocolate brown eyes. He smiled softly and spoke with a red blush forming on his cheeks.

"May I kiss you?"

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kipxan · 1 year

Photo

ohh my god ok so i love clangen and the WONDERFUL Nimaereth created a mod that lets you customize and import your own cats into the game and i’m obsessed. i’ve had zero time to draw so i’ve been creating characters from my own personal warrior cats ““worldbuilding”” project (plus my beloved lightningclaw of course).

the folks working on this game are incredibly smart and do all this work for free, and i respect the hell out of them for bringing together such a lovely fan project! definitely show them support if you can!

credits: mod by Nimaereth (linked above), merle and abyssinian coat patterns by MagiBaxter, extra pelt colors by Eragona (no github link but can provide link to her thread in the discord server), just-some-cat for the original sprites, and ofc the clangen team itself! if any one of you want me to take this down, just lmk! :)

more about these characters:

row 1: eclipsestar, murkmist, frostmoon

row 2: riverhaze, silvertongue, nightstep

row 3: wolfstorm, ashfrost, lightningclaw

except for lightningclaw, who is the SkyClan deputy, all of these guys belong to PineClan, which is one of the four clans formed far in the north after several lake clan cats were wrongfully chased from their home. their territory borders MountainClan and ValeClan, while CavernClan makes their home in the cave system underneath the three territories. they make their camp in a pine forest, but their hunting grounds also include a muskeg dubbed The Frozen Mire by the cats. most of their ancestors come from either ShadowClan or SkyClan.

their territory also includes the outer edges of the Fox Hollows, home to an intelligent fox pack that long pre-dates the Clans. PineClan maintains an uneasy truce with the foxes over the strip of their territories that overlaps, and as such all PineClan apprentices are taught to speak a little bit of fox. while it doesn’t always stop natural predator conflict, they live in peace most of the time.

PineClan prides themselves on their wisdom and history. they have strong oral traditions, and some stories claim to date all the way back to the old forest. elders are revered to a greater degree than in other clans, and their stories are a favorite among apprentices of other clans at gatherings. PineClan also has a role called the Lorekeeper. they hunt but do not fight or patrol borders, however their main role is to record Clan history. a large stone wall, sheltered from the elements in an abandoned burrow, is painted on to record births, deaths, and changes in position (think kinda like Paleolithic cave paintings).

their build is lean and elegant, their fur kept sleek and well-groomed. dark coats are valued for nighttime hunting, while tabbies and tortoiseshells are great for hunting in trees. many of them, oddly enough, have large and pointy ears, which legend says they developed to listen for prey in the silent woodland. their scent is reminiscent of pine needles, with a muskier undertone from the wetland.

i won’t get into it too much here but it is important to note that all four clans have a special warrior called their Guardian. this warrior is stronger and wiser than the average clan cat, and their soul is continually reincarnated. though not technically a Guardian, the “original” soul comes from Moonchaser, who led the clan cats to their new northern home. there is a LOT of lore surrounding this bit but think like a mix between the avatar and the nerevarine.

anyway cats.

Eclipsestar (Eclipsestream): current leader of PineClan. she’s chill. has a very relaxed and open policy to outsiders (the northern Clans usually do to prevent inbreeding, but even by these standards she’s very welcoming). was very young to be appointed deputy by the previous leader, Wolfstar, so her inexperience and the need to grow up quickly does sometimes still show. however, she’s overall seen as a wise and peaceful leader.

Murkmist: eclipsestar’s deputy and longtime best friend. while she disagrees with some of eclipse's policies, they’re overall a good fit for each other. sly and crafty, she’s usually the first cat to send when dealing with the Fox Hollows. not above causing drama with the other clans, but she will do so in a manner that makes her seem completely uninvolved.

Frostmoon: the senior medicine cat, very old by the time most of these characters roll around. strict, cold, and deeply rooted in tradition. as an apprentice she was considered a prodigy, but like eclipse, she also lost her mentor at a young age, which led to her developing a deep desire to prove herself. this led to her severely mishandling a situation involving the Clan’s previous Guardian, and many cats (perhaps wrongfully, perhaps not) sadly ended up losing their trust in her.

Riverhaze: frostmoon’s former apprentice. nervous, a bit flighty, and eager to please. not a whole lot to say about him, but he’s a good healer and a nice dude. despite his mentor’s failings, he’s still close with her.

Silvertongue: the current Lorekeeper. not a kittypet since humans are gone in this world, i just thought the collar looked nice. though he probably does have outsider roots. clever, sassy, good-natured, and takes his job VERY seriously. also nightstep’s mate, which means he puts up with a lot of nonsense haha.

