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wheresarizona · 20 days

Text

but I would die for you in secret

summary: The relationship you have with Joel Miller is… complicated, and you’re not entirely sure what to even call it. There’s the fact no one can know, so his kid doesn’t find out, and you’re pretty sure he’s ashamed of your age difference—he’s not your boyfriend, but you only fuck each other; this thing started months ago, and Joel does not like it when men give you attention, because he wants you all to himself. But again, he’s not your sexy, older boyfriend.

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, porn with some plot, explicit smut, Possessive Joel Miller, Joel being a lil dominant, age gap (unspecified, reader is an adult), secret relationship, sneaking around, accidental voyeurism, edging, orgasm denial, mutual masturbation, dirty talk (so much), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), rough sex, explicit consent, creampie, spanking, spit as lube, love confession, Good Parent Joel Miller, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, TLOU AU where Joel doesn’t lie to Ellie and they’re good when they get back to Jackson)

word count: 7.1k+

a/n: Hey! I needed a break from my long fic that I’ve been writing nonstop for five months, and I was really missing Joel and Ellie, so here we are. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to @juletheghoul for betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist - One Shot

The relationship you have with Joel Miller is… complicated.

To start with, there’s the age difference. It doesn’t bother you at all, and why should it? You’re both consenting adults who know what they want, but he’s got this idea in his head that he shouldn’t be chasing someone so much younger than him and that you should be with somebody your own age—he mentions this almost every single time you’re alone together, and you've learned a simple flash of your tits or a sudden kiss will make those thoughts disappear.

Then there's the fact he isn't your boyfriend, yet you only fuck each other. His days are spent working whatever job he’s assigned here in Jackson and he’s at your place most nights after his daughter goes to bed—however, that’s a secret; No one can know about you two, even though Joel’s a tiny bit possessive and doesn't take kindly to other men giving you attention; which you're not one to judge because you can't stand when women flirt with him, especially Sandra, his next-door neighbor who won't leave him the fuck alone after the many times he’s told her he’s not interested.

So, again, he's not your boyfriend, but neither of you wants to fuck anyone else; whatever this thing is between you has been going on for over eight months, and he doesn’t want people to know you’re together—yet, any time he catches a man being too friendly with you, there's a 100% chance a grumpier than usual Joel will show up at your house that night, and at some point, while he’s fucking your brains out, he'll let a 'Mine' slip out.

Clearly, you have some kind of relationship with him, and it borders somewhere between fuck buddies and him being your boyfriend; where it gets confusing is it's not all sex with him. If his kid is staying over at a friend's, he'll show up at yours earlier than normal, and usually, with a movie he hadn't seen since the world ended or a record he thought you'd enjoy that you both listen to all the way through for him to tell you facts and anecdotes that he could possibly be the only person on the entire planet who knows.

If you need anything fixed around your house, he'll do it, and sometimes you don't even have to ask. You'll mention something, and the next thing you know, he's at your front door with a toolbox—sometimes, he uses doing repairs as a ruse so people will see him arriving at your place with his tools when, in actuality, he’s there to spend the day with you.

You’re also probably the only person, unrelated to him, he has actual conversations with; there’s hardly any grumbling or muttering.

There is a reason he won't acknowledge you’re dating, and it's his sixteen-year-old daughter whom he doesn't want to know he has a love life—it's to where Joel's basically taken the role of the rebellious teenager, sneaking out of his own home in the middle of the night to ensure she's unaware he left.

It's an accumulation of factors why she can't know. The big two, you think, are your age, and you know for sure he doesn't want Ellie to think she'll be any less important to him or that he's abandoning her if he's seeing someone—he worries she won’t take it well, and from what you know she's been through, you can understand why he’s being so protective.

Do you wish you could openly be in a relationship with Joel? Sure, it'd make you happy to shove it in Sandra, his stupid neighbor's face that he's taken.

That isn't a possibility, though, and honestly, what the two of you have is good, so you're not going to make a fuss about labels.

It's been a few nights since Joel has snuck over to your place, and you know why he hasn't stopped by—Ellie—she's sick with a cold, and to put things mildly, her father is freaking the fuck out that it could turn into something worse, and he won't let her out of his sight.

Now, if a person didn't want their child to know they were dating anyone, they’d keep them separated, right? Well, you live across the street from them—that's how you met Joel; he saw someone had moved into the tiny one-bedroom, one-bath home across from his and came over to introduce himself—and since you live across the way from him, and Ellie, the two of you have this, 'Just being a good neighbor,’ act, where any interactions you have in public, are under the guise that you’re just friendly neighbors. So, Ellie has spoken to you many times and has even invited you to hang out and eat meals with them at their house or in the mess hall, where Joel always does his damndest to act indifferent.

Joel left a simple note three days ago stating Ellie was feeling under the weather on your front door. The next day, you stopped by, as the good neighbor you are, to drop off some chicken soup you convinced the kitchen at the mess hall to make. Joel had let you in with a ‘Thanks’ and took the large bowl from you to the kitchen, and you followed the sounds of sniffles to the living room, where you found the teenager wrapped in a blanket on the couch, her stuffed-up voice exclaiming when she saw you in relief you were there so she’d have someone other than her dad to look at or talk to; obviously, she was tired of him, and with how he was hovering, and fussing over her like a mother hen, you would’ve been tired of him, too.

The man had bags under his worried eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept since she’d gotten sick. After he served her some soup and saw she was eating it, Ellie and you convinced him to take a nap while you hung out with his kid—the kid you’ve had a suspicion for a while knows there’s something up between you and her father, simply because every time the two of you are alone, she grills you about your love life.

The thing is, she always fishes for information you won’t give her, but she never seems bothered by the prospect of Joel dating; frankly, she’s supportive and wants him to be happy. However, that wasn’t something you could tell him because he’d probably end things with you immediately, so you’d have to wait for them to eventually have a heart-to-heart for him to find out—which, you’re not holding your breath with how bad they both are at talking to each other about their feelings.

And now it’s been over three days since you last got laid, and after having great sex regularly, the horniness is hitting you hard tonight, and you need to come.

It might be the dead of winter, but you’ve pushed the blankets to the end of your queen-sized bed, the old sheets not as soft as you imagined they’d once been when they were new, your bare, heated skin pressing into them. You’re lying in the middle of the mattress, your head cushioned by a pillow that’d lost its firmness long ago, your naked legs spread while your fingers rub at your swollen clit just right, the others pinching at your pebbled nipple to have the pleasure welling up inside you. You’ve been biting your bottom lip so much it’s sore, your breaths panting from your lungs, the wood stove in the living room keeping your house warm, and that, combined with your arousal, has a thin layer of sweat coating your body.

Sure, you can get yourself off, but the orgasm will be nowhere near as good as what Joel coaxes from you; it’ll take the edge off, at least, so you’ll feel a little better.

For the last hour, you’ve been building yourself up, almost hitting your peak, and stopping, edging yourself over and over again to try to make yourself come as hard as you can by your own hand to assuage some of your need—the sheets are wet under your ass where you’ve dripped onto them.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, thinking about that one night Joel saw some guy about your age at the bar laying it on thick to get you to leave with him, and how after you turned him down and left, a familiar presence followed you along the dark streets. You had to keep quiet when those big, gun-calloused hands you knew all too well pulled you into the stable that had nobody in it except the horses—Joel fucked you from behind against a wall, having to brace yourself with your arms on it. You remembered his palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds and him blanketing himself over your back to have his lips at your ear while he pounded into you hard and fast, quietly grunting about how you were his and that no one could make you feel as good as he did. There was no forgetting how his cock stretched open your cunt, or how before he sheathed himself inside you, you heard him spit on his fingers to slick himself up; the way he made you come around him while he circled your clit with those same digits. The memory of how he’d worked himself up so much he’d forgotten to pull out and spilled deep in your pussy, has you so close to coming by your hand you moan loudly, “Joel.”

“Stop,” the familiar gruff voice makes your eyes snap open as you gasp, immediately sitting up on your elbows.

There at the foot of the bed is the man on your mind—he must’ve taken off his winter jacket in the living room—his green flannel shirt is gaping from most of the buttons being undone, revealing his chest, his grey waves of hair looking to be slightly damp from melted snowflakes. What steals your attention is the fact his jeans are unbuttoned and open, and he’s slowly stroking his hard dick; from how the tip is angry red, leaking precum, and his shaft shines, he’s been watching and jerking off for some time.

“Joel,” his name comes out as a whisper, and your eyes flick up to his, finding them dark and staring hungrily between your legs at your glistening cunt.

You’re so happy to see him you’re not even mad he ruined your orgasm, knowing he’ll make it up to you.

“How many times have you made yourself come while I’ve been busy?” he asks, finally meeting your gaze, his expression grumpy.

“No-none,” you stammer.

His eyebrow lifts. “You lyin’ to me, sweetheart?”

“No.” You shook your head. “Are you mad at me…?”

His face pinches in confusion. “What? No. I’m not mad at you, baby. I’m mad at myself for leavin’ you hangin’.” He undoes the last two buttons on his shirt and shrugs it off for it to fall to the floor, pushing down his pants to step out of them, now standing before you completely naked.

His body is a tapestry of littered scars that tell of his fight to survive this long, some from injuries you’re sure should’ve killed him. Yet, somehow, if by spite or the grace of God, he managed to stay alive—your fingers have traced many of them, mapping the silvery and pink lines in the quiet of the night with only the glow of a bedside lamp. With what people have to do in order to keep living these days, they rarely like to share the stories behind their close calls to death. Still, there’s a jagged scar low on the right side of his stomach lesser men would have died from, you noticed the first time he took his shirt off, and you always wanted to know the story of. Surprisingly, he told you how he got it a few months into this not-not relationship when you asked.

Excitement pools in your belly, your pussy throbbing needily, watching as he climbs onto the bed to kneel in front of you, between your legs, down by your ankles.

“Touch yourself,” he orders and takes himself in hand again, languidly pumping his cock. “I wanna watch you make yourself come; then I’m gonna show you how I’m better than everyone, includin’ you, at gettin’ you off.”

Your cunt clenches because he is better, and the promise has you doing as he said, sliding your hand down to the apex of your thighs to rub your clit the way you like while you watch him fist his shaft. This isn’t the first time he’s watched you touch yourself, and you’re sure if it was anyone else, you’d feel embarrassed, but with how the desire is clear as he stares at what you’re doing, it spurs you on.

Having been so close to coming when he told you to stop, and now, it’s turning you on so much that he’s jacking off to what you’re doing, all of it is building you back up quickly, the familiar heat growing at the base of your spine.

“Just like that, baby,” he rasps and wets his bottom lip. “Keep rubbin’ that pretty pussy—did you miss me?”

“Yes.”

He hums in the back of his throat. “Missed how good I make you feel—how I stretch open that perfect cunt with my cock? Do I fuck you so good, you were thinkin’ about me to make yourself come?”

The strokes of his hand sound wetter, your arousal drooling onto the bedding while the muscles in your belly begin to tighten.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“That’s right, you were. So fuckin’ pretty spread out like this for me—I wanna taste you, shove my face in your pussy, and drown in it; just look at how you’re drippin’ for me.”

