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lazyneonrabbitt · 7 months

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Sinful

Daryl Dixon x Reader | SMUT

Many years of pretending to be a nun builds up quite the frustration.

~~☆☆☆~~

You didn't speak one word French and you despised religion.

You were on a sightseeing trip with friends when the world went to shit and by pure accident you ran into the one place that had you lying your ass off to be able to survive.

Wait no, you did know a few French words.

"Je ne parlez pas Francais. Englais?" You held your hands up in apology as you excused yourself for not speaking their language. With few words and lots of gestures you were let in and brought to the person who spoke the most English where you continued your lies. Some fake tears and religious hand gestures as you cried in your native language none of them spoke, only to add some more apologies at the end. You were let in as long as you followed their beliefs and eventually made yourself into a part of their supply run group.

Just as you were then brought to the one who could communicate with you best, you were now called to the central area to meet with a man who spoke only English.

An American, he said. An absolutely gorgeous one, you thought.

Even though he looked a mess he was very handsome and you couldn't help but think up a plan to get him alone with you.

You discussed today's plans for the man with your sisters and sent them on their way.

You took the man to an unused room so he could get cleaned up while your sisters washed his clothes and prepared food for him.

"How come yer english is so good?" You didn't expect that to be his first question. "We were taught English in school before the world went to shit. Top of my class too." You happily explained as you ran him a bath.

"Put your clothes in here," you motioned to the basket next to the filled tub. "I'll go take them to get cleaned and bring you a change of clothes and some towels."

He did as you asked and called you over once he was all the way in the water. Once you returned he had cleaned himself up and was enjoying the fact he could relax again for once. You announced your presence by knocking on the door before going in and closing it again behind you. "I got you some clothes. Nothing too fancy but it'll do."

He followed your form around the room, quickly catching how hard you were trying not to stare at him. "If yer uncomfortable ya can wait outside. Call ya back when I'm dressed." His comment caught you off guard and had you turn to face him before even coming up with a reply. "Oh, no. Not uncomfortable at all.." you stammered, sighing and sitting down you started the tale of how you ended up here. "Just as unlucky as I was huh." He smiled at your confession. "Hand me a towel?" You did as he asked and he took the towel to his hips and stepped out of the tub. You were still eyeing everything except for him with a clearly frustrated aura surrounding you.

"What's on yer mind, girly? I know ya aint' lookin' away cuz of god." He knew why, he just wanted you to admit it.

He stepped closer to you, entertaining some stupid tale that surfaced in his mind, narrated by his brother who bragged about the best sex he's ever had with some chick in a nun costume during Halloween.

"You're.. just very handsome." You talked fast in the hope he'd drop it but he clearly wasn't going to. "I aint' exactly yer age.." Even with your loose layers on your squirming was caught easily and you knew he knew. "You're a really good looking man and I don't care that you're probably as old as my dad would be now or if you end up being dangerous I just really want you to fuck me until I see god for real this time, okay?" A frustrated huff ended your ramble before you felt his breath fanning your cheek as he spoke. "Fine by me. So where d'ya wan' it?" He stood behind you with one hand on your hip and the other pointing out different locations in the room. "How 'bout I bend ya over tha' desk, huh? Tha' bed is lookin' mighty fine, an' 'msure tha' rug won't hurt yer knees." His hand came back to rest on your hip.

"Y-- Yes." You were suddenly very aware of his figure pressed against your back and his hands pulling up the layers of your habit. "Yes, what?" His lips were on your neck right after removing the obstructing fabrics. You only nodded in response, which was taken as a yes to all options he suggested and pressed you to walk with him towards the desk before pressing your chest against the wooden surface and running his hands over your panty covered ass. A hand ran up your spine to unclasp your bra while the other pulled your panties down before pressing his hard member against you.

You let out a soft whine and pressed back against him, almost begging him to get going already.

"Impatient, are we? What would yer friends think if they saw ya here with me?" He rubbed his length between your folds, covering himself in your slick and line himself up at your entrance.

"Please.." you pushed back against him hoping he'd just start but the roll of your hips wasn't enough to push him past your entrance. "Wha' was tha'? Wanna confess yer sins to father Dixon?"

"Pleease fuck me--ohgod.." your breath caught in your throat and your hands clamped around the edge of the old wooden desk as he pushed his full length in without a warning. Your face pressed into the your arm to not scream at the stretch. He gave you no time to adjust and set a steady pace. One hand reaching down between your legs to rub at your clit, an apology for not prepping you before while the other kept your hips in place.

You hadn't felt this deliciously full in years and the way his tip hit that spongey spot inside you with every thrust combined with the stimulation of your clit has you close to seeing stars in record time.

You pushed your hips back with each thrust, begging to cum. "Fuck-- so close.." Your words came out as breathy whimpers that spurred Daryl on even more and had you cumming over his cock in a matter of moments. His thrusts slowed before stopping entirely to give both of you a second to catch your breath and move over to the next piece of furniture.

You were easily picked up and manhandled onto the bed, where you were thrown onto your back before he crawled over you and caught your lips in his.

"Fuck, yer so gorgeous." He mused as he kissed down your neck, leaving red marks all over your chest and sucked on your tits. His trail of bites and licks kept moving south until he reached right down your bellybutton. Wrapping his strong arms around your thighs he spread you wide open and licked a thick stripe right over your folds, pulling a loud, muffled moan from you. "Gotta keep quiet, lil' lady. Dun' want yer friends ta hear ya.." He smirked up at you before delving right in, tongue deep inside of you with his nose pressed against your clit. He lapped up every single drop that threatened to spill, like he hadn't been fed in ages. "Taste so good." He loved how you tried to squirm out of his grasp as you quickly approached another orgasm. The rumble of his laugh sending you even closer as he sucked at your clit and send you over the edge again.

Daryl wiped his face with his hand before moving up and wrapped your legs around his waist. "Ya still good?" He caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers.

You nodded with a soft, breathy laugh and wiggled your hips against him. He nodded back at you and lined himself up with you again, pressing in slowly and admiring every reaction your body gave underneath him. His pace was much softer than at the desk and it gave you a moment to really look at the man above you as well. It gave you a chance to really grab and scratch at every inch of skin within reach as your heels pulled him in deeper and helped him set a pace you really enjoyed. The soft sighs that left you with every thrust, right at his ear and the soft fingers in his hair together with the light scratches right at his tailbone had him groaning out in pleasure. "Hah.. keep doin' tha'.." He grunted into the crook of your neck.

You dug your nails harder into his skin and tugged at the messy strands at the back of his neck, moaning just a little louder and bucking your hips to meet his thrusts.

You could feel his thrusts getting more erratic and his fingers moving between you to to pull you over the edge with him. With only a few more thrusts and rubs you both finished, riding out your highs.

"That was.. wow." A shaky laugh left you as you rolled over to look at him. "Ya think I'm done with ya already?" His cocky attitude worked like magic and had you intrigued at what he still had in store for you.

"Haven't fucked ya on tha' old carpet yet." He nodded at the floor at the end of the bed. "Wantya ta ride me." His request was clear, and you were in no mood to decline.

You stretched and got up, moving over to the end of the bed. You felt both your release running down your thighs, running your finger over the inside of the soft legs you scooped up some of it and sucked your fingers clean as you kept your eyes on him.

Daryl let out a deep growl as he got up to grab you and pull you down to the floor.

Your face was harshly pressed into the soft rug. With your hips still up Daryl had the perfect angle to ravage you.

"Ya like teasin' huh." His grumbling was your new favorite sound.

He rubbed his cock between your thighs, smearing your cum all over you both. One hand held you hips up as the other drew soft circles over your asscheek. His touch left you before being returned with a loud smack right to the soft flesh. A whine left your throat at the harsh contact, but that didn't stop him from repeating the motion twice more. "'S whatcha get fer bein' a tease."

He went back to caressing the struck skin softly and pressing the tip of his cock between your folds and starting at a rough pace, easily fucking into your overstimulated cunt.

"Ohh ahpleaaseee slowdown-" his pace was so rough your orgasm crashed into you before you even had a chance to realize you were getting close.

With a chuckle that borderlined on sadistic Daryl pulled out and maneuvered you with your wobbly legs on top of him. He held you up right above him and pulled you down onto his cock, thrusting up a couple of times before stilling.

Only a command of "Ride." left his lips as his hands stilled on your ass, squeezing hard to spur you on. Your body was tired, you had barely any strength left after god knows how many orgasms you had by now and you had no idea if you could keep up with his desired pace.

You placed your hands flat on his chest and lifted yourself up before sinking down again with a huff a few times before whining in exhaustion. "Daryl.." you wanted to beg him to fuck you and get it over with but he wasn't having any of it. His hands on your ass grab on harshly and lift your hips for you and starts fucking himself with you. "Ya feel so good, squeezin' me like tha'.." You couldn't help it you were so overstimulated your body worked on its own. "F-- fill me so good.." you managed to breathe out between thrusts. "Wanna cum.. please.."

Daryl let go of your hip to rub at your clit to help you reach your high. Your pleased noises were like music in his ears. He loved all your tells that let him know you were close. You were squeezing him so tightly he had a hard time to hold off until you finished.

"C'mon doll. One more time.." His thumb rubbed at your sensitive nub a couple of times until your walls clamped around his cock so hard he came right there with you, spilling deep.

"Yeah, fuck seeing god." Your slumped on top of Daryl with an Oof. "I wanna see you all day every day."

Daryl's laugh rumbled against your ear and he kissed your head. "Got more sins to share with father Dixon?" He air quotes the name.

You nodded against his chest.

"Got some years of catching up to do."

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: I know I used this prompt alreasy but I wanted to turn that quick drabble into a full fic lol.

#sometimes i write #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #twd: daryl dixon #twd daryl #twd #the walking dead #twd fanfiction

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liveontelevision · 3 months

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Tap Out Vox X Reader

Ok, I am in LOVE with this god dam TV head lookin ass, so here's a quick one shot of him being an absolute Sub! Mess!

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The All-Mighty Vees were the central powerline for entertainment and technology in Hell, but even those three dorks liked to have fun. Sometimes, they would play poker games on their rare nights off that miraculously lined up. Of course, money means nothing to these business partners, so they like to bet on favors. There were times when Valentino would lose to Velvette, who would get to use his studio for a day, or Valentino would get to borrow some of Velvette's actors for a shoot, little things like that; things that would be considered a minor inconvience. Until tonight, that is.

•••

Velvette created a sort of dancing competition program, and it was booming in Hell. The show was spiced up with a stage covered in landmines, falling spikes, randomly shooting arrows, etc. Contestants were judged by their talent and if they came out in one piece by the end of the routine. The season finale was fast approaching, but Velvette was lucky to get a quick game of poker in between her packed schedule. With her cunning and wit (and some cards under the table), Velvette managed to weasle a win from Vox. He was never one to complain about carrying through with these favors, so Velvette took the chance to bring her program to the next level.

"You have to compete!" She declared with pride, her hands slamming on the table, with a sly smirk. "It'll be easy, i'll get someone to train and. but i need a hook for this finale, and your dashin' face would be perfect. And! I'll pair you with my best dancer, eh? How's that sound, love?" She explained, showing no sign of wavering. She clearly had this planned ahead of time.

"Fuck me, Velvette." He squints, throwing his cards behind his shoulder. "Fine.. i guess the publicity will boost viewers on both our fronts- " He groans and crosses his arms over his chest. "- Hate to admit it, but i haven't been tuning in, doll. So, who's this dancer i'm stuck with?"

•••

You arrived in hell after a life of drugs, sex and booze. You always joked about going to Hell. It was obvious you wouldn't make the cut into heaven. What you definitely werent expectingbwas for Hell to look just like the busy and messy streets of the ritzy cities you would party in. With absolutely no shame or doubt, you were quick to work your way up in the industry to work for the Vees. You started with Valentino, working up quite an audience in that field. And he didn't even make a contract! You said yes to anything, so really, there wasn't a point. That grew to helping Velvette with some small rolls in some shows, then moved up to you, performing and acting often. You were the lead singer of a band in your life, and you had quite a few talents hidden up your sleeve. Truly, a perfect byproduct of the Vees. Once Velvette pitched the show to you, you immediately auditioned as always and were quick to get in.

Weeks pass, and you're finally in the top 3 of the show! You were a solo dancer throughout, but with the routines provided, you were required to find a dance partner. Velvette to the rescue, somehow managed to bag the other Vee, Vox himself. You'd be lying if you said this didn't get you excited.

During one of the dress rehearsals, you were finally able to work your routine with Vox. Sure, you've met him before and said hi in passing, even going out with the Vees for some press events, but you never expected to get this close to him. Velvette would provide some amazingly embarrassing footage of his dance lessons. The two of you couldn't help but giggle at the powerful demon, getting so frustrated to music. Still, seeing his towering figure made you siddently nervous to have such intimate contact with him.

He came into the rehearsal space with a black turtle neck and pants, going along with some heeled boots that he'd have to wear during the performance. No matter how nicely those tight clothes hugged his figure, it was immediately disheartened by the scowl on his face. You couldn't help but hold in a laugh, picturing the compilation of videos that Velvette had previously shown you of his many failed lessons.

You weren't wearing much, a lilac cropped tank top and some yoga shorts that almost seemed too small, as well as strappy jazz shoes that you had to wear doing the final performance. This get-up made Vox look you up and down when he finally meets with you face to face. His unethusiastic expressions made him look more childish and grumpy than intimidating.

To you, at least.