Nightstep: the current Guardian and main character of this hypothetical story (and also the cat iteration of my beloved skyrim character, teravyn, though they’ve kind of evolved into separate characters). adventurous, impulsive, and gets into more trouble than what’s good for him. kind to the point where some might call him naive, but to his credit his heart is in the right place, and he’ll grow into the role. however, his impulsivity is again a problem, because he can be absolutely terrifying in battle. very close with wolfstorm and considers her a sister, and his mate is silvertongue whom he loves very much. his other best friend is a former loner called mireclaw, who’s not featured here.

Wolfstorm: young warrior, found by the Clan as a kit. assumed to be a loner kit, but her mother is actually the MountainClan deputy Magpieshadow, who secretly left her kit with PineClan after her mate died and she felt unprepared to raise a kit alone. due to her MountainClan genes, she’s HUGE (and fluffy) compared to the average PineClan cat. to wolf, the warrior code is...more of a suggestion than a rule set. she’s sneaky and not above stealing prey to feed her own clan, but by starclan is she good at staying hidden. some believe her blessed by the (currently unnamed) patron of stealth. very close with both nightstep and silvertongue, as well as another warrior called mireclaw (not featured here).

Ashfrost: a background warrior. also not much to say about her, but i like her a lot. you will never ever find her in the midst of any drama--she is too laidback and too chill with everyone for that nonsense. however, gossip? she is MORE than happy to listen to it, just don’t make her get involved.

Lightningclaw: my baby. my boy. go here.

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echoes-in-blue · 7 months

Text

Mark Hoffman x Original Character AU - Canon Divergent Story. +18 Readers only.

Summary: What if Mark always had someone behind the scenes, watching his back and helping him out. What would happen after his death and resurrection? When lovers become partners in crime, there will be no stopping their revenge. Tags: Dom/sub, breath play, teasing, language, dirty talk, restraints, spanking, knife play, fear play, injury, gore, violence Notes: This story is fan fiction derived from the universe of the Saw movies and takes place at the end of Saw VI, diverting the canon from there and adding in a bit more of a Hoffman backstory. If you aren't fond of this idea, then feel free to skip. This story is not meant for anyone under the age of 18. Read at your own risk.

Chapter One: Backup Plan

“If you don’t hear from me, by midnight I need you to open this envelope.” “And if I do hear from you?” “Burn it, like the others.”

Typically, when he left things like that, he did contact her before midnight. It was funny to her that he believed she had no idea what he was doing or where he was going. At first, it hadn’t been so obvious but over time it became clear. Possibly because she was an FBI agent and a profiler. Did he underestimate her ability to figure it out or was he with her because he was very much aware that she knew who he was and what he was doing. The fact that it turned her on even though it shouldn’t and she was just as aware as him that she’d never turn him in. They were in love and had been since well before he’d become the Jigsaw apprentice. Things had only gotten more intense since that point. It was never explicitly stated between them what he was involved in but that didn’t matter. He knew she knew. It was why sometimes when he returned home he still had blood on his clothes, his gloves that gripped her chin so firmly. Forcing eye contact to make sure she knew her place. Sending chills down her spine into her very core, leaving her unable to deny how much she wanted him. He knew that too.

That night, though, it felt different. The way he told her the instructions. Almost as if he knew that something wouldn’t go right. She wished he’d tell her more, or at least let her help. The thing was that not speaking of these things in detail gave her the plausible deniability she would need should he get caught. The first person they would go to was his wife. Much like they had gone after Jill Kramer. The less she knew, the better she’d be able to fake it when they came around to interrogate her. No matter what, she’d never throw him under the bus. It wasn’t that she was blind to what was wrong with the situation but she could see, through his eyes, why he did what he did. As someone who worked in law enforcement herself it was easier to justify handing out such punishments to criminals who had skirted the law and never learned the value of their lives or impact of their behavior.

She couldn’t pretend like there weren’t suspects, perpetrators, and guilty men and women she had to deal with every day who she’d like to see maimed in one of those traps. She’d insinuated as much when she could get away with it. While watching the news, making sure to mention to him that some people just deserved what they got. It was not the correct stance for her to take as an agent of the law but nor was it correct for him as a detective so at least they were on the same page.

As she sat there, the clock ticking down, she realized that he had not contacted her. No text on her phone. The one she had as a burner just for these messages from him. It hadn’t rang either. The midnight hour drew closer, and closer, and when the old clock in their penthouse chimed twelve she knew for the first time she was going to have to open that envelope. It was something that excited her as much as terrified her because she didn’t know what she would find. Obviously, she was the failsafe in all of this and since she was a forensic psychiatrist that also made her a medical doctor. He had her as a life preserver because she could preserve life. She’d treated his wounds before when he couldn’t properly seek care for them lest they raise suspicion with local hospitals as to how he’d gotten them. As an heiress, she had connections and money to buy or find anything he could need to treat and hide the injuries until he was good as new. They were a perfect team because between the two of them they could get rid of anything that they didn’t want seen.

