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vodika-vibes · 1 day

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Would it be too much of a cliche to ask for a monster au with Commander Wolffe being a werewolf, and him finding out a monster hunter took his human s/o to lure him into a trap.

Sins Of The Father

Summary: You are the daughter of the nation's most well known, and least well respected, monster hunter. When you and your twin brother were children, the pair of you, and your mother, were attacked by a werewolf who wanted revenge on your father. Your mother died in the attack, your brother was turned, and you survived unscathed. Your father threw your brother in a cage, buried your mother, and you were left on your own…until you ran away from home at 18 and vowed to never return. And then you met Wolffe, a werewolf, and fell in love with him. And then your father found out.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2265

Warnings: Mentions of torture

Prompt: Monster AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So I don't think I followed the prompt to the letter, but I had an idea and I ran with it. I hope you like it!

“Are you listening?” You lift your gaze from your heavily bandaged hands, to stare at your father, your lips turned down into a dark scowl. “Don’t you look at me like that, I am your father, and you will respect me.”

“Or what?” You bite out, “You’ll break my hands…oh, wait-”

He roughly grabs your chin, roughly enough that you can feel the bruises forming on your already badly bruised skin, though you just grind your teeth and glare at him.

Your father gives in first, throwing you against the concrete wall behind you and turning away from you, “As if it’s not bad enough that you’re whoring yourself out to a wolf-”

“He’s a man, you’re just a bigot.” You bite out as you painfully rub your jaw.

“Shut up!” He rounds on you, “You…you’ve whored yourself to a wolf. Your brother is a wolf. Your mother would be ashamed-”

You surge to your feet, “My brother, your son, was only attacked because of you! We were punished because of your actions-” You cry out in pain as his fist slams into your cheek.

You glare up at him, and he glares right back at you. “I should slit your throat.”

“You won’t do it,” You counter, “You’re a coward. You always have been. You always will be.”

He strikes you again, and again, before he’s ripped off by his second, a timid looking man. “Sir, you can’t kill her. She’s bait, remember?”

Your father heaves for breath, “Right…right…” He turns his back on you, “Girl, take care of the cubs. Mattio…get her out of my sight.”

“Yes sir.” Mattio hoists you to your feet, and drags you out of the small cell that has been your room for the last week, and to the large building that houses the werewolf kids. “I’ll come and bring you back to your cell at the end of the day.” He says, without meeting your gaze.

You glare at him, and rip your arm out of his grasp, “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.” Is all you say as you walk over to the large door and wait for him to open it.

Mattio sighs, and unlocks the door, allowing you into the large house. And then he shuts the door behind you with a final sounding click.

The Cub House is home to over three dozen children between the ages of 6 and 12. All of them are werewolves. Many were plucked from their pack, some, though, were handed over to the Hunters when their parents learned that they had been turned.

Odds are, the second any of these children showed any violent tendencies when they’re transformed, they’ll be executed for being monsters. And it’ll be applauded.

Your lips twist with disgust, of course they’re going to lash out. Even young werewolves need space to run and to roam, keeping them caged won’t do anything but make the wolf angry. It is why so many packs live so far away from civilization.

There’s the sound of light footsteps, and you lift your gaze from the dirty floor to the darkened edges of the room. Golden eyes, identical in color, though so different in every other way, peer at you from behind crates and beds.

You smile and slowly, painfully, sit down on the floor, “Hello little ones,” You greet, as you wait for them to come to you. A little girl, with vibrant red hair, crawls out from under a bed and she trots over to you.

Her sharp eyes take in your heavily bandaged hands and arms, and the dark bruises covering every inch of your exposed skin, and she frowns, “You’re not like us.” It’s not a question, so you tilt your head and wait for her to continue, “Yet…they hurt you anyway. Why?”

The little girl leans in and sniffs at you, and you immediately peg her as a pack born werewolf. That is a very specific action that you’ve never seen from people who were adopted into a pack later in life.

“You smell like an Alpha.” The little girl says, “But not my packs Alpha, but you’re not like us.” Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“I’m not,” You agree, “I am, however, the life partner of one of the Fett Alphas.”

The suspicion clears from her gaze, “Oh, you’re a mate.”

You allow her to believe that, although you and Wolffe haven’t quite gotten to the point in your relationship yet. Well, Wolffe hasn’t, at least. You’ve been there for months now, though.

The little girl sits in front of you, and the other children emerge from the shadows, some of them pressing against your sides for comfort, “Why are they hurting you if you’re not a wolf, like us?” A little boy asks as he lightly traces a burn on your arm, and then holds out his arm to show an identical burn.

“I’m bait.” You explain, and you don’t have to say anymore, as the children nod in understanding.

“You smell like the wolf in the lower levels,” One of the oldest boys says.

You start, honestly surprised, “My brother’s still alive?” You blurt, “Stars, I thought that father would have killed him ages ago-” You take a deep breath, if you had known that he was still alive, you would have returned for him ages ago.

“It’s not your fault,” The little girl sitting in front of you says as she lightly pets your knee, “The Hunter keeps him isolated, there’s no need for such guilt.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” You murmur quietly, as your eyes close. You nurse the guilt for a moment longer, and then you exhale and shove the guilt to the side to focus on the children in your care, “This is the story of the Mother and her most beloved children-” You start in a sing song voice, it’s a story you learned from the pack, and now you’ll share it with these children.

All you can do now is hope that someone will come for you, though you also hope that it won’t be Wolffe.

The last thing you want is for him to be in danger because of you.

“Calm down, vod.” Comet says quietly as he folds his arms across his chest while watching his older brother pace, impatiently, from one side of the room to the other. “We’re moving as fast as we can.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Wolffe bites out, his mismatched eyes landing on the ribbon clutched in his hands. His partner, his mate, always wears a ribbon in her hair. Always. It allows him to find her, even in a crowd of people.

Several days ago, he came to pick her up for their date, and saw that her front door had been kicked in, and her braid, ribbon included, laid in the middle of the living room.

Her home was also trashed, clothes ripped to shreds, furniture destroyed, paintings slashed-

Whoever broke into her home, whoever took her, hated her. And made sure that everyone knew it.

Wolffe grinds his teeth, and then whips his attention from the ribbon in his hand to his brother, “Tell me you found something?”

Comet sighs and shakes his head. “The boys have gone through the entire house, Wolffe. And they haven’t found anything.” He taps his arm for a moment, “Are you sure that she doesn’t have any enemies?”

“She-” Wolffe pauses, and his gaze drops to the ribbon. An old conversation, had several weeks after they started dating, comes to the forefront of his mind.

“My dad is a terrible person,” She says, her voice soft as she lightly traces his fingers with one of her own.

“He can’t be that bad,” Wolffe counters, his gaze locked on her face, “He sired you, didn’t he?”

She smiles at him, his fingers gliding across the palm of his hand, and over his wrist, “My father is a werewolf hunter, one of the less well respected ones.” She admits, “When I was a child, mother took my twin brother and I to the market, and we were attacked by an Alpha who had lost their mate to my father.”

Wolffe exhales sharply, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No. It wasn’t. But mother still died, and my brother was turned…and I survived unscathed. I never saw my brother again after that day.” Her voice is soft and wistful, “I miss him.”

“What happened after?”

“I grew to hate him, and he grew to hate me in turn. No one was unhappy when I left.” She smiles tiredly, “I took my maternal grandmother’s maiden name as my own, and have tried to put it behind me.”

Wolffe’s hand comes out to cup her cheek, “If it’s in the past, then you needn’t tell me.”

She hums softly, and presses her hand over his, “If something happens to me, Wolffe, I need you to know that it was my father who did it.” Her thumb, soft and warm, brushes against the back of his hand, “He’ll never forgive me for dating you. Never.”

Wolffe’s gaze is serious as he leans in so his lips are hovering just over hers, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you-”

Wolffe is pulled from his memory at the feeling of Comet’s hand on his forearm, “Vod?”

“Her father,” Wolffe says, “He’s a hunter. You need to look into her father.”

Comet pauses, and then he smirks, “I can work with that.” He agrees, “You have a name?”

Wolffe smirks at him, “Of course I do.”

It’s the break that the pack has been waiting for. Once Wolffe gives his brothers a name, they get a location of the hunting camp. It’s not terribly close to Fett territory, which is reassuring, but it is a lot bigger than anyone was anticipating.

Wolffe keeps his gaze locked on the camp, his jaw clenched and his hands curling and uncurling into tight fists. He can smell her. Her scent is strong. Too strong. The kind of strong that only comes with pain and suffering.

She’s probably still alive though.

He can hear his brothers bickering behind him, Cody and Fox’s packs are here as well, but it sounds like they have a basic plan in place. “I’m going to get her.” Wolffe says, interrupting his twin, “She’s suffering and in pain and I’m going to get here.”

“That’s why we’re here, vod.” Fox says, “But we need to be smart about this.”

“You be smart about it. I’m going. Now.”

Cody and Fox share a look, and then nod. “Fine. Go, we’ll be on your heels.”

The actual infiltration is a haze. Wolffe doesn’t remember how he managed to navigate the camp and make it to the small building where his mate is being kept without getting caught, and in the end it doesn’t matter. Because he climbs in the window and she’s there.

“Cyare,” Wolffe goes to say something else, I love you. I missed you. Are you hurt? How can I help? But he says none of them. Instead he walks over to her, and cups her face between his gentle hands, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her hands come up to press against his cheeks, but Wolffe carefully catches her wrists to look at her shaking hands. Her fingers are bent awkwardly, and there are bruises peeking out from under the dirty bandages.

“Cyare?”

“Broken,” She whispers, “He…father was…he’s not happy about you.”

“I’m so sorry, I should have protected you-”

“I’m the one who refused to move in with you,” she rasps out, “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s his fault.”

She pauses and then nods once, accepting his words as a truth, and then she shifts to her knees, “Wolffe, there’s a small house not far from here where there are children being held and-”

“Shh, shh.” He bumps his forehead against hers, “It’s okay. Cody and Fox are here with me. They’ll take care of it.”

“My brother is here.” She says, “He’s here and he’s alive and you can’t leave him, Wolffe. You can’t-”

“Never. I would never. You’re my mate, which makes him family.”

She blinks at him, and there are tears in her eyes, “I am?”

“This isn’t exactly how I planned on asking you,” Wolffe admits, “I was going to take you out on the full moon so you could be there for my transformation and…” He sighs, “I had a plan, cyare.” He clicks his tongue, “Another crime to lay at your father’s feet.”

She watches him for a moment, and then lightly grips his shoulders, “Wolffe, I want to go home, please?”

“Of course, cyare. Let’s get you to the medic. And then I’m going to rip your father to shreds.”

He expects her to argue against it, for her to ask him not to, to offer mercy. But something icy slides through her gaze and she nods once. “Good.”

And Wolffe has never been more in love with her than in that moment as he leans in and kisses her gently enough to not hurt her, and then he pulls back to help her to her feet.

He knows that it’s going to be a bloody night. But he already has his mate’s permission for what’s about to happen. He’ll make sure that the massacre will be clean and quick, so he can get her home, so he can wrap himself around her and tend to her hurts to the best of his ability.

But for now, he has a battle to prepare for…and a mate to escort.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #vodika-vibes 650 event #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #monster au #answered asks

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tortillamastersblog · 2 days

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♕ No Matter What - Part 7 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: mentions of some shooting, throwing up, blood and death

________________________________________________

I get up with shaking hands, watching Lena as she begins pacing.

“Who is he?” she snaps. “Your boyfriend?!”

I flinch and take a step back. Not only am I completely taken aback by her sudden lack of trust, I’m also fragile because of the reminder of what day it is tomorrow.

“Lena— What? No! He’s not my boyfriend,” I defend quietly, my voice wavering. I swallow to get rid of the growing lump in my throat, but it just makes it worse.

Lena whips around and stares me down with a harsh glare. “No? Then who is he and why did you try to hide it when his name popped up on your phone?”

I open my mouth to reply, but the words get stuck in my throat. What has gotten into her? She has no right to attack me like this. Not when I haven’t given her a single reason not to trust me.

Scoffing when I don’t answered, she aggressively runs a hand through her hair. “That’s what I thought. My God, I should have never listened to Sam. You’re just like everyone else. A lying, cheating—“

“He’s my brother!” I blurt out weakly, every word she just said breaking my heart. My knees are weak and it’s taking everything in me not to break down crying right now.

Lena pauses and raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Nice try. You told me you don’t have any siblings. Honestly, I don’t know how I let this whole thing between us get this far.”

I feel my bottom lip tremble and avert my eyes to the ground. Why is she being so cruel? I clench my fists and work my jaw as Lena goes on berating me.

“And to make up a brother. . . You really are something else. You know, if it weren’t for your contract I’d fire you on the spot.”

A tear rolls down my cheek and I lift a trembling hand to wipe it away. I don’t say anything and just stare at the floor, waiting for Lena to continue.

She doesn’t go on however and when I dare to glance at her I find her watching me incredulously.

“Why are you cry—?”

“I am not making him up,” I say sternly which seems to surprise her. She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off again. “And I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t have any siblings because he’s dead.”

Lena’s eyes widen.

“It’s the anniversary of his death tomorrow and I was planning on leaving some flowers on his grave, hence the reminder. And I didn’t want you to see because I’m not ready to talk about what happened yet.” I grab my bag from next to the couch and sling it over my shoulder, too hurt to even acknowledge the regret on Lena’s face. “Now, I know you can’t fire me, but I can quit, so don’t worry. You’ll have my letter of resignation on your desk by tomorrow morning.“

“Y/N, that’s not what I— I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. . . Please don’t—“

I hold up a hand and shake my head with a stray tear rolling down my cheek. “No, don’t worry about it, Ms. Luthor. I should probably get going now if I am to accompany you to the office later.”

Lena looks close to tears as well now, but I don’t give her a chance to say anything else as I brush past her, leaving without turning back.

How everything could go this wrong this quickly is a mystery to me.

It makes my heart ache and part of me is screaming at me to turn back and forgive Lena for jumping to conclusions. The other part however, the one that is irreversibly hurt by what just happened, is telling me to leave, which is what I ultimately do.

Maybe Lena was right. Things shouldn’t have gone as far as they did between us. I am, after all, just her bodyguard.

A year ago– Somewhere overseas. . .

“Christ I’m sweating like a pig,” Noah grumbles, pulling at the collar of his uniform.

We’re standing outside in the blazing sun, guarding the locals as they unload the truck of supplies we brought them. It’s a day like any other and for weeks now nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

“Yeah? Well, stop fretting, you’re only making it worse,” I scold lightheartedly as I shift the gun in my arms. It is hot, yes, but Noah is being a baby about it.

Harper snickers beside me and Noah sends her a dirty look. “You two are unbelievable,” he says with an eye roll, however when he turns his attention back to the locals I see a faint smile on his lips.

Harper beams and shoves me playfully. I smile and return the gesture.

That’s when one of the locals approaches me. “We’ve finished unloading the truck. Thank you again for all your help.” He stretched out his hand and I shake it with a polite nod.

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else we can—?”

The sound of screeching breaks makes me whip my head around and my eyes widen at the sight of an old truck that has come to a stop in a cloud of dust.

Several men, armed with guns jump off the back of it and before I can call out any orders, they open fire on me and my squad.

“Get down!” I shout, pulling the local behind a stack of rice bags. “Miller, radio for help!”

Harper and Noah join me while the rest of the squad finds shelter behind our truck.

Bullets whiz past us everywhere and the panicked screams of the locals make my stomach flip.

Stay calm! I remind myself, gripping my gun until my knuckles are white. Panic will get you killed.

“Miller?” I shout again as I peak over the bags, returning some of the fire before ducking back down. “Miller, where are you? Jones? Martinez!”

There’s no answer and knowing what that means, I clench my jaw and force away the burning feeling behind my eyes.

“What do we do?” Harper shouts next to me as she reloads her gun. “We’re trapped.”

Miller was the only one in the squad with a radio because for weeks now everything’s been calm and some superiors decided the extra radios should go to the squad’s that actually fight the rebels, not the ones doing supply runs.

“There’s a radio in the truck!” I remember, but the chances of getting to it without being hit are slim to none.

I have to do something though, so I grab Noah by the collar and pull him closer so he can hear me over the gunfire. “You two, cover me!” I shout, ignoring the way his and Harper’s eyes widen in terror.

“No! You can’t—!” he begins to protests but I tighten my grip on his uniform which shuts him up.

“I can and I will! I’m your superior officer and I’m not losing anyone else today, you hear me?!”

Noah has tears in his eyes, but he nods nonetheless. I turn to Harper to find her with the same, horror filled eyes.

“Do you hear me?” I ask again, swallowing the fear that’s bubbling up in the back of my throat.

“Yes, Sergeant!” They reply in unison and I take a deep breath before counting down.

“Alright, on three. One, two, three!” I jump up, gun at the ready, and move to leap over the bags of rice.

As soon as I get to my feet though, I’m knocked back by something hitting my shoulder. I cry out in pain and fall back down, clutching at where I’ve been hit.

One of the rebels must have waited for one of us to show themselves…

“Y/N!” Harper screeches, pressing her hand down on my chest a little below my shoulder. “Fuck!”

