#the unbeta'd work in question:

[clare-with-no-i]

although I do know that I spelled Nikalaos as Nikolaos randomly across theogony, I have neither the will nor the energy to change it im so sorry

#me (with pride): this work is unbeta'd #the unbeta'd work in question: #don't even mention how I used to spell Boeotia #two e's? two o's? who's to say #not me certainly #clare shitposts #theogony

[pedroslittlelady]

Just You & Me, Darlin'

joel miller x f!reader (18+)

A/N: OMG Okay, I'm actually doing this! I'm posting something for the first time in over 4 years and I'm super nervous. Pedro Pascal just has me by the titties, and so do all of you wonderful writers and artists I've been so inspired by, so here is my little contribution 🫣💕

You can also read this on my ao3 if you prefer 😊

summary: When Tommy returns to the QZ without you, Joel is both terrified and furious but he’s determined to get you back safe no matter what.

tags/warnings: 18+ Explicit | Minors Do Not Interact Please! no use of y/n, boston qz, fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of suicidal thoughts, slight exhibitionism, explicit smut, unprotected piv, no description of female reader, other than joel can pick you up and kinda implied age gap, squirting, emotional sex, unbeta'd, use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, darlin', baby girl). oh and you're both super in love so :) I think that's it.

word count: 5.9k

Joel’s heart was fluttering within his chest, nerves and excitement flooding him as he made his way up the steps of his apartment building. If all had gone well, you were due back from the week-long smuggling run outside of the QZ today, and he had been stuck on work duty for most of it. 

He hadn’t been able to go with you since someone had needed to stay back and protect their store of goods and ration cards from being stolen in their absence, they’d learned this the hard way. 

And in his mind he’d drawn the short straw.

Joel would much rather be out there with you than stuck here wondering if you were okay. Here, he was unable to do anything if something went wrong but he knew you, the little hell-raiser that you were could definitely handle yourself. 

The both of you had agreed when you first started sleeping together that it shouldn’t mess with the business, it gave you all a more comfortable life in the QZ than most got to have after all. 

Even after falling hard for one another following the sharing of your past within whispered cuddles post sex, you both still tried to keep the business professional and that meant trusting one another to watch your own and your partners’ backs. 

As he entered his apartment he was surprised to see Tommy sitting on his couch with his head in his hands. 

Joel’s stomach dropped at the sight, he already knew something was wrong. Heart breaking into a gallop against his sternum he quickly scanned the apartment, the open layout giving him a view of the whole room and you were nowhere in sight.

Joel's hands tightened into fists, his jaw tensing in anger and fear as he focused his intense gaze on his little brother who was now worrying his lip.

“Where is she,” Joel stated more than questioned in his deep southern timbre, his voice thick with emotion. Anger, fear, anguish and dread were all suddenly clogging up his throat. He swallowed to keep it contained, needing to keep his head on straight right now.

“I don’t know brother,” Tommy responded, guilt and slight fear painted his features as he looked up at his older brother.

“The hell do you mean you don’t know?” Joel growled as he prowled closer to his brother who quickly stood from his slumped position. “I trusted you to watch her back, to keep her safe for me!” Joel couldn’t control himself, the emotions from the thought of losing you, of never seeing you again were too much to handle and he grabbed his brother by the neck of his jacket and shook him.

“The deal went bad! Me and Tess got separated from her!” Tommy quickly explained, his hands gripping onto Joel's shaking wrists. “We tried to find her but… shit man, things are more fucked up out there than ever. We were hoping she’d made it back here.”

Joel pushed his brother away from him, afraid he would start swinging. Rage and fear consumed him, tightening his heaving chest as he ran his hands through his greying hair. He quickly stalked over to his weapons stash beneath the floorboards while vile images of you being scared and hurt, being taken by sex traffickers and all manner of other atrocities he’d seen and heard about over all his years surviving in this hell were flooding his mind.

If it was the last thing he did, he’d find you himself and bring you home. The thought of never finding you was unspeakable and he quickly pushed that horrible scenario out of his mind. But then another took its ugly place as he quickly grabbed his go bag; what if he found you dead or dying?

Well that would be the end, wouldn’t it?

He paused before looking at his little brother, standing before him paler than he’d seen him in a long time. Exhaustion was dragging Tommy down and Joel knew that he and Tess had done the best they could to find you; they loved you too.

“I’ll find her and bring her back,” Joel stated.

“I’ll come with-”

“No… thank you, but no. You're exhausted, you’ll just slow me down. If I don’t come back… then I…,” Joel trailed off as he watched anguish and fear become apparent on his little brother's face.

“Joel. Don’t. Please, brother,” Tommy begged, already knowing where Joel’s head was at.

“I can’t…” Joel felt his voice break as tears flooded his vision, blurring the image of his baby brother walking towards him. 

Next thing Joel knew, his brother's arms were around him and Joel let himself feel the rare embrace for just a moment. He and his brother had never been the most affectionate with each other even before the outbreak, so the fact his brother was hugging him so tightly told him Tommy knew exactly what you meant to him. How could he not, with how blatant the two of you were with your lovesick need for each other. You had become his whole world, a quick spiral into passionate need that seemed to drive the two of you from the very moment you became one when he took you on that dirty warehouse floor three years earlier.

His head dipped to Tommy’s shoulder as silent tears rolled down his cheeks and into his patchy beard, into that place where you always kissed him, as if that spot had been made just for you. A place to kiss and lick and nibble like you loved to do when you both were intimate, which was basically whenever you were in the same room as one another, everyone else be damned.

Would Joel ever feel that again? Had you both made all the memories together that you ever would? The last time he saw you flashed in his mind, replacing the ugly panicked images from before. You’d smiled up at him, arms wrapped around one another, foreheads pressed together as you whispered your ‘see you laters’ - never ‘goodbyes’ - to each other, while Tess and Tommy looked on and rolled their eyes in annoyance at your overt pda.

The Joel of before had never been one for public displays of affection, to the point where one woman had broken things off with him because she’d said he was cold, that he didn’t care enough about her. He’d realised later on that she had probably been right. More conscious of how much affection he was giving in front of others than he should have been.

Now though, with you these last few years? Joel didn’t give a single fuck what people thought of how he held your hand, kissed you, sat you on his lap as he made deals with all kinds of people. He loved when you’d do the same, when you would kiss him in that spot that was surely made purely for your mouth while you rolled your hips against his hardening cock. The greedy eyes of lowlifes watching on in pure jealousy of how unashamed you were with showing everyone how wanton you could get for him. His precious little hell-raiser.

Shit, he’d fucked you outside before and hadn’t cared who’d heard. It had actually turned him on to know the residents had heard your desperate and lustful cries as you let him take you from behind in an alleyway between two apartment buildings. Anyone could’ve looked out and seen how Joel Miller got to have you be his, the most vicious beauty in all of Boston, submitting to him, belonging to him.

Joel quickly pulled away from Tommy before he got too emotional about how this day had turned into a fucking real life nightmare. 

As he strode towards his apartment door with his go bag on his back and his weapons tucked away on his person, he rubbed the tears from his eyes and face. He couldn’t look back at Tommy so he roughly pulled open the door and walked out with a quickly uttered, “see you brother.”

While descending to street level Joel struggled to get his emotions under control. It had been a long time since he had cried, since he had felt this scared and helpless, but he pushed through and began to formulate a plan on how he would get out of the QZ through a smuggler tunnel they had created two years ago. Then he would find you so he could bring you home, safe and sound.

There was no other option he would let himself consider from here on out, he needed to focus on his current mission.

Joel steeled himself as he walked out of the apartment building and turned right to head to the closest smuggling route out of the QZ. As he looked up to assess his surroundings he was stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of you standing in front of him.

His eyes widened in shock as you stood before him, a shaky vulnerable look on your pretty as sin face. Joel choked on your name in disbelief and before he knew it his hands were grasping your cheeks and his lips were crushing against yours in a desperate kiss.

He pulled away from your tight embrace to quickly gasp, “What the hell happened, baby?” Before he kissed you again and again and again. So relieved to feel you alive and whole in his arms once more.

But then worry clouded his mind; the look on your face as you saw him notice you replayed in his mind.

Joel once again pulled away from the desperate kisses you both were sharing to truly look into your wide teary eyes.

“Are… are you okay, sweetheart? Are you hurt? Let me see you,” Joel pleaded in a vulnerable whisper. He reluctantly pulled further away so he could assess you until you spoke for the first time since your reunion.

“I’m okay Joel, baby. I’m okay I promise!” You gasped as Joel began to pull up your sleeves and the hem of your shirt to see your slightly bruised and cut skin, clearly searching for a fatal wound like a bite that he thankfully would not find.

“Joel!” You shouted to get his attention, uncaring of the passers-by on the busy street taking notice of your desperate interaction.

Joel stopped his searching as you placed your hands on his cheeks and gave a soft smile when you saw the fear in his eyes recede into a warm relieved look of love that always made your chest flutter in unbelievable happiness, like butterflies bursting with life within you. You had never expected to get to this point with anyone, let alone the cold standoffish brute Joel Miller who had barely seemed to tolerate you the first few weeks after your initial meeting. 

To have this big, dangerous, sometimes scary but protective man look at you like you were his whole world was intoxicating. No wonder you could never keep your hands off of him. 

It had started after the first time you’d fucked, and that’s all it had been meant to be. A desperate fuck after a near death experience, both of you alone and thankful to be alive. You had exchanged no words but a heady look and before you’d known what was happening he was kissing into your mouth before pinning you onto the hard dirty floor and fucking you silly.

You knew he’d been sleeping with Tess at the time, although it wasn’t serious, and you had slipped into Tommy’s bed once or twice, but for years you had respected Joel’s leadership and strength, and of course enjoyed admiring how handsome he really was, but you both had never been particularly close, until then.

After, you had both agreed it wouldn’t happen again. You reluctantly agreed with him even though your legs had felt like jelly after the best orgasms you’d ever been given, having never before been fucked like Joel Miller liked to fuck. 

It happened again of course, the very next night when you took a chance and slipped into his room and cot. He hadn’t said a thing against it, only a cocky, “can’t get enough huh, hell-raiser?” 

After you sucked him to full hardness he’d let you ride him as fast or slow as you wanted while he just watched you. In the wake of your first orgasm Joel had snapped and took control once more by putting you on your back and practically folding you in half. He’d fucked you so hard you’d screamed your pleasure, so loud you had only realised afterward that Tommy and Tess must have been 100% aware of what was happening. But you’d come so hard you’d squirted all over Joel and made a complete mess, but you had seen in Joel’s eyes how much he’d absolutely loved it.

There was no talk of it never happening again after that, only an acknowledgement that business came first. A few months into your arrangement he began cuddling you after sex, asking you not to leave his bed in the sweetest whisper against the back of your head. You had agreed, threading your fingers through his and nodding with a simple, “yes Joel.”

And you hadn’t left, you both barely let the other out of your lovesick sight as you basically moved in with him. Tess and Tommy quickly moved out so they didn’t have to listen to the both of you ‘fucking every goddamn day.’

“I’m fine baby, I promise. Okay?” You kissed Joel softly bringing you back to the present, his arms tightening around you.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if… fuck, I thought you were-” Joel was crushing you against him, lips brushing yours as he spoke. A tremble was in his voice, one you’ve come to know more over the years as he opened up to you about things from his past.

“I’m right here darlin’, right where I’m supposed to be,” you gently spoke while running your hands through his salt and pepper curls. The action always calmed him down.

“I love you so goddamn much, hell-raiser.” Joel smiled against your lips before kissing you again. You chuckled, feeling tears gather in your eyes at the silly pet name he’d given you after your first chaotic introduction years ago which involved you wielding a couple molotov cocktails. The first of many pet names he graced you with, but definitely your favourite.

“I love you too, big guy.”

Your back gently hit the apartment building as Joel increased the pressure of your kisses, a desperation taking over you both as the feeling of being reunited after a close call washed over you once again.

Joel hiked your leg up and ground his hardened cock against your rapidly soaking pussy making you gasp at the sting of pain the suddenness of your arousal wrought as it travelled deep into your rapidly warming core.

“Joel,” you panted into his mouth as he licked at your tongue before sucking it into his mouth with a growl of need you felt emanating from his belly which was pressed tight against yours.

“Fuck, need inside your tight little cunt right now, darlin’,” Joel rumbled before he hastily began to undo your jeans, his lips carving a wet path across your cheek and down your tilting neck. He bit you quick and hard there, marking you; claiming you. You gasped, your arousal seeping from your desperately empty channel and trickling into your panties as you tilted your hips against his rock hard cock.

Joel slipped his thick fingers into your wet slit making you moan into his mouth.

“Get a room,” you heard someone mutter as they walked past. Joel growled before pulling away to glare fiercely at the man who suddenly blanched before quickly scurrying away at the sight of Joel hovering over you with a murderous look in his eyes. 

You giggled at the interaction, drawing his attention back to you, his eyes softening at your mischievous smirk.

“Take me to bed, big guy. Remind me who I belong to,” you murmured before biting your lower lip in anticipation as Joel's eyes turned blacker than the deepest cavern within the fathomless ocean.

He grabbed you by the back of the neck and began to steer you back into the apartment building and up the stairs. You could feel his eyes on your ass before a slap landed there making you squeak excitedly. “Hurry the fuck up, darlin’,” Joel growled with a squeeze to your right cheek making you skip up the stairs quicker, panties practically drenched now.

The next second he was pushing open your apartment door, throwing off his bag and flipping you around to face him so he could kiss you hungrily once more. His thick tongue probed every part of your mouth, overwhelming you. You whimpered, your hands caressing through his hair to scratch gently at his scalp.

His grip on your thighs suddenly let you know what he was about to do and you braced your hands on his broad shoulders as he quickly hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his hips. You both groaned and panted into one another's mouth at the feel of being pressed together.

You stilled when you heard the clearing of a throat. Joel groaned in annoyance as your lips separated wetly.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Tommy said before covering a slight laugh with a cough, Joel glowered. “But I’m really glad you're okay, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Tommy. I appreciate it.” You smiled, so glad to see him safe and sound too. You told him this and questioned where Tess was and he informed you that she was just fine also.

“I just wanted to say-” Tommy started to speak.

“Enough said,” Joel growled. “Talk later. We're busy, brother.” Joel raised his brows clearly unabashed at being caught in this position by his baby brother.

“Jeez, alright lover boy-” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“I swear to God Tommy if you don’t get the fuck out of here now I’ll-”

“Okay okay! We’ll catch up later, Christ.” Tommy shook his head but you could see he wasn’t truly annoyed by the relieved look on his face.

As Tommy made his way to the door, a smirk was painted on his handsome face. Joel just pierced him with a frustrated and grumpy glare, you couldn’t help but snort softly while still being held up in his strong arms.

“See you later Tommy, and tell Tess thanks as well when you see her,” you quickly uttered before you forgot all about Tess and Tommy in just a few seconds.

“Will do, sweetheart. See you later. You too, Romeo.” Tommy laughed before darting out the door as fast as he could once he’d heard Joel’s growl of annoyance.

“C’mon baby,” you murmured in his ear before sucking the lobe into your mouth bringing his attention back to you, his eyes softening once more. “Need to feel your big cock inside me, I feel so empty.” You pouted playfully even though you could still feel some of the adrenaline and fear from your near miss swarming inside you. 

You had very nearly not made it home to him and that thought made your heart jump and your hold on your lover tighten. You didn’t know if you could hold back on the avalanche of feeling you knew was headed your way.

“Poor baby,” Joel responded as he carried you to your bed and laid you down, his back not being able to hold you up for much longer, not if he was going to fuck you like you both needed after today. “Don’t you worry darlin’, I got you.”

Joel stood before you and began to remove the various weapons from his body, his dark intense gaze never leaving you as you began to writhe in need.

“Hurry Joel,” you whimpered, a desperation taking over now that you weren’t in his arms anymore. You felt tears gather in your eyes at just how lucky you were to be back here with him, safe and sound. You couldn’t hold back a hiccupping sob threatening to escape you.

Joel took notice and quickly hovered over you, one hand on your hip, the other palming your cheek and wiping a tear away. “You're okay now, baby. I got you.” He kissed your forehead and you could hear him inhale your scent as he did.

“Joel.” You murmured, feeling a little overwhelmed. You needed to release these emotions, and Joel was the best at giving you just what you needed, what you both needed.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Joel murmured, his own gaze tear filled meeting yours before he pressed his lips to yours for a desperate kiss. You struggled to keep up with his kisses at first but then he was scraping his teeth down your jaw and sucking on your neck.

You bucked your hips up against him, his leg slipping between yours so you could grind on him. You whimpered, needing his bare skin to be slick against yours as you once again fitted together so perfectly. 

You needed the intimacy and the vulnerability of being beneath his broad form as he fucked you deep and hard, imprinting himself within you forever.

As if Joel had read your mind, he pulled back from nuzzling between your breasts, his big strong hands grasped the collar of your shirt and ripped it down the middle in one go.

You gasped at the action, at the grimace of need on his face as he began to manhandle you in a desperate need to get you naked beneath him. You unhooked your bra as he roughly pulled down your jeans and panties in one go, snarling in annoyance when your boots hampered his mission.

As soon as you were bare Joel was back on the bed and spreading your legs up and wide so he could see your perfectly soaked little cunt fluttering needily around nothing. Fuckin’ Heaven right there, he thought to himself as he dragged his eyes up your heaving belly and chest to see you biting your lip, small hands fisting the sheets beneath you.

“Please Joel, want you naked against me,” you practically begged, pupils blown out, eyes still glistening. He knew from your reaction something had scared you, probably a moment of terror in thinking you weren’t going to make it back to him in one piece or at all. The idea of that being a very real possibility that could have happened shook him to his core and he quickly tore off his clothes, not wanting to be away from your touch for longer than necessary.

He began to kiss every scrape and bruise as he made his way up your chest. Soon his eyes were looking deep into your soft gaze, your arms and legs wrapping around him and he knew he was finally home. He brushed his nose along yours, both his hands tunnelling into your pretty hair as he gazed down at you.

“You and me, darlin’, that’s all I need. Just you, I fuckin’ love you, you drive me goddamn insane with it, you know that?” His gaze was soft but intense, his words rumbled out of his pouty lips.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your own hands rubbing his back soothingly before sliding up his neck and into his hair. “But I feel the same.”

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’. You’re the best thing that's happened to me in a really long time. Just scares the hell outta me,” he nearly choked on his words before burying his face into the sexy slope of your neck, inhaling your heavenly scent. “Can’t lose you, baby.”

“I’m right here, not losing me, Joel,” you responded softly before kissing his scarred temple.

Joel slowly lowered his hips as he lifted his head to kiss you, his weeping cock covering your pussy, soaking him even further. Normally Joel would prepare you, stretch you with his thick fingers and make you come on his tongue but from the way you were mewling and moving against him he knew you both needed to become one right now. Besides, you had told him plenty of times how you liked the slight pain his cock created when it stretched your little hole open, the  girth of him too wide to fit comfortably at first.

You both angled your hips, well versed in the best way to slot together hands free. Your breath hitched when the crown of his twitching cock popped inside you.

“So fuckin’ tight and wet for me, baby girl.”

“Joel,” you whimpered against his lips before your hips pushed against him, sliding more of him within your aching heat.

He stared into your watery eyes as he gripped your hip with a bruising grasp and began to push into your tightness. He loved watching the way your mouth opened into a little ‘o’ shape and the space between your brows creased cutely in pain.

“Takin’ my cock so well, you precious little fuckin’ thing,” Joel growled as he bottomed out causing you to gasp. Your perfect cunt clenching around him was like nothing he’d ever felt before. 

Your breasts heaved against his chest as he let you adjust to the stretch of him for a moment. But he had little patience right now, so he soon pulled back making you whimper sweetly and he kissed into your mouth soothingly before he moved his hand to the back of your neck and held it tightly.

Pulling back from the kiss he quickly punched his hips down and forward, slamming deep inside you and causing your body to jolt from the force, his hands holding you steady. You weren’t going anywhere.

The squeak you let out was choked off when he did it again, and again. The soundtrack to your desperate love making became the wet slapping of skin on skin, the gasps of pleasure and the cries of pain as you melded together as one. Sweaty skin sliding against hardened nipples and harsh gasps were shared as he rhythmically pounded you into the mattress

“Joel, Joel, oh God Joel don’t stop!” you pleaded wide eyes staring up at his fervent expression as he gazed down at you.

“Fuck! That’s it baby, take my cock.” Joel grimaced in pleasure.

“Please, baby. Go faster!” You yelped as his hips smacked against you, his heavy balls soaked from your arousal.

He granted your plea, arching his back so he could suck on your tight nipples, hands grasping under and over your shoulders as he began to piston sharply within you, pulling you onto his thick cock.

“Yes yes yes, gonna come,” you suddenly gasped and Joel knew it was true by how your tight little pussy started fluttering around his shaft, sucking him deep.

“Come all over me, baby girl,” he whispered against your parted lips, sweat building between you as you both moved in sync, chasing that beautiful euphoria he always granted you.

You had been feeling it build within you so deeply, you knew you were about to crest that tremendous wave of pleasure you associated with Joel and how he always spoiled you rotten when you made love. It hit deep and sharp, making you arch your back and cry out against his lips as your pussy clutched so tightly to him, never wanting him to stop or leave your most vulnerable place that he always cherished.