“Joel,” you moan. You’re so close it’s not going to take much more.

“God, I fuckin’ missed that sound; I missed hearin’ your voice and how good you smell, how soft your skin is, and the few hours I get to sleep next to you—come for me, baby. Come all over your fingers, and I’ll give you my dick—I’ll make those gorgeous eyes roll back in your head and give it to you so good, I ruin you for anyone else.”

He’s already ruined you for anyone else, and you doubt there’s another who’d fuck you as good as him.

It’s the thought that he’s yours and no one else can have him like this that sends you over the edge, your body seizing up as you come, pleasure erupting from your center as you moan his name.

He doesn’t give you a chance to recover, batting away your hand to dive in and bury his face in your wet heat. He shoves his tongue inside your soaked hole, groaning loudly as he laps at your come, your body trembling when he drags the flat of it up through your folds to suck your clit between his lips. Your fingers press into his hair, soft sounds leaving your throat at how good it feels.

The one orgasm isn’t enough—you need more, his mouth igniting arousal to burn hot in your belly, making you feel achingly empty. He’s licking up every bit of your need, coating your sex, moving to flick his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re feeling greedy; what he’s doing isn’t enough, and you want, no, need him inside you.

You pull at his hair as you tell him in a somewhat whiny tone, “Fuck me, Joel—stop making me wait.”

His chuckle vibrates into your sensitive skin before he rises to kneel with a groan. “Impatient.” He smacks your thigh. “Flip, ass up.” And it’s not a suggestion, his hands on your waist helping you to roll over, pulling your backside up into the air while your torso is against the sheets. Your knees are sinking into the bed and spread a little, putting yourself on display for him, the mattress jostling when he shuffles forward, feeling his body heat behind you. His palm lands on your asscheek hard, the sharp sting making you moan. “Now, ask me nicely to fuck you.”

You should’ve known he wouldn’t care for your lack of manners.

Your head is resting on your crossed arms in front of you.

“Joel, will you please fuck me?” you ask as sweetly as possible.

“Yes.”

The sound of him spitting on his fingers meets your ears, and you know he’s slicking himself up. One of his hands holds your hip, the other guiding his cock through the lips of your pussy to wet it even more, nudging your clit—it doesn’t seem like he’s in a mood to tease too much. Your eyes slip shut when he notches himself at your entrance and starts slowly feeding himself into you, your tight, velvety walls expanding to take the considerable girth of him, whining as he fills you. He slides all the way home, your cunt throbbing around him.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he groans. “Is this what your needy little pussy wanted?”

“Yes,” you moan.

He’s as deep as he can go and pulls out until just the tip remains, and slams back into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs—oh, this is going to be one of those times where he fucks you to the point your legs are too shaky to walk on afterward. The pace he sets is deliciously brutal and has your eyes rolling back, all thoughts leaving your brain, unable to think with how he’s pressing into so many heavenly spots, his grip tight on your waist.

The sounds in the room are obscene—the springs beneath you are squeaking, and there’s the noisy slap of his hips colliding with your ass, Joel grunting with each dull smack of his skin to yours, while you gasp out moans.

He’s fucking you so good, your orgasm is already taking shape, its fiery tendrils tightening in your core with each stroke.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re so fuckin’ wet—I could live in this perfect pussy.”

His hand slaps your ass hard enough the crack echoes amongst the four walls, the sweet pain making you clench around him and press back into his thrusts, crying out his name.

“Does it feel good, baby?” he asks. “Did you miss getting fucked like this? You love this—this pussy is mine, isn’t it? You’re mine.”

He’s not wrong; you are his, and all you can do is mewl in reply, waves of your arousal seeping down his shaft to catch on his balls.

His gun-calloused hands adjust on your hips to get a better grip, pulling you back each time his dick impales you, fucking you harder and faster, hearing him panting behind you—the wet sounds of him working himself in and out of your drenched cunt, are loud, and lewd.

You’re so close; you’re just needing—

Joel leans forward to get his hand under your body to the swollen pearl of your clit, circling it how he knows you like it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he grits out. “Let me have it—soak my cock with your come. Let me feel you—I know you’re almost there.”

That’s it—the knot in your belly winds tighter and tighter until the tension snaps, and you fall over the edge with a silent cry, your pussy clamping down on him hard enough that it slows his rhythm almost to a stop. Joel groans loudly while euphoria explodes out from your center, feeling it spread to your fingers and toes. Your brain goes blissfully blank, and your legs tremble under you like a leaf in the wind.

A gasp leaves you when he suddenly pulls out and flips you onto your back, taking his place between your spread thighs. He puts your legs high on his ribs, holding his weight on one arm while his other hand sheaths himself back inside you.

It’s not surprising that you’ve found yourself under his hulking frame with his hips snapping in and out of you—when you open your eyes, his are closed, his expression looking pained, and it’s his broad shoulders and head that take up your vision. This is how Joel wanted to fuck you from the start, but he’s a gentleman and did your preferred position first.

Your fingernails end up digging into the skin of his shoulder blades for something to hold on to, and he kisses over your chest to duck his head, wrapping his lips around a stiff nipple and sucking on it, the shock of pleasure causing a moan to slip from your throat. His breaths are heavy, and you know he won’t last much longer.

Your voice is hoarse when you speak, telling him what you know he needs to hear, “I missed you, Joel.” He whines. “I want you to come for me.”

His mouth leaves your breast to crash against yours, and you’d been wondering how long he’d go without kissing you—something about kissing while he fucks makes him come faster; maybe it’s the intimacy?

He’s told you the last woman he was with back in Boston wouldn’t kiss him because sex between them was just scratching an itch, and she wasn’t looking for anyone to replace her dead husband.

All you know is Joel loves kissing and touching—he’s admitted that he sleeps best with you snuggled against his back as the big spoon, which, you’ll never tell him, you think is adorable with how he scares people enough, they move out of his way when he walks down the street.

His kisses are fervent, and you give just as good as you get, welcoming his tongue when it presses between your lips, his pace speeding up. You love having him inside you, the way he fits all nice and snug to fill you completely. This is what you’ve been needing, and it’s perfect.

When his rhythm gets uneven, you expect him to pull out at any second to spill his release on your belly. What he does next, you’re not expecting.

Joel shoves his face into the crook of your neck, his facial hair scratching your skin, feeling his hot breaths.

He says something that’s too muffled to make out, so you pull on his hair to make him lift his head, finding his eyes dark and glazed over, looking totally and completely wrecked. His pace slows to him rocking in and out of you.

“What did you say?” you ask.

“Can I—” he pants. “Fuck, can I come inside you?”

The question has your tight walls constricting around him.

“Fuck,” Joel hisses, his eyes closing. “Please, can I?” he asks again.

The answer that immediately pops into your brain is ‘yes,’ but thinking about how the only times this man has finished inside you in the past were all accidents, you’re worrying he’s just pussy drunk and not thinking straight; that if you fell pregnant, something you didn’t mind, he’ll regret it.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He looks at you and nods. “Yes, I know—” The consequences, he leaves unsaid. “—please.”

“Then yes, come for me, Joel—fill me up.”

He raggedly moans, his face falling into your neck again. His thrusts speed up and become frantic as he pounds into you, your heels digging into his ass, feeling the muscles flex. He works himself up until he presses into you one last time as deep as possible and comes with a guttural groan—his dick jerks inside you, and the hot spurts of his spend gush into your depths, filling you up. Electricity zips down your spine as you moan, your tight walls throbbing around him while he grinds his hips, fucking his come deeper.

The weight of his body is welcome when he eventually slumps onto you, and instinctively, your fingers slide into his hair, scratching your nails lovingly against his scalp, the man practically purring on top of you.

For the first time in three days, you feel happy and finally sated, loving how he’s stuffed you full of his cock, and come. There’s no talking as your heartbeats slow together and your breathing evens out, basking in each other’s presence. Your eyes are closed, and you’re choosing to ignore your shaky limbs.

It’s hard to imagine a life without Joel, which is odd since up until this point, most of it had been spent without him, or anyone really. What you actually mean is you don’t want to imagine a life without Joel and Ellie—you think she’s a great kid, and you have a soft spot for her; plus, she and her dad are a package deal. Then there’s Joel, who you’re absolutely and completely in love with, and it bothers you that you don’t know what this relationship between you is or if he even feels the same as you.

Minutes pass, the old, wooden bones of your house creaking as the winter wind gusts outside.

“Joel?” you break the silence.

“Mhmm?” he hums, nuzzling into your throat.

“What are we?”

“Huh?”

“What are we? Like, what is this thing that we’re doing?”

His head lifts, and he pulls out, rolling off you to lie beside you on his back, pressing his hands to his face.

“Somethin’ I shouldn’t be doin’ in the first place,” he finally answers.

You turn on your side toward him, propping your head up on your arm. “Take my age out of the equation.”

His palms lift, and he looks at you confused. “What do you mean?”

“For some fucking reason, you are stuck on my age—take it out of the equation; if that wasn’t a factor, would you openly date me?”

“Well, there’s Ellie—”

“—let’s pretend she doesn’t give a fuck about your love life,” you cut him off, “and actually wants you to be happy, and my age doesn’t matter—would you openly date me?”

“Yes.”

“So, you have feelings for me?”

“Of course.”

“Do you love me…?”

“Yes,” he whispers, covering his face again.

One word has your heart picking up in speed.

“I love you, too.”

His head whips in your direction with an expression of bewilderment.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m in love with you—have been for a while, and I’m fine with doing what we’ve been doing if that’s the only way I can be with you, but I kinda, sorta, would like it if you thought of us as a couple, and weren’t ashamed of me…”

A secret relationship? You’re fine with that. But Joel being ashamed of you? It fucking hurts.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says too quickly.

“Joel, if Ellie were okay with you having a love life, you wouldn’t openly date me because of how old I am—I’d just continue being your dirty little secret that one other person knows about.”

His eyes dart away, and the sigh he lets out is long and weary.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says. “I’m ashamed of myself for fallin’ for you and not bein’ able to give you the future you deserve. I just felt like I was stringin’ you along when you could be with someone who can offer you more, but I’m so fuckin’ selfish.” He looks at you. “I want you, and I don’t want anyone else to have you—I can’t let you go, even though I should cut you free.”

Your fingers brush back the sweat-soaked hair on his forehead. “I don't want anyone else, Joel—I want you, and you’re not stringing me along. I’m happy with you and any future I can have with you and Ellie.”

He’s frowning. “If only it were that simple,” he sighs.

This is a conversation you thought might make him end things with you, but maybe giving him a slight nudge will be okay—at least, you hope it will.

“It is that simple,” you tell him. “I’m gonna tell you something that if you can work up the nerve to talk to her about, she'll confirm it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Ellie doesn’t care if you date. She’s told me she wishes you weren’t such an asshole ‘cause then the only negative thing about you is how ugly you are, and people love ugly things all the time, and if someone loves you, then you won’t die alone, plus it’d hopefully make you happy, and she really wants you to be happy—that’s pretty much what she said word-for-word.”