"So! Pleasure to work with you, sir. Can't wait to see how you keep up with me." You commented smugly, reaching a hand out for a formal handshake. He scoffs and brushes your hand away before simply walking off to discuss something with Velvette. You crossed your arms across your chest and huffed, letting some random assistant tie your hair up as you glared in his direction.

After Velvette scolded him on something you didn't hear, the rehearsal began. Since your usual style was fast pased and almost always involved some sort of sexual overtone, the plan was to choreograph something intimate to create a sort of power couple for people to route for. This involved a lot of close contact that you and Vox were immediately struggling with. With movements that involved swinging you around, dipping you, and generally keeping you close to his chest, it was no simple task for two demons with a competitive streak.

After hours of eventually getting the choreography down, the main notes involved the constant glares you two were giving each other.

"Hey! You owe me this, I won game night! So make this work, fucker!" Velvette was getting fed up with Vox at this point and there was a scheduled photo shoot for some promo images coming up, so you had to break anyway. You went into your dressing room to change into your costume for the shoot. A slinky red sequence dress with a tightened corset that hugged your hips and stopped right at the point where you had to pull it down every so often as to not flash anyone. Paired with some fishnets and black shiney jazz shoes. It was simple compared to some of the stuff Velvette's had you wear, but it'll definitely draw some eyes when plastered on a big enough billboard.

Finally reaching the studio after hair and makeup battered your face, you got a look at Vox. He wore a white button-up that was neary opened down to his clavicle, where the red belt of a tuxedo hugged his waist, tying your outfits together. He cuffed his sleeves while waiting for some kind of direction. You couldn't help but pause to take in some of his features that you've never seen before. The bare skin of his chest and the strong arms that led into the same blue claws that were just around your waist during rehearsal. He caught you staring and knew exactly what was going on in your head. His first response was to send you a smirk that you couldn't decipher as harmless or not. You both snap out of your gaze when Velvette yells in some directions to push you into the camera's frame.

You were menuvered physically, someone essentially adjusting your position until it looked right. The final pose had your chest flush to his, and your leg hiked up his body as you swung backward to look at the camera. Vox was there to hold you in place by gripping underneath your thigh and having a tight hold onto your waist. It was difficult, but after multiple other provocative positions, the shoot was finally done. The two of you quickly pulled away from each other, smothered by the clashing energy.

"This'll have to do, i guess. Okay, flat face, you're good for today. The next rehearsal is tonight, now shoo." Velvette doesn't even look up from the screen in front of her as she nearly throws the two of you out of her studio. The door shut with a slam after you stumbled directly into Vox. He had grabbed onto your forearms, forcing your hands to lay on his chest to brace your fall. You quickly pushed off of him to stand straight, crossing your arms and stubbornly looking away. The tightened laces of your dress pushed your cleavage up a bit, giving a lovely show for the TV demon that towered over you.

He lets out a sigh of disgust after snapping his gaze away from your body. "Knock it off, will you? You're acting like a brat." He hissed at you, beginning to walk towards the hallway with the dressing rooms. You quickly stumbled in the same direction, attempting to keep up with his long strides.

"Fuck you, Vox! I'm just trying to do my job!" You quickly retorted, finally walking alongside him, your arms crossed again. He takes another quick glance at your body, unfortunately getting caught. "And stop that, you freak! You'vs been eyeing me up all day, you might as well fuck me in the dressing rooms if your so interested in my tits." You snapped at him, but your last response gave Vox a wicked idea. He wasn't one to refuse a challenge.

"Sure, we've got time, doll." He shrugs off the comment as you start to turn into your room. You quickly turned your body to face him, an angry yet reddened expression on your face.

"Seriously, fuck you." You muttered, turning to enter your dressing room. You go to open your door before you're cornered against it by Vox's arms, caging you in. You turn back to face him, trying to appear disgusted even with the heat crawling over your cheeks.

"If you think you can handle it, sweetheart." He smirked down at you, enjoying watching you squirm more than he'd like to admit. It finally evolved into an unspoken game of chicken. You took your doorknob and opened the door, letting the two of you fall in. Aware of your action, you slid back to keep Vox from falling onto you. He stumbled forward while glaring at you, still not planning on backing down. But neither were you.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and smashed your lips against his. It felt like a cold screen for a moment before quickly melting into the sensation of physical lips. He was shocked by the bold move but has played this game all too many times. It was always easy for Vox to charm or hypnotise his way out of a situation like this, but his competitive spirit was strong. He was quick to lift you up from under your legs and essentially drop you onto the vanity. The wood hit your tailbone with a thud, and you let out a flustered yelp into his lips. Your arms quickly found their way to his shirt, untucking it until it loosely hung around him. He lifted himself away from you but was still close enough for your legs to be nearly draped around his hips. He began to unbotton his shirt that you had so kindly untucked.

"You sure you wanna keep this up, sweetie? I wouldn't want to overwhelm you or worse -" he leaned in, becoming uncomfortably close to your ear. "- injure you before your big show." The threat only made your blood boil, but a flashing light caught your eye. His chest was dark, with glowing blue circuits that occasionally seemed to flicker.

"As if. You couldn't even keep up with me even if i was injured." You spoke smugly, trying to keep your cool while denying the heat pooling in between your legs. He scoffs and starts to undress you, while you assisted. It was aparently a two person job, with an unspoken understanding that Velvette would kill both of you if the dress was ruined in anyway. After it was safely tossed the side, Vox was quick to start running his claws along the curves of your body. You pulled him impossibly closer, your legs nearly wrapping around his hips. You tried your hardest to stifle any response to the claws trailing down the center of your stomach. Finally, you pushed him away, letting your hands lead him to fall back on some decorative couch that was nearby. You were quick to straddle him, feeling the buldge in his pants to gauge how much of an upper hand you had.

"Aw, was the idea of fucking me on my own vanity getting you all excited?" You asked him in a teasingly sweet voice, running your hands along the bottom of his screen, then tracing your hand down towards his pants.

"I could ask you the same thing." He muttered, taking a hold of your hips and pullimg them closed towards his groin. You were quick to lift your hips off his lap, pushing his back fully against the backrest and breaking that contact. You let out a deceivingly sweet chuckle, before planting a small kiss on his neck. His skin really was metal, no matter the heat you felt through his pants. It was cold to your lips, but once you noticed a reaction from him, you just had to keep it up.

His breath became a bit heavier as his hands slid down to your ass, squeezing his clawed fingers into it almost to the point of skin breaking. You tried your best to not let a noise out, luckily your face was hidden in the nook of his neck and his shoulder. Even with his robotic anatomy, his skin was melting with each mark, bite and kiss you left on his chest. The action of covering his chest in the bright red lipstick you wore, brought the both of you closer to together, your hips finally meeting his again. As your chests became flush, you looked back up to him, seeing the eyes on his monitor glazed over, somehow some dewy tears beneath them.

You were winning.

You tilted your head back for a moment, seeing the large mirror from the vanity was directly behind them, leaving the both of you entirely visible to Vox. You tip his monitor foward with a forceful lift, holding tight as you made him look over your shoulder.

"Look at you.. quite a sight, huh?"

You teased in a harsh tone, leaning back a bit for him to see the cluster of marks and stains you left on his collarbone. "What do you think? Red really is your color. You look soo pretty." Your words were meant to piss him off, but seeing how he melted and let out a breathy groan when you called him pretty was an even better reaction. He looked away from the mirror, flustered at the sight of himself.

"Ohh, is Mr. Bigshot here enjoying some tender love and care? Aww, well, all you had to do was ask, baby~" You crashed your lips against his again, shocking him back into the moment, as he held onto your hips to brace himself. You were quick to pull away, leaving him unfulfilled before peppering multiple kisses across his screen and making sure you were to leave as many vivid red lip stains as you could.

"F.. Fuck you..." he mumbled, "fuck this'll be a pain in the ass to get off.." You look down at him from your higher position, an almost dark look across your face.

"Then tell me to stop. Either give up and accept defeat-" you started, beginning to stand in front of him." Or give in. And let me take care of you." You ran your hand along his pants, your fingertips brushing across the stiff tent in his pants. He let out the smallest yelp, not expecting the sensation. You continued to just lightly touch his groin, reaching to fiddle with his belt buckle.

"So? What are you gonna do? You gonna give in? You want me to keep touching you, hm?" You teased, leaning towards his face by placing your hands on his seated thighs. Your bent position left a great view of your ass, still clothed with sleek red underwear and fishnets. He pouted, looking into the mirror momentarily to appreciate the sight. You looked over your shoulder, grabbing his screen to jerk him back to your eye level.

"Tap. Out." You hissed, glaring into his eyes.

"Fuck! Fine, whatever! I tap out.. I-I.. Keep touching me.. i want you to keep touching me." He let out, getting progressivly flustered as he spoke. You looked at him, trying desperately to hide a smirk by biting your loeer lip. Noticing that you still weren't making a move and definitely wouldn't let him take the upper hand at this point, he rolls his eyes and looks towards the ceiling to avoid your eyes. "Please." He blurted out, a cyan hue growing across his cheeks. You let out a confident chuckle, before immediately dropping to your knees in front of him and continuing to fully release his throbbing cock from his already dampened trousers.

"Good boy~ Now enjoy the show, okay?" You let out before taking a hand around the base and sending a long lick up his length, immediately drawing the head into your mouth. You worked your magic, running your tongue in circles around the head and pumping your hand across the rest. The heat of your mouth on his tip and the coolness of the room barely breezing across the rest of his hard on made him shutter. He was looking down at you, instinctively attempting to buck his hips. You were quick to use your other hand to push his hips back down, running your neatly done nails across his thigh to the point of leaving marks, clearly indicating don't try that shit again.

You start to take in more of his cock into your mouth. Bobbing your head to set a nice rhythm, nothing that couldn't finish him off just yet, but enough to make him lose his composure more than he already has. You look up to meet his eyes, seeing him stare down at your work. You slowed to an impossibly slow speed before quickly pulling your mouth away, a line of saliva still connecting your lips to his member.

"That's not what i meant." You spoke strictly, reaching up to tilt his screen back towards the mirror. He did enjoy the pretty sight of you on your knees, but his mess of an appearance and reactions embarrassed him."If i see you looking anywhere else - if i see that you're not enjoying the show-" you squeezed his cock that had cooled from your hot spit hitting the cold air of the room. Almost too tightly. He winced, looking back down at you with a wide concern. " -Then i'll just have to stop. I can't reward that sort of behavior, hun." You sounded almost threatening and continued to tighten your grasp. He reached down, squeezing your shoulder before fixing his weary eyes to look at his wreck of a reaction in the mirror. "There we go! See? Look how lovely you look." You switched almost immediately to a sweet voice, loosening your grip and nuzzling his cock against your cheek, right at the corner of your mouth. "So? Are you gonna play along? Be good for me?" You spoke with hot breath against his member, your lips hovering just over the head. He nodded reluctantly.

"Say it." Another sudden transition from that sweet tone back to a stern voice.

"Nng... I'll be g-good.." he spoke quietly, ashamed that he had to say that while looking into the eyes of his reflection. You let out a sly chuckle, immediately assuming a quick pace. You weren't quite able to reach the base, but you made up the difference in your hand, and your other still dug your nails deeply into his thigh. The combined sensations of pain and pleasure made him whimper, struggling to keep his eyes open and his head foward. Every time you saw him start to lose his computer, you either slowed to a complete stop, ran your sharp teeth across his shaft as a warning, or behan to squeeze at his base. Each warning was enough for him to realize he was losing his attention. As he got closer, still somehow managing to stare into the reflection, he reached for your hair, running his claws across your scalp.

You allowed this, he's been doing so good for you, after all.

Holding his hips down to prevent any involuntary jerks, you began to sloppily cover his cock with your spit, speeding up even more. You needed him. Now. He was quick to let out moans and groans, not very domineering ones, which almost surprised you. He was truly unraveling.

"I-I'm gonna.." he started to say in between breathy moans. As soon as you heard you sped up right until you felt his cum hit your tongue. But as soon as you felt the smallest amount, you stopped and held your grip tightly around his base, not stopping him from finishing but definitely making it more difficult to enjoy. You pulled your head back, catching your breath. You sit up on your knees and pull his monitor to reach your lips, kissing the small amount of his cum into his mouth with your tongue. His eye twitched at the new flavor in your mouth and was quick to pull away, wiping his lips ftom a combination of drool and his own fluids.

"That was good! You handled me so well.. But i didn't give you permission to cum did I? And you ruined my hair." You almost pouted, looking back to the mirror to attempt to fix your hair up as much as possible. You got a good look at his full body and smiled into the mirror. "God, you're beautiful, Vox." You said, your voice dripped with sweetness as you turn a decievingly genuine smile his way. It only made him blush more. The sight made you absolutely giddy. You finally looked down at him, seeing him begin to go soft." Ah ah~, you need to deal with the mess you made, baby." You took a hold of his still twitching cock, moving your hands along it again. It was quick to stiffen up again, but the overstimulation from just finishing drove Vox to lean his head back and let out more breathless moans. In a quick motion, you were back in his lap, just hovering your entrance over his member. You moved your underwear to the side, running your own fingers between your folds and lifting your hands back up to his view.

