DP x DC: The Rivalry
It's a little-known fact among the Watchtower residents that there is a fierce rivalry going on amongst its members. On one side, the Flash, a core member of the Justice League. On the other, Daniel "Danny" Fenton, Head of Engineering for the Watchtower.
Nobody knows when the rivalry started. Some rumors say that it began when, after hearing the Flash rant about how stupid it is to believe in ghosts, Danny took the effort to reroute all of his outgoing calls to the advice line of the JLD. Others say that after Danny doubled the max speed of one of the jets, Flash took it upon himself to have a joyride in it and then submit a complaint about it being too slow... twelve separate times, each one no more than 24 hours after Danny had finished the last speed improvements.
Ever since, the two have been taking potshots at each other with pranks large and small. Danny arranged a standard maintenance check to change room authorizations... resulting in the Flash being unable to access the kitchens for a week. In return, the Flash spent an entire week replacing every single cup of coffee Danny had with the cheapest, most watered-down decaf he could find - and he swapped out the mugs for Flash-branded ones as well. Danny's modification of the Flash's suit to change colors to randomized sets of the most eye-searingly-bright, clashing colors possible for exactly one second after being exposed to the Speed Force were met with "Kick Me!" signs taped to Danny's back.
But... surely this has gone too far, right? Flash... really can't think of what he can do to top this.
He stares as every single Watchtower engineer zips between tasks using the Speed Force as if it's nothing. It's not a permanent change, thank god, he can see the packs on them that apparently give them the Speed Force, but it's still ridiculous.
You know what, no. He's just... not gonna engage with that. He turns around and leaves the engineering department.
It becomes a lot harder to avoid engagement when, over the course of the day, he has to witness each and every member of the Justice League speed around with a Speed Force pack of their own. Shouldn't Batman and Wonder Woman be above this sort of thing? Why does Superman need to be faster?!
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HANDSY
PAIRING: Jackson! Joel Miller x afab! reader
SYNOPSIS: Your cycle is ruining your mood, and what better thing to do than get a free massage.
CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Suggestive content. Titty massage. Slight daddy kink. Established relationship. Joel being a little bastard. Ambiguous age gap (Joel is in his 50s, reader is in their 20s). Mentions of menstrual cycle and female characteristics about the chest. Banter and teasing. No use of y/n.
WC: 1.2k
A/N: Alright, I'm kinda on a Joel Miller streak and I was just thinking about getting my tiddies rubbed by a man with strong & rough hands and this happened. Don't look at me like that okay, this is self indulgent and I just had to alright. Hopefully this is relatable for some of y'all lol. Shout out to everyone who has to deal with periods, you are stronger than the marines. Anyways, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Dividers by @saradika-graphics.
➣ TLOU was created by a zionist and is based off of the Israeli occupation of Palestine. Please refer to this link to learn how you can help the Palestinian people.
NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3
Another month. Another week of unruly irritation, mood swings, and uncomfortable reactions to anything that breathed too hard or moved too fast. In the hecticness that was your current reality, dealing with the devil’s wrath was supposed to be something that slipped past your mind. Yet, in the efforts of your survival, having a menstrual cycle still took you off guard every time it came punching through your gut.
Tossing and turning in bed, you tried to get in the best position to ease your cramps by curling up in a fetal position. You thought it would make things better, but instead, the discomfort you felt all over your body pissed you off even more. A frustrated grumble filled the bedroom, flinging the sheets away and furrowing your eyebrows at the lack of relief.
Where the fuck is he?
Throwing on a pair of slippers you luckily claimed on a supply run, you shuffled down the creaky stairs of your home and wandered about until you reached the living room. Joel was hunched over his seat on the couch, currently messing with his guitar strings, aware of your presence the moment you hit the base of the stairway.
“Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?” He questioned you as he took in your features and noticed your pout. You were upset; that was obvious when he found you in bed earlier today instead of somewhere else in the house. Simply kissing your forehead and letting you rest as best as he could, he expected you to come down to talk to him eventually when you had the energy to do so.