The local who’s frozen in place, pales at the sight of my blood and throws up right in his lap and if it weren’t for our current circumstances I would have gagged at the sight.

This can’t be how it ends!

I grit my teeth and shove Harper’s hand away. “I’m fine. We have to try again. We need to get to that radio!”

I try to get a hold of my gun again but as soon as I move, a jolt of pain shoots through me and I fall back with a pained whimper.

It’s enough for Harper to press her hand against my shoulder again, pinning me down with a warning look. “You can’t do this. You’re losing to much blood. We’ll have to think of something else.”

I shake my head and fidget with the clasp of my helmet. It feels like the strap is strangling me, but I know better than to take it off.

“There’s no time, Harper! Just let me—!”

“I’ll do it.”

I turn my head to find Noah watching us with a blank stare. I’ve never seen him like this and I know whatever he’s thinking can’t be good.

“I’ll do it,” he says again and that’s when I realize what he means.

“You will do no such thing!” I say sternly as he goes to return some of the fire before ducking back down.

“But we need backup!” he argues and I watch as a bead of sweat drips from the tip of his nose.

It really is hot today, isn’t it?

“You’re not going out there, Private. That is an order!” I wince when Harper applies more pressure to my shoulder.

“I can’t just let you die!” Noah screams and he reloads his gun with newfound determination. “I’m going to get that radio and call for backup!”

I grab his arm and yank him back down just as he’s about to get up. “No, you are not! You’re staying right here. We’ll think of something else.”

Noah’s eyes meet mine and for a moment the gunfire around us is muted. He smiles apologetically and takes the hand I have on his arms into his own.

I’m sorry, he mouths and before I can stop him again he’s escaped my grasp.

“Noah!”

Present– National City. . .

After showering and getting ready for the day, I make my way back to Lena’s apartment building where I wait for her by the front desk after shoving my bike into the janitors closet.

Ann tries to strike up a conversation as soon as her eyes land on me, but when my replies come out somewhat clipped, she lets it go.

I honestly don’t know what I’m feeling right now. Earlier I was hurt and angry, but now I’m not really feeling anything.

I will do my job as professionally as I can and have my resignation letter on Lena’s desk by tomorrow morning, just like she wanted.

I am still worried about Lex coming after her, but she’s made it clear what she thinks of me and I can’t do my job if she doesn’t trust me.

When the elevator doors open and Lena steps out, her eyes dart around until they land on me. She relaxes visibly and approaches quickly with regret and worry written all over her face.

“Y/N, I’m sorry about earlier. I should have never said what I said and I don’t want you to—“

I shake my head and square my shoulders, trying my best to sound professional when I say, “Don’t apologize, Ms. Luthor. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m just here to do my job.”

Lena deflates and she frowns sorrowfully. “Y/N, please. . . I didn’t mean—“

I check my watch and clear my throat, cutting her off once again. “We should get going if you don’t want to be late for your interview with Ms. Danvers.”

Lena’s bottom lip trembles and I have to dig my nails into the palm of my hand to stop myself from rushing forward to comfort her.

Her words cut unimaginably deep earlier and I can’t forgive her for it just yet. Or ever. I haven’t made my mind up about it yet because all I can think about is Noah and Harper who tried calling me again just before I got here.

“Alright then,” Lena gives in with a dejected sigh.

We go outside where Alfred is already waiting in the car. I open the rear–passenger door and wait until Lena gets in. Then I close it, ignoring the hurt in her eyes when I opt to sit in front with Alfred, rather than in the back with her like I normally do.

The interview with Kara had gone well, as far as I could tell when Lena hugged the blonde goodbye with a genuine smile. That smile, however, faded when her eyes met mine briefly and she quickly disappeared into her office again, leaving me outside with Jess who was busy at her computer.

And that’s where I’m still at right now, reading a news article on my phone while Lena’s in her office with Sam who decided to show up ten minutes ago.

Upon seeing me, she instantly knew something was wrong, but I just waved her off when I could feel Lena watching us from the doorway to her office.

She didn’t say anything but sent me a look that made it clear we were going to talk about what was going on as soon as we were alone.

“You did what?!”

Sam’s shriek makes me flinch and I can’t help but move a little closer to the closed office door. Jess isn’t at her desk because she went out to get coffee, so I don’t have to worry about getting caught eavesdropping.

“I know, I messed up pretty badly.” Lenas muffled voice sounds like she’s genuinely sorry and I know for a fact that they’re talking about what happened this morning.

“You think?” Sam retorts sarcastically. “God, Lena. . . What is wrong with you?“

“I don’t know, Sam!” Lena sounds desperate and it makes my heart ache involuntarily. “I just— I’ve been burned so many times before and Jack—“

“Y/N is not Jack though,” Sam cuts in and it’s quiet for a moment.

Then Lena mumbles what sounds like, “I know. . .” followed by a “What am I supposed to do now?”

I sigh and move away from the door again. What they’re talking about is none of my business even though they’re taking about me.

It also doesn’t help that I wouldn’t be able to answer that question myself. What could Lena possibly do to undo what she did this morning?

I honestly don’t know and before I can lend that question any more thought, my phone starts ringing.

I glance at the screen to see that it’s Harper again.

I roll my eyes with half a mind to decline the call, but then I think better of it and reluctantly answer with a strained, “What do you want, Harper?”

________________________________________________

I’m not all too happy with how this part turned out, but I’m not in the mood to rewrite it. Proofreading (like always) will be done over the course of the next couple of days.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know that I love your comments and that I read every single one of them even though I don’t reply to all of them <3

Tag list: @nuianced-tck-enby @autorasexy

#x reader #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor #supergirl cw #dc universe #dcu

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ethniee · 2 days

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It’s finally finished. Thanks to all the awesome folks who voted and to the people on Discord who supplied feedback and ideas when I hit writers block (among them @hazyange1s, @choco-froggie, and @superconductivebean). Love you guys!!

RETURNING THE FAVOR - A Garreth Weasley x MC Oneshot

Word Count: 5,200

Content Warnings: Mortal danger, arachnophobia, and stupid decisions

He was on the ground. That was about all he knew.

He was laying on the ground, snapped like a broken twig across the forest floor.

Garreth rubbed his face blearily. His brain was swimming - everything was faded and hazy. Shadows twisted and whispered above him, smelling of death and rot and terror. If it weren’t for the pain in his leg and head, he wouldn’t have been sure if it was all real.

Something wet and earthy was pressed against his cheek…. Leaves? His pants were damp from the ground, and there were clumps of soil in his hair. Rain had soaked his robes into a muddy mess and chilled him to the bone, leaving his fingers numb from cold.

How had he gotten here? Hadn’t it been only a few hours ago he and Inger had left the castle? He’d only wanted to restock his supply of leeches- Perhaps find a dead bat, or even a bit of Hippogriff hair snagged on a bush.

Really, he’d wanted to find anything that could be useful. After all, this place was full of incredible things.

He faintly remembered falling.

That was it. He’d fallen.

Merlin, he hurt.

He was in the middle of wondering if he should try and sit up when something chittered, far too close and loud to just be his own frozen limbs scratching around in the muck.

His body froze, his own breath closing off his throat. As delirious as he was, he could hear the faint slipping of leaves and crunching grass. A long, wiry hair ran along his cheek.

He clamped his teeth down on his tongue, barely suppressing a whimper of fear. If that was what he thought it was- Merlin, he prayed it wasn’t what he thought it was.

Every muscle in his body was pulled to the point where he was shaking. Slowly the hair skipped across his nose, and he clenched his fists at his side, trying to remember to breathe. Where was his wand? If he’d lost his wand he was as good as dead.

His heart pounding in his ears, Garreth ever-so-slowly opened his eyes.

Eight massive inky orbs stared back at him.

He couldn’t help it. He shrieked.

The spider chattered, snapping its pincers. One massive hairy leg hooked onto his shoulder, turning him towards the monster as he began to scramble, arms and one leg and fallen leaves flying. His fist hit the beast in the side of the head, and he managed to kick one of its many legs out from under it.

It was no use. The brute wasted no time in scrambling on top and stepping all over him, prodding with its disgusting legs, its pincers clacking and glistening in the faint moonlight as it tried to tame its squirming prey.

He was going to die. He was going to die, and all before he’d ever finished his Fizzing Whizbeer. All before her had ever ridden a unicorn, or written that apology letter to Sharp for getting centipede juice on the ceiling, or told his friend he had a crush on her, or put a bucket of lake water atop Sallow’s door.

He could have sworn he heard someone scream. Inger?

And then the spider began to spin his legs together in a mess of horrible sticky silken strands. The last thing he saw was a burst of silvery light before he blacked out.

. . . Earlier That Day . . .

“The Forbidden Forest?” Inger demanded, grinning far too widely for such a suggestion. “You’re insane!”

“SHH,” Garreth hissed, clapping a hand over her mouth. He glanced around the near-empty common room in panic before slowly removing his hand. “We can’t have the whole bloody school knowing. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

She shoved his shoulder in retaliation, opened her second chocolate frog of the evening, and bit its head off. “I know it’s supposed to be a secret,” she said, chewing, “but it’s the Forbidden Forest! Your aunt would murder us. Remember the last time we ran off? We got detention for a week.”

“Two weeks,” he corrected, accepting one of the frog’s legs as he looked at the card from the box. His aunt had not been happy with them, to say the least, and neither had his parents. He still remembered the Howler he’d received the next morning.

Who cared about the Forbidden Forest, though? It was an opportunity too big to miss, especially with a rumored lesson coming up that taught Felix Felicis. Of course he’d brewed the famous potion before (without supervision, of course), but since that time he’d thought up a million ideas for what could be done with it if he were to do so again. He could make a fortune selling spiked candy to kids before their O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S., he could get it to their Quidditch team, he could see if there was a way to alter it so it would only bring bad luck. He could, he could, he could. He’d be famous!

Of course, Inger knew about all of these crazy ideas, of which she’d shot down a fair number - the one about making Felix Felicis ink, for example.

This was why Garreth always told her his ideas. She knew which ones had the potential to work, and best of all, she could always help figure out a way to accomplish them.

Besides, she didn’t make half-bad company, either.

You know, in a great potions-brewing, adventure-seeking, fun-loving teammate sort of way. Certainly nothing that eluded to the fact he simply liked being around her and her inexhaustible energy to boot.

“Come on, Inger,” he wheedled, “It’ll be fun! It’s not like you haven’t been in there before.”

She jabbed a finger at him. “If you tell Weasley that I’ll hex your arse to Azkaban.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, smirking. “That might actually be quite preferable, compared to-”

He cackled as she shoved him again, nearly forcing him off the overstuffed red couch.

“Alright ALRIGHT I get it,” he laughed. “But just think of all the fascinating things that are in there!”

“I don’t have to think,” she said haughtily, “I know.”

“Case closed! Ladies and gentlemen, we have the Savior of Hogwarts and an expert on the Forbidden Forest with us today.” He grinned, leaning back into the cushions. “Tell me, what potions were you able to brew with the oh-so valuable ingredients you found?”

He knew that line would get her. Inger was as big a sap for potions as he was- or at least, for the fun of creating something potentially hazardous. He suspected she was in it purely for the joy of throwing things into a cauldron with varying rates of success.

She snorted. “You’re an idiot,” she told him, yet her excitement showed no sign of dimming. “What time?”

“Tonight, after curfew. Hopefully, anyway, I’d we don’t get caught. I’ve got my broom-“

“Mine got taken by Kogowa because of the last Quidditch match.”

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that.” Truth was he hadn’t really forgotten. (Inger had fully snapped after a Ravenclaw student had nearly beheaded the Gryffindor Seeker with a Bludger at close range. As a result, she’d lost her broom for a week.) Better for her to think he had forgotten, though, right?

“Regardless, that’s all the more reason for it,” he said instead. “One broom won’t be as easy to spot as two.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to do, fly to my window and make me jump off?”

Actually, that was exactly what he’d been planning to do. He shrugged. “Something like that.”

It sounded ridiculous as soon as he said it. Inger, however, hardly batted an eyelash. “Brilliant! Just get super close to the window, and I’ll hop on.”

“What are you going to do if someone sees you?”

Springing up from the couch, ponytail swinging, Inger winked. “Savior of Hogwarts business.”

“And what about if they try to stop you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Garreth. I’m in a room with Nellie and Natty of all people. I’ll be fine.”

He grinned as he handed her the chocolate frog box. “Well, would you look who’s excited?” he teased. “Is it because I’ll be there?”

She scoffed. “Just make sure that big head of yours can fit through my window. And when Weasley catches us, it was only because of that next assignment and nothing else. Otherwise I would be busy being a perfect model student.”

He choked on a laugh. “Yeah, that’s a great description.”

Inger swatted and he ducked, snickering. Snatching the box back from her hand, he leapt atop the couch.

Despite being tall for a girl, Inger didn’t bother trying to jump to get it back, and wasted no time in tackling his legs instead. Garreth lost his balance immediately and fell over the arm of the couch, laughing.

Triumphant, Inger plucked the box from his hand, then extended her own to help him up.

“All hail the conquering champion,” she joked, pulling him to his feet.

“You jerk,” Garreth teased playfully.

She smirked right back at him. “Moron.” Spinning on her heel, she slung her book bag over her shoulder. “Does ten-o’clock sound good to you?”

He gave a mock salute. “Ten o’clock it is.”

. . .

It would decide to rain that night.

Inger couldn’t help feeling a little disgruntled as she unlatched the window and pushed it open into the heavy downpour. She hated being cold, and she knew (even with several layers of clothing) that there was little she could do to prevent being so.

True to his word, Garreth arrived almost exactly at 10:00. Or at least, at his own version of 10:00… a solid seven minutes past, to be exact.

Inger rolled her eyes as Garreth nudged his broom closer to the window sill. His grin was contagious, though it was helped along with rain soaking his usually curly ginger hair into an absolute mess of strands that refused to be swayed from sticking to his forehead. His robes were already sopping.

“ARE YOU READY?” Garreth yelled so as to be heard above the howling storm.

“YES!” Inger cried back. Stepping onto the windowsill, she braces herself with her hands on the slick stone walls.

Merlin, it was a long way down.

She dug the toes of her boots into a groove in the stone. “YOU’D BETTER NOT DROP ME!” she shouted at him.

Garreth kept his broom in place, bracing one leg on the wall. “I WON’T!” He held one hand out to her. “Grab my hand and my shoulder, then swing your right leg over!”

“Or just jump,” Nellie offered from behind. Natsai elbowed her in the ribs.

Inger snorted at her friends. “Make sure Mrs. Weasley doesn’t find out I’m gone, okay?”

Nellie flashed her a thumbs up.

Grabbing Garreth’s hand with her left and his shoulder with her right, Inger swung herself onto the broom, releasing herself from the window. Her satchel thudded against her hip.

Even with Garreth in front, she still loved being on a broom. There was a weightless feeling to it like nothing else.

It would have been even better had it not been dumping buckets of water from the sky. Even with the layers she was wearing, she was cold and damp within seconds. Her untamable flyaways clung in wet strands to the sides of her face and mouth. As for her ponytail, it was already a tangled mess from the wind.

“Are you holding on?” Garreth asked as he began to nudge the broom farther away from the tower and into the storm.

“Yup,” she said, wrapping her arms firmly around his waist. “GEEZ, you’re wet!”

Garreth burst out laughing, his hair spinning additional water into her face as he turned to look at her. “Say that again!”

Oh Merlin. It seemed to be a talent teenage boys had to always take things the worst way possible. Garreth was no different, especially with her. She was severely tempted to smack him in the back of the head.

Wiping a strand of hair out of her mouth, she leaned over his shoulder so she could see. “That wasn’t meant to be dirty, you dork!” she yelled at him.

“Sure it wasn’t!”

She scoffed. “Just don’t kill us!”

Garreth flashed another one of his signature grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it!”

Little could be said after that, as Garreth flew the broom away from the shelter of the castle and straight into the storm towards the Forbidden Forest. Inger could hardly see it at first - all it was was a streak of dark gray in the relentless rain and thunder.

The winds nearly sent the pair flying into the trees as they got closer, but to Inger’s relief, they landed relatively unscathed after only a few minutes - Waterlogged and freezing, but unscathed.

Inger nearly tripped as she stumbled off the broom into the relative shelter of the forest. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the dark shadows through the drizzling raindrops.

“This shouldn’t be too bad,” she said, checking to make sure her satchel was intact. “So long as we avoid the stinging nettle, and the Dugbogs, and the Centaurs, and the Aromantaculas.”

“The what?” Garreth asked, stepping up to her side as he rearranged his red and gold scarf. He’d leaned the broom up against a tree for safekeeping.

“‘What’ to which one?”

“The Aro… min… tecular- I don’t know. Whatever it is you said.”

She grinned. “Aromantaculas?”

“Yes. Those.”

She pulled her wand out of her satchel, lit it, and held it up so they could begin their trek into the forest. “Giant spiders.”

“You’re kidding.”

She turned to look at him, confused. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“No, not really.”