His eyes close, and the sigh that leaves him is that of a father who’s real tired of their child’s shit, and you smile.

“That’s Ellie,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not even sure how I should be feelin’ right now.”

“I hoped you’d be relieved at least, possibly even happy.”

He looks at you. “Yeah, I’m relieved and happy but also a little ticked at her embarrassin’ me like that.”

Scooting closer to him, you lay half on top of him with your arms folded on his chest, resting your chin on them to stare at his pretty face.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It was said out of love—she loves you.”

He sighs again, wrapping his arms around your bare back.

“I guess she does, even if she’s mean. Jesus, I can’t believe I just needed to talk to her sooner.”

“That’s usually how things work—it’s called communication, and you should talk to her.”

His eyes narrowed, and he smacked your ass, making you giggle. “There’s no need for the sass, sweetheart, and I was plannin’ on bitin’ the bullet and tellin’ her about us in the next couple of days.”

Your eyes widened. “You were? What?”

“Yeah, uh, I had a hard time with Ellie bein’ sick, and when you came over, I didn’t feel like I was goin’ insane with worry. Havin’ you there made it better, and I missed you.” His lips dip in a frown.

“I missed you, too—you were really gonna tell her?”

“I was.” He nods. “With how happy she was to see you, I thought maybe she’d be okay with it.” He shrugs.

You smile. “I think you’re right,” you reply, giving him a quick kiss. Meeting his gaze, you ask, “Is she feeling better?”

“Yeah, and thank Christ, she is.” He looks visibly relieved. “I think it was that soup you brought over—thank you for that and for givin’ me a chance to sleep.” He pecks you on the lips.

“It was no problem. I would’ve been there the entire time had it not been suspicious.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Good. Sooo, I’m wondering, what are we now?”

“A couple,” he answers. “I’ve thought that for a while, but I’m too fuckin’ old to be callin’ myself your boyfriend.”

“I quite like having a sexy, older boyfriend.”

You squeak in surprise when he rolls you onto your back, your legs automatically opening for him to nestle his hips between. He’s holding himself up with his arms beside your head while yours loop around his neck, his lips pressing to the side of your throat, kissing the taut skin.

“You like havin’ a sexy, older boyfriend, huh?” His question is muffled, and you swallow hard when he sucks on your pulse point.

“I do,” you reply.

“I like havin’ you.” He’s kissing and nibbling along your jaw.

“‘Cause no one else can?”

He nips your chin, then hovers his head over yours to look you in the eyes.

His expression is serious. “Yes,” he says, “and I love you—if Ellie really doesn’t give a shit about me datin’, then every fuckin’ person in town is gonna know you’re mine.”

And something about that declaration thrills you.

“I’d like that.”

He gives you a small smile and kisses you for a moment before a thought comes to him, and he pulls back to meet your gaze.

“Maybe that neighbor, the annoyin’ one who doesn’t seem to know the meanin’ of no, will finally get it through her head, I’m not fuckin’ interested.”

You glare off into the distance. “Fucking Sandra,” you seethe.

The first time he met you, Joel knew he was fucked.

All he wanted to do was be polite and introduce himself to his new neighbor, then you opened the door, and his brain stopped working because you were so beautiful. It didn’t help when you blatantly checked him out, clearly undressing him with your eyes before looking entirely too pleased with what you were seeing.

If he’d been a stronger, honorable man, he wouldn’t have accepted your offer to come inside for a drink; he wouldn’t have kissed you back or laid you down on the couch to eat your pussy; he wouldn’t have let you choke on his dick or crawl into his lap and ride him; he wouldn’t have gotten so lost in being buried in your wet, warm, perfect cunt and your lips on his that he forgot to pull out when he came; he wouldn’t have gotten addicted and returned to you almost every night after.

If he’d been a stronger, honorable man, he would’ve ended things before it went too far and definitely before he fell in love with you.

From the beginning, he knew he was way too old for you, and he didn’t understand why you wanted him or kept letting him into your house. He had nothing to offer you, yet even when the opportunities arose for you to go home with men your own age, you rejected them and welcomed him into your bed instead. It made little sense that someone as young and beautiful as you would give someone like him all of your attention.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s told you that you’d be better off with somebody younger than him. It’s usually when he remembers your age or when you don’t know what he’s talking about when he brings up certain things from how life was before it all went to hell. He says the words out loud, practically a reflex at this point when the guilt gets to him, and as quickly as the feeling comes, it goes because, as he told you, he’s selfish; he doesn’t want you with someone else; he wants you all to himself. When you tell him there isn’t anyone you’d rather be with than him, it feeds something deep inside of him that won’t let you go, and hearing you say you love him has only made it stronger—you have his total devotion.

Ellie being sick messed up his head enough that in the moments when you came to mind, he was plagued with the thought that you probably found someone new. The only time he felt a modicum of peace was when you stopped by, and with that and how much his kid loved you being there, and in general, he came to the conclusion he couldn’t lose you:

It was time for him to tell Ellie.

Joel isn’t delusional; you’d grow tired of only getting his nights and the occasional day, eventually, and he needed to give you more of himself, which required his daughter to know about your relationship.

If Ellie knew, then he could give you more.

He’s ashamed of himself for hiding your relationship and, in turn, not having much to offer in terms of a future. It bothers him so much that he hasn’t been able to be with you out in the open because you deserve better than being his dirty little secret, as you call yourself.

He hates that.

He wants everyone to know you’re his and that he is yours.

When he realized he was going to tell Ellie, he started imagining how your relationship would change. You could finally have a life together, and it had him thinking about things he never would’ve considered before you and actively tried to prevent in the past, but you didn’t mind the idea of bringing a new life into the world, and he thought that might not be so bad; Jackson’s safe, and he has no doubt you’ll be a great mother—and it’s a future he’s pretty sure you want since your reactions have always been positive when he accidentally finishes inside you. That’s why tonight he decided to say fuck it and asked if he could; he wasn’t worried about the consequences anymore.

He’s kicking himself in the ass for not talking to Ellie sooner.

The only reason he hasn’t broached the subject with her is after what happened in Colorado, Joel’s treated her like she’s a fragile piece of glass that he doesn’t want to risk getting broken again—the way she lost her spark after that resort town killed him; and what happened at the hospital? If he had the chance, he’d murder every one of those Fireflies again for how fucked up she was when he told her their plans to kill her without knowing for sure if they could make a cure or not and that her life meant nothing to them.

It took a lot of time for him to put her back together again, and being in Jackson helped a lot with her making friends and having some semblance of normalcy. But he’s worried any major changes will mess her up, and add in her biggest fear of ending up alone, Joel dating seems like a recipe for disaster—Ellie will always be his top priority, even if it’s at the expense of his happiness.

It’s early morning, and he’s got another thirty minutes before the sun will begin its ascent on the horizon, fresh snow coating the ground, the temperature freezing. Joel is skulking home from your place to be there before Ellie wakes up.

His point of entry is the back door that leads into their kitchen, which doesn’t make as much noise as the front and can be locked when he leaves. He’s staying close to the side of the house, heading toward the backyard, and peeks around the corner to check the vicinity—his heart pounds when he sees a dark figure trying to get into the door, Joel pulling the knife, he walks around with, off of his belt, keeping his steps light, silently approaching them.

“Why the fuck don’t we have a light back here?” he hears them quietly mutter.

“Ellie?” Joel says at regular volume.

“Ahhh!” she screams, turning in his direction. Her hand is over her winter coat-covered chest. “Jesus Christ, Joel! Way to give me a fucking heart attack!”

He walks closer, sheathing his knife, as he says, “What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

His hands perch on his hips. “Doesn’t matter—you, on the other hand, just got over bein’ sick and shouldn’t be out in this cold. Move, I’m gettin’ your ass inside.”

She stepped aside, and he walked over, quickly unlocking and opening the door; he grabbed her by the shoulder and firmly guided her inside. He flicked on the room’s light once they were inside, and the door was closed and locked, Joel crossing his arms over his chest.

“Now, where the fuck have you been?” he asks.

She’s unzipping her coat. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I asked you first.”

She shrugs off her jacket and tosses it onto the kitchen table. Joel sighs, walking over to pick it up—he’ll hang it alongside his by the front door before he goes up to his room.

“I was at the same place you were.”

He keeps his face neutral, but his heart is thudding, and he’s pretty fucking sure she wasn’t at your house.

He meets her eyes. “And that is?”

She smirks. “My secret girlfriend’s.”

“Goddammit.” His fingers press to his forehead as he closes his eyes. “You fuckin’ know—how the fuck do you know?”

“Let’s see, she’s literally the only person in town aside from me and Tommy’s family you like. You stare at her with, I don’t know what to call them, googly eyes? It’s that look the dudes have when they see the love of their life, or whatever, in those shitty romantic movies we like to make fun of. I’ve heard you call her ‘sweetheart’—” She fake gags, and Joel sighs. “—you’ve gone over to her house to fix so much shit that, at this point, it’s gotta be a whole new house. You sneak over there every fucking night. Oh, and when she sees the lady next door, the crazy one who’s got a real hard-on for you—gross by the way—when she sees ‘you can call me, Sandy,’ flirt with you—double-gross—I’m pretty sure she’s plotting murder; you’re definitely plotting murder when guys hit on your girlfriend—which, I don’t get why the two of you pretend like you aren’t together; is she embarrassed that you’re so fucking old and ugly, or something?” His teeth clench, and he glares at her. “God, don’t give me the murder eyes, Joel! I was kidding!” She playfully punches his arm. “Kind of… I mean, I’m happy you found someone who loves you even though you’re a grumpy asshole and look like that.” She points at his face.

“You done?”

“Telling you you’re old and ugly? Sure. For now. But I have one more thing that gave you guys away.”

His eyebrow lifts. “What is it?”

“When she came over the other day while I was sick as balls and hung out with me, you slept. Joel, you do not fucking sleep if there’s anyone else here besides me, which is why if I wanna have a sleepover with my friends, I have to go to their houses.”

“Were we really that obvious?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

She’s clearly confused. “I thought we were avoiding the topic.”

“What topic?”

“Like, relationships—you never said anything to me, so I figured it was something we don’t talk about.”

He cringes. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel…”

She smiles. “I don’t give a fuck if you date, Joel—if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

He matches her look. “I’m pretty fuckin’ happy. Are you happy with your uh, girlfriend? Have I met her?”

“Yeah,” she nods, grinning. “It’s Cat!”

His eyes round—he was under the impression Cat is her best friend, and he has met the other girl many times.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re way better at this secret girlfriend stuff than I am. I had no clue. I like Cat; she’s got all those neat tattoos.”

“She does!” she replies with a grin. “And I’m getting one!”

“You’re what?!”

Masterlist - One Shot

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #wheresarizona writes #joel miller x you #Joel miller/yo

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lightseoul · 11 months

Text

a/n. short continuation of sober

"wh—what?"

bakugou shakes his head, eyes droopy. "i said, i want to kiss you."

your throat is now dry. "you must be joking."