" See what you're doing to me? You lost your little game, and now, i'm left with this mess." You spoke matter of fact, licking your own fluids off your fingers. You quickly pressed another kiss against his mouth, the mixutre of both your fluids making this an especially messy one. His senses were overloaded. Every now and then, some moans would come out with a slight delay or glitch to them. He placed his hands on your hips, wanting to get at least one victory out of this. With one claw, he carefully ripped the fishnets covering yout entrance before forced himself into you, bottoming out immediately. You shot up, yelping at his sudden courage. Giving you time to relax into him, you gripped onto his shoulders. He led you up and down on his cock, barely guiding you before you began to move at your own pace, beginning to unravel yourself. He tilted his head to look into the mirror again. Seeing you from both angles made him drive up into you harder. He had to admit, it was a great view.

As you bounce yourself on his cock, you take his hand and lead his fingers to rub your clit. He immediately picked up the note and began to run tight circles with the sharp tip of his finger. The sensation made you shiver, his metal like claws a start contrast to the warmth you were amitting. Beginning to hit your g spot timed with the constant contact of his finger to your clit, left you breathy, a moaning mess. He was reaching his breaking point, making his body physically react to yours. Small and sudden shocks would amit from his finger and occasionally through his cock, causing a sensational pain. His voice continued to glitch, indicating how he was about to finish, which you noticed immediately. You slam down onto him, lifting his eyes towards you by grabbing a hold of his neck, lightly squeezing.

"You have to get permission to cum. Got it?" You said sternly, your sudden halt making his leg twitch and shift underneath you. "O-okay.. fine..! Keep going, i'm close-" you yanked him closer.

"Ask. Nicely."

"Fuck... C-can I cum for you..? Please... let me-" his voice began to trail off as you quickened your pace again. "Such a good boy. Okay, but only because you asked so nicely." You praised and tapped your finger against his nose(?) mockingly, then felt another shock run up inside of you. He finished almost immediately hearing those words. You felt his cum fill you up, but you guided his hand back down to your clit to continue rubbing as you kept up your pace. His sensitivity left a twitching static shock inside of you, which was quick to lead you to finish, the heated pain in your stomach finally releasing.

You fell onto him, your head resting on his shoulder as you simply stay seated om top of him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. He was nuzzling the side of his screen into your ear and kissing just along your neck. As soon as you regained your senses, you melted into his aftercare. You wouldn't expect him to be so sweet to you after this, but he was holding on to you like his worse fear was you getting up. You ran your hands along his back, enjoying how much comfort he seemed to need so desperately.

The sweet moment lasted for a while, before you pulled away gently and looked up towards the clock near the door.

"Fuck! Rehearsal! Get up get up!" You quickly lifted yourself off of him, before you looked at eachother. Your fishnets were ripped, some small bruises on your neck. He managed to plant a few, but that was nothing compared to the sloppy lipstick covered state he was in. "Ugh, god dammit!" You stormed off and quickly grabned some wipes, scrubbing the lipstick off his screen and chest." Velvette's gonna kill me..!" You groaned, nearly getting everything off.

"Calm down doll, I'll get some people from hair and makeup to fix up this mess." He snapped his fingers, which somehow alerted an imp assistant to knock on the door. You quickly reached for a nearby robe and tied it around your waist just as they entered the room. "-and they will have no problem with keeping this little secret, right?" His eye began to run hypnotic waves as he was quick to brainwash the assistant. You hesitantly sat and let the imp quickly fix up your messy appearance after finding new fishnets and hanging up your delicate dress to put back on later. Vox sat there, his shirt still completely undone, his legs crossed and arms splayed across the back of the couch. He simply sat there, watching you get pampered to perfection again. Every tine you made eye contact with him you began to turn red. Sure, you had the upper hand just moments ago, but the effect this demon had on you was immense, making the immediate poeer dynamic switching back to him.

Once the two of you had cleaned up a bit more, you headed towards the door. He spun you before pressing a quick kiss on your forehead, then turned you back and let you walk out in front of him.

"I told you i could handle it, and it for sure seemed like you couldnt keep yourself together. So, i win!" You clarified as the two of you walked down the hall, back towards the rehearsal space.

"Fine. Sure. Watever you say. Keep telling yourself that.. if that's what it takes to make you do it again." He shrugged off your obviously victory with that dumb invitiation. You punched his arm as the two of you continued to argue. It was still clear to you both. You came out on top this time.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #the vees #hazbin smut #vox x reader #vox x you #vox #submisive sissy

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simonrillleyyysss · 5 months

Text

✧.* THE MAN

cw; dark content, stalking, noncon implied, masturbation(male) entering houses, creepy behaviour overall

Philip Graves, the man who lives just down the street. The man who you regularly bump into with your dog, the man who always offers to drive you to work when it’s snowing, or raining.

‘You need a ride, darlin’?’

‘Oh—Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bother you.’

‘Course not, anythin’ for a buddy, hm?’

The man who always complimented you on your outfit, on your outfit, who always brought treats for your dog to dote over.

‘Lookin’ mighty fine today,

‘Oh—You’re too kind, Philip!’

The man who always sucked up to you, taking your side in any disagreement you had messaged him about recently, complaining and ranting to him over the phone, babbling on—clueless to the fact that the man was pumping his dick to the sound of your anger, biting his lip and grumbling.

‘You okay, Philip?’

‘Oh—Yeah, Yeaahhh…All good..’

‘..Alright, anyways then she-‘

Scrolling through social media was always a good experience, always seeing Philips icon pop up in your notifications, complimenting you on your outfit in your most recent instagram post, the same one he had watched you slide on that morning, the one he had watched you sit and do your makeup in at such early hours.

The man who was currently sat outside your window at late hours of the night, mask slid over his face as he slowly jiggled the latch on your window, sliding through the open gap to your livingroom, making sure to give your dog treats to shut it up.

The man, who was now, jerking off in your panties, rubbing the lacy fabric around his stiff cock, moaning and grunting into the knuckle of his rough hand, hips involuntarily thrusting into the clothing as he came; muffling his whines and whimpers.

The man who followed you on your walks, creeping so closely behind you, yet not close enough for you to recognise him, always snapping photos for him to swoon over later, videos to jerk his needy cock to.

Making fake numbers, just to send you photos and videos of him thumbing the tip of his cock above your photo which he framed, cum gently trickling down onto the photo, grumbling about how gorgeous you were.

‘Fuckin’ gorgeous, aintcha’?’

‘Smearing my cum on my sugars’ pretty face.’

Would always edit the video, to deepen his voice and make it incoherent, leaving you horrified when you opened the video, immediately blocking the burner number.

The man who was currently sneaking into your window, standing above your bed with a hard cock.

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mysteryshoptls · 10 months

Text

SSR Leona Kingscholar - Bloom Birthday Voice Lines

When Summoned: If you're going to act all high and mighty, I'm going to expect something grand from you, y'know? So hurry up and bring out my present, already.

Summon Line: I thought this outfit'd be stifling, but once I put it on it's not so bad. Heh, guess it's actually kinda tasteful.

Groooovy!!: All these herbivores're just lookin' at me all lame and sparkly-eyed. Eh, I guess I can humor them just this once.

Home Set: What, you want to see my magic? Hm, yeah, but should I, though?

Home Idle 1: This is some fancy broom they made. Well, the colors ain't too bad, I guess. I bet I'd really stand out if I flew around on this thing.

Home Idle 2: Well, aren't you super meticulous on something as simple as a cake cutting. I don't really care how you do it, but just get it done before tomorrow comes.

Home Idle 3: The hair tie Jack gave me isn't half bad. Guess I can wear it when doin' club stuff.

Home Idle - Login: I'd like school more if they'd allow for skipping class as a birthday present. Heh, can't see them ever being that thoughtful.

Home Idle - Groovy: I had Cater delete all the pictures he took. Obviously, I asked him nicely. Yeah, that's right, I'm such a shy boy.

Home Tap 1: Can't that guy Rook celebrate more normally? He's just littering a crazy amount of confetti everywhere, there should be limit to these kinds of things.

Home Tap 2: As soon as midnight struck, the guys in my dorm all came to my room to wish me a happy birthday. Geez... They're way too uppity for just a simple birthday.

Home Tap 3: Wouldn't ya believe it, Vil gave me a sewing kit. Something this special deserves to be shoved in the far back of a drawer for posterity.

Home Tap 4: What, you want to know what you can get me? Then, I guess you can go and take my place at that party they're throwing for me. ...Hey, don't take that seriously, I was only joking.

Home Tap 5: You'll go grab some food for me? Then bring me some meat. And just saying, you don't really need need to worry about what kind. Just don't bring anything I didn't ask for.

Home Tap - Groovy: I'm gonna take a nap, so keep watch to make sure no one bothers me. ...What, that's boring? Then sing some lullabies in your mind, or something.

Duo: [LEONA]: You're makin' too much fuss, Cater. [CATER]: Let me celebrate you in grand fashion, Leona-kun!

Birthday Login Message: So, you came to wish me a happy birthday, huh? Well, ain't that admirable of you. So, what did you bring me, then? At the very least, you are presenting a gift to royalty. As such, I'm sure you've prepared a very fine gift. ...Hey, don't freeze up on me. Sheesh, jokes just fly over your head, huh. I'll take it off your hands, so show me what you got behind your back, already.

Requested by @dorito9708.

#twisted wonderland #twst #leona kingscholar #cater diamond #twst leona #twst cater #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: jack #mention: rook #mention: vil

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kaycrowley · 5 months

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Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

You are a Saloon Girl in the lawless town of Xetas, and you have caught the eye of a certain mischievous outlaw.

(Cowboy Loki X Saloon Girl Reader)

(ADULTS ONLY 🔞: Semi-Public Sex, P in V Sex, Doggy Style, Bondage, Gagging, Clothed Sex, Sex in Front of a Mirror.)

Tags: @prince-ben-solo @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @high-functioning-lokipath @glitchquake @lokisstarlight

It was a typical afternoon in the Saloon, the patrons were all enjoying their drinks, conversing and laughing with each other. In the corner, a group of patrons were playing Poker, while the ragtime piano was playing as the Saloon Girls danced on stage. All was well until the doors swung open, the afternoon light casting an ominous shadow across the floorboards. Everything came to a stop when the patrons and workers alike saw the tall man at the double doors. He was known by many names; "The Menace of Mischief, Silver Tongue, The Frost-Hearted Foe, but the one name he truly went by was Loki Laufeyson.

His icy blue eyes scanned the Saloon as he made his way towards the bar. The only sound that can be heard was the tinkling of his spurs and the thumping of his boots across the floor. He took a seat on the stool at the bar, his gaze meeting that of the intimidated bartender. "I'll have ma'self a base burner." He finally spoke, his voice deep with a strong drawl. The bartender nodded and poured him a glass of whiskey and slid it over to him. Loki caught the glass and tipped his hat before taking a swig. Sensing that he wasn't here to cause trouble, the Saloon slowly bustled back to life, the conversations flowing, chips clacking, and the ragtime piano playing. Loki swiveled in his seat to watch the Saloon Girls on stage, smirking at the flirtatious display. One particular girl caught his eye, a girl wearing a green dress with black lace and a black feather in her headband. You were that girl, dancing in the center with your peers, Natasha, Carol, Wanda, and Janet, who were each dressed in their respected colors; black, blue, red, and gold.

After the little stage show, you headed for the Powder Room to freshen up. Loki slowly got up and made his way after you, looking behind his back to make sure that nobody was watching. You were in the Power Room, powdering your nose, when you suddenly heard a man's voice say "Howdy there, Missy!" You yelp and jump, placing a hand over your heart. Loki chuckled. "Didn't mean to scare ya, I jus' wanted to say that you look mighty fine up there...and up close too." You blushed at his forwardness, but you forged a smile. "Why thank ya, Stranger." You replied, but Loki got closer. "Oh I ain't no stranger, sweetie. You know damn well who I am, don't you?" You gulped and nodded slowly. "O-of course, Sir..."

"Then say it..." Loki cut you off. "...say my name."

You looked him in the eyes and said. "Y-you're....you're....Loki....Loki Laufeyson, the fella wanted by Sheriff Stark in Yorktown."

Loki smiled and chuckled at your answer. "Good girl."

"What do you want from me?" You queation.

"Don't 'cha worry, I ain't here to hurt ya." Loki reassured. "I just wanna show you mah Ace in the hole." You back away, a little scared. He chuckled again. "Oh no, it ain't no barking iron...well, not the kind ya think." He winked, unbuckling his chaps to lower his pants, revealing his member to you. You gasped and blushed, looking down at the thickened rod. You look up at him and lick your lips. "I guess I can be friendly~" you purr. Loki smiled and grabbed his lasso. "Atta girl~" he tied your wrists together, before wrapping the rope around your torso, tying your arms to your chest. You bit your lip, being tied up to get fucked by a notorious outlaw excited you. Loki bent you over in front of the vanity and lifted your skirt up, pulling your pantaloons down to reveal your ass and quim to him. He took a step back to look at them in all their glory and whistled. "I tell ya what, that's a mighty fine lookin' pussy ya got there~" You couldn't help but blush at that statement. Loki reached over and gently petted your awaiting lips, causing you to gasp and let out a little moan. Loki smiled and continued to rub his long, dexterous digits against your lips, wanting to make sure you were good and ready for him.