Garreth grabbed one of her shoulders, keeping her from walking any farther. His brilliant green eyes bored into hers, filled with undeniable concern. “There are giant spiders in there? How giant are we talking about?”

“Yup.” She tried to measure with her hand and ultimately settled it a little below her hip. “Uh… around here?”

He inhaled a slow, deep breath. “Godric’s gingersnaps,” he muttered.

Inger snorted a laugh. “Where’d that one come from?”

He gave her a pleased, mischievous smile. “I made it up.” He paused, worry creeping back onto his face. “Really though, are you sure we’ll be okay in there? You know, with those spiders?”

It dawned on her.

“Garreth,” she asked, folding her arms as she faced him, “are you scared of spiders?”

He looked at her as if she’d insulted him. “I’m not scared of them, I do like them!” He swallowed. “When they’re not running. Or twitching legs. Or, you know what, I just prefer them jarred so I can pull them out when the recipe calls.”

It was nearly funny, but she knew she had no room to laugh after their last adventure, when Garreth had discovered her own claustrophobia.

The memory still made her stomach feel like it was full of butterflies, something she would never in a million years tell him.

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were afraid of frogs.”

“I never said I was afraid of frogs,” he told her. “I said I dislike them. Immensely.”

“Hate them.”

“What?”

“You said you hated them.”

He shrugged. “Alright, I hate them, then.”

“But you are scared of spiders?”

“Well, have you seen one up close? They’ve got these little hairs everywhere and these little beady eyes and little stick creepy crawly legs.” He shuddered. “They’re great for potions, don’t get me wrong, but otherwise…”

She playfully elbowed her friend in the side. “I’ll tell you what. You make sure I don’t get stuck in any tight spaces, and I’ll kill the spiders. Deal?”

She wished she could have gotten a painting of the relief on Garreth’s freckled face. It was nice to have someone who trusted her so completely. Usually it was “make sure you’re careful, Inger,” or “here’s some extra training for things you already know, Inger,” or “I’ll come along to make sure you’re safe, Inger.”

With Garreth it wasn’t like that. He knew and trusted her capabilities, and if she was getting ahead of herself, he would tell her.

At the very least it was nice to repay the favor. Garreth had kept her safe and helped to keep her mind off of their circumstances when they’d been stuck in that cellar until she’d fallen asleep, and now she had the chance to help scare off whatever spiders got to him.

“I thought I was the one planning this,” Garreth teased.

She laughed, turning around to face him as she began to walk backwards. “Who said I was planning anything?”

He chuckled. “Good question.” Then, reaching out, he spun her back around so she was facing forward. “Now do me a favor and don’t trip and die.”

Despite the amount of times Inger had been in the Forbidden Forest (most often to gather rarer ingredients for her and Garreth’s experiments), it was still a little spooky when first walking in.

For one thing, it was obvious almost immediately that one wasn’t alone.

The howls and screeches of animals and magical beasts alike echoed off the trees and through the lengthening shadows. Something skittered through the undergrowth. Even the trees creaked and whispered, as if alive.

However, despite how foreboding the sounds were, Inger knew that in reality they were preferable to silence. Silence in the Forbidden Forest was rarely a good thing.

Garreth summed it up fairly well.

“Creepy,” he declared after only a few moments of walking.

Inger chuckled. “You getting cold feet, Weasley?”

He grinned. “I just might - and then you’d have to save me. What an absolute tragedy.”

She rolled her eyes with a chuckle, holding an overhanging branch away from the trail with one hand so Garreth could pass in front of her. “I’m sure that would go down super well with your aunt.”

“She wouldn’t mind. It would just get you extra points with her, after all.”

“Oh, because that went so well last time she caught us together.”

Inger wasn’t prepared for Garreth’s expression. A mischievous raised eyebrow and a smirk to match - the sort of look that made Inger’s heart stutter. However, it was his following question that caught her most off-guard.

“What, are you saying you regret it?”

She tripped over a hollow in the path and shouted in alarm as Garreth sprang forward to help, catching her arm before she face planted into the ground.

“Woah, careful there,” he joked. “Wouldn’t want you to get scraped up.” He lifted his chin proudly. “That’s two me-saving-you’s.”

Inger managed a chuckle, trying to ignore the flush creeping up her neck, and straightened the satchel strap across her shoulder. “Totally not cocky about it at all, are you?” She swallowed. “Thank you. I-what kind of question is that?”

Did she regret it? Of course she didn’t. Looking back at it, it had been one of the most terrifying experiences of her life (which was saying something, considering what she’d been through the past year). She’d felt like she couldn’t breathe, felt like the world was closing in around her and she was going to be buried alive.

That said, the materials they’d brought back had lasted months. She and Garreth had brewed potions they’d only read about in books. They’d ruined several, too, but that wasn’t the point.

Had falling asleep in a cold dirt cellar - mere feet below a couple of angry drunk poachers, no less - against one of her best mates been one of the stupider things she’d done?

Probably.

Did it still make her want to hug and shove and goad him into tackling her every chance she got just to have an excuse to feel that sense of care and warmth again?

Maybe.

Garreth’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean ‘what kind of question is that?’ I thought it was a good one.”

She snorted, praying he didn’t notice it was his simple question that had made her trip.“Well, I-…”

She paused. How did she say this without coming off weird? Best to keep it simple.

“No, I don’t regret it.”

Was that a little bit of relief she saw? Merlin, he probably thought she was just another one of those girls that fawned over him behind his back.

“Those ingredients we found were completely worth it,” she offered as something of an explanation. “Remember the mermaid blood?”

Something dropped on his face - what, she couldn’t tell, but it was covered with a smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “The mermaid blood. Gave me a bloody good scare when those poachers showed up, though.”

She barked a laugh. “You were scared?”

He gave her a playful nudge in the side as they continued walking. “Hey, dying wasn’t exactly on my list of things to do that day.”

She crossed her arms, trying to look like she didn’t believe him. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty keen on it when you threw me down the ladder.”

Garreth rolled his eyes with a grin and shoved her away, nearly off the path. “You know, you could stand to say thank you.”

“I just did!”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“You most definitely didn’t.”

“Fine then.” She lifted her chin, smile still on her face. “Thank you, Garreth.”

He gave a flamboyant bow. “My pleasure.”

Inger wasn’t sure what it was. She knew he was just messing around, but seeing Garreth bow like that, dripping wet as he was, it made her stomach do stupid floppy things.

Most of the things he did made her stomach do stupid floppy things.

She held on to her bag strap- that seemed like a good place for her hands at the moment. “You dork,” she said with a chuckle.

He didn’t respond, only gave her that ridiculously charming smile.

The forest, while it had gotten progressively less wet and more damp as they’d ventured farther in due to leaf cover, it had also gotten progressively darker. The pair found a few mushrooms in the roots of a tree and a couple of feathers, but were unsuccessful in identifying them. Inger ended up sticking the ingredients in her satchel for safekeeping.

Garreth eventually pulled out his wand and lit it alongside Inger’s. However, it seemed that even Lumos Maxima wasn’t able to entirely dispel the shadows.

“So, when do we start seeing spiders?” Garreth asked after a couple of minutes of near-aimless wandering.

“Whenever they find us,” Inger whispered back, poking around a bush to see if she could find anything. “The louder we are, the more likely they are to hear us.”

“Oh how comforting,” he joked. He’d paused at the base of a particularly large tree at the edge of a steep slope, and was now staring up into the branches. “Is that a nest?”

Inger blinked from looking down the slope - she couldn’t see the bottom, the greenery was so thick.

“Where?”

He pointed.

She tipped her head. It did sort of look like a nest. It was difficult to see clearly, but it certainly had potential.

Garreth grinned. “What if there’s something in it?”

“Can you even climb up there?” She asked dubiously.

He pocketed his wand. “I’m hurt. Truly.” Taking hold of a groove in the bark and managing to get a toehold in another, he began to slowly boost himself up the trunk. “Get over here, will you? I can’t see.”

She laughed under her breath as she picked her way through the undergrowth to his side. Stretching her arm above her head, she held her wand as high as she could.

It took a few minutes of struggling and muttered curses, but Garreth finally made it to the first sturdy branch.

“Ha,” he said, grinning as he looked down at her. “See? I told you.”

“Can you see anything yet?”

He stretched his legs in front of him, as if a king surveying his new kingdom. “Really, I have some unmatched skills here, climbing a tree like this- a tree in the Forbidden Forest, no less. Leander is going to be so jealous.”

“Quit rubbing it in and get up there!”

“You know, I think I could get used to this.” He rested his chin on his fist, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re adorable, you look so small down there.”

Was that supposed to be flirty?

Who was she kidding, it was Garreth, he was always flirty.

“Weasley, so help me, if you don’t keep climbing I’m going to throw something at you.”

“Really you’re no bigger than a Mooncalf. All bark and no bite.”

Inger yanked off her boot and threw it.

She hadn’t been made a Chaser for the Quidditch team because she had poor aim. The boot hit its mark, square in his stomach.

Garreth grunted. “Hey!” he said with a laugh.

“Keep climbing,” Inger challenged, “or I’ll let the spiders eat you.”

He got to his feet immediately. “Okay, okay, I’m climbing.” He pulled himself up to the next branch. “See? Climbing.”

“Good job,” she said, trying to hide her smile. “Hurry.”

“Great, hurrying.”

The branches grew far closer together the higher Garreth climbed, and Inger found herself mildly impressed at how quickly he was able to make it up to the height of the suspected nest.

However, it quickly became apparent that the nest was a lot farther out than the two had originally thought. Even though Garreth reached out as far as he could, his fingers couldn’t get closer than a good five or six feet from it.

“Try Accio!” Inger shouted up at him.

“WHAT?”

“I SAID TRY ACCIO!”

She didn’t remember that they were technically supposed to stay quiet until after the fact.

Oh well. Nothing could be done about that now.

Up above, Garreth found his wand. Inger heard something that sounded like the charm, but little else happened. The nest had been woven into the twigs of the branch securely - there was no hope of moving it just by use of a spell.

Few other options were left but to move close enough to reach it.

“I’m going to try to get to it,” Garreth yelled down, and without further ado he began to scoot along the branch towards the nest.

Even from below, it was obvious from the beginning the branch wasn’t nearly sturdy enough for a boy like Garreth to sit at the end of. It began to tremble and bend as he moved farther from the trunk, leaves gliding down as they were shaken from the tree.

“Wait!” Inger called. “Don’t-“

Then, with a final shuddering tremor, the branch snapped, and Garreth plunged to the ground.

. . .

Someone was hitting his face.

“Garreth,” an anxious voice said. “Garreth! Damnit, Garreth, wake up!”

He took a deep breath as his brain slowly awakened. It was Inger. He could recognize her voice anywhere.

He groaned. Everything hurt- really hurt. Taking a deep breath, he forced his eyes to flutter open.

Much to his relief, the eyes looking back at him weren’t spider eyes. These were warm brown, flecked with the faintest bits of gold, and surrounded by freckles and strands of chestnut hair.

They were scared.

He blinked, struggling to raise his head as he pushed himself onto his elbows. Something silver pranced around the corners of his vision.

“Garreth!” Inger cried, and suddenly he found himself slammed back to the ground, enveloped in a fierce hug and Inger’s face pressed into the crook of his neck.

He grunted a soft laugh, bringing one hand up to hug her back as well as he could. “Hi there.”

She pulled back, grinning. “You’re alive. I thought you died, you idiot! Are you okay? You’d better be okay.”

“Uh… yeah. I think so. He blinked hazily, trying to see his body, and nearly threw up when he saw his legs still wrapped in spider silk. “I can’t move my legs.”

“Right.” She sat back on her knees and began to yank on the silk.

As she worked, Garreth took the opportunity to look around. He was pretty battered- his neck and back and left leg all hurt, as did his head. What was more, he looked about as bad as he felt. He was covered from head to toe in mud and dirt and grass.

Something wet dripped from the corner of his mouth. He licked his lips, tasting iron.

Blood.

As far as his surroundings went, he had somehow ended up a few feet into a clearing of sorts. Tree limbs and other plants made the view above completely impossible, but where he was on the ground wasn’t so bad. A path had been cleared through the muck to his left that led several feet up a steep slope, as if something had rolled down it.

To cap it off, a wisp of deepest silver smoke was wandering around him, standing guard with its head held high and ears pricked, ready to ward off any potential threats.

He didn’t have to ask to know it was Inger’s patronus. He’d been there when she’d first cast it, and now it was here again- a black mare, shimmering in the dark shadows.

“Inger,” he managed, turning his head so he could see her tearing away at the spider silk. “What happened?”

“You fell,” she said bluntly, grunting as she yanked off another strand. “I think the hill helped break your fall. You rolled right down.”

“Huh.” He shifted. “What did you do to the spider?”

“I scared it off before it killed you. They’re a bit sensitive to light.”

“So we’re safe?”

She snorted. “For a minute, at least, until it brings back its mates and realizes that a patronus can’t really hurt it.” Finishing with the silk, she dug through her satchel, pulled out a bottle of green liquid, and pulled out the cork. “Drink this.”

Garreth didn’t have to be told twice. He tipped back the Wiggenweld immediately and then let his head flop back. He could feel the effects of the potion almost instantly as it coursed through his body, healing cuts and scrapes and soothing pain and clearing the fog from his brain.

He was still terribly dirty, though.

Inger held out her hand, and Garreth allowed her to help him to his feet. After a moment of searching he found his wand. Summoning his go-to memory, he whispered the incantation.

“Expecto Patronum.”

A twist of silver light emerged from his wand and burst into a glittering shape, taking flight through the air. The Harrier swooped past them in a graceful ark before soaring above their heads, bathing the ground around them in ghostly light.

Inger gave a quiet laugh. “Dork.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning. “Show-off.”

A long, silent moment. There were so many things he wanted to say, and yet not quite enough courage to do so.

He swallowed.

“Thanks for saving my life.”

His friend chuckled softly, watching their patronuses glitter through the trees. “Well that was sappy. I’m just returning the favor.”

She paused.

“Now let’s get out of here before we actually die.”

#Been working on developing my own version of Garreth and I think he’s starting to come together #Sorry it’s so freaking long-#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #gryffindor #harry potter #hogwarts oc #inger eve nilsdott #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x mc #hogwarts legacy oneshot

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applestede · 1 year

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So it’s come to my attention that Mary probably won’t be in S2 which, bummer.

But I hope she can at least have some passing good mention, or some indication that she and Stede are on speaking terms.

First of all, no matter what they think of each other, they still have kids, and I would hope that Stede would want to be at the very least aware of what was going on in their lives, even if he isn’t really their father figure anymore.

But I also think that Mary and Stede could be really good friends regardless, especially since that pressure of being in a marriage that neither of them wanted and neither of them enjoyed is gone. You can see a glimpse of that camaraderie toward the end of episode ten (the conversation about love, and the whole faking his death thing.)

She could easily send him letters using some sort of pseudonym or another form of don’t-reveal-my-ex-husband-isn’t-actually-dead deception. They could gossip together.

I just think they could have a really strong bond when there are no expectations put on them.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 #stede bonnet #mary bonnet #how does Stede get letters out on the ocean?#Olu wears crocs and Stede says the word ‘vibe’ in the 1700s #they let stranger things slide 😭#super secret tag bonus scenario #Ed meets Mary and right before she sends him out the door to go get gay married #she hands him a fistful of letters and is like #‘when you see him you give him these!’ and he thinks it’s a Dear John thing #but it’s actually just a ton of gossip she heard in her Widow Group #anyways Evelyn and Mary endgame 💖#Doug can share

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gutsby · 2 months

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Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

#ONE CABIN 🏚️#ONE BAND #ONE DREAM #ONE DIRECTION #IF YOU THOUGHT I WAS GONNA BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS YOU WOULD BE MISTAKEN HAHAHAHA #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel

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inkdrinkerworld · 24 days

Note

Post!prision!Reid seeing his daughter for the first time after he gets out 🥹 he gets so emotional because he can finally hold his baby again!

OMG OMG OMG!!!! can you imagine how teary he'd be!! post!prison dad!spencer x mom!reader, I hope you enjoy <3

You wish you could’ve been with the team at the prison, see him come out there in person, but you’re still on bedrest with your baby girl. Georgia is only a couple weeks old, but she’s so much Spencer’s twin- the same unruly curls, the same nose and the same want of you.

You’d written all about her in your letters to Spencer, describing every feature he’s going to see today in so much detail you were sure he would see her clearly in his mind.

“Honey?” He doesn’t shout lest he wake his daughter as he walks in, his fingers twitching with the need to see both of you.

“I’m on the sofa baby,” it’s almost as if he was never gone. You lean over the sofa to see him pass through the kitchen, his hands holding a small bag. “I’m sorry I can’t stand to kiss you, Spence.”

He tuts, leaning down over you, “Nonsense, how’re you feeling?” His eyes flit over to the cot beside you, roving over your daughter before settling back on you.

“Like I missed you longer than you’ve been gone.” You’re waterlogged immediately and Spencer rounds the sofa to pull you into him.

“I missed you too,” his lips press into your temple, “God I missed you both so much.” Tears wet your hairline but you can’t seem to care, Spencer’s home and he’s able to see your baby girl together. What more could you want?