"am not," he drawls. "i'm fuckin' sober."

at that, you let out an involuntary snort. "sure, big guy."

he frowns, pouting. "you don't believe me?"

your stomach flips at his challenge. you've spent all this time trying to suppress your feelings for him, and now he's making it all the more difficult?

when you don't answer, he simply asks another question.

"why did you resign? was there something i did or said that chased you away?"

"just personal reasons," you offer.

"like what?"

you shake your head, "i'm not obliged to give a detailed account of my reasoning to you. HR's the one in charge of that information."

"really?" he questions, voice small. "if i begged you to tell me, would you?"

"you? begging?" you cackle. if there's anything bakugou katsuki would most definitely not do, it's begging, let alone begging you—a mere sidekick.

"i would do it you know," he says like he's thought about it before and is now 100% sure of it. "i just need to know why you quit."

you're not about to tell him it's because you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on him, so you lie through your teeth. "i'm planning to start my own agency with some pro hero friends."

almost instantly, bakugou deflates in his seat.

"oh."

"not that i hate my current job or anything," you quickly add before scrambling to conjure more lies. "it's just that—"

"do you hate me?" he asks out of the blue, you almost choke in surprise.

"no!" you exclaim, and you do so fervently because you don't. in fact, you have to leave because how you feel about bakugou is veering dangerously close to like.

he lets out a sigh of relief upon hearing your response. "good. i was...worried."

before you could even stop yourself, you ask: "why?"

at that, he shrugs, somewhat refusing to meet your gaze. "i think i like you, whatever the fuck that means."

your heart leaps to your throat. you scramble for an acceptable response.

"i liked having you as my boss, too, bakugou."

a pause.

"hah?"

your eyebrows furrow. "what?"

"i don't mean it that way, idiot." he shakes his head before heaving a sigh in exasperation. "i like like you. don't you get it?"

oh, god.

this can't be happening.

"...i don't think i do."

at that, he sighs again, visibly frustrated at your lack of understanding. "dumbass."

"hey!"

he shakes his head. "i've been dropping hints left and right. i can't believe you missed all of them."

if what he's saying is true, and with the knowledge you have of bakugou, those hints sure as hell weren't obvious. all he did was tease you, call you a plethora of nicknames including your actual one, refuse to have any other sidekick aside from you, and search for you in his drunken haze.

oh.

"fuck."

he snorts. "i agree."

you stand there in shock for what feels like an hour before regaining your capacity for speech.

"how am i supposed to know this isn't just some alcohol-fueled ruse?"

"confront me tomorrow," he says easily. "i'll have a hard time denying it."

literally just whipped this up in 30 minutes. i hope it wasn't too bad lmao

as always, reblogs and comments are much appreciated <3

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugou x you #bnha imagine #bnha scenarios #mha imagines #bnha imagines #bkg

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the-whispers-of-death · 2 months

Text

You know that pretend to be my boyfriend trope where one character tells their family that they're dating in order to get the family to back off about them being single and now they need a pretend boyfriend? Yeah, imagine that, with Gaz.

Despite being a soldier, your family is hounding you for being single. As if you have time to get a partner. But you can't handle the questions about when you'll finally be taken, so you tell them that you're dating.

Your family is ecstatic, and they keep asking questions about your partner and since you've been around only your squad, the 141, you tell them that your boyfriend is a soldier like you. And you tell them the appeasing shit, how your boyfriend's so sweet and just amazing. That you can see a future with them.

And you think that's the end of it and after your leave is over, you head back to the base. Months pass by, you give your family vague details about how your life is going with your "boyfriend" and then you get into deep trouble when they basically trick you into saying you'd bring your boyfriend to the Thanksgiving dinner your family has every year.

So now you have to try and see which of the 141 will pretend to be your boyfriend, and you decide on Gaz. Mostly because he's your best friend, but also because he fits the description of your fake boyfriend's personality that you gave your family.

One day, you and Gaz are sitting next to each other in the recreational room and you decide now would be the perfect time to ask him to be your pretend boyfriend.

"Hey, Gaz. I have a favor to ask you," you say, looking up from your book to look at him nervously. You hope and pray that he'll say yes to your favor.

Gaz raises his eyebrow, having never seen you so nervous before. You were usually so composed. "What is it? Did you accidentally kill a soldier during training and then hid the body? I'll go MIA with you," he replies, half-joking.

You laugh and smile, your nerves eased so easily as is always the case with Gaz. "No, but good to know you'd still be my friend if I accidentally killed a soldier." You take a deep breath before continuing, "I told my family that I was dating someone, a fellow soldier. And now they've tricked me into saying I'll bring my boyfriend to the Thanksgiving dinner."

"{Name}, are you asking me to be your pretend boyfriend?" Gaz asks, cheeky and flattered that you asked him for the ruse. It makes him roll his shoulder back so his posture is straighter. "You can count of me, mate. You know I always got your back. So what have you told them about me, then? We'll need to keep our stories straight."

You two spend the rest of the day, developing this story further. And as the day wears on, you realize just how lucky you are to have a friend like him.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