From the hidden safe in the wall she removed the instructions packet and opened it up. There she found only one thing. GPS coordinates. There was no explanation otherwise. Though he was smart enough to know that she would be aware that this place that he wanted her to go to was dangerous. Not that it mattered, since she always carried her weapon with her now thanks to being an FBI agent. She punched the coordinates into the burner phone and came up with a location. A warehouse in the middle of nowhere just about. Outside of New York City where they lived, near some docks in New Jersey right across the bridge. As far as she could tell, the property had been previously owned by John Kramer. Hopefully, she wasn’t walking into a death trap, nor would she arrive to find Mark’s dead and dismembered body somewhere on the premises.

“I may hurt you but I will never harm you, do you understand the difference?” He asked as she sat there, hands cuffed behind her back to the post of the bed that they shared. The concept of the dom/sub relationship was one she knew plenty about academically since she worked in sex crimes but she hadn’t put it into practice herself. They’d discussed it here and there but he knew more than she had. Especially that she was ready to start. “Look at me, Leila.” He put his fingers under her chin to lift her head up, forcing eye contact between them.

“I understand, sir.” She said, “Hurting means pain and temporary suffering but harm would be permanent and detrimental. I trust you not to harm me. I trust you with my life.”

“Are you sure about that?” He asked quickly pulling a knife from his pocket to flick the blade up and brandish it within her line of sight. “It could be a foolish decision if you aren’t absolutely sure of what you are saying.”

“I know what I am saying and I know what I want.” She confirmed. He smirked and licked his lips slowly. Bringing the blade down he started to cut away the buttons of her blouse one by one until it fell open, exposing her bra. Then he brought it back up to cut the bra between the cups, splitting it to reveal her breasts. Her heart fluttered in her chest. The adrenaline rush combined with the arousal and the idea that she was completely helpless to his every whim was overwhelmingly erotic. Slowly, he ran the blade over her right breast to where her heart would be positioning the tip there to press into the skin enough to cause pain but not actually pierce it.

“I could kill you, if I wanted.” He said.

“But that isn’t what you want.” She replied. He smirked, sliding the knife over her skin enough to leave a scratch but not a cut until he got it to her jugular, resting the blade there where she could feel just how sharp it was against the vital area.

“What I want is for you to never know what I may or may not do but trust that ultimately this is a game we play and you will not come out of it harmed. As I said before.” He moved the knife from her neck to her lips, pressing the flat of it there. She looked at him, kissing the metal that she was presented with. He laughed softly and folded the blade into the handle before slipping the knife back into his pocket.

“So you want me to be afraid?”

“In a sense, yes, but I want you to trust me as well. Expect the unexpected.” He smirked and then pulled her into a hungry kiss.

She took care to be sure that no one had followed her where she was going. It wasn’t typical that anyone would follow her but she knew there were some eyes on Mark so that meant it was possible that people had eyes on her as well. When she pulled up to the place she found that it was indeed a warehouse. Hopefully, it was not one that involved any of John or Mark’s games. Though she could deal with dead bodies, gore, and mutilation since crime scenes were part of her everyday job, she did not want to leave any evidence that she’d been there. If that were the case. From her back pocket she pulled out a pair of gloves and slipped them on before grabbing onto the handle of the sliding door in front of her. Amazingly, it wasn’t locked, but she knew that potentially could mean bad news as well. She only opened it enough to look inside and then enter before shutting it again. The area was dark but not pitch black and in the back she could see a light, kind of in a corner.

Pulling her gun, she headed in that direction as quietly as possible, also making sure she wasn’t accidentally going to touch trip wires or step into a trap. This place had to be rigged with them. That much was obvious. She could see all sorts of things that would constitute as evidence from all of the Jigsaw games. When she got closer to the one light that was on she looked through one of the nearby mirrors to see if she could spot anyone in the room as she paused and held her breath. There was a groan and she turned her head towards it. In the corner she saw Mark holding a blood soaked wad of fabric tightly to his face. Holstering her gun, she hurried towards him and got down by his side.