Joel didn’t say anything as you came closer to him without uttering a word, slipping your legs over his thick thighs and pressing your face into the curve of his neck. He put his guitar to the side and wrapped his strong arms around your waist, hands instinctively digging into your lower back where you felt the most sore. He could tell from the way you clung to him that it was that time of the month, already having gotten used to your changes in demeanor to see the signs.
“Uncomfortable?” Joel asked again, trying to get a better read on your emotions, but he only received an annoyed grunt in response. “Guess we’re just gonna sit here then.”
He ran his fingers up and down your spine, trying his best to lessen the strain you felt. He could snag some herbs to make you tea later if you were in the mood for it, but right now, a massage is what you could handle. His touch made you sigh with alleviation, focusing on the pressure points along your shoulder and backbone. Even with his attempts, the front of your body continued to ache.
“My boobs are fucking killing me.” You declared out loud, a deep rumble of a chuckle escaping from the back of his throat.
“You need me to massage them?” Joel offered, and his intention of doing that was purely to make you feel better. Though, you couldn’t ignore the slight flutter in your belly at the idea of having his hands elsewhere.
Giving him a nod, you sat straighter on his lap, holding his gaze as he slipped his hands underneath the flannel you wore and made a beeline for your chest. Joel didn’t flinch at the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra, being told once or twice how freeing it was not to have to deal with the constant friction of clothes against your heated skin.
He palmed both of your breasts and squeezed, his grip just strong enough to calm the throbbing of the swelling from your change in hormones. Your eyes closed as you focused on his touch, allowing Joel to do whatever he wanted with you, what he knew best.
“Feelin’ better?” You heard him ask, humming out in reply. He grinned at your reaction, the hum sounding close to a purr as he pawed at your chest.
Taking his hands out from underneath your—his shirt, you whined, a smirk tugging at the corners of Joel’s lips. Lifting the top of the flannel to rest on your collarbone, his attention went back to your breasts, looking at them with a mix of desire and affectionate pity.
“Poor baby. Hormones got my girl all cranky and upset.” He said, placing a soft kiss on the top of each breast before handling your body once more. You don’t know whether or not he was deliberately teasing you when you were the most vulnerable, but just hearing his voice was doing wonders to soothe your nerves.
You’ve always been fascinated with Joel’s hands since you met him, watching how he’d hold the handle of his gun or insert ammo into the magazine before reloading. His palms were rough, and his fingers were rougher, representing a man who’s lived a long life, who’s done unspeakable things to survive and get to this point. To most, they’d dislike the feeling of having so much of a contrast, but to you, the difference of his skin against yours was almost euphoric.
Joel squeezed with more purpose, focusing on tightening his grasp along the sides where the pain was the most prominent. One harsh thumb came to stroke at your sensitive nipple in gentle circles, pulling a breathless moan from between your lips. The smile on his face widened when his ears picked up the sound, moving to do a combination of deliberate squeezes and circles on the exposed nubs.
The warmth of his touch morphed into something else, need coiling in your stomach and clawing up your throat. As discretely as you could, your hips shifted further into his, craving much more than what he was giving you. Joel couldn’t help himself and brought you closer to him, grinding his hips up into yours. That got your attention, looking into his hazel eyes to find his pupils narrowly dilated.
“If you need me to rub somethin’ else, I can.” Despite the years worn on his face, he still had a certain boyish charm that jerked at your heartstrings when he flirted with you. Or, maybe it was just his southern gentleman persona, ever so willing to tend to your needs no matter what they may be.
“You’re annoying.” You mumbled to him, stubbornly refusing to outright beg for his affection, regardless of how badly you craved it.
“And you’re moody.” Joel kissed you tenderly, drawing away and snickering when you leaned forward to chase his lips for another.
“Let daddy make you feel good. Alright, darlin’?” You nodded dumbly at the proposition of getting something more than your tits massaged.
His eyes flashed with lust, making quick work to peel off the flannel and toss it to the ground. Already growing hard at the thought of having his way with you, he tilted towards you, kissing the column of your neck and letting his beard tickle your skin. You released a shaky exhale, fingers running through his graying hair and tipping your head back to grant him more access to your skin.
“Atta girl.”
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