It caught your breath as you ascended into ecstasy, all you could do was whimper against his plush lips as you came. His hips stuttered as you tightened, unable to keep up the pace at how tightly you were grasping at him. Nails scraping his back, legs spreading further, toes curling against his thick thighs.

“Good girl, baby,” he practically whimpered as you came around him. “That’s my good girl. Fuck, I love you,” Joel growled while he quickened his pace again, the ache in his lower back completely ignored. He sat up a bit, lifted your legs so they fell over the bend in his elbows before planting his hands on the bed.

You were practically folded in half, completely dazed from that intense orgasm as he manoeuvred you however he liked. You loved when he treated you like his precious little fuck doll. 

“Oh my God, baby,” you gasped, just watching as his hulking form rose above you, his dark desperate eyes dragging from your own eyes to your bouncing breasts as he started pumping his cock into you once more. The generous crown of his cock repeatedly hit that amorous spot deep inside you that only Joel could locate.

His stare was fixated on where you were joined together as he continued to thrust, slowing a little to admire it. “Sweet little pussy is creaming all over my dick, fuck!” Joel couldn’t take his eyes away from it, your abused hole flushed with arousal and soaked with your mingling desire. “God damn, baby girl. You can really take some cock, huh?”

All you could do was whimper at the vision he made above you, greedy lustful stare focused on your needy hole stretched around the wide circumference of his wet cock pumping inside you. The broad expanse of his tanned slick shoulders, the strength of his hands as they wrapped his calloused fingers around your hips, angling them perfectly. He sat up, his knees bracketing your ass and you quickly pressed your hands up behind you knowing exactly what was coming. Your heart jumped in your chest, you loved to watch him above you like this; using you, loving you so deeply and harshly.

“Gonna cum so deep inside your cunt, baby girl. Never gonna be rid of me,” Joel growled before rolling his hips into you, knowingly hitting that special place inside you that usually had you squirting all over him. 

He never forgot that moment you’d shared with one another. Only your second time together and he had given it to you so good it was probably one of his proudest moments, his ego getting a huge boost that had been well needed at the time. 

You had been so shocked and loud, you’d practically screamed at the sensation, shivering so vulnerably beneath him afterward it had stuck deep inside his chest afterward. It had pushed him to coo to you softly at your little whimpers, telling you that you were okay, that you had been so sexy and beautiful for him.

His hips were rolling and thrusting into you making you moan and stare up at him in awe. This man was all fucking yours.

“Mine, Joel. You’re mine.”

“Yeah, baby. All yours, this cock is all yours. And who does this pussy belong to, hmm?” he questioned with a smirk as he stared down into your wide eyes as his hips picked up the pace, you continuing to reciprocate his movements like a well choreographed dance.

“Yours, my pussy’s all yours. No one else's, baby.”

“Good girl,” Joel praised before leaning over  you, his pretty lips pressing into yours, widening your mouth and swiping his tongue against yours as your pussy flooded his cock and balls creating a slapping sound that made you whimper and blush.

“Always so fuckin’ wet for me. Ain’t ya, sweetheart,” Joel groaned. “Fuckin’ love you.”

“Love you too, now fill me up, baby. Please!” You gasped against him, your foreheads now pressed against one another, mouths sharing harsh breaths. 

You braced against the headboard with one hand while moving the other to his curly hair desperately seeking purchase as your arousal grew once more. Core warming and tightening in an impending orgasm and when he shifted your position so he could press against your clit and urethra with his fingers your stomach jumped, knowing exactly what he wanted from you.

“Oh Joel,” you whined.

“Yeah baby, drench me please,” Joel encouraged and you began to flutter around the precise pumping of his twitching cock within your sensitive walls.

It hit you suddenly, your back arched with a quick scream of pleasure and the overstimulation that you associated with squirting. Joel groaned in pleasure as you burst with feeling.

“Atta fuckin’ girl, baby! That’s it, shit I’m gonna come,” Joel gasped as you soaked him, a vision beneath him, sweat slicked tits bouncing, mouth agape in a shout of intense pleasure and eyes practically rolling into the back of your head.

Joel's hips stuttered, his balls tightening even more as he felt his pleasure travel from deep within his core, up to the swollen tip of his cock. “Fuck, baby,” Joel whimpered into your neck as he began to spurt his come deep into your womb, hips stuttering and grinding against yours with the need to stuff you full of his cum.

“Yes, Joel,” you whimpered as you felt him empty himself within you. You nudged his head as he did, wanting to see his handsome face in pleasure. He lifted and looked down at you, cum still spilling, overflowing you and trickling down your ass. “That’s it, baby. Fill me up good. I want all your cum,” you whispered softly as you gazed up at him. His face was so vulnerable and needy in that moment you couldn’t help but clench around him once more.

His balls had emptied with each ejection of his cum inside you, hips finally stilling as his cock became oversensitized to the stimulation still happening.

“Easy, baby girl. Easy.” Joel chuckled as he fell against you, completely spent before kissing you so softly that your heart jumped. “You think I can go again at my age?”

“You think I can go again after that?” You giggled breathily, completely satisfied. The impending avalanche of emotions purged from you in pleasure by your lover.

“Yeah, baby. Don’t doubt yourself.” Joel rubbed his nose against yours affectionately, a small grin on his face, eyes as soft as chocolate ice-cream.

“Then you don’t doubt yourself either.”

“I know my limits and my back is shot, darlin',” Joel grumbled in annoyance, his softly grinning face turning so grumpily pouty you couldn’t help but melt, you loved that you got to see this side of him that he unveiled to no one else but you. He really was all yours.

“Oh, poor baby,” you whispered to him before nudging him to the side so he could rest flat on the mattress, his softened dick slipping out of you with a flood of his cum which tickled your still trembling thighs. You definitely planned on giving him another back massage as soon as you both got some sleep, he had fucked you so perfectly; hard and loving. He certainly deserved it. “Rest now, we’re together and that’s all that matters.”

Joel sighed as he settled into the admittedly uncomfortable bed, but with you snuggling up against his chest he had no complaints.

“I don’t want you goin’ out there without me anymore, okay? Fuck the business, you’re more important.”

You looked up at him “As long as you don’t go out there without me either, we’re more important,” you agreed with a sigh of relief.

“Just you and me, darlin’. That’s all I need,” Joel assured you.

You snuggled deeper into his strong arms, a warm sense of safety and love blanketing your heart as his arms tightened and his lips kissed the top of your head with a mumbled, “Love you, hell-raiser.”

You kissed his chest before replying, “Love you too, big guy.”

A/N: Thank you to any of you who made it to the end of this, I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider reblogging and/or commenting to help this little story of mine find new readers💕😘

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #clare's stories #pedroslittlelady writes #tw: mention of suicidal thoughts #tlou fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #implied age gap #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction

[againstacecilia]

Because You Left

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Rating: This one's for anybody, but the whole blog is 18+ for sure.

Warnings: Lovers to strangers, fighting, angst, swearing, both of them are probably idiots but *shrug*

A/N: Holy wow it's been a minute! I've had this one in the vault for a while but just never did anything with it. There's a happy ending as well, so I can post that if there's interest, but I'm pushing myself to not tie everything up so nicely and let the tough emotions sit so you get ✨angst✨. We also don't need to talk about how I'm working through some things about an old flame with this one soooo hush. Unbeta'd, no use of y/n.

It’s an unusually quiet night on base, lamplight flickering through the hallways and muffled laughter sneaking under doors as people take advantage of the stillness. Your footsteps echo loudly, an intrusion in the calm as you hurry to your post, breathless by the time you arrive.

“Sorry I’m late,” you begin, not looking at your watch partner, “I couldn’t find-”

“Not like you to be late, Captain,” a familiar voice interrupts.

Your stomach flops as you meet Poe’s gaze. “I… I’m sorry, Commander.” Your words falter, the memory of your last encounter momentarily clouding your mind…

“Find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” Poe says quietly at the door, not looking at you, “I’m busy.”

“Of course you are. Seems like you’ve been busy a lot these days. Busy with everything but finding time for me.”

Poe doesn’t say anything as he turns his back to you, pressing the button to close the door to his quarters. The click of the door sliding into place echoes deep in your bones as you’re left alone in the hallway…

That was months ago. You’d immediately requested a service change to a new squadron and done everything in your power to avoid seeing him again. Night shifts and dangerous recon runs, anything to make sure your paths never crossed again. 

“No need to apologize, I won’t tell anyone.” Poe winks at you with a grin. “So, it’s been a while, how have you been?”

Shaking the memory from your mind, you begin preparing for your watch. “Fine. You?”

“I’ve been okay.” He watches you gather your things, eyes trained on your every move.

“Mmm,” you respond non-committedly, shoving a flashlight and spare battery pack for your blaster into your bag before tugging the straps over your shoulders. “Well, I should be off. Being late and all.”

“Actually, we should be off. Your shift buddy called out so I’m his replacement.”

Fantastic. “Commander Dameron on night patrol?”

“Everyone pitches in where they’re needed,” he responds, hoisting his pack. 

Six hours on watch with Poe was the last thing you wanted to do, but he was right. Everyone was expected to, and for the most part did, pitch in where they were needed. If this was how you were expected to help the Resistance then you’d grit your teeth and get through it. 

“Let’s get going then.” You’re out the door and making your way to the watchtower before he can reprimand you for speaking to your superior like that. 

Luckily, the calm seems to be holding and the watchtower is nearly serene in the clear night. Stars twinkle above you in constellations you were still learning and the breeze was a song you never tired of. Lost in the ebb and flow of nature around you, you don’t notice the time pass.

Poe’s voice breaks the silence for the first time in hours. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you nod, keeping your eyes on the wilderness beyond the base.

“What happened? With us?” 

Heat creeps up the back of your neck and the breeze seems to stop at the question. Like the whole base was waiting on bated breath for your response. “We just… Grew apart. That’s all.”

You hear Poe shift in his seat. “No, I don’t think that’s it. Not entirely.”

“What do you want me to say, Poe?” “I want you to look at me and tell me the truth.”

“I told you the truth.” Your clipped response is bitter on your tongue and you keep your body facing away from him. “We grew apart and the war got in the way of everything else.”

“This isn’t just some distance thing, tell me what happened.”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“You’re still not telling me the truth. I know you, why did you suddenly-”

“Because you left!” The words rip out of you and you finally stand, whirling around to face him. “Because you left me, Poe.”

Indignation blazes across his face. “I never left you, not any longer than a mission required of me!”

“That’s not what I mean!” Both your voices are too loud for the quiet watch, but you don’t care. Emotions flare and dance in your veins, demanding to be released. “You stopped giving a damn and then kicked me out of your room and told me you were busy. You stopped fighting for me. For us. You left one day and never really came back.”

The silence seems to echo as your words fade from the lone tower, open to the night sky. “I’d been trying for weeks at that point, Poe, and you kept pushing me away. So I stopped trying because you obviously didn’t want me around!”

“When have I ever said I don’t want you around?” He’s also standing, stepping into your orbit with his hands extended to his sides.

“You didn’t have to say it.” Stomping away from him to the rail of the tower, you lean against the weathered wood, “It was painfully clear.”

He follows you and grips your shoulders, spinning you to face him. “I’ve been out of my damn mind trying to be a leader in all of this. You know what Leia expects of me, you know what’s at stake-”

“Of course I do!” You shake his hands off you and push him away, “But I thought it would be exactly because of those reasons that you’d give a fuck about me. I thought, for a moment, that I was one of those things you were fighting for.”

“You were! You still are, and you always have been!”

“Just stop.” Your voice is trembling with rage and pain; searing white flames lick through the marrow of your bones. “Whether you meant to or not, you made it very clear where your priorities are and I’ve made my peace with the fact that this,” a sweeping gesture to the sleeping base below, “is your priority. Not me. And I shouldn’t be. I mean, hell, what am I compared to the entire Resistance?”

Needing to put any amount of distance between you, you make your way to the other side of the tower and settle into a chair, facing away from Poe. The noise from the breeze and insects comes back into focus as you curl your legs against your chest. 

After a moment, Poe’s voice reaches you from across the tower, “Do you know why I told you I was busy that night? Why I told you to go sleep somewhere else?”

You don’t respond, hugging your legs tighter as the anger starts to fizzle into sadness.

“I told you to leave because Leia had informed me that we had just lost an entire squadron to an ambush in the Mid-Rim. I had gotten some intel that there was going to be an unprotected shipment of weapons in the area and that group was sent out to get them. It was a trap, and my bad information got them all killed.” Poe stayed away from you through his explanation, his voice drifting by more quietly with each word. “None of them made it home. Because of me.”

The urge to go to him, to wrap him in your arms and comfort him, nearly overwhelms you for a moment before he continues. “I told you to leave because I didn’t want you, of all people, to see me break. I shattered that night, and when the sun rose and I realized that I’d made a huge mistake, you had already transferred and I didn’t see you again for weeks.”

Silent tears fall from your eyes at his admissions; the truths he laid in front of you. “So I let you go,” he whispers, “because it felt like some sort of karmic justice to lose you for what happened to those fighters.”

You find your voice again and say, “I’m sorry about the mission, I didn’t know… But that doesn’t make any of this better. It doesn’t excuse the fact that you didn’t even try.”

“You haven’t let me try.” His quiet voice begins to turn to ice.

“How was I supposed to know you even wanted to? You knew where my quarters were, you have access to all my orders; you could’ve come talk to me at any time and yet you didn’t.”

Heavy footsteps move away toward the edge of the tower. Without turning, you can picture his face in the starlight: his eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, muscles in his jaw and neck jumping as he clenches his teeth. “You said I didn’t try. That I made it obvious I didn’t want you around. Well, Captain,” he spits your rank into the night, “you made it pretty clear as well that you didn’t want to be near me. Switching squads and dodging me at every turn.”

“You have no right-” you begin, but Poe cuts you off.

“I have every right!” His yell echoes off the gently rolling hills surrounding the base. “I have every damn right when you throw accusations in my face like this. You wanna talk about someone leaving or giving up? How about we talk about how all it took was one bad night for me for you to completely push me away?”

Rage begins simmering in your gut again, bringing you to your feet and back across the tower. “You never gave me any indication that you were dealing with more than the normal amount of stress. I tried everything I could to ease that stress for you; bringing you food when you were drowning in paperwork in your room, letting you fuck me every night even when you couldn’t look me in the eye, ignoring every red flag just to try and prove to you that I was there through it all. And it was never enough.”

“Well, I guess that’s our answer, then.” Poe keeps his gaze locked with yours, eyes gleaming with fury and sadness.

Your heart shatters. “I… I guess it is.”

“I’ll send someone else up here.” Poe lingers for a heartbeat, fists clenched at his side, before turning and heading down the stairs, leaving you alone. 

You stare out over base, watching Poe’s form disappear from view in the night, each step a death knell in your bones. Any future you daydreamed about fades with each passing breath. By the time Poe’s replacement makes it up the tower, the early morning wind has dried your tears and frozen a thick casing of ice around your heart.

#star wars #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x gn!reader #poe dameron angst #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fan fiction #poe dameron fan fic #poe dameron imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars fan fiction #star wars fan fic

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (8/?)

Chapter summary: You and Wanda wake up, each in your own way, but with a shared realization that ultimately leads to the same conclusion.

Chapter word count: 4,061

Trigger Warnings: mentions of suicide

Author's note: Please read the trigger warnings before proceeding. This chapter is short, but it concludes the ending of Part I (ILGOSS will be told in 3 parts). We are 1/3 through the story after this! Any mistakes are mine, unbeta'd as always.

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Nine

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @sayah13 | @aliherreraa

-

Eight (end of Part I)

When you dream this time, it’s that night again.

You’re back in Westview, New Jersey, or at least a version of it that’s forever in the midst of a storm. Yet, in the thick of the tempest, the familiar sights greet you.The deep hue of dark blue engulfs everything, while the moon casts its enchanting display of twisted tree shadows upon the room's walls. You don’t see a calendar anywhere, but you know what day it is. The day you consciously removed your wedding ring while Wanda begged you not to leave her. It’s the day your heart stopped beating. 

There, in the bedroom you once shared as spouses, Wanda is kneeling on the floor, cradling your face in her hands, the gold metal band on her left ring finger burning against your cheek with how cold it has gotten. 

But this Wanda is battered and bruised; a cut on her lip and discolored patches adjourned her once-pristine features; a chilling testament to the pain and suffering she’s endured. 

“Wanda, who did this to you?” you ask. Your fingers come up to gently graze the ugly marks. Wanda only sighs and closes her eyes at your touch; she seems to revel in the sting they bring to her fresh wounds. A seething rage simmers in the depths of your being, momentarily tamed by the presence of the fragile woman in front of you. 

The cut on her lip stretches as a smile works its way to her lips, adding a touch of complexity to her expression. “Baby, don’t you recall?”

As you gaze into Wanda's eyes, her question lingers in the air, stirring fragments of memories within your mind. The weight of her words hangs there, urging you to search deep within the recesses of your consciousness.

But she tells you anyway.

“You did.”

Your mouth opens in horror. “That can’t be right.”

“It’s okay, baby. It has to be this way.” Wanda says, her eyes shining with sadness and resignation.

"Why?" you ask, your eyes welling up with tears as a few of them manage to slip free.

Wanda catches them with her chapped lips, tasting the salt from them.

“So we can be together again.”

-

This time around, when you wake up, you remember every detail of your dream. 

You think about calling Wanda. Maybe even seeing her. 

But you don’t think you’ll ever stop hurting her if you do.

-

The light is blinding when Wanda’s consciousness gradually reawakens. As her eyes slowly adjust, Wanda's ears are immersed in the backdrop of sounds surrounding her. A steady beep emanates from a nearby machine, signaling that her vital signs are stable. Voices resonate nearby, discussing the medications she recalls consuming moments before succumbing to unconsciousness. 

It wasn’t her intention to wake up in a hospital. But at the same time, she’s too scared to admit that waking up at all was the least of her concerns when she emptied a bottle of sleeping pills in one night. All Wanda wanted was to numb the pain. And it worked perfectly. 

For three days.

When her vision finally refocuses, it is Pietro's face that greets her, hurt and confused. Wanda struggles to get up, but her muscles, weakened from inactivity, fail her. With a hand on her shoulder, Pietro carefully urges her to remain lying down.

"Hey, don't strain yourself," Pietro says, pulling his chair nearer to Wanda's bedside. “You just survived the darkest moment of your life, you know?” Pietro smiles softly at her, willing the wetness pricking at his eyes not to fall. 

“Are you hungry? Shannon went out to buy some of your favorite snacks.” Pietro says, caressing the top of Wanda’s head. 

"I..." Wanda attempts to speak, but only a hoarse sound escapes her parched throat. Then she starts coughing uncontrollably from the dryness of her throat. Pietro hurriedly pours her a glass of water and brings it to her lips, assisting her as she takes a careful sip. 

“I’m sorry,” Wanda says softly, once she has recovered her voice a little. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t want to–”

“I know,” Pietro couldn’t bear to hear more. He wouldn’t be able to keep it together longer if he hears the word ‘die’ fall from Wanda’s lips. “It was just an accident right?”

Wanda nods, her lower lip quivering as the gravity of what she’s put her brother through comes crashing down on her. They’ve been orphans since they were twelve, and one of their parents had willingly orphaned them by succumbing to a toxic combination of alcohol and prescription pills. It was a nightmare that took them years to wake up from. For Wanda, it took meeting you and experiencing your unconditional love and devotion, to completely heal from that.

With what’s happened, Wanda has no idea how Pietro can look at her with anything but resentment. And even then, overwhelmed with guilt for letting her brother undergo the same trauma they went through as kids, she thinks of you. 

She wonders if you knew; if you’ve seen her in the worst possible way. She considers herself to be utterly pathetic, believing that she has nothing to offer you anymore. In the past, she had something when she basked in the warmth of your love and affection, but without it, she sees herself as unworthy and devoid of any value.

“Did you–” Wanda clears her throat when her voice breaks again. “Did you talk to Y/N?”

Pietro’s jaw hardens at the mention of your name. Wanda senses that his knowledge extends beyond mere speculation; in the last 72 hours she had been indisposed, Pietro had all the time to find out what he needed. 

“She’s not your emergency contact anymore,” he says, his voice rising in volume as his temper edges closer to the brink of his control. "And if anything had happened to you, I would have put her in this very hospital."

“Piet, don’t say that, she’s got nothing to do with–”

“Don’t fucking cover for her, Wanda. She’s toxic for you,” he hisses through gritted teeth, and Wanda’s eyes fall shut from hearing the truth. 

“W-What I did to her was worse–” 

“Worse?” Pietro’s voice steadily rises. “She wasn’t the one who ended up with a tube down her fucking throat just to be kept alive!” he yells out, catching the attention of the nurses passing by Wanda’s room. 

Wanda says nothing. She stares at the oximeter clipped around her finger as she absorbs Pietro’s anguish. 

“Agatha told me everything,” he continues to seethe. “Everything. She used you like a toy. For what? To cure her own damage?”

Wanda recoils as if she’s been slapped. You don't deserve his wrath; none of this is your fault. She made her own choices—

"I don't care what you think you did, or if you think you deserve all this shit because you don't," he says firmly. "She doesn't have the right to treat you like trash."

"But she does, Piet," Wanda responds, her voice filled with self-blame. "I hurt her so much--"

“Do you even hear yourself?” he interrupts; there’s just so much frustration that he couldn’t release the way he’d like because of Wanda’s delicate situation. “How many times?” he asks.

