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katiexpunk · 2 months

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Desert Dust | Joel Miller's POV

Summary: The last place Joel Miller expected to find himself at this point in his life was in a small highway town in Arizona, passing the days by. He never really though he needed more -- until he met you.

Warnings: This is Joel's POV from Desert Dust. Yeah, if you thought he was a consent king in the original, this just further proves it. Tommy comes with his own cheeky warning. No age gap mentioned (make it your own), but Joel mentions feeling old. Joel Miller has a bad back (it's canon). Self-deprecation. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy., and like actually kinda wants to kill him for trying to hurt you. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy.

W/C: ~8K

A/N: Thank you for all of the love on Desert Dust. Nobody asked for this, but I couldn't get Joel's POV outta my head, so I hope you enjoy a little deep dive into what Joel was thinking when he first walked into that restaurant. Your honor, they're in love. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die? Like me, he's lost the will to live I'm so lonesome I could cry

The timbre of Hank Williams’ voice fills the truck's cab as Joel drives. It’s early, the sky is just beginning to transition from a deep midnight blue to a gradient of warm orange as the sun gradually emerges. While Joel likes to think of himself as a morning person, his back has other opinions on the matter. It’s to be expected, though, that’s what nearly 30 years of hard labor will do to a man.

The warmth of the thermos in between his thighs contrasts with the chilly morning air pouring in through the cracked window. Smoke dances lazily around his broad frame, a burning cigarette clenched between his calloused fingers. He greedily draws long drags, knowing it’ll be hours before he can have another one. He should quit, he knows he should quit. The half-used pack of Nicorette gum that sits in his cupholder in front of him is proof of that.

But like picking at a scab or peeling the skin of a sunburn, sometimes we all do things we know we shouldn’t, things that make us feel good, if only for just a minute or two.

In truth, there isn’t a lot that makes him feel good anymore. Jesus, when did he turn into such a grumpy old man? Probably sometime between Sarah going to college, and Tommy convincing him to take this contract job in the middle of fuck all nowhere.

The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky And as I wonder where you are I'm so lone–

Williams’ voice falls silent as Joel turns off the truck, having pulled into the work site. He snubs out the cigarette into the ashtray in the middle of the dash and grabs his jacket, a clipboard, and safety helmet.

“Another day, another dollar,” he mutters to himself, pulling the handle on the driver's side door. The ground crunches below him, his boots are so dusty he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them clean again. God damn desert dust. He shakes his head and walks to the white trailer in front of him, unsure of why he’s so frustrated in the first place.

“Well aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine this morning,” Tommy says, responding to the quick snap of the door after Joel enters their makeshift office.

“Don’t,” Joel bites back.

“What’s got your panties in a twist this morning, princess?” Tommy chides, sitting behind a wooden desk covered in blueprints and safety checklists.

“This really the way you want to start the day, Tommy?” Joel says, voice low and even, masking his emotions. “Just, get to work.”

He rounds around to the desk opposite Tommy’s and places everything down. The ripped chair lets out a little puff of air under his weight as he sits.

Tommy, of course, knows what’s eating at Joel. He needs to get fucking laid.

Tommy can’t even remember the last time he saw Joel with a woman it’s been so long. He was always so focused on Sarah, or growing the company, that he always put himself last. He’s tried to set Joel up on dates, but he always declines, citing he’s too busy or maybe next month.

And while Tommy doesn’t say anything, it’s as if Joel can practically hear his thoughts.

“Would you stop thinking so damn loud,” Joel mutters, and Tommy gives him a knowing smirk. “‘M fine. Worry about how we’re gonna finish this project and less about me,” Joel tells him. They both return their attention to their work.

As Joel works to finish up his administrative tasks before the rest of the crew arrives, he tries to shove down the annoyance he feels that maybe Tommy might be right. Maybe it has been too long, besides, rutting his cock into his fist in the shower every night is starting to get old.

He’s not intentionally trying to avoid meeting someone, it’s just that nobody’s ever really caught his attention, not in any genuine way. He knows he’s attractive, but it might as well be poison to him for the types of women he attracts – it’s all fake tits, tight jeans, and money-hungry cougars just looking for someone to show them a good time.

Just as he starts to think all of the good girls might be gone – he meets you.

++++

God, either this booth is uncomfortable or his back is getting worse. He tries to relieve some of the pressure by hunching over for a second. Nope, that’s worse. He sits up to full height and that’s a little better, for now, at least. He looks at the menu in front of him. He thinks about ordering a burger, but with how busy it is, he’s not confident it would come out in time before his lunch break ends. Besides, he told Tommy he would be back in less than 30.

He didn’t intend to stop, he was just looking for an excuse to clear his head. But when he went to grab his coffee, he realized he had left it on his desk. He’d taken the highway exit to get to the restaurant by chance, hoping he might find a Starbucks or something quick. But nope, as it usually goes in small towns, the only coffee place nearby is where he currently sits.

He notices you coming up to the table out of the corner of his eye and turns his head to look at you.

Shit – you’re beautiful. He thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He watches as your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, a coffee pot in your hand.

"Hi," you say, he notices your voice is soft. "Can I get you something to drink?"

He’s so fucked. You even sound pretty.

Your eyes find him, and he swears he feels something shift, electricity courses through him. You’re the first person to look at him, actually look at him, in years. He tries to keep his face level, not wanting to give away any of what he’s thinking.

His eyes drift down to your chest until he notices the nametag pinned to your shirt. Cute name. It matches your pretty face. He internally chuckles to himself when he notices the coffee stains and what he thinks might be ketchup on your shirt. It makes him smile, mostly because he’s no stranger to wearing food himself, although you’re a waitress, it makes more sense to him that you’d be a little messy, a little dirty. He doesn’t quite have the same excuse.

Distracted, it dawns on him that he’s probably staring. Stop being weird, she doesn’t need some old man gawking at her while she’s just trying to do her job, you fucking creep.

He moves his eyes to the coffee pot in your hand. Right. The whole reason he’s here in the first place.

"Just coffee, darlin'," he says, watching as you pour some into the mug that was already waiting on the table.

“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper.

He thinks he might pass out when he sees your smile. So, so fucked.

“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.”

He internally grimaces when he realizes he’d let sweetheart slip, hoping it didn’t weird you out. You can take the man out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the man. He tries not to stare as he watches you walk away, but he can’t help himself.

Sitting in silence, he nurses his coffee and tries to ignore the annoying glances that he seems to be getting from, well, everyone. He feels like he might as well have a giant arrow above his head screaming I’m horny for the waitress. He knows he’s looking at you more than he should, but like a moth to a flame, he just can’t seem to look away. He wonders how long you’ve worked here, and what your story might be. He wonders if you’re happy. Why the hell would he be wondering that? He just met you, for fucks sake.

He’s just another customer.

The establishment itself is pretty much what’d you expect for a small-town dive, the smell of grease and hamburgers wafting through the air. The portions are huge, and the coffee is good. There’s just one annoying thing about it, and he quickly learns her name is Tracy.

He only knows this because she’s quick to offer it up, calling him baby and sugar, pestering him like a fly. She’s attentive in a way that’s forced, suffocating in every possible way. He can tell she’s the type of woman who craves the attention of any man who’s willing to give her the time of day, the type of woman that lets her boobs do all the talking. He’s lonely, yes, but he’s not desperate. He wants nothing more than for you to refill his coffee, just so he can hear your voice again, but she makes it near impossible.

More than three cups of deep, but still bone tired, he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans and he knows it’ll be Tommy asking where he’s at. He pulls it out and sure enough. He looks around the restaurant, hoping maybe he might be able to cash out with you, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

He opens his worn leather wallet, the same one he’s had since Sarah gifted it to him all those years ago, only to find a handful of $20s. He drops one on the table and decides it’s not worth it to ask Tracy for change; he could go the rest of his life never talking to her again and be fine with it.

He silently slips out of the restaurant, and his curiosity about you nearly drowns him on the drive back.

But this time when he walks into the trailer, he can’t help the cheesy grin that involuntarily appears on his face.

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Tommy teases, his words slightly muffled from the bite of PB&J in his mouth, the sticky tack of peanut butter glued to the roof of it.

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no bite behind it.

++++

The days turn into weeks, and he tries to step away from work, he does. Every day he tries to find an excuse to go in and see you, a reasonable time to step away for an hour or so. But it’s hard, project demands are at an all-time high, and the client is up his butt, freaking out they won’t be done in time. He works overtime, arriving earlier than usual and leaving close to midnight nearly every night.

Joel Miller is a lot of things, but above all, he’s a man of his word. He and his brother didn’t build this company by being late or half-assing work. We’ll get it done, he reassures the client. And they will, he’ll make sure of it.

“Joel, get up man,” Tommy says, shaking his shoulder. He jolts awake, his vision a little fuzzy, slightly disoriented.

He must have drifted off during his lunch break and passed out cold on his keyboard. When he finally comes to, he automatically feels a twinge in his lower back. He’ll pay for that little nap later, he can already tell.

“You’ve been working too hard, why don’t you call it a day, go home, and get some sleep? I’ve got it here for the rest of today,” Tommy offers. As much as they fight, there is a mutual understanding there – respect, even love, although they’ll both never admit to that outright.

He starts to protest, but the pain in his back tells him that maybe he’s right. Lord knows he could benefit from a hot shower and a good night's rest, but even those things, things that should be relaxing, don’t offer him any respite. When he’s not thinking about work, he’s thinking about you. Your kind, soft eyes, and warm smile have sunk their teeth into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to shake you.

A rather frustrating fact, considering you’ve probably forgotten all about him. Just another customer, he’s just another customer.

On the drive back home, he realizes he’s not far off from the exit to the restaurant. You’re probably not even working, and he knows he might be risking seeing Tracy again, but fuck it. Before he has time to talk himself out of the decision, he’s pulling into the parking lot.

He’s surprised at how quiet the restaurant is, a lot different from his first visit. He looks at his watch, it’s close to 3 o’clock, and from the state of the place, he can tell the lunch rush likely just finished. He tries to not be obvious about the fact that he’s scanning the place, looking for something, someone. You.

He sees you before you see him. You look – focused. He can tell you’re a little worn out, but fuck if you aren’t still adorable. He flexes his hand open and closed a few times, trying to calm nerves he didn’t even know he had anymore.

He grins a little as you tell him to take a seat wherever you want, as he watches intently as you throw the final pieces of flatware into the bin. He’s kind of impressed with how quickly you cleaned up the mess, how easily you hoist the heavy bus bin onto your hip.

When you finally notice him, he lifts his hand in a silent hello.

You look cute when you’re surprised. He can tell he’s caught you off guard. Like you weren’t expecting him. He notices as you scan his body, taking him in. He wonders if you feel this too, whatever the fuck this is.

“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say. The smile and obvious excitement that washes over your face tells him everything he needs to know.

He’s a customer. But what if he was more than that?

Jesus.

No.

He’s just a customer.

He decides that the booth by the window looks decent enough. The booth and his back fight once more, but he eventually gets comfortable. When you greet him again, your smile and soft voice melt into him, making him forget all the stress of the past few weeks. It takes him a second before it dawns on him that he hasn’t responded to you, that he hasn’t said anything. Talk to her, say something…say anything.

“I was, uh hoping you’d be here,” he says, realizing how cringe he probably sounds. Has he always been this bad at flirting?