“Mark, what the hell happened?” She asked. He looked at her, his eyes kind of glossy. There was no way he hadn’t lost a lot of blood but he was still conscious so that was good news in itself. Slowly, he pulled the fabric away from his face to show her that half of his cheek was split open. “Shit. We need to fix this.” He nodded, it was clear why he hadn’t called out to her when she’d arrived she doubted he could do much but groan and scream in that condition. She hurried to look through the warehouse to find something that could stitch his face up. The sooner the better. If he showed up at a hospital like that then he’d be caught immediately. There weren’t any real medical supplies in there, not any that would help with this specific injury but she did manage to find fishing wire and a hook. She could close up the wound and worried about infection later. It wasn’t like it would be hard to get antibiotics. Bringing the supplies over to him she got down and threaded the line through the hook.

“This is going to hurt a lot, but it will save your life. I can get you antibiotics after if you need them.” She said as she reached to pull his hand away from his face again. He let out a small groan and almost the moment she touched the hook to his skin he yanked away. “Mark, this has to be done now and…what happened to your hand?” She had only just noticed that it was broken, she could see bone.

“I can do it.” He said, or more accurately she was sure that’s what he meant to say with a huge flesh wound in the side of his face. If he had survived this far he probably could stitch up his own face, she didn’t doubt that.

“It will be faster if-”

“I’ll do it.” He snatched the hook away from her and very carefully got to his feet. She sighed, knowing there was no way to stop him from doing something he was determined to do himself. He hobbled over to the mirror she had been looking into before and pulled the lamp closer to it. Then he took in a deep breath and started to stitch up the wound in his face.

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you now?” He asked. This was after she’d been blindfolded in such a way that she couldn’t see anything. Usually, when people messed around with blindfolds there was a lot of room for error. Letting light in or the ability to look down and see shadows. She wasn’t surprised that he knew what he was doing when it came to this sort of thing. “Answer me.”

“Anything you want.” She replied, “Master.”

“That’s a good girl.” He chuckled darkly and patted her on the cheek. She sensed movement around her, first on the bed shifting and then some kind of fabric around her neck. It wasn’t rope, it was something else. Perhaps one of his ties. The weight of the bed shifted again and she was still left sitting there with her arms handcuffed behind one of the posts. There was a pause and she heard a click then felt the cuffs release. There was no moment to recover from this as she was immediately yanked down and out of the bed by the tie around her neck. She yelped as she fell to the floor, with hardly any time to brace for impact. Somehow, she did manage to catch herself but just barely. “Quick thinking, I like that.”

“Thank you, sir.” She replied. The makeshift leash was tugged on again forcing her to crawl forward a bit then another sharp tug indicated that she needed to stop. She could hear him as he walked around behind her then felt his hands on her hips as he shoved her skirt up to reveal her panties. There was the swish of the blade from the knife popping up and the sensation of cold metal against her inner thighs. She gasped, shivered, and groaned softly as he started to cut the fabric of them away.

“My pleasure is your pleasure, your pain is my pleasure, anything I want is for me. Anything you are rewarded with, is just that. You have to earn things here, understood?” He asked then without much warning gave her a rough slap across the ass. She squealed and then nodded her head.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re a faster learner. I wonder what else I can teach you.” He said, sounding very amused as she felt his fingers between her legs moving over the wet folds of her cunt. She groaned, knowing she was far more aroused than she should have been given the situation. He continued to tease her perfectly, as if he were playing an instrument that he was a master of. Working her closer and closer to climax before pulling his hand back to give her ass another slap. This was done in such an oddly timed way that she could never predict it and threatened to drive her insane. She didn’t know how long he had kept it up before she lost enough control to scream.

“Please!” She yelled, “Sir…please…”

“Do you even know what you are begging for?” He asked, “Fucking tell me what you want, Princess.” She whined and lowered her head, it was humiliating and so very fucking hot to hear him speak to her like that. She licked her lips slowly and took in a deep breath through her nose, letting it out through her mouth.

“Your cock, sir.”

“And what do you want me to do with it?”

“I…I want you to fuck me with it.”

“Why?”

“For your pleasure, I…I’m your naughty little fuck toy and I’m only here to serve you.” She breathed, her heart pounding in her chest.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He chuckled and gave her ass another slap. From behind her, she sensed more movement until she could feel the tip of his cock rubbing against her cunt, teasing and touching in all the right places. As she was about to yell out again for him to just hurry up he thrust into her and she moaned loudly. She’d have collapsed forward except for the fact that he had grabbed the tie around her neck and yanked back, keeping her upright lest she wanted to choke. From there he started to pound into her with reckless abandon. Every so often the fabric around her neck would restrict her airflow then release again. When she could draw breath all she could do was let it out as a moan. He’d never been so primal and dominant with her before, they’d dabbled in it sure but it hadn’t gotten this far. She knew she was already addicted to this and would never want it any other way. “Are you going to cum for me? Huh? You naughty little girl…”

“Y-Yes…Yes, sir…” She panted, when he allowed her the air to do so.