Once you were wet with arousal, Loki removed his kerchief from his neck, and wrapped it tightly around your mouth, gagging you. "I'm sorry, Huckleberry..." he said. "...as much as I love to hear ya sing, I'm afraid I'm gon' hafta keep ya quiet so ya won't get caught bein' a floozy." You nodded understandably and you felt his large hands gripping your hips. You anticipated his grand entrance, which he did smoothly. You moaned into the kerchief as he slid inside you, letting out a soft groan. "Oh mah stars..." he whispered, trying to contain himself. He gripped onto the lasso with one hand before he started to buck, keeping a firm grip onto your hip with one hand. Your moans were muffled by the kerchief, and Loki can be heard making restrained panting sounds. He wanted to be louder, but alas, he couldn't chance it, what he was doing was already too risky. You lifted your head and looked into the mirror of the vanity, seeing yourself with the green kerchief around your mouth and Loki behind you, pistoning his hips into your supple ass. He looked into the mirror at you and smiled with a breathless chuckle. "Now ain't that a sight?" He said, referring to how you two looked in the mirror. You weren't going to lie, watching yourself being bound, gagged, and fucked by this man only heightened your arousal, making yourself slick enough for him to pick up the pace. The Powder Room was filled with the sounds of your muffled moans, his panting, the clacking of his bullet belt, and your skins slapping. It was all so erotic and thrilling.

Loki was so close, his panting was increasing, switching his gaze back and forth to the mirror and his cock sliding in and out of you. He leaned forward, pressing his torso into your back and began fucking you vigorously, causing you to moan louder into the kerchief. "That's it..." he huffed. "...come on, girl." After a few good thrusts, Loki gritted his teeth and grunted, pushing his cock as deep as he can before releasing. You moaned into the kerchief and came around him, your walls squeezing his cock as if to milk it of all he's got. Loki shuddered and his cock throbbed at the sensation, giving you a few good extra spurts before slowly pulling out with a wet pop. He huffed and looked down at the results of his hard work, your cunt was now dripping with the man's semen, which was heavily erotic for him. Loki tucked himself back into his pants before removing the kerchief and untying you. You slowly stood up, looking down at the marks the rope left on your bare arms. Loki chuckled and ran his hands along the markings. You saw his hands glowing and the markings disappearing. You gasp and turn around, mouth agape in awe. "How did you...?!"

"Now, now, you know that a magician never reveals his secrets..." Loki grinned. "...now, perhaps you could be my little magician and never reveal our secret to nobody." He winked, causing you to blush. "I won't, Sir!" You reply, earning yourself an even bigger smile from him. "That's a good girl~" he purred before tipping his hat and slowly exiting the Powder Room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the realization of what you've just done. You smirked at the thought...this was going to be a dirty secret that you're sure as hell taking to the grave with you. You began to wonder if by chance you ever encountered Loki again, perhaps he could show you another reason why he's been nicknamed "Silver Tongue"...

#marvel loki #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #what if #what if...?#cowboy loki #spicy content

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Note

This is only the first of what I hope will not be too many, but here we go! 🗝 Joel Miller + Country cowbow aesthetic. Because why not?! <3

⋆ 𝐎𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖

CountryCowboy!Joel Miller x f!Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: soft af, made my heart ache, playful flirting, literally such southern stereotypes written by an English Woman. Dry humping. 18+ ya nasties!

summary: Retired Rodeo-Cowboy Joel Miller settles down on his ranch with his number one fan.

joel masterlist I| main masterlist |I follower celebration I| ask |I

“They’re more hassle than they’re worth, y’know?”

A smile pulls at the edges of your mouth the moment his complaints reach your ears. His gruff voice drips with sarcasm, but you keep your eyes on the horses that prance around the paddock. They lift their hooves with synchronised grace, performing a dance as they clopped across the dried soil.

“That may be,” you muse, brushing your palms over the planks of wood that contained the mares. They’re beautiful beasts, their coats shining beneath the sunshine that the rim of your Stetson shields your face from. “But they’re mighty fine.”

The mocking southern accent you respond with has Joel pushing his elbow into your side.

“Hey!” You burst into a fit of giggles, the laughter bubbling from your throat before you’re able to suppress it. When you look up, Joel’s face is flat, that typical ‘Clint Eastwood Stand-off’ vibe that he always emanates, but his eyes betray him. There’s amusement swirling in his deep tan-leather irises.

Joel rests his palms on the wood, too, casting his gaze over the field. He’s handsome like this, you think, the dying gilded sunshine painting his face golden. It’s clearly crawled under his skin, cheeks glowing a subtle pink with sunburn and making the greys of his beard starker amongst the brown. His matching salt and pepper hair is windswept from working all day in the summer breeze.

It’s ridiculous, you think. All these years together, travelling to rodeos and spending most of your time hiding behind your fingers when he wrestled steers, you still felt the butterflies erupt in your stomach when you looked at him. He’d since hung up his bulldogging boots, ‘far too old to be wrangling bullocks’, and had taken up a much quieter life breeding horses for racing.

“You know,” Joel smirks, not bothering to look at you when he teases you, “You’re always talkin’ ‘bout how pretty they are but spend all your time lookin’ at me.”

“Shut up,” you scoff, tearing your eyes away from him and folding your arms across your chest with an indignant huff. The rumbles of a chuckle reach your ears, and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

“It ain’t so bad, you know,” he speaks softly, trying to ease your embarrassment, “It’s nice to know an old man’s still got it.”

You can’t stay mad at him for very long. That southern charm that effortlessly and unknowingly bleeds through each word works its way between your ribs and lassoes your heart with such ease. Again, you find yourself smiling, turning to look at him again. He’s unable to smother the grin that’s threatening to stretch across his lips, the edges of his mouth twitching.

“You’re not an old man,” you promise, reaching your hand across the small space between you. You hook your finger under the metal of his belt buckle and pull him towards you with a grin. He arches a brow at you pointedly, and you shrug with a grin. “Mhm, okay, maybe you’re a little old.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, watching you smooth your hands over his hips and waist.

“The kind of old that makes a man even more handsome,” you promise him, unable to look him in the eyes and choosing instead to drag your eyes over the tanned skin that glistens with sweat just beyond the collar of his flannel, “You age like whiskey, Joel.”

“Jack Daniels or Southern Comfort?” He asks, and you can feel his gaze dancing across your face, burning into your mouth and tracing your lips.

“Mhmm…” you hum softly, finally braving his stare and looking up at him. His eyes are dark with a rich need, hungering for your lips on his. “Redbreast.”

He can’t stand it anymore, you think, leaning down suddenly to press his lips to yours. They’re slightly dry from the heat, and you can taste the salt of his sweat. His body heards you against the fence, his work-worn hands dragging over your thighs and hips with a delicious hum that pools arousal between your thighs.

“Joel,” you breathe into his mouth. It comes out a little more desperate than you’d like, a little needier, but Joel doesn’t complain. His hands are hoisting you up, settled just beneath your ass, so your legs wrap around him.

“These fuckin’ jeans,” he huffs, frustrated when he lightly slaps your ass. Again, you’re laughing, knowing he hates them. They hug your figure just right, too tricky to get off in a hurry. “Just gonna have to make do, aren’t I?”

You’re unable to question him, to ask what he means, because he’s immediately grinding his hips against your own in a way that adds just the right amount of pressure to your clit through the seam of your jeans. Fuck, he’s rock hard beneath you, clearly turned on by your ridiculous teasing and the way you melted at the sight of him.

He swallows your moans with heated kisses, tongue dragging against your own. Fuck, his hands are squeezing at the flesh of your ass through the denim, enjoying the handfuls he steals.

It’s deliberate. The slow, heavy arcs of his hips when he grinds into you, focusing all the pressure on your clit with expertise only he could offer. He’d mapped out your body after all these years, the peaks and troughs of your structure memorised like the landscape of his ranch. Joel knew every pleasure point of your body, how to work them to his advantage and to your detriment.

“Fuck,” you whine softly, feeling him smirk into your shared kiss. Leaning your head back, you sigh when he pulls his lips across your jugular, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your pulse.

“Kiss your mother with that mouth, Darlin’?” He questions you, and you answer with a pointed, open-palm slap against his shoulder. He chuckles again, but responds with another heavy drag of his hips.

“Ohfu-“ you choke out, tears welling in your eyes. He just ruins you, just picks you apart and puts you together again so that all you can think about is the throbbing arousal that shoots up your spine.

“You gonna give it to me, Darlin’? Come on, Sugar. Come on,” he whispers to you, that gravelly tone sparking something honey-sweet inside of you. It’s not the lighting crack that he usually produces. No, it pours through you like molasses, slow and rolling and dripping between your thighs. A soft, drawn-out moan of Joel’s name pushes its way from your lips, and he praises you as your thighs squeeze him tight.

“Mhmm, Good Girl,” he hums, planting kisses along your jaw with a grin. “Don’t think I’ll have to work hard to wrangle you into bed, will I?”

He doesn’t.

END

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miguelswifey04 · 11 months

Note

Can you do Hobie shower headcannons and/or pt2 to the accidental one. I just love hobie.

i <3 hobie even if i never wrote much about him before—but for the sake of today, since i’m on vacation i’ll do shower headcanons <33 i’ll for sure do a pt. 2 once i’m back home :)

how showering with hobie brown would be <3

he’s the type of person to also give you the space that you need while being in the shower! he knows not everything needs to be sexual and can be done in a romantic sense

if you both do get intimate he’ll do anything to please you and make sure you’re fine with anything that you both do <3

loves massaging your shoulders and back in the shower while he plants wet kisses on your shoulders/back/collarbones

he loves washing your hair and telling you how pretty your hair is <3 it takes his time to wash it first and soap it + adding conditioner and other hair products needed

he makes you feel comfortable i don’t know but he just is LIKE THAT, and you can be yourself around him so whenever he asks when you both want to shower you say yes without second thoughts!!

after shower, he pats you dry and helps blow dry your hair :) & if you wear body lotion he’ll gladly lather lotion on your body

you both do your skincare together and always tells you how pretty you look with you face mask “lookin mighty fine love,” always makes you laugh with his silly jokes

hobie is the type of man to love all body types IDC IDC HE HAS NO QUALMS NO ISSUE AND WILL MAKE YOU FEEL SO SO STUNNING/BEAUTIFUL/HANDSOME 🥲

#spiderman atsv #hobie spiderverse #hobart brown #hobie brown x reader #astv hobie #hobie brown x you #hobie x y/n #hobie brown #hobie headcanons #atsv hobie #hobie imagine #hobie x you #🌱 lin writes

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callsignthirsty · 2 years

Text

Wrong Answer, Sweetheart

This man? Jealous? Possessive? Wherever did you get that idea? @juniebugg and @redpandabel this is for you.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader Word Count: 3600 Warnings: Smut, possessive behavior, jealousy, dirty talk Minors DNI

The O Club is full to bursting by the time you arrive. Which is to be expected on a Friday. Officers and civvies mingling with drinks in hand.

Ice had called you earlier, the patter of a shower in the background as he told you that he and the guys were headed over to grab a drink once they were done in the locker room. He asked you to meet him there. The thing the two of you have going on is still relatively new, so you were quick to agree, your finger twirling in the phone cable at the thought of Ice leaning over the phone in little more than a towel. You wrapped up your work for the day, drove home for a change of clothes, and then walked over to the club, fully expecting to be going home with Ice at the end of the night.

You spot him — well, more accurately, you spot Slider (the man's too damn tall) — in the corner of the bar near the pool table, surrounded by the rest of his class, and push your way through the crowd. When you reach the group, you brush your hand over Ice's arm, sidling up to him and meeting his eyes through your long lashes. "Hey."

And for a heart-stopping moment, he fixes you with a smile-

"Well, look who it is," Wolfman drawls, Hollywood whistling as you settle against Ice's side.

"Lookin' mighty fine today, Mrs. Ice," Hollywood says with a wink, and you chuckle at the harmless flirtation. They all know you're off-limits, but Ice's hand tightens around your waist all the same, and he shoots Hollywood a glare while he takes a sip of his beer.

Wolfman isn't deterred. " Mighty fine. " If anything, Ice's annoyance spurs him on. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have a sister, would you?"

"She'd be out of your league, too, Wolf," Slider says, earning a satisfied snort from Ice and howls from the rest of the pilots. After that, the conversation drifts back to where it had derailed when you first joined.

Eventually, you decide that you need a drink. You try to bring Ice with you, but he's busy detailing all the reasons why what Chipper said is categorically wrong. He gently shakes your hand from his and leaves you to wander to the bar on your own.

Your lips press into a tight line. You open your mouth to say something — why invite me along for a drink if you aren't going to spend time with me? — but stop short. That won't get you anywhere, not in front of his colleagues.

You stomp your way through the crowd until you're pressed against the smooth, lacquered wood of the bar and settle in for the long wait until the bartender can take your order. You're drawing figure eights in the condensation left behind by someone's glass when someone shoves themself into the bar beside you

"Hey!" A smile parts your lips. Mav. You pull the pilot into a hug. "When did you get here?" Mav is easy to talk with, and the two of you fall into an easy conversation. He asks you about your job, smiling even though you know he must be bored out of his mind while you go on about your spreadsheets.

It doesn't take long for the conversation to turn flirty, as things with Mav tend to do. He brushes imaginary dust off your shoulder, places a hand against the small of your back to steady you when some rowdy patrons knock you off balance, leans in close so he can hear you over the music and other conversations. You know that he doesn't mean anything by it. Not with you. It's just who he is — all dare and charm and green eyes.

Every so often, your attention flickers over to Ice, but he's still deep in conversation.

When the bartender finally makes it over to you, you ask him for a beer — whatever's on tap — and Mav leans in to add his and Goose's next round on top of it. "Put it on my tab."

Mouth open in mock surprise, you turn to face the pilot. "Are you buying me a drink, Mav?"