But before he can recover, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. He watches as you sink back into the depths of the restaurant, leaving him with her. No, come back.

She's quick to bring him a menu, some coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming. He’s being rather curt with her, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s not interested, but the more he seems to ignore her, the stronger she comes on. He’s a thin thread away from telling her to just fuck off, but he doesn’t want to be rude. Besides, he knows you’re busy. He might not get to talk to you this time, but he will – or at least he hopes he will – especially if everything goes according to his plan.

He’s not even sure if what he intends to do can be classified as a plan. Hell, he’s just glad that he even has a spare business card in his wallet.

He scans the dining room for you, and once he spots you, he rises from the booth and intentionally catches your eye. With the worn card in hand, folded between the folds of some cash, he hopes that you understand his message when he nods and tucks it under the coffee cup. Please call. He’s not sure he’s ever been more hopeful for anything, ever.

He swings by the grocery store on his way home, picking up some beer and a frozen pizza, too tired to cook anything real for dinner. He sinks into the cushions of his couch and tries to drown out his hopefulness with the distraction of T.V. But, he’d be lying if he said his heart rate doesn’t quicken with every notification that comes through his phone.

But you don’t call or text.

He thinks that maybe you’re just trying to play it cool, not wanting to come across as too eager.

But as the days go on, still not a peep from you, he tries to shove down the darker thoughts that cross his mind. Maybe he had misinterpreted the signals you were giving him, misread the energy that feels palpable when you’re next to each other. Maybe he’s just out of practice. Not your type.

You don’t want him. Why would you? He’s just some contractor, an old washup. Probably one of dozens of men who spend their nights waiting, wishful and hungry for even just a glance from you. One of the dozens of men who spew hot loads of come onto their bellies alone at night brought to a tipping point thinking about how sweet you might sound chanting their name, how tight your pussy would feel gripped around their cock.

Fuck.

++++

Some weeks later, he’s pulling another late night at the job site. And when the fluorescent lights get to be too much, he decides to call it a night. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but there’s a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a silent feeling like he should swing by the restaurant – maybe even apologize for coming on too strong or weirding you out. Before he can even rationalize what he’s doing, he’s once again pulling into the parking lot. Except –

Somethings wrong.

There’s only one car in the parking lot, and the neon open sign remains lit, but something feels…off.

He can feel it, like some sort of primal instinct laying dormant in his body has woken up.

It all happens so fast, faster than his mind can register. When he sees you, struggling in the hands of some fucker, he intervenes. He moves fast, doesn’t think twice, just lets his body take over. He pulls the man off of you, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his blood red hot, and his jaw tense.

“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” he says, voice low and threatening. Don’t make me go to jail tonight.

He’s not surprised he hits the guy as hard as he does. He barely feels it, the bone-crunching under his fist. He’d probably kill the guy if you weren’t right there, watching his every move. It’s not a fair fight, not really. Joel knows he’s bigger and stronger, and has the unfair advantage of being sober. He can tell he probably broke the guy's nose, and that’s probably punishment enough. He drags the man out of the establishment and tells him to get the fuck out and never come back. He hopes the warning is enough, the message clear that if he tries to touch you again, ever, it’ll end worse. He’ll make sure of that.

He locks the door and turns to face you. You look so – scared. So innocent, shaken, like a baby deer who just saw its mother get hit by a truck. He even thinks for a second that you might be afraid of him, a thought that makes his heart sink. I would never hurt you. He brings both of his hands to the sides of your arms – keeping the touch intentionally light, with a gentle, reassuring grip. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now.

“You alright?” he asks, watching with concern as you try and put on a brave face. God, he hates to see you cry, hates that anything could ever make you cry. He can tell you’re trying to avoid looking at him, not wanting him to see your vulnerability.

It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. God, you’re perfect.

The hand that meets his is soft until a sharp sting comes to his attention. He watches as you grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Fuck that guy. He wishes he would have given him just a little more, maybe a black eye or two.

"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern.

He can tell you’re worried about him, a fact that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside.

"It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he tries to reassure you. And he is. He’s suffered worse, nothing that won’t be better in a day or two, even if it does sting like hell right now.

"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.

He doesn’t want you to have to put up with that right now, especially after everything that just happened.

"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.

"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal.

Fuck, you’re so sweet. So perfect and sweet. You could ask him for the moon and he’d try to find a way to lasso it down for you.

His heart quickens as you interlace your fingers with his on his left hand and guide him through the restaurant. He even chuckles a little to himself when you tell him to watch his step. You’re being so nice, he can’t be misinterpreting this – there’s no way. But why didn’t you call? The question weighs heavy on his mind.

In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. He leans against the desk, quietly observing you, taking in the fact that he’s here, in this tiny office, with you. That you care enough to help him. That he cares enough to protect you.

"Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.

His cock twitches a little when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth, he thinks you might be good with your mouth in more ways than one.

"This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care. I can take it, baby. He can tell the way you’re being with him right now might be your nature, to want to take care of those around you. To be what they need.

“‘You can make it up to me later,” he whispers, hoping you’re sensing the intention behind his words. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, he feels the need to know why you didn’t call bubble up to the surface, the question at the tip of his tongue. Oh just ask her.

“Can I ask you something,” he says, looking down at you, not even realizing he’s holding his breath. He exhales when he hears you say mhmm in response.

Rip off the fucking bandaid man.

“Why didn’t you call?”

He watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. As you lean in closer to him, you bring with you the soft scent of your shampoo. You smell like honey and the earthy, clove smell of tobacco. You smell divine.

“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished. How could anyone not want you?

He watches you intently as you stand before him, grateful that you’re being so honest with him. He wishes so badly you would look him in the eye.

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Is she joking?

He floats his hands up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze seemingly fixed on a button on his shirt.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

His hand still hurts a little, a dull throb, but he could care less right now. He trails it up over the side of your body until his fingers land under your chin. Sweet girl. He uses his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You look so beautiful right now, so raw and so perfect. The soft plush of your lips draws his attention, and he can’t help but touch them.

There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things.

But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him.

But no.

Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.

“Joel,” he hears you whisper, knowing full well that his thumb is still on your lower lip. He wants so badly to know what they’d feel like on his.

“Ki–”

Fuck it.

He drops his hand and leans in to crash his lips into yours, and holy shit. He wants you so fucking bad. He’s never wanted anything, or anyone, more.

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and his cock hardens when you let out a little whimper. He holds you tighter to his chest, his thick and capable hands admiring the soft curves of your hips. He needs more, needs to taste your skin, needs to know what it feels like on his lips. He dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as he can. More, he needs more.

He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Jesus, you’re so impossibly soft, your skin feels like silk compared to his. He nips at your jaw, and the soft moan escapes your lips makes him feel feral.

“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, internally acknowledging how wrecked it comes out.

He trails his hand up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra. Ugh. It’s so much for him, the little moans you keep making for him as he kisses your neck, the way your nipples respond beneath the fabric to his touch.

“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest, and he means it.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal.

Fuck. Yes.

His cock is rock hard, so stiff it’s almost painful. He doesn’t even remember the last time he was this hard. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat. More. He needs more.

He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.

“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs.

“Can I undress you?” he asks. He wants you to know that you’re in control here, that hel’ll only do what you want him to and nothing more. You call the shots.

You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, and he works to unbutton your skirt. Fucking buttons. He thinks it’s cute the way you wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. Perfection. You are perfection.

He frowns a little when he notices you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body.

“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” he says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He thinks you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at. He’s never really considered himself to be lucky, but he must have done something right to have you right here with him right now.

He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Don’t hide, baby.

“No need’ta hide from me,” he tries to reassure you.

You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. He smirks at the sound of the deep hum that escapes from your throat, lips still attached to your breast.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. Just getting started with you.

He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, doing his best to whisper sweet praises as he does. It feels so good, so natural when you drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that, the feeling goes straight to his cock. More. More. More.

He can tell you’re a little hesitant, maybe a little lost in your thoughts. He does his best to pull you back to him. On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. You look so beautiful looking down at him, your lips slightly parted, your skin shiny from the sheen of sweat, your obvious arousal evident on your face. He wonders what he must look like to you.

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, hooking his thumbs in the band of them. He wants to hear you say it, to permit him to cross that line.

“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away.

Please, he pleads to himself silently.

He presses his nose into your mound and fuck, you smell so good, he can’t help but moan.

“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, and it’s true. He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame.

“O-kay,” you say on an exhale.

“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire. He wants to reassure you.

He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. He thinks this might be the most perfect pussy he’s ever seen in his life. Making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, he looks at you to make sure you’re okay with him continuing.

He’s eager, and he’s sure it’s coming across in the way he’s kissing you. Once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole.

He thinks he could come right there, with the way you’re looking down at him with lusty doe eyes and biting your lower lip. He watches your face as he gently nudges the tip in. Fuck, you’re so tight. He holds it there for a brief second, his restraint threadbare, before fully thrusting it up into your core.

“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, sealing his lips around your puffy clit. He pumps his finger in and out of you and flicks and swirls his tongue where he can feel you need it the most. You’re so wet for him, so tight, so willing. If he weren’t already on his knees, he knows he’d fall to them eventually, he’d worship at your alter every day if you’d let him.

“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle.

“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, because you are. He could stay here for hours, making you come for him again and again.

He can tell you’re close, so he picks up his pace. You’re nearly there, seconds away from giving him what he wants. Just one more –

“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. Perfect, sweet girl. The taste of your release and the pretty sounds you make coming have his cock aching. He gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to full height.

“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until your lips find his. He wonders if you’ve ever tasted yourself before, or if he’s the first to kiss you after eating you out – the thought makes him even harder, to know he might be the first to show you how sweet you taste.

He watches as you begin to kneel before him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask. He does. Of course he does. He’s just not sure he’d last, but he’d never admit that, besides, there’s something he needs so much more right now.

“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.

He groans as he feels you bring your palm to cup him through his jeans, drinking in the sensation of your hands tracing over him. His jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. His cock welcomes the attention, too. He’s already leaking, he needs to come so bad.

“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says intensely. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop. It feels so good to be free of the confines of his pants, the pressure on his cock a little less overwhelming now.

“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. He can tell you might be a little overwhelmed, but he reassures you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. He lifts you with ease and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk in front of him. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length with his fist. He stares at your wet, aching hole, wishing he was buried inside of it. The thought dawns on him that he doesn’t have a condom. No, fuck. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s quite possibly the best sentence he’s ever heard in his entire life.

He knows it might be a little reckless, but he doesn’t have any reason to believe you’d lie to him.

“Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do as he tells you. He sees his hard cock in his hand and opens his mouth to spit on it. You’re wet and ready, but he knows he’s a lot to take, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.

He admires the way you’re holding your legs open for him, giving him full access to your cunt. He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. Holy fuck. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust.

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again. How is he ever supposed to last with your pussy clenched this tight around him.

He asks if you’re okay, and when you nod, he pushes in a little more, dragging back out of you for only a second, until he’s jutting his hips forward, fully burying himself deep inside of you. Nothing has ever felt this good to him, nothing could ever compare.

Jesus, think of something else – make this last. He tries to distract his mind, disconnect his cock from his brain, but there’s no point. His primal urges have taken over, his body is losing the war with his mind.