“Go on then, cum all over my cock.” He growled. She moaned again, her eyes rolling back in pleasure as his words triggered her climax. He moaned then as well, almost louder than her. The walls seemed to shake with the passion of it and she could nearly feel it vibrating through her as she hit her second climax then a third. Suddenly, the leash around her neck was released. She fell forward, unable to keep her weight up any longer. Then he was on top of her, pulling her close to him as he moved them both onto their side. She could do nothing but lay there basking in the afterglow of her orgasm feeling the rapid beat of his heart against her back. She silently hoped she’d never have to face a moment where such a motion ceased to exist when his blood would eventually run cold.

“You did a good job.” She said, once he was finished working on his face. It was quite impressive actually. Using just that dirty old mirror and some fishing line. She didn’t think she could have done it to herself even if it also meant the choice between life or death. “I have a first aid kit in my car. I can use that to see what I can do about your hand.”

“Be quick,” He said, “I don’t suppose you brought any painkillers with you.”

“Nothing heavier than tylenol but you know we are well stocked at home.” She stroked the side of his face that wasn’t injured and stood up. “Why did you need me to come here, this does seem like something you could have handled on your own.”

“I could have.” He said, reaching out to take her hand with his good one. He gave it a squeeze, “But that had nothing to do with it.”

“Then what else could it be?”

“Things didn’t go exactly according to plan and I’m going to need your help.” He replied, “Get the first aid kit. I'll explain more when you get back.” She nodded, knowing that his immediate care took priority over something he could explain after. If he seemed to think there was time to sit and talk she wasn’t worried about that before making sure he was stable and in as good of health as he possibly could be. As she exited the warehouse again, to get to her car, the gravity of the situation hit her. She had to pause for a moment, catch her breath, and try to stifle the tears that were threatening to fall. In all of this time, though she’d seen him injured, she had never seen him come as close to death as that. She’d also never in her wildest dreams expected for him to say anything about his plans not going as he’d devised them. How bad was it that he wanted her involved? She didn’t know. What she did know was that if someone had done this to him with the intent to end his life, she wanted revenge. Possibly even more than he believed he did at that moment.

#costas mandylor #mark hoffman #horror #saw franchise #saw movies #mark hoffman x oc #mark hoffman fan fiction

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joz-yyh · 2 months

Text

(Guess) What's In the Paper Bag

SUMMARY: Mashita brings the spirit doctor some much needed R&R. (Be advised, this story contains minor SPOILERS for Death Mark 2 up until chapter 5 of the game!) No Beta. Read at your own risk.

PAIRING: Mashita Satoru/Yashiki Kazuo

RATING: M (swearing/ sexual themes)

WORD COUNT: 2,976

READ ON Ao3: -> HERE!!

A/N: My first Death Mark fanfic, so please be gentle! I've been a fan of the games for a long time, but finally stepping out of the shadows to create something for it~ Please consider leaving a kudos if you enjoyed! ^v^/

▪️ Have a look at my Mashita art ➜ Here!

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The infirmary is where he spends most of his time these days, when he's not out chasing spirits, the only place that still feels safe, its bland nondescript walls becoming an all too familiar reprieve.

As the Departed grows stronger, his allies dwindle, the stakes growing exponentially higher. No matter how badly his friend's may want to help him, Yashiki can't stomach the thought of losing a single one. He won't allow their souls to be condemned, chain linked into a horrible fate because he failed to protect them from a vengeful spirit's appetite.

Better they remain absent. At least that meant they were alive.

It is no wonder he's alone then, sat at the steel desk in the corner, toiling over his notes, trying to make sense of the missing pieces.

The empath swivels at the sound of the sliding door being shoved open, not expecting company, greeted with the cat-like eyes of a green-coated authority figure.

A relief spreads throughout the spirit doctor, thin lips curling in a smile at his partner's sudden appearance. Even in hopeless, tight spots like this, Yashiki can always rely on him.

“Mashita,” he breathes, more than happy to see his handsome face.

In his own way, the foul-mouthed gumshoe returns the sentiment, sporting a devilish grin.

“Got time for a coffee break,” the suited detective offers, walking up to him, holding out a styrofoam cup.

Yashiki folds his hands in gratitude, accepting this glimmer of salvation, admiration reflected in his tired eyes.

Rather than use a chair, Mashita hooks a leg onto the edge of the desk his partner is occupying, leaning his weight atop it, watching on as the kujou family head takes a temperate sip.

“Hope you don't mind. It's black.”

His timing is expertly calculated, Yashiki holding the liquid inside his mouth, not wanting to spit it out, but also holding his breath so that he won't taste the bitterness.

The mischievous cop laughs, the other male acting as though he's been betrayed, glass spectacles making the kicked puppy dog look all the more convincing.