"Someone's got to," he says, eyebrow raised as he chances his own look toward Ice.

"Pretty bold of you."

"I'm told some women like bold."

"Some?" Mav looks down and to the side at your question as if he's embarrassed. And that's something you weren't expecting. You wonder who the lucky lady is. "Is the notorious Maverick having girl troubles?" His eyes meet yours, and you know that you're right. As the bartender returns with your drinks, you bite your bottom lip to hold in a guffaw. "Oh c'mon, Mav. A pretty boy like you?"

A hand slams on the bar between you and Maverick no later than those words leave your lips. You jump, eyes blown wide in surprise.

"Money for the lady's drink."

"Hey, Ice." Mav stumbles back against the bar, a mischievous glint in his green eyes as Ice forcibly shoulders his way between you and the other pilot.

"Mitchell." He shoots Mav a look that could kill. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Thought that was pretty obvious," Mav says. "I was buying a pretty girl a drink." He has the audacity to wink at you, and Ice shoves himself further into his space.

"You better watch your mouth," Ice snaps.

A Cheshire grin takes over Maverick's face. "I've certainly got my eyes on someone's mouth."

Instead of responding, Ice reaches out and grabs your hand, still glaring at Maverick. "We're leaving."

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, slipping your hand from his as he'd done to you earlier. "We just got here."

"Yeah, Ice." And Mav knows precisely what he's doing with that mocking tone. Ice stands to his full height, looking down his nose at Maverick, who is more than a couple inches shorter than him with the way he's casually leaning against the bar. "Don't be ridiculous."

A hand grabs your arm around the bicep and leads — practically drags — you out of the bar. Mav gives you a half-hearted salute, all three drinks in his hands as he disappears into the crowd like the shit-stirring goblin he is.

Ice escorts you from the bar in record time. His face is an indecipherable mask as he brings you to the passenger side of his car, opens the door, and crowds forward until you have no choice but to sit in the leather seat. He towers over you. "What the hell was that?"

"Which part? You ditching me in a Navy bar, or you dragging me out of said bar?"

Light from the building plays across his jaw as it tenses, but that's the only tell that anything is wrong. Otherwise, his expression gives nothing away. "Why were you talking with Mitchell?" It's less a question than a demand for an answer.

You can't help but scoff. "You can't ditch your girl at a bar and then act surprised when someone gives her a little attention."

"You like that, huh? The attention of other guys."

And it stings. Hot and cold at the same time. Like frostbite. Two can play at that game. "Nothing wrong with a little variety," you bite back. It's a lie; normally, Ice would know that, but his eyes are still glacial when he steps back to close your door and hops into the driver's seat. He sits there for a handful of seconds, not looking at you. Not starting the car. So you make a split-second decision and place your hand on the door pull, popping it open.

"Where do you think you're going?" His eyes bore into the back of your head. It's enough to stop you in your tracks.

"For a drink."

"With Mitchell."

You glare back at him, exasperated. "Yeah. With Mav." You like that, huh? The attention of other guys. "Don't wait up. I'm sure he can give me a ride home."

Your eyes stay locked, neither of you blinking as the implication hangs heavy in the air.

"You're not going anywhere." You close the door as Ice starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

The ride to Ice's housing is silent. Ice eyes the road with a single-minded determination, his face an impassive mask, but his fists grip the steering wheel harder than necessary. You look resolutely out the passenger window as dark, sandy beaches turn into telephone poles, mailboxes, fences, and finally, Ice's driveway. Ice doesn't help you out of the car when you arrive, just unlocks the front door and expects you to follow.

You find him in the kitchen, sipping bourbon and pouring another two fingers' worth of the amber liquid into a rocks glass for you. But you turn the drink down when he tries to hand it to you. "I'm not thirsty."

"But you'll let Mitchell buy you a drink."

"At least he offered." You wanted him to buy you a drink, but he'd been too busy for you.

"That why you let him touch you?"

Your eyes roll. "Is that what this is about?"

"That is exactly what this is about." Ice throws your drink back in one go, leaving both glasses on the counter before crowding you against the wall. The glint behind blue eyes tells you you're in trouble. "You are mine ." Each word is bitten out, and you can't help how you react, head tilting back and lips parting in anticipation of a kiss that never comes. Instead, Ice leans in until his breath caresses your ear. "Or do you need a reminder?"

You'd love one. Instead, you say: "I don't belong to anybody ."

A deceptively soft kiss is pressed to the spot where your jaw meets the long line of your neck. "Wrong answer, sweetheart." One of Ice's hands grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, his tongue tasting of vanilla, oak, and caramel from the bourbon. You moan helplessly as his teeth catch your lower lip before he releases it in favor of sucking a deep mark over your pulse. One you won't be able to hide. One he'll be sure to parade you around in with his arm draped around your waist or hand tucked into your back pocket.

And a part of you likes the idea of that. Shouldn't , but does, and it sends a thrill through you.

"Get on your knees." Heat blossoms in your chest, mouth watering as your tongue runs over your lips to chase the hints of bourbon Ice has left behind. Placing your hands on Ice's chest, you scratch your nails down his front until your knees hit the kitchen tile. "You know what to do." You do. Your fingers trace the outline of him where he's already straining through his pants, but he stops that real quick.

His fingers catch your chin and angle your face up. "Don't tease." Then, while he still clutches your chin, you blindly reach for his belt, the metal clinking open before you pop the button and pull down his zipper. His other hand pulls his cock free and slaps it against your cheek before brushing it against your full lips. "Open up."

Your pink tongue pokes past your lips in invitation as Ice guides his cock into your mouth. His taste on your tongue never fails to pull a groan from you. Ice encourages you with a hiss. You lick around the fat tip before enthusiastically taking more of him into your hot mouth.

"That's it," he encourages as you get into a rhythm, bobbing up and down on his cock. You hollow your cheeks as you release the head with a pop to kiss and lick all along the shaft, lips dark and slick with spit as you take him into your mouth once again. "That's my girl." You moan around his cock in your mouth — my girl — the vibrations knocking Ice's head back, his hips jerking forward until you're gagging, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Look so good chocking on my cock." The praise has you practically purring, and you pull off his cock for a quick breath before taking him as far down as you can, ignoring the tears as they track down your cheeks and swallow around him. You're rewarded with another sinful groan that goes straight to the heat between your legs.

A hand pulls you off of him, Ice's other hand coming down to fist at his cock, its glide slick. And he hasn't done this before, but you keep your mouth open, looking up at him through long lashes when his breath catches, and the first rope of his release bursts salty across your tongue. When he's done, he catches the cum that's missed your lips with his thumb and pushes it against your tongue, and you suck it down with the rest of him.

Ice is on you again as soon as you stand up, the crisscross of the kitchen tiles still freshly imprinted on your knees. Your back is once again pressed to the wall, one of your legs pulled up to circle his hip, blue eyes sharp as his hand slips beneath the waist of your jean shorts to find you soaking.

"Look at you," he murmurs, fingers gliding over your puffy lips. "Who's got you this wet, huh?" You huff and look away, and he sinks a finger into you to the knuckle. No resistance. "Eyes on me, sweetheart." And the endearment sounds vicious from his lips. You don't want to look, but you can't help it. He's magnetic.

You whimper and grind your swollen clit against his palm when he slips another finger into you, but Ice pulls back. His fingers return to running up and down the length of your heat — "Who?" — barely-there touches a far cry from what he knows you need.

"You know who," you say, swiveling your hips and pulling him closer to you with the leg wrapped around his hip and down his leg. His fingers start up again, and you let out a breathy chuckle, thinking you've won.

Ice's fingers skillfully build you up higher and higher until: "Yeah, but I want to hear you say it." You clench desperately around nothing when his fingers withdraw. Your high receding like the tide until it has well and truly slipped through your fingers and all you can do is whine. Once he's sure you're not going to cum, his fingers press back into you, massaging at your g-spot, and you arch into him, keening. "Who?"

"Fuck, Ice. You. "

"That's not my name."

Another frustrated groan tumbles from your lips as his fingers leave your core to ruck your shirt up beneath your arms, pulling down the cups of your bra until your breasts pop out. He attacks a nipple with lips and teeth and tongue. "You, Tom. You, you, you ."

He pulls off of you when you arch into his mouth. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" His lips ghost up your neck with a final lick to your peaked nipple, drawing goosebumps in their wake. "What do you want me to do about it?" he whispers directly into your ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth. His hips rock against yours, pressing hot and hard against your clothed clit, fingers skimming along the waist of your shorts, and you whimper. Ready for round two.

"Touch me. Please."

Ice releases your leg, hooks his fingers in your belt loops, and drags you away from the wall. Then, faster than you can keep up with while your mind is swimming, he bends you over the kitchen table. Talented fingers reach around to unbutton your shorts and pull them down your long legs. You peek at him over your shoulder, shivering at the chill of fresh air against your slick folds. Ice's hands are back on you, but they aren't touching you where you need him to, fingers skirting around your slick heat to tease your upper thighs. You groan.

"What? You said to touch you."

"That the best you got, Ice?" You yelp, back arching when Ice's palm connects with your asscheek, its sting blazing and blurring into pleasure.

"I'm just getting started."

His fingers delve back into your heat and yours grip the edge of the table, eyes falling shut as you press your cheek against the polished wood, and you moan.

When you open your eyes again, you have a clear line of sight to the window at the front of the assignment. The glass is blocked by a near-translucent sheet — calling it a curtain would probably be too generous. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to fend off a groan as Ice's fingers disappear from you, the sound of his zipper soon following. "We should probably take this upstairs," you suggest, neck craning as your eyes lock with his over your shoulder.

Ice runs the thick head of his cock over your cunt, leans over you, and his fingers are back on your jaw. He redirects your gaze to the window, the fabric billowing in the gentle night breeze. "Thought you liked the attention," he hisses into your ear, and then he's sinking into you in a single thrust.

He doesn't give you time to adjust to him, just picks up a slow tempo — dragging his hips back until you're squeezing around nothing and filling you back up until your walls are fluttering around him and your cheeks are flushed. "We just started," he murmurs, "and you're already close, aren't you?"

You want to say something clever about how he's brought you the edge a couple times now, but he fucks the words out of you, chuckling as you make a strangled noise.

"Bet Mitchell couldn't fuck you like this, huh?"

And you know it's supposed to be rhetorical, but you can't help yourself. "Bet he'd think of something," you pant. "He's creative like that."

"Pretty boy wouldn't know what to do with a girl like you."

"You spend a lot of time thinking about Mav fucking me?"

Ice presses your cheek back into the table, his hand resting between your shoulder blades so that your ass sticks up in the air. "Shut up." His pace picks up with the steady clap of skin on skin and the creak of the table against the tile floor. And the spring in your abdomen coils so tight that if he keeps fucking you like that, you'll reach nirvana in no time.

"You're mine, " he all but growls, biting at the junction of your neck and shoulder and sucking. "Mine to treat. Mine to touch. Mine to fuck whenever and wherever —" his hand fists in your hair, pulling until you're staring straight out the window to the deserted road "—I want." Your body spasms, walls fluttering around his cock before it disappears, and you could scream , but all that comes out is a whimper. "And you'll cum when I let you."

"You fucking dick," you seethe.

"You love my fucking dick." He thrusts back into you, pulling out again when you roll back to meet him halfway. "Don't you?" You throw your head back and keen when he bottoms out in you again, grinding that perfect cock against your sweet spot and making you see stars. "Tell me."

"I fucking love your cock."

"Yeah, you do." Ice rewards you with another hard thrust. "Whose pussy is this?"

"Yours." You clench down around him, unable to help the roll of your hips against his. "All yours. Only yours."

"You sure, princess? Sounded like you didn't need me earlier," he says, and it's smug now. Mocking. "Sure you don't want me to call Mitchell to finish you off?"

"He couldn't handle me," you whine. "Couldn't treat me good like you do. Pretty boy couldn't — fuck!" You're babbling now, Ice's pace picking up to fuck you stupid, but you don't care that the neighbors can hear you as long as Ice keeps fucking you like that. As long as he keeps hitting that spot and his balls keep slapping your clit, keeps kissing your neck, keeps grunting in your ear.

"Couldn't what, sweetheart?" His hands pull your hips back to meet his.

"Couldn't give me what I need. Not like you can. Fuck! Not like you. Never like you."

You're so close that it hurts. "Please," you sob, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. "Please, Tom. Please let me cum. Please, please, please. I'm yours. All yours. Please."

"Don't worry, baby," he croons. "I've got you."

And then you're dissolving into pleasure, melting into the wood grain of the table as Ice continues to chase his own end. He pulls out when his hips stutter, hand on his cock, cumming all over your pussy, thick strands of white dripping down your thighs.

His.

Instead of letting you up, Ice leans back over you, taking his time to suck more marks into the unblemished canvas of your shoulders, neck, jaw.

“Ice,” you whine, your earlier passion replaced with heart-swelling annoyance. “You can’t do this every time someone talks to me at the bar.”

Ice smiles against your skin, calloused hands running a path down your body until they reach your soiled thighs and give you a mischievous squeeze. “Guess you’ll just have to be more careful.”

You guffaw. “Of what? Talking with people?”

“You’re mine, and I don’t share,” he hums, nuzzling his agreement into the crook of your neck. “ Especially not with Mitchell.”