“What?”  Wanda replies, confused by the sudden question.

"How many times did it happen?" Pietro presses.

Wanda shakes her head, refusing to answer. “Why does that matter?”

“Jesus, Wanda,” Pietro sighs sharply. “You have bruises on your skin. They showed me where they are mapped all over your body.  Between your apartment and the cafe, you couldn’t have gotten them from an accident or anyone you interact with daily. It’s her, isn’t it?”

"Please, Pietro, that's enough," Wanda pleads, attempting to lift her head from the pillow to get a better look at him but her world suddenly spins, causing her to groan in discomfort.

"If I had been even a second late bringing you to the hospital, you'd be dead by now. So, no, Wanda. I won't let her near you ever again," Pietro asserts, jaw clenched and eyes red from being up all night and from crying.

"I wasn’t asking for her," Wanda interjects once Pietro's anger subsides momentarily. “I–I wouldn’t want her to see me like this. I was worried that you contacted her.”

Pietro's mouth twists into a humorless smile, his gaze fixed on Wanda’s pale form. In that moment, he wonders if his sister has truly lost her mind, still worrying about you above all else. 

"I don't know, Wanda. Maybe if she knew what she drove you to do, she'd finally stay away for good," he spits out bitterly, his anger burning fiercely and showing no signs of dissipating.

"Keep her out of this," Wanda warns him, summoning what little energy remains within her. "Promise me."

Pietro breathes audibly through his nose, and then reluctantly obliges with a sharp nod. The thing about addiction is, one wouldn’t know the lengths an addict would go through for the very thing they fixate on. He's acutely aware of the need to be cautious with his words and actions around Wanda. While she may have survived this particular ordeal, who knows about tomorrow or the day after that?

"I promise I won't say anything to her," he says, leaning in to lock eyes with her. "But I need you to promise me something in return. Promise me that you'll seek help."

Wanda doubts that therapy will be able to alleviate the emptiness she feels every minute of every day. However, she realizes that it won't hurt to tell Pietro what he needs to hear at this moment.

"Okay," she whispers softly. "I promise."

-

To your astonishment, you are offered the job at Stark Industries.

The news comes three days after the interview that you initially thought was a disaster. A small talk with the hiring manager informs you that the interviewer found your honesty refreshing; too refreshing that he doubled your asking salary in exchange for starting as early as Monday the following week. You could start today if it was possible, but you quell your excitement so as not to come off desperate or too eager. 

After dropping the call with their human resources representative, you thumb through your contacts, stopping at Wanda’s name briefly, before scrolling down to Yelena’s number. Calling Wanda used to be your go-to in these significant moments, but you reassure yourself that it's just a habit that will fade with time.

“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice is hoarse from sleep–hopefully just that, and nothing else. Since the night of your visit, there has been a notable silence between you, particularly regarding the voice message she sent you in her drunken state.

"Hey, it's me," you utter, pausing to take a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady your racing heart. “Just checking in, and uhm, guess what? I got the job at Stark Industries. I start on Monday.”

“That’s awesome, Y/N. Congratulations!” Yelena sounds sincerely happy at your news and you smile at hearing the glee in her voice.

“Thank you. Unemployment was starting to suck.” you chuckle, switching the phone to your other ear. 

“Who else knows? I think your mom is going to be so relieved to hear that.” Yelena says.

“Actually, you’re the first one to know,” you say, blushing at your confession. “I mean, I’d call Nat but she’s in some unknown part of the world and you know how it is when she’s working.”

You hear Yelena hum, and then carefully, she says, “So you called me first because my sister is unavailable?”

Her insinuation that this was a proxy call causes you to tightly shut your eyes, reflecting on your own stupidity.

“No, that’s not it.” you say, a little hastily. “I called you because you’re the first person I want to tell. I-I don’t know why I said the other thing.”

“I see,” Yelena says, her tone even and unaffected. “Okay.”

You sense the shift in her mood. The ball is now in your court, and you can tell that she's anticipating your decision on how to proceed with it.

“Listen, uh, about that night–”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Sending you that message was… I couldn’t be more embarrassed,” Yelena says, sort of deflecting. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Don’t apologize. I needed to hear that. It was a wake up call for all the shit you had to put up with for me.”

You hear Yelena take several deliberate breaths, before she says, “Okay, Y/N. Okay…”

"Can we discuss this further? Perhaps over dinner tonight?" you ask, as you tightly grip your device to your ear.

On the opposite end, a prolonged silence ensues as Yelena remains quiet. Moments pass, filled only with intermittent sniffling and the faint sound of sheets rustling. Right before you’re about to check if she’s still on the line, she finally murmurs, “Will 8pm work for you?”

You release a breath you didn't realize you had been holding. 

"I'll pick you up.”

You reach Yelena’s place ahead of schedule, arriving before eight in the evening. In fact, you find yourself thirty minutes early, yet you willingly choose to wait outside her door, preferring not to appear disrespectful of the time she specified for the two of you to meet. 

Positioned with your back against her door, legs crossed, you entertain yourself by scrolling through your phone, engrossed in useless facts you somehow find amusing. You’re so engrossed about the science behind why strings get tangled, when without warning, the door swings open, startling you to the point that you nearly lose your balance, teetering on the verge of landing unceremoniously on the floor.

“Y/N!” Yelena jumps and yells your name in surprise. “You scared the shit out of me. What the fuck are you doing?”

"I was early," you mutter, squinting as you look up at her. Tonight holds a distinct aura, far removed from the casual dynamics of your previous basketball outings as friends—well, sort of. It dawns on you only now as you find yourself on the ground, gazing up at Yelena's radiant visage, that she is too exceptional and breathtaking for you to ever feel deserving of.

Yelena laughs deep from her belly. “You could have knocked?”

You grin at her sheepishly. Yelena looks down at you, mirroring the silly smile on your face, and then offers a hand to help you up. You graciously take it, pulling on her a little as she supports some of your weight into a standing position. 

“To be honest, I’m not that hungry.” she says, putting on her stud earrings as she toes the pair of stilettos she had picked earlier to go with her outfit.

“Oh,” you frown, disappointment washing over your features. “A rain check then?”

Yelena shakes her head, her glossy rose-colored lips pressing into a thin line. “I kind of want to take a walk… if that’s okay with you?”

“A walk sounds lovely.”

“Let me just change into something more comfortable.” she says. You kind of expect her to go back to her room for a change of clothes, but Yelena simply kicks the stilettos to the side and pulls out a pair of Nikes from the shoe rack. And somehow, it goes even better with her sundress. 

You haven’t noticed you’ve been staring until Yelena calls you out on it. 

“What?” she asks.

“If I had known I’d be walking next to the coolest person in the city, I would have offered dinner at my place instead.” you remark, looking down at the ripped jeans and v-neck black top you’re wearing. You miss the way Yelena’s eyes travel with you, sweeping your body once with an appreciative glance. 

Yelena playfully mocks you with a teasing, "Loser", and then sort of shoves you into the hallway with a strength that is unmistakably Romanov. 

You don’t want to get your hopes up, but this walk already looks promising. 

“God, that made me so hungry.” Yelena comments around a mouthful of her hotdog sandwich. Circling the neighborhood, you’ve walked a total of three miles, at a speed that couldn’t even be called a snail pace. 

“Thought you weren’t hungry?” you tease her lightly.

“Well, maybe, if you didn’t make me walk a marathon–”

“For your information, a marathon is 26.2 miles.”

“Whatever. Semantics.”

It really isn’t, but you roll your eyes anyway and let it go. It’s a debate for another time.

After falling into a brief, comfortable silence, Yelena asks, “So, you relapsed. That’s all there is to it right?”

It seems you’re back on the heavier topics, but that was precisely the purpose of meeting Yelena tonight; to put a name to whatever that’s been going on long enough between the two of you. Navigating the space between being more than friends but less than lovers has proven to be a precarious situation, one that has placed you in the predicament of almost losing her friendship altogether.

Which is why you told her everything–well, maybe not everything. Most of it. You recounted how you found Vision in Wanda’s cafe, how it triggered something in you that you didn’t know existed. How you thought you had already moved on from the hurt of her betrayal, only for it to resurface at a greater intensity.

And then you told her about that night you showed up at Wanda’s, consumed by an overwhelming desire to ruin and exact revenge the only way you knew how. 

You do not, however, disclose the nights that followed, or the several times you went to Wanda in the middle of the day to have her in the stockroom of her cafe, or that one time in the public restroom of the company who just hired you. Well, semantics, right?

“Relapse?” you tilt your head at her quizzically. 

"When you slept with her," Yelena clarifies, unapologetically, despite her own clear romantic interest in you. It's as if she sees it as a commonplace and almost normal occurrence for someone to sleep with their ex-wife.

“I’m not sure if it’s as simple as that.” you reply.

“Did it happen because you’re in love with her?” she asks. 

At this second, you’re no longer pretending to walk. You’ve both stopped at an intersection even though it’s not a particularly busy one.

“I wanted to hurt her,” you quietly confess. The rational part of your brain knows that it’s the farthest thing from love as far as a healthy and nurturing relationship goes. So, it’s rational thinking that prods you to answer with, “By definition, no.”

Yelena seems satisfied with it.

“Okay.” she says.

“Okay, what?” It’s starting to bother you how often she’s been throwing that word around all day.

“Okay. You relapsed. I’m not easily fazed by such things if that’s what you’re worried about,” Yelena tells you with a soft smile, the lamp post hitting illuminating her face in the best way. “I still think we have a shot at this. Do you?”

More than a decade after your relationship took a backseat to Yelena's dreams, you both feel that you owe it to yourselves to at least try. For a long time, you both regretted not seeing your relationship through, and now you have the opportunity for a second chance at your first love. It's a rare opportunity that few people are given in their lifetime.

“I do,” you say. It’s unthinkable to do otherwise.

“Good. Because I think you can be happy with me. We were happy, Y/N. We can have that again. You know I’d never hurt you.”

You can’t exactly say the same for her. But by not trying, you have hurt her.  When you’re with Yelena, you feel like you’re capable of becoming a better person–at least better than the person you were for the last several days. 

“This is the part where I kiss you, but maybe we should take things slow.” Yelena says with a teary laugh.

A smile graces your lips in return, and you lean in to envelop her in a warm and tight embrace.

Yelena sighs into your shoulder, and you nuzzle her head with your cheek, the sweet strawberry smell of her shampoo giving you a feeling of lightness that you haven’t felt in a long time.

“You know what I should do first though?” you whisper after some time.

“Hm?” Yelena hums, still clinging onto you comfortably.

“Move out of your sister’s place.” you murmur softly into her hair. 

"Good. Because I don't date people who still share a living space with their best friends in their thirties," Yelena replies, her voice muffled against your chest as she snuggles closer to you. The vibrations of your laughter resonate through your throat.

“Pot calling the kettle black.”

-

There is a phenomenon called ‘Rayleigh Scattering’. It’s basically the change in hues of the sky, when the sun is low in the morning and the blue light scatters away, so that a sea of orange and red floods the heavens instead. 

Wanda learns about it while she waits for you to show up at her doorstep, the night following her discharge from the hospital. In light of recent events, she successfully managed to talk Pietro out of moving into her place temporarily. Though she agreed she’d take his calls at specific times during the day, or else he will pack up his bags and take his residence in her guest bedroom.

So, going back to her old ways, Wanda stays up all night, attentive to your impending arrival; a human time lapse looking directly into the eyes of time. 

But your familiar steps never echoed in the hallway when the clock struck nine in the evening.

And the night after. 

And the next. 

Until one day, your smell no longer lingers in her pillows and her sheets.

For the following weeks that you keep failing to show up, Wanda makes an effort to refrain from checking on you. She’s done enough to push you away; to hurt you even even further by forcing herself to be with you in any capacity that you allow. Unconsciously, her insistence only turned you into a lesser version of yourself–the only version of you that was willing to be with her. 

It hurt Wanda to know that she’d be the one to bring out the worst in you.

She wanted to be better for you; to fill in the mold of someone you deserved to be with. She tried to, by putting up her own business and dedicating all of her efforts to establish it. She did something for herself for the sake of learning and growing, and moving on from the idealistic and unreliable wife you used to know. 

Ironically, her progress took a nosedive when you reentered her life. Seeing you awakened that selfish part of her that always wants you to be hers–at all costs. 

She was scheming to get you back at all cost. The realization of that came too late. She had already ended up further than when she started. 

Wanda stares off in the distance as she stirs the coffee she’s made for herself in her own kitchen, its rich aroma providing the smallest comfort.

Somewhere, you’re in New York, probably taking your morning coffee as well; probably drinking it black because you’re too lazy to add the cream and sugar yourself. If you were together, you’d be having your coffee in an entirely different way because Wanda loves to keep the little things extra special, especially when it comes to your pleasure.

Somewhere in New York, you exist; it serves as the sole source of solace while she chooses to leave you in solitude, at least for the time being.

With the business card that Pietro had discreetly slipped into her jacket as she was leaving the hospital the other week, Wanda ponders her options, flipping it between her fingers. After a moment of contemplation, she resolves to retrieve her phone and dial the number on it.

You’re still Wanda’s dream. She doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. 

But now she understands that in order for dreams to turn into reality, she needs to wake up and fight for herself as well; after all–love isn’t something that weak people do.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Nineteen

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, panic attack, stalking, online bullying.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd, readers beware as always lol.

tags:@tearfallpixie @cncohshit @jordynyingling0219 @faceless-mirror @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747 @witchyweeb34 @black-damask1999 @jilliemiw86 @ilovesamkiszka @lyschko666 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses @laurpartyprogram

Tag List is Open, please let me know if you would like to be added to it or in general.

Ricky was staying with Chris, which he hadn’t wanted to. When he came down, having finished editing the video, uploading it to YouTube so that he could publish it when he was ready, only for Chris to let him know the plan. He’d argued that he was fine in his own house. He hadn’t worked hard to buy his own fucking house to get run out of it by some fucking insane psycho stalker!

The whole argument had fallen on deaf ears. Chris had just shaken his head, saying that he wouldn’t be staying with him forever, that this was still his house, just until they figured out how to deal with everything that was happening, until all of this settled down. It would all be settled down. Chris assured him, standing there with him, a hand on his shoulder, the other curving around the back of his neck, just helping him breathe for a second. It would be fine.

Talia had taken a deep breath herself watching the guys console Ricky, as much as he fought to stay in the house, something about how he looked as he turned to head back upstairs to go pack a bag so he could stay with Chris, she had a feeling there was a weight off his shoulders. He could argue that he was fine here all he wanted, but he wasn’t, and she didn’t blame him. Realising that you had a stalker, it didn’t matter who they were, it was unnerving. In this case Talia thought  it was worse because Ricky did know Grace, and Grace knew Ricky, and now they knew that Grace hadn’t given up, whether, she thought she could get him back, or she was just trying to ruin his life, Talia didn’t know. Then again, someone as insane as to date him for so long and think he’d never find out she was lying to him, it was possible she thought turning the fans against him, would get him to come back to her. So Ricky packed up a bag of his things, along with some of his equipment, and after he published the video to his channel, headed to go home with Chris. Talia, however, went with Vin and Ava like she had been since she’d arrived, waiting to see how it would fair with the video, how the fans would react. By the time the video went live, it had been quite late at night for all of them, so it was no surprise, that she crashed into a fitful sleep long before she saw any reaction to it.

When Talia woke up, she realised it was mid-morning, and found a text from Ava, telling her that she’d gone into town with Vinny and that they’d be back later that afternoon. So dragging herself to make something to eat, only to hear the door, she sighed, walking from the kitchen, she went to answer it, and saw Rick on the other side of the door, waiting.

“Vin isn’t here, he went out with Ava-”

“Actually, I came to see you.”

She was taken aback. So far, Ricky hadn’t once gone out of his way to want to see her, every time they’d spoken, the party, yesterday, even the diner, had all been circumstances when they’d been put together because of other people, and had to deal with the other person, and now he was here, seeking her out?

“Um, okay, come in, I guess?”

Stepping aside to let him in, while it wasn’t her house, she knew Ricky was more than welcome in Vinny’s house as it was.

“I’m just making something to eat, I only just got up, I, well, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Talia nervously rubbed her neck slightly, she hadn’t been able to check her phone without being abused in her messages on her social media since yesterday, and honestly, she was scared to check it now, she hadn’t checked her messages since she woke up.

“I haven’t checked my messages since I got up, I know it's going to be crazy, I can’t control how the fans react, all I know was what I said, and I turned the comments off on the video. I told them I would, because of the abuse that came after the live, and how ashamed I am that any of my fans would abuse anyone online, ever. So.”

Walking back towards the kitchen after she closed and locked the door, she doubted that would change everyone, she knew how fandoms got, while there were a lot of good people there could be a lot of bad too. It wasn’t a good thing, even if you could meet great friends, you could meet your worst enemy too.

“What was more important, was, talking to you about yesterday, about how we haven’t really talked, and you were right, I haven’t wanted to. Honestly, because admitting that you’re my soulmate has been, it's been shit through all of this. I have been struggling-”

“I know Ricky, you don’t need to explain that to me-”

“Shit! Will you just stop!”

Rick cut her off as she went to make herself a coffee, and she started a little, going tense as she set the cup that she’d just pulled out of the cupboard on the counter carefully, not wanting to look back at him now and fuck, he ran his fingers through his hair, feeling bad for snapping at her with how she looked right then. Shit... Why did she have to look like a spooked fucking deer, when yesterday she looked like she was ready to slap him into the middle of next week. Where was that girl, he needed her for the moment. But he supposed, at the same time, he needed reminding, why he was here, after what she said yesterday, he didn’t know her, he didn’t know the pain she’d been put through, by her own fucking family. He had so much support around him, from the band, his friends, and even his family from a whole other state, and she had Ava and two friends who couldn’t even be here with her now.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I just, do you always do that? Make excuses for other people's shitty behaviour? You’ve been doing nothing but that for me since we met, haven’t you?”

He’d known he was acting like an ass, but hearing her yesterday, he hadn’t realised just how much of one he was until then. Shit. When Talia didn’t say anything, just stared at him for a long moment, Ricky glanced down at the coffee cup on the counter and shifted on his feet, moving to pick up the cup. When she went to say something, he lifted his hand,

“Let me, how do you like it?”

He didn’t have Ava here to ask, and hadn’t prepared in advance like she had yesterday, so, he went ahead and asked her directly.

“Half cream, no sugar, please.”

Nodding slightly, they both fell silent as he went to work to make her her coffee, while she knew she hadn’t eaten anything yet and any moment her stomach was going to rebel, it was going to have to be satisfied with the coffee, because the thought of eating anything while about to talk about soulmates with Rick, well, the thought made her feel a bit sick. They’d been going around in circles enough, and she was a bit terrified of where this was going to go, not to mention the messages she had seen yesterday, had brought back the worst memories, she didn’t need to go down that path right now.

Once he was done, Rick handed over her coffee, and let her take a sip before,

“Okay?”

When she nodded slightly, he smiled a little, at least he could do something right, even if it was only coffee.

“Good, okay. So, I know I’m fucked up, and I don’t need you making excuses for me, I don’t deserve them, any of them. I don’t deserve them any more than the people in your past do, because I know I don’t know you that well, but from everything Ava says about you, and she talks about you constantly,”

His voice a little deadpanned at that, trying not to smirk at the way Talia’s face turned a bright fucking red when he said that, she did though, Ava had talked Talia up all through their time on tour, even if Rick had tried to avoid any talk of her like the plague it had been impossible in its entirety. He’d be laying in his bunk, and Ava would be talking to Vinny about home, and Talia this, and Talia that, and it had made him want to scream in fucking frustration into his pillow that he couldn’t escape her.

“Then you are an amazing person. Honestly, you’d think you were her soulmate, Vin should watch out, she might have a thing.”

Hearing her chuckle against the coffee much was better than the dead silence, and the startled look she’d given him when he’d snapped at her before.

“There was that moment in college, so maybe, he should be warned.”

“Oh wow, noted, I’ll give him a heads-up.”

Both of them were laughing that time as she drank some more of her coffee, Ricky reaching for another coffee mug as he started to make himself a coffee.

“So yeah, I want to apologise, I realise, like a complete asshole, that I haven’t, for anything that I’ve done, or said to you, pretty much the entire time I’ve known you. How I’ve treated you has been, inexcusable. Even if you weren’t my soulmate, I should have treated you with more respect, especially as my best friend’s soulmate’s best friend, sister even.”

Both of them, standing in the kitchen, with their coffees leaning back against opposing counters and drinking at their mugs,

“Thank you.”

It was nice to hear it, at least. Talia hadn’t ever even gotten an apology from her family. Not that they would ever consider that they were wrong, that she could be right about having a famous soulmate, that was it, not that she’d always known who he was. Kyle and Jordan had known from the start, it was that Ricky was famous. Who was she, what right did she have, to have a famous soulmate when they didn’t? At least that was how Ava put it, that they were all just jealous, what made her special, was that she had a famous soulmate, and they didn’t, why did she deserve something more? She didn’t, she just had a soulmate, a normal soulmate, Ricky. Ricky, who enjoyed music, had been painfully abused by a horrible woman because of it.

“Fuck, don’t thank me, I was an asshole to you, especially at that party, shit. Making you prove it.”