“Chill man, it was a joke. I remembered to sweeten it for you.”

Upon hearing this, Yashiki remembers how to breathe again, swallowing down the caffeine with a heavy gulp.

“You're lucky the convenience stores don't charge for that shit or else I'd be broke by now.”

Yashiki thinks unsweetened decaffeinated coffee is a desecration of its holy sanctity, but Mashita sees it the other way round, preferring his without all the added sucralose.

The taller man takes another long sip, the lines under his eyes seemingly less haunted after doing so, a fountain of youth and energy returning to his skin.

Mashita smirks at the change. Funny how a fellow middle aged man needed help taking care of himself, but the detective doesn't mind babysitting too much.

“Donut,” he asks, pulling out a wrapped one from his pocket, chocolate glaze drizzled overtop golden perfection.

He swears, Yashiki's voracious eyes snap towards him even more earnest than before, practically salivating at the mouth, though you'd never guess he was a chocoholic by the calm and neutral tone he uses.

“Sure. Thanks, Mashita.”

With that, he takes the proffered treat, bites into it almost as ravenously as the Departed.

It paid to be a cop sometimes. Forgive the stereotype, but if nothing else, he could provide Yashiki with an endless supply of coffee and confections.

“Where's yours,” the kujou head asks, words muffled, inhaling more pastry.

It takes the detective a moment to realize what Yashiki is really asking is if he's eaten properly himself.

“Don't worry, I already had mine.”

Yashiki accepts this as truth, returning to nibble away at what remains of his donut, the gray-eyed sleuth nursing at his own coffee in the meantime.

He waits until a famished Yashiki is sucking the flakes of sugar from his fingers before moving onto his next question.

“You still have my gun, right?”

The longer haired male clenches his teeth, as if suddenly swallowing something horribly unpalatable.

“Yeah,” Yashiki admits, turning gloomy, “But do you think I really need it? Guns don't usually work on spirits.”

“Maybe not, but I feel better knowing you have it. Plus, there are some pretty nasty humans out there. Just ask Kokkuri.”

Yashiki sighs, having no other choice, but to go along with his plans. “If you say so.”

The room turns silent, Yashiki adopting more of his usual haggard state despite all the effort Mashita was putting in to cheer him up.

“You look tense,” the police detective observes, setting down his drink on the meeting table, slipping off his perch, “let me take care of that for you.”

Yashiki is so adorably naive as Mashita sneaks behind the stool, wedges himself between the spirit doctor and his studious profiling.

Firm hands rub along his neck, the slope of his shoulders, warmth and comfort in every twist of his fingers.

It takes some coaxing, but the bifoculed man let's him slide off the collar of his trenchcoat, Mashita able to massage at his partner's sore muscles more effectively with less layers in the way.

Yashiki hums in his throat, eyes slipping shut, relaxing into his touch, rolling his head back and moaning his approval.

“Been too long, huh,” the detective teases, cracking a smile as such a delicious reaction.

“Mashita,” the spirit doctor gasps, brows and teeth clenched in pain, the man kneading over a particularly tender spot.

“Got it,” his partner says, easing up his technique, working over the stubborn knot until it becomes smooth again.

Yashiki missed this, more than he thought he would. He'd forgotten what it was like, having someone he didn't feel guilty about indulging in soothing his worries away. He settles against the hard body positioned at his back, head feeling cumbersome, laying it to rest against one of Mashita’s long-sleeved arms.

He doesn't know how he survived all those weeks without him, the ex-police detective absorbed in his own grimy casework just as Yashiki had tied up the secrets of the Kujou mansion.

“The Departed is obsessed with you, right?”

Yashiki wonders why the malicious entity is suddenly being brought up, but nods subtly in acknowledgement.

“Do you think they're watching now?”

Just what was he getting at? Why this train of thought? Where was it headed?

Regardless of his motives, there would be no point in lying. Mashita would see right through it.

“Don't know,” Yashiki answers honestly, “I can usually sense when they're near, but the infirmary seems to be a safe haven. At least it did, up until this last case.”

Mashita's hands are on either side of his neck, resting gently beneath the cut of scruff at his chin, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “Won't they be mad when they find out?”

The implications are purposefully vague, but Yashiki deciphers it, one of the few that would be able to.

“We shouldn't provoke it,” the long haired man cautions, grasping for logic through the haze of yearning, “more people could get hurt.”

“Or maybe, the competition will do it some good.”

Yashiki recalls the Departed words, threats made to Ai, Shou and all the rest flashing through his mind in glaring red text.

“It usually targets those who are close to me. You would be the Departed's next prime rib.”