#thirsty answers #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #top gun 1986 #tom iceman kazansky #tom iceman kazansky smut #iceman smut #top gun smut #female reader #f!reader

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 5 months

Text

land softly

Summary: Ghost & Soap are snowed in at a bed & breakfast. Fleabag voice: This is a love story. Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Part 2 - Johnny performs a chore

When Johnny opens his eyes in the morning, he checks the time (0600), whips his head towards the bay window for a quick inspection (pure, blinding, snow white), and then groans. The weather app on his phone confirms what he’d suspected: there’s no way he’s making it to Glasgow—he’s not even making it out of Yorkshire.

But he does need to figure out his situation at the inn, and groans aloud at the idea of convincing the grumpy innkeeper to let him stay another night. Two, if the horrid weather persists.

His unasked question is answered when he ambles his way down to the kitchen at 0700, freshly showered, and the masked fella’s already there cooking streaky bacon. The table’s been set for two and the smell of fresh coffee entices Johnny to take (what he thinks) are sneaky steps, but he gets caught out anyway.

“Morning,” the grump mutters, and Johnny carefully returns the greeting. “Can’t leave in this weather, can ya, mate?”

“Uh…”

“It’s fine,” the man mutters. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere either, looks like.” He turns around and motions to the empty chair. “Sit. Eat,” he orders, brusquely, and sets a full English in front of Johnny.

Johnny can’t help but wonder about the abrupt 180 in the giant’s mood from the previous evening, but he lets it go, considering he’s being fed a mighty big breakfast. He’s shovelling eggs into his mouth with all the gentle decorum of a mountain bear pre-hibernation, when the giant takes the seat opposite him and stares. No food in front of him, no coffee.

Johnny squirms from the unblinking attention, on edge from the dark mask that hid his lower face—a mask adorned with the bottom half of a skull. Eerie and fucking weird, but who was Johnny to judge.

In his line of work—ex line of work, he corrects himself bitterly—he’d seen much worse.

“You dinnae have to do all this, ah appreciate it! Ye must have family tae go visit for Christmas and I’m holdin’ you up here, ah’m so sorry—”

“No family, s’ fine.”

Johnny’s eyes slide carefully to the ring on his left hand and back to his face, only to flush when he’s clearly been caught looking. “Ah, ah’m sorry, I just saw the ring and thought ye were married, sorry, that’s—”

“I was.”

“But the ring—” Johnny blurts, before he can help himself.

“Ring stays. Name’s Ghost,” the man says without missing a beat.

“Yer name is Ghost? Did your mam hate ye?”

“Dunno. She’s dead. Eat.”

Johnny nods absent-mindedly, and picks up his forgotten cutlery, sneaking glances at the—at Ghost.

His attention remains unwaveringly on Johnny, though, and he stares intensely at Johnny through the whole thing.

“I work ‘ere,” Ghost continues, as if the conversation had never stalled. “Maintenance ‘n that.”

“Okay…”

“The kitchen’s stocked, if y’need to eat. Help yourself anytime. There’s coffee, tea, all sorts in there. Stay as long as you need, there’s no drivin’ in this weather. Give me a shout if you need me, I’ll be around.”

Ghost flings facts at Johnny at hyper-speed and Johnny’s unsure about what to do with this information.

“Do—do ye need help? Ah’m no’ doin’ anything anyway. Be happy to help for yer lettin’ me stay—”

“Place needs a Christmas tree.”

Johnny chokes on his coffee. Ghost merely leans back on the chair and waits him out, while painful, hacking coughs leave his body.

“Ye want me to put up yer tree?”

“Christmas in a couple days, innit? Boiler needs lookin’ at too,” Ghost states and then narrows his eyes. “I’ll sort that,” he says quickly, when Johnny looks like he was going to offer to do that instead. “Pulled the tree ‘nd that outta the attic, it’s in the main room. If you want to help.”

“Alrate, I can decorate a tree.”

***

Johnny finds that he cannot, after all, decorate a tree. He really struggles with it, really struggles with a fuckin’ Christmas tree—he can’t remember the last time he’d done this, which comes as a nasty shock—and decides that a change of strategy might be in order.

He’s determined to do this right, though, and so he acknowledges (with a cringe) exactly what he needs to do.

He bounds up to his room and grabs his phone. It only rings twice before his sister answers. “Too early, Johnny! Wake my child and I’ll kill ye.”

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Alright love?”

“S’ all good, pup. But ye’re not gonna make it fer tonight either, the weather’s stirred up somethin’ awful.”

“I know! Never seen snow so bad this time o’ year.” Johnny has to pause at the irony. “Mother Nature herself isnae wantin’ me to meet my mother.”

“Yer not funny.” He hears his sister sigh. “Gonna be strange without ye here, y’know?”

“Ah know.” But Johnny knew what his sister was too polite to say—that it might be weird without him there, but not necessarily bad. He didn’t blame her.

“Anyway. Why’re ye calling so early?”

“Ah need your help…with a Christmas tree.”

“What?” His sister’s voice had taken on an incredulous tone, two octaves higher than usual but when he explained to her what he wanted to do, and about the mysterious weirdo Ghost that ran the bed & breakfast, she was beyond intrigued. “...kind of a name is Ghost? His mam hate him?”

“‘S what I said! But he’s lettin’ me stay here, even though the place is closed. Fuck, ah’ll decorate his tree for ‘im. Whatever. Doesnae matter, can ye help me?”

“Such a brat, Johnny. Fine. Here’s what ye need to do.”

As she speaks about tinsel placement and an even bauble to tree ratio, Johnny realises with a start that he hasn’t looked forward to a project like this for a long, long time. Johnny’s only looked out for Johnny for so long that something as trivial as putting up a Christmas tree for someone else’s benefit felt like an undeniably selfless act of charity. The thought disgusts him, he has to shake his head to distract himself from the dark line of thought.

The occasional glance out of the window reveals the constant, seemingly endless snow falling from the skies, but he’s grateful to at least be warm. And while he separates the baubles from the tinsel from the tree lights, exactly as instructed, Johnny finds his thoughts straying from him.

Nothing’s caught his attention, nothing’s made him want to do something for someone else for a while. Or maybe it’s just the gruff, stoic, kind of charming innkeeper. And that thought comes as a surprise, seemingly out of nowhere. Huh.

The only other constant apart from the snow seems to be the 80s music playing softly from upstairs. Johnny knows it’s where Ghost is fixing the boiler, and occasionally, he’ll recognise the cheesy song playing from the vintage radio that Ghost seems to carry around with him along with his tool box. It’s…beyond strange.

Come afternoon and Johnny finds that he’s still not made as much progress as he’d have liked to. The front room of the inn is so messy, he’s thankful for the lack of any other guests at the place—there was hardly any place to walk around in the room.

He doesn’t find that he has too much of an appetite—too engrossed in planning where he’d like the wreath to go in the room—but he hears Ghost rummaging around for something in the kitchen anyway. And of course, it seems like where Ghost goes, so does the radio.

And that’s it, isn’t it? Johnny finds himself completely intrigued by Ghost. He’s gorgeous under that mask, Johnny’s confident of it, but if he’s being completely honest, there’s only a few facts that he knows for certain about Ghost. Special Forces. Inn-keeper? Listens to The Police a lot. Cooks a decent breakfast. Ah, he’s worked with less in the past.

“Yer going to clean up after y’self, yeah?”

He’s a bad soldier for how the voice startles him and Johnny’s resentful to admit that he almost jumps a foot in the air from it.

“...yeh yeh, ah’ll clean up. Almost done here, how’s it looking?”

Ghost stands up straighter, almost like he didn’t expect to be asked, but he crosses his arms over his chest and uses his chin to motion at the tree. “Lights.”

“Aye, sir,” Johnny mumbles, rolling his eyes at the barely concealed command, and turns the lights on. When he does, Ghost’s eyes widen slightly, and Johnny has to turn away to hide his smile. “And?”

Ghost doesn’t say a word, but it’s like Johnny can see his entire frame melt. It starts up at his shoulders, makes him uncross his arms which fall down to hang limply at his sides. It’s like the entire tough demeanour falls away to the side, while he watches the lights of the tree and the decorations in the front room, and when he inhales, it’s shuddery. He appears shaken up by what he sees, and Johnny can’t even begin to guess why.

“Would ye like to put the star up on—”

“L-lunch is in the kitchen, help yourself,” Ghost mutters, then strides out, aiming for the front door. Just before he leaves though, with a hand on the door handle, he pauses, and turns halfway to address Johnny. “Thank you. I, uh. I appreciate it. You didn’t hafta.”

“It’s no’ a prob—” But Johnny doesn’t get to finish the rest of his sentence because the front door slams shut, and Ghost is gone. “Steamin’ Christ,” he mutters.

It’s only two hours later, when Johnny’s picking at his food in his own room, when movement outside the window catches his attention. He sets his plate down and walks over, only to choke on his own breath like someone had punched his throat, hard. He stands there, frozen, staring, wondering what on Earth was in his food that’s made him lose his mind.

But, no. Ghost stands there below his wind, his all-black attire contrasting starkly against the blanket of snow. In the middle of a snow storm, Ghost stands outside Johnny’s window, axe in hand, chopping wood.

It’s hypnotising, mesmerising, Johnny finds, watching Ghost and his movements. It’s surprising how none of it is surprising to Johnny—not the action, not the fact that Ghost is outside in a snowstorm to do it—but Johnny finds himself unconsciously holding his breath and clenching his fists while he observes the movement of Ghost’s body as he does it.

There’s nothing lean about his body.

He’s all powerful, rippling muscle under a healthy layer of fat, his chest gorgeously broad, expanding under a black hoodie that strains and relaxes under the movement. Even from two storeys up where Johnny looks down at him, nothing about Ghost fits in. Nothing about him looks like it belongs in this picturesque scene, and nothing about him can be glanced over. He demands Johnny’s absolute attention, even when he doesn’t know it. Especially because he doesn’t know it.

Johnny takes a deep breath, and runs shaky fingers through his hair with his exhale. The movement catches Ghost’s eyes because sharp eyes turn up to look at Johnny instantly. Johnny’s caught unawares and regrets his finger-wave and chin-nod combo as he does it, embarrassed at having been caught ogling at the man while he’s on the job.

And while Johnny can’t confirm it, not being able to see Ghost expression from the distance, when he gathers the logs of wood and walks them to the back entrance of the inn, Johnny’s sure Ghost stands taller and walks cockier.

It feels like the atmosphere in the inn becomes a bit more hospitable, and the ice between them melts a little. At least…that’s what the knock on his door on Johnny’s door in the evening indicates. It’s tentative, like even Ghost can’t believe he’s doing it. Except, unlike Ghost, Johnny has had an entire afternoon to accept that he’s got a stupid crush on the hot innkeeper, and he’s flinging the door open.

Ghost looks uncomfortable. There’s no other way to put it—Ghost’s open hands twitch at his sides, his foot taps a quick staccato on the floor and he looks at anywhere but Johnny.

So Johnny waits.

“I, uh, wanted to know. You want some dinner? We got some.”

“Bit early fo’ dinner, Ghost.” Johnny’s smile is wide, only widens when his hip leaning against the door frame catches Ghost’s attention.

“Got a bar we can raid.”

Johnny’s eyes sparkle with interest, before he pushes off the door, agrees easily. “Must warn ye though, Ghost,” he says, as they make their way down the stairs, Johnny trailing the bigger man, enjoying the view. “Best have a stocked bar. I’m a Scotch man, meself.”

“Shocking.”

“What? Not a fan?”

“I drink bourbon.”

“Like a good ol’ boy…”

Ghost’s sharp inhale makes Johnny hold his own breath for a moment, before they both relax. “I like Kentucky,” comes the small whisper, almost a defensive after-thought. Ghost rounds the corner into the kitchen with a quick stride and Johnny, rather unconvincingly, hides his sudden laugh as a cough.

Ghost’s scoff from the kitchen tells him how unconvincing that really was.

***

“Ye got me right pished,” Johnny accuses, finger pointing to where Ghost’s form doubles and triples in front of him.

“Only so I could ‘ave my way with you.” The completely deadpan response he receives sets Johnny off, and only the crinkles around Ghost’s eyes make the ugly snort that leave his mouth worth it.

They quiet after a while and then Ghost’s eyes lift and fixate on the hundreds of tiny lights around the room. They looked gorgeous, and Johnny was proud of himself. “You did well. With the tree and that. Thank you.”

“Ye…looked like ye didnae like it. Earlier.”

Ghost scoffs, but the sound is sad. “Sorry ‘bout that…didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. About yesterday too. It’s, er…’twas a strange day. Wasn’t you. Sorry.”

Johnny melts at the awkward sincerity in Ghost’s voice but freezes when Ghost turns his face to look at him. Oh. Oh holy fuck. His eyes aren’t brown, Johnny realises, horrified. He’d looked at them earlier, dismissed them as a generic “dark,” but fuck.

Holy fuckin’ shit, they’re not fucking “dark,” they’re actually—

“Green!” Johnny blurts. He’s sure getting shot at has been less painful than the hot, searing feeling of embarrassment that crawls up his chest and manifests as bright, embarrassing, pink across his face. Ghost stares at him blankly, and fuck, if Johnny isn’t in the most awkward three seconds of his life. “Alright, that’s enough of that,” Ghost mumbles finally and stands up, wincing at his cracking knees as he does. “Dinner?”

#ghostsoap #simon riley x john mactavish #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #codmw2 #lumi writes #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mctavish #land softly

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southernbluebellereader · 1 year

Text

Bruised Apple

Captain John Price x Young Female Reader (COD MW(2))

| Part 1: Current Fic | Part 2: Apple Slices | Part 3: Apple Pie

Warning: Platonic, Angst, Facial Scars, Mention of Violence

Summary: Task Force 141 gets a new member that's their go-to techy person. Price activates *Dad Mode* and makes sure she's alright due to her past.