He knew how he was treating her then, just like Grace had been suggesting she was, just someone out to play him, and he felt like utter fucking trash for it. Now she was thanking him for finally acting like a decent human being and apologising? Well, that made him feel even worse.

“Shit, you can’t be real.”

Just hearing him mention that party, even with what he was saying, how he’d treated her that day, Talia was feeling some sort of way, and Ricky’s eyes went wide when he felt the way she was reacting to it, the way his soulmate tattoo started to grow warm. Only the heat wasn’t instant and, well, stabbing like yesterday, it was like a warm slow burn. The warmth was a tingle that sunk into his skin to spread through him, and shit. That was when he saw it, the way her fingers pressed tighter to her mug, her back arched as she stood a little straighter, her thighs, tensed slightly, pressing together under her long shirt, the shorts she wore barely visible underneath.. Oh, and oh that delicate flush of her cheeks..

“Oh, oh Talia..”

The words were so softly off his lips, that he barely breathed them, he wasn’t even sure she heard him, but that wasn’t the point. She had to be some sort of masochist, he was a fucking asshole to her of epic proportions, and she was still thinking about him like that. Swallowing, not that he could lie himself, that day had played on his mind too. He’d thought about her more than once over the past week, enough that that tingle in his tattoo right now was not an unfamiliar feeling… Right now, seeing the way she was rolling her shoulder on the side of her tattoo, remembering how she reacted to the pain yesterday… it was making him wonder.

Did she feel it every time he did?

Did Talia feel what he felt every time he’d felt a surge of sensation in that tattoo?

Fuck, the most memorable had been when they were together, in that bathroom. He’d felt it, the way he brushed against her tattoo, the way he’d let his lips trail over her tattoo, how in that instant he’d felt her come around his cock as he did. Just thinking about it now, he might as well have been buried deep inside of her again, with the way the surge of feeling in his tattoo flared just at the thought, his eyes closed at the soft gasp that escaped her against the mug of her coffee.

“Shit.”

Ricky set his down on the counter before he dropped it and scalding hot coffee went everywhere. He took a deep breath, eyes opening before he moved towards her, taking the mug from her hands and putting it aside, hot coffee, safely out of reach for the moment, and then his hand was curving around the side of her neck, over her soulmate tattoo, just letting his fingers rest there over her skin nothing more, and feeling her shiver slightly under his touch.

“You can feel something, can’t you?”

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

#motionless in white #miw #ricky olson #ricky horror #ricky olson fanfiction #ricky olson x ofc #original female character #soulmates #vinny mauro #fanfiction #miw band #rick olson #ricky horror olson #soulmate au #soulmate #tattoos #ricky olson fanfic #vinny mauro fanfic #chris motionless #chris cerulli #chris cerulli fanfic #fic: every rose has its thorns

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Hook

Chapter Twelve

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Charlie, Meg, many more mentioned

Word Count: 2229

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining. BACKSTORY AHEAD, story takes place currently in Dec 2017, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

Dean took another sip of his coffee, the plastic lid as familiar a sensation against his lips as the warmth of the liquid flowing through it. Meg had rolled her eyes at his cup the second he arrived, but hadn’t voiced her precise annoyance about the chain coffee company, which Dean considered a small victory. They sat at a small table next to the booth where you and Charlie were camped out with your laptops and phones out, listening while you both worked. Dean appreciated the support and even supervision more than he would ever say. Especially when Meg started grilling him.

“Okay, fine, we won’t talk about ol’ blue eyes himself. Tell me about the new member of the band— Kevin Tran?”

“Kev is great— super smart and really bringing a new edge to the keys on our upcoming album,” Dean said, nodding, a small smirk on his lips because he knew Meg wanted more than that.

“And when should we expect to see this yet-to-be-named album?”

“If everything else goes as well as recording it did, it’s looking like a spring release,” Dean knew he sounded like a corporate stooge.

“You’re touring before the album is released, in this day and age that’s a bit naive, if not reckless,” Meg prodded.

“Well, we’ve got a lot of material to work with, besides, a lot of these folks are coming out to see the last album anyway,” Dean leveled his glare at her heart-shaped face, anticipating the dark glint in her big eyes.

Dean didn’t do interviews. He didn’t like stirring shit for public consumption. He would sit in a room and talk music with somebody, hell, anybody, all day long if he could. But being under the microscope was something he’d just learned to really do on himself, from Missouri. And once he’d cried in her office all those months ago, he knew he’d never get that wall back up. Wouldn’t really even bother rebuilding it because he now knew it was a prison, a self-inflicted cage. 

But this wasn’t therapy and Meg wasn’t Missouri.

Luckily, Dean could read her as well as she could read him. And he knew she was dangerous.

Meg took the bait, “so, the plan is to make up for all those shows that you canceled— all the fans you let down.”

Dean nodded. “If we can.”

“And what happens if you just disappoint them all over again?” Meg pressed.

Dean shook his head, “can’t think like that. We just go out there and do what we love and let the music speak for itself.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to get on stage again. You’ve got to face them and show them you’ve still got it.”

Dean knew she was right, but he also knew a lot of things she didn’t. About hours in the studio and time spent one-on-one with each member of the band. About Kevin’s audition tapes and phone calls and hours of sitting in the den just letting the strings of his guitar knit pieces of himself back together. Confessions and penance might seem like trite concepts amongst musicians, people who do everything loudly for seemingly selfish purposes. But Dean had lived through it and he knew they were stronger for what they’d overcome. 

No one else was leaving.

“Once we’re up there, they won’t have to worry about that. Trust me,” Dean said and took the final sip from his coffee.

Meg quirked an eyebrow and watched him as the server brought them their entrees. She shifted her phone where it was openly recording their conversation and her tablet where she had jotted down notes that Dean pretended not to read about his posture and his “faux confidence”.

He took a bite out of his sandwich and waited for the next line of questioning, the next stage of battle.

She delicately nibbled at a fry as she continued to look for an opening. 

“Tell me about Bela, Dean. You two have created quite the stir online,” Meg was better than the obvious, so he knew she was trying to get him prickly. It was a diversion and they both knew it.

“What do you wanna know?” Dean didn’t act fazed, taking another obnoxiously large bite that would have earned him a bitchface from Sam.

“How’d you meet?”

Dean took his time chewing. Meg smirked, waiting oh-so-patiently.

“Mutual friend.”

“Fascinating.”

“Not really. Why? How do you usually meet people?”

“Tinder,” Meg replied quickly.

“Yeah, not really my scene.” Dean had never even installed the app, or any hookup app, though he knew people used them as often as they used Uber. 

“But you seem to hit the jackpot all on your own. Didn’t you? She’s gorgeous,” Meg was really trying for something, Dean couldn’t say what though.

“She’s a lot more than that, but yeah, I am pretty lucky,” Dean wasn’t selling Bela out, no matter how much this she-demon wanted him to.

“Don’t sell yourself short there, Dean-o. I mean she’s a D-list celebrity no one even remembered until she showed up with you on her arm. She seems to be making out well in this scenario as well,” Meg goaded.

Dean huffed and took another bite.

“Not going to deny that one, huh?”

Dean swallowed and wiped the mayonnaise off his mouth. “No, wasn’t going to validate it with a response. But obviously you play dirty. Look, if I cared about any of that crap I would be with some Botox’d bimbo who uses followers as a way to justify their existence. Or to sell something. Bela’s not like that, she cares about people. And she really has no use for any sort of celebrity ranking system.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as me,” Meg batted back.

“Whatever, lady, believe me or not, but say what you want about me. She doesn’t deserve your bullshit,” Dean growled. He could feel you inching towards him from your perch on the booth's bench, you were his back up, but he really didn’t want it to come to that.

“Fine,” Meg snipped. “What does she even see in you, Dean?”

Dean sighed and looked around the diner before putting back on his company smile. “You’d have to ask her yourself.”

That lit her up. “Maybe I will.”

Dean shrugged and started in on the second half of his lunch. “Go for it.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Dean knew he’d won that round, especially when he heard Charlie and you start up your own separate conversation.

 Meg scrolled through her tablet, while Dean continued to eat. It wasn’t the worst forced socialization he’d lived through, but it wasn’t over yet.

“Look, I was hoping we’d come to this topic more organically, but you are surprisingly stubborn, so I’m just going to put this out there: who is Cain Charles?” Meg swung for the fences.

Dean swallowed and then looked at Charlie, praying she’d look up from her laptop and reassure him. He wouldn’t look at you, that would be too much of a giveaway.

“He owns a chain of boxing gyms in Vegas,” Dean went with the more palatable answer.

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Dean. I can’t do anything with what you’ve given me so far. Your publicist wants me to write a puff piece about all of your progress since your very public meltdown on your last tour. And frankly all of this smells like a very blatant cover up. I know you spent all of your free time at those gyms for almost an entire year. I know that you lost a bandmate in the middle of an otherwise successful tour. And I know you are not the squeaky clean arm candy to one of LA’s biggest philanthropists. So, tell me, one former piece of trailer trash to another. Who is Cain Charles to you?”

Dean wanted to get up and leave. He wanted to stuff Meg’s uneaten tuna melt into her smug face and tell her to get a real job. But mostly, he wished he had never agreed to this stupid deal with the label and just be a fucking musician like he was born to be. But he had made his bed, now he had to lie in it and let Meg dissect the pattern of the comforter and psychoanalyze the amount of pillows he clung to.

“You are seriously deranged, I hope you know that.”

“Takes one to know one,” Meg purred.

Dean couldn’t open that chapter of his life without it all coming out to hurt everyone in his orbit, Sam, the band, hell, even you. Everyone knew Cain was the start of Dean’s descent into that dark, rage filled hole, but they didn’t know everything. No one did, unless he told them.

Even Meg wasn’t that good.

“He tried to recruit me to do some celebrity bouts for charity, but I turned him down. I liked his facilities, but I didn’t want to ruin my pretty face, especially not on PayPerView.”

“You box?”

“It’s a good workout, plus it comes pretty naturally to us that had to fight for what we have.”

“Rough childhood, Dean?”

“Takes one to know one,” Dean tossed back at her.

Meg straightened in her chair. “Your dad was also a musician.”

“Is. He’s not dead.”

“That’s right, he lives in Nebraska. Big rock scene out in the plains, then?”

“Dad is more of a blues guy, but he doesn’t tour anymore.”

“He’s got two successful sons taking care of him, makes sense.”

Dean chuckled darkly. “He’s got a nine-to-five, smart ass. And a wife and another son to worry about. Sometimes you’ve got to settle down.”

“But he didn’t do that until you were already in high school, did he?”

“So?”

“So, must have been hard having him gone so much.”

“It’s the life, and it couldn’t have been so bad—- me and Sammy both followed in his footsteps.”

Meg finally took a bite of her lunch. “Yeah, but you don’t have kids, right?”

Dean shook his head. “Nope.”

“Do you want them?”

Dean put his soda down and balked. “I don’t know! What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Normal conversation, man, calm down,” Meg said out of the side of her very full mouth.

Dean rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink, lamenting running out of coffee already. He was going to have to make Charlie stop for another round before he and Sam hit the road.

“So, what, Daddy Winchester just decided one day that he liked the white picket fence more than the open road?”

Dean glared at the reporter, because she knew precisely why John stopped touring, but she was going to make Dean say it anyway.

“You really are a sadist aren’t you?”

Meg nodded. “It’s a gift.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Mom died in 97, Dad had to hang up his ax.”

“So the wife and son?”

“He got remarried,” Dean said flatly.

“Yeah, but that wasn’t until—what? 2004? Kid’s pushing twenty.”

“You leave Adam out of this.”

“Just saying, if my dad came home with a side piece and her brat out of nowhere. I wouldn’t stick around to watch them play happy family.”

“It wasn’t like that— we were always gonna play together. Sam and me have been playing since before we could read. It’s in our blood. It’s not just some great escape or whatever story you’re trying to spin—- Besides, if you had really done your research, you would have known the band formed in 2000.”

“Oh, I know. You, Cas who-shall-not-be-named, Lee, and Sammy all were really hardcore back then.” Meg turned her tablet around to show him a picture taken at the Roadhouse, all of them were drenched in sweat from their set. He remembered that night, Ellen had let them play as long as they were out by ten so she would still get some regular bar business after the underage audience went home.

Cas on drums had never felt right, but it was another two years before Pam found them. Dean couldn’t stop staring at the kids they used to be.

“Missing the old days, huh?” Meg teased.

“Nah, but it’s fun to look back,” Dean admitted.

“Would the rest of the band agree?”

Dean frowned and really considered the question. Pam, obviously, ran things now. No matter how hard Dean fought to be the leader, if she wasn’t on board, it wasn’t happening. But that was a good thing, she kept him honest, kept them all honest. Sam seemed to like Kevin, even if he missed Cas almost as much as Dean did. And Lee, well, he just wanted to play. He’d be in a dive bar on every open mic night if Bobby’d let him. 

“Yeah, we’ve come a long way from coffee shops and YMCAs. I think they’re all happy with what we’re doing now. This album wouldn’t have worked if everybody wasn’t one hundred percent in it.”

Dean looked up to see Meg looking at him like he was missing something obvious.

“What?”

“I think that was the first question where you were completely honest with me all day.”

Dean rolled his eyes and stole a fry off her plate, chomping down he asked, “what else you got?”

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter 13: Canto

#spotless series #dean/reader #dean/bela #rockstar au #dean winchester fanfiction #fake dating #slow burn

[buc-eebarnes]

confessions when one character thinks the other is sleeping prompt pls omgggg

cheezy homie i always see u in my notifs and of COURSE i had to go all out on this !!!! sorry if it's late jfsdkljfsdkj jet lag got me conked out as soon as i landed but here it be! (unbeta'd tho 🥲 also trying out a different format 👀)

conversations with myself (about you)

pairing: head engineer mark x the captain

tags: confessions, sleeping, fluff and angst

rated G || 1469 words || read on ao3!

You huff out a sigh of relief. You'd been trying to chase Mark down all day, but his assistants kept telling you that he was in different parts of the base.

You should've known to check his office.

But there he was, slumped over the table with his head resting on top of folded arms. He must've tired himself out from all the projects he was micromanaging. You squint at the laptop to see what he was trying to work on.

It's a progress report. Multiple, actually. You stifle a sigh and look down at his sleeping figure. "Oh Mark, what are we gonna do with you?"

He doesn't stir at your words, which is a testament to how tired he is. You keep your voice low regardless.

There's a folded blanket on the couch, and it smells of him, a weird mixture of pine, oil, and the soap rations they brought from Earth. The couch must be where Mark crashes all the time, which pulls a frown on your lips.

You drape the blanket over him, securing the folds over his shoulders. He's gonna have a crick in his neck in the morning, but he'll thank you later, probably.

He looks so peaceful, sleeping. 

You observe him for a while. The constant furrow between his eyebrows is gone. He doesn't frown in his sleep, but his lips are parted, and you can hear the soft puffs of breath he releases. His hair is a bit of a mess, as if he'd run his hands through it multiple times throughout the day, and you find yourself wanting to do the same.

"When was the last time you knocked out like this?" you mutter. Your hand touches a strand that's fallen in front of his eyes before you could stop it.

Reflexes kick in and you jerk back, but he doesn't stir. The only thing that changes is that his brow furrows slightly, but his breaths remain constant, and you relax your arm. You hesitantly take off a glove, and, before you can chicken out, reach forward to tuck the strand of hair behind his ear.

That then motivates you to run your fingers through his thick black locks, and it's as soft as you imagined.

You chuckle lightly, amazed. "Whaddaya know."

You continue the motions, and eventually, the wrinkles between his brows disappear, his features peaceful once more.

You drink your fill admiring him. Wide nose. Strong jaw. Big ears that stick out. Beard's getting to the point where it would break regulation but you're the highest official on this base and what Earth doesn't know won't hurt them, anyway. You look down at the fold of his arms, contoured by muscles. His hands, his fingers, that are so deft, made to create and fix what's destroyed. Why does everyone put you on a pedestal about looks when Mark is literally right here, sleeping soundly and looking sculpted by the gods himself?

"Everyone's blind," you mumble. "I don't hold a candle to you."

The urge to hold his hand is incredibly strong. You could do it—thread your fingers with his until he wakes, blinking blearily up at you with trusting eyes and whispering "Captain?" in a sleepy voice, and you suddenly feel small and unworthy about every single time he followed your lead without question.

And you feel the weight of infinite universes on your shoulders. Not once did you initiate anything more than friendship with Mark with all of the chances you've been given. He was always the ballsier one, more impulsive, more outspoken. As someone who has taken the mantle of a captain of a spaceship, you are an incredibly timid person.

"I wish I had your courage. Your tenacity. Your ability to take charge." You let out a humorless chuckle, and your fingers twitch against his scalp. "Countless universes, countless timelines, and we end up right back here. If only I wasn't a coward. Maybe I could finally ask you out on that date, y’know? To not worry about being a captain. Just someone going on a date with the person they like."

He doesn't respond, but you think you could see his breathing stop for a moment. It's a minute thing, barely there, but it's enough for you to cease running your fingers through his hair.

Did he hear you? Panic wells up in your throat. Oh god. "Mark?"

He doesn't answer.

"Are you awake?" you whisper.

He still doesn't answer. His breathing resumes again, slower this time.

You bite your lip, waiting for ten very long seconds, and you slowly pull your hand away.

You swallow down whatever feelings bubbled up to the surface and leave his office, quiet as a mouse. You lean against the door and close your eyes for a moment, wondering if you'd fucked up a friendship you'd spent these past few months trying to mend.

The trek back to your quarters is long. You get ready for bed and end up staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night.

Was he awake? Did he hear everything? If he heard everything, then he definitely felt you with your hand in his hair.

Sleep takes you, eventually, but the sun is starting to rise when it does.

-

"—and that concludes today's meeting. Please consult Summers for the minutes if there's an item you have a question about. I'll see you all next week. Dismissed."

The morning following the whole did-Mark-hear-did-he-not-hear dilemma is strangely anticlimactic. Mark greets you with the same gusto he does every other time he sees you, which is, to say the least, minimal. He doesn't give an indication that he heard you last night, or that he was disgusted by any of your actions. Frankly, it seems like he's avoiding talking to you, which is already the norm for your relationship these past few months. You chalk it up to your paranoia and gather up your datapad, shutting off the holographic projection on the table when he says, out of the blue, "I don't think you're a coward."

You jump nearly three feet in the air. The room had mostly cleared out, and any stragglers were busy talking amongst themselves, oblivious to the sheer terror running through their captain's veins.

"Jesus Christ, Mark! You scared me."

He raises an eyebrow. "How? I've been right here this whole time."

"It was unexpected, alright?" you huff, clutching your heart. "Give a person a warning, would ya?"

There's a fond smile on his lips, one that rounds his cheeks and narrows his eyes in a good way. That's when what he said hits you.

"Wait. What did you just say?"

"I said I've been right here—"

"No, no. The first thing."

"What, about me not thinking you were a coward?"

Your jaw drops, and every single cell in your body is screaming to run. He fucking heard you last night. He knows. He knows.

"I don't think you are. I never thought you were. I still stand by my opinion of you from the first time I met you."

You don't know what to do. He tilts his head down so that he can look you in the eye, and strangely enough, you find yourself unable to pull away.

“Captain, I’m going to be very presumptuous for a moment.”

Your mouth mimics that of a goldfish. “E-excuse me?”

“And I will go ahead and repeat myself again. You’re the bravest person I know. I don’t think you’re a coward. And even if you were, I wouldn’t think any less of you.”

You maintain eye contact, but you find yourself at a loss for words.

He steps closer, and there’s no malice or anger on his face. All you see is your head engineer, smiling at you like he always has, but there’s something clearer about it. Open fondness, affection, adoration. He tentatively takes your hand, interlocks your fingers together.

“I think you shouldn’t worry too much about being a captain. And I should probably take my own advice and not worry too much about being a head engineer. It’s a hard thing to adjust to when it’s the only thing you’ve known for so long.” He swallows, looks down at your hands. “But I’d still like to see what it’s like to not do that. Just someone going on a date with the person they like.”

It finally hits you.

You close your mouth, and you feel your features morph into something incredibly hopeful.

“I think I’d like to see that too,” you beam. Then, “Would you like to go on a date with me, Mark?”

The answering grin he gives you is blinding, and your chest is aflutter.

“Yes,” he squeezes your hand, saying your name. It sounds wonderful coming from his lips. “Yes, I would love that.”

buy me a coffee!

#cheezylueezy #head engineer mark x the captain #in space with markiplier x reader #iswm x reader #iswm captain #head engineer mark #iswm fic #iswm fanfiction #head engineer mark x reader #head engineer mark x captain #the captain (iswm) #iswm #in space with markiplier #my fic #captaineer #engineer mark x reader #engineer mark x captain #engineer mark x y/n

[illneverrecover]

static voice pt 2 | kth (M)

➛pairing: Demon Taehyung x Fallen Angel Reader (ft. bff Angel Jin) ➛summary: It's been weeks since his healing, and yet you still have a lingering demon house guest - something your best friend isn't going to let you ignore. However, with more time that passes, you realize... do you even want him to leave? ➛genre: Angel/Demon!AU, fluff, humor, eventual smut ➛word count: 3741 ➛rating: 18+ for this installment, please check each part for rating as there will be smut ➛warnings: cursing, some quick descriptions of violence, some heavy petting. ➛notes: Demon Taehyung demanded a full story line, and here we are. Shout out to static voice anon who started this whole thing by sending a simple ask -- you have no idea how much your encouragement means! And as always, sending love to @allbutmemorywillfade who sent in the original prompt which lead to the creation of these sweet dinguses, and who has been nothing but supportive & kind. You're too good to me 🖤 This is rough edited and unbeta'd bc I have no patience whatsoever. ➛song: Mine - Sleep Token & I Can See You - Taylor Swift ➛tagging: @jimins-ass-eater, @quinnkoo, @thatlongspringnight​

It’s Sunday morning, and there is currently a demon folding laundry on your bed.