The cocky gumshoe laughs, “Tell ‘em to bring it on.”

He guides the spirit doctor's head back, stealing a kiss, soft and exploratory, relearning the curves of his lips, a new sensation for his memory to treasure.

For as much of a fight as he’s tried to put up (which coincidentally isn't much of one), the spirit doctor melts, pulling the other close, digging nails into short strands of choppy black hair.

“We should wait til after we close the case. It would be safer,” Yashiki reasons, parting them with a wet smack.

Mashita was just the type to jump right into another dangerous situation, even if he didn't have a full scope on the matter, having fallen prey to the supernatural before. But who knows if both of them would survive that long, if they would get another chance like this again, a rational mind making sense of reckless actions.

“Not sure this can wait,” Mashita says, dragging a hand along his lover's chest, eyeing the strain of his erection.

Yashiki chokes on a gasp, hips jerking up into his touch.

“Good to see you've missed me too,” he breathes, clutching at Yashiki’s pecs through the fabric of his shirt.

The look Yashiki is giving him, such wanton need and surrender, begging to forget reality in exchange for a few moments of bliss.

The detective plays with the obscured peak of his nipple, liking the effect it has, the man squirming in his seat, arousal twitching in his pants, looking for freedom of its restraints.

Feeling as though he’s tortured him enough, Mashita slides his hands down, molding it around the egocentric bulge, his friend stifling a moan. Yashiki is burning up, hiding his face inside his partner's jacket, huffing and shaking, a testament to how turned on he is.

“C’mon, you need to help me with this,” Mashita teases, tugging at the zipper to the Kujou's pants, needing to be careful in peeling it off him, needy as he is.

“Your sleeve will get dirty,” Yashiki weakly protests, always looking out for his companions' well being.

They're not exactly in a private space. This was still a school after all. Anyone could walk in and realize what they're doing in an instant, but it was late, the curtains drawn, most of their clothes still on. It should be fine. They’ll be quick.

“S'alright, I'll just roll it up,” Mashita chuckles, pulling away to do just that.

Yashiki takes the opportunity to unbutton his fly, fumbling and impatient, catching his erection on one of the metal sprigs, but he hardly cares. It’s only a few seconds, but he can’t wait for Mashita to return, instead taking his weeping erection in hand, stroking himself in desperation.

“Hey, that’s my job,” the police officer chides, a pale hand molding over his, stopping his pursuits, insisting to take over for him. The spirit doctor relents, giving up control, letting the other man squeeze him, inexplicably tight.

Mashita marvels at how hard he is, how wet.

“God Yashiki, why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

The bifoculed man simply groans, words too hard to articulate, bucking into his partner’s stern grip, pleading with him to move.

A part of Mashita wants to draw this out, level such juvenile, harebrained passion into something more long lasting and ripe, but how can he, when Yashiki wants him this much?

With this thought in mind, the detective mimics his friend's breakneck pace, indulges the spirit doctor’s desires with swift, repetitive pumps, the swollen head pink and round like ichigo daifuku.

Yashiki’s nails return to scratch at his skin, leaving marks, grasping for purchase, muscles going taunt, signaling the rapid approach of his peak.

“Nnn, Ma … Mashita,” Yaskihi’s cries, legs flinching, rippling with aftershocks.

Cum spurts from his gaping slit, gushing in heavy clumps over the policeman’s meticulous fingers, the dark-haired medium heaving to catch his breath, fingers flexing around whatever material is within his reach.

Mashita feels chills crawl up his spine, goosebumps spreading across his skin, heat in his cheeks. Shit, this has gotten him riled up too.

He attempts to slide his soiled hand down Yashiki’s shaft, the man spasming from how sore the abrasive treatment has left him until the detective finally lets go, guiding his hand up to his lips, disposing of the evidence with his tongue.

“Hey Yashiki,” he drawls, mulling over the flavor, “you taste like sour plum sake.”

The empath can’t help laughing at such absurd comments, already feeling much better despite how depraved he must look.

If only Sakimoto could see him now, legs parted open before a man’s caress, perhaps she would be relieved to see his true inclinations, though, this wasn’t a good look for a teacher, participating in lewd activities after hours, on school grounds.

Mashita finds a box of tissues nearby, cleans what remains of the sticky substance on his hand, before tossing it in the waste bin. Similarly, he offers the same courtesy to Yashiki, the older male taking a tissue of his own, tidying himself up as well.

Mission accomplished, the detective turns towards the exit, about to head out.

“Wait, what about you,” Yashiki says, reaching out to grasp at the younger man's belt buckle.

The cop dodges his hand, taking a step back, only his jacket tails grazing the pads of his slender fingers.