He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. He would love to fuck you harder, deeper. He knows he won’t last long, but he doesn’t care, as long as he gets you to come for him one more time.

“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. Give the girl what she wants. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk. Your hips are perfectly positioned at the edge. He’s not sure anything could be prettier than you bent over, waiting to once again be stuffed with him.

He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. As good as this feels for him, he can tell that something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that he can tell is gonna be the thing that pushes you over the cliff of your orgasm. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin.

“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” he hears you say, a little breathless.

“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep.

Yeah, that’s right. Use me.

And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, and it’s borderline too much for him. He’s gotta slow down if he’s gonna last another second.

“Where do you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you beg for him.

Holy fuck.

After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come. The immediate release of pressure is exhilarating, probably the best orgasm he’s ever had. He feels his cock pulse out final spurts of come, eliciting shakes from him with each one. He feels weightless like he could fly away and sleep on a cloud.

The sensation of him pulling out is a little much, his cock raw and spent. “Stay there,” he says, scurrying off to the kitchen, looking for something he can give you to help clean you up. His eye catches a roll of paper towels next to the sink and he grabs a handful of them for you.

When he enters the office, he notices how breathtaking you look post-orgasm, post-fuck. It’s a sight he’ll commit to memory forever. He presses his lips to yours again, drinking in your sweetness once more. He thinks he could kiss you forever and never tire of it.

He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up.

“Wanna smoke?”

++++

“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, he admires your features amidst the dim glow of the fire. So beautiful.

“Too long,” you mumble. He lights his own.

“And you, where are you off to next?” He hears you ask, and he's not sure how to respond.

“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke twirling in the air around you both.

“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours. You. I need to take care of you.

You smile when he winks at you. Gosh, you’re cute when you smile. He wants to be the reason you smile every day.

You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him. He thinks it feels nice to be wanted, to have someone to just be with.

And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. He’s pleased when you accept.

It’s too soon. He knows it’s too soon, but the thought of you in the passenger seat of his truck, feet on the dash, wind in your hair, makes his heart skip a beat.

He wants more.

And something tells him you do, too.

END

Ily. Thanks for reading! Tags: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy @likeficsinthewnd @morning-star-joy @agentjackdaniels @cayleej @amyispxnk @zialltops @syd-djarin @untamedheart81 @gracevnn @pedrossl4t @littlevenicebitch69 @chulopascal

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #consent #joel miller #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller fanfic #Joel's POV

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ratcash-wasgud · 9 days

Note

MR. KRABS, I HAVE AN IDEAA! (I'm so sorry, I hope you get this reference...) Modern!Mizu x Shy Reader who absolutely adores sketching in their free time, but specifically loves drawing Mizu?

Mizu is unaware for a long time but finds a sketchbook filled with beautiful sketches of her, with little notes by them that the reader made such as 'I love my girlfriend' , 'Her nose is so pretty' , 'I like how well I captured her jawline, it encompasses just how pretty she is.' Every page is filled with little side-note compliments/notes to self (That the reader didn't expect her to see) and Mizu just fawns and falls in love with the shy reader even more. Maybe Mizu will bring it up and reader gets flustered and eventually they spend their free time doing little drawing contests of each other? I thought it was a cute idea, I hope you are doing well and have a great day! :)

DAAAAAMN

love this idea. i'm probably gonna turn this into loser!mizu propaganda tho muhahaha

btw I'M SO SORRY I'M ABSENT and i'm very behind on requests too and everything. i'll try to post more <3

AN: this didn't turn out exactly how the request asked, BUT PLS I had to add a little smut, sue me.

also, there are some audios at the end

Mizu.

The shine in her eyes.

The way her eyelashes curl.

The curve of her chin.

The way her cheeks move when she talks.

You loved everything about your girlfriend.

But she was just too grumpy sometimes, and when you gave her complimetns, she just got a little red and told you to stop. And you didn't have the confidence in you to try after that. But she was so pretty! You had to get your thoughts out somehow. So what can a girl do? Draw.

You secretly took candid pictures of Mizu, and used them as references. You drew her in every possible pose and with a lot of facial expressions.

You loved drawing her smile especially. Mizu never liked her own smile, she says it's dumb looking and it doesn't fit her, but it can't be further from the truth. Her smile was beautiful.

You could never show her the drawings tho, you'd die of embarassement. One day tho, Mizu was at your place, watching a movie on your bed.

But you were foolish enough to go to the bathroom, and leave her alone with your stuff for five whole minutes. Mizu stopped the movie when you left, because in her opinion, watching your reactions is more interesting than the movie, so watching alone is unnecessary.

But she quickly got bored, so she stood up and started looking around your room again, looking at the little trinkets you have everywhere, and the posters she had seen a hundred times before. Then she found something she hasn't seen before. It was a small, slim sketchbook.

On the cover, there were old receipts from your dates, candy wrappers you ate while watching her matches and a kiss mark in the middle you made with her favorite shade of lipstick.

You usually show her everything you draw, so having a sketchbook she never seen before was unusual. Maybe it's new? Her fingers glide along the back of the sketchbook before she decides to pry and open it.

On the first page, there was a whole page, colored marker drawing of...Mizu. She was a wide smile in the drawing, her hair let down, falling down her back and into her face, her eyes narrowed as he skin creased from how wide her smile was. It was obvious you spent a lot of time on it. But Mizu's eyes quickly dart to the little notes scattered all over the page.

"My girl's smile is too pretty"

"Her nose wrinkles up when she laughs."

"Her eyes shine so much."

"So beautiful. "

And many more. It had her blushing. She covered her mouth as she got more and more flustered the more notes she read. It was like you noticed everything and loved everything. It was so strange. You complimented even the slightest, most basic stuff. Did you count her pores too or something?

But damn...

It made all of her body flutter. She flipped the page, and the drawing just didn't stop, and so didn't the notes. It kind of overwhelmed Mizu. Slowly, the drawings got more and more...clotheless.

At first, it was her collarbones.

"Her skin is so smooth, and the bones cast such a pretty shadow."

Then her back.

"A canvas better than any other."

Then her full chest.

"Pillows of the gods."

Then her...

The clack of the door was heard and you stepped inside, looking mortified.

"Oh you uhm...saw everything?" *You murmur, looking at the sketchbook in your girlfriend's hand.

"Yeah." Mizu answers without hesitation, and puts it down, taking a step towards you. Her heart thumped loud in her chest, as if fire started burning her whole body. She just witnessed the most flattering thing ever but also...it made her want you so much. "You like drawing me?"

"Yes...sorry, I know it's pretty cringe, I...what are you doing?" Your eyes widen as Mizu's fingers grab the hem of her shirt and start lifting it.

"You never drew a full body picture. I'm giving you an opportunity. " She says casually, but her ears burn in a deep shade of red as she tosses it to the side, her sports bra following suit.

"I...but, are you sure? I swear you don't have to, it was just a silly hobby of mine, I..."

"Get your drawing stuff out." Mizu orders, pushing down her sweats, leaving herself only in boxers. You just nod quickly and clumsily gather your things, your face looking rather similar to a tomato.

Mizu throws away her boxers, finally releasing all of her skin and she is sculped like a goddess.

She has a toned body, muscles showing from under her skin, abs almost winking at you and her perky tits being decorated with her hard ripples were just the cherry on top. She has a pretty happy trail leading to her bush, that is guarding her lips.

You swallow thickly as she settles in the chair, looking directly on the bed where you sat down to draw. She spreads her legs, leaning back and her elbows resting on the armrests of the chair.

She looks better than ever.

You can't look into her eyes as you start sketching her body, hands slightly shaking.

"I can't read your notes now, so say them out loud." She breaks the silence, her voice low and breathy. "Tell me what you think."

You bite on the inside of your cheek, glancing up and meeting her gaze.

"Her uhm...her body is...something to die for." You murmur as your hand moves the pencil quickly.

Mizu's eyes never leave you. Her chest starts moving up and down visibly, and she feels her insides twitch everything you glance either at her tits or her pussy.

"Is your view okay?" She asks and before you could answer, she reaches down, spreading her lips, showing you her light peach colored skin that is now slowly dripping out slick.

Your mouth almost falls open, and you quickly start sketching a close up of her entrance on the side of the page, almost not even looking at the paper, but only at Mizu's skin.

"You're enjoying this, huh?" Mizu murmurs, her own lips forming a small smile. "Perv."

"...sorry." You murmur, and look down.

"Want an even better view?" She asks, spreading her legs even more. "Come here then."

You jump at the opportunity and kneel between her legs. You just stare at her pretty pussy as it pumps out her juices. But before you know, Mizu's legs wrap around your head, pulling you right into her. You don't hesitate, and start slurping up her slick right away, your tongue eager to please.

"You taste so good...the best." You murmur into her as groans of pleasure start leaving her lips.

"Yeah? Fuck...keep going...tell me more." She breathes out heavily, sliding deeper into the chair's back. "My pussy is the best, isn't it? You love it..."

"Yes, the best..." You whimper out pathetically, eyes staring up at her as you start slightly making out with her hole, your nose pushing into her bush. "So good, so pretty..."

"Oh fuck...just like that, mhm..." She moans as her hips start moving up and down, rubbing herself against your face...and you love it. You'd rather suffocate right now than stop. You moan into her, pleasing her giving you equally as much pleasure.

"Please...please cum...please give it to me, please please..." You chant between thrust of your tongue.

"Yeah...fuck...want me to come? You want it so bad, huh?" Mizu moans, her hand slowly finding her own breast and starts playing with her nipple. You nod eagerly as you suck on her clit, making her squeeze her thighs so hard around your head, they almost crushed your skull.

After a couple of moment, you felt her soft and warm release drip down your throat, and you happily swallowed all of it. "Fuuuck...yeah, drink it...all, okay? Mhm...yeah you love it..."

Mizu relished in the powertrip as her legs slowly let you go, and watched your head emerge from her pussy, soaked but with dreamy eyes.

"Next time, when you wanna draw me," She whispers, grabbing your chin. "Just ask."

#blue eye samurai #bes mizu #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu x reader #bes x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu fanfic #fanfiction #bes smut #smut

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shepscapades · 4 months

Note

GOD DAYUM

So the part 5 thing huh? Welp IT'S GOOD I LOVE IT

Because X is my blorbo I just wanted to point out some things here

MMMMMMMM HE HAS LONG HAIR??? I mean *looks at my posts* long hair fits him absolutely [Still not sure if he has long hair or not but looks like he has his hair tied in a ponytail or in a bun, I don't know it just looks like it on the second image]

[oh and also he called him "Doc" again, instead of Docm which I don't know what could mean in this situation yet, but one day it'll probably make sense as we get more parts]

This Etho right here looks either terrified or confused, and I think it's because

X is going to go absolutely crazy and he's scared that X is now in control [based on the "you dropped your crown king'' caption that might refer to Etho who isn't the attacker anymore but could also refer to Xisuma which I'll explain later]

2. He finally snapped back into his senses

3. he sees X without his helmet for the first time and his good 'ol computer brain is like '??????? Who tf is that"

"you dropped your crown king" could also refer to X as his helmet got destroyed in process [being the crown] and from what I know, we don't know the reason for why X wears helmet in this AU. The most popular headcannon for his armour and helmet is that he's a voidwalker and can't breathe in the overworld, we don't know if it's a thing in this AU but if it is that could mean that now he's powerless, he "dropped his crown" - he became weaker, powerless against his enemy. Also Doc looks kinda scared, or maybe just surprised after seeing X's face for probably first time. [if he's scared, then he's probably aware of Xisuma's condition when it comes to air]

NESTLE CRUNCH

But also poor Doc he looks horrified

ALSO

*looking for lore through old posts* huh these seem familiar... WAIT

AND THE DATE THOSE WERE POSTED

[it's in Polish sorry, but it says 13th October]

SO THE COMIC HAS BEEN SKETCHED OUT SO EARLY?? Damn those really take long to do, I mean I was aware of that fact but It's been like 3 months since those sneak peeks have been posted and WOW THAT'S A WHOLE LOT OF MOTIVATION YOU HAVE HERE SHEP

[also only now noticed how in this panel Etho's body sketch is red as a sign that he's the danger in Doc's eyes and Xisuma's is green/blue. Oh and in the first sketch X didn't have his hair visible in the visor hee hee ]

So yes, loved it, even if there were only 3 images I still think it's amazing ! We got to see your Xisuma a bit [he- he handsome -makes big eyes]

Sorry for the long ask again!! just!! excited!!