Everything about that sentence should be blasphemous, and yet, it’s become normal. Well, normal for you. Certainly not normal for any other Fallen you’ve ever known. 

Taehyung’s brow furrows as he concentrates, sorting the mass of clothes first into piles before making way to fold each piece. His hands are precise, fingers lining up each seam as he works, eyes only leaving his work to dart towards the TV playing something in the background. He liked having something on for noise, he had explained, and who were you to question someone willing to fold your clothes?

Jin would say that your use of that argument is what led to having a demon for a roommate in the first place, which is exactly why you keep these kinds of thoughts to yourself - you didn’t ask for that kind of negativity. 

Not that there was any downside that you could see. Sure, you hadn’t asked Taehyung what his plan was yet, but you also hadn’t needed to. He was the epitome of a perfect house guest, slotting into your life easily and effortlessly. He was considerate, always offering to assist with any healings that he could; from triaging those who showed up at the door, to talking with them softly while you worked, easing their anxieties with a few kind words. And in those difficult sessions where there was nothing for him to do, he offered what he could - his presence, his reassurance.

It made you feel safe, knowing that he was on your side, no matter what you opened your door to. 

“Does this need a hanger, or am I supposed to fold this?” 

Taehyung holds the garment pinched between his fingers, eyes peering up to meet yours. It’s a black silky dress, mostly held together with string and a prayer, and you know for a fact it was something you hadn’t worn recently - let alone put in the wash. 

Heat creeps up your neck, and you fight the embarrassing urge to rip the fabric out of his hands and throw it out the window. The demon blinks at you with wide blue eyes, and you wonder not for the first time if he’s fucking with you. 

The other thing about Taehyung is that he’s impossible to read. His ability to go from the aloof affectionate demon who cuddles with your cat to the flirty winky man who drops innuendos in your kitchen leaves your head spinning. Worst of all - at least, to you - is that nothing has happened since that night at your place four weeks ago. Other than a few lingering glances that leave you questioning, Taehyung has made no more comments about his desires, which you try not to think about. Even if it’s driving you crazy. 

“That needs a hanger - though I have no idea how that ended up with the laundry, I haven’t worn it in ages.”

It was something you had purchased on a spontaneous whim, back when you had first become Fallen. It had made you feel sexy, powerful; and you had nowhere to wear it, so it had lived its life mostly stuffed in the back of your closet. 

“Oh, I put it there,” Taehyung says, nonchalantly, as if he’s discussing the weather. “I was going through your closet to see if there were some things you could donate to that shifter that you healed two nights ago and found it crumpled on the floor. It was too beautiful to leave in that condition.”

Fighting the urge to sigh, you instead fix him with a glare. 

“Oh? So you were aware it needed a hanger,” you grumble, though there’s no heat in your tone. “And what am I supposed to do with it now? It’s not very practical to wear for healing,” scoffing, you nod towards the dress. 

“I disagree,” Taehyung sniffs, placing the garment on the hanger before laying it down on the bed delicately, smoothing it over with a palm. “I think the sight of you in that dress could be healing in more ways than you could imagine.” 

Suddenly, the air in the room was stifling and you forget how words work, instead just blankly staring at the demon on your bed. He looks up at you, the slightest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips, and before you can formulate a response, a loud sound interrupts from the other room. 

“HEY! Lucky, you asshole, I’m trying to walk!” Jin yells, clearly fighting a battle with the cat in the foyer of the apartment. “Where is everyone, anyway?”

“In here!” you call out, moving to grab the dress off the bed and put it in the closet before the angel sees. You’re not sure why you feel the need to hide it from him, but the last thing you need is him doing something to embarrass you - especially after Taehyung managed to fluster you so thoroughly. 

Jin bumps the door open with his hip, his arms full of plastic bags, various groceries sticking out of each. “These are the groceries I owe you after eating all your last ones,” he announces, eyes scanning the scene he’s walked into. “I want it to be known for the record.”

“Hi, Jin!” your demon roommate greets, moving to stand. “Want me to put these away for you? I was just finishing up laundry.”

Jin’s gaze slides over to you, and you do your best to ignore the pointed question he was daggering into your skull, instead answering for him. “That would be great, Tae. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Tae,” Jin echos, sliding the bags easily into the blonde’s arms. “We’ll  meet you out there in a second.” 

You’re about to mouth off about how Jin isn’t your father and he doesn’t get to order anyone around, least of all you- but Taehyung is already acquiescing, leaving the bedroom with the soft click of the door.

“So, he folds your laundry for you now, too? What’s next, he gets your dry cleaning? On Wednesdays, are you going to drink wine and do face masks?”

Tsking, you cross your arms. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jin. We both know I don’t have dry cleaning, and face masks are part of Smut and Skincare Sundays.”

This time, the angel doesn’t hide his annoyance in his glare.

“Come on, you know what I mean. I get why you haven’t kicked him out, but…” he sighs, plopping himself on the edge of your mattress. “What are you doing? What is he doing? What’s the end goal here?”

It’s what you’ve been asking yourself these last few weeks, and yet you’re no closer to coming to answer now than you were before. All you know is that you enjoy having him around, and something about the unreadable lanky demon being nearby gives you a sense of peace you haven’t felt since before becoming a Fallen. A feeling of comfort, of safety - and you’re terrified of losing it. 

“I don’t know, Jin. I just know that I don’t mind having him around,” you avoid his eyes, instead rounding the bed to finish putting away the clothes. “It’s nice having help with the healings, especially with the late night calls. You know I don’t like being alone here.”

You leave the other piece unsaid - that you don’t like being alone, at all. That Taehyung’s warm, infectious laughter and mischievous charm added light back into your once dark, monotonous days. That it felt like he belonged there - but that you have no idea how he feels, at all. 

The silence is heavy, as if Jin could read your mind, but if he does he doesn’t say anything, instead letting loose a breath. “Yeah, I know. I get it. I’m not trying to be a hard ass or anything, but I am trying to look out for you.” 

“I know.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,”

“I know that, too.”

“At least promise me you’ll talk to him about what his plans are? If he intends on staying here indefinitely, or…” Jin pauses then, as if he doesn’t want to even go down the route. “Whatever. But promise me you’ll discuss it?”

He reaches out then, stopping you in your tracks until you meet his eyes. There’s no longer any annoyance there, just genuine concern, but for some reason that doesn’t make you feel any more at ease. 

“Yes, Dad,” you tease, shaking your hand free with a grin. “I promise I’ll talk to him. But it’s certainly not going to be in front of you, so it’ll have to wait for tonight.” 

“Fair enough,” Jin moves to stand, reaching for your door. “Just make it soon, okay?”

He closes the door behind him, and you hear his voice joining Taehyung’s in the kitchen, giving you a moment to collect your thoughts. Why are you so scared to talk to Taehyung? It has nothing to do with his status as a demon, something you barely noticed outside of his beauty; you could tell he was a genuine being, regardless of his beginnings. And he’s easy enough to talk to, has been nothing but a perfect gentleman of a roommate. 

It’s easy to tell yourself that it’s because it’ll be an awkward conversation, one that has the potential to make him feel awkward as well, something that you don’t want in the least. But if you’re honest - truly, deeply honest - it’s because you’re scared that he will leave, and you’re not sure that you want that at all, anymore. 

Actually, you know you don’t want that anymore.

The answer seems simple enough, then - have the discussion, ask him to stay. 

But why does the thought of asking him make you feel like you’re swallowing glass?

“You better come out here if you want to help pick dinner!” Jin yells, and shakes you from your thoughts. 

Joining them in the kitchen, you see they made quick work of putting away the groceries, leaving the counters clear with the exception of a few paper take-out menus. 

“Grocery shopping exhausts me,” Jin explains, nodding towards the array of menus. “It’s my treat, just let me know what sounds good and I’ll go pick it up. I promised Tae I’d stay for a movie.” 

After settling on a local Thai place, Jin calls in the order before heading out, demanding that you both are on movie selection duty in his absence. 

Plopping yourself onto the couch, Taehyung joins you, sitting side by side so close that your thighs are pressed together. Ignoring the building heat his proximity brings, you quickly grab the remote, scrolling through various streaming options trying to settle on something that you’d all like. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Taehyung interrupts, voice low.

“Of course.”

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if things were different?”

Tearing your eyes from the TV, you focus on his ethereal face illuminated in the flickering light of the screen, on the intensity in his eyes. He looks distant; his gaze still bright, but more serious than usual, more lost. 

“What do you mean, Tae?”

He sighs, a mixture of resignation and something more. “I mean, what if I wasn’t a demon? What if I hadn’t been injured, or it had happened in another district with a different healer? What if you hadn’t Fallen? Would our paths still have crossed?”

His eyes are a bright cerulean blaze, more solemn than you’ve ever seen him before, and it has you frozen in place. It feels like he’s asking you something much bigger, much more vulnerable than he’s letting on, and it makes your throat tighten. 

Meeting his stare, you reach for him, taking one of his hands into your own. “I believe that some connections are meant to happen, regardless of the circumstances,” you reply, hoping he could hear the sincerity in your tone. “We could have made different decisions, but ultimately, our souls found each other and brought us together.” 

It’s then you realize just how close you are, how close his face is to your own, how his body is pressed up against every inch of your side. The intimacy of your words and your bodies has you feeling exposed, and yet you can’t seem to pull away. 

Taehyung’s gaze meets yours, his eyes shimmering with emotion. “You really think that? That some connections are destined?”

“Of course I do,” you nod, and his answering smile is almost blinding. Sliding his hand away from yours, he instead launches into a hug, pulling you to his chest. 

“Thank you for saying that. You really have a way with words, you know,” Taehyung murmurs, nuzzling his face into your neck. “You have no idea how much peace your presence brings me, Angel. It’s something that I thought I’d lost forever.” 

His words have your heart squeezing painfully in your chest, your tongue thick with the things you want to say. You’re even more affirmed in your decision to ask him to stay, pulling out of his embrace to do just that, when a loud knock at the door startles you both. 

“Hello? Is this where the Fallen healer lives?” a male voice calls out, one you don’t recognize. “Please, I just need some healing - are you home? Hello?”

Moving to open the door, you wait until you hear Taehyung follow in step behind you before answering. Leaving the chain lock in place, you open the door enough to peer into the hall. “Yes, how can I help?” 

A demon stands there – the tiny horns barely visible in his dark hair – black like his wrinkled suit. He was dressed like he either just left some sleazy bar or was on the way to one, though based on the stale whisky scent emanating from him, you’d guess both. 

He gives a low whistle, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Damn, they didn’t mention how pretty you are, just that you were the closest healer. If I wasn’t so hungover, I might try to shoot my shot, but at the present, I-” 

“Nevermind, I’m not home,” you deadpan, moving to close the door, when the demon's foot stops it from shutting completely. 

“Please, wait! I’m sorry, you’re right, that was rude of me–” he starts frantically, clearly not wanting you to leave. “Listen, I’m just really, painfully hungover, and I have a big meeting I have to get to with some guys that I do not want to piss off and I was hoping you could help me out a bit. I just need a little healing, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” His hands wring together, and you notice how much his teeth are working his bottom lip, the tinges of his fear evident despite his bravado.

Glaring at him, you sigh heavily before peering over your shoulder to lock eyes with Taehyung. If all he needed was a little hangover cure, it should be simple enough of a healing without taking too much of your energy, and then he could be on his way. Easy enough. When your demon gives you a reassuring nod, you turn back to the stranger. 

“Fine, a quick healing, and then you leave me alone.” 

“Yes, of course! Thank you, seriously,” he continues, pausing as you unlatch the chain and open the door to let him inside. “I really appreciate it.” 

Standing in the entryway, it’s once he closes the door behind himself that the stranger finally notices Taehyung, eyes narrowing. “What’s another demon doing here?”

“He helps me,” you reply, giving the same simple answer you give anytime the question is asked by a creature looking for your services. At the end of the day, it’s none of their business who he is and why he is with you, and the less information given, the better. “We’ll do the healing down the hall.”

Moving to get your supplies, you go to show him to your workspace but he’s still paused, glaring at Taehyung. 

“What, he helps you, you help him, that kinda thing?” he sneers, speaking to you but still only looking at Tae. “Can’t say I blame him, you really are a looker. I bet you’re really fun to play with.”

Temper snapping at his words, you spin on your heel to point to the door. “That’s it, you’re done. Get out.” 

Before the demon can utter a reply, Taehyung is in his face, as if he was waiting for your unspoken signal to spring into action. Holding him in place with a fist in his suit jacket collar, he shakes the demon once, walking him backwards toward the door. “You heard her. Leave now, and do not return.” 

“Come on! Can’t you take a little joke?” the asshole shouts, any pretense of niceties fully falling away. “It’s just a quick healing, you sensitive bitch!” 

You can feel the change in the atmosphere when Taehyung tenses, his form seemingly trembling with restraint as his pupils blow out until his eyes are black. “You’re going to regret that,” he murmurs, a sinister smirk on his lips.

A bright light has you covering your eyes, slowly blinking until you can make out the form of Jin, his wings fully spread and an angelic dagger in tow.  The Thai food was still in bags in his other hand, Jin clearly returning from his trip only to walk into a different kind of battle.

Dropping the bags by the door, he saunters into the room.

“He’s right, you will regret that,” Jin says, voice even, “but you’re going to have to deal with me now, instead.” 

Plucking the demon out of Taehyung’s hold, Jin tugs him into a headlock, placing the blade at the bottom of his throat before turning toward the door. “Taehyung, why don’t you make sure our girl here is all taken care of while I take care of the trash, will you?” 

He waits for Taehyung’s nod, and then Jin looks at you. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you affirm, stepping closer to Taehyung. 

“I’ll come check on you guys later.” He nods, and then he’s out the door, a bright light streaming through the cracks as it closes. 

And then, it’s just the two of you.

Taehyung immediately springs into action, arms sliding around your shoulders as he guides you to the couch, draping a blanket around you once you settle. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, he continues his task, moving next into the kitchen to put the take out in the oven to keep warm before putting the kettle on for tea. Finally, he searches through the newly stocked pantry for a sugary snack, something that will appeal to your sweet tooth. 

“What sounds better, sour gummy bears, or those nerd cluster things?”

“Sour gummy bears, please,”

Soon, the coffee table before you has a cup of hot honey lavender tea and a little bowl of sour gummies, and Taehyung is settling beside you, reaching for the remote to find something to put on TV. You feel cozy snuggled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around you and your overly affectionate demon beside you, and it’s then that you realize just how comforted you really feel.

Effortlessly, without you realizing, Taehyung knew what to do to soothe you, knew the actions that would bring you peace after something stressful had happened. He didn’t need to be asked, or told – just sprang into action to support you, asking for nothing in return. There was only one other person who had done that for you, even before becoming Fallen, and that was Jin. 

The thought has your heart thrumming in your chest.

Pressing play on some vampire show, he then leans back on the couch, pulling you with him until you’re resting cuddled into his chest. “Is this okay?” he asks, eyes questioning. “If it’s too much, I can go get some pillows instead.”

It’s his thoughtfulness that finally breaks you, has tears welling in your eyes as you stare into his depthless gaze.  You can’t hold it back anymore, the question you were going to ask, and you blurt it out before you can doubt yourself. 

“Taehyung, will you live with me?”

 His eyes widen in surprise, and you feel your stomach drop, scrambling to explain. “I don’t know what your plans are, or how long you wanted to stay here… But I’ve come to realize that I really, really like having you around, and I don’t want you to go. So I wanted to ask, would you stay here with me?”

The surprise in his gaze fades, leaving behind wonderment, adoration. 

“You want me to stay?”

Not trusting your voice, this time, you just nod, giving him a watery smile.

Taehyung scoops you up, practically pulling you into his lap and  immediately wrapping you into a big hug, squeezing you so hard your lungs fight for air. “Yes! Yes, I’d love to stay with you.” 

A deep chuckle reverberates in his chest, and you can’t help but join in, his laughter and joy infectious as he crushes you. “No one has ever asked me to stay before.” 

You go to pull away, to move back to your spot on the couch and to continue this conversation, but Taehyung’s arms lock you in place, holding you to him. 

Brow furrowing,  you go to question him, but then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is electric, sizzling down your spine and through your veins until you’re dizzy, until you’re consumed in nothing but the feeling of him and his mouth moving against yours. You’re drunk with it, on the precipice, and when his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, you let him tumble into your mouth, salvation be damned. 

“Well, what do we have going on here?”

Jin's voice startles you both, interrupting the kiss. Breathing heavy, you go to slide off Taehyung’s lap, but he is having none of it; instead tucking you in closer and giving the angel a proud grin. Rolling your eyes, you stay put, working to get your heart back to a normal rate. 

“I would say I’m surprised about the whole kissing thing, but I’m not,” he continues, moving fully into the living room to face you both. “However, could you tell me why in the hell you were both glowing?”

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fanfic #demon taehyung #demon au #taehyung scenario #bts fanfic #kth fics #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #my writing #fic: static voice pt 2 #fic: sv #overly affectionate demon

[you-heard-what-i-meant]

Merlin - Written in the Scars

[Arthur is king, didn't die at Camlann, and knows about Merlin's magic]

After some visitors arrive at Camelot and Merlin has a bit of a day, Arthur feels the need to check on him. He really should learnt to knock before he barges into Merlin's room (or not).

Notes:

Title taken from The Script's song Written in the Scars.

No specific Merthur, but definitely hints of it if you want to read it that way ;-).

Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own (and I apologise)!

Angst, Whump, Emotional Whump, Mentions of Injuries (no detail), Mentions of Torture (no detail), Beginnings of Merthur.

Available on AO3 HERE!

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The hour is late and Arthur is moving fast through the corridors of the castle. Druids had arrived earlier in the day asking for Merlin’s help - Emrys’s help. They had a young girl with them who they discovered bound and gagged in a cave - she was refusing to speak, and what little information they’d managed to gather through telepathic communication wasn’t helping. She was clearly in possession of magical abilities, and it would seem she was abandoned to die by magic-fearing parents. Merlin had spent all day working with her and had reported back to Arthur and the Druids, but the king had sensed all the things Merlin wasn’t saying, and now he felt the need to check in with him. 

The king doesn’t think twice as he strolls into Merlin’s chambers, heading for the dressing area where the man is likely preparing for bed. He’s just about to call out when he catches a glimpse of the man in question. Completely unaware of his friend’s presence, Merlin’s back is to Arthur as he pulls his undershirt over his head and drops it on the bed. The sight of the exposed skin of Merlin’s back causes Arthur’s words to die in his throat.

Arthur is expecting to see perfect, unmarred skin - maybe the odd mark from their many misdemeanours over the years. What he’s presented with is a collage of scars - some deep-set, some raised, large, small, stretching and criss-crossing and twisting. They come into stark relief and almost glitter in the candlelight as Merlin moves, stretching his arms above his head to work the stiffness out of his muscles and drawing Arthur’s eyes along the slender limbs. 

There he finds more scarring. What looks like an old burn covers the whole of one shoulder, clearly continuing over the front of his body. Marks that look very much like rope burn twist around both of Merlin’s slim arms, culminating in a mess of ligature marks around his wrists. Arthur has a moment of sick recognition as he looks to Merlin’s back again - he can place the weapons that caused most of the marks. Whips, blades, fire, arrows… The rest he can only assume are courtesy of falling on something, restraints, and magical wounds. 

He follows one scar - almost black in colour - from just above his bony shoulder blades, up his neck along the line of his spine, disappearing into his hairline. Arthur’s gaze catches Merlin’s face in the window, and finds himself locking eyes with him in the reflection.

Merlin whips around, the flash of gold in his eyes just dissipating as his arms instinctively move to cover his chest before he has the wherewithal to snatch his shirt up from his bed and vaguely hold it against his body. His startled voice comes out higher in pitch than normal.

“Don’t you know how to knock?!”

Arthur’s eyes are drawn to his friend’s shoulder, seeking that horrific burn that he’d seen a moment ago. He just catches sight of it before it finishes quietly fading into perfect, pale flesh. His response is instant. 

“Stop it.”

“What-?”

“Drop the spell.”

Arthur’s words come out a mixture of commanding king and heartbroken confidante. Merlin freezes, and it occurs to Arthur that given the long history of prejudice against magic in Camelot, his words could have an unintended threatening undertone. He should have tempered his reaction. He deliberately softens his voice.

“I just mean… You don’t have to hide from me.”

Merlin’s searching gaze is anxious. Arthur fights to keep his face somewhere between neutral and softly encouraging. 

Neither of them speak for a long moment. 

Finally, the king’s quiet words fill the space between them.

“Your - What happened to you, Merlin?”