“I brought you some snacks, I figured you hadn’t been able to get any of your cravings.” He says gently, opening a bag to show you all the chocolate malt balls, the yoghurt raisins and the nuts you’d just run out of. “I got something for Georgia too.”

“Spence,” you gasp when you see the orange stuffed octopus that he pulls out, it’s just as big as Georgia is now. He wipes the tears that fall on your cheeks, kissing your nose before opening the tub of nuts for you. “Seventh smartest animal in the world.” you recall softly.

“Can I hold her?” He asks finally and you nod, watching him stand and hover over the bassinet.

“Just scoop her up Spence, she’s going to be so happy you’re home.”

Spencer doesn’t say a word, practically holding his breath as he does as you say- scooping Georgia up in record time and holding her close to his chest. There’s a moment right after she wriggles a bit when she settles and Spencer feels an ungodly wave of emotion crash into him.

Of course, he’d read that men only feel like fathers the moment they hold their babies, and everyone had told him (everyone being Derek and JJ) that you can’t control the way your heart kind of cracks open to make room for this new love, but he still hadn’t expected it to be so immediate and visceral.

“Hi Georgia,” he whispers, his tears rolling down the bridge of his nose as he strokes her cheek. “Hi sweet girl.” You’re enamoured already, looking at Spencer holding your daughter like she’s made of fine China. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were born, baby. But I promise I’m not missing anything else where you’re concerned.”

Tears pool in your eyes as your daughter wakes up, no crying or wailing, just small coos and gurgles as she looks at Spencer.

“It’s your daddy, Georgia.” You murmur, sniffling and wiping your eyes as Spencer hiccups as she reaches for his face, her little fist bumping into his jaw.

Her almond eyes stare up at him, blinking all slow as she takes him in. Then she smiles, as if she's put a face to the man who spoke to her every night, telling her all the facts he'd read and learnt about babies, animals and whatever soothing topic he could find to tell her while she lived in your belly.

“Your mom lied to me, you look just like her.” You scoff, rolling your eyes as Spencer gives you a little glare. “Those eyes are all her, Peach. Maybe you won’t get your daddy’s brain either- it’s no fun being smart and getting beat up.” You throw a cashew at Spencer then, making him chuckle and come sit beside you.

“I’m so happy you’re home.” You whisper, stroking Georgia’s cheek as you press yours into Spencer’s bicep.

“I’m happy to be back, angel.” his eyes remain transfixed to Georgia all day, holding her and touching her foot when he can’t because you have to feed her. Spencer thinks to himself that he’d live through prison a thousand times over if every time he gets out, he can come back to this moment, to the peace and serenity in your home with you and your little girl and the life you’d made together colouring every wall of the house.

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sguidwards-bestfriend · 4 months

Text

Young Old Things

I like the thought of a deaged Dan causing a misunderstanding between Danny, Vlad, and the batfam.

TW: sexual assault hinted at

....

Danny, Dan, and Ellie go to see Jazz in Gotham. They've been waiting to "visit" her for weeks since she moved out. Only waiting for her to get a big enough place for all of them. Danny already said he'd share a room with Ellie and Dan, especially now that they found out if she is her true age she'll start to stabilize more permanently with Danny's ecto. Plus, having Dan be the same size helps, or so she says (he might be desperate for a new family and Ellie is trying to help, Danny and Jazz never bring it up in front of him).

The Fenton parents don't know about Danny being Phantom, instead believing that some big ghostly event caused Danny to have a ghost daughter.

And that he tried to clone himself mixed with a ghost to use that body to stabilize her. They may be proud of their scientist son, they are not proud that he won't let them experiment on his ghostly "creations".

Of course they are entirely wrong:

Ellie is one of Vlads' attempts to clone him, the only one that survived.

And Dan is an amalgamation of Danny and Vlad from an alternate timeline. He doesn't know why he's keeping that from his parents. He owes nothing to that scumbag, but Jazz says many victims try to keep their abusers safe from facing consequences. Before Dan was deaged, and much before he met the Fenton parents, he'd pointed out that he'd be scared who his parents would have chosen to believe too.

Jazz gets a full ride scholarship with Gotham U, the Wayne's new massive donation to the psychology department, as well as her well written letter about being the head of her home, helped immensely.

She felt bad using a slightly blurred version of their story to get a good scholarship, but Danny pushed her to go for it.

Hence her, Danny and his 3 year old "twins" were at a gala for the university.

It was being held in the museum after closing hours. The invitation she got had specified that her brother was invited, each with a plus one.

They couldn't exactly get a babysitter for two super-powered toddlers in the city known for hating metas. Besides it wasn't like they had time to get dates anyway.

The night started out fine. There were scholarship students, student council members, some Gotham U staff, and a few rich folk mingling and eating tiny foods that both Ellie and Dan adored.

Ellie fell asleep in Danny's arms almost the second she'd finished eating, and Dan was overly protective of the both of them as always. Of course the dense crowd and constant noise wasn't helping calm him down.

A Wayne, he wasn't sure which one exactly, had brought Danny a plate of food and sat with him as he tried to distract Dan. At first Dan didn't care for him at all, but he mentioned reading about the constellation on Dan's shirt and he loosened up. He never let go of Danny's pant leg though.

The night turned sour when all three's ghost sense went off. There was no immediate threat, but even the Wayne kid noticed them tense and turned to the hallway.

Dan was the first to spot him. "Vad."

"Bad?" The man mimicked.

"He has trouble with his Ls."

"No! I can say Ellie." Dan huffed, poking the side of her sparkly green shoe.

"Vlad, the guy that walked in." Danny said, decidedly looking down into his daughter's sleeping face, squished into his shirt and drooling.

"Vladimir Masters?"

He nodded, before he could continue however Dan spoke up.

"He is bad. He's the reason I was born. And Ellie too." Dan put himself in front of Danny, his little legs going over Danny's feet like a guard dog.

He could see the Wayne's hands tighten into fists, he tapped the inside of his wrist a bit and watched as he squirmed in his seat.

"Hey, Tim." Another dark haired light eyed Wayne and a girl came up to them. "Who's this?"

"Danny, these are my sibilings. Dick and Cass. Guys, this is Danny."

"Hi, nice to meet you Danny. I'd shake your hand but it looks busy." He gestured towards Ellie. As his hand swept nearer, Dan tried to swipe it away. "Oh, and who's this."

"I'm Dan. You can't touch Mommy." His little face contorted into his best toddler attempt at scaring them off.

"I would never do that. No one here would." Dick said as he crouched down to be eye level with his son.

"He would." Dan pointed at Vlad, all three turned to look at the man. Before anyone else noticed, specifically Vlad himself, Danny pushed his arm down.

"Don't point, it's rude."

"He's a rude butt." Danny laughed softly and Dan continued. "It doesn't mater that I'm half of him, I'll never be evil like him." He yawned and laid his face on Danny's leg.

"I think that's enough signs that we should head home. Thank you for talking with me, Tim."

"No problem, it was m-"

Dan grabbed around Danny's legs and whined "I don't wanna gooOOOooo. I want more of the tiny hot dogs."

Danny looked up to see Vlad infront of the food table. The Wayne sibilings followed his gaze "I'm sorry buddy, but-"

Tim stood up, "I'll get you guys a whole mountain of the tiny hot dogs. Why don't you guys wait for me at the door." Ever so softly he heard Tim whisper, "Go with them." To his brother.

"Where are your things? I'll help you get ready." Dick looked around like he didn't know where the coat closet was. He'd probably been to events like this hundreds of times, but Danny appreciated the sentiment.

"Their stroller is at the entrance, I have to get my sister though."

The girl who hadn't said a word hummed and went off, "Cass can find her, I'll help you and we can meet at the entrance."

"Alright, thank you."

It wasn't until they had both kids in the stroller with their coats on and Dan had a bottle of milk (with a lot of ectoplasm in it) that Danny realized he'd never mentioned who his sister was.

Dick waved towrds the end of the hall and saw his sister and the two Waynes he'd met walking with Brucie Wayne himself.

Jazz looked down and pat Cass' hand. "Thank you for getting me."

"Danger." Her voice was soft, but she didn't seem shy like he had expected.

"All four of you seemed to get along well with my kids. Would you like to come by for dinner next week?" Brucie asked as he looked between the four of them.

"I'd love to!" Jazz said enthusiastically. "Would Tuesday ight work?"

Danny could see the gears start to speed up in her head and he huffed a little. "Jazz, I need to get them in bed."

"Right, of course. Thank you again, for everything."

"Tuesday night works perfectly," Brucie Wayne said with a massive smile on his face, "we'll send someone to pick you up. Have a good night."

With that they walked down the ramp and down a few blocks to their two bed room apartment.

"Jazz," She looked over to Danny, "I think they know more than they are letting on."

She lent over the stroller a bit to check if the kids were asleep, before adding, "I agree, I think there is something up with them, but I don't think they're bad."

"Dan was okay with them mostly, and Ellie was fast asleep even with then around."

"I guess we'll just have to find out, then. Besides, it would be good for you to make friends your age and not at the car shop."

"Yeah, alright."

#dpxdc #writing #deaged Dan #deaged ellie #deaged dani #i prefer ellie using a name thats a little different #like to show she isnt just a clone #maybe one day Dan will do the same #but he has so much he has to work through and i want to see him get to live a happy life #he was created at the worst moment of both Danny's and Vlad's existence #even if he has some memories of what a family was like through Danny. i dont think he sees those memories as entirely his own #mom danny

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tiyoin · 4 months

Text

what if alastor’s darling went to heaven 😧

cw: heavy manipulation, heavy gaslight, alastor being alastor (whom is a shit stirrer,) poor charlie is getting caught up in alastor's schemes again

he’s yandere (platonic or romantic, up to you idc, but I hc him as ace) ofc he’s gonna want you by his side for all of eternity!

maybe that’s why he wants to involve himself with the hotel. so he can get close enough to heaven, just so he can tear your wings off and drag you down to hell with him.

of course he tells charlie about you once she gets the go ahead for the meeting. he asks her to give you this letter if she has the chance.

vaggie strongly opposes this once she see’s husk’s reactions to the mentioning of you. husk, the brute stand-offish bar tender stilled. the bar counter he was busy wiping down left forgotten as his head snapped to alastor’s.

yet his eyes met vaggie’s

“don’t let her get that letter. don’t let alastor near her”

she got the message loud and clear.

about to take the letter from alastor, he flicked his fingers away as his head snapped to hers. her eyes widened.

charlie was too busy gushing about ‘alastor long lost ‘lover’’ that she didn’t notice the hotel’s atmosphere change. the sudden dip in temperature, and the distant sounds of horses.

his eyes stopped boring into hers and snapped to husk, who started cleaning with stupor.

“miss vaggie..” charlie had stopped her bit and joined back to the conversation. off handedly noting how cold it was as alastor handed her the letter.

“i do appreciate your eagerness” his eyes squinted “in delivering this letter, but charlie here” he pats charlie’s head “is the only one i trust to do the job.” he smirked. fully aware of the silent conversation the two employees had.

vaggie gulped, backing away with her hands in faux surrender as charlie once again told him that she wouldn’t let him down!

vaggie didn’t have a good feeling about this. you two were separated for a reason.

he was in hell for a reason

plus it was illegal for believers and sinners to have any kind of contact, as that would violate heaven..

vaggie knew she shouldn’t talk. let alone question alastor. but he was planning on committing a carinal sin.

clipping an angels wings and watching them fall was the worst sin of all.

vaggie couldn’t wrap her head around it. did he really love you? or was he bored and wanted to take being an ‘overlord’ to the next level. to do one thing a sinner, let alone a citizen of hell could ever do.

cause a fallen angel.

“shouldn’t you let her be? you could get her- us into serious trouble by giving her that letter. who knows what might happen. we could get punished and she could”

“fall?“ he finished for her, eyebrow quirked with that same cocky grin on his face.

“what better way to help our group of sinners than to have an angel to lead us to salvation!” his grin widened, yet she never once met his piercing eyes. he squeezed his fist to show emphasis; determination, if you would.

“my y/n is nothing but a saint who devoted themselves to helping people in their life. she was even kind to give dear ol’ me special attention-“

“gross” vaggie cut in, alastor eyes snapped to her for the briefest moment, his facade cracking the tiniest bit before he continued; “this establishment is certainly in need of their expertise if we want the hotel to successfully reform sinners!”

charlie’s smile faltered, “but… she’d be kicked out of heaven…”

forever

that word rang through everyone’s minds. like how lucifer gave the apple to eve, alastor snaked around charlie.

“it’s a necessary evil, is it not?” he questioned, one by one his claws fanned onto her shoulders, his head next to hers as he whispered: “think about all the people we could help, they could help. they should know better than anyone how people in heaven are, what they act like, how they get there-“ he leered at vaggie

“from their own personal experience of course! and it’s so cold and lonely at night without my precious” he sniffles, grabbing a handkerchief from one of sir penticols egg boi’s.

“but we want people to get into heaven… not kicked out” she trails off, suddenly thinking about her father.

alastor rubbed her shoulders before sighing. he detached himself from charlie as stopped in front of her, next to vaggie.

“very well then” he extends his hand mournfully to charlie, eyes locked into hers.

“then there’s no point in having you deliver my love letter anyway” charlie looks at his hand, then his face, before looking at the slightly crumpled letter.

“please, charlie, don’t make this harder for me” alastor continues, empathizing his hand.

charlie looks at vaggie, then to the letter, then to the door and finally at alastor.

“…i’ll think about it” she mutters quietly, tucking the letter into her jacket as alastor’s sad demeanor changes like a mask falling off.

“wonderful!” he grabs charlie and vaggie by the shoulders and starts hearding them towards the portal. yapping their ears off about how they’ll do amazing, and that heaven ‘won’t know what to do once they see you both.’

but vaggie continued to look back, husk’s slightly turned up face didn’t betray the emotion on it. one she never thought she’d see on him.

pity.

charlie left first, tugging vaggie in as she met alastor’s twinkling eyes, and shit eating grin as he waved.

alastor had won, and vaggie knows he’s going to get ready to celebrate his spoils.

i edited it and added some more… things 🤭

#tiyoin 🔎#I posted this on my other acc but I think im shadow banned on it el oh el #im so not normal about alastor #god I love him #going forward these are all ace! alastor #or platonic #I can't see this man in a romantic relationship that involves sex for some reason #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel spoilers #radio demon x reader #yandere alastor x reader

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writing-fanics · 4 months

Text

More than anything

Lucifer Morningstar x F!Reader

masterlist >chapter i > chapter ii > chapter iii >

[summary: now a fallen angel y/n visits her best friend someone she missed more than anything]

warning: slight angst: fluff: language: cavity inducing fluff

[Y/n] titled her head curiously, and walked towards the rubber duck on his desk. She looked at it curiously, “I-Is this supposed to be me?” She asked curiously, and he looked at her fluster quickly taking it from her hands. She smiled at her old friend, that she missed dearly.

“N-No,” He stammered, holding the rubber duck in his hands delicately. She couldn’t help but smile softly, “Its really pretty,” She commented, looking at it in awe.

Lucifer cheeks seemed to flush, as said this. “Yeah, it is.” He mumbled under his breath pursing his lips. Her eyes drifted towards the countless, framed family photos of the Morningstar family.

Lilith in all her beauty and grace, and the angel couldn’t help but feel jealous envious even. She has a beautiful family an amazing daughter and husband. But she could understand Lilith in a way, even though she shared the same beliefs as Lucifer.

She knew humans can be cruel horrible people. But knew there were goodness and kind ones. The ones who were willing to rehabilitate deserved a second chance. Lilith didn’t believe that humans could be good.

She leaned her shoulder against him slightly, nudging him. “In a way we’re similar,” She said, looking at him sadly, “Lonely, depressed,” She added, but then smiled at him warmly.

“But we can have each other’s backs now,” She gently nudged him, and he looked down.

“Like old times.” said Lucifer smiling softly, remembering the old times he spent with his friend. She looked off in the distance at the room, filled with countless different rubber ducks.

“Yeah, like old times.” She replied, and then she breathed in and sighed, “I really missed you.” She said, a slight tint of red to her cheeks. He smile faltered as he looked at her, and a smile couldn’t help but return to his face. A slightly sad smile but you could still sense the warmth, “Yeah, me too.” He said, looking at her.

“And I’m not going anywhere now.” She said, smiling nudging him slightly, and he looked at her confused. “Cause, I might've told Adam to go fuck himself and to suck my nonexistent dick. And flipped him off. And the highest Seraphim.” She said chuckling nervously, but smiling happily.

♱ [ꜰʟᴀꜱʜʙᴀᴄᴋ]♱

[Y/n] landed next to Charlie and stood next to her, "Fuck you, Adam!" She spat, eyes filled with hatred and anger. "You're only here because you were the first man!" She shouted angrily, fuming. Having had enough of centuries of embarrassment, "You're a narcissistic piece of shit! Go fuck yourself!" She spat, clenching her fists. Charlie's mouth seemed to drop.