Now I'm going into my drawing cave as I'm full of inspiration already bye bye <333

(also also to reiterate, I have no idea how long part 6 will take since I just kinda have rough storyboarding for the rest of the comic, and classes just started up again— this is my exhibition semester so most of my drawing energy will be prioritized for my grad gallery… we will wait to see how much energy I have left by the day for destruction :3)

ALSO ALSO ALSO! “You dropped your crown king” was absolutely me trying to find a silly caption for what’s supposed to be a serious/dramatic part of the story while also referencing the fact that Xisuma’s helmet shattered/fell off— there are many conspiracies and clues to be had here but I just wanted to clarify that that line is not one of them SFKDFGHJ

I will therefore also not directly respond to anything else being discussed here BUT thank you as always for sharing your theories and analysis!! It always makes my day >:D

#LOVE IT #dbhc ask #1-marigold-1 #ask #dbhc xisuma #dbhc doc #destruction #dbhc etho #the shepherd #my sona #art escapades #dbhc theories

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intimacyequalsdeath · 6 months

Text

A Father's Love (If you can call it that)

The reader is gender neutral but is John Kramer's child. Kramer's kid and Hoffman have been in a secret relationship that they think Kramer doesn't know about until he decides to cross a line and test Hoffman's Loyalty to you in the only way John Kramer knows how.

Notes: Minors DNI, No smut but not SFW. Gender neutral reader with no major pronouns used, probably a random they/them scattered throughout.

Your head pounded as your eyes cracked open. Your head felt heavy as you raised it up to peer around the room you had come too in. The room looked all too familiar to rooms you had seen in your father's traps.

You felt yourself freeze when an old model tv that you hadn't yet noticed in the corner of the room lit up. A grainy image of your father's puppet coming into view as you were suddenly met with two ugly truths.

Your head, felt heavier then usual due to the fact you were strapped into what your father referred to as a reverse bear trap. Something you had only ever seen in his drawings and models but never seen in action. A trap your boyfriend, his apprentice, Mark Hoffman has also come face to face with a time before that he didn't like to talk about.

The second ugly truth was the fact that you were now front and center in one of your own fathers traps. You thought yourself to be safe as John Kramer's only living child, surely blood is thicker then water, right?.

You felt tears well up in your eyes as the puppet on screen began to talk directly to you.

"Hello Y/n, my beloved child" It started, your own fathers voice echoing through your ears, you still couldn't bring yourself to think he'd actually do this to you.

"For this last year you and detective Mark Hoffman have been hiding something from me. I have given you two all the time to come to me with this so we can sort things out but that offer has come up empty."

Your blood ran cold, your father knew about you and Mark? Where even was Mark? was your father testing him too?

"Therefore I have decided that it is time to test the both of you, so I can see where Mark's loyalties truly lie when it comes to you. Mark has been placed somewhere in the basement of this building and will have 30 minutes starting now to find you and use the key on the inside of the door to set you free from the bear trap."

Your eyes flicked to the red timer over top of the door now reading 29 as the time ticked down from 30. With the bear trap in your mouth you weren't able to scream to help Mark find you. Your father knew exactly what he was doing.

"If Detective Hoffman fails to find you within the 30 minutes, the trap will go off putting an end to your and Hoffman's secret rendezvous and telling me everything I need to know about Detective Hoffman"

You started to sob around the trap, Your hands balling into fists as much as the restraints would let you. Somewhere in the distance you could hear Mark barreling through the house while yelling your name.

The tape clicked off as your eyes focused on the timer steadily ticking down above the door. The image was blurred through your tears but you could make out a 25. Five minutes had already passed as you were trying to keep yourself from panicking.

Your father had told you once, that most of the people he had trapped their downfall wasn't him. It was the fact that they panicked. Your eyes began scanning the room for something you could try and knock over to indicate to Mark which room you were in.

You noticed a rolling cart that was in kicking distance and the fact that your legs weren't restrained. This is exactly what your father wanted to happen you thought. You kicked the rolling cart as hard as you could and sent it into the stand that the tv was sitting on, Knocking the tv over and breaking it.

"Y/n? Baby?!" You could hear Mark yell from somewhere much closer then before, It had worked, Mark was getting closer.

Your eyes quickly scanned for something else you could use to make more noise as you heard Mark's footsteps towards what you could only assume was the end of the hallway. Your flicked up to check the time the clock above the door read 15 minutes left, you had to hurry and get mark here.

Your eyes met an old standing lamp in reach of your chair. Without hesitating you lifted your foot up and smashed it as hard as you could. Knocking the lamp over and breaking the shade and bulb inside of it.

"Y/n!" You heard Mark yell as his footfalls stopped outside the door you were in. You let out a muffled scream hoping to whatever god that he heard you.

Your prayers were answered as with three giant crashes he had broken through the door and spilled into the room. His eyes met yours as the relief of seeing you and anger at your father washing over him. He started to approach you but you shook your head and frantically motioned to the key hanging by the door.

Mark, having worked with your father before, picked up what you meant and turned to look for the key. Your eyes caught a red 10 flash above the door as Mark frantically looked, his fingers finally finding the cold metal of the key to the trap.

The clock red 8 minutes when he finally made his way over to you and slipped the key into the lock of the trap on your head. Disconnecting it from you and throwing it across the room.

Your sobs and the sound of Mark trying to calm you down as he untied you from the chair were the only things heard in the room after the clock had stopped ticking. Once you were untied Mark sat back on the floor as you slipped from the chair into his lap as he held you.

"It's ok sugar I promise" He shushed you "shhh Baby your safe now, I got here in time, You made noise to tell me where to go and I got here in time baby"

You buried your head in his neck as he rocked the two of you back and forth as your sobs died down.

"M-my dad" your voice broke as you talked "H-he was gonna kill me Mark" You brought your head from his neck and your eyes met his as fury washed over them at your father.

"I know sugar, He told me on my tape what he did, How he's known about us for a year and this is what we were getting for not telling him, he didn't tell me what trap you were in so I didn't know you couldn't scream for me and let me know where you were" He told you as he brought his hands up to cup your face and used his thumbs to dry your tears.

You put your hands over top his as you closed your eyes to try and take in everything that had transpired over the last 20 or so minutes. If your dad thought everything after this was just going to go back to normal he was wrong, so very wrong and you were almost certain Mark felt the same.

'What's that?" You heard Mark ask, You opened your eyes to see him Looking at the chair you were strapped to. You turned and followed his line of site to see a tape player taped to a leg of the chair.

One placed just perfectly that you wouldn't have noticed it while you were still sitting in the chair. Mark brought you into him once again, holding you to him with one arm while the other reached for the tape player and ripped it from the leg of the chair.

He leaned back once again and pressed the play button. The two of you waited as you heard crackling followed once more by the voice of your father.

"If the two of your are listening to this tape then that means Mark has successfully found you and disarmed the trap" You shut your eyes and leaned against Mark as he scoffed at your fathers words.

"Now I can reveal to the two of you, that had Mark failed in finding you the trap would not have gone off when the timer ran out. What you are wearing is a prototype that still doesn't work. A simply for show model if you will"

You looked up at Mark as you felt him begin to shake with anger that your father would not only make you think you were about to die but toy with you by using a fake trap.

"I'm sure the two of you are none to happy with my decision to do this. But as a father I needed to test the loyalty that you, Detective Hoffman have for my child. Mark's urgency to get to you and disarm the trap before it went off whether it was fake or not shows not only the respect he has for me and my traps to not for a second think they were fake or a joke but the loyalty and urgency he has to protect my child even if it means nearly costing him his life as in the basement he ran into various traps himself."

"What traps were in the basement Mark?" You asked him, He shook his head running a hand through your hair.

"Don't worry about it honey, worry about whether or not I'm going to kill your father for doing this to you" He said as the tape continued.

"There are a set of keys I placed inside the tv for the front door of the house so you two may leave and come back to the warehouse so we can discuss this further. I want to fully explain my reasonings of why I did this to the two of you even though I do not expect that to quell your anger at all. I will see the two of you when you return to the warehouse" the tape cut off.

Mark jerked his arm throwing the player against the wall and smashing it into millions of pieces of the cheap plastic it was made out of. You curled back into Mark, the last thing you wanted to do was go and face the man who had done this to you even if that man was your father.

"What are we gonna do Mark?" You said quietly.

"I don't know honey, I honestly don't have a fuckin clue" He replied holding you ever so slightly tighter.

"The only thing I do know is things aren't going to go back to the way they were, not after what that motherfucker did to you. No way" He seethed, You nodded in agreement.

Your father had crossed a line tonight. The burning of a bridge had begun and if it was up to Mark it would never be fixed.

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman #mark hoffman saw #saw movies #saw franchise #saw x (2023)#saw x reader

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splitster · 8 months

Text

answering more asks!!

featuring pom wraith, pingo, ocs?!, and older art check it out (three's some art 💖)↓↓

THANK you!! ohhh i do have old pikmin ocs... i actually revamped my old captain a while back, i can share him:

i had a whole crew of pikmin ocs who were a part of the S.S. Harmony, they were gonna be SUCH a nuisance to everyone they ran into...

i thought about making a rescue corps oc for fun. hrmm! maybe...

AHHH thank you!! i've seen a shocking number tags and asks from people saying that I'm apparently the reason they like Dingo now? and i have to say that is so mind boggling to me, because when i first played Pikmin 4 I didn't care about him at all!! he was a nothing sandwich to me... but then i drew him a few times... and started thinking... and then things went downhill and now i REALLY like him...