Merlin shifts, his blue eyes darting to the floor as they flash gold, his hands fidgeting with the screwed up shirt that he’s barely covering his torso with. Slowly, the scars fade back into existence. He clearly tries to be flippant but his voice comes out more sad than jovial. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

After a moment of indecision Arthur steps forward, gently liberating the shirt from Merlin’s grasp and tossing it back onto the bed. He stands for a moment appraising the man, who shuffles uncomfortably in his exposure to Arthur’s scrutinising gaze even as he raises his head almost defiantly. 

Arthur’s eyes catch on the gruesome ligature marks around Merlin’s wrists. He finds himself reaching for Merlin’s forearm and softly holds it as he appraises the marred skin, the fingertips of his free hand tracing over the scars so tenderly it makes Merlin shudder. It occurs to Arthur that this is a somewhat intimate gesture, but the bond he and Merlin have makes them far more tactile with each other than people would normally expect. 

Arthur looks up to meet Merlin’s eyes,  a mixture of fear and pain in his own. 

“I don’t recognise most of these wounds.”

Uncertainty twists Merlin’s face. 

“No, you… You didn’t see how most of them happened.”

Arthur’s eyes close in regret. He takes a deep breath before he meets Merlin’s gaze again.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

Surprise crosses Merlin’s face.

“No, Arthur, that’s not - none of it was your fault.“

“Either way, I’m sorry.”

Merlin doesn’t know how to respond. Silence reigns again. 

“Tell me about them.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

Arthur pours every ounce of sincerity into his voice that he can muster. “Please tell me. I need to understand - there have been so many times I wasn’t there to help you.  After everything we’ve been through, I just want to know you.”

Merlin’s crystal blue eyes are wide, and there’s hesitation in his features. 

“I’m not sure you want to know, Arthur.”

Arthur’s heart aches and the pain of distrust burns in his stomach.

“Why, because some of them are from magic?”

Merlin’s eyes widen even further.

“No! Well… I know you’re still getting used to the magic thing, but it’s mostly that -”

Merlin cut’s himself off, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as his eyes search Arthur’s face for something.

“What?”

Compassion floods Merlin’s features. His voice is gentle when he speaks.

“... Because I don’t want you beating yourself up about them.”

Arthur stares, dumbfounded. He eventually regains his composure enough to respond.

“Well there’s not much you can do about that. I already feel a world of guilt just from seeing them. I just really want - no, I need to understand everything that’s happened to you - to us. We’ve never actually spoken about everything, never really taken the time to process all the things we’ve been through.”

Merlin is quiet, doubt lining his features. Arthur realises what he’s truly asking.

“I’m sorry, I have no right to ask. But please, if you can ever bring yourself to tell me, I will sit and listen through every pain you’ve been forced to bear. I owe you the respect of at least knowing everything that you’ve been through, even if there’s nothing I can do to make up for it.”

The unshed tears in Merlin’s eyes almost make Arthur drag him into an embrace, but he knows that right now it would be more to comfort himself than Merlin. Instead he squeezes the forearm in his grasp and grips the man’s shoulder with his other hand - a gesture he has always used to indicate his support and respect. 

Merlin studies him for a moment. Arthur prepares himself for another rejection when the man raises his head decisively. 

“It doesn’t bother me. To talk about them, I mean. I just want to be sure it’s not going to push you into a bad place. You’ve got enough going on.”

Arthur’s heart clenches at the consideration Merlin is showing him. Always. Merlin is always about others - particularly Arthur - first and himself last. He raises his head to match his friend’s.

“Merlin, I promise you that this isn’t about self-punishment or whatever else. I want to know you. If you are willing to tell me, I’d be honoured to listen.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Arthur wants to curl up in a ball. Both seated on the bed, Merlin had started small - “Arrowhead - you were there for that one.” and “No you didn’t know about those ones. I got the stuffing kicked out of me by some of your father’s fan club. Gaius patched me up.”

It soon progressed to “That was Aulfric and Sophia, the Sidhe? You were actually standing right beside me and watched it happen but you were too enchanted to notice anything. That took a really long time to heal. It sometimes still burns, even now. All the scars caused by magic do.”

And eventually they arrived at “I’ve lost count of the number of people who have tried to strangle me or cut my throat” and “Uhhh.. yeah. Those ones… I got taken by some of Morgause’s followers and, um, they didn’t just use normal weapons to make me feel their anger. Wasn’t sure I was going to survive that one, actually.” 

Finally they reached the worst of the scars, still vaguely pink and fresh looking. At first, Merlin just shakes his head - “oh a lot’s happened recently” - until finally Arthur’s gentle-but-insistent prodding gets Merlin to release a resigned sigh.

“Do you remember when… um… When I -” Merlin's utter discomfort tells Arthur exactly the event he’s thinking of.

“When Morgana enchanted you to try and kill me?”

“Yeah.”

“You were missing for days.”

“Yeah… well…” Merlin’s distress comes out in his fidgeting. Arthur suddenly feels sick. Still gently holding Merlin’s arm, he runs his fingers along the scars on his wrist again.

“She tortured you.”

It isn’t a question, but Merlin’s eyes betray his answer. For a moment Arthur can’t find his breath. Eventually his voice cracks on a question he’s not sure he wants the answer to.

“How long?”

Merlin tilts his head, a sorrowful look on his face. “Arthur…”

Arthur speaks through gritted teeth. “How. Long.”

Merlin’s eyes dart away. “Not sure. I lost track of night and day in the end.”

Arthur slams his eyes closed against the storm of emotions twisting in his stomach. Anger. Sympathy. Regret. Grief. He swallows hard and allows himself a moment to breathe - but something is itching at the front of his mind and as much as he knows he has no right to make his friend relive these horrors, he has to know. He snaps his head up, eyes instantly connecting with Merlin’s when he opens them.

“How many times has it happened?”

“- What -?”

Arthur grinds his teeth as pain lances through his chest. He falters for a moment, then his voice comes out almost a whisper. “How many times have you been tortured, Merlin?”

Merlin’s broken look tells him everything he needs to know. Grief and pain tear a hole in Arthur’s chest. He chokes out his words. “I’m so sorry -”

Merlin cuts him off “- Don’t. Please don’t do that. It wasn’t your fault, and without all these scars you wouldn’t be here now. So…” 

“I should have done better. I was supposed to protect you.”

“No, the prophecy was for me to protect you.”

Arthur glowers at the other man. “I should have done better. You mean more to me than you could ever know, Merlin. I should have done better.”

Merlin’s bright blue eyes are sad, yet there’s a hint of defiance there. His voice is strong when he speaks.

“No matter what they did to me, I always knew it was worth the pain. Because even though I couldn’t tell you, even though I hoped one day you could know the real me… Everything that happened to me meant that you got a step nearer to who you needed to become. And while they were busy hurting me, they weren’t hurting you.”

Arthur makes a choked sound, blinking rapidly as he looks away. He flounders for an embarrassingly long time before finding his words.

“Merlin, I… You’ve been all alone with it, all this time. I… I abandoned you. Somewhere inside myself I knew, but I still did nothing about it. I’m so sorry Merlin.”

Merlin knows there’s no response that would appease his friend, so instead he places his free hand on Arthur’s forearm and squeezes. 

They lapse into silence. Arthur is almost unaware of the way he’s running his thumb over a deep scar on Merlin’s forearm, still in his grasp after all this time. He marvels that the man doesn’t shy away from touch after all he’s suffered, and after a moment’s thought it occurs to him that no-one else does touch Merlin. The only person Merlin is at all tactile with is him. 

Something dawns on Arthur. He meets Merlin’s soft gaze. “That spell you were doing earlier - do you keep that going all day just so no-one sees?”

Merlin’s already shaking his head before Arthur’s finished speaking, his dark curls bouncing and a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

“Not entirely, just my hands and wrists. Why do you think I’m always wearing tunics and neckerchiefs?”

It gets Arthur thinking. He’s only seen Merlin in any state of undress once. Maybe twice. Both times when they were on long journeys and stopped to bathe in rivers. Merlin practically hid from Arthur the whole time - keeping the water up to his neck. Arthur had only glimpsed Merlin’s bare torso for seconds as he entered and left the water. And his skin had been -

“When we’ve bathed in the rivers, you’ve always managed to avoid me seeing you properly. And the few glances I got, I thought your skin was too perfect for someone who’d been in as many scuffles and accidents as you had. I should have known.” 

Merlin gives an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah, I was only just learning about mirage spells at the time, so I tried to make sure you didn’t see anything. I could make myself look like a totally different person, but I was struggling with how to look like me, only better.”

Arthur’s heart cracks.

“There’s nothing about you that needs to be ‘better’, Merlin. There never has been.”

Merlin’s eyes are soft and sad. “Arthur, I’ve been hiding who I really am for my whole life. If people saw all this-” he wiggles his scarred arm slightly in Arthur’s gentle grip to demonstrate his meaning “- they would have questions. And people would fear me. A horrifically-scarred sorcerer doesn’t exactly scream ‘trust me’, does it? I mean, look what happened with Edwin -”

Arthur blanches as Merlin’s words. “- Don’t compare yourself to him -”

Merlin sighs good naturedly. “I’m not saying I’m like him, I’m saying that people were scared of him because of how he looked. We’re trying to build a new world here, Arthur, I’ve got to do everything I can to make people like me.”

“People love you, Merlin. You saw the reaction when you became court sorcerer -”

“- Arthur -”

“- Merlin.”

They lock stares, reading a multitude of unspoken words in each other’s faces. Merlin breaks the impasse first. He speaks quietly, his eyes so full of something that Arthur feels the need to gently squeeze the forearm in his grasp again. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you - for not being honest with you again. I just -”

“- Merlin.” The way Arthur speaks his name makes the other man go still. Arthur suddenly feels the weight of what he’s put Merlin through this evening.

“I understand. It’s personal. I’m truly sorry I’ve intruded on something so private. I had no right to demand that you showed me any of this, and I especially had no right to ask you to relive it. ”

Merlin just shakes his head, waving off the notion that Arthur has somehow violated his privacy. Arthur takes it as an indication to continue, speaking just in time to cut off whatever Merlin was about to say.

“But I want you to know that you should be proud of your battle scars. They’re proof that you’ve survived unthinkable pain, that you’ve risked your life time and again to save myself and countless others. You’re the greatest warrior Camelot has ever seen -” Merlin scoffs, about to refute the statement until Arthur barrels over him “- you are. Please promise me you’ll at least never hide these things from me again?”

Merlin’s eyes search the king’s face. He finds nothing but sincerity. 

“I promise.”

Arthur inclines his head in acknowledgement. After a pause, he voices one of the many things that are still bothering him. “You said the magic scars still hurt sometimes - is there anything I can do to help? Is there a salve I can help you put on or something?”

Merlin smiles softly. “No, it’s not… It’s not the scars on the outside, if that makes sense?”

Arthur nods slowly. He often still feels the burn of the Questing Beast’s bite. “Well, I want to help in any way I can. Anytime there’s anything I can do, whether it’s to listen as you rage against the discomfort, apply a salve, or help you to bathe - anything, you come to me. Agreed?”

A cheeky smile lights up Merlin’s features and Arthur’s heart glows. “Do you want to give me a bath Arthur?”

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur’s answer is completely serious. “Yes. Anything you need.”

Seeing the stunned expression on Merlin’s face, Arthur continues. “Look, I’ve never had to deal with anything on my own. How many times have you tended my wounds, stayed by my side through the night so I could sleep safely, helped me to bathe when I’m hurt?”

Merlin goes to speak, but Arthur cuts him off. “ - Don’t you dare say it was your duty. You’ve always been so much more than a servant. And it works both ways. I’m always here for you, understand?”

Merlin’s smile is soft but so full of affection it almost hurts. “I know.”

Arthur grins back at him, the tension melting away as he snatches up Merlin’s shirt and throws it in his face.

“Now for love of the gods, put your shirt back on before someone walks in and gets the wrong idea.”

Merlin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Wouldn’t want people getting jealous, would we?”

Merlin’s delighted laugh when the well-aimed pillow hits him in the face puts Arthur’s world back on its axis, even as he ducks the barrage of soft furnishings that magically hurl themselves at him. 

#Beginnings of Merthur #Merlin Scar Reveal #Arthur knows about Merlin's Magic #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #Merlin #arthur pendragon #arthur and merlin #bbc merthur #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fan fic #merlin fanfiction #merlin fan fiction #merthur fanfic #merthur fan fic #merthur fanfiction #merthur fan fiction

[a-bang-for-your-bucky]

Just Like Old Times

Eddie Brock/Venom x F!Reader

Summary: When life gets to be too much in Hell's Kitchen, you go to visit an old friend. Turns out, life might be just as crazy in San Francisco when you learn Eddie's secret. Venom is in bold.

Warnings: Explicit language, Fluff, Venom antics.

A/N:Look! I can write fluff! I have no excuse for this except that I love Eddie Brock, and it was in my WIPs. Very unbeta'd. Divider by @firefly-graphics.

“Flight 487 to San Francisco is now boarding”

You needed to get out of New York. There were vigilantes running all over the place. Buildings were exploding, people were being shot in the street. Thankfully, you were returning to work and convinced Ellison to send you on assignment to California. You had a journalist friend out there, who was going through a hard time, too. You called him up, asking if you could visit for a few days, all while getting some information on a story. 

San Francisco was beautiful. The sunshine warmed your face as you exited the airport. California was so different from New York. There were white clouds in the sky compared to the gray ones of Hell’s Kitchen. Shit, even the air tastes different, you thought as you took a deep breath. You hailed a cab, giving the driver the address to your friend’s apartment. 

Apartment 1404. You knocked lightly, pulling up your duffle bag strap as it slipped. There was a thump behind the door, then you heard a deep, gravelly voice.

WHO IS SHE, EDDIE?

“She’s a friend. We can trust her.” Eddie’s response was muffled through the wood. You knocked again, before calling out to him. 

SHE IS PERSISTENT. BUT SHE IS NOT ANNIE. DO NOT LET HER IN, EDDIE.

The door swung open to reveal Eddie in a gray hoodie, looking quite disheveled. “Sorry, come on in.” He muttered, trying to step out of the way. “Let her in, man. She brought chocolate” He whispered harshly, confusing you. 

“Eddie? You alright?” You asked as you squeezed past him. You looked around the small space. It was a bit messy, but one hundred percent Eddie Brock. He had a small desk where his laptop rested. There were some papers scattered across it. 

Eddie cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head. “Any chance you brought the thing I asked for?” He questioned, and you nodded, handing him the wrapped bar of chocolate out of your pocket. “Sorry about the mess. I- uh- I’m a slob.” He said sheepishly.

You waved him off. A little untidiness never bothered you. There was a gobbling noise behind you that made you turn. In Eddie’s hand was what was left of the candy bar, even some of the wrapper was gone. “So, uh, how have you been? You basically fled New York without saying goodbye.” You said in mock annoyance. Eddie was one of your closest friends. The two of you worked multiple stories together. Until one day, the man just up and disappeared after a story went bad. He called you a few days later to let you know he was okay. 

Eddie nodded, “Oh, I have been great. Yeah, wonderful really. I was engaged for a minute.” UNTIL YOU USED HER AND PUSHED HER AWAY. “Shut up.” He growled through clenched teeth. You looked at him with a grimace. “Shit, no. Not you. Sorry.” He blurted out with a distressed look on his face. 

You nodded slowly, unsure about his behavior. You kept looking around, noticing a tire hanging from the ceiling by a chain. “You still into some kinky shit, Brock?” You laughed, pointing at the wheel before picking up an old article laying on his desk.

Eddie chuckled uneasily. “Yeah. That’s definitely what that’s for.” SHE IS RATHER PRETTY. SHE WOULD BE FUN TO MATE WITH. ASK HER IF SHE LIKES CHICKENS. Eddie groaned, under his breath, “Are we judging people on their opinions of chickens, now?!” 

Your head shot up from the paper, “What was that?” You questioned, your eyes grazing over Eddie’s face. He looked pained. 

“Um, erm, chickens. I asked if you like chickens.” He chuckled nervously. 

“Chickens?” You repeated the word back to him. 

He sighed deeply. “I have uh– pet chickens.” He pointed toward the bathroom where faint clucks resounded. IF SHE DOESN’T LIKE CHICKENS, EDDIE, SHE CANNOT STAY. “She can stay, Venom. Stop.” 

Venom? Okay, now you were getting worried. “Who is Venom, Eddie? What the fuck is going on with you?” You asked harshly, watching him flinch at your words. You felt bad immediately. “You know you can tell me anything.” You softened your voice, reaching out for him. 

IF SHE TOUCHES MY CHICKENS, EDDIE, I WILL EAT HER BRAINS. Eddie groaned again, and turned away from you. “You will not eat her brains!” He whispered gratingly. “She is our friend, and we do not eat friends.” 

The words ‘eat her brain’ had you freaking out internally. What the fuck was going on with your friend? You watched on as Eddie had some kind of debate with himself. Sharply, he turned back to you. “I am so sorry. I have– um– a parasite.” PARASITE? 

“A parasite? You need a doctor, E.” You said concernedly. “Let me take you.” You reached out a hand to him. He shook his head. 

“Been there. It didn’t really help. He’s still here.” He sounded okay with it. “He cooks, too. But I wouldn’t eat it. It will make you sick.” He said so assuredly. I HEARD THAT, EDDIE.

“Eddie, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about?” You asked, panicked. You left New York to get away from the crazy. You didn’t know you were walking right into a whole new pile of it. You reached for him once again, taking his hand in yours. 

Eddie inhaled deeply. “Okay, but don’t scream. He hates that.” LET ME TALK TO HER, EDDIE. I WILL NOT SCARE HER. “Yeah, I doubt that, buddy.” 

You watched intently as black goo emerged slowly from Eddie’s back. In that black goo, a face appeared. It had white, feline shaped eyes, but something about them shouted otherworldly. Its mouth was full of large, razor-sharp teeth. Eddie told you not to scream, but you couldn’t help the shriek that bubbled out of your throat. 

Eddie stepped forward, and you moved back, bumping into his couch. “Please stop screaming. He will–” 

The black goo cut him off. WE ARE VENOM, it spoke softly. Your scream died down as you hopped over the couch, trying to put space between you and the goo. PLEASE, STOP MOVING AWAY. I WILL NOT EAT YOU. EDDIE SAYS I CAN ONLY EAT BAD GUYS. 

Your eyes widened in fear. “What the fuck?” The words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them. 

“Okay, pal. Let me take over.” Eddie spoke to the goo like it was a friend. It- Venom, argued with him, before begrudgingly retreating, disappearing back into Eddie’s body. The man looked at you, “I have a lot to explain.”

Eddie told you about Anne, and how he not only destroyed his career, but her’s as well. He explained how he broke into the Life Foundation. You could hear the disappointment in his voice as he spoke about the choices he made regarding Anne. It livened up a bit when he started to tell you about Venom. “He is annoying, but he’s my friend.” Eddie ended with a smile on his face. 

It was a lot for you to process. In all honesty, it wasn’t the weirdest thing you’ve seen. You could handle a symbiote from space living inside of your friend. “Can I– Can I see him again?” You asked him. Eddie’s eyebrows shot up.

“You want to talk to him?” He clarified, and you nodded. The goo, no Venom, slithered out of his back, resting at his side. 

HI. DO YOU HAVE MORE CHOCOLATE?

You looked at Eddie. “The chocolate was for you?” You questioned before pulling another bar out of your pocket, offering it to him. 

OH, EDDIE. I LOVE HER. CAN WE KEEP HER?

You blushed at Venom’s words as a tendril came toward you, wrapping around the candy. It was slimy against your skin, but it didn’t gross you out. Eddie watched the interaction with adoration. Aside from Anne and Dan, no one else knew about Venom. “Oh, I can’t stay forever.” You told the symbiote. “I have to go back to New York in a few days. Trust me, I’d rather stay here than deal with what’s waiting for me back home.” You sighed. 

EDDIE, SHE IS SAD. LET'S MAKE HER HAPPY.

Eddie looked at you with a hopeful face. “Wanna go out? I know a great bar downtown.” He suggested. You gave him a huge smile. 

“Just like old times?” You asked, thinking about the last time you got drunk with Eddie Brock. You had just been hired by The Bulletin, and he was determined to celebrate. You woke up the next morning with zero recollection and a tattoo on your hip. 

“Just like old times.” 

----------------

Tags: @acrossthesestars @mylifeisactuallyamess

#eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #eddie brock imagine #eddie brock fluff #venom fluff #eddie brock x female reader #fluff #kat writes

[danpuff-ao3]

Snaco Recs

This is one of those ships where if I wasn't so devoted to my OTP, this would be the one for me. Snotty rich kid and his poor snarky professor? C'mon. That's hot. And with that...these are some Draco/Severus fics I very much enjoyed!

Safe Place

by A_factorygirl_69. Rated: E. Words: 887. Underage. Angst.

It's not about what Draco needs.

Reclamation

by Arsenic. Rated: E. Words: 1,442. Valentine's Day.

Challenge: Draco/Snape, corsets, must include music.

Words

by Arsenic. Rated: G. Words: 730.

Snaco moment

Hell and all Its Wonders

by calrissian18. Rated: M. Words: 7,008. Jealousy. Possessive Behavior. Beltane. Poison. Warning in notes.

Poison courses through his veins. It always has, only these days it’s quite a bit more literal.

Necessary Tools for a Spy's (and Malfoy's) Survival

by DeeplyBuriedSkeletons. Rated: E. Words: 4,717. Psuedo-incest. Godfather Severus. Humiliation. Virginity loss. Dub-con. Rape/non-con elements. Forced exhibitionism.