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punksdoll · 4 months

Note

Rhea & Fem!Reader have a match for the title & Rhea has a plan to throw off the Reader's game. Rhea chooses Priest to woo the reader & gain their trust, it works but Priest has develop feelings during this ruse. Rhea's plan is a success & retains the title. The reader is visibly upset & Priest while celebrating with Judgement Day is heartbroken.

~~~𝑷𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓��𝒆𝒔𝒕~~~

gif not mine like, comments, & reblogs appreciated

𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ^owner of gif

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅…𝒔𝒐 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅.

𝒂/𝒏: 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚. 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒙𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒚…𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒎 𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒕🥲. 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒊 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒅<𝟑𝟑𝟑

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒔, 𝒕𝒔𝒌 𝒕𝒔𝒌 𝒖𝒉𝒏𝒕 𝒖𝒉𝒏𝒕 𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒂𝒏, 𝒀/𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑹𝒉𝒆𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒇 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕

not proofread

“HOLY SHIT?!” Michael Cole exclaims as everyone watches with shock written all across their faces as they witnessed Damian Priest drag Rhea Ripley out of the ring when she pinned Y/n, ruining her chances at winning.

Rhea looks at him with wide eyes as she shoves him, “What the hell do you think your doing, huh?!” She exclaims to him.

To the audience around them, it was a total shock. They would have never expected Damian Priest, off all the members, to be the one to backstab his own team in the back. Y/n was even shocked herself seeing as Damian was the one to cost her, her match back at Wrestlemania where she lost her title.

To the group? This is exactly what they wanted. This was the plan.

“We need to do something…something that can throw her and everyone else off. Make her believe that she has the upper hand in our rivalry…” Rhea says as she and her team members all huddle up in their locker room.

“What’s cooking in that mind of yours mami?” Dominik asks as he lays his head on her lap, tracing her championship belt.

Rhea trails her eyes to each one of her boys. She starts with Dominik. It’d be such a big shock to everyone in the arena and to y/n as well but what’s hers is her and she does not want to take a step in that route. She trails her eyes off to Finn. It could work but him and y/n never interacted, it’d be too suspicious. Her eyes skipped over JD and landed right on Damian who’s already looking at her.

“You…” Rhea points at Damian with a smirk, “tonight I have a regular match with her, I want you to ruin my chances at winning, enough where she thinks you’re on her side in this rivalry of ours. Gain her trust and make her fall in love with you or something.”

“Any reason why Damian should do it?” JD finds himself asking and immediately shrinks back when Damian gives him a hard stare. “Never mind…”

Damian stares Rhea down and the crowd waits. Waits for something to happen as they have a stare off. Y/n is stuck in her place as she watches, debating what to do. Her head turns towards the referee who starts counting down on Rhea.

“Don’t ever do that again, you hear me Damian?” Rhea jabs her finger against his chest before getting inside the ring, distracted. She kept shouting at Damian, trying to get the lost in this match.

Y/n takes it as her chance and runs up on Rhea, ending her with her finisher. She positions herself away from The Judgment Day and stares Damian down as she pins Rhea, catching the win.

•••

“I still can’t believe it…” y/n shook her head in disbelief, “he really backstabbed his own team in the back…out of everyone. I did not expect him of all.”

Liv Morgan shakes her head, “I just know she’s pissed, so so pissed.”

Y/n scoffs and nods, “did you see her face? of course she was.”

“What do you think will happen now after that?” Liv asks her and y/n frowns but before she could open her mouth, a deep voice stops her.

“Hey…”

Both woman’s head snap over to see their topic, standing in front of them.

Liv gives him a once over before walking away to let her friend handle it. Y/n gaze follows her before she removes it and lands it on Damian who is already staring at her.

“What’s the hunch?” Y/n asks, “why’d you do that for?”

Damian gives a deep sigh and shrugs, “I was sick of it. Sick of Rhea thinking that she can just run JD when she wasn’t even the first one to be a part of it.”

Y/n narrows her eyes and stares at him. She was trying to see any hint or indication that he might be lying but to no avail.

“So what now?” She finds herself asking.

“Let me help you…I know how Rhea plays. I know how she works. I know the games she likes to play. I can get you to get your title back.” Damian nods as he straightens himself up and stares at her.

Y/n raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, “why would i accept that?”

Damian tilts his head and ponders for a moment, “as an apology for making you lose your title.”

Y/n eyebrows raise in shock before shaking her head, “i don’t trust you…how do i know you won’t fuck up?”

Damian smirks and angles himself to her level, “guess you have to trust me.”

With that said, Damian turned around and walked away. Feeling eyes staring back at him.

•••

“You need to catch her by surprise, don’t start like that.”

Y/n rolls her eyes as she stands up. “How is this supposed to help me win back my title?”

It was just as surprising to Damian just as it was to Y/n when she had taken his offer. He expected more of a fight from her. More of trying to get her to trust him but it was easier said than done. Almost. It was a step to getting her trust, he knew that much. So did Rhea. All that was running through y/n’s mind when she took the offer was the thought of getting her title back. If that meant having to have help from the one who costed her, then so dam be it.

“I’m showing you how Rhea plays,” Damian gets out the ring and opens up his water bottle, “you need to try your own ways on blocking them and doing something better to get rid of them, you know?”

Y/n watches as he drinks his water, watching the way his adams apple bobbles.

Is that even what it’s called?

Y/n shrugs before paying back attention, “what if she changes her tactics, what then?”

Damian swallows his water and sets his bottle down before climbing back into the ring and walks over to her. “That’s why we’re going to practice every single thing I know about her.”

Y/n raises an eyebrow and tilts her head at him, “how can I trust that?”

Damian mocks her and tilts his head to the opposite side that hers is on and raises an eyebrow, “your trusting me right now, what’s the difference?”

Y/n narrows her eyes and straightens herself back and stares at him, “I’m not trusting you. I’m seeing you…”

Damian chuckles and straightens his head back, “you’ve been seeing me for three days now, at this point it’d be expected to have a little bit of trust in me.”

Y/n stares at him before looking away and making her way out the ring, “and it’s going to stay that way til’ I get my dam title back.” She walks away.

She always does. Damian noticed that every time he mentions something about trust, she always avoids it and walks away.

Damian watches her walk away, watching the way her hips unintentionally sway with each step she takes. He couldn’t help himself. “Is that how they move during those nights?” He called.

Y/n stops walking and looks back at him with a frown, confusion littered across her face. “What are you talking about…”

Damian smirks and looks her over, “nada.”

Y/n narrows her eyes before turning back around and walking out of the practice center.

“If that’s your way of wooing, then you suck.” Damian hears the familiar australian accent of his best friend and looks over to see Rhea leaning against the ropes of the ring, looking up at him.

Damian raises an eyebrow and walks over, crouching over to her level. “Try flirting with her then, i’d like to see how that goes.”

Rhea snorts and shakes her head, “what’s the progress?”

 Damian shakes his head, “I’m teaching get your usual work when you fight but other than that, same old same old. I start talking about something other than this “mission” if you will, and she leaves. Most specifically, trust.”

Rhea gives an exasperated sigh, “Don’t mention anything about trust. Just let what happens, happens.” She says as she slides into the ring, making Damian stand to his full height and looks at her, “in the meantime, show me what you showed her.”

Damian chuckles and with that, they both get into practice with each other.

•••

He had taken her advice. Every time Damian would be around y/n showing her each and every move that he knows Rhea does, he steers clear from mentioning anything other than what they are doing.

At first, y/n had felt it was awkward for her. She never stayed too long with him at all. She’d always wait for him to start talking about something and she takes that as her cue to leave but now that he never does, it’s weird. Soon though, she got used to it. She got used to his presence and his talks of what to do and what not to do and soon enough, she’s the one who starts the conversations.

It’s been going on for a while. Their meetups in the practice center turned into meetups outside of the practice center.

To Y/n, she would update Liv about it all everyday. Even going as far to tell her that she could potentially trust him but that’s only for Liv’s ears.

As for Damian, he would update Rhea behind y/n’s back. Those updates though went from regularly to barely. In the midst of them hanging out, outside of work, Damian found himself enjoying her company. Enjoying the talks they had that didn’t involve Rhea. Enjoyed the hang outs that was just them two and no one else. Enjoying it enough to start to feel bad about this thing going on. He even talked to Finn about it.

“I don’t know man, i just…it doesn’t feel right to continue to play in her face like this.” Damian sighs as he leans back on the hotel couch with Finn next to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re startin’ to feel bad mate?” Finn raises an eyebrow at him.

“That’s exactly what i am telling you,” Damian takes a swig of his beer in hand.

Finn looks at him and Damian gives him a clear uncomfortable expression. “You like her don’t you?”

Damian didn’t dare to answer that day. He didn’t know it then but now…as he quite literally stares down the girl that ,he could potentially have something with only to ruin it, get ready? He thinks he probably does…

“How do I look?” Y/n turns around towards Damian with such a breathtaking smile that he has to hold back the compliment and give her a tight lipped smile.

“Good as per usual.” Damian nods.

Y/n gives him a disgusted look, “Good? Cariño, I need beautiful or something, i’m changing.”

Damian watches y/n grab another set of ring attire to go ahead and change for the fourth time today. All because he said good.

Damian stands up and immediately stops her, “no no no,” he shakes his head, “you look like everyone’s new championship. How ‘bout that?” He raises an eyebrow.

Y/n tilts her head, “could be better but I guess i’ll take it.” She gives him a sheepish smile before setting the gear in her hand, back down.

“You ready for tonight?” Damian finds himself asking as he slowly sits back down, watching y/n add some finishing touches to her makeup.

“Absolutely. With the amount of training we’ve been doing, I feel more than ready.” Y/n hums, “are you?”

Damian raises an eyebrow and stares at her from the mirror she’s staring at herself in. Was he? No. But he wouldn’t tell her that.

“For you to win that title back? Absolutely…” He trails off with a slow nod and a small smile that makes y/n beam at him.

There’s a moment of silence. During that silence, y/n and Damian are staring at each other through the mirror. Simply staring.

“Damian?” Y/n says quietly as she straightens herself back up to her height. Damian hums and watches as she suddenly grows nervous, “Thank you…for everything you’ve been doing for me for these past couple of weeks. It means a lot to me, truly.”

Damian takes in a shaky breath as he suddenly feels his chest tighten and the guilt crawl its way up to his heart. If he thought the guilt was strong before, then he was in for a rude awakening.

“And maybe after I win…” she continues on as someone walks in her locker room and gives her the time that she has before leaving, “we can go get something to eat? just me and you. celebrate together. all on me as a thank you…”

Damian closes his eyes and feels himself wanting to actually shed tears. This guilt was slowly growing bigger and bigger by the minute at each word she says. So clueless…

“Yeah…I’d love that.” Damian finds himself answering as he opens his eyes and sees her turned towards him with a smile. “Why don’t you go prepare for your entrance, i’ll be watching from the back.”

Y/n gives him a smile and leans down to give his cheek a kiss, lingering on longer then usual before quickly pulling away and strolling out and away.

Barely 2 minutes before she left does Rhea come barging in with the rest of the JD. “It’s all set yeah? Remember the plan?”

Damian stares at Rhea and slowly nods, his eyes trailing over to Finn who is already looking at him with sympathy before he looks back at Rhea.

“Yeah…I remember.”

•••

“OH WHAT THE HELL?!” Michael Cole exclaims as everyone watches with shock at witnessing Damian Priest dragging Y/n out of the ring by her legs.

Y/n whiplashes herself when she turns around and sees Damian standing in front of her with a hard face on. “What the hell are you doing? I had the pin, I was going to win.” She frowns.

Damian looks at her and slowly shakes his head, “that’s mami’s title.”

Y/n’s face drops as she stares at Damian. She doesn’t have any time to think because as soon as she hears the referee almost get to ten, she’s rushing back in the ring and is positioned into a riptide.

Rhea retains…

Y/n simply lays there as she stares up at the ceiling of the arena. It all suddenly makes sense to her now. All of the meetups in the practice center and even the hangouts outside of it, they were all a ploy. A ploy for Damian to get her to trust him enough to be blinded by the fact that he was just going to backstab her in the back.

Damian catches Rhea as she throws herself at him with a victorious laugh, holding up her championship belt. If you would have told Damian weeks ago that he’d be falling for someone that he was using, he would have laughed in your face. But now? Oh how he wishes he wasn’t the one that was chosen to do all of this.

“We did it playboy!” Rhea laughs as she gets down from him, “let’s go celebrate.”

Y/n slowly sits herself up and makes eye contact with Damian who is slowly walking away from her.