A/N: I had an idea, I ran with it, it's not how I intended it to be but you know what? It's fine. A part 2 will happen, I think, if and when I get to it. But enjoy!

Word Count: ~2,243 words

Master List

(tag list at the bottom)

“What happened to her? There’s nothing in her file about her facial scars.”

“Won’t say. But she’s mighty good with a computer,” Laswell watched as Captain Price’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s photo. Two jagged scars on each side of her face extended from each corner of her mouth to about the middle of her cheeks. “Her scars going to be a problem, John?”

“Not if she does her job.”

—

“This is Y/N. She’ll be in charge of some of our tech stuff and will be behind computers. She’ll be assigned with us on certain missions that require a little more technological warfare,” Price cautiously watched how his men responded to Y/N’s presence, almost worried about how they’d treat her. He didn’t ask too many questions about people’s past, especially with the people he worked with, but he couldn’t deny that he was curious, and perhaps worried, about how someone as young as Y/N could have possibly gotten scars like that.

“You hack computers?” Simon cocked his head slightly to the side, his eyes not leaving Y/N. She’d kept her hands behind her back, her weight shifted to the side. She’d broken eye contact with Price and met Simon’s drilling eyes. “What? You lookin’ for something, Lieutenant?”

“Depends.”

“We both do the same job, Lieutenant, we point and click.”

A small smile began to creep up on Price’s face. At least got some humor.

—

“How’re you settling in, lass?”

“I’m getting there, loving the ominous lighting throughout the place,” chuckling, Y/N chucked a green apple from her pile of apples on her desk, not surprised that he caught it with ease and began eating it.

“Can’t do much about that, L/N.” Price walked around her desk and observed her setup, slightly in awe. Several monitors and keyboards and a small section of her desk with little appliances and radios have been taken apart and attempted to be put back together, catching a glimpse of her scars. “The boys treatin’ you alright?”

Y/N looked up at him and grabbed an apple for herself, answering him before taking a bite, “They’re good - an interesting combination of men.”

“Well, we have an interesting way of handling things.”

—

“L/N.”

“Hm?”

“L/N.”

“Lieutenant.” Y/N briefly took her eyes off of her screens to acknowledge her superior, then returned her gaze to her screens, her fingers still moving swiftly across several keyboards.

Simon was one for eye contact, and he figured he was intimidating for most people, especially for those who weren’t familiar with him, but his glare didn’t seem to have an effect on Y/N. He liked that. He liked that she wanted people to be direct with her.

A moment of silence passed before Y/N stopped typing, then lifted her eyes to above her monitors, meeting her masked lieutenant’s eyes, “Sir, how can I help you this fine morning?”

“Price sent me to fetch you.”

“For what?”

“Briefing.”

“Could’ve said so to begin with, Lieutenant.” A small smile formed on her face, Y/N stopped her typing and stood up from her desk, taking a hold of two green apples, and throwing one towards Simon for him to catch.

—

“You’re staring again, Captain.” Y/N whispered to her Captain, his ears listening to Laswell, but his eyes never leaving Y/N. Again, he couldn’t deny his curiosity about her scars. Who could’ve possibly done this to her? She was younger than even Johnny and Kyle, but the scars looked several years old. She could’ve gotten them only from when she was a lot younger.

“Just making sure you’re paying attention, lass - your first big briefing.”

“I’m a big girl, Captain,” Y/N winked at her Captain, then looked back at Laswell. “If you’re that curious, I’ll tell you about one day.”

Price huffed slightly and nodded, then nudged Y/N’s shoulders, “Pay attention, lass, this is important.”

—

“Captain, you and your men are set to go. All radios and communication are up and running and the GPS systems on your wrists are good to go,” Y/N’s voice echoed into everyone’s earpieces as they approached the destination of their newest mission.

“Got it, L/N, you’re our eyes if we go dark,” John’s voice echoed back in Y/N’s ear.

“Godspeed, Captain.”

The Captain’s extra efforts in making Y/N feel welcome didn’t go unnoticed by her. Though she hated when people felt sorry for her because of her scars, judging her and making up stories in their minds without asking. There were very few people who judged her, and surprisingly the men and women who worked under Captain Price treated her just like anyone else. It was nice. She didn’t want to talk about that time.

But occasionally their stares would linger. Usually Simon or Price. Asking questions with their eyes - wondering what happened. Laswell was the only one who knew. She’s the only one that knows what her uncle did to her as a child, and she begged Laswell not to put it in her file.

But there was a difference between Simon staring and her Captain staring. When Simon stared, it was as if he understood - which he did. They had similar childhoods. He could relate. Y/N didn’t even have to say anything. There’s an unspoken bond between them that life has given them a chance, which is why they’re still here.

When Captain Price stared: it was almost belittling at first. From her perspective, he saw her as a child. “I’m not a child” she’d think to herself when he spoke to her in a certain tone, or “Stop feeling sorry for me. He’s rotting in jail now.” But part of her appreciated how he’d check up on her, seeing if she’d settled, if she needed anything. He even brought her a bag of green apples once. Half of them were bruised, but it’s the thought that counts. He made her feel appreciated. He cared without being overbearing.

“I’ll eat those while you take the good ones.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I will eat every single apple in here.” Y/N chuckled as she pulled out an apple from the bottom of the bag and pulled out the apple that was the most bruised, half of it was soft and had a dark green soft spot on the side of it. She wiped it on her shirt and took the first bite on the soft side first.

—

“L/N- do you copy?” Static went in and out in Y/N’s headphones as she searched on her monitors for the Captain and his men.

“I’m right here, Captain - I see you,” Y/N began typing away at her keyboards, sending them coordinates to the smart devices on their wrists, “Backup on their way and sending coordinates for a safe space. You need medics, Captain?”

“Copy that, L/N-” his voice sounded hurt.

“Captain, are you hurt? I’ll send a medic with backu-”

“L/N, this is Ghost, send medics with backup, Cap’s hurt.”

Shit. I knew this would happen. Y/N went on a different line and had a medic be sent with backup. “Copy that, Lieutenant Riley. Medic and backup are on their way - ETA six minutes. All of you alright?”

“Just some cuts and bruises, Capn’ got hit.”

“How bad?”

“Not enough to shut him up about losing his cigar,” he sounded amused. Y/N was too.

“Tell him I’ll get him a new pack.”

—

“You ok, Cap?” Y/N dropped a pack of his favorite cigars in front of him on desk, watching as he lowered his newspaper, revealing his slightly bruised face, to see them, then looked up at Y/N.

“Y/N. Where d’ya get these?”

“The internet can be a wonderful place, Sir,” Y/N chuckled as she sat in the chair opposite of him, “Those the right ones? Riley said that you’d lost one on your last mission.”

Price put his newspaper away and took a hold of the pack of cigars, just holding it in his hands and looking at them. He almost didn’t want to open them, but then nodded, “Yeah, you did good, lass.”

“What happened out there?”

He looked up at Y/N and leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to take in her appearance. He knew what old scars felt like on his skin, but his skin and his body were rough. Hers was soft and supple, “The usual. Couple of cuts and scrapes, a stray bullet. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. It was just funny hearing you complain about losing your cigar.”

Both of them chuckled, “You heard all that?”

“I heard most of it. Maybe need to adjust the radios so I can hear you complain about your cigars more often.”

—

The Captain finally managed to drag Y/N from her precious computers and into the bar to have some form of relaxation - even if it was laughing at Soap trying to not act drunk - his rosy cheeks.

“C’mon, Y/N - it’ll be fun to get out of the base other than to go to and get computer parts.”

“Are you making fun of my job, Captain?” Y/N chuckled and let go of her tools, sighing in agreement that she did need a change in scenery. “When are we leaving?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Give me twenty minutes.”

And twenty minutes later, she’d magically managed to change clothes and freshen up her makeup. Earning a few confused looks from Soap and Kyle, who rarely saw her with more makeup than she usually wore. Ghost was indifferent, but was wondering how her eyelashes became longer. Price smiled at her the entire time.

“What’re you staring at?”

“Are you wearing makeup?” Soap asked after about four drinks in.

“I mean, yeah…? I always wear makeup, I just freshened up before we came.” Y/N sipped from her drink, watching Soap rest his head in his hand as he examined her face. A wide smile plastered on her face.

Price doesn’t think he’s ever seen her smile this much.

“Are you wearing those thingies pretty bonnies wear on their eyes?”

“Eyeshadow?”

“Nay, those little black spider-lookin’ things?”

“You mean false lashes?”

“Yeah!” Soap snapped his fingers and somehow got the hiccups. Y/N nearly snorted and almost spit out her drink, earning snickers from Kyle, half a smile from Simon, and a belly laughs from Price.

“No, Soap, not tonight-” Before she could finish, Soap got distracted by Kyle challenging him and Simon at a game of pool, leaving her and Price by the bar. Both chuckle at the three musketeers as Price switches seats and sat beside Y/N, just watching them before Price finally turns towards Y/N.

No words were exchanged. Their eye contact and occasional sips of alcohol did the talking. Soap was on to something. The makeup made her look slightly different. They covered her scars a little more. He could say the same about his beard covering little scars on his own face.

“You know, it doesn’t hurt to ask, Captain.”

“About what?” He broke eye contact and took a long sip of his drink. Y/N’s eyes remained on him.

“I know you’re curious.”

“I am.” He looked down at his hands, then looked over at her, “But I understand if you don-”

“Well, you won’t know if you don’t ask, Captain.”

He nodded cautiously, “I’ll ask if you call me John, Y/N.” He smiled slightly as she gave him a nod of approval. They both took a sip of their drinks before he asked, “What happened?”

“Uncle was too drunk one night and was mad at me because I used the wrong knife to cut vegetables.” The way she said it so casually, reminded him of Simon. “Dad wasn’t around so mom and I stayed with her brother, even though he tended to drink. But he was particular about his kitchen knives - used to work in a restaurant his whole life.”

Price had no words. He didn’t know what to say. Her Uncle did what now? Disfigure her over using the wrong knife? He thinks that this was the first time he’d felt some sort of fear in a long time that people like that exist - despite his own work. Was he like that? No. Maybe. He didn’t want to ask for details. He wanted to spare her from possibly bringing her back to that time.

His attempt to hide his worry failed him. “Where was your mother?” he asked with urgency.

“I know it sounds worse than it is, John, but it’s fine,” She finished her drink and chuckled dryly.

“No, it’s not, Y/N.”

“But to answer your question: Yes, my mother was there, she stabbed him in the shoulder and held my mouth shut as she called for the ambua-”

“Jesus, girl - I get the picture. You sound like Simon - I don’t need another Simon.”

“What? If it makes you feel better, my mother’s a nurse.”

Still astonished at Y/N’s humor about the subject, Price shook his head and finished his drink also, beckoning the bartender to give them another drink. But he decided to make a mental note of it.

“John?”

“Y/N.”

“I hope you’re not going to put that in my file.”

“As far as I know, we’re not working right now so anything you tell me right now stays here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST

@ateliefloresdaprimavera @galagcica @sweetybuzz25 @wisedinosaurpolice @itsasecrets-things @ronbon @lieutenantlashfaz @piper570 @shuttlelauncher81 @thanksbutno98

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mw #captain john price #John price #Johnathan price #captain Johnathan price #John price cod #captain John price cod

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seventeenpins · 7 months

Text

west

prologue

pairing: Joel Miller x nb!character

word count: 2.7k

genre: period western/horror

summary: Dakota Territory, 1879. Joel Miller, a widower, lives on the outskirts of Deadwood with his brother and daughter. After travelling north from Texas two years earlier, they've put down roots in the community. Tommy came for the gold rush, and Joel came to keep an eye on Tommy. The end of the world arrives piece by piece, and then all at once.

warnings: glaring historical inaccuracies, canon typical violence, allusions to a suicide attempt, essentially just the opening of the show/game but set in 1879 with some bits adjusted, the horrors of being a person in the 1800s, nb love interest is essentially a reader self-insert but is named (tho won't appear till the next chapter), it will be a slowwwww burn.

a/n: Ok, a funny thing that didn't come up in my research till I was ninety percent thru the outline and halfway thru the chapter but had independently decided on 1879 as the setting -- Deadwood actually burned down on September 26, 1879. Figured it was serendipitous. Happy Birthday, Joel! 🫠

The day the world ended, the sun rose bright across the valley. Autumn was just starting to emerge and dust motes appeared suspended in the bright sunbeams, forested wilderness surrounding the town of Deadwood. The leaves weren't changed, not fully, but here and there you could find a red tree amongst the green ones, and you knew they'd follow soon.

Joel was exhausted. His head ached. His bones ached. He could already feel the stiffness in his muscles from yesterday's work, and today would be no better.

The first few cries of the rooster hadn't done so much as stir him, but now as morning truly broke, he could smell mouth-watering aromas wafting up from below, heard the bustling in his kitchen and his belly rumbled, waking him up right quick.

He scrunched his face up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and went over to the basin to splash cool water on his face. He stared at his reflection in his glass. Another year older. Another strand of silver in his hair. Thirty six. He'd made it to thirty six.

He pulled a shirt from his drawer and frowned. It was soft, cotton, and one of his favorites, but he was sure this one was torn at the shoulder, left to waste away in the oft forgotten mending basket. He shook it out and peered at it–sure enough, it had been torn, but now it was mended with fine, careful stitches.