"I'm not scared you!" She snarled, glaring at Adam and Lute. "Those are innocent souls down there, children. Who didn't know better. People who only did such things to do right." said [Y/n], looking at the other angels then looking up to glare at Seraphim.

"and you know of all angels here know that more than anyone," She glared, breathing heavily. "Sinners who are willing to change to redeem themselves deserve to be here more than anyone," She said, looking at them and then glanced back towards the portal.

"Here my resignation letter," She shouted, at the other angels. Grabbing her halo and throwing it on the ground, and stepping on it cracking it. Just as quickly as she did that her feature resembled that of a demon/fallen angel.

Lifting her head a smile on her face, "See you in hell," She spat, flipping off the other angels before sending a happy and proud smile, towards Emily Seraphim. Having no ill will towards the younger joy bringer.

"Wait what?" He asked looking at her in shock. "I told Adam to go fuck himself and to suck it." She said smiling, and looked over at Lucifer.

Who had pursed his lips inward as he held a finger to his lips, stifling back a laugh. [Y/n] couldn’t help but stifle back one as well, a smile on her face as their faces turned red. To only suddenly burst into laughter. Tears welled up in their eyes as they laughed, “Oh, I wish I could’ve been there for that.” He said, laughing as tears rolled down his cheeks.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, “Y-You, should’ve seen his face he looked so fucking pissed.” She laughed, wiping the tears off her cheeks.

“But it was so worth it.” She said, relaxing as she leaned her back against the wall looking up at the ceiling. Yet, Lucifer couldn’t help but feel angry once again an angel was banished for something they believed in, they didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve.

She smiled looking at him, “It was really worth it.” She said, a huge grin on her face and her looked at her, “Because now, I get to see you again.” She said looking down at her the ground, “I was so alone in heaven after you were banished, I wasn’t the same cheerful me I was so long ago.” She revealed, and lifted her head looking over towards Lucifer.

She smiled at him warmly, “But now I can be.” She said, hopeful. He smiled feeling her head lean against his shoulder, "I really missed you-" He stopped, looking over and smiled softly her head rested against his shoulder, her eyes closed.

"Too." He finished. She looked so at peace as her chest rose and fell; he hesitantly brushed a strand of hair tucking it behind her ear.

They were two idiots in love with each other. Two idiots too scared to confess their feelings to each others. Two idiots that shared the same dreams and ideas. Two idiots who even now still love each other.

Lucifer even before him and his wife split up. Deep down his repressed feelings for [Y/n], were still very much there. He truly did love Lilith and the daughter they share together, who has so much of her father in her due to his influence on her. Yet, deep down his feelings for his friend up in heaven still remained.

♱ [ꜰʟᴀꜱʜʙᴀᴄᴋ]♱

Lucifer mumbled to himself as he paced back and forth. His index finger pressed against his lips, in deep thought. He chuckled nervously running his fingers through his hair, "J-Just tell her how you feel, Lucifer." He said to himself, as he gripped his clothes nervously. Laughing nervously, "I must be in heaven because I'm looking at an angel!" He said, and his eyes widened in horror and shook his head.

"No! No! Absolutely not.." He said, groaning as he dragged his hand acrossed his cheeks and let out a long groan. He started pacing faster and faster, "H-Hey, Y/n! Are you angel cause I must be in heaven." He said, and it sounded absolutely horrible, corny and cheesy.

"Lu?"

A voice spoke from behind him, "ImustbeinheavenbecauseI'mlookingatanangel!" exclaimed Lucifer, and his eyes widened and cheeks turned red as he saw [Y/n] standing in front of him. "What?" She asked confused, looking at him. Lucifer looked at her his heart pounding against his chest, as he stared at her nervously.

'Tell her tell her just tell her'

He stared at her and he kept opening and closing his mouth slightly. The words he so desperately wanted to say, getting caught in his throat. "I-I ah, it's nothing." He said, and she looked at him and nodded.

[Y/n] stared at her friend longingly words she wanted to say, getting caught in her throat. Only a single tiny, "Ah," escaping it was barely audible. Biting down on her lower lip nervously, they really are two idiots in love.

"I was able to get an audience with the higher angels," She said, looking at him nervously, "I hope they listen to your ideas." She said, chuckling nervously as she scratched the back of her neck. Looking away, blood rushed towards her cheeks feeling a hand slowly take hers.

"Our ideas." He said, smiling at her and her body tensed up and she let out a tiny squeak. She smiled softly, as her heart pounded against her chest. "Yeah, our ideas." She said, as her heart skipped a beat. They smiled at each other for a moment, before making their way towards the higher angels. Excited to share their ideas.

Lucifer smiled softly, as he picked her up bridal style and summoned a portal to one of the many rooms. He glanced down at her as she slept in his arms, he walked through the portal. He stepped into one of the spare bedrooms, and placed her on the bed pulling the covers over her a smile growing across her lips.

He couldn't but think about how adorable she looked in her sleep. How her nose would scrunch up as she snored, and how she would drool in her sleep. Yes, he still missed Lilith very much so even though it's been seven years since they split. She was still his wife well ex-wife, and was heartbroken when she left him. He still wore their wedding ring on his finger, he still hadn't moved on in a way.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear once again, she smiled softly at the touch. His heart seemed to swell once again, so many things he wanted to tell her even now. He watched as her chest rose and fell underneath the blanket, and chuckled quietly and softly as she mumbled in her sleep.

"Hells, why does she have to be so cute!" He shouted, in his head looking at her his cheeks red. He remembered, the smallest things about her from years since past. How whenever she would laugh she would scrunch up her nose, and how when she would talk about something she was passionate about her eyes would light up and sparkle, like a thousand stars. How when shy or nervous she would twiddle with her thumbs. How was the most beautiful angel in all of heaven to him, and still is.

He knew there was no way he was going to be able to stop her, from helping in the fight between Heaven and Hell. She was too stubborn something he loved about her from so long ago. If something were to happen to either her or Charlie, he doesn't know what he would do.

Now that she's here before him after so many years, after they were too banished from hell and wouldn't be excused from an exorcists blade. He wanted to keep them safe and wanted to protect them.

More than anything.

a/n: to much too earlier or...idk am i doing good or no.. the next chapter wont come out till the final episodes come out so i'll know what events transpire.. (´つヮ⊂) also i was gonna end this on maybe Lucifer planting a kiss on the reader’s forehead as she slept but i wanna take it slow first.

taglist: @96jnie @mit-suri @koji-akeme

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar x y/n #lucifer morningstar fanfiction #lucifer morningstar hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel fanficition #hazbin hotel lucifer #romance #hazbin hotel #angst #fanfic #x reader #headcanons #jeremy jordan #more than anything

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peachesofteal · 6 months

Text

Simple Math / Part Four

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Descriptions of past domestic violence, past abuse, past sexual assault, SANE exam. Death scene in relation to reader's job. Stalking. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Trauma. PTSD. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Comfort. Soft dads. Johnny is a shameless flirt.

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday sweet Penny-“

Their baby shrieks at the crest in the song, smile shoving her plump cheeks upwards, little fists banging on her highchair tray. She has no idea what’s going on, Johnny imagines, but he knows she’s excited that everyone is singing to her, looking at her, celebrating her. “happy birthday to you!” She swings a hand forward, plunging into the buttercream icing of the cupcake, fingers digging in as much as she can. Johnny can't help but give her the biggest kiss he can manage while trying to dodge the flying food, and Simon laughs over his shoulder.

“Atta girl.” Simon encourages, trying to peel the wrapper so she can get more in her mouth, icing and cake all over his fingers now too, and Johnny wanders for a second, imagining something certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s first birthday.

“Can’t believe your kid is a year old.” Kyle says from behind him, two beers in his hand. “Feels like yesterday you were even tellin’ us she existed.”

“Time is movin’ too fast.” Johnny agrees, taking a long sip as Simon pulls Pen from the highchair, white and blue icing all over her face, arms, and hands. Kyle is right, it is hard to believe it’s been a year, hard to believe that their baby is already one, growing up right before their eyes, taking her first steps, saying her first words. He knows it won’t be long until she’s really talking, running, riding a bike, going to school… thoughts of the future forming a lump in the back of his throat that sticks like taffy.

Simon steps into his orbit with Penny in his arms, keeping her turned outwards away from his body, half tilted to avoid the sticky smear of icing that’s painted all over her.

“What is it?” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips against Johnny’s cheek, warm breath fanning over his skin.

“Nothin’ ah-“ Penny babbles, head tipped back, gazing at him with wide, pretty eyes, and Johnny rubs a knuckle across her messy cheek. “she’s gettin’ so big. Feel like ‘m missing it, sometimes. Like I should be here.” Simon sighs.

“Johnny-“

“I know, I know.” They made this decision, together. They chose what was best for their family, even though they both knew the distance, the time apart, would sting.

“The option is always there if you want to swap. Though I think we both know you’d lose your head behind a desk.” He nods, but the longing lingers, and Simon reads him right through to his heart, like always. “After this next op, let’s sit down and talk about it. Maybe we can make some adjustments for next year.”

“Ah love ye.”

“I love you too.” He shifts Pen into his side, inclining his head towards her grubby hands. “Can you wash her up?” She reaches for him, trying to latch around his neck, and he rubs her back, cooing into her hair.

“Whit happened to my precious bairn, eh? Where’d she go?” Pen giggles, fingers finding his nose, long strands of his hair with a tug, and he playfully lifts her, mouth against her tummy, blowing loud raspberries over her shirt that has her absolutely screaming with glee.

“Da. Dadadada-“ she babbles at him.

“C’mon wee lamb, let’s go get ye into some clean clothes.”

There’s an envelope shoved under your front door.

The shitty carpet in the hallway is too high, threads jagged, so it sits a little crumpled, half wedged beneath the bottom and the floor.

It’s manilla. Letter sized. Stepping over it to get inside, you immediately notice the lack of postage. Or addressing. Or anything at all, that would signify that it had been delivered by proper authorities.

It’s from him.

You know it is, even though you try to find any other rational reasoning, anything that could explain the mystery behind the envelope and how it got here.

You know. You know it’s probably a letter. Handwritten. Signed in perfect penmanship. You know it’s probably something foul, sick words twisted into terrifying sentences.

You kick it inside and let it sit there for a few minutes. You get changed, get into comfortable clothes, start your kettle. You wrap your sweater tight around your body and lean against your countertop, staring at the offensive tan-beige paper that lays in the middle of the floor.

It’s from him.

He knows where you are.

“That’s impossible.” You answer yourself aloud, fingers curled so tight into your palms that they make little crescent moon shapes in your skin.

Your illusion, delusion, of safety, anonymity, is easily washed away by the appearance of the envelope, and whatever lurks inside it.

It’s too soon.

You didn’t make it.

It’s not a letter inside the envelope at all.

It’s a photo.

A photo of you, taken in harsh hospital lighting, dated over two years ago. It’s taken from the shoulders up, skin bare and exposed, fresh impact bruising around your neck, eye starting to swell, lip crusted with blood.

You remember this photo. You remember the awful experience of the SANE exam, the drive to the hospital that took over two hours because you had to go to another state, just in case.

You hadn’t changed. Hadn’t showered. Your white eyelet blouse, one of your favorites, was splattered red, bright ruby dried a dark wine by the time you pulled into the little county hospital.

You remember the way it felt, to have your clothes put in a bag. To be handled by gloved fingers, with care and attention. The same way you had done for others before that day, and since.

“What’s your name?” your nurse had asked you, so cautiously, so kind. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” She tried to promise, but you knew the truth. There was nowhere you could run, not a single place you could hide, where a shadow wouldn’t find you.

The girl, the woman, in the photo is the same person that looks back at you in the mirror every day, except now she’s buried beneath layers and layers of function, schedule, consistency. She’s silenced by distraction. By work.

By fear.

You flip it over with trembling hands, looking for the note or signature you know will be there. Like a greedy, starved pig; he cannot help himself.

Found you.

Bile rockets up your esophagus and into your mouth. How long will he toy with you this time?

“Hey, you okay?” Nia asks, frowning at you from her locker.

“Yeah, just slept like shit.” You roll your shoulders, emphasizing the half-truth. You really did sleep poorly, fragments of nightmares keeping you suspended in twilight sleep, clips of memories morphed into the snapping. bloodied jaw of a monster who reared their head every time your REM cycle started, and it shows. In your face, your posture, your skin. You look awful, the only thing really holding you together the resolve you have to push through, to get it together, to leave the envelope and its contents behind in your mind. You’re safer inside these walls above anywhere else, that you know is true. Your safety. Your sanctuary. Nothing can hurt you here. “You know how it is.” You add, and she chuckles.

“Tell me about it. Thought I was going to love overnights, but the sleep schedule is brutal.”

“You get used to it.” You assure her, the two of you making your way down the hall to the pit, and she shrugs.

“If you say so.”

You stand outside of two sixty-eight for too long. People pass you in the hallway, eyes curious, and you pretend to scroll through the tablet, decidedly trying to distract yourself from the dread that’s gathered like a sailor’s knot in the pit of your stomach.

You’re a professional. This behavior is definitely unprofessional. Get yourself together.

You try, filling your lungs with a deep breath, but you can’t shake the shame, the mortification that is curdling in your stomach at the idea of facing Simon and Johnny after the code black situation last week.

“Go sit with Johnny.”

“Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

Will they be angry that you were so rattled? Could they tell?

Your watch alarm beeps, and you uncurl your spine.

Buck up.

You’re both anxious, and relieved, that Johnny is asleep when you finally step inside. Simon sits in his usual spot, paperback book’s spine split in the palm of his hand, and at first… he doesn’t even look up. Not until you clear your throat, and he startles in the chair, eyes snapping up to find yours. “Hi.” He frowns.

“What day is it?”

“Uh, it’s Wednesday?”

“I thought you start your week on Thursdays.” That makes your eyebrows raise, uncontained surprise filtering through you. He knows your schedule? Butterflies thrash in your stomach at the notion, something hot flooding your veins as you blink at him.

“I’m on OT.” You drift towards the other side of the bed, eyeing Johnny’s monitor before lifting the blanket to peek at his elevated leg. “How is he?”

“Uncomfortable. The burn debridement has been… difficult.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. They better not be letting Simon even stand outside and watch that through the window, you think. You’ll have to follow up with whoever is on days.

“Healing burns can be a long and painful process.” You tell him, pulling back the blanket a little further. “I’ll be quick, try to let him get enough sleep as possible.”

“He’ll be sad he missed you.” Simon answers, still watching your every movement, eyes dark and focused above the black cloth mask. The intensity in them catches you off guard when you meet his gaze, hair on the back of your neck standing up straight, and you swallow.

“Well, I’ll still be here in the morning when he wakes so…” you trail off awkwardly, choosing to direct your attention to the scaffolding that’s supporting his femur and hip, checking his sutures for any redness or swelling.

“Do you work a lot of overtime?” Simon asks at the same as he leans forward to brush a stray lock of hair from Johnny’s forehead. The touch is so tender, so gentle, it makes your heart bleed inside your chest, blood warming beneath your skin, captivating your attention until he’s tearing his eyes away from Johnny, and latching onto yours with an expectant expression.

“Oh. Um. Sometimes?”

“Seems like a lot.” He comments, words lazily pulled from his lips, his tone soft, nearly a whisper. “Must make it difficult to spend time with your family, or partner.”

“Oh, I don’t have one of… those.” You immediately refute, pulling up short before the word those, embarrassment making your nose burn. Why are you telling him this? Why are you announcing to a stranger that you’re practically a recluse loner?

Simon’s head tilts, and he looks like he’s about to say something but your tablet chimes, insistent and loud, signaling a vitals issue in another room.

“E-excuse me.” You stumble, and he nods, turning his attention back towards Johnny.

One… two… three… four…One… two… three… four… One… two-

The count in your head is second nature at this point, turning over and over after four as your arms, back and core start to scream, your breaths coming in shorter. Where the fuck is he?

The count continues to roll on, lactic acid building up through your muscles, and you take another deep breath, as much as you can manage. The pain is familiar, it’s necessary, it’s a part of your job, but today, it’s burrowing itself beneath your skull, tugging and tearing at the memories that you’ve buried deep.

Pain. Gnarled and knotted strands of associations pull free from the confines of compartmentalization, stretching out across the front of your mind.

One… two… three… four…

You think about the photo. About being on your back, in a bed like this, lost inside the maze of a panic attack while the NP took photos between your legs. While they swabbed for DNA inside of you, under your fingernails, in your mouth. It’s funny how certain things can stick with you, the sound of the plastic bag crinkling as your bloodied clothes were shoved inside, how you can’t sleep on your back now, the way you counted the ceiling tiles over and over that day. One… two… three… four…

“How long has it been?” Nia asks from the other side of the bed, hand steadily squeezing the bag at the correct rate, still watching the monitor like a hawk.

“At least ten minutes.” You glance at the shade pulled over the window, grateful you remembered when you came running in here, the patient’s family standing just outside the door, holding their breath, hoping you’re in here bringing their beloved granny back, when in reality, you’re just traumatizing her body. You’ve already broken one of her ribs, and you’re worried if you keep going, her sternum will fracture too. It’s not fair. “Where the fuck is he?” you hiss between breaths, anger starting to heat your skin, irritation clear in your tone. This isn’t even your patient. Lazy, slacker, pompous ass, where the fu-

“How long has it been?” The nervous voice just inside the door calls, and your head snaps up.

Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.

“Eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds. Where is Marshall?”

“He- he sent me.” You shake your head. Nia sighs.

“Have you pronounced before?”

“Um. No.”

“And where is Marshall?” You ask again, just to clarify, and the resident swallows.

“I uh, don’t know.” Normally, a resident’s first pronouncement would be supervised by their attending. But since this one’s attending is Marshall, a grade A prick that you can’t stand, it looks like he’ll be on his own.

“Great. Okay.” You take a huge breath, trying to flex your wrists without losing your position. “It’s been twelve minutes now, and no response. Do you want to check?” He nods, and you chew on the inside of your cheek when he doesn’t verbally respond. “I need you to say it out loud.”

“You can stop compressions.” You immediately wilt, stepping away from the side of the bed, the motion of Nia’s hand also slowing until it stops, and she slumps. Marshall’s resident physically checks for a pulse, listens for breath sounds and then finally, does a sternum rub, to no avail.

“Sh-should I…” they trail off, looking back down at the elderly woman in the bed. The deceased woman, whose family is waiting, desperately. You nod.

“Yes.” You tell the resident gently. You can tell he’s unsure, nervous even, and for a moment, you’re transported back to your first code, when you were a baby nurse, a terrified, bumbling mess that needed help, just like he does. And since Marshall is a piece of shit… “No pulse?” You ask, and they nod. “No breath sounds? No sound of a heartbeat?”

“None.” They answer you confidently, and you manage an encouraging smile.

“No response to painful stimuli, no reaction to the sternum rub?”

“Right. No.”

“Okay. So normally, you could also use a thumbnail to press into their nailbed, if you feel like you need it, if you’re not comfortable with the sternum rub, but-“

“No, no. I’m. Yeah. Okay.” They too, take a deep breath, and check their watch. “Time of d-death… twenty one forty five.”

“Great job.” You tell him, pulling the blanket back up around her shoulders. “Do you feel comfortable speaking with the family?” He blanches, and Nia’s work phone dings, signaling another patient’s needs. You sigh for the eightieth time tonight. “Okay. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

The supply closet welcomes you with open arms. It hides you in the low light of it’s forgotten space, and when you fall into the chair, your face drops into your palms, pressing so hard into them that you start to see stars. The curtain falls. The walls of your sanctuary start to feel frail.

Found you, found you.

He found you.

Get it together. Get yourself together.

“Hey, there she is. Missed ye.” Johnny coos, eyes half shut, sleepy and sweet.

“Johnny.” Simon rumbles his name like a warning, one your patient doesn’t seem to heed, still blinking slowly at you with a sly look on his face.

“Had a dream about ye, pretty girl. Dreamt ye were at ho-“

“Alright.” Simon cuts him off, swiftly. Patients often have vivid, weird dreams when they’re all dosed up on medication, and it’s not the first time someone has slurred out some weird vision they’ve had of you in their sleep.

“Good morning to you too.” You quip, glancing at the catheter bag before putting your hands on your hips. “How are you feeling?”

“’m alright. Stomach hurts.” You frown.

“Can you tell me where the pain is?” He motions to his upper right, the area where his newly repaired liver is sitting, and you nod, pulling out your phone immediately to update his doctor. Could be nothing. Could be something. Not for you to determine, but you won’t let it go unnoticed, and you’ll make sure it’s top of mind during shift report. “Can I check your side?” You motion to where his burn is lightly wrapped, and he nods with a sheepish smile.

“Aye, sure can. Ye can take my clothes off anytime.” You roll your eyes, unbuttoning his gown at the shoulder, peeling the gauze away very slowly. The wound looks better than you were expecting, if you’re being honest, and it relieves some of the anxiety that curled up in the pit of your stomach after his admission of upper right quadrant pain. “Yer hands are warm, bun. Feels nice.” Bun? You opt to ignore it. Probably still a little floaty.

“Good, that’s… good. Better than them being icicles.” Your hand brushes across the center of his abdomen when you pull the rest of the dressing away, and he tenses, ab muscles becoming clearly defined, enough that you stall out for a second before turning away to grab fresh gauze for his wound care, hands just a little unsteady. “Oh, fuck.” You mutter when the pack slips, sliding halfway under the little table that’s along the wall, and you sigh, whirling away from both of them and bending at the waist to tiptoe your fingers across the floor until you feel the corner of crinkly plastic. “Gotcha!” When you straighten, turning back towards the bed, Johnny and Simon are staring at you, and there’s a glee filled smile on Johnny’s face, it’s presence both mischievous and beguiling, fingers of his good hand slowly rubbing circles into the inside of Simon’s forearm. “What?”

“Nothing. Ignore him.” Simon deadpans, and then shoots his partner a very serious look, one that nearly has you straightening like you’re in trouble.

“Ach.” Johnny huffs, stroking a gentle touch upwards across Simon’s jaw as you start to reapply his dressing, taking your time to ensure everything looks good and he’s comfortable. You smooth over it once you’re satisfied, checking for any precarious pieces of tape. “Ye take such good care o’ me.” Johnny murmurs, accent soft and scratchy. It’s decadent the way his voice sounds sometimes, enough to make your throat dry and the room feel too hot. “Got lucky, didnae we, Si?”

“Well, it’s m-my job.” You answer, trying not to look down at where his chest and stomach are still exposed, or get caught in the cerulean blue waves of his eyes. They’re such a stark contrast to the intense, velvety hue of Simon’s, the pointed focus of his gaze that’s able to stun you, throw you off kilter the same time Johnny’s makes you feel overheated, and lightheaded. Both of them together could drown you. Overwhelm you.

Balanced. A yin and a yang.

Get it together. This is your patient and his partner, for gods sake. What is wrong with you?

Something warms brushes along the skin of your knuckles, a fleeting touch, and when you look down, you see Johnny’s hand, two fingers barely stroking yours, the lightest touch catching your breath in your chest like time is slowing to a crawl, and you’re freezing along with it.

Everything goes quiet in your head.

Simon’s watching you, methodically studying you like he’s trying to decipher every twitch in your expression as Johnny’s fingertips move over your knuckles to the back of your hand, thumb slipping into your palm, blazing heat sparking beneath it.

What… what is happening?

A phone vibrates. The noise snaps you free from your near statuesque state, and they both divert their attention to its screen.

“They’re here.” Simon tells him, glancing at you before looking back to his partner. “Be good.” He warns, and Johnny rolls his eyes in response, but he looks almost… desperate now, eyes wide and anxious.

“Hurry?” he asks, hopefully, Simon leaning down to press mask covered lips to his forehead, his eyes shuttering closed, deep breath passing between their two bodies.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’m really concerned about the pain in his upper right quadrant. I already sent a text, but if his doctor isn’t on this floor in the next hour, page him again.” The dayshifter nods, tapping a note into her phone. “And Marshall’s resident is practically unsupervised, so keep an eye out.”

“Okay, sounds good.” You mention a few other things, details you noticed throughout your day, and she thanks you for the extra eye, sending you off with a parting wave into the cold, crisp morning, your mind already skipping over your commute to when you’ll be able to sink into your bed one last time.

You’re busy compiling a list as you wait for the elevator. Necessities, things you’ll need indefinitely as you bounce back and forth between a rotation of hotels and on-call rooms, all the usual stuff, clothes, toiletries, and all the important things that can’t be left behind, your birth certificate, passport, other things that could make or break you if lost.

Deep breath. You can do this. It’s not the first time. You’ve done it before, and you can do it again.

The elevator dings. You take a step forward, not paying attention, and then pull up short when you see who’s getting out.

It’s Simon stepping towards you, with a baby girl in his arms. She’s situated on his hip, nestled into his side and for a second, you falter because… you recognize her. Or at least you think you do... she looks just like the little girl you saw last week.

“Um. Hi.” You blurt, failing to notice at first that he’s not alone, the man from the first night you met them, the one with the mustache standing behind the width of Simon’s body, his arm curled around the woman you saw last week. They step into view, and you give them all a polite smile, one you really hope doesn’t betray your confusion.

“Hi,” he says your name next, says it so softly it feels tender, and then takes another step closer. “This is Penelope. Our daughter.” Oh. Oh.

They have a baby. A girl. They have a little girl. You don’t know why, but something inside you stumbles, melting into a frazzled, awkward mess, heart thumping in your chest. They have a baby, and Johnny almost died. They have a kid and he’s been trapped in this hospital, miserable in pain, missing his kid. “Pen, this is your Da’s favorite nurse.”

“Bunny.” The baby, Penelope, says, little finger stretching out towards your badge, which is facing outwards with the giant sparkly sticker. Simon chuckles, genuinely, masked lips pressing to her cheek, and you see a glimpse of a father, a protector, a provider. It makes you feel dizzy.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, and you nod like a robot, unable to really form a word with your tongue. “Alright baby girl. Let’s go see your Da, yeah?”

#simple math #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #female reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader x soap

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familyvideostevie · 3 months

Text

it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked.

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed.

You’ve only been open for two hours.

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns.

Your coffee shop.

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it.

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works.

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure.

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand.

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him.

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired.

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter.

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember.

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint.

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush.

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks.

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on.

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize.

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question.

You laugh. Joel looks pleased.

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders.

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot.

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee.

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him?

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

Joel stops by again.

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron.

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting.

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying.

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning. When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped.

“I’m honored,” he says.

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window.

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash.

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask.

He smirks. “Miss me?”

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy.

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck.

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy.

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise.

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one.

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw.

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear.

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him.

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone.

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place.

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says.

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day.

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags.

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is.

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.”

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles.

They both wave at you as they drive away.

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted.

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb.

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing.

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work.

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one.

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus.

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked.

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering.

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you.

And you still barely know him. But you want to.

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime?

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back.

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back.

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.”

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says.

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually.

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?”

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.”

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting.

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says.

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables.

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate.

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe.

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel.

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light.

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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bombuni · 2 months

Text

a wild ride

summary: It’s Halloween night. Your friends have decided to take you out and get you drunk, but it’s kind of hard to focus on forgetting when the man you want to forget is standing across the room and flirting with another girl. genre/pairing: kim hongjoong x reader, slight yunho x reader, smut, jealous f2l wc: 4.4k warnings: SMUT, 18+ MDNI!, mentions of weed and drinking, cursing, drunk sex but they’re tipsy at the worst, mean!dom!hongjoong, but he's soft for reader, fem!sub!reader, bratty reader but she gets tamed quick, one instance of edging, finger sucking, name calling (just the use of ‘slut’) they’re both so possessive of each other and jealous it’s crazy bom note: this is my love letter to hongjoong’s bouncy outfit bc we moved on too fast</3 anywhooo THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 1K!!! we hit it like a couple weeks ago but. it’s here now guys. I thank you for liking my works enough to follow and support and nothing will prove my gratitude but I just hope this comes close enough :) please enjoy and thanks once again everyone!!<3 also, here’s a playlist i made and listened to a lot while writing this!

You’re not really sure how your friends managed to talk you into coming out tonight. Much less, how you let Wooyoung drag you into matching costumes with him and San. Now you feel like an idiot standing in a fairly inaccurate rendition of a cat next to a pirate version of Seonghwa and Spider-man Yunho. Wooyoung seems to enjoy matching with you, although, letting everyone in the cramped house know that you three ‘have the best couples costume’ in the party. It’s embarrassing having to pull Wooyoung away from annoyed partygoers every 5 seconds, but he’s already halfway drunk and it’s sort of endearing how he boasts about you.

The night has barely started and whatever poor soul lives here should already be regretting hosting a Halloween party. There’s 4 couples making out in your line of sight, the smell of weed permeates your clothes, and the drunk-off-their-ass people in the middle of the room dancing to a poor remix of Monster Mash are sure to break something. There’s a rank scent that emanates from the wall on which you’re leaning against which makes you think someone’s already thrown up right where your shoulder is touching. Or it could just be Seonghwa’s breath, you’re not really sure.

The overwhelming heat from the bodies stuffed in the room is no comparison to the heat boiling inside of you. The humidity in the air and cacophony of noises do nothing to help your rising irritation. You try to cool it down with the iced drink in your hand, but the only way the warmth will go away is by looking away from Hongjoong-who’s in such a clear view from across the room you’d consider it God’s punishment for your selfish desire-and that’s never really going to happen. Not if he keeps looking at her while he’s dressed like that. That being in an intolerably well-fitting cowboy outfit. It’s obvious he knows he looks good, his forearm resting on the wall above the girl’s head as he leans down to hear her better. To get more intimate, to give her the same enticingly inviting smirk he gives you. Your cup crinlinking harshly in your fist snaps you out of the rage-induced trance. Seonghwa’s knowing smirk is haunting you from the corner of your eye, Yunho on your other side trying and failing to hide the same impish smile.

“You know you can’t actually blow people’s heads off if you stare hard enough, right?” Yunho chuckles, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“Ha, ha,” the sarcasm flows right off of Yunho.

“Someone’s jealous,” Seonghwa’s voice is tinged with a taunt, the smell of alcohol absolutely dripping off of him as he leans into you. You’re fully aware of his drunken intentions to piss you off, but you try your best to be mature and ignore the teasing finger he’s pointing in your face.

“Jesus, are you 12?” Smacking the finger out of your face, he stumbles back in mild surprise.

Yunho’s at least somewhat sober, laughing at the ‘pirate’s’ drunk theatrics, “I have an idea for you-”

Seonghwa lifts his red solo cup in the air and his mouth moves faster than either you or Yunho can process, “You kiss Hongjoong!”

It’s simply impossible for Hongjoong to have heard him from across the room and over the various conversations and the loud music playing, but you still shush and shove Seonghwa in a panic as if he’ll come over and shoot you down right in front of everybody. He pulls the ridiculously fake eyepatch up over his eye to stare at you incredulously, “That was rude,”

Yunho pulls Seonghwa into him, a protective arm landing over him so you won’t slap the alcohol out of his system, “Why don’t you go and, I don’t know, tell Hongjoong you’re in love with him?” He says with a mocking voice, shrugging as if it’s a simple solution.

You scoff at the tall man, “First of all, I am not in love wi-“

All of a sudden, Wooyoung pops up between you and Yunho’s bodies with his drawn-on whiskers completely smudged and cat ears gone, “Hongjoong! You looovveee Hongjoong,” he’s swaying and already moved on to telling you how much he loves you instead when you try to respond. Yunho only smirks at you, I told you so clearly evident on his pale face.

You grumble embarrassedly and glance towards Hongjoong again to make sure he hasn’t heard any of your guys’ conversation , “I don’t.”

Wooyoung hums to the song playing, balance completely lost as he drops all of his body weight onto you and tunes out of the conversation. Seonghwa’s not fairing any better against Yunho, but he’s still trying to tell you what a match you and Hongjoong are.

“All we’re trying to say is that,” Yunho pauses to move Seonghwa’s fingers from his lips, “Hongjoong’s been in a bad mood all night watching you, and now he’s chatting up another girl? I-”

Wooyoung mumbles from where he’s resting on your shoulder, “Something’s fishy,”

Yunho nods, “What he said,”

You roll your eyes for the millionth time that night. A small, naive part of you really, really wants to believe your friends. But they’re drunk, and you’ll admit you’re slightly tipsy. You’ve accepted the fact that Hongjoong will never see you as more than a good friend. You look over to Hongjoong one more time in hopes that this time you won’t feel anything, but when you turn your head you find him already looking in your direction. You can’t really tell what his expression means, but his jaw is clenched and his scrutinizing eyes remain on Wooyoung’s arms around you. It’s no coincidence or trick of the light, you’re sure, but a poorly crafted Batman passes in front of you and Hongjoong’s back to being entranced by the girl next to him.

For a second, you’re lost in space and time. You should be embarrassed and ashamed that one glance from him is enough to send you careening back into fantasies of him, but the alcohol in your system and Yunho’s encouragement makes for a deadly combination. There’s a plan forming in your head. The sober half of you is rationalizing Hongjoong’s glance and telling you it was nothing more than that; a glance. But the tipsy half tells you that you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

As Yunho sips his drink idly, you decide to take your chance, “Wanna dance, Yunho?”

He exhales sharply through his nostrils, smiling smugly because he knows exactly what your intentions are, “Sure, kitty,”

He takes your hand gently and pulls you towards the makeshift dance floor. He bows elegantly as if this is a ballroom, but he looks ridiculous doing it in a Spider-Man costume amidst people of varying states of sobriety. While you’re busy doubled over laughing at him, he sneaks his arms around you. It’s sudden when he pulls you flush against his body, brown eyes searching yours for any uncertainty before pulling your arms around his neck. For some reason, touching the nape of his neck makes you feel a certain closeness to him. Yunho leans his forehead on yours and the intimacy he’s allowing you makes you regret inviting him to dance. He really shouldn’t be pulling out all the stops for a girl who’s thinking of someone else.