Guilt in his eyes.

Hurt in hers.

#wwe imagine #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #wwe x reader #wwe superstars #wwe one shot #wwe judgement day #damian priest #damian priest imagine #damian priest x reader #damianpriest #wwe damian priest #rhea ripley

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onecupofspiders-please · 3 months

Text

SOME OF MY THOUGHTS IN NO SPECIFIC ORDER ABOUT 7 AND 8

LOOK AT HOW DESPERATE THIS MAN IS!! HOLY FUCKING SHIT HES LOOSING IT! HES LOST IT!! Ok I feel like he’s always walked the line of a Mary Sue character lowkey but moments like him getting visibly peeved or threatened when attention was taken from him stopped him from crossing fully, BUT THIS??? YES! ITS ALL A LIE, A RUSE! HE DONT WANNA BE HERE BUT HE HAS NO CHOISE AND LOOK HOW MUCH THAT FUCKS HIM UP

AHHHHHHH SHES SO PRETTY IN HER CASUAL CLOTHES?

ONE CHANCE. PLEASE IM ON MY KNEES OH MY G O D IM SO GAY-

Im cryinggg she still does the camera thing 😭 💀

MAN SPEAKING OF NIFFTY IM SO HAPPY SHE GOT HER TIME TO SHINE I LOVE HER SO MUCH WE NEED MORE NIFFTY

LOOK AT THEM! THAT IS HIS GROWN DAUGHTER YOU CANT TELL ME OTHERWISE! THEY ARE SO SILLY

Speaking of parents look at this fucker. That is his MOTHER (not by blood but still) and you can NOT tell me otherwise. He is SUCH a mama’s boy

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HES IN HEAVEN! FUCK YEAH HE DESERVES IT

I HAVE MORE TO SAY BUT I CANT ADD ANY MORE PICS SO IM GONNA REBLOG TO ADD ON

#hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel vaggie #sir pentious #adam hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #niffty hazbin hotel #rosie hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel velvette

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nightly-ruse · 10 months

Text

Wasn’t going to post it but eh I enjoy it

So have a sketchy patch of Hollyleaf’s!

#baby holly little lady #her ‘dying’ one is when she gets crushed not her actual death #ruse reblogs #I like it but I might change a few shapes around her fave #also she’s noticeably really skinny after the tunnels #before that she was a certified thunderclan beefcake #muscular and with layers to take blows #after tho shes bony and weak #Hollyleaf #sketches

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kavvehs · 1 year

Text

requested by @allovertheplace-writing

✗ — summary : headcanons of how the leader of the phantom thieves, ren amamiya, showers his partner in affection.

✗ — themes : fluff, gender neutral reader, intentional use of lowercase, slight spoilers at the end, mentions of healing bruises, cut for length.

✗ — taglist : @g-ghostic-basil

REBLOGS ARE WELCOMED AND APPRECIATED !

for all that he does to maintain his ruse to the general public that he’s merely an unassuming person, ren amamiya is a trickster at heart and soul and that translates in his relationships.

ren doesn’t hide the fact that he’s committed to you, but it’s not immediately apparent to the same masses who willingly blind themselves. it’s his confidants, those who know him best, that catch onto the little gestures and glimpses that anyone else would have chalked up to one thing or another. the thieves see the way he looks at you like you’re his whole world he’d do anything to protect it; the way his eyes soften in your presence and linger on you for a few seconds longer. don’t get him wrong, he’s an affectionate person when he wants to be and doesn’t want you to feel as if he’s trying to be sneaky about his relationship. he’s on the down-low about it in public out of habit so please don’t take it personally. when it’s in the company of those he trusts or just the two of you, however, there’s this mischievous twinkle in his eyes that doesn’t go unnoticed.

ren prefers to reveal his adoration and love for you through his actions, but can and will use his words to express that if you’re not someone who’s comfortable or interested in the physical aspects. your comfort and happiness means the world to him, after all. he’s not someone to ramble on, but each and every word of affirmation and confession is so unabashedly genuine and wholehearted that it treads on vulnerable. you’ll get to see the rare flush across his cheeks and the burning of his ears behind shaggy strands of black, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries not to look away and inevitably does. even when he’s (regrettably) unable to be by your side he’ll send you a sweet text message whenever he gets the chance to, and it’s not unusual to find handwritten notes meant for your eyes only in your bag or on your desk delivered by morgana.

ren would prefer not to draw attention to himself, but he can’t help himself from taking your hand in his when the two of you are walking someplace together. it could be down the sidewalk, through shujin academy’s hallways, you name it. at first it’s the back of his fingers brushing against yours that’s a little too frequent to be coincidental, then it’s his fingers wrapped around yours before you know it. he eventually commits to it and smoothly knits his hand together with yours with a practiced elegance, standing a little closer than before so his shoulders brush yours. it’s a bit rare because of how intimate he finds it, but ren will drape an arm around you to keep you close to his side—your shoulders, your waist or hips, wherever you’re comfortable with. he’ll lean some of his weight onto you, head resting on top of yours, and continue on his way.

ren is a pretty evasive person and takes advantage of that, frequently appearing behind you out of seemingly nowhere and pulling you towards him until your back is to his chest. even if you’re taller than him, he’ll still come up from behind and keep you close. he’s kind of a menace in that regard because so long as you turn your back and aren’t trying to focus on anything serious, you’ll never know when he’ll strike next. his arms are snugly wrapped around you and his cheek settles on top of your head until he’s comfortable enough that you’re sure he could fall asleep then and there. ren takes a bit of amusement if he leaves you flustered by the upward twitch of his lips into a grin that teeters on a smirk, but he leaves you questioning if you ever saw it at all by how quickly he conceals it.

regardless of what you have your name set as in the messenger, ren sets your nickname as treasure with the red exclamation heart beside it. captioned with the message “thought of you” and a smiley face, your phantom thief sends photos of things that remind him of you whenever the two of you are apart during his daily travels around the city. sights, cuisine, movies, games, anything and everything. you’ve impacted his life so much that it’s part of his daily life to connect the two dots. ren will text you at the most ungodly hours of of the night / morning after returning from a palace or working on infiltration tools, wishing you sweet dreams and hoping you have a good day later. he’ll always send one wishing you good luck if you have an important or exciting upcoming event to show his support if he can’t make it, which is a rarity in itself.

ren’s kisses are all super sweet and gentle, and it’s a wonder how someone’s lips could be so soft in the first place. he alternates between the playful and quick pecks to the impossibly tender ones that linger against your skin and leaves you breathless. it’s not uncommon that they trail from your face, down your neck, and end at your shoulders. if you’re lucky enough, he’ll sometimes grace your palms, the back of your hand, or cheeks with wet smooches all so he can hear your laughter and see your captivating smile. if he pulls you close (and he will, don’t ever doubt that), you’ll find that it’s just as hard for you to move away as it is for him before he goes in for the kiss. his more intimate kisses are reserved for behind closed doors out of preference, but he’ll happily exchange them before you board the train or he has depart to get to class.

within the metaverse, as dramatic as he may be, it’s not a place the phantom thieves can just mess around in. still, that doesn’t mean ren is a boring and strict leader or he’s just going to toss that playful part of himself behind. he’ll happily help you up if you need the assistance form jumping between platform to platform, a gloved hand curled around yours for just a few seconds longer than necessary before he returns to taking the lead. his showtime with you undoubtedly has some romantic elements to it, such as holding you close or a kiss-tease. and him pulling you to his chest when he uses his grappling hook, his hand lingering on your back to “make sure you can regain your balance” after all of the twirling and spinning. never forget him checking in on you a couple times over while in the safe rooms, especially worried if you were ambushed or hurt in battle.

once he is released from prison and arrived at leblanc, ren is understandably relieved to see everyone again just as they are to see him. he had faith in this plan despite its risks, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t miss everyone and that it was a pleasant time. however, he can’t stop himself from letting his gaze wander to you despite his best intentions of maintain conversation with the others. when they’re all gone and it’s just the two of you upstairs, he pulls you close and leans some of his weight onto you. his breath trembles and so does his hands that keep you pressed against him, fingers bruised and knuckles battered. his skin takes on a grotesque yellow-green, remnants of gnarly bruises that he tries to hide with his clothing and hair but can’t from you. before he falls asleep, ren briefly muses that he’s back home in your arms.

#persona 5 x reader #persona 5 royal x reader #ren amamiya x reader #akira kurusu x reader #p5 x reader #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #p5 #p5r #fluff #gender neutral reader #headcanons

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presidentlokis-hornyhelmet · 10 months

Note

Pavitr x fem reader

- Jealous HEADCANONS

A/N: Apparently, Pavitr's costume and fighting style is inspired from Kerala, so I went with him also being from Kerala. (Malayalam is google translated)

Also read on AO3

Pav Pooh is a uwu little jelly bean

It began even before you started dating. You were bffs so, naturally, you're invited to his house for Onam celebration.

Pav stands spellbound at your beauty as you'd worn the traditional off-white saree with golden border, your hair done and decorated with flowers. He's about to compliment you when his cousin beats him to it.

"Are all of Pav's friends gorgeous, or is it just you?"

Pav's face drains of colour as his cousin flirts with you. And you're indulging him!? That's it, you're not leaving his sight anymore.

"Flattery takes you nowhere, cousin."

His cousin ignores him. "Chuchudu, you should really visit Kerala sometime! We can go to all the tourists sites, go on a boatride -just the two of us, I can even teach you fishing!"

The idiot rambles on and on but Pavitr's eyes blaze in green fury 🔥 Chuchudu!? Chuchudu!?! How dare he call you cutie!

And, Gayatri just HAS to add fuel to fire. "Aww, you guys look so cute together! Don't they, Pav?"

"Of course! You look like father and daughter. What a rare bond, right?"

Pav tells himself it's because his cousin is an a-hole, which they are, and he doesn't want to see you hurt.

Lies, all lies. He jello

He constantly tries to separate you guys or atleast just be next you like a bodyguard, shadowing over your convos. If his cousin got irritated, they don't show it. And, thanks to his spidey sense, his cousin can't talk to you alone for more than 5 seconds, though they do manage to ditch Pav at times XP

Pavitr lets out a sigh of relief only after his cousin leaves.

The next time it happens is when a new guy, Ravi, joins school. Ravi takes one look at you and he's interested. He's always flirting at you everywhere: cafeteria, by your locker, in the hallway -even in the field.

Weekends usually mean extra superheroing so Pav can only meet you again on Monday morning at school. Or atleast, that's what usually happens. Today, though, you're at your locker with Ravi's arm around your shoulder as he talks to his friends. He says something in your ear which makes you laugh and slap his shoulder.

Pav is seeing green. And you seem to hang out with Ravi more as the days pass!

You suddenly find Pavitr showing up at your house whenever Ravi comes around, tagging along with you two and always standing inbetween, telling how long you guys are besties at every opportunity, touching you a LOT..

"WHAT do you think you're doing, idiot?" Gayatri traps Pav into a corner and gets him to spill.

"Okay, okay, I am jealous! I.. I like Y/n. Like, like her like her.."

"You what me?"

Long story short, you guys (FINALLY) get together and Gayatri squeals in joy.

After You Begin Dating

Boy, you underestimated how much he flaunts you

Hand-holding, kissing your cheek when he senses potential threat (thanks, spidey sense!), hugging a lot, lost of texting ("miss u moloo 😘", "can i come overrrr I'm boreddd :< ")

You assure him he's the only guy for you. "Pav, baby, I don't want anyone else. I've always been yours."

And, a little later in your relationship, you admit that the whole flirting thing with Ravi and Pav's cousin was a ruse to make him jealous. And Gayatri was in on it! ;P

"I'm sorry but you just look sooo cute when you're jealous!", you say, squishing his cheeks.

Pav feigns offense but he's melting inside knowing you only have eyes for him.

Also... C'mon, can anyone resist making this cutepie jealous?

________

reblogs and comments appreciated!!!

#pavitr prabhakar #pavitr prabhakar x you #pavitr x reader #pavitr x you #pavitr prabhakar x reader #across the spiderverse #astv #spiderman india #spider-man: across the spider verse

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gleaminghearts · 4 months

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"Jake and his team encounter Bramble once again, but they are in no mood to deal with any ghostly ruses!"

Please heart and reblog to help support the webcomic, thank you!

#pmd: gleaming hearts #pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #webcomic #pmd

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despazito · 12 days

Note

not doing a direct reblog on that post about the cat because it's kinda off topic, but in regards to that tag about people being more likely to help and support you if you aren't a dick to them: just from experience working in a call center, holy shit do so many people genuinely believe the exact opposite.

you don't understand, if i yell at a service worker hard enough my wife will revoke the divorce papers!

on a serious note, one of the most insidious things about late stage capitalism is the "customer is always right" mentality, people have become hooked on services and consumer experiences that make them feel like a little emperor for 5 minutes. and its so hard to get people into class consciousness if even during their oppression, they can walk into a store or use an app that makes them momentarily feel like they have a servant or there's somebody beneath them that they have power over. it's a diabolical ruse that furthers class divide