(referring to this post) i think dingo is better when he's withered

(referring to this comic) I HEAR YOU... I HEAR YOU... but if any tear at all would cause oxygen poisoning, i wouldn't be able to draw them all battered and cool :(

i imagine that there's a seal around the neck in case there's a breach in the suit's lining. so as long as their backpack (life-support) works and is connected to their helmets, then they can breathe✨

(referring to this post) Olimar would be horrified because he knows Louie, and if he sees that note there's only one thing it could mean! his coworker tried to eat pom!! if pom hasn't been outed as wraith and Olimar is questioning her, she'd just say Louie bit her and then refuse to answer any follow up questions 💖

Shepherd would be... concerned. she might think they have a weird fling going on and louie's talking about a kiss? she probably wouldn't realize Louie quite literally means he ate something from pom. oops!

that's a really good question... I'll be honest, with a lot of the "when and how did x happen" questions, there's not an official timeline or anything; the pom wraith au is sort of an umbrella with a bunch of different stories and what-ifs underneath it. although there was one story where louie does find out her secret!

louie and pom end up bridging their differences (with the help of olimar), and become good friends while pom is continuing the rescue effort. then there's a very unfortunate incident where pom and louie are away from the base and they're attacked... pom has to reveal herself to defend them and she accidentally hurts louie :(

its fine though, louie doesn't care what pom is. they're both freaks in his mind and that's all that really matters. he does end up having to defend pom from olimar (who's been made vindictive through his trauma with the plasm wraith) sometime later!! here's some older art:

sure

me too! they do NOT get along... louie's kinda pissed at her for chasing him around on PNF404 and beating him in dandori battles when he just wants to stay there and vibe. pom meanwhile doesn't understand him, he pisses her off too! she likes olimar a lot, and as an outsider it looks like louie doesn't appreciate the friendship olimar offers him. to someone who's trying to understand and participate in this whole friendship business, she thinks he's ungrateful and weird. they do not get along!! at the beginning at least...

AHHHH!!! THANK YOU!!! WAHH...🥺💖💖 i'm very glad you enjoy my silly little art style!! i want to make things very squishy so i appreciate that 💖

i don't think that man is going to live!

wait actually if you eat enough maybe you just turn into a wraith. that'd be scary! hopefully olimar's there to stop him

that's a fun thought! he would probably be able to sense that something is off about her. but he'd also probably just think "she's weird like me." honestly, the whole wraith thing doesn't really matter much to him -- the only thing it changes is that pom can now offer her tendrils as a skewer for his cooking at any time and location!

i think i'm gonna call her rose wraith!! and ohh, i didn't know that... i was just gonna call her rose wraith since she has a rose head. i'm creative i promise

(referring to this post i think) AHHH hehe... honestly, when Pom first learns about Dingo's fear of blood, she only tries to keep him from it because it's really annoying dealing with your coworker when they faint. he's like a sack of potatoes when he's knocked out. but yes, as they become actual friends pom will (subtly) do her best to keep blood away from dingo. it's fortunate she doesn't have any!

she might not get phobias, but she understands what its like to have a crippling fear, so she's empathetic!

THANK you. he has sunglasses. he's pretty cool

AHH THANK YOU... i like them a lot... 👉👈

let the marching pikmin give you the energy you need to practice🫡

#modpost #modask #pom wraith au #pingo #thank you for all the asks!!#i have more to get to so i'll make another post...

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queerfortress2 · 1 month

Note

hello, it's the spy anon here again! <3

that was perfect! he's my babygirl through and through idc if he's like 48. there's like barely any scraps of spy content on here so if i could please request another spy x reader headcanons where reader is an artist and tends to stare, or "study", his face (masked or not)? like they love just observing his side profile and memorizing every detail, even just drawing him when they think he's not looking.

u guys r the best!! have an awesome day

IM BAAAACKKKK <3333 HELLO AGAIN!! i would love toooo!! (babygirl = 40+ yr old men anyway) — mod medic <3

ARTIST!READER X SPY

i think he has some appreciation for the arts

like i think he has collect and commission art!! so having a lover who draws him for free would be a dream come true.

i think he wouldnt connect the artist to staring at first, thinking you're generally enamored by him. like. you love me you love to stare at me i know what you are

maybe comments on it every now and then to catch you off guard, its very funny to see your reaction. but to catch him without the mask on? yeah GOOD LUCK.

even the woman he had a CHILD with practically only saw him with a mask

he is rarely seen without it, so at the most i think you would have to use your imagination (and if ever finding out about scout, maybe use him for reference as well)

while sleeping one night, he probably managed to find your sketchbook lying around (or hidden, he'd still find it)

if you’re quick enough you could catch him but odds are he puts it back once he hears you waking up.

WILL bring it up in the morning and try to describe how he looks without the mask

(it looks nothing like him he just wants to look like that)

you are drawing spy propaganda how does it FEEL

overall you now have a number 1 model and you can’t get rid of him. he is.. ruder than most when asking you to draw him but he means well!! he just wants to be your muse,,

I HOPE THIS IS OKAY MY SPY-LOVING ANON!!

#mod medic #tf2 x reader #tf2 spy x reader #spy x reader #i love writing spy but i can never convey him without him being the WORST #BECAUSE HE IS THE WORST #SPY ANON OUR BELOVED

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fan-goddess · 3 months

Text

Chapter Two: A change of heart

Catch up on the fic here!

Chapter Summary: All your previous thoughts are thrown out the window as Abrahams prescience looms over you like a sort of ghost. And when you think you’ve sorted yourself out, you get one of the biggest surprises of your life…

Taglist: @valeskafics, @omgbrcat @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity @anjelicawrites @lexwolfhale @helaenaluvr @scarletbedlam @tumblin-theworldaway

Warnings: F masturbation, talks of arranged marriage, references to erotica books, (if I missed any let me know)

It’s become a strange sort of rhythm now between you and Abraham. He makes sure you know he’s there with a particular knock at the door, four sharp taps to be specific, and when you open the door like you always do, you acknowledge him quickly with a small smile and as little words as possible.

Though now, after the you had visited his home with the pie, he’s been acting different around you. More cocky, more flirty, more annoying. It’s like your fifteen year old selfs mindsets come back to haunt you. When he came to the house on a day he usually did not visit, you remember the blush that was spread on your face when Abraham made sure to compliment your mothers cooking skills, saying he bet yours were just as tasty. If you listened close enough, not that you did of course, you’d dare to think he was making an innuendo.

Yet since as much as you find yourself enjoying the thoughts of him in this new light, his boyish nature and charm certainly puts you off him considerably. Even if his eyes somehow manage to share the same shade of blue as the sky on a clear summers day…

Yet while you thinking one morning with a steadily cooling cup of tea in hand, the familiar four sharp taps knock you from your thoughts as if a sort of siren went off in your head. You take a deep breath before you unlock the door and open it, but it’s with a sort of horror when it suddenly hits you why Abraham had paused and is looking you up and down with a raised brow.

You look down, and realise you hadn’t changed out from your nightclothes into your day clothes. As of right now, you were standing in front of Abraham wearing nothing but an old t-shirt once once belonging to your father, and some worn purple leggings that leaves less to the imagine than you’d like to show the regular people.

You hope he doesn’t notice that last thing, but by the way he hasn’t stopped looking at you with such intensity, you can’t help but think he no doubt already has. Your embarrassment though only worsens when you see Abrahams eyes widen when they seem to skim over your breasts that stick out from your shirt. So with a dark glare, you quickly move to cover yourself with your arms in an attempt to get yourself as much decency as you could get right now. Even though you find yourself strangely thrilled at seeing the usually such stern man so unfocused and possibly even bashful right now.

“Weren’t very successful hunting today. We think the games beginning to pick up on our trails, so we’ll probably try something new next time and hopefully I’ll come back with something more.” He says, his hands awkwardly jerking out to hand you the familiar feeling of twine, where this time only two small rabbits hand by their feet. Their eyes glazed and lifeless as they stare into nothing.

“It’s all right. Can’t blame them for not wanting to be killed and eaten!” You half smile, attempting to joke that to your relief, draws a small chuckle from the almost human looking giant standing in front of you.

“Yeah, I spose so…” He continues to grin, even shaking his head slightly as he still stands in front of you. Though he looks at you suddenly and allows his eyes to take over your body once more, before turning to leave without another words.

You can’t help but feel like the rabbit hanging in your hand at that moment. Staring lifelessly into the distance with your mouth wide open as you think of how Abraham has left you alone in your doorway, with your heart beating faster than usual in your chest.

Your feelings though only seem to become even more conflicted over the next few days as somehow someway, your friends have managed to learn about yours and Abrahams recent involvement with each other. So you bet they take this information and seize it with tight hands, like a shark tasting first blood in the water.

“Oh I bet he’s so handsome up close! God those eyes!” One of them groans with her eyes shut dramatically, whilst the rest of you giggle at her girlish rambles.

“Careful Beth! It almost sounds like you’re in love with him!” Another shouts as you all now roar in laughter at the comical absurdity of it all. Even if you find yourself laughing not as much as the others who all hold their bellies with tears practically running down their faces.

“Seriously though, tell us! What’s he like? Is he really that closed off from everyone? Cause I won’t lie, the whole closed off mysterious bad boy thing works for him!”

“He’s…. definitely something alright….” You say, your mouth turning in a straight line as you’re unable to say how you really feel about it all, even if it all causes such churning in somehow both your stomach and your head. Much to your relief though, one of the girls you’re more closer with than the rest seems to catch on to your unwillingness, and thankfully manages to drag the conversation to some other more ridiculous topic the girls hurl themselves head first in.

The next few hours are filled with so many words filled with so many meaningless things. Some of you talk about clothing and what they’ll wear to random future events, and others whisper with a smirk about the latest gossip on those in town up the road. It wasn’t exactly easy to gossip about a small community you lived with, so you all whenever you could took part in listening with open ears. Usually you’d have joined in by now, laughing and gasping not so respectfully as some girl tells all about how the priests wife is most definitely having an affair with the butcher. Only now, you can’t find yourself able to focus.

Stupid Abraham manages to effortlessly consume your body hourly. It’s so stupid, and dare you even say it, really fucking cliche. A seemingly loveless girl reconnecting with someone from her past, whose suddenly turned super hot, and she finds him so attractive she can’t think of anything else? That’s so you that you want to bang your head against the nearest surface you can find.

The worst part is, is that when you’ve gone home and are laying in bed trying to figure it all out, all you can do is somehow manage to find even more reasons as to why he’s so attractive to you. The complete opposite of what you wanted...

Yet somehow, when you thought about his physical traits in particular, your body turned hot and your brain went to utter ruin.

You think about his arms, and how you want Abraham to use them to lift you into his arms and never let you go. The fact they’re littered with a whole variety of scars and tattoos as well doing nothing but make the heat inside your belly rage like a tornado.

You start to think about his naked chest, and It gets so bad that you find yourself trailing one of your hands under your underwear to your pussy, that with a shuddered breath you realise is practically leaking with arousal down your thighs.

Yet it’s worst of all when you recall his voice, and how he uttered that one specific nickname only he ever calls you, in that specific voice of his. Pretty girl.

It’s like your a teenage girl exploring your body all over again, you can’t help but think. Especially as you begin circling your clit with the tip of your fingers.

Soon though, you find yourself muffling your pleasure filled gasps into your pillow as you continue stroking your soaked folds. Your eyes tightly shutting and your breaths becoming laboured as you imagine what could happen if Abraham was in the room with you, making use of your willing body for his own selfish lustful needs.

You knew how sex was done in theory. Yet still, of course you had never actually seen what a penis looked like in real life. The closest experience being from when you’d snuck out through your window and read the naughty books displayed on the back shelf in the villages library. They had no pictures to help imagine the scene you were reading, but the words they used seemed helpful enough, though admittedly sometimes very confusing in how they were written.