With Draco's failure to smuggle Death Eaters into Hogwarts it was another mark against the Malfoys. As punishment, the Dark Lord demanded he be fucked and humiliated in front of his inner circle. When Lucius refused to participate, Severus once again stepped in to save them. Whether or not he had ulterior, personal motives for fucking his godson was irrelevant. He would do what was necessary to protect Draco to the best of his abilities, and while the circumstances were far from ideal, no one ever claimed Severus was lacking adaptability.

Nasophilia

by Femme (@femmequixotic). Rated: M. Words: 996.

If Draco were completely honest--and why on earth would he ever wish to be--it was the nose, you see.

Refraction

by Femme. Rated: E. Words: 3,305. Crossdressing. Genderfuck.

Mirrors keep Malfoy secrets, you see.

Screwed

by glacis. Rated: E. Words: 2,250.

Draco's plan doesn't quite work.

Nine and Sixty Ways

by goseaward. Rated: T. Words: 7,130.

There is always more than one possibility. Or, what could have happened after the end of Half-Blood Prince.

Custard Tarts for the Tart

by iamisaac. Rated: E. Words: 2,378. Dom/sub. Dub-con. Postwar.

After the war, there are precious few jobs going for ex-Death-Eaters. War-hero Severus, however, finds one for Draco...

Gaze

by Lokifan. Rated: E. Words: 4,319. Rentboys. Dub-con.

Draco knows he shouldn’t say yes, but he can’t afford not to.

Sparking Like the Perfect Match

by Lokifan. Rated: E. Words: 29,955. Student/teacher. Dub-con. Deathly Hallows AU. Hogwarts 7th year. Light dom/sub.

After Potter’s escape, Draco and his family need protection from someone the Dark Lord likes. Headmaster Snape gives it for a price: Draco’s cooperation in an unexplained Beltane ritual.

How to Ask a Question

by madeofbees. Rated: E. Words: 22,790. Student/teacher. Hogwarts 8th year. Light angst.

Draco has wanted Severus since he can remember. On Valentine's Day of his eighth year, he finally works up the courage to ask for what he wants. Or does he?

Shall we descend once more, my Hades

by megyal. Rated: E. Words: 10,219. Forced bonding. Podfic available.

From the request: Later schoolyears, possibly seventh year | In return for killing Voldemort, Draco is given to Snape, to become his concubine. (Prompt: The Myth of Persephone)

After

orphaned. Rated: T. Words: 1,076. MCD.

It is a singularly odd sensation to grieve when one is intangible.

Trappings of Privilege

orphaned. Rated: E. Words: 16,892.

It's Draco's seventh year at Hogwarts. Carrow wants him. Snape doesn't.

Not Such a Superman

by torino10154. Rated: E. Words: 199. Rape/non-con. Underage.

[No summary]

Quite Naughty

by torino10154. Rated: E. Words: 200. Student/teacher. Underage.

Unbeta'd. Written for adventdrabbles Prompt 7: "Naughty or Nice or Don’t Ask."

#danpuff recs #snaco #draco x snape

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Twenty-Eight

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, panic attack, stalking, online bullying.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd, readers beware as always lol.

❗❗ trigger warning: memories of witnessing a loved ones mental health spiral, this might not seem like a trigger to some, but it can be to many. ❗❗

tags: @tearfallpixie @cncohshit @jordynyingling0219 @faceless-mirror @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747 @witchyweeb34 @black-damask1999 @jilliemiw86 @ilovesamkiszka @lyschko666 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses @laurpartyprogram @sunsshinesunny @malerieee @talialovesmiw

Tag List is Open, please let me know if you would like to be added to it or in general.

Even what's happening to you was nothing but a proposed theory that I’d read about, until now.

Chris stood in his bathroom staring in the mirror, he felt like shit, last night he had let everything out to Ricky and Talia, and it had been so long since he had laid everything bare like that. It had been both cathartic, and ripped him open, inside and out. All because he wanted to help them and explain about their marks, and while Ricky knew, just expecting Talia to just trust him when it was something as fundamentally groundbreaking to her life.. It was a lot to ask. So, of course, he had to tell her everything. Now though, he felt like he had nothing but bad news for them both, even if on some level, there had to be hope in some of what he said about their tattoo, right? Some of it? After all, the fact that there were at least theories about this happening with their marks, it showed that it wasn’t completely without precedent. That it had at least been thought of. Even it was so rare that it felt like it was alien and strange enough that it was frankly scary as shit… he didn’t blame them for it feeling insane as hell at all.

Hell, his past aside, Chris felt a little bit going off the wall himself right now, and his, his, was even more off kilter than theirs. More in the sense, that his, he hadn’t read as a theory, in any of the science medical journals he’d gotten his hands on so far, anywhere. He was half tempted to call one of his friends that worked in the line of research, he knew a few quite personally by this point, and run a hypothetical by them. He wasn’t there yet, and frankly, he was half afraid of what he would tell him if he did. 

Maybe… Maybe… Maybe he would later. 

Grimacing, he leaned forward on his arms, there went his shoulder again, he swore he pulled something, he’d say it had happened on tour, but it had been fine even after the shows. He’d been completely fine, not a twinge. This hadn’t started happening until after they’d gotten back, the last week or so. Reaching across himself with his other arm, he pressed the base of his hand into his shoulder and rubbed into the space just by his collar bone. Circling it, sighing slightly, just trying to work the muscle, hoping to ease the tension there. He should really see his trainer, and his physio, just to double-check, make sure nothing was wrong, the last thing he needed was a permanent injury.

Ricky stood in the doorway of Chris’ bathroom from the hallway, much like he’d done the guest room the day before, his arms crossed across his chest, watching him in the mirror silently.

“Are you going to say anything, anything at all, or just keep standing there staring at me like a creeper?”

Chris asked him, Ricky just smirked a little.

“Like your spooky ass doesn’t enjoy it and we both know it, probably a turn on at this point, go on, deny it.”

Ricky chuckled at the way Chris, instead of doing just that and denying it, just smiled and shook his head slightly with a roll of his eyes. Then, he just looked at him through his reflection in the mirror, as if he couldn’t believe that they were even having this conversation. Maybe Ricky couldn’t either, but hey, here they were.

“Are you okay?”

Ricky watched as the smile froze on Chris’ face in the reflection, this caused the smaller man to frown slightly, realising that he was trying to put on that brave face instead of just being open, Ricky sighed. He was worried about him, it had been so long since Chris had talked so openly about what had happened with his fiancé. How she’d just dropped him so simply after they’d been together for years, and when they had been so close to devoting their lives to each other. It had been devastating seeing what happened to him, as horrible as the stalker had been, what that, bitch that deserved no name, had done had destroyed Chris even more in Ricky’s opinion. If he hadn’t been slipping into depression, then that stalker wouldn’t have been able to hurt him nearly as badly. Ricky wasn’t so sure that some of those ‘accidents’ where Chris landed in hospital, orchestrated by the stalker, Chris hadn’t just let happen by that point, wanted them to happen with how bad his mental state had gotten. That thought had honestly fucking terrified Ricky, losing his best friend like that?

Then the loss of his soulmate compounded everything.

As horrible as it was, Ricky sometimes thought losing his soulmate was the best thing that could have ever happened to Chris. It had been the push he needed to get professional help. He knew it made him sound like an asshole even thinking that, someone had died, but Ricky didn’t want to lose his best friend.. And right now, looking at Chris in the mirror as his face slowly fell, he remembered all those gut-wrenching times of watching as Chris had gotten worse right before his eyes, he didn’t want to repeat them.

“I, I’m okay Rick, I just, last night took it out of me. I didn’t think-”

He stayed quiet, just letting Chris figure out what he wanted to say, not wanting to pressure him to have to find his place right away.. He knew better.

“The worst part is I probably could have gotten away with just telling her I’ve just always been fascinated with soulmates, you know.. It’s not like I’m not into weird shit all the time, we’ve been talking about spooky stuff all week.”

Ricky smiled at the way Chris chuckled, hearing him talk so fondly about her, sent a warm tingle of feeling through his soulmate tattoo, making him swallow, he couldn’t think about her now, he needed to focus on Chris. It was so strange though, how thinking about Chris with her before was so painful, and yet here, it was, rather pleasant, he didn’t know what was happening. Pushing himself to focus on Chris,

“After hearing about what she went through, and knowing it had affected her so badly, after how she’d trusted us, Ricky, and she’s not even told her friends, I just,”

He nodded, Ricky did get it, he felt terrible that she’d gone through that, that her family had put her through that. It was spite, and jealousy. That’s what it was. She’d never said anything to him about her family not believing that her mark was what she said it was, just that her soulmate was him, and that was the kicker right there, that was the jealousy. How dare she believe, that a famous person, that she loved, be her soulmate.. They saw her as obsessed.. They couldn’t for one second take a moment to listen, take a moment to consider that everyone had to have someone as a soulmate, famous or otherwise.

The worst part for him? That this had happened to her, long before he’d ever even met Grace. So if anyone looked on his media, there would have been no sign of a soulmate, so there would have been no grounds for them to say she was harming him thinking she was his soulmate. That she was delusional, thinking she could replace his so-called real soulmate. No. So he didn’t understand the hatred they had had, aside from, if they couldn’t have a famous soulmate, then why should she get one?

That was it, that was all he could fathom.

Maybe he’d thought about this a lot more last night than he should have, and maybe he’d come to hate her family all the more for it. Furthermore, whatever institute she’d been put in, those doctors needed to lose their licences, immediately. They hadn’t bothered to listen to her, only her family, from the sounds of it. Nothing about Talia deserved what she’d gone through.

“I couldn’t give her a half-truth, Rick, I had to tell her everything, I had to be honest with her, and now.”

Nodding, 

“Yea. Yeah, I get it, if you told her a half-truth now, and she found out everything else later…”

“Yeah.”

She might not trust him again, and that thought, she’d been through enough with people lying to her, and hell, just these past weeks, this past month thanks to Ricky.. He’d fucked up with her so bad. Lifting his hand as his neck ached.. Unsurprising to him, it had been doing that on and off all night, and this morning, he guessed that Talia’s emotions had to be all over the place. Still, when he’d messaged her earlier and she’d replied straight away that she was doing okay, but now as his neck flared up again he was wondering if he should call her.. Sighing as his hand slipping from his neck, the ache settling into his neck, glancing over he noticed Chris rolling his shoulder again..

“It’s your mark, isn’t it?”

This time Chris wasn’t looking at him in the reflection, his head whipped around to face him directly, the question flying out in response far too quickly.

“What makes you think that?”

Ricky just tilted his head with a raise of an eyebrow, was he really asking him that, he knew where Chris’ soulmate mark was better than anyone else in the band.. Ryan was the only other one in the band still from when Chris hadn’t been as self-conscious of it. Sure, he’d worn makeup plenty to cover his mark, but now, catching him without his shirt was far rarer than it used to be.

“Chris…”

“My shoulder has just been playing up a bit this week okay, I’m already going to go to the doctor tomorrow, it’s fine.”

As much as he had told the harpy that was his former fiancé he hadn’t cared about who his soulmate what when she left him, Ricky considered that something might have broken in Chris. Maybe something in him must have clung to the idea that with her leaving him, that maybe the person that could truly love him still, no matter what, would be that soulmate. That would be how Ricky had felt after losing someone who had claimed to love him and then took it all back. So when it turned white, seeing that devastation on his face first hand, it was no shock to Ricky how much it had destroyed Chris even more.

Searching his face now, Ricky couldn’t be sure of what he was saying, and he wanted to be, he was desperate to be sure of what he was saying. However, Chris, how could he not be worried about him after seeing him get so bad last time? Seeing him end up in such a bad place, not wanting to talk to anyone? After everything Ricky had just been through, and knowing exactly how that felt, right down to just wanting to stuff all the ugliness inside so he didn’t have to deal with it.. He didn’t want Chris to do that, not again. Ricky had just done that, and he’d not only hurt himself, but Talia too.

“Chris, please. Just show me.”

“Rick, I-”

When he began, Ricky was sure, he was sure that even if Chris wanted to think it was just his shoulder convinced himself that it was, there was a part of him that probably knew it wasn’t. Otherwise, why would he be arguing with him? It would be so simple to show him, wouldn’t it? One slip of his collar, and the stark white mark on his skin would be there. Actually, it blended in more now than it did when it was black, but then, compared to the colourful tattoos around it, it was noticeable. Chris had worked the spectral ghost into his shoulder piece on that side, and Ricky had thought it was great, but now, Chris kept it covered whenever he could in public. No surprise there.

None of the fan sites had ever caught wind of the fact his soulmate was dead. Anyone claiming to be his soulmate at shows, and it still happened with the tattoos sites claimed where his tattoo was, but never confirmed, they were politely asked to leave, and if they refused, security escorted them out. Chris did not need to deal with that insanity after his stalker. At one point, there was a subset of fans that were intensely protective of Chris, especially from other fans that continually tried to bombard him at shows about being his soulmate. It had gotten quite nasty for a while there.

Either way, indulging everyone with that claim by even letting them meet him to defuse the situation like one of their managers had suggested for ‘publicity’, giving them their five minutes, even the quiet ones in VIP, did not happen. Ava and the Talia were not the first ones to show up, but by far the most genuine case, considering they were the only ones that were honest soul mates to first meet them at a show. As it was, if they let all these other people even meet Chris, which Ricky knew was the point of claiming he was their soulmate, word would get out that they got that free pass to him. Then it would just get worse, which was why each one was always escorted out.

Ava would have been too, except, every last one of them knew, no one knew Vinny’s tattoo but them. 

No one. 

It had been Vinny’s call to ask her to stay.

Talia, however, Ricky hadn’t realised about her tattoo until well after the concert, and that, that was an entirely different matter.

Note, the manager that had suggested the fans that claimed to be Chris’ soulmate get to meet him? Ricky made sure got removed from working with them. Chris had been too nice about it, but after seeing what Chris had gone through with his stalker, Ricky wasn’t going to fuck around when it came to potential stalkers and his best friend's life, thank you very much. Not even with people that could just be honest fans hoping for just a few minutes with their favourite singer. Buy a VIP ticket like everyone else. Looking back now, after being targeted by a stalker himself, he knew he’d done the right thing. 

Chris swallowed as Ricky stepped closer to him. His eyes meeting the deep blue eyes of his best friend, sometimes they were so vibrant as a summer's day, and sometimes they were as dark and stormy as a hurricane no one wanted to get lost in. That was Ricky to Chris, not always knowing what was coming your way. As he looked at Chris now, his expression so fierce, determined, Chris wished he knew what was going on inside that head of his. Yet at the same time, knowing Rick was asking about his mark, and the tingle he was feeling in his skin even as Rick’s fingers reached up and curved around the back of his neck…

He was worried about what the answer might be.

Fuck, if he was beautiful, though. Swallowing again as Ricky stepped so close, pulling Chris down a little with some pressure at the back of his neck til he leaned down, pressing his forehead to Ricky’s.

“You don’t have to show me, but when you get back from the doctors tomorrow, let me know, okay? Just worried about you.”

Chris nodded quickly. He didn’t want Ricky to worry, he was as important as his own flesh and blood if he was honest, most of the band was. Anything big happened in his life, his first call was his parents, and then Ricky, and then the rest of the band, and not always in that order. Sometimes Ricky came first.

“Good.”

He took in a sharp breath at the way his shoulder started tingling when Ricky pressed the quickest of kisses to his lips before letting his fingers slip from behind his neck and started back to his room.

Holy shit.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics (roses) & @cafekitsune (trigger)

#motionless in white #miw #ricky olson #ricky olson fanfiction #original female character #soulmates #fanfiction #miw band #soulmate au #ricky olson fanfic #chris motionless #chris cerulli #chris cerulli fanfic #tw mental health #tw stalking #fic: every rose has its thorns

[dimplesandfierceeyes]

Hey Kayla!! Hope u r doing well.

Saw u were taking bad buddy prompts. How about one with PatPran as dads. U can try nothing complicated with lots of domestic fluff. I'd love to see ur view on that.

Hello! Thank you for dropping by to give me a prompt. This is not usually something I would write so it actually ended up working really well as a little warm-up prompt because it made me think a creatively about how I'd approach it. Served me well for a few sessions!

I'm not sure this is exactly what you had in mind, but I thought you'd like to see the end result. (It's unedited and unbeta'd so sorry for any mistakes)

---

Parentis Quaestio

“I’m dead,” Pat declared, flopping down on their borrowed bed in Uncle Tong’s guestroom. Pran managed a hum of agreement as he sat down on the edge, peering over his shoulder at his practically disarticulated boyfriend.

A gaggle of summer school children had visited the Eco Village and as freeloading guests, Pat and Pran had been draughted in to help herd and entertain them. 

“Who knew a bunch of nine-year-olds would be so hard to control?” Pat lamented.

“I can’t believe you let your lot run into the sea.”

“I didn’t let them. They ran in there when my back was turned!” Pran laughed, shaking his head, and Pat lifted his own head to glare at him. “Excuse me, at least none of my kids fell asleep listening to me drone on about plastic composition.”

Pran’s grin was whipped from his face and he scowled instead. “My talk was very interesting, thank you. That kid was just tired.”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied, unconvinced. His disbelief was duly ignored. 

Before Pran could get too grumpy, Pat tugged him down onto the bed beside him, ignoring Pran’s amused protests as he rolled over to hug him like a limpet. Despite said protests, Pran’s hand found Pat’s head where it was laid on his chest instantly, stroking through the strands as if without thinking. 

“Do you think…” Pat started before trailing off.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s alright.”

“Go on, do I think what?”

Pat chewed his lip for a second before figuring out how to frame his question. “Do you think it would be like this all the time, hectic and… and exhausted, if we, you know, if we ever had kids?”

Pran’s hand stalled in Pat’s hair, suddenly heavy against Pat’s head. “...I don’t know.”

The words were weighted with hesitation and Pat grimaced. He hurried to mitigate. “I’m not saying that we ever would have kids, I’m just saying you know.” He twisted his head up to grin winningly but Pran just eyed him knowingly.

“Is that something… you want? Kids?” Pran replied instead of taking the easy escape Pat had set up. His eyes were serious. 

“It’s not that,” Pat replied. “I was just… wondering. What it’s like. That’s all.”

Pran was quiet for a second before replying. “You can tell me. We’ve never actually talked about it before so… I want to know how you feel about it.”

“I… I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it that much but I guess I kind of… expected to? Before… this, well, I guess I thought I’d end up with a girl, we’d get married and then that’s the kind of thing that just happens, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Pran argued softly. 

“No. No, it doesn’t have to be,” Pat echoed definitely, but even as he said it, there was a dragging weight in his stomach. Not exactly disappointment, more a realisation that a door was locked that you’d always thought was open for you to walk through anytime if you’d wanted. “So you’ve never wanted them?”

“I didn’t say that.” 

Pat’s heart skipped a beat and Pran’s hand started to move again as he looked up at the ceiling. 

“So…?”

“It’s… a big commitment. You have to be ready and I’m not sure if I’m ever… I don’t know. It’s not an easy process either. We’d have to adopt and there’s no guarantees. I think… that’s another reason I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I get it. It would be a big disappointment.”

“Yeah.” Pran sighed. “Plus, not to mention our families.”

“You never know,” Pat replied jovially. “A grandkid might just get them over all the feud stuff.”

Pran snorted. "I doubt it."

---

"Our baby's all grown up and left us!" Pat wailed, flopping over the steering wheel after pulling up outside of their house. 

They’d only just finished moving their daughter into her new dorm room. Barely three minutes ago, he’d been cracking jokes with her new roommates and giving her hangover advice, but the second they’d left the building he’d been sighing dramatically and pouting. 

“She’s only twenty minutes away.” Pran pointed out.

“Don’t act like you’re not bothered. I know you’re going to be restless all week, just like every time she had a sleepover.”

“I was not restless every time she had a sleepover,” Pran replied with affront.

“Pran, the last time she spent the night elsewhere you cleaned your entire collection of architecture models. Twice.”

“They still had dust on them,” Pran sulked, but there wasn’t much fight in it. 

“I can’t believe she’s already gone to college. It feels like we only brought her home a week ago.” Pat sighed in response, looking up at the house as if seeing their old apartment, with the nursery Pran had sacrificed his music room for and the cute but expensive bed they’d spent hours trying to put together which turned out to be just that little bit too small for a four-year-old. 

It had been the first of many lessons on the steep and perilous learning curve that had hit them for that first year. Several mistakes, countless compromises and a lot of love later and here they were, back to an empty nest. The thought made Pran smile ruefully. 

Parenthood had put a lot of things into a different perspective for both of them; their own upbringing, their parents’ situation, the relationships they had with them now. Some things were easier to understand; others were harder, but there was an equilibrium to it. And amazingly, all those years ago, lying on Uncle Tong’s spare bed, having their first fragile conversation about this aspect of their possible future, Pat had been right. Having a grandchild had changed things for the better. 

Or at least, Ming and Dissaya could now be in the same room for over an hour and remain civil the entire time. Both Pran and Pat were happy to take it.

“Come on, we should go in. No point sitting about out here,” Pran finally said. He pushed open the door and stepped out. Pat followed him, a pensive expression on his face. 

Pran pulled out his keys and walked up to the front door. As he pressed them into the lock, he felt Pat’s arm slip around his waist.

“You were making jokes and laughing when we were there but now you’re all clingy and pitiful,” Pran tutted as he pushed open the door. 