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doritopaw101 · 10 months

Note

In brighter news, can you recommend any positive, perhaps not as problematic, and creative warrior cats artists to follow now that I am not following Bird ☠️

I’d be happy too Anon

@notwarriorswiki

@goobiestar

@sleepyspots-wc-designs

@nightly-ruse

@murdermitties

@mud-castle

@cheerclaw

@booksofstars

@the-erins-forgot

@the-owl-tree

@theanoninyourinbox

@saffronscales

@blimbo-buddy

@cryptidclaw

@fatal-rewrites-warriors

@kittysboba

@dreamingblacktabby

@eelclaw

People can reblog this and add other amazing people

#amazing people right here #all their artwork is so beautiful to look at and their stories are amazing #ask and i shall answer #anon ask #anonymous #warrior cats #warriors #plug

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larkspyrr · 6 months

Text

chapter v — would i run off the world someday? (wc. 4.6k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

Wriothesley ducked, narrowly missing your glove as it brushed across the peak of his shoulder. You withdrew, making a tiny, frustrated noise and narrowing your eyes. You shook out your fist before returning to the stance he’d taught you, poised to strike again, a viper with its fangs bared and glinting.

"Good," Wriothesley barked, flashing you a breathless smile during the momentary lull between swings. "Keep it up!"

A wild grin lit your face, your eyes catching an arc of golden light. You lunged again and Wriothesley sidestepped it with ease, weaving in the opposite direction of the coming impact. "I intend to."

"Get one more good hit on me and we'll call it a day."

You stopped abruptly, arms sagging to your sides. Your face fell, the very picture of disappointment. "Already?"

Wriothesley tilted his head, letting his arms relax a bit, fists lowering from his face. He spared a glance at the massive bronze clock ticking away overhead. "We've been here for over —"

He had barely enough time to register your sorrow morph into savage delight before you struck, gloved fist landing squarely in his gut. He recoiled with an oof.

You straightened up, stretching your arms and neck with a grin. Your training shirt lifted slightly more than was strictly proper with the motion but he was almost too busy trying to process that he'd been duped to enjoy it. Almost. "Never let your guard down, Wrio," you said coyly. You stretched your arms out in a wide arc on either side of your body, bring them — and your shirt — back down where they belong. "My teacher tells me that all the time."

Wriothesley laughed despite his sudden air deficiency, a surprised hand still pressed against the point of impact on his stomach. "I suppose he does, doesn't he? Wise and handsome,” he said, lifting a brow. “But that was a cheap shot."

"Nothing about me is cheap," you shot back with a wicked grin and a wink, knocking the breath out of his lungs once again, more effectively than any punch ever had. You looked at him as you descended the stairs, grabbing a towel off the side of the ring and throwing it over your shoulder. "Tea?"

“Of course."

He forced himself not to watch your departure too closely — he was a gentleman, after all, no matter what the sight of you in your training clothes did to him. He'd thought, that first day when you emerged from the locker room in black trousers and a loose-fitting shirt that covered your skin all the way down to your wrists, that you looked more beautiful than you had dripping gemstones and lace — that you looked radiant, powerful, in your element. That maybe this ruse had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea. That you’d be the death of him.

He still thought all of those things, from time to time. He was a perfect gentleman, of course. But no one could fault a man for admiring art. So long as he didn't participate in any heists down the line.

Or attempt to, anyway. Some art seemed quite resistant to being stolen, reinforced glass and thick screws in iron walls and armed gardes and he was absolutely fine with that because Wriothesley was a duke and would never disrespect art's wishes, especially when art had no intentions of ever marrying.

He felt perhaps the metaphor had gotten away from him a little.

In the weeks since you'd come to your arrangement, he had learned quite a bit, about not only the aristocracy and etiquette, but about you as well. Your relationship was unconventional, that much was certain, but nothing about Wriothesley's life could ever be called conventional, so he elected to roll with the punches, and Archons — you certainly kept the punches coming.

You stopped to pick up your dress from the basket near the locker room door, waving your hand at him as you slipped through and out of sight. Wriothesley released a catastrophic exhale as the door swung shut behind you and he was left, mercifully, alone.

He had expected a thousand different things from your attachment — not many of which falling under the umbrella of 'good' or 'easy'. He historically had a penchant for keeping people at arm’s length, not only for their own protection — but his as well. From the time he entered the Fortress for the very first time, young and shivering and wisp-thin, bloodstained and naive, traumatized and defensive, he'd had a knack for attracting trouble, from every corner of every nook, of every name and variety. It found its way to him like sharks to an open wound and all he could do to stop it was try not to flail and make it worse and hope that the shiver would pass him by.

As much as Wriothesley enjoyed companionship, he had to face the reality that he had to be particular with those he allowed into his inner circle.

He would never admit it out loud, but it was terribly lonely.

People relied on him. No one ever asked him to take the role after the previous administrator fled—he chose to fill it, opening the doors to the office and taking up the mantle while he still wore his production overalls. He took it, so it was his duty to take every responsibility that came along with it seriously. He knew that it would mean sacrifices; that it meant never truly belonging to the overworld again. But when he thought about it, had he ever belonged there anyway? Not even since he was first sentenced, but before? Perhaps even from the day he came to be, had he ever truly belonged?

Determination, cowardice, obligation, fury. Righteousness. Loneliness. The cocktail that made Wriothesley who he was and guided his every move left little room for anything else, his own desires be damned. And when his home and his people were threatened, he knew he’d find a way to overcome, as ‘overcome’ was what he had always done, through hell or high water or whatever primordial miasma or sunken cities existed in between.

He'd hoped you would be the key. He'd expected you to be a pawn; a convenience. Perhaps another obligation, another surefire trouble hounding him, hot on his heels. He'd expected you to maybe renege on your word; to call off the ruse or fail to rise to the occasion. He'd expected you to end up being just as cold, critical, and capricious as the rest of the court had led him to expect from one of their own. He'd expected you to confine him to a singular, stifling box lined with the barbed wire of perception, to treat him like dirt — or worse, to treat him like a duke.

He hadn't expected to find a friend. But friendship was easy with you, as everything was. Easy to bare a tiny shard of his soul, easy to laugh, easy to walk by your side and feel like maybe he belonged — somewhere.

Easy to want.

And if he had to remind himself from time to time that you were off-limits — for his sake as well as your own — well, that was no one's business but Wriothesley's.

"Not gonna change?"

He snapped to attention at your voice, seeing you'd returned, as lovely and perfect and put-together as though you'd never been in the ring at all, never left bruises in the shape of your fingers on Wriothesley’s skin. Your hair once again fixed back away from your face, all the little flyaways that made his pulse jump tucked back away where they had originally been. Jewels dangled in front of your exposed collarbone, still flushed from your shower. Your head, tilted in confusion as you looked at him still standing on the platform, covered in sweat, undignified and slack-jawed.

"Ah, sorry, I was, uh. Wrapping up," he said haltingly. "I'll only be a minute."

You smiled at him, unsure but trusting, and nodded, looking for all the world out of place against the backdrop of splintered wood and battered dummies and limescale.

Wriothesley pushed down his want to a place where it couldn’t reach him, and turned away.

"This is unexpected," Wriothesley said, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes from behind his desk. He hadn’t even gotten to his morning tea yet; you’d entered his office unannounced about as soon as he’d dropped into his chair.

You folded your arms in front of your dress — which, today, was an enchanting sea green with mesmerizing eddies of opalescent pearl. He stared at them blankly, tired eyes following their swirling path as he searched his brain for answers that continued to elude him.

"You were aware there was a ball today, were you not?"

He frowned in sleepy concentration. "I was,” he said slowly, recalling your words the last time you’d been by, a few days previously. You’d mentioned it in passing over tea, while explaining to him the differences between various silverware and what they were used for in polite society. He was pretty sure he knew the differences on a fundamental level, though the reasoning behind so much specificity still evaded him, as much about ‘polite society’ eternally did. “But —"

"There are still be a number of balls we must attend together,” you interrupted. You tapped a heeled foot against the bronze floor of his office. “To keep up appearances, as you well know."

He sighed. "And I take it one such ball is happening today?"

"Indeed it is." You tugged at the sleeve of your dress absently, angling a slow smile his way.

He rubbed a hand over his face before eyeing you warily. “And what is the occasion this time?”

“It’s a two-parter," you said cheerily, beatifically, an expression which immediately filled him with a sense of dread. You daintily sat on the edge of his desk. He sent up a quick prayer to whatever Archon might be listening to give him strength. You crossed one leg over the other, the action causing the fabric at your thighs to bunch slightly. Wriothesley's fingers twitched. "The ball itself follows a performance happening today at the Opera Epiclese. Some tragedy or other. It would be wonderful if you could accompany me, which —"

"Which is why you are here to bother me at the crack of dawn," he finished.

"Precisely," you confirmed, expression light and impish. "I wanted to make sure you didn't have other plans. Plus, I knew you'd have a harder time turning me down after I made the journey all the way down here."

Wriothesley sighed again. Defeated. You were right.

He’d spent the night dealing with a possible issue among the inmates — some scheme or other George had brought to his attention before it could come to pass, a warning passed along the other day in a surreptitious walk-by, the skittish boy disappearing back into the crowd before Wriothesley had even noticed the letter stuffed into his palm — but after a night of searching alongside a few other trusted staff members, had been unable to find anything amiss anywhere within the facility.

He’d suspected it would be the culmination after months of mutterings about something nefarious at play, rumors and tips promising enough that the absolute radio silence the night before had only increased Wriothesley's worry of what such a conflict would entail. Not to mention who and how many could possibly be involved. The challenge in learning more about such details did not bode well for their origins. Rumors spread like wildfire within a prison — unless there was someone you didn’t want to know you’d been talking.

Wriothesley was, as a result, nowhere near being in a physical or mental state to deal with the aristocracy’s games on that particular day. Frustrated and exhausted, he was fairly sure it had been a miracle of human will that he managed to drag himself to his office at all.

But it had been a while since he’d been inside the Opera Epiclese, and he supposed fewer curious eyes would be on him in the darkness of the audience chamber.

Plus, you would be there.

“Fine,” he grumbled, reluctantly getting back to his feet. He dropped his pen back to the desk where it clattered, a mascot for his own inner turmoil. “Just give me a bit of time to get ready and we can depart.”

You shot off his desk excitedly. "Oh, we have time! It isn't until this evening," you said. Your eyes were eager; an expression he was getting too know a little too well. He already knew the next words that would come out of your mouth. "I figured we could squeeze in a training session beforehand."

He laughed quietly, the sound quickly transforming into a yawn. "Of course you did."

“Also,” you said, holding up a silk-clad hand with an apologetic smile. “Today, I will help you select your attire.”

Wriothesley bristled. “What was wrong with my attire last time?”

“Oh, it was perfectly fine, if you were attending as a prison warden," you said carefully, one eyebrow delicately arched. "This is an opera, Wriothesley, and we are going to be attending arm-in-arm. I need to make sure you look the part.”

Wriothesley’s face fell. He was almost too tired to ask... but he had to know. “Is looking the part going to be uncomfortable?”

Your smile was wide and innocent. He didn’t believe it for a second. “Oh, absolutely. That’s a vital part of the experience.”

Arriving in the overworld never got any less disorienting, no matter how many times Wriothesley ascended from the depths to the Opera Epiclese, passing by centuries of despair and decay and brine. But finally, at last, the sun made its appearance high overhead, unimpeded by the sea, and he was above ground once more.

He fidgeted, adjusting his sleeve. You were right. The suit you had picked for him was uncomfortable.

He looked good, though.

And when you scanned him head to toe with an appraising eye before declaring he looked ‘very handsome’, well, he decided then and there that maybe he’d have worn anything if it made you think that. He was a simple man.

Wriothesley spared one more longing glance at the entrance to the Fortress before he descended the steps into the Fountain of Lucine courtyard, into an ocean whose waters he still didn’t understand, vibrant bursts of color, diamonds and champagne and violins and titles. You, on his arm, looking as though you had not a worry in the world. He was feeling strangely reminiscent of the night of your meeting. Proud to be the one you chose to stand beside.