According to the books, the man’s cock was supposed to be hard as it entered you. He was supposed to allow you to get used to his size (that part confused you greatly you must admit), as apparently most of the women in those books needed it, before thrusting his cock deeply inside of you in a rhythmic sort of pattern before he came deep inside her.

You think of Abraham doing this sort of thing with you as you continue to touch your aching pussy with your fingers, and you cannot deny it doesn’t get you somehow even more aroused than what you already were before.

You think of his rough hands covering the length of your mouth in an attempt to silence you, lest the both of you be caught. In your depravity, you imagine that he whispers naughty words in your ear like the men in the books do, and you feel yourself tighten around nothing and peak hard on your fingers. The warm liquid of your essence dripping down your thighs onto your bed from how intensely you came just now.

“What is that fucking man doing to me….” You murmur, closing your eyes and praying you won’t dream of the bastard whose consumed you.

To your relief, your sleep was so deep that night that you find yourself practically incapable of dreaming of anything. It’s so deep in fact that the only reason you wake that morning is because the light coming from your window shines so brightly that it blinds your eyes even when you haven’t opened them yet.

You lay on your bed disoriented, yet your head is still ditzy when you hear a familiar knock ring through your house. A knock you know all too well. Whilst you try to blink to steady yourself, with a groan and an uncomfortable feeling of confusion bubbling within your belly, you dress only to cover yourself of indecency by grabbing a lone long sleeved cardigan hung randomly in your wardrobe.

What’s Abraham doing here so early on a non-delivery day? You think as you open move to open your bedroom door and peak out. All you can see though is your mother and father covering doorway of the front door with their bodies, conversing in such short and quiet murmurs you can barely make out the words.

“What’s going on?” You ask, walking closer to peer around them to see if it really was Abraham they were conversing with, and why it exactly was they were doing so.

Your mother and father say nothing, only looking at each other for a quick second before parting to allow you past. Allowing you to see Abraham standing before you, where like most times, you see him carrying a rope in his hand. Only this time, it doesn’t contain anything like rabbits or pheasants. This time, it’s attached to the muzzle of a giant, beautiful, chestnut coloured horse.

You’re face is no doubt showing your confusion by now as you continue to wordlessly stare at it. Only you’re so focused on the horse, you almost miss Abraham clearing his throat slightly, before stating something that would both shock you to your core and change your entire future together forever.

“I’m here to offer this horse to your parents, so they’ll allow me to ask you to marry me.”

#abraham fanfiction #abraham grantchester #abraham fan fic #abraham x you #abraham fanfic #abraham smut #abraham fan fiction #abraham x reader #abraham imagine #abraham #ewan mitchell character #ewan mitchell fanfiction #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell imagine #my works

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squirrel-art · 8 months

Text

Finished my little compilation of Sav and her mobility aids! ID in alt for each.

Disclaimer that I'm able-bodied & open to criticism about my portrayal! Also I realized belatedly her rollator is parked in a way that would, in fact, not keep it from rolling the fuck around, my bad.

Further details about my design philosophy/Sav's symptoms under the cut.

I played Savtas through Consular Story Chapter 1 in Full Good Girl Mode, saving all the Jedi and using the shielding ritual whenever prompted. The side effects of the rituals are vague and inconsequential in-game so as to make the job of the writers and programmers easier; characters comment worriedly about the fact that you "look tired" and not much else.

Fortunately, I have none of these restrictions. I don't know how to scientifically quantify "life-essence", but in my canon the energy required to create and maintain the shields comes right out of the body of the shielder, and behaves first and foremost like a faster-than-sustainable burning of calories. In the short-term, Sav became dangerously malnourished and fatigued; in the long-term she developed PoTS and what I've been glibly referring to as "Force fibro" in my brain, because the symptoms she experiences are the similar to that of those who suffer from fibromyalgia in real life: chronic pain, chronic fatigue, disordered sleep, and brain fog.

Some of those physical symptoms are ameliorated via use of a mobility aid, so she's tried out a couple different types.

Rollator

Sav's mobility aid of choice, purchased somewhere at the beginning of Ch 2. Sav is prone to dizziness and fatigue, and has less difficulty walking than she does standing for long periods; the rollator helps keep her balance and gives her somewhere to sit for short spells when she needs to.

The wheels do make this device better for navigating flatter and more even ground, but I imagine she can swap the wheels out for all-terrain varieties. I wonder if you could put blades on them like ice skates, to move around on places like Hoth? Well, the brakes wouldn't work, so probably not.

As mentioned in a previous post on my other sideblog, the design and colors are meant to evoke the pillars of the old Jedi Temple on Coruscant. This model is bespoke, created to Savvy's whimsical specifications. It wasn't even that expensive; you'd be surprised how many discounts people are willing to offer a Jedi!

Chair

A gift from the Jedi Council upon her defeat of Terrak Morrhage and the subsequent quelling of the Force plague. It's a more expensive model, and comes with a sturdy stand to rest it on when it's charging or not in use.

Design inspo drawn from both canon sources and the wonderful hermitmoss' hoverchair headcanons post!

I deliberated for a while as to whether Sav would have been given a wheelchair or a hoverchair. I settled on hoverchair mostly because Sav wanted a certain level of independence in her movement, but nobody was sure how long it would take her to regain enough upper body strength to reliably push herself around in a manual chair.

Sav in this image is at the beginning of her recovery, but she does continually make use of her chair after regaining some of her weight and muscle mass. Her rollator became her device of choice over the chair in part because the chair is kind of bulky and heavy, and can't be easily collapsed for transport. She probably has a lighter, more maneuverable transport chair stored on the ship to utilize in a pinch.

Looking at the design of the chair, I am already dissatisfied with it - the seat isn't raked to keep her from sliding out of it, and the control panel should realistically be attached to an extension and not directly under her hand. We'll fix that in the next pass, I think, but for now this drawing is representative of the overall design and colors.

Cane

She's got a few of these! Most have an offset or contour grip because she finds them the most comfortable, and most have adjustable bases.

Her favorite is probably the non-adjustable wooden one she got from a craftsman on Alderaan, the only one she owns made of fully organic materials.

#bonus KOTXX-era Sav reveal in that third image!#i really like this set. wish i could draw it properly #the real boots in-game have the runes on them but i couldn't be bovvered #swtor #mirialan #star wars #star wars the old republic #jedi consular #jedi oc

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asterdisaster06 · 9 months

Text

i love you ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?

ghost x reader [exes], slight soap x reader [mostly platonic], platonic 141 x reader

Pt 1. Pt 2. 3.

summary > Soap interactions with you, bringing you food after you skip dinner in favor of taking a nap, Price wants to see you - see pt 1 for overall fic summary

word count > 1.6k

warnings > should be none

a/n > future chapters should be longer, this just felt like a nice cutoff and I'm just starting to get the hang of fanfic writing. gotta love our boy Soap though. it might be a while for the next chapter though since i'm working on other works too

ao3

“Goddamn, who let a little birdie in here?” He laughs.

Soap. You had heard quite a bit about this particular Scotsman from your ex lover. You had an inkling that you two would’ve gotten along, even bringing it up to Simon once or twice about meeting him. He denied your request, sighing goodnaturedly about how you two apart are already the death of him - let alone together. You claimed that this was all the more reason to meet him, or at the very least, let him know of your existence. Simon had always paused around this point and you had never pushed it, and now you’re kind of glad. The last thing you needed was another person that was no longer a stranger around this base. You were supposed to be having a new start, and that would be very difficult if MacTavish knew of your existence beforehand.

However, you hadn’t expected to run into one of Simon’s teammates so soon into your arrival on base. The world seemed to have different plans though.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to get to my room?” You ask politely, pulling out your information to show him.

“Aye, I do happen to know the way, follow me, Lass.”

You were honestly counting on him not knowing, but you’re realizing now that he’s the kind of person that would figure it out whether he knew initially or not. It seems like you’re stuck in the company of this man and his mohawk for a little while longer. It’s not like you particularly disliked him, in fact it was quite the opposite. It’s just the memories of your past are being dredged up by him, and his association with Simon wasn’t helping.

“So, what’s up with the mask,” He asks, drawing out the ‘a’ in the last word, coming off as teasing you.

You were attempting to come up with a half truth, because you truly hadn’t worn this mask minus on missions at your old base. It was simply this place that brought out that side of you. Or maybe it was a person rather than a place.

“I just find it comforting, y’know?” You decide on, finally. It wasn’t a lie, the mask truly did offer you comfort around here. It just probably isn’t for a reason that Soap would detect.

“I think you’d get along well with one of my masked comrades, maybe bond about hiding identities or somethin’” Soap chuckles.

You offer a slight smile in return, the anxiety that had recently left coming back in full force. You knew exactly who he was talking about, and you vehemently disagreed with what Soap had to say.

“You should join us for dinner after you get settled in, I could be your little tour guide,” Soap says, winking at you.

“I’ll have to think about it, stranger,” You offer back, smiling.

“Oh yeah! The name’s Soap. Soap MacTavish,” He laughs.

“You can call me Angel,” You say, blushing as you realize the implications.

He sends you a curious look with an eyebrow raise. “Oh? Let me at least take you out to dinner first, Bonnie.”

“Very funny, it’s my callsign. Like I assume yours is, unless your parents really hated you,” You joke, almost enjoying this banter with Soap.

“Oi, we don’t judge around here,” He laughs, referring to your silly callsigns.

“I suppose I’ll see you around, Soap?” You ask, ready to settle down in your own space. With your own silence to accompany you.

“Is that a yes to dinner?” He jokes, aware of the double meaning of his sentence.

“Oh knock it off, I’ll have to think about it,” You smile, wondering if this is how it could’ve been in another life. A life where you had actually gotten to meet Soap under different circumstances. You unlock your door, entering and turning back to see Soap still there.

“Don’t think too hard! I wouldn’t want you to worry that pretty little head of yours too much, Bonnie,” He teases, already deciding on a nickname for you it seems.

“We hardly know each other, and you have no clue what I look like,” You laugh, pushing him out of your doorframe, amused at his antics nonetheless.

“Oh, I’m sure you look slightly better than a troll under the bridge at least,” He says with a toothy grin. “You’re not ugly, are you?” He asks ironically.

“Quite the opposite,” You offer up with a crooked smile.

“That’s what I thought,” He says with a smile that rivals the Cheshire cat. “Now, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?”

“You’re a big boy, I’m sure you’ll be fine alone,” You say, tiredly. It’s not like you wanted to cut your friendly banter with Soap short. On the other hand, you didn’t exactly feel like socializing. Not after your tiring day already.

“Alright, alright rookie. But I am bringing something around later to make sure you eat. If it wasn’t me it would be Price, so don’t think it’s any trouble,” He says, predicting your words before you could even voice them.

“Who are you calling a rookie, Sergeant?” You chirp out.

“Are you not one? Price just mentioned that we would be getting someone new, or maybe I was zoning out when he mentioned your details. Actually no, I definitely was. I think I was throwing crumpled up paper at Gaz - you’ll meet him later,” Soap explains, smiling at the end.

Gaz. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick. Simon had spoken less of him specifically but whatever he did have to say, it was only full of praise. That or another story of his unfortunate luck lending him time hanging from a rope out of a helicopter. That story had always made you laugh.

“I’m technically a Lieutenant,” You manage to say between laughter.