Yunho takes your silence as embarrassment from his showiness, “I gotta make it believable, right?” You’ve never really thought about how tall he is until now, head tilted to only focus on you. His big hands wrap around your waist and burn where they touch.

“R-right,” you mumble, still dizzy from Yunho’s closeness.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong’s fuming behind the sea of people. Your back is to him so you can’t see the pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows painted on his face. Yunho, on the other hand, gladly takes notice when he finally looks over to him. Hongjoong’s s gone to completely ignoring the girl he was talking to, only humming ‘yeah’s’ and ‘totally’s’ when he’s prompted. He’s burning holes into your back, as if glaring will suddenly remove you from Yunho. The fuse in him blows when you laugh at something Yunho said. The sound is barely heard over the music and myriad of voices, but it still reverberates through Hongjoong like it’s a call to him. Only meant for him.

“It worked,” Yunho whispers into your ear and sends chills down your spine, “Your cowboy’s stomping over.” You look at your Spiderman smiling down at you one last time when you feel a gloved hand on your shoulder. You can’t really see under the strobe lights, but there’s surely no smile on Hongjoong’s face. He’s glaring at Yunho like you’re his property that he’s touched without permission. Yunho’s hands slide slowly off of you compared to the quick removal of yours, just to piss Hongjoong off even more. You’re sure Yunho has another sort of personal vendetta against Hongjoong now.

“Hey, cowpoke,” there’s a lazy drawl in Yunho’s voice, bordering on venomous, “wanna join us?” Yunho’s hands move to wrap around you again, but Hongjoong quickly pulls you back into his side. He’s surprised by how easily you meld into his movements, but he doesn’t know how far you’d really let him go.

“You’re both drunk,” you follow like a lost puppy as he pulls you off the makeshift dance floor, “and need to be separated.”

Yunho hums behind you, “I’m perfectly sober,”

Hongjoong scoffs and as he opens his mouth to retort, you pull away from him, “I wanna keep dancing, Joong,”

Yunho shrugs as if the issue is completely out of his hands-again, what did Hongjoong do to him?-and smiles, “You heard the lady,” Hongjoong’s eyes fixate on the taller man, fists clenching at his side. If looks could kill, Yunho would have been 6 feet under ten minutes ago. His mind races with thoughts of how to get rid of Yunho, how to keep you for himself, and how his hand is still pulsing from when he felt yours, fearing he’s become addicted to your touch already.

His tone is final, “No.”

Before you can even say anything, Hongjoong drags you through the overflow of bodies towards the upstairs of the house. You can certainly hear Seonghwa and Wooyoung hollering obscenities at you-even over the party noise-before Hongjoong leads you deeper and deeper into the surprisingly large house. The hallways grow quieter and less crowded before he finds an empty room, letting you in first. It’s quaint and sparsely decorated, the soft environment settling your nerves. As you sit on the white bedsheets, Hongjoong watches you like you’re his next meal.

He finally speaks, arms crossed and a questioning look on his face, “You good?’

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Yes. Are you?”

He doesn’t answer you because he’s not really sure if he is. In truth, Hongjoong can’t stop looking at you. He’s sure your look tonight is imprinted in his brain all the way from the short, short skirt to the ridiculously low cut top you’re wearing. He’s frustrated with himself that he feels so possessive over you, as if you’re already his. He’s frustrated with you for simply letting Wooyoung and Yunho do as they please.

You watch as he sits on the bed next to you, fiddling with the cuffs of his gloves. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but you can tell he’s holding back from scolding you with the way he’s biting his cheek. He’s good at hiding it from others, but not from you.

His words are short and sharp, “Were you having fun with Yunho?”

The question catches you off guard. You mirror him, playing with your fishnet leggings and watching him out of the corner of your eye. You’re scared he’ll say yes, but you ask anyway, “Were you?”

Hongjoong turns to you, “I asked first,”

You roll your eyes at him, “Whatever. You seemed pretty happy talking to Ms. Boobs-in-your-face,”

You’re being petty and insulting a girl you don’t even know, but the irritation from earlier is returning with a fiery revenge. It keeps building the more you think about the way her hands would continuously run down the textured white lines on his shirt. Or how he’d smile at her like she was the only person in the room. You can feel his eyes on you again and you’re too embarrassed to meet them. You’re sure he’s sporting a cocky smile now that he’s heard the jealousy dripping in your voice.

“You didn’t seem to mind Yunho grinding on you,” he spits out before he can stop himself.

That finally makes you look at him, “He was not-”

“And Wooyoung’s hands all over you,”

You gawk at him, surprised to know that he had been watching you too. Now the pettiness you’re both showing is obvious. The air is tense before you speak, Hongjoong’s intent glare making you feel small, “You know how Wooyoung is, especially when he’s drunk,”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes at you, “Doesn’t explain Yunho crawling all over you,”

You cross your arms, inadvertently pushing your tits together and Hongjoong has to hold back a groan, “Why are you so concerned with what Yunho and I do?”

There’s a mutual understanding of the jealousy coursing through the room, though it’s unspoken. In your anger, however, you can’t really process the fact that he’s possessive over you. That he’s outright admitting he thinks of you as his, and vice versa. Instead of simply kissing and making up, you keep pissing each other off. Why you keep pressing his buttons you’re not sure, but you can’t deny how hot Hongjoong looks with the black cowboy hat tilted over his face, muscular arms tensing under the dim light.

He stands to his full height again-too frustrated to stay still-moving so that he’s right in front of you, “What, so you’re into Yunho all of a sudden?”

“Did you just bring me up here so you can interrogate me on my love life?” you mumble.

His jaw clenches again, “You’re so mouthy tonight, you know that? I’m getting sick of it,”

He’s invading your space now, lips so close you could just reach up and touch them with yours, “What are you going to do about it, Hongjoong?”

The words seem to set something off in him, his lips on you so fast it’s dizzying. His warm hands automatically find their way to your hips as he pushes you backwards onto the bed. He’s finally figured out how to silence you, muffling any sounds you make with his mouth. Anything that comes from you, he wants for himself. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, both too focused on getting out all the built up feelings and frustration. Neither of you care about anything but getting more and more of each other. You feel his tongue finding its way into your mouth and you don’t put up much of a fight anymore.

He doesn’t pause his attack on your lips, panting while he speaks, “You gonna keep mouthing off, baby?”

Your mind short-circuits at the nickname. Although a large part of your annoyance has now dissipated, his lips like water to soothe the burn of your desire, you still want to see how far you can push him,

“Dunno,” you pant out.

His right hand slides up from your hip bone to your jawline as goosebumps follow the trail of his touch. A whine slips out of you when Hongjoong’s hand contracts, squishing your cheeks and forcing your lips into a pout so your focus is on his words. He can’t help the prideful smirk when he hears the noise you make, happy to know he has such an effect on you.

“I know,” a kiss to your jawline, “I’m going to show you who you belong to,”

You wiggle in his grasp, but he’s holding you tight, “And exactly who do I belong to?”

He smirks down at you, thoughts running through all the ways he’s going to break you, “Oh, you’re funny,” he leans threateningly over you, “You’re very funny,”

Just because you enjoy the game of stirring him on you continue, “Yunho said the same thing,”

He smiles dangerously at you. Not dangerous in the sense of attractiveness, but more in the sense that it’s a warning to the vicious, envious territory you’re entering. You feel your resolve melting against him, the air suffocating you with the thick, heavy feeling of pent-up desire. However, he doesn’t even let you get the right words out before he sticks his thumb into your mouth. It’s surprisingly appetizing, and you don’t wait for his sign to go before wrapping your lips around it. It’s your silent apology for what you said.

Now, his smile is gentler. But it’s Hongjoong, and Hongjoong doesn’t let things go so easy.

“Sluts needs to be quiet,” he whispers softly, but it’s who it’s coming from that makes it so you hear it loud and clear. You nod in obedience, still lapping as he adds more fingers into your mouth, exploring this part of your body.

“You know what else sluts need to do?” You shake your head and open your eyes up at him, “They need to fucking behave.”

He growls, “You’re gonna take what I give you until I’ve had enough. Then I’ll give you what you want,”

You want to whine and protest, but he’s looking at you like that’s not even an option. He stares down at you, taunting and challenging you. Hongjoong knows you’re not happy about his rules, but he doesn’t care. You need to learn to forget about anyone other than him. He won’t stop until you do. Your mouth pulls off of his fingers with a pop and you realize all too quickly what a mistake you’ve made.

His eyes squint at you, “Did I tell you to stop?”

You peer up at him with a guilty look, pout heavy on your lips hoping he’ll show just the slightest bit of mercy. But once again, it’s Hongjoong. He manhandles you towards him, back to his chest and for some reason it feels like you’re a complete puzzle.

He gropes your sides, pulling you close so you can feel how hard he is for you. The feeling of him rubbing against you makes you moan, the sheer satisfaction of finally getting what you want making you high on the pleasure. You know you’re supposed to be quiet, but the excitement of going against Hongjoong just ‘cause makes you want to do it more.

You spot his blue hair out of the corner of your eye as he leans down to your ear, “You’re gonna be quiet and take it like a good slut,” His right arm comes up and around your neck, pulling you in as if you aren’t already close enough, “Unless you want Yunho to hear?”

His clothed dick is making you weak. It’s the only friction he’s given you so far and it’s already breaking and tearing you apart. You shake your head vigorously, spouting nonsense babbles as if you’re appalled Hongjoong would even suggest that. However, Hongjoong seems all too enticed by the idea of everyone hearing how loud he can make you. You try to get more from him by rutting back into him, hoping he liked your answer, but he stops your hips.

“Sluts don’t get what they want, baby,” He pants into your ear and you realize he’s just as torn as you are, he’s just better at hiding it. His hand finds its way under your skirt, fumbling to pull your panties down. The sound of your wet pussy fills the room as Hongjoong plays with your folds, agonizingly slow to make you shake with anticipation.

He smiles down at you, “You’re so fucking wet,”

Before you can say anything snappy, he slides in you. He fills you just right, and you don’t want to sound crazy, but you feel like your pussy was sculpted just for him. His cock drives in you and hits right where you need it to. It makes you want to fall over, too weak to hold yourself up, but Hongjoong stops that from even happening.

You’re whining for more, “Keep being loud and Wooyoung will hear you,”

You gasp as he thrusts in you, but it just spurs him on. Being buried in you feels right, like it’s where he was made to be. He chalks up his intensified feelings to the alcohol flowing in his system.

Your moans mix together, “Seonghwa too? Want me to make everyone in this house know who’s fucking you?”

You can barely keep your head up, much less respond to him. The bed squeaks as he thrusts in you over and over again, limbs entangled. You start to think Hongjoong may have some jealousy issues, but you don’t mind.

His hand snakes around you again, this time reaching to play with your clit. His fingers make your knees buckle, the rhythm between his hips and his hand sending a new wave of pleasure through you. You don’t have the energy to process it, but all the while he’s telling you how he’s the only one who can touch you like this.

Your lower half is on fire, white hot sparks of pleasure flowing all the way from your abdomen to your toes. All of your senses are heightened because of Hongjoong’s touch and you feel the pleasure reaching its tipping point, right before Hongjoong rips his hand away and stops his hips.

Your complaint is right on the tip of your tongue, but Hongjoong drags you like a ragdoll over him before you can get the words out. Your senses haven’t even come back to you yet, but Hongjoong looks up at you with the cockiest smile and you feel that same bliss again.

His hands on your hips turns your nervous system on again, “You wanna cum, baby?”

Your voice comes out hoarse, “Yes. Yes, please, Joongie,”

He looks up at you contemplatively, as if deciding whether you deserve to finish or not. It makes a defiant whine build up in your throat the longer he takes.

He shushes you with a nudge, “Then work for it.”

Hongjoong’s tone is final and even though you’re on top of him, there’s no room for control or for arguing. He looks up at you expectantly, simply waiting for you to obey. You want to grab his collar, make him regret talking to you like he owns you, but unfortunately he in fact does.

The cowboy hat is befitting now, so you take it for yourself. His blue hair is disheveled and tangled underneath it, but he still looks celestial. A laugh rips out of him as the hat tips over your head when you look down. You pout at him, but the giggles slip into groans when you slide down him again.

It’s entirely too distracting for Hongjoong, and he has to bite his lip to hold back from cumming on the spot. You’re too tight and wet, too perfect for him. He almost regrets putting you in this position now.

But you look too good all sweaty on top of him, mouth parted open in satisfaction, with the sound of skin against skin accompanying you. Watching you bounce with his hat on makes him feel a little crazy.

His hand reaches for your clit again, finding that spot that he’s learned your body really likes. Your back arches against his fingers, shuddering at the feeling of him. His fingers follow a pattern against you, persistent in their goal to make you cum. It’s too good, too fast. You can’t help it as your body falls over him, pleasure overriding your ability to function.

Hongjoong laughs at you, “Can't do anything on your own, huh? Dumb slut needs me to help,” You nod against his neck, hiding your embarrassed blush.

He, uncharacteristically, kisses the crown of your head. You suppose it’s an apology for the way he hauls your thighs over him, then slams you back down on his cock again. Once again, the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. You feel the heat rising in you again, your body tightening up against Hongjoong.

This time there’s no signs of him stopping, his forearms keeping a tight hold of your thighs as he spears you on his cock over and over again, his desperate pants right by your ear.

He senses you’re near your tipping point, “See? All you needed was a good fucking for you to behave,”

You nod brainlessly, simply following whatever he says with only one thing on your mind.

“You can cum, baby. Want you to be loud so even fucking Yunho knows,”

You feel it coursing through you. It’s been a slow build up waves caused by Hongjoong, but now with his permission it turns into a full-on tsunami hitting you. The pleasure shoots through you, your entire body seizing up as it takes over you. Hongjoong fucks you through it with slow, shallow thrusts. Or at least he tries to, before the feeling of your tightening pussy finally pulls the orgasm out of him. He’s quick to pull out, his cum splattering all over his lower abdomen.

When you’re done, you’re left panting and sweaty on his still shirt-clad chest. You feel his racing heartbeat against your hands, heavy breaths beating against you. You look up and Hongjoong has the softest, tranquil smile for you.

“I only danced with Yunho to make you jealous,” you mumble amidst the silence.

His hand runs through your hair under his hat, “I only flirted with that girl to make you jealous,”

You’re scared by how soft and intimate it’s suddenly turned. You’re scared Hongjoong only thinks of you as a fuck buddy now, nothing more nothing less. So, You don’t say anything else.

He knows you by now, knows where every cog in your brain goes and how it works. Hongjoong pokes your cheek gently, “That means I like you a lot,”

“Oh,” you feel your heartbeat pick up speed, “me too.”

“Good,” he smiles at you again, that charming and sugary sweet smile he only gives you, “then we’ll go on a date.” You nod into him, blissful peace finally settling over you.

You’re halfway to sleep when Hongjoong speaks up again, “Can I have my hat back?”

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez oneshot #ateez fanfic #kim hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong imagines

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baby-yongbok · 26 days

Text

Backseat

Boyfriend!Seungmin x Afab!Reader

♡ Genre - Smut ♡ Word Count - 4.1k ♡ Summary - Your open relationship with your boyfriend has one rule. What happens when you break it? ✧ Masterlist ✧

♡ A/N: Seungmin's look at the Chanel pop-up event killed me. That's it. That's the tweet. I hope that you enjoy! 💕+ reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ MDNI ♡ Warnings: Themes of open relationships, very light degradation - blink and you'll miss it, spit play?? - like, not really? but just to be safe, Dom Seungmin vibes & Seungmin is hot [I think that's all]

“Where did you even meet that guy?” The beeping of the microwave punctuated Sarina’s sentence and the other two girls all hummed in curiosity. It’s a typical girls night for the four of you. Sarina brings the drinks, Isa brings the snacks, Winter provides her Netflix password and more snacks and you allow them all into your apartment to listen to stories about your latest intimate escapades.

“That restaurant downtown, Gammeeok. I dropped my keys and he chased me down to return them.” You drop the steaming bag of popcorn into the bowl, handing it off to Winter to take care of. “How charming.” Isa teases with a laugh and you all follow.

“So, like, Seungmin won’t be mad that you slept with some stranger? He really doesn’t care?” You nod as you stuff your mouth with a fist full of popcorn, humming and shrugging to save yourself time. “He doesn’t care. The only rule is that I can’t sleep with his friends and he can’t sleep with mine.”

“And you don’t tell him about the guys you sleep with?”

“Mm, nope. He tells me about his hook-ups sometimes but he doesn’t really care to hear about mine. He just likes to know when they happen. He’s watched me fuck someone before but it was a one time thing.” A collective ‘oh’ echoes around the group of you as the girls exchange looks. “That’s hot.” Winter mumbles as she flips through the Netflix options and Isa shakes her head.

“My boyfriend would actually explode if that were our dynamic.” Sarina scoffs and the other girls agree before falling off into a new conversation of ‘what if’s’.

Your phone buzzes under you as you all break out into a fit of hysterics. Your laugh dies in your throat once you read the message on your screen. The black letters typed by your boyfriend read, ‘I’m outside’, and you can feel your heart start to hammer. You weren’t supposed to see him until tomorrow morning.