It didn’t make the experience any less dizzying, of course. He marveled once more at the sheer force of the glittering, suffocating display and the legions of people who looked so at home in the midst of it, so in contrast to how Wriothesley felt with his stomach on the floor. He felt the same as he had as a boy, when he looked out of the viewing windows at the end of the ferry and into the vast Fontemer, living and breathing just ahead — close enough to touch, but separated by an impenetrable wall, forever separate from the shimmering iridescent fish who swam by with no regard for Wriothesley at all, wide-eyed and so, so young.

He realized too late that he had begun to hold your hold arm a little more tightly to his side. If you had noticed his moment of weakness, you didn’t say a word, smiling and offering a polite greeting to an acquaintance as you passed by.

He hadn’t even noticed he was being guided until you came to a stop by a flowerbed, identical to the one he had first approached you at, weeks ago. This time, the look on your face was kind, understanding, lacking any of the boredom and resentment of that first evening. Looking at him, as opposed to staunchly away.

His heart pounded.

"Wrio," you said, your mouth curving into a gentle smile. You paused, a bare breath of a moment, and then reached out to adjust his tie for him, your knuckles brushing gently against his throat as you fussed over it. He swallowed, wanting yet unable to look away from you, close enough for him to kiss, if he wanted to.

He definitely didn’t.

Archons, was he fucked.

You finished adjusting his tie before patting it down, straightening out his coat, fingers curled around each lapel. You let your hands rest on either side of his chest, apparently content not to move them just yet. He hoped desperately that you couldn’t feel his pulse thundering beneath your palms.

"Ready for the show?" you asked, eyes bright and playful.

A question which Wriothesley knew had two meanings. A question to ground him. He exhaled, willing a wave of tension to drain out of his shoulders. He lifted his free hand to give yours a squeeze, just above his heart. A small number of neighboring attendees watched the gesture raptly, gossiping mouths hidden away behind their hands.

"With you by my side," he said with a lopsided smile, "I'm ready for anything."

Wriothesley had always liked the opera. He had even when he bore a different name.

As a boy, when he would hang out around the Fountain of Lucine to pluck out stray mora that the other children hadn’t gotten to yet, he would cling onto the soft, warbling notes that radiated from the opera house’s shuttered doors. The boy would relish the sounds of the plays — tragedies, comedies, romances. He’d savor the voices clear as a Fontainian spring. He’d delight in the orchestras, telling a story together in perfect harmony, painting a landscape upon the blank canvas of his adolescent imagination.

He would find a quiet corner behind some flowering bushes to sit and close his eyes and dream. Sometimes, the boy would just appreciate the gift he didn’t have any mora to buy or any right to steal. Sometimes, if he was feeling brave, the boy would let himself imagine the voice of a mother he’d never known, singing to him from somewhere forever out of his reach.

After a while, whenever he went to the Opera Epiclese, the boy would forget to check the fountain at all.

After the boy who went by a different name was taken in by a host family, the faceless voice in his mind was replaced by the voice of a woman who smiled warmly at him and drew smiles in mustard on his sandwiches and gave him friends — brothers and sisters, bright, beautiful spirits — and he didn’t have to imagine anything at all. She and a man, a mother and a father, a bewitching duet, cradling his lonely soul and giving him a song of his own to fill the empty spaces in his heart. And for a while, the boy felt like maybe he wouldn’t have to close his eyes in a dark corner to dream anymore.

Until the man and the woman betrayed the boy and the song in his mind went silent, ceasing beneath the violent whip of a conductor’s cruel hand. The boy hadn’t gone to the Opera Epiclese to hear the singing since. In fact, the first and only time he had been at all was to stand trial for their murder.

He'd barely had any interest in music after that at all; until one day when he had marched into an administrative office to find a rusty old gramophone sitting on the desk, dusty and silent and dead.

He’d pulled out a record he found in a nearby drawer and fiddled with the device until it played an unfamiliar piano tune; crackling in protest but alive. He almost always let it play now while he worked. A new song for a new name.

You shifted at his right side, your arm pressing against his own, and the boy was brought back to the present, sitting in a high-backed, elegant seat in a darkened opera house he hadn’t been back inside since he was convicted, a lifetime and an identity ago.

A young woman stood center stage, head to toe in shimmering sapphire, illuminated from above by a singular spotlight shining unforgivingly at her from somewhere in the dark catwalk. She sang of the Oceanids, a haunting, reverberating melody which ushered the audience through her sorrow and loss, her dark eyes glittering with theatrical tears.

She brought her lament to its conclusion, eyes shut, manufactured tears sliding delicately down her cheeks at last, a finely manicured hand pressed demurely to the swell of her chest. Her voice echoed and waned before coming to its inevitable conclusion; the chamber’s silence reigning supreme for only a moment before an applause far too polite to have properly encompassed the appreciation for the performance spread amongst the audience. The singer curtsied low, the curtain falling and obscuring her from view before she rose once more.

Wriothesley clapped politely alongside them until the throng began to rise and make its way back out of the venue in orderly rows, like hundreds of affluent ants.

“I didn’t realize you were such a fan of the opera, Wriothesley,” you were saying from his side. You hummed thoughtfully. Eyes on him, even in the dark, even as the lights slowly returned to the opera house. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so attentive.”

“I’m a very worldly man,” Wriothesley said smoothly. “But I’m afraid you must have not noticed yet, my lady. I am far more attentive when it comes to you.”

You snorted, a quiet sound—one of his favorites—meant only for Wriothesley’s ears, and he smiled, suddenly feeling rather warm. You tapped your finger on the back of his wrist as you stood. “My father is just ahead. We should stop and say hello.”

Wriothesley nodded in agreement, allowing you to tug him in the direction you had indicated. His eyes finally found your father in the crowd, talking to a squat, older man he didn’t recognize.

“Hello, darling. And hello, Your Grace,” greeted your father as you and Wriothesley approached. The Viscount turned, a flute of champagne in his left hand, half-drained and sloshing with the rotation. His cheeks were pleasantly flushed, his smile friendly and open. He was steadier on his feet here than he had been at the previous ball. He was dressed impeccably. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, my lord,” said Wriothesley earnestly, dipping his head. He nodded as well to the other man, who returned the gesture in kind.

The Viscount grinned toothily. “I do hope my daughter isn’t giving you too hard a time.”

Wriothesley chuckled, looking at you as you gave your father an unimpressed glare, arm still tucked in the crook of Wriothesley’s elbow. He didn’t have to work too hard to appear fond for the benefit of watching eyes. “Of course not, sir,” he said at last, tearing his eyes away from you to return his gaze to your father. “In fact, your daughter’s company has been the highlight of these past few weeks.”

You made a startled noise. “Oh, stop it,” you said hurriedly, cheeks coloring ever-so-slightly. “You’ll make a lady blush.”

Wriothesley smiled, hopelessly endeared. “It seems I already have.”

“Hush, you.”

Your father beamed, eyes darting between your pout and Wriothesley’s smile, wrinkling even further at the corners. “Nonetheless, you have my gratitude for looking after her,” he said, and gestured to the man still watching patiently at his side. “Your Grace, this is Lord Paquette. He’s an old friend of mine. Paquette, this is Wriothesley, the Duke of Meropide.”

The other man bowed shallowly, form perfect, nearly mechanical in its precision despite his apparent age. “It’s an honor to meet you at last, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley smiled tightly, swallowing down the usual nerves that gripped him when meeting a new person who almost certainly knew his past — and held his precariously positioned future in their hands (and in their vote). “The honor is all mine, Lord Paquette."

The man smiled and turned his attention to you, still watching the exchange with a careful expression. “It’s nice to see you as well.”

Wriothesley could feel you relax a little as you smiled at the older man. “And you as well, my lord. How is Gerard? Still in Sumeru?"

"He's well, thank you," he responded absently. He turned his attention back to Wriothesley. “How did you find the performance, Your Grace? Have you seen Mademoiselle Genevieve perform before?”

Wriothesley felt a twinge of irritation at his dismissal of you; could have sworn he felt you stiffen at his side. He tried to ignore it for now. “This was the first I've heard of her," Wriothesley answered honestly, managing a polite enough expression. "Her performance was very moving. It's been… quite a while since I’ve been to the opera.”

Your father smiled sympathetically. Lord Paquette looked very much the same as he had before.

Wriothesley didn't think he was a fan.

“Say. We’d love to have you join us on our next ride, Your Grace,” said the Viscount.

"Oh, yes." Lord Paquette offered Wriothesley a conspiratorial grin. “It's a nice afternoon for some of us gentlemen to get away from the missus for a bit. You'll understand one day, I'm sure."

The Viscount snorted indignantly, and suddenly Wriothesley knew exactly where you got it from.

"Oh, I very much doubt that. There are scant few places I'd rather be than by her side," Wriothesley said easily, turning his best devoted smile on you. Your returning smile was dry and humorless, a tiny private eye roll just for Wriothesley's benefit. Wriothesley looked at Paquette, then your father. "But I'd be honored to join you all for an afternoon."

"Oh, how wonderful," said the Viscount, clapping Wriothesley on the shoulder. "I will send word once we have a date set.”

“Thank you, sir. I will be looking forward to it.”

"Take care, Your Grace," the Viscount called as he departed, amicably greeting no fewer than three separate people before he was even out of earshot.

Lord Paquette watched him go, turning back to face the two of you once more. He smiled at Wriothesley and then at you, nodding his head. “And I actually would like to speak with you as well at some point in the near future. I have some business I think you’ll be interested in.”

Wriothesley watched you hesitate, glancing at your father’s retreating back before returning to Lord Paquette, who waited patiently for your response. “Me?” you asked incredulously, head cocked. “Not my father?”

“Precisely,” he said ambiguously, already looking detached from the conversation, eyes wandering over the rest of the crowd. “We will speak then, my lady. Enjoy your evening.”

“And you, Lord Paquette,” you said slowly, an uncertain tint to your voice.

With that, Paquette left, disappearing into the crowd. He had left his own champagne flute behind, standing empty and neglected on the stone ledge ringing the courtyard. Wriothesley found that he could breathe a bit easier without the added scrutiny of the older gentleman, exhaling slowly.

“That was odd,” you said, pulling your arm from his and leaning against the ledge. Your eyes were narrowed analytically as you scanned the rest of the attendees. The ball was getting going in earnest, violins making their reappearance, servers darting around with startling agility amidst the crowd, balancing mountains of champagne and hors d'oeuvres on the trays held precariously aloft in their hands.

Wriothesley hummed in agreement, moving to lean against the ledge at your side. “That sort of thing not happen often?”

"Someone having business with me, of all people?" you said dubiously. "No, I can’t say it does. Should be interesting, at least. But he probably just intends to ask me to marry his son, having not even consulted him about it, if I had to wager a guess."

Wriothesley was quiet for a beat, lost in thought.

“So,” he drawled finally, the vowel long and drawn out. You quirked an eyebrow at him curiously. “Riding?” he prompted.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “My father would just like for you to come riding with him. You should be honored. It means he likes you," you explained. “It’s something they do often in the warmer months. An age-old tradition for the men of the court to go frolic in the fields for a few hours and talk about fishing or gambling or whatever it is they talk about out there.”

Wriothesley blanched as realization finally dawned on him. “Like on a horse?”

You look at him deliberately, lips curved with amusement. “Yes, Wriothesley. Like on a horse.”

“And you can’t come?”

“Traditionally speaking, no, I can’t come.”

He swallowed thickly, a sharp pang of trepidation seizing his chest. “I’ve never ridden a horse.”

“Well, then,” you said brightly, ruffling his hair as he stared on in horror, seeing nothing in particular. “There’s a first time for everything. I suppose we have our next lesson laid out before us.”

Wriothesley’s eyes snapped to yours. “We’re going riding?”

“Yes,” you said. You flicked a sly look at him out of the corner of your eye as you turned, weaving your arm back through his. ‘Like on a horse’.”

a/n: wrio: haha it's totally fine to be actually attracted to the person i am pretending to be attracted to. just physical attraction. totally normal. nothing to see here

i have been really looking forward to this chapter. it’s more character study than plot but after this, we get into the real thick of things :) honestly i could spend 200,000 words just ruminating on this guy's character and potential past. i want to put this man under a microscope. hoyo give me more challenge!!

also, to answer a question i got in a comment and a couple DMs - no clorinde/wriothesley will be happening here! i avoid writing/reading love triangles like the plague because they do not spark joy for me, personally. in here, wrio and clorinde are just good friends! clorinde has other prospects <3

i have been bad about naming songs from the titles, this chapter's title is from 'runaway' by AURORA

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wrio #wrio x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader inserts #reader insert #lark.writes #🌊

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