“Jesus Christ, another one? I wouldn’t have coined you for one,” Soap exclaimed.

“And why’s that?” You ask, curious but already knowing the answer. People have always underestimated you based on looks and size. Starting from your first days at the academy to when you first got your callsign to even after you were nicknamed the ‘Angel of Death.’ Other soldiers had only reinforced Simon’s words that you weren’t worthy of your position, let alone the opportunity to even try.

“Just the way our Lieutenant, or I guess I should start referring to him as ‘First Lieutenant’ now, responded to the details that I didn’t hear. He almost seemed to be. . . worried about having someone else to worry about. Looking at you now though, I can tell we’re going to have nothing to worry about,” He ends with a smile.

Huh, that was new. You didn’t expect that from Soap, but you suppose he’s just full of surprises. Fitting for the demolitionist that has a knack for gunpowder filled surprises. Nonetheless, you had luggage to unpack and sleep to catch up on. You eventually get Soap to leave you alone to your devices, putting on your playlist and unpacking about half of your shit before getting too tired to continue. Laying back on your freshly made bed, your eyes flutter closed and you fall into unconsciousness.

A knock at your door wakes you and you shake off your sleepiness - rubbing your eyes and stretching as you do. The blurriness of both your vision and mind makes you almost forget where you are. Only for a second though.

“Open up, Angel!” Soap yells through the door.

He really had no capabilities of being subtle, did he. You stumble a bit getting out of bed but find your footing and make your way to the wooden door, turning the knob and opening it. The brightness of the hallway makes you flinch slightly before your eyes adjust to the lighting.

“What do you want?” You ask the man who’s simply standing and staring at you.

“You- you don’t have your mask on-” He stammers, seemingly caught between staring and shielding his face out of politeness.

“I mean, I don’t sleep with it on, and you did kind of wake me up, MacTavish,” You sigh, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Oh right! Here’s your food,” Soap smiles sheepishly, taking the tupperware out from behind his back. It has a silly little doodle of himself in cartoon form saying “Food for Angel, No touchy” which you found amusing enough to smile at.

“Thank you Soap, genuinely,” You offer up, taking his gift of food from his hands.

He smiles back at you, sending you a mock salute before heading off to presumably his room. Before he gets to the end of the hallway he suddenly stops and turns, yelling back at you that Price wants to see you in his office after you finish eating. He really waited until the last minute for that one, didn’t he? Despite the slight annoyance you held, it was overshadowed by the simple amusement you had watching the man. He might not have known you knew of his famous shenanigans before you even set eyes on him, but you would get there. You take a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of what the mess hall had to offer for today. It exceeded your expectations, but that could just be the fact that your old base had shit food.

You truly wondered what Price had to say to you, deciding that he was calling you down to fire you for the disrespect you had shown him and your apparent partner by leaving so suddenly. Obviously, it was not going to be that dramatic, but you still worried a tad bit. You were aware that you would likely be working alongside Simon, and some small masochistic part of you accepted this job despite it. Maybe in spite of it. You wanted to prove yourself to him, though you’re now realizing that he’ll eventually need to know your identity. Something you aren’t keen on sharing.

That part of you had been shed long ago, and now your new feathers have grown in.

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blackheart-6 · 27 days

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noelle holiday age progression chart

without height lines

explanations of designs:

hi yall

so, i actually finished this drawing like a week ago lol. but i didnt want to post a bunch of drawing in a row, and then i got sick, so i havent been able to post it till now!

its my imaginings of what noelle looked like as she grew up, and a potential adult noelle design! ill explain my thought processes about these designs below, if anyones interested 😁

i also plan on doing one of these with dess, but this one was pretty difficult, so it might be awhile before that (unless yalls are interested in seeing it?)

first off, im not 100% sure ill keep using all these designs. some of them im not that happy with (im no good at designing outfits 😔) but i just went with them so i could finish the drawing. so if anyone has any alternative outfit ideas for any of her ages, id be interested in seeing/hearing it!

secondly, something that may stick out to yall for all the designs is how tall she gets. its the same height i normally draw her with, but given how i usually draw her by herself you cant really tell how tall she is! i have 3 main reasons for why i headcanon her as this tall: deer are pretty tall irl, so having her be tall makes sense in my head; i just like the look of her being super tall, it makes me happy lol; and third, i personally also headcanon the holiday family as boss monsters (i think ive explained this headcanon before on here, so i wont explain again, unless someone is interested ^^). so yeah, she ends up being 7 feet tall as an adult, the second tallest in her family!

also, i gave all her children forms stripes in some way, as a reference to when monster kid in undertale says they can tell frisk is a kid because of their stripes!

now onto my explainations for individual drawings!

theres nothing really to say about her baby design. the only thing i did that might be new is give her faun spots! they are most plentiful on her baby form, but they persist until shes in her teens, i would say (on here you cant see them after age 7, but thats just because i imagine they are mostly on her back). and i gave her a cute lil onsie that says a-deer-able! if you guys cant read it ^^

this outfit i made for her toddler design is actually an outfit ive used in the past! i wonder if yall know what drawing it was? its pretty much the same as it was there, i just added a stripe to the shirt. i felt like overalls are so reminiscent of childhood, i had to give at least one of her designs them! i also added a little mistletoe to the front pocket, to make it more christmas-esque. and i gave her some bandaids, just cause.

7 years old is one of the designs i really struggled on, and im still not happy with it. i dunno if ive said this yet, but i headcanon noelle to be trans, so at 7 is when i decided she started realizing it. so here i gave her long sleeves and pants, to show how shes more hidden now because shes unhappy with herself, if that makes any sense? i was also trying to make her look a bit like a nerd, with the button up and khakis, just because its funny. but yeah, ill probably end up changing this design at some point :P

11 years old was one of the easiest to do, considering how ive had her design for this age for awhile lol. one thing i did change was going from 2 red/white stripes to one, but ive done that before, so it wasnt something entirely new. i also gave her a smile and closed eyes, cause shes happy being a girl 🥰. other that that, its the same, so yeah, thats it for this part

okay, this next design is a fairly different looking one than all the rest, but i have my reasons! at this point in noelles live, dess has gone missing, so i wanted to show her being sad and stuff. i also gave her shoes and long sleeves because she probably goes out looking for dess when she can, hoping to find a lead 😭. but outside of in-story stuff, this outfit is based off of an old one i drew, but its fairly edited, so i wouldnt be surprised if no one recognizes it even if they have seen my old stuff. she has straight hair here, to show how unhappy she is (idk what it is about straight hair it just feels sad) and because i wanted to give her different hair varieties on this progression chart. i gave her antlers 2 prongs each at this point, because the way i see deer monsters, their antlers show their growth/aging, so youll see them getting bigger and having more prongs as the chart continues.

this outfit for 15 is another one i dont like. i tried to make it similar to her current outfit, but still pretty different. im not even sure what precisely i dont like about this outfit, it just doesnt feel that good. for this one i gave her leg warmers because i used to (and sometimes still do) draw her normal outfit with them. i gave her the curly hair she has as a callback to when i used to draw her hair like that! but yeah, ill probably end up redoing this one too

for 17, i just gave her the normal outfit, so it was easy ^^. in game i think shes 16, but close to turning 17, so i just went with 17 here to fit the +2 age pattern thing i had going on. i also gave her an extra horn prong than i normally give her, just to show age once again

finally, her adult design! i dont like this one either lol. i spent so long trying to think of what outfit to give her, but i couldnt come up with something i liked >.< so i just gave her something simple. i feel like once noelle graduates high school and probably goes to college she branches out more and tries things her mother never let her do, which is why i gave her an outfit like that, that has a crop top and a shorter skirt. also, yalls might recognize the hair style i gave her, i drew a potential adult noelle before and i gave her the same hair ^^

i think thats all for the post! i probably have more thoughts that im just not thinking of, but its fine for now. i hope yall enjoyed the drawing, and if you have any question or comments or whatever, go ahead and say them!! if youve made it this far, have a cookie, you must be hungry after reading so much ^^ 🍪

#art #my art #digital art #deltarune #noelle holiday #deltarune noelle #age chart #age progression chart #progression chart #finally did this #(i mentioned doing it awhile ago)#im kinda mixed on my feelings about this #but if yalls wanna know about that i talk all out it!#this took forever lol #also #trans #transgender #trans noelle #gotta love transbian noelle ^^

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

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you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 3

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 4

PART 3

The rest of dinner is pleasant, but not terribly emotionally eventful, comparatively. You survive by telling stories about Helen from when you were children, which John listens to with a wistful look in his eye. Maybe it's the wine, and the excellent food, but that sharp edge in his obsidian eyes softens, somehow. It is endearing, and your heart aches more than it should.

You are so full you try to decline dessert, but the special is a chocolate mousse and John insists you should split one, even if you only have a bite. You are not sure if the waiter brings one spoon on purpose, but you watch with fascination as John takes the utensil between his long fingers and scoops up a delectable little nibble.

When he offers it to you from across the table you think you might die. You have had far too much wine to not do exactly what you want to now, which is to accept the sweet morsel between your lips while meeting his eyes, wishing it was something else.

Your panties are drenched by the time the meal is through. You know that you are the worst, living vicariously through your older, better, sister, but just in that beautiful moment, its hard to care.

You can always hate yourself properly tomorrow.

John's hand finds a home at the small of your back as you are leaving. You know there are Feminist! reasons to hate when a man does that, but secretly it’s your kryptonite at the end of a long evening when there’s a crowd to navigate and you're tired and not really sure which way to go.

“Can I drive you home?” he asks, looking down that straight patrician nose at you. You could draw him from memory, you've studied his features so much tonight. You probably will, later, when you’re alone in your apartment with just the reminiscence of him.

“I live in Brooklyn,” you warn him.

He seems amused by this.

“I know.”

You pause for a moment at this. But then, it’s not so strange he knows. Helen could have mentioned it a hundred times.

“Okay.”

When the valet rumbles up in a sinister black American sports car, you lift an eyebrow.

“This is yours?”

“Did you think I would drive a Mercedes like some kind of asshole?”

The next car in the valet line is a Mercedes, and the stodgy old dude behind you who just exudes Old Money looks like he's received an extra stick inserted in his ass. You huff, your lips twisting as you are fighting a grin.

“Usually I would make a crack about a midlife crisis, but it really does suit you.” You'd heard tell of The Car, but had never actually gotten to see it.

“Kind of you to say.” It’s so deadpan it takes a moment for you to realize he’s teasing you.

He holds the door for you, and you can tell by the way he’s looking at you that he has not taken anything you've said seriously, or personally.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

The car is kind of bare bones inside, but it is undeniably cool. The sound of the motor is a tactile experience—you feel it in your bones as you pull away and take off down the street. You feel it other places too, as you look over at John seamlessly working the gears. Perhaps you look at him longer than what is polite, thinking about how once Helen used to sit in this seat, and they would undoubtedly go on adventures upstate, her cameras in tow.

You close your eyes, because you are tired, and you are thinking, and for the umpteenth time you are fighting tears. As you go across the Brooklyn bridge you roll down the window. The cool air helps clear your head.

The lights of the city at night from up high are a treat. Usually you're taking the subway.

Only once you arrive at your building and John parks on the street do you realize you never really gave him any directions. But once again, you shrug it off.