Sarah. It must've been.

That girl was busy herself, but it warmed him, that she'd taken the time to mend her old pa's shirts without him ever having to ask.

He dresses quickly, tucking in his mended shirt, buttoning his trousers, adjusting his suspenders. He wasn't a vain man, but he takes pride in his work, and his mama always told him "It ain't about vanity, Joel. You take yourself and your appearance serious, others will too."

He grew up with little, but his mama was an accomplished seamstress. Her mending was impeccable, and any time she found a discarded bit of fabric, she'd bring it back to life and make it twice as pretty as she found it. Joel reckoned she was the best dressed woman in all of Texas. She collected issues of Good Housekeeping and Harper's, taking account of all the latest fashions. She built corsets and cages and all the ladies would flock to her to do them up just as pretty.

Joel combed back his hair. Stared in the mirror for just a moment longer, lost in his memories. Nodded, and stepped downstairs.

"Pa!" Sarah grinned at him as he entered the kitchen, "Lookin' mighty fine this morning."

She pulled him in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you, baby girl," he grinned back, "You makin' us breakfast?"

"Yep!" She nods, and hands him a plate. Drop biscuits, a little burnt, swimming in gravy, a cup of wild berries on the side, and a hot cup of coffee.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the spiraling tendrils of coffee vapour and let out a delighted hum. "You spoil me, kiddo."

"'Course," she nodded, and took a big bite of her own biscuit.

"Uncle Tommy home?" Joel asked, and Sarah shook her head, a couple of biscuit crumbs scattering around her, "Nah, he went out early today. Said he wanted to get done with his work early so he can celebrate your birthday."

Joel raised an eyebrow. "Celebrate my birthday?" he scoffs, "Stop by the saloon or lose all his money at cards and still make it on time to dinner is more like it."

He took one last gulp of his coffee and placed the mug down.

"We'll have a nice night," Sarah assured him, "An' I told Uncle Tommy he best be here in time for supper or else. And I'm makin' you a cake."

"Okay, baby. You'd best be off to school, now. I'll get these dishes taken care of."

"You sure?" She asked.

"Positive."

Sarah nodded, pulled off her apron, tossed a few of her favorite books in her satchel and tore out the door.

Joel went off for his work. Only two years they'd been in the Black Hills, Joel, Sarah and Tommy, but they'd made a nice little home. They came up after Sarah's mama passed, and Tommy heard about the gold rush. He insisted it was all because of the rush he wanted to come, but Sarah always suspected he came because he knew Joel would follow, and her pa needed a change of scenery. He'd almost faded into a ghost himself, sitting round their empty old house, nearly lost in memories. Grief had a way of consuming him.

So they'd traveled North, left Texas behind for good, and made a new life for themselves.

The schoolhouse had been around since before the Millers arrived in Deadwood, but there hadn't been a teacher till Spring of this year. Joel was glad Sarah finally had a chance for a proper education. Smart as a whip, that one, and hungry for knowledge. He couldn't wait to see what she was gonna do.

There weren't a lot of kids, or even that many women in the community outside of the brothels, but the Millers had established themselves. Tommy was something of a wild card, getting into bar fights more often than Joel would prefer, but he'd never gotten on the wrong side of a quick draw, and he had enough charm he managed to get out of most of the trouble he found himself in. And Joel–Joel was reliable. Whether he was fixing someone's step, or making sure to haul that extra meat back after a hunt to ensure one of Sarah's friends would have enough to eat, he could be depended on.

The day the world ended, Joel saddled up Delphine, his dapple grey, and mounted her, tools packed neatly in her panniers. Today, he'd be working on repairs at the general store. They rode from their home at the outskirts towards town.

As he approached, he slowed to a walk. Something felt off, like there was a tension about to snap. But no one was bleeding, and some days on the frontier that felt like a high enough bar to clear.

Along Main Street, he could hear strained voices.

"The telegraphs stopped coming-" He heard one man say.

"Problem with the wire?" Another asked.

The first man shook his head. "Naw, had some of my guys inspect it. Everything should be workin'. It just- it ain't."

"How long's it been going on?"

"Been five days now. Never seen it like this before."

"Ain't seen any coaches for weeks now, too. It's like the route just stopped altogether. Don't know how to get word to my folks back east about the new baby if we've got no mail and no telegraphs."

The day the world ended, Joel made it home by sunset, just in time to find Sarah plating up their dinner.

"Good day?" She asked, and he nodded.

"Yeah, got lots done. Next time you go by the general store, you'll see a door that swings smoothly on its hinges and brand new windowpanes."

"That's great, Pa!" she smiled. It warmed her to see his pride in his work.

"Uncle Tommy home yet?" Joel asked.

"No," Sarah frowned, "Thought he'd be back a couple hours ago, too. Guess you're right."

"Reckon he's lost track of time. Though- Huh, I didn't see him at the saloon when I rode by."

"There's always the cathouse?" Sarah suggested, and Joel snorted and shook his head. It wasn't an impossibility.

"Well-," Sarah paused, "There'll be cake waiting for him, but at least have your supper before it gets cold."

"Thank you baby," Joel smiled, took his plate from her, and dug in.

The night felt heavy, something in the atmosphere pressing like a weight through the world. All the food was eaten (besides a small plate left for Tommy) and the cake was cut, when the gunshots started outside.

Sarah started and Joel bolted upright, swinging around to grab the rifle by the door without a second thought.

"What's happening?" she asked.

Joel shook his head, crouching down by the window, pushing the curtains aside and peering through.

"I don't know, baby. Just stay calm, stay low. We're gonna be okay."

There was no one directly outside, but the gunshots continued, and the more Joel stared, the more he could see smoke rising from town.

"Looks like a fire," he told her, "Don't know what the shootin's about, though. And–" His eyes narrowed, heartbeat pounded. "We gotta block the door, baby, there's someone coming."

"Is it Uncle Tommy?" She asked, eyes wide and voice small.

"No, I don't think–" Joel had grabbed the heavy mahogany table by the legs and started tugging, but did a double take out the window. "Wait, you're right!"

It was Tommy, galloping towards their home on a mount Joel didn't recognize. Before Tommy was even a hundred feet away, Joel could hear him call out his name.

"Joel!" Tommy bellowed, "We gotta get outta here!"

Joel swung the door open and Tommy stumbled in.

"Somethin's happening," he wheezed, breaths coming quickly, panic etched across his face, running to the cabinet and filling his pack with ammo. A knife. Another revolver. "We gotta pack up anythin' we can't afford to lose. The town's on fire. There are these people, fuck, Joel, it's like they're the Devil's got 'em."

"Like the Devil's got 'em?" Joel asked, pulling two bags from pegs by the door. "The fuck you mean? You been on the shine again?" He turned to Sarah. "Start packin', baby. Clothes, medicine. Cash, too, you know the drawer?"

She nodded and ran upstairs, and Joel turned back to Tommy, fumbling through papers and photos, knowing he had no time for sentiment but couldn't bear to leave without trying to think of everything.

"They're fuckin' possessed," Tommy explained, "Won't listen to reason. It's a fuckin' mess in town. A few coaches came through today and there were men on it raving, saying some kinda devilry was coming through. They seemed crazy, so we just laughed. Didn't think much of it."

He shook his head and ran a palm down his face. That's when Joel noticed the blood on his sleeve.

"Jesus," Joel said, "You hurt?"

Tommy shook his head, confused, and then looked where Joel was looking and exhaled. "Naw," he exhaled, "That blood ain't mine."

"So what happened?"

"Well," Tommy continued, "An hour or so later we heard screaming. Turns out a couple folks who'd come in by train from down South a day or so ago, who weren't feelin' all that well, they'd been to the doctor and went crazy. Started twitchin'. Bitin'. Proper bitin' people. They got these things in their mouths, these weird fuckin' tendrils-"

Joel stared at him, a muscle in his jaw tensing.

"I know it sounds crazy, Joel, but something bad is fuckin' happening. Don't know what it is. All I know is people are tearing each other up. And we gotta get outta here."

Joel was silent a minute and then nodded, solemn.

"Okay." He took a deep breath. "We're gonna get outta here."

"We are," Tommy agreed, "But we both know the only way out is through town, and it's a shit show right now."

"Fuck," Joel hissed and looked out the window again, "Looks like the whole town is on fire."

"It is," Tommy nodded, "But we can avoid Main Street. Go to the outside, and around to the thoroughfare."

"Fine." Then Joel called upstairs, "We gotta go, baby!"

Sarah re-emerged, two bags packed full. "I got clothes for both of us. Money. Few other things."

"Thank you, baby."

They saddled up their horses, Tommy on his stolen mare, Joel and Sarah on Delphine.

Joel hated this, hated that they had to pass through town to pass by Deadwood and across into the Black Hills, but they were at the edge of the gulch. No way to go but through.

Before they rode, Joel cupped the back of Sarah's head with one hand, closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He nearly didn't, worried her pa would be embarrassing her. But he did. For the rest of his life, he was always glad that he did.

As they rode through flames, they saw the foundations of the place they called home begin to crumble. It was chaos. It was worse than Joel ever could have imagined. The town was engulfed in madness, men eating one another toppled over onto the dusty ground. Smoke choked them and made their eyes water as they rode through with cloths pressed to their mouths, trying to avoid the worst of it. There were a few folks who had built barricades and stood beyond them, guns aimed, trying to take down the most violent of the possessed. It was horrifying, their friends, colleagues, and neighbors engaged in a fight to the death. It was wrong wrong wrong and by God it was the end of the world.

They saw the younger Adlers torn to pieces, and the elder running on all fours as she tried to rip apart someone else.

"Hold onto me, baby," Joel said, pulling her in in an attempt to shield her from the bodies. She'd already gotten a glimpse and couldn't help but stare, and she stared for a moment before she felt nauseous. Then, she screwed up her eyes and held on tight.

They saw Jimmy's place in flames. The baker's. The saloon. There were women running from the brothel, still rouged and bright as they aimed their guns at the monsters around them.

Through side paths and shortcuts, down alleyways and in the gaps between houses, they rode desperately through Deadwood. The buildings Joel had helped erect and the repairs he'd completed in the past few years had given him an intricate knowledge of the settlement. They rode fast and sure, evading the devils that clutched at the air, reaching for their ankles as they rode by.

Makeshift barricades had been put up all along the outskirts of town. Each way they turned, there was no way through. They rode back and forth, crisscrossing the streets as they tried their best to pull away from the writhing bodies in the dirt.

It wasn't till they passed the very last buildings down Main Street, right by the edge of town, that they slowed.

The sheriff lay dead, a bullet right between his eyes, bleeding out on the dusty street corner. A circuit rider loomed ahead of him on his mount, hands resting on his shotgun that, slung over his shoulder. Blood drenched his forearms, spattered against his coat, so soaked it shone visible even against the heavy wool. There was a fear in his eyes, a terror that unsettled them.

When he saw the Millers, he straightened and raised the weapon.

"Preacher, let us through," Tommy said, and the homilist darted his eyes between the men.

"Can't let anyone past," the man said, "This here's the reckoning. No one's gonna escape the inevitable."

Tommy raised his revolver. "I ain't askin' again. Let us through."

The preacher steadied his shaking hands and aimed his shotgun "But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in the which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up-"

It's hard to say who fired first.

In a split second, two gunshots rang out, fragmented echos of one another. The preacher fell. So did Joel and Sarah.

The bullet grazed through Joel's side, and he clutched at his abdomen, holding the wound.

"Joel-!" Tommy cried as he flung himself from his mount, the preacher dead and already forgotten.

Joel rolled over and crawled towards where Sarah lay. The bullet that had gone through Joel pierced her belly and she shook, blood spurting and pooling from the wound.

He tried to apply pressure, tried to slow the bleeding, but her screams and sobs stilled him.

"I'm sorry, baby," he cried, and she shook, eyes darting around, trying to focus and failing.

"Pa-," she croaked.

"It's okay, baby girl," he lied, "You're gonna be okay."

She exhaled in a final gurgling puff, blood spattering across her perfect face, and Joel howled.

She was gone, he knew it, but still he cradled her.

Tommy stroked her hair and wiped the blood off her cheek. Joel pressed his head to her chest and wept, horrible strangled heaves caught in each exhale.

The day the world ended, Joel's world ended, too.

They carried her body with them for miles, Joel holding her close even as he felt her begin to cool and stiffen. Time escaped them as they rode, and around sunrise, they found a creek with wildflowers blanketing the banks. A small herd of pronghorns leaped along the water.

Tommy dug a hole and Joel told her stories, rocking her back and forth in his arms. All the ones he could remember, that she loved so much when she was little. Told her to rest easy now, baby.

They lowered her into the ground, and Joel wept. Tommy assembled a small cairn at the head of her grave. Joel looked down at his mended shirt and realised it was ruined with blood. The last gift from his daughter, and he'd ruined it.

Joel embraced Tommy. Held his brother close and told him he loved him. Muttered something about needing a moment to himself and wandered off.

The day his world ended, Joel tried to follow her into the darkness. A gunshot rang out, echoing through the hills.

Tommy ran to the sound and found him, crumpled but very much alive. He held his big brother close, cloth pressed hard to his bleeding temple, brushing away his streaming tears as he cried himself, terrified to lose all of his remaining family in a single day.

The day the world ended, the last two Millers were covered in blood and filth and tears. All they had was each other, their horror and their fear.

#tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x nb!reader

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