You text him back quickly, letting him know that it’s girls night and your friends weren’t leaving until the morning. Your phone buzzes with a reply seconds later, surely he said that he’d just see you tomorrow right? You can feel a shadow of anxiety as you read the new text. ‘You can leave them for a sec. Don’t you wanna see me?’

That text seems innocent right? Then why is your leg bouncing like he just sent you a ‘we need to talk’ text. I mean he did just get back from a family vacation today, maybe he just really missed you. Yeah, he got excited to see you, that’s it.

“Helloooo, earth to y/n.” With the snap of Winter’s fingers your head snaps up to the girls across from you. “Everything cool? We were talking about rewatching Thirty-Nine or are you feeling something different?”

You open and close your mouth once or twice before you manage to look down at your phone and type a quick ‘coming’ to Seungmin. You pull yourself up from your armchair and grab a hoodie that you think is yours but you’re really not sure right now and you honestly don’t care much either.

“That’s fine but I - I have to - I’ll be right back.”

“What’s up?” Isa asks and you sigh before doing your best to reassure them that everything is A-ok. They tease you as you unlock your front door, telling you that if you’re gone for more than five minutes that they just know that Seungmin is ruining you. You brush it off with an eye roll and make your way to the lobby of your building. There’s a comfortable breeze that you're thankful for since you’re only in your loungewear.

You look around for any sign of Seungmin’s car for a second before your phone buzzes again. ‘4 cars down to the left.’

You follow his direction, walking a couple of steps before his car comes into sight. You notice that Seungmin is absent from the driver's seat and as you get closer you can faintly make out his figure in the back seat. You open the door and slide in next to him once you reach the car, closing the door softer than usual in case you’re wrong about the reason for his impromptu visit.

“Hey, baby, welcome back.” You lean into him, planting a chaste kiss on his lips that he returns with no problem. “This is a surprise.”

He’s not making any faces, his eyebrows aren’t furrowed like they usually are when he’s upset and he’s smirking at you though you can’t say that it seems entirely friendly. “I had to see you. Missed you.”

Your heart plays hopscotch inside your chest for a moment though you can’t tell if it’s because he’s being sweet or because of your looming anxiety. “You were gonna see me tomorrow, did you get too excited to tell me about your trip?” You try to relax into your seat. Maybe there’s nothing wrong, maybe it’s all in your head.

“Mm, not really, no.” Fuck it, something is up he’s too laid back. “Actually there was something that I was dying to tell you about.”

Bingo. You look over at him, wide anxious eyes boring into his dark ones. “Answer this for me, sweetie.” He pulls his phone from the pocket of his leather jacket. You hadn’t even noticed that he was wearing the gift you gave him this past year for his birthday. He looks damn good in it as always.

Okay, wait, stop gawking. Focus.

“Do you recognize this guy?” A bright smile parts his lips as your jaw goes slack. You stare at the picture on his phone screen, eyes darting between Seungmin and the guy next to him. The guy you fucked a day ago. “Gotta use your words.”

“I- well, yeah.” You blink up at him, worry plastered on every muscle of your face. Seungmin takes a moment to rest his hand on your bouncing leg, soothing circles into the clothed flesh. Okay, so he’s not really that mad. “I did something bad didn’t I?”

He tsks, huffing a short laugh as he locks his phone and slips it back into his pocket. “Mm, I mean you fucked my roommate from college so, you tell me.” You whine, covering your eyes with your hands.

“I had no idea, baby, really.”

“I know, I don’t think that you did this on purpose.” The pads of his fingers dig into your thigh and he pulls you closer to him. “Just imagine my surprise when Hyunjin picks me up from the airport and starts raving about a girl who sucked his soul from him.” You groan again, wiggling a bit as he pulls you into his side, throwing his arm around you.

“I was even more surprised when he showed me the video.” You gasp so loud and fast that you nearly choke. You forgot about the video.

“Oh fuck, oh no, I fucked up.” There’s a burning at the back of your eyes that matches the feeling in your chest. You should’ve been more careful but you aren’t exactly the type to vet your hook-up’s like a gun shop doing a background check. “I’m so sorry, Seungmin. I swear that if I would’ve known I wouldn’t have gone home with him.”

“I already told you that I believe you, baby.” He draws circles into the bare skin of your shoulder, it sends a chill up your spine. “But, I must admit that a punishment is something that I find appropriate for this situation.”

You peer up at him through your thick lashes, trying your best to blink away the tears threatening to fall. A punishment? You can do that.

“Anything, Min. I truly am sorry.”

“Show me, don’t tell me.” You move to unbuckle his belt, swallowing hard as you fiddle with the metal. “Nuh uh.”

You hum, confused. There are a couple of punishments that are commonly used by Seungmin and fucking your tiny throat to the point of tears is usually his favorite. “I have something else in mind.”

He gently places his hands on your hips, pulling you into his lap so that you're straddling him. You rest your hands on the back of the seat, more than familiar with this position since he’s taken you in the back seat more times than you can count.

“I already heard everything from Hyunjin. He recalled the scenario in grave detail.” Seungmin keeps his eyes on you as his nimble fingers twirl the string to your pajama pants. “Now what I want you to do..”

He pulls at the string, undoing the bow. “Is tell me your side of the story.” Your breath catches in your throat.

“What do you.. mean?” He pulls at the waistband of your pants gently.

“I wanna hear it from your point of view.” He smiles at you, that teasing gleam in his eye that you know means trouble. “ I want you to tell me how he felt, how he sounded, how he tasted.”

You involuntarily grind into him as you start to recall the events of that night. “But… you never wanna hear about that stuff. Are you sure?”

“What did I just ask for?” His large hand squeezes your thigh and you jump at the pressure. “Does my puppy think that I don’t know what I want?”

“No no, I’m sorry. I’m just - just nervous I think.” He grins up at you, there’s a softness to it that relaxes you.

“Don’t be nervous, I just want you to tell me all about it, okay? I won’t think of you any differently. I won’t love you any less.” His lips brush against yours, slow and soft as he teases a kiss. “I just want you to tell me how he fucked you.” He plants the kiss, soft and rough, hungry and gentle. A contradiction.

“Can you do that for me?” He whispers against your lips and you shake your head. You’re already getting hazy and he’s barely touched you. “Say it.”

“I can do that. I’ll tell you how he fucked me.” He slips his hand down the front of your pants, the tips of his finger grazing over your pubic mound in a tickling touch that makes you buck into him.

“Go on, pup. Speak.”

“Okay- uh where do you want me to start?” He hums, looking up in false contemplation.

“Start from the moment that you got to his place. I’ve already heard the beginning. He told me all about you sucking him off in his car.” He grins, clearly enjoying the effect that that sentence had on you. You nod your head, trying your best to block out his tantalizing touch lingering inches from your clit.

“Well, he offered me something to drink… we shared a bottle of soju.” Seungmin’s gaze is burning into you as you speak. Attentive with a hint of something unrecognizable. He tongues his cheek a bit, something that he does when he’s thinking or listening. “ I was complaining about finishing my share of it too quickly so he offered me some of his… he said that.. He, uh..”

Seungmin’s finger crawls down your mound brushing against your clit and drawing your attention back you him. Your nervous gaze meets his steady one. “Focus on me.” He applies a bit more pressure and you squirm in his lap. “Speak, baby.”

“He said that he’d give it to me if he could feed it to me.”

“He poured it into your mouth?” You shake your head and Seungmin starts to ghost his finger back and forth over your bud, you sigh at the feather light contact.

“He put it in his mouth and tipped my head back then he spit it into my mouth.” A heavy breath escapes your boyfriend, flaring his nostrils as he processes the information. “Then he kissed me.”

“With tongue?” You nod and he presses firmly against your clit. Your hips grind into the touch before you can fully process it but Seungmin’s free hand grounds you to his lap. “What did he taste like?”

You moan, the mixture of smooth circles being rubbed into your aching bud and recalling the nasty memories of the night before is sending a surge through your system. “Soju, mint, a bit of- a bit of - cake.” He lets up, returning to his featherlight touch.

“Cake?” You nod, sucking in a long breath. “We shared some before we got to his place.”

“How romantic.” He teases, rolling his eyes. “Did he fuck you on the couch?”

“Nuh uh, his bed.” Seungmin, removes his hand and dips his pointer and middle finger into his mouth. You watch as his tongue laves over the digits carefully before his hand snakes back into your pants. “We made out on the couch, he undressed me and sucked my nipples. He fingered me a bit and I jerked him off.”

That delicious pressure is reapplied when you give him more details. He rubs tight circles over you with his spit slick fingers. So that’s how you win this game? The more details you give the more pleasure you get. A moan erupts from your chest, echoing through the car and dying in the stuffy space.

“Did you come when he sucked your nipples?” You shake your head and he tsks, a faint grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “So sensitive.”

“He said the same thing. He told me he’s never met a girl who could cum from that. He kept sucking them and they were so s-sensitive.” You’re gushing at this point, ruining your flimsy panties and dampening the crotch of your pajamas. “I jerked him off while he did it. He was moaning and he - he sounded..”

Seungmin slows down his ministrations when you seem to get lost in the pleasure. You look down at him, desperate eyes pleading for more but his stern gaze tells you exactly what you already know. You have to earn it. “How’d he sound, baby?”

“He sounded so.. So pretty, Min. I told him he sounds as pretty as he looks.”

“Prettier than me?” Is he teasing? Or is he jealous? Is it both? No matter, you shake your head, sating any sprout of jealousy that may be budding in his chest.

“Never. No one is.” Seungmin smiles, you’re so pretty like this. Glazed eyes staring into his in a desperate attempt at proving that you’re the good girl that he knows you are. Your drooling cunt pulsing against his fingers, silently asking to be filled. Desperately begging to be fucked.

“Go on.”

“He picked me up and carried me to his bed. He bent me over it and fucked me like that.” He taps your clit, prompting you to give him more but that’s not what does it. It’s the tight feeling of his cock straining against his jeans underneath you that gets you to start rambling.

“He didn’t fill me up like you do though. You’re thicker than him, you make me feel so much fuller.” You get the pressure you were craving, wide sloppy circles leave you chasing the stimulation.

“Tryna suck up to me, pup?” You deny it, shaking your head frantically. “ I don’t need you to tell me that I fuck you better. I know I do.”

“Okay, s-sorry.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, your breathing is starting to pick up and Seungmin decides to allow your hips to chase his movement. That decision was more in his favor than yours since the grinding of your hips gives him the stimulation that he’s dying for. He’s never found himself interested in the details of your sexual escapades. Just the knowledge that you’ve been with someone else was enough to get him off but this is different. It’s delicious and finds himself hanging on to every single word that leaves your lips.

“He fucked me from behind and he - he was spanking me. He spanked me and I moaned - oh my god - I moaned for him just like t-that. He told me - told me that I was dripping and making a fucking mess. He called me his messy baby and he wrapped his hand around my hair and - and pulled my head back - Fuck, Min, fuck fuck fuck.”

This is exactly what he wanted. Your tongue peeking from between your lips and your eyes hazy with need. He wanted you fucked out and pliable. He wanted you to relax. He can know anything that he wants now and selfishly he wants to know more. He wants to know everything.

“Mmm is that right?” His fingers dip between your folds, collecting your slick and spreading it over your clit “If my messy baby tells me more she can feel my fingers fill her up.”

“God, yes, please. Need it, need it.”

“Gotta speak, pup.”

“Okay - uh uh after he fucked me like that I got on top and I rode his cock and - and he felt deeper like that and he looked so so pretty under me and I- Oh fuck, Seungmin.” Your head fell back in a moan as his digits sunk into you. He sighed as your tight walls squeezed him as a literal warm welcome to his favorite place on this earth.

“Tell me how you rode him while you ride my fingers.” His free hand trails up your stomach, his larghetto touches a clear contrast to the pornographic moans and squelches filling the small space. His fingers wrap around your neck once he reaches your clavicle, his nails digging in ever so slightly.

“Eyes on me, lemme see you.” Your lids flutter open revealing your hazy orbs to your lover. His cock twitches at the sight. “Tell me.”

You gulp, there’s too much spit in your mouth but at the same time your throat feels dry. You want to cry, it feels so good. So dirty. “I pinned his hands above his head - fuck.”

Seungmin could’ve lost it there. That could’ve made him bust but he kept his composure. The mental image of you grinding on his friend's dick while you pinned him to the bed made him feel things that he never imagined.

He scissored his fingers against your clenching walls, encouraging you to give him more. You blinked, once, twice before trying to regain your composure. “And I was grinding in a circle, he was looking up at me like I hung the fucking stars in the sky and I felt s-so fucking good. So fucking powerful. When I started fucking him he was praising me.”

Seungmin’s cock is leaking, dripping and making a sticky mess in his briefs but he couldn't care less than he does right now. Not when he has you bouncing over his fingers with the most filthy memories being recited from your plump drooling lips. “What did he call you?”

“Pretty. He said ‘m so pretty and - and he said - he said that I’m the best fuck he’s had in so long. Said I use his cock so well. He - He said -” He fucks his fingers deeper into you and you can’t help but pause, gasping for air as you struggle to keep your eyes open.

“What’s the matter? Hyunjin got your tongue?” You cry out, panting as he fucks you deep against your g-spot. “Did you like when he praised you?” You shake your head so fast that it nearly looks like you’re throwing your neck in a circle. Seungmin chuckles, how cute.

“Does my girl want me to praise her more?” A drooling whimper escapes you and Seungmin leans forward to lick the dribble from the corner of your mouth. Planting a kiss on the spot.

“Does she want me to tell her how good she feels when she opens up for me?” A rush of arousal floods out of you and for a second you can swear that you’ve never been this wet in your entire life. Seungmin is the only partner who has ever left you feeling completely satisfied yet right now you feel like this is so much more. He’s unlocked a new level.

“Such a good dumb pup.” He rasps, darkness clouding his tone. “You’re such a pleasure to use.” He kisses you, it’s sloppy and rough. “Is that how you want it done?”

Words don’t make sense anymore. Not with Seungmin’s fingers fucking into you so deep that you could see stars. The fuzzy streaks of the streetlights hypnotizes you as he fucks you closer and closer to the release building up in the pit of your stomach. “How else did he fuck you?”

You snap back to reality, tongue hanging from your open mouth. You attempt to refocus your gaze but to no prevail. “Against the… the wall.” You’re breathless, spent, you’re close.

“Baby.” Seungmin growls, calling your attention as he thrusts into you especially rough. “Did Hyunjin cum inside of this cunt?”

Your anxiety would be creeping up your spine again if there wasn’t already a thick sheet of pleasure encasing it. Fuck, you forgot about that rule. “Answer. Me.” His words are punctuated with a punishing thrust, effectively drawing an answer out of you.

“Yes, yes h-he did. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m s- Fuck, Min, Seung - Seungmin, fuck.” This is the part where it feels like a punishment. The way that Seungmin’s fingers hammer into you while his thumb rubs at your clit is dizzying. The stars littering your vision get brighter with every thrust.

“I’m sorry.” You cry out as a tear escapes the corner of your eye. He kisses it away. A gentle action that is a stark contrast to the way that he’s pounding you.

“You thought you could get away with that, huh?” He rasps, leaning you forward so that your back is resting on the seat in back of you. His free hand supports your lower back while the other abuses your cunt. “You know better.”

Your moans and screams do little to deter him from ruining you. Your palm lays flat against the foggy window giving a clear indication of what the two of you are doing on this warm Tuesday night, if your screams weren’t enough of a sign. “You know that only I get to fill this pussy. You know that.” He pulls away from you abruptly, leaving you panting, empty and spasming around nothing. You whine as you try to catch your breath.

He gives himself a second to take you in but really it’s a second for him to avoid busting in his jeans. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” You’re breathless but he knows you mean it. His eyes don’t show it but he’s already forgiven you. He slips his hand back into your pants and feels around your soaked cunt.

Seungmin closes his eyes for a second, taking in every beautiful inch of you. He can see it if he closes his eyes, he’s spent so many hours between your thighs that he’s got it memorized.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He groans, losing himself for a moment. “Are you wet for me or him?”

“You.” He leans you up so that your forehead rests against his. He starts rubbing at your clit again, gradually building up speed.

“Say it again. Tell me my puppy is only this wet for me.” His free hand guides your hips against him and he moans at the friction. His cock jumps - or tries to jump - against the tight fabric.

“Your puppy is only wet for you, baby. Only you.” His fingers move faster, the knot in your stomach pulls tighter, you’re close. So close.

“Again, baby, you only get this dumb for me right? Only get this wet for me.”

“Only you, Min. Only you.” Your rhythm falters as your orgasm starts to spill over.

“Tell me you love me, pup. Tell me.” He breathes and you inhale deeply, exhaling with a shaky declaration of love as your orgasm rips through you.

“I love you, I love you, I love -” He cuts you off with a kiss, groaning against you as he busts in his jeans. You grind against him as he bucks up into you and the two of you ride out your orgasms together. His tongue explores your mouth in a feverish kiss, moans tumble from the both of you and you only pull away when the burning in your lungs starts to become unbearable.

“I love you too.”

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