There is a long moment of silence after he turns off the engine. The intimacy of an enclosed car at night, the weak light of the street barely intruding. “Do...you want to come up for a drink?” you ask, before you can really stop yourself.

Another long moment passes, as he looks at you in the shadows of the car, undoubtedly weighing the merits of this suggestion. His dark eyes glitter in the night, and your heart is in your throat, hoping he'll say yes.

“Sure.”

He is watchful as a hawk of the street as you make your way to the security door of your walkup. He frowns when you simply pull the door open, no working lock.

“How long has that been like that?”

“At least a year. Shall we say the landlord moves at his own pace?”

“Give me his number.”

You laugh. “Ok.”

“I’m serious.”

You pause to look at him, his face half in shadow. A chill runs down your spine, the hair lifting on your arms; he is so beautiful, but there is something dangerous about this man. Something only your deepest instincts left over from the days of life in caves picks up on. It is…intoxicating, because somehow you know you are not the one who needs fear him.

Your landlord, on the other hand…you might be getting that new lock sooner than later.

You start to climb the stairs. When your heel catches the edge of the old wooden runner he is there, steadying you with a hand on your waist. You lean into him without a thought. He's taken charge of you, for the evening at least, and you are more than happy with the arrangement.

For the evening, at least.

Your key sticks in the vintage lock, the way it always does. The more modern deadbolt goes quicker. And then you are inside your humble sanctuary, and you can tell John is a little shocked by the cacophony before him. Helen liked the ordered balance of modern design, but you are a maximalist at heart. The walls are covered in art, your own, and friends’, and collected pieces as well. There are little shelves filled with curios from your travels and thrift stores around the city. What isn't filled with art is taken up by plants, on the floor, and side tables you have rescued from the curb over the years, and hanging from the ceiling too.

“Come on,” you say, taking his arm to guide him through. It's not actually messy. Everything has its place, and is fairly clean. The space is just full. “Have a seat. What do you drink?”

He lowers himself onto your cerulean blue couch, still looking around. It’s almost as though he forces himself to look back up at you.

“Bourbon, if you've got it.”

“Sure.”

You slide off your coat, hanging it on a vintage brass coat rack from an old hotel long defunct.

“Ice?”

“A little.”

You make his drink, and a vodka tonic for yourself. You cross the room to join him. “Thanks,” he says as you hand him his glass.

“Sure.”

He is still surveying the room, and you are content to sit in companionable silence while he takes it all in, used to this reaction from newcomers.

“Did you make these?” he asks, looking to a cluster of small but highly detailed portrait paintings on the wall closest to you.

“Yes.”

They had taken months with a tiny 20/0 brush. You can be…obsessive, when a project grips you.

“Impressive.”

“Thanks.”

“May I...” He pauses, taking a deep draught, nearly finishing his drink in one go. “I overheard, this morning. About the piece, with Helen's photographs. I know Helen said you don't like people in your studio, but I was wondering...if I could see it.”

It dawns on you that this is the reason he agreed to come up. Possibly the reason he took you to dinner too. You are relieved, in a way, even if your heart aches a little for it.

Even though it’s true that you usually hate letting anyone into your studio, the place where you think and dream and create, the resting place for the unborn and half-finished creations of your imagination, you do not hesitate in your answer.

“Yes. Of course you can see it.”

You stand from the couch and hold out your hand to him without thinking, and he takes it. It’s as though you both know you're going to need a little extra emotional bolstering for the task ahead. You take him to the second bedroom that is your art studio. The smell of linseed oil and paint is heavy on first entry, though you are used to it.

Helen’s piece is still on your easel, the most recent thing you’ve finished. Usually you like to work small, but this canvas was five feet on both sides. It took you months to go through the boxes of photos she’d left you, then to lay it all out, deciding which photo went where according to value and structure. You could have done it easier with photoshop, but the personal quality of this project demanded completion by hand, from start to finish.

To complicate things more, you used a transfer technique to affix them to the canvas, giving the images a hazy dream-like quality. In between it all you had painted with miniscule strokes, miniature scenes and tiny embellishments, adding color, pumping up contrast and value. There were words she had said to you, short one sentence stories from your childhoods, and miniature daisies sprouting through the cracks. It was a galaxy of image and memory, each square foot containing a multitude. Yet when you stood back and unfocused your eyes, it was unmistakably her face looking back at you, larger than life, beautiful and filled with warmth.

The subject of the photos ranged from her arty pieces of architecture and landscapes from trips she’d taken, to more candid shots of family and friends. There were also several images of John, and it occurred to you that maybe you should have okayed that with him. You’d been working in the pitch of such a fever dream with the materials Helen had left you, it hadn’t even occurred to you at the time to reach out to ask. You’d made this piece in a damn near fugue state, swinging between working rapaciously and crying in a ball on the floor. There had been some catharsis in finally finishing it, but the process had damn near killed you.

“I hope it’s okay…that you’re in it,” you say as he stands before the canvas, his exacting gaze taking in every detail of every inch.

He has not let go of your hand; in fact, his grip has tightened almost painfully upon your fingers. You don’t think he realizes he’s even doing it, and you let him hurt you, the way you’re pretty sure you’re hurting him with this visceral reminder of the life of the woman he’d loved.

“I’m honored,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion, his jaw clenched. “Such a full life she lived.”

“Only the good die young,” you answer, barely able to raise your volume above a whisper against the constriction in your throat. “It’s not fucking fair. All the horrible people in the world…and the fates took her.” Your voice cracks. Your eyes are burning, and you know you are on the brink of losing your shit again. He pulls you in against him, and there are no arguments this time about preserving his suit or your dignity. It’s too easy, to settle into the solid warmth of his chest. This man feels like he could be a bastion against all that is bad in the world; it is hard not to wish to just stay there beneath his chin forever.

“I would have traded, if given a choice,” you whisper into his collarbone. “In a heartbeat.”

“Me too,” he answers. “But she never would have allowed it. She loved you beyond measure.”

You give a tinny, sad little laugh—or maybe it’s a sob—for the tragedy of it all. You know that no one—no one—will ever love you the way Helen did. Will ever protect you, the way Helen did. You will wander the Earth for the rest of your days with a Helen-shaped hole in your heart that will never heal.

“I know she felt the same about you.” Minutely you lift your head to look up at him. “It’s easy to understand why.” You touch his face lightly, wiping away the tear that is hovering on the blade of his cheekbone with the side of your thumb. When you realize how casually you have invaded this man’s personal space, this man who has been so kind and tolerant of you, you try to draw away. But his hand covers yours on his cheek, the scruff of his beard surprisingly soft beneath your palm.

Your eyes meet, and you can see that John is drowning in the loneliness of so much loss. You reckon you look about the same; this day has left you feeling like you fed your heart through a meat grinder. Pushed to the brink, perhaps there is little wonder that when his face descends, you do nothing at all to fight it.

Yet he does not kiss you.

His lips hover above yours, and you think you might expire of longing, caught in the limbo of waiting. He brushes the tip of your nose with his. It is almost unbearably sweet. You feel like it’s a gesture between two people who have been in love for ages. A remembered gesture, a sweet habit left from a different relationship, a different woman you resemble, but can never really be.

You should stop this. You should back away before you both get hurt. But then his lips touch yours, and any small amount of resolve you might have worked up to do the right thing shatters.

At first it is the simplest press of lips; light, and sweet. He is shaking; or maybe it’s you who is? He rests his forehead against yours, savoring the moment, or trying to talk himself out of whatever it is he is about to do.

It’s his choice, you know.

You no longer possess the willpower to stop him either way, and your wicked heart rejoices when he leans in to kiss you again. Still, he is gentle with you, as though you are a thing in his grasp that might break.

He isn’t wrong about that, and yet as the kisses go on, you feel it in him when something snaps—the change is sudden, and visceral, and you cannot withstand the onslaught as he slants his mouth over yours. It is like being caught in a hurricane, grabbed up by his inexorable strength and the fury of his desire. You’re not really a small woman, but he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing at all, backing you into the wall.

You know it’s wrong, somewhere in the back of your head, but it feels so good. Or maybe, it could be right? Maybe it could be ok, to take comfort in this certain someone who also loved the person you lost. Doesn’t that balance, somehow?

You are full of shit, but you also don’t care.

All you know is that he’s hiked your leg over his hip as he’s kissing you, and you can feel the hard length of him pressing into your center, and you might collapse with the heady pleasure of it all.

You reach for his belt, but he catches your hands, panting as he presses his forehead against yours again. “Let me touch you?” His words are laced with such a mix of fragility and need that you know no matter what he asks you for tonight, you won’t say no.

A trembling sigh escapes you as you nod, and he kisses you again, hard and hungry and you’ve never surrendered so willingly to anyone before in your life. He’s running a hand up your thigh to the molten core of you, pushing your underwear aside to slide a single long finger inside your desire-slicked body, and you are lost.

Utterly wrecked, and irrevocably lost.

He toys with your swollen little clit with his thumb while he finger fucks you, his mouth on your neck and you are so close, before he picks you up all together like you weigh fucking nothing, and walks you to the couch in the other room. A vague thought enters the cloud of your sex-addled brain, a small sense of relief that he has removed you from Helen’s watchful gaze on the easel.

Any guilt you might feel vanishes with the thrill of him dropping you on the soft cushions, which is only topped by him dropping to his knees before you in that beautiful suit, (that beautiful suit!), and hooking his fingers in your panties, practically tearing them down your thighs.

There is a moment of eye contact, that burning dark stare that bores a hole straight to your soul, before he falls on you like he means to devour you whole and lick the bones clean. You’ve never felt anything like his furious mouth on you, the hard licks and soft kisses, the circling of his tongue around your clit, the relentless pleasure he mercilessly bestows until your back is arching and you cannot stop and you cannot wait, you are cumming in his mouth.

It’s the most magnificent thing you’ve ever felt, this fierce and fiery pleasure that is like fireworks inside your cunt and across your skin, and he keeps licking you slowly through the tremors and the aftershocks until you beg for mercy.

There is a moment of reverent quiet, while he rests his cheek on your thigh, your hands stroking his long dark hair. But when you try to reach for him, “Come up here,”—you are suddenly in his arms again, and he is carrying you to your bedroom, laying you down. You expect him to climb in with you, but with a flourish he covers you with the sheet, effectively trapping you, pressing a hard but reverent kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, y/n.”

“Wait!” you plead as he is walking to the door, dizzy from the whiplash of this change of direction. You hate the desperation in your voice but at the moment you’re unable to care. “Where are you going?” Even you can hear how pathetic you sound.

He stops in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. His profile is half in shadow. He looks like a masterpiece by Carravagio, beautiful and terrible to behold. You want to paint him in this moment, almost as badly as you want to fuck him.

“I’m going home.” You cannot tell if that is regret in his voice, or pure exhaustion?

“Why?” You know you sound wretched, like the lost little girl you are inside.

“Good night, y/n.”

Then he is gone like a shadow, like he’d never been there at all. You barely even hear the front door snick shut. If it was not for the glorious soreness between your legs, maybe you would have thought it was all just a magnificent dark dream your twisted little imagination thought up.

You weren’t usually prone to such dramatic thoughts, but it was possible that John Wick had just ruined you for all other men, and you didn’t even get to see him naked.

PART 4>>

Part 1 Part 2

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #i'm so sorry i'm sorry for everything #john wick fic #john wick x you fic

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