“I can be pitiful if I want to,” Pat whined. “After all, maybe if I’m really pitiful, my husband will do something to cheer me up.”

There was a note to his tone that made Pran’s eyes narrow. “Is that right?”

“Well,” Pat continued, his breath warm against the back of Pran’s neck, “there’s only us here now after all…”

Even after all these years and a less than regular gym schedule, Pat had plenty of strength in his muscles and Pran couldn’t help the little buzz of warmth that slipped through him as Pat tugged him closer, pulling him flush against Pat’s front. 

“Seriously?” he laughed, but made no attempt to escape. 

“Come on, how long has it been since we could be as loud as we want?”

“As I recall, you’re the loud one.”

Pat hummed a shameless agreement. “And you like it.”

“Hmm, do I?” Pran pretended to be unconvinced. “I guess, you’ll have to remind me.”

He felt Pat’s grin against his skin for just a second before he was dragged inside.

#thanks for the prompt anon! #the prompt box is still open for anyone who has any ideas for little warm-up fics to get my fingers typing to #bad buddy #patpran #bad buddy fanfic #bad buddy fanfiction #bad buddy prompt #lovely asks

[imtryingmybeskar]

I have never in my life called a man daddy. But if I was going to, you're damn right it would be Jack Daniels.

Idk what this is, this just happened. Unbeta'd, barely read twice (very unlike me!) I also wanted to get "babygirl" in there in this way before TLOU 😅

Jack Daniels X F!Reader. 4.5k words.

18+ only - smut, smut, smut. Oral (m and f receiving), p in v, dirty talk, daddy kink, edging.

Relief

"C'mere sugar," Jack drawled as he sank down heavily on to the couch with a sigh. "It's one of those nights."

Ah. That meant a bad day at work. Jack was always the dominant one, but sometimes he needed you to be a little more submissive to him than usual. And even more occasionally he needed a little extra thrown into the mix. His shoulders were tense and slightly bowed, heavy with whatever weight the Statesmen had laden him with today and you guessed that he needed some fun injected into his day. A little extra it was then. Thank goodness you were wearing a dress.

"What nights?" you asked as you crawled on all fours up the couch toward him. Your voice and eyes were bright with innocence and he growled as you reached him and straddled his thighs.

"Are you playing games with me, sweetness?" His hand swatted your backside with a sharp CRACK, hard enough to sting a little, but not hard enough to leave a mark. He was testing your boundaries, seeing what you were willing to give. He should know by now you would give him anything and everything he wanted from you. You bit your lip coquettishly at him.

"Would I do that to you?" Your voice was light and sweet as cotton candy, your hands running up Jack's chest and coming to clasp behind his neck. His black eyes burned into you with barely contained desire.

"Use my name, darlin'," he crooned, his voice smooth and rich as honey whiskey but with a dangerous edge to his words, daring you to defy him.

"Jack-"

CRACK

That one was harder, and you could feel the red sting of it on your cheek even as it began to thrill you deep in your abdomen.

"Ah, ah babygirl," Jack waved an admonishing finger in front of your face. "Do I need to turn you over my knee?"

"Maybe...Daddy," you smiled. Jack's eyes glittered with mischief and his moustache twitched as he tried not to let the smile in them reach his mouth. Suddenly you found yourself exactly there, your face toward the wooden floor, ass up over Jack's lap as he lifted your skirt up and pulled your underwear down.

"Are you being a bad girl tonight? Hmm? Playing me up? Making your poor daddy's life difficult? Being a little brat?" Each question was punctuated with a swat of his hand over your cheeks, and you could feel how the imprint of his fingers would start to bruise very soon. You squealed a little at each smack, wriggling your body insistently on top of his burgeoning erection.

"I'm s-sorry, daddy!" you managed to pant out.

"Sorry just ain't good enough, sweet thing. I think I'm gonna have to remind you who's in charge round here." He hauled you up so you were facing him again and ran one finger lightly down your neck and over your nipple making you shiver while his other hand sweetly caressed your throbbing ass cheek. "I love you so much. You know that, don't you?" he whispered as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose, his moustache tickling you a little. He planted a chaste kiss on your lips before the authoritative command came back into his voice. "On your knees, sugar. You're gonna show me how good you can be after all." You smiled sweetly at him as you knelt between his legs and heard the beautiful sound of his belt buckle clinking softly as he undid it. "Who's my good girl?" he crooned softly as he freed his cock from the stifling confines of his jeans.

"I am, daddy," you whispered as you licked a stripe up his shaft and flicked your tongue over the slit at the top.

"I want you to fill me up, daddy," you sighed. "in my mouth and in my pussy. I want to feel you everywhere. I want to drink you down." Jack's hand tightened momentarily on your throat at your words, his careful control slipping for the briefest of moments. The movement stoked the fires within you further and you could feel how your underwear was clinging tightly to you with your leaking wetness.

He hissed at the feel of your warmth and muttered "That you are, babygirl" as his hands came to tangle in your hair and he pushed your head down over his shaft. "Your mouth feels so good. Gimme your hand." You did so and Jack moved it to his base where you grasped him firmly and began to pump him, your lips and fist meeting in the middle of his cock and thick, sticky tendrils of your spit beginning to slide down over his shaft as his head struck firmly against the back of your throat. "That's it," he breathed, his dark eyes burning into you. "My god baby, ain't no one as good to me as you. Fuck!"

Bolstered by his praises, you moved as far as you could down him, his cock sliding back down your throat and your nose brushing lightly against the wiry curls at his groin. His hips rolled gently, sliding softly into your mouth as his hand wandered to your throat to feel himself inside. "Can feel you take me. You do it so well. I'm gonna come honey. And you're gonna swallow every last drop like the sweet, good girl you are, aren't you?" You whined piteously around Jack's cock, his words and the feel of him hot and sticky and throbbing in your mouth making your cunt clench with desire even as an electric thrill stirred in your belly. Jack kept his light grip around your throat as he slowly moved your mouth off of him, his eyes meeting yours once again. "I wanna hear you say it, babygirl," he murmured as your mouth popped off him and his cock bounced back toward his stomach.

"Let me see you, honey. Pull that cute little dress down for me," he commanded hoarsely and you did so. "So obedient," he mused as his eyes roved your chest and his free hand stroked and tweaked your aching nipples. He carried on speaking softly, half to himself it seemed. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby. I want you to sit on my face, let me taste you too. Sweet little thing. I love your noises and your sweetness. Love to have that pussy all over my mouth." His reddened cock twitched against his stomach again, leaving a little patch of pre-cum on his shirt and causing it to go semi transparent.

"Can I have your cock again, daddy?" you pouted. "I want you!"

"Patience, babygirl, patience," he drawled, though the miniscule tightening of his hand around your throat again and the way he pinched your nipple a little harder showed you he was almost out of patience himself. He moved his hand from your throat and began to lazily pump himself in front of your face. "You know what happens to bad, impatient girls, don't you? I won't let you touch me. I won't let you taste me. I won't let you come. I'll make you watch and that'll be that. Show over. Is that what you want?"

"No daddy, please," you pleaded. "I wanna touch you!"

"Then do as I say," he whispered, his voice becoming more strangled the more he teased you both. "Stand up." Using his thighs for leverage you did just that, making sure to bend forward a little to bring your breasts closer to him before you straightened. "Now lift up that pretty dress." You bit your lip coyly. "Now don't be shy, sugar. Daddy wants to see those cute little panties you've got on." You did as he said, revealing the plain white cotton ones you had worn today. Nothing fancy or special but Jack groaned at the sight. "You're so beautiful darlin'. Soaked through. All for me."

"Will...will you touch me, daddy? Please?" you asked, shyly.

"Oops," you giggled prettily, batting your eyes at him before licking him clean.

Jack groaned again. "Babygirl, I think if I touch you now I am done for. But I can't ever resist you. Not when you ask so nicely."

Whilst still stroking himself, he reached for your thigh with his other hand and brought your leg to rest on the couch, the better to get what he wanted. His huge hand cupped you, and you felt the warmth of his skin counteract the coolness of where your soaked underwear had met the air. He rubbed the heel of his hand against your clit a little and even that small amount of friction sent a gasp tumbling from your lips. One thick finger inched its way into your underwear and made a slow movement from your clit backwards through your channel and up causing your hips to follow with the movement, wanting as much of him as possible. He pressed firmly once against that spot inside that he always invariably found and then slowly withdrew again, leaving you whimpering in his finger's wake. His movements on his cock had become a little more jerky and his breathing was deeper as he told you to kneel for him again.

As you took him back in your mouth and your hand picked up where his left off he pushed his finger into his mouth, his tongue coming out to lick over the base of his finger and collecting every drop of you. "Ain't you just the sweetest thing?" he purred to himself. Your other hand cupped him and he sighed heavily with delight. "Always know just what to do to take care of me. Fuck baby, I'm close. You got the sweetest mouth, prettiest little pussy. I'm gonna fuck you so hard honey, make you drip all over me..."

Jack seized you around your neck once again and you opened your throat as wide as you could for him as he thrust into you half a dozen times before he gave a long, loud groaning exhalation and he spurted into your mouth, coating it and your throat with his release. His eyes were closed and his head thrown back, a picture of blissed out beauty. Some of his cum leaked a little down his shaft as he slowly moved your mouth off of him.

"Aw hell babygirl, nuthin' to be ashamed of," he said with a gentle grin. "Sometimes your daddy is a little much to handle, I know. But you've been such a good girl, cleaned me up so nicely. I think you should have a reward." He extended a hand to you and as you took it he pulled you down on top of him so you were straddling him again. "Fuck baby, I can feel those soaked little panties over me. Enough to make a man hard again immediately." He canted his hips up into you, and you could feel the swell of his cock underneath. Even soft he was girthy and heavy and it was enough to rub a little against your clit, making you whimper. He stroked your face and looked into your eyes with naked adoration. "Tell daddy what you want, sweetheart."

You smiled a little shyly at him. "Could I have a kiss?"

"A kiss? Is that all my baby wants?"

You nodded, looking at Jack from under your eyelashes. "But first I want you to kiss my mouth and then I want you to kiss my pussy, daddy."

Jack smirked, his luscious moustache twitching up on one side. "Oh I think that can be arranged, sweet thing. And after I make you come all over my face, I'm gonna make you come all over my cock too." He stroked one finger down your cheek and lightly bopped your nose. "You want that? Me poundin' into you? Fillin' you up all the way? Makin' you feel so good you don't know what fuckin' day it is?"

"Yes, daddy. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me hard until you feel all better."

Jack's face scrunched up in adoration. "So good to me," he murmured. "What did I do to deserve you?" And without further warning he took your nipple into his mouth and began lapping at it relentlessly, making you squirm with the ticklish pleasure and grind down on his cock. He took over playing with your nipple with his fingers, rolling the spit-slicked bud between them while he took your jaw in his other hand and pressed the beautiful swell of his lips to yours, his tongue probing you gently. You loved the way his moustache felt against your skin - particularly when he bit down on your inner thighs - and you took pleasure in capturing his lower lip gently between your teeth and sucking on it, feeling the hair on his upper lip tickle a little against your nose. He trailed his fingers softly over your skin, down your neck, over your clavicle and across your other nipple before sliding them down further and hooking them into your underwear.

"Be a good girl and take these off for me darlin'?" he murmured against your lips, the command couched in softness and desire but a command nonetheless. Reluctantly, not wanting to give up the feeling of his hands upon you and his cock nestled against your cunt, you stood and all but ripped them away from your body before straddling his thighs once more.

Jack hummed a contented sigh and moved so he was lying down on the couch, gently holding you in position while he manoeuvred. His back played him up sometimes and he could get more comfortable when you sat on his face. It also meant he could hold you down on him, make you come as many times as he felt was necessary, something which had you near-screaming with overstimulation on occasion. His hand wandered up your thigh again pushing your dress up around your hips and then trailed around to your lower back, pulling you forward insistently. There was no doubt what he wanted and you were desperate to feel him against you too. You bunched your dress in your fist and shuffled forward obediently until you were positioned over Jack's face, his eyes still glowing with playfulness and desire.

"Don't be shy, darlin'," he repeated. "You know I love to kiss you everywhere. Sit on daddy's face, hm?"

You lowered yourself gently down to immediately be met by the feeling of Jack's warm, wet tongue tickling daintly at your clit. It made your knees weak and thighs shake instantly. His tongue moved a little more insistently, moving in tight little circles and making you whine and keen at the fire he was stoking in your belly. The noises seemed to set Jack off again and he rumbled a groan from deep within his chest and pulled at your thighs, shoving you down more fully on his face.

"You can do it baby," he murmured, his own voice muffled by your pussy and slightly hoarse with desire. "Do it for Daddy."

"Fuck, Ja-Daddy," you whimpered, almost forgetting yourself at the feeling of him both plundering your pussy with his tongue and sucking on your clit at the same time. Your hips were rolling softly, riding his face and feeling that gorgeous nose of his pressing up against your clit as you did. Jack hummed with appreciation, the noise blessing you with additional vibrations.

Well, this wasn't going to take much time at all.

Your head rolled back on your shoulders, eyes closed, slack mouthed and you knew Jack was peering up at you from in between your legs, delighting in making you come apart with just his tongue and the sloppy, messy kisses he was planting on your cunt. And probably staring at your tits too for good measure. His hands were still gripping the soft flesh of your thighs, and no doubt there would be a few fingertip bruises there tomorrow. The slight pain of it danced around your pleasure, honing it into something more pointed, more focused and fuck that was perfect. Jack could tell. He sped his movements, eating you hole to clit, nuzzling into you, sucking and licking like his life depended on it and when you came you grabbed a fistful of his hair, riding that cowboy through one orgasm and into the second, your thighs shaking around his ears. He wasn't stopping, wasn't allowing you a single breath and the heat crowded your belly and stomach and lungs and forced its way up your throat, your mouth dry and voice hoarse from crying his name in desperate breathless snatches. It was overwhelming, it was too much, it was-

You did. He always teased one more out of you, and even if the orgasms hadn't been devastating as they always were, the smug little hum of contentment that emanated from between your thighs as you trembled through your last embers would have made it all worth it.

Breathless and dazed you looked down at him, a satisfied half smile curving one side of your face. "Jesus fucking Christ." You lifted yourself from him and he placed one more chaste kiss on your clit as you went, making you tremble and shiver with the oversensitivity of it all. He kissed your trembling thighs too, the smear of your own wetness transferred from his moustache back to you.

"My gorgeous girl," he muttered. "There 'ain't no sweeter taste on this Earth." His words were soft and full of love, and his eyes reflected the same as he sat up to face you and kissed you deeply, sharing your own taste with you as he did. He drew back and his voice sharpened again, his eyes beginning to cloud with lust. "Babygirl, Daddy wants you to take off your clothes. Right now." You stood and obeyed, the dress gone in a flash. Jack's eyes were almost black now, the hunger within him desperate. "So good to me," he murmured as his big hands roved up your thighs, belly, back and he kissed over your nipples and bit soft marks above your hips. "Get on the couch, angel." You went to sit, and he stopped you with a tightening of his hand around your wrist. Not painfully, but enough that his latent strength sent a new thrill of electricity through your abdomen. "The other way," he said softly. "Daddy needs...fuck...Daddy needs to be as deep inside you as he can be."

Before you obeyed you bent to kiss him again, allowing his tongue to dominate, welcoming it. Sliding a hand down his chest you began to unbutton his shirt. It was a deviation from his command, but he allowed it. For now. Your hand met the smooth skin of his chest, fingers dancing over the steady thrum of his heart, up to his clavicle and the hollow of his throat where a slight sheen of sweat was beginning to settle. Up further still, to the hair at the nape of his neck, raking your nails over his scalp and delighting in the groaning sigh he delivered into your mouth.

"Mmmm, darlin'. You haven't done as I told you. Are you being disobedient?" His voice was low, sinful, dark as deep water on a moonless night.

"No Daddy," you whispered against his lips. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be bad."

"Do as Daddy says," he instructed softly and this time you did, kneeling up on the low-backed couch and placing your hands against the top. Jack's large, warm fingers trailed softly, following the path of your spine upward and making you shiver. When he reached your neck he pressed and you went with the pressure of his touch, bending over the back of the couch and presenting yourself to him. "My good girl," he murmured as you felt the cushions under your knees give with his additional weight. "So obedient. Most of the time," he added wryly and you giggled.

The denim of his jeans was a little rough against the back of your legs where he had hurriedly rucked them down, his warm, muscled thighs pressed close against your own. The blunt head of his cock was against you, the tip slipping inside and subsuming your giggles into a gasp at the familiar yet wonderful feeling of Jack pushing himself into you. He was always so big...so much. He usually worked you open with his fingers a little, but you understood the need for him to bury himself inside right now. To rid himself of the worries of the day and focus solely on you. You welcomed it. You loved it.

"You okay sugar?" he murmured, his hands running firmly over your back and ass.

You nodded. "More, daddy, more," you whispered back and you felt more than heard the chuckle from deep inside of him.

"Insatiable," he remarked softly before giving you exactly what you had asked for. The stretch of him burned slightly as he pressed himself deeper and deeper but fuck if it wasn't the best feeling in the world. You pushed back a little more, wanting to take him but also knowing he would have his eyes glued to where you were joined. "Fuck," he whispered. "That pretty little cunt. Look at you, stretched out around me. And this-" He punctuated his last word with a lazy stroke of his thumb over your other hole, not penetrating, but with the promise of such later. It was enough for a keening sound to erupt from your throat. "I fuckin' love watchin' you take me there too. Just so fuckin' goddamn pretty."

The last word was half a grunt as he had finally sheathed himself fully inside of you. You were speechless, the air all but punched from your lungs by the blunt thickness of him within you. Your nails scrabbled against the fabric of the couch as your body adjusted to being around him. He felt so good. And at times like this, Christ, you realised how much you loved him, how much you wanted him every day for the rest of your life. He was in you, around you, every sense filled with him and it was perfect.

His hands moved from your hips up your body, coming to cup your breasts, your nipples sliding over his palms and making you clench around him. He breathed a groaning sigh and muttered to you in between placing kisses up your spine, the weight of him slowly enveloping your back as he worked his way up.

"Fuck darlin'...Could stay like this forever...I love you so much..."

He came to rest over you, his moustache tickling a little at your ear as he nuzzled it. One big hand was now covering your own where they rested on the back of the couch, the other was snaking its way down and around your body to your clit. One finger began to swipe wide circles through your slick. Too wide, they skirted around where you ached for him most. You whimpered as he somehow, impossibly, pushed himself a little further inside.

"Now sweet thing, I think its time to discuss your disobedience, don't you?"

Your head was swimming in him. You couldn't form an answer except a half whine of "Daddy..."

He clucked pityingly at you. "That won't get you out of trouble now, honey. You need to learn to listen to me. I tell you to do somethin' and you need to do it. You understand me?"

Before you could answer he was stroking your clit, thrusting shallowly into you in time with his rhythm. He was pressing so deeply, fuck, his fingers were dancing so cleverly. But you had to answer. Amidst the burgeoning orgasm he was building within you, you knew he wanted you to answer.

"Yes, yes I understand," you gasped.

"Good," he purred, voice smooth as silken bedsheets. Your body was tensing, tightening against the onslaught of pleasure he was threatening to release.

And then...he stopped. His finger resumed their large circles, his hips were flush against you but he was no longer moving.

You understood alright. This was your punishment.

He did it again. And again. All the while muttering sweet filth about how beautiful you were, how hard you made him, how you were so perfect. And every time he felt you tense he would resume his teasing until you actually let out a sob of frustration. You were pulled, taut, stretched thin around him and over him. A soap bubble grown too large and ready to burst at the slightest provocation.

"Please," you groaned, desperation etched into every syllable. "Please..."

"Please, what?" he teased, giving you one good thrust as he did.

"Fuck," you gasped. "Like that, please...like that..."

"Mmmm," he hummed, the sound a rumbling purr from behind you. "I love hearin' you beg for me. Have you learned your lesson, angel?"

"Yes," you said frantically, desperate for him to move, to finish what he had begun so many times. "Yes, I'll be good Daddy, I swear."

When he touched you again it was as if all the teasing that had gone before coalesced to form an overwhelming thing, a simmering, shimmering feeling from your scalp all the way to the tips of your toes. It built so rapidly you were fighting to catch it up, your body's sensations running away before your mind could understand what was happening. And then he began to piston into you - full throttle pounding that made the couch shake and squeak underneath you both, the slap of skin meeting skin not quite able to drown out the sound of him sliding through your slick channel again and again and again. You were done for, the force of your orgasm hitting you like a tidalwave and feeling just as devastating. The keening wail from your lips didn't sound like your own voice, the clenching of your cunt around him so tight that you heard him growl out his own curses as he fucked you through the devastation of what he had so carefully built.

Your body felt limp, relaxed, full of a golden glow. Jack hauled you up against his chest, and you were grateful for his physical strength and support as he held you against him and fucked up roughly into you until his thrusts grew erratic and he swelled somehow even larger within you as he spilled inside, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek as his body's taut pleasure flowed into you.

"Fuck baby," he murmured into your ear. "Fuck." He pulled you closer to him - his arms softer around you now, the pace and intensity of his love less frantic as his heartbeat normalised. "I love you so much. Always give me just what I need."

You smiled as you turned your face to kiss him. "And I always will...Daddy."

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