“I'll take care of it later,” he growls, practically feral, “I was just trying to help you relax. You’re always too stressed out.”

Yashiki seems unsatisfied with that, tucking himself back inside his trousers, zipping them closed before rising from his chair.

“No way. Come here,” the lecherous teacher asserts, yanking the shorter male to him, reeling him in by his striped necktie.

“H-hey–!”

Mashita is unbalanced, suddenly reminded of how much taller the bearded man is, Yashiki pulling him in for a kiss that is so sweet it makes his teeth ache.

He wasn't expecting anything in return, really he wasn’t, but it's just like Yashiki to give back, to put more effort in than what he receives. Mashita can’t deny he wants this too, but after all the laborious trouble he put in to give the spirit medium a break, he’s going to go and exhaust himself again if he allows their debauchery to continue.

“Satoru…” the detective stutters, losing his cool, “... hey, this is bad. Don't push yourself so much.”

Yashiki doesn't hear him, he's too absorbed in assaulting his mouth, giving it his all. Mashita’s completely weak to his lover’s tongue, adding his own, letting an amorous Yashiki assume control while he struggles to keep up.

The detective can't keep his footing, the older male steering him around by the lapels, backing him into the medical supply cabinet, pinning him flat against it.

“Fuck,” Mashita snarls, listening to the contents of the cabinet clatter around inside, “why you gotta be so … so damn persistent.”

For a creepy bastard, he looks too sexy and too confident, a dark gaze boring holes into his, so deep and fathomless like licorice candy.

“It's your spirit power,” Yashiki pants, raking hungry eyes over him, “I felt it pulse just now.”

“Really,” Mashita taunts, raising a fine brow, “My spirit is telling you to do all this?”

It was common knowledge that Mashita was more of the dexterous type, offering both insight and strength, his spiritual prowess wimpy by comparison, practically non-existent. The dabbling of the occult and sensitivity to spiritual attunement was more of Yashiki’s expertise, though he doubts his own measly affinity could cast such a lustful charm over one with his partner’s ancestry.

“Hmm,” Yashiki affirms, leaving off his grip, hands slipping down his lover’s coat, knees hitting the floor and it’s pretty obvious what he intends to do from there.

“Not just yours. Mine too,” Yashiki hums, embarrassment made evident only by the blush on his cheeks, nosing around the ex-cop’s concealed erection.

Mashita looks away, closing his eyes as his fingers slip across the sleek glass behind his back, feeling weak and powerless to the Kujou's seduction.

With a smug little, “hm,” the spirit doctor smiles against his crotch, glad his partner has finally decided to cooperate, fingers gliding down his trousers to undo his zipper.

When the spirit hunter pulls him out of his pants, the detective gasps, bowing forward, biting his lip to keep quiet. One hand grips him around the base, the other around his trembling thigh, a hot tongue coming to lave against his aching tip.

Yashiki is too eager, and Mashita can’t hold back his stifled sobs, tears welling in his eyes because it feels too good. The ex-cop tugs at his partner's ebony locks of hair, shaking with want while his partner seems completely at ease, immune.

“Ah, damn, that mouth of yours, hate how good it is,” Mashita huffs, cynical, as he bangs his head against the cabinet for some clarity, “No wonder all these spirits want a piece of you.”

Yashiki responds by continuing his salacious torment, taking his sweet time, completely ironic with how much of a hurry he was in for Mashita to jerk him off earlier. The spirit doctor removes his hand, relocating it to Mashita’s other thigh, clinging to his pant legs, taking more of him into his mouth, licking him down, into his throat.

“You’re mine though, don't forget that,” the younger of the two grumbles, watching as his length disappears inside a thin pair of lithe lips, his partner sucking his cock like it’s the most demure act ever known to man.

He hasn’t necessarily been neglecting his own needs, he pleasures himself every now and then, but this scandalous teacher has him cumming in minutes regardless of his personal maintenance.

“Ahh, dammit,” he moans, head knocking against the cabinet doors again, “Yashiki.”

The occultist is drinking him down, hot tongue guiding his release along the underside of his length with a string of long, languid licks. Mashita swears he blacks out for a few seconds, Yashiki already standing while the detective is still recovering, never seeming to catch his breath or his balance.

Somehow, they’ve managed a 180, a complete reversal of their physical and mental conditions of when he first arrived, Mashita feeling ragged and sapped, while the other seems a spry buddah of calm.

As he watches Yashiki rearrange his clothes, dress them both back up properly, Mashita can’t shake the nagging thought that his partner might be a lethal incubus in disguise.

#my writing #death mark #death mark 2 #yashita #satoru mashita #kazuo yashiki #spirit hunter #spirit hunter death mark #shiin #yashiki #mashita #shibito magire

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