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from-the-clouds · 2 years

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savior complex - joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller

All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine

summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one. ♥

“What do you want?”

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says.

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference.

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second.

He’s covered in blood.

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow.

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?”

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained.

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?”

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave?

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile.

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.”

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue.

Joel doesn’t answer.

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple.

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard.

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that.

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict.

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?”

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side.

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.”

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one.

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child.

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips.

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest.

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable?

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand.

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction.

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage.

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy.

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell.

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.”

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do.

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers.

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….”

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard.

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you.

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes.

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching.

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges.

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling.

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper.

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide.

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up.

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration.

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing.

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder.

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?”

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed.

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you.

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought.

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk. Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask.

“It was sitting out.”

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits.

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound.

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them.

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?”

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head. “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.”

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection.

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-”

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool.

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done.

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it.

I’m sorry.

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once.

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward.

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film.

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy.

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide.

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap.

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to.

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase.

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?”

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes.

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts.

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur.

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement.

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans.

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you.

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you.

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.”

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well.

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time.

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate.

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.”

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again.

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known.

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer.

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing.

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling.

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him.

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved.

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles.

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.”

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

part ii

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #enemies to lovers #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine

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hutchersonsgurl · 6 days

Text

Out of the Shadows - Daryl dixion

paring fem reader & Daryl Dixon

summary: you and Daryl have been seeing each other for a couple months but he never said i love you

warning: none

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the world in hues of gold as you and Daryl dipped under the broken fence lining the Greene farm. The tranquility of the countryside felt like a distant memory compared to the chaos that lurked beyond its edges. Surrounded by the chaos of the undead, you had carved out a little corner of normalcy here, even if it was fraught with tension and higher stakes than ever before.

You and Daryl had been through a lot in the last few months, the bond between you stretching beyond friendship into something more confusing—something that sizzled just beneath the surface. When Daryl had first suggested, rather awkwardly, that you two could help each other out in "some ways," it had seemed like a harmless enough arrangement. But now, watching him adjust the straps on his crossbow with that familiar frown etched on his forehead, you wondered if your friendship could ever really go back to what it was before.

“Are you ready?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His voice was steady, perhaps a little more composed than how you felt. You nodded, pushing aside your swirling thoughts and focusing on the task at hand. The grocery store loomed before you, a hulking skeleton of its former self, but it was full of potential supplies that could save lives.

As you stepped through the threshold, it felt eerily quiet. The aisles were toppled and littered with cans and wrappers. You took a deep breath, the stale air heavy with the scent of decay, and pushed forward.

After some searching, you began gathering canned goods, medical supplies, and whatever else you could find. Daryl moved through the isles with a predator’s grace, his sharp eyes continually scanning for danger. You admired his focus; it was part of why you were drawn to him.

“There’s gotta be more in the back,” he said, pointing toward a set of swinging doors at the end of the aisle. You felt a thrill of anticipation coupled with a tinge of unease. This was the longest you had been on a supply run in a while, and the store had been silent far too long.

“Let’s check it out; we can’t leave any good stuff behind,” you suggested, heart racing. You wanted to impress him, to prove that you could handle yourself out here.

With a nod, you approached the swinging doors and, with one swift motion, pushed them open.

The sight beyond those doors sent a chilling jolt through your body. A horde of walkers shuffled in the dim light, their grotesque forms shuffling aimlessly. You barely had time to register their existence before Daryl was at your side, crossbow raised, ready for action.

“Back up!” he shouted, shoving you gently behind him. The moment hung in the air before chaos erupted. You seized your knife, your instincts kicking in. Daryl took out the first walker with expertise, his aim true, but there were too many—more than you had anticipated.

You ducked under a flailing arm, slicing your knife into the side of a walker’s head, its putrid weight collapsing to the ground. Daryl's movements were fluid, almost choreographed as he covered your blind spots.

“We gotta get outta here!” he barked, his eyes fierce with determination. You nodded, adrenaline flooding your veins, and together fought off the growing swarm, pushing your way back toward the entrance you had come through.

Each step felt heavy as you battled your way towards the door. You worked in sync, a rhythm established through countless hours at the Greene farm. It wasn’t just about survival now; it was about protecting him, just as he had protected you.

Suddenly, you stumbled, a sharp pain shooting through your leg as one of the walkers latched onto you, its rotten teeth gnashing just inches away. Daryl was there in an instant, wrenching the walker away and dispatching it with a brutal thrust of his knife.

“Get up!” he urged, pulling you to your feet again. You won’t let him down; you wouldn’t let either of you down.

The two of you barreled for the opening, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You felt breathless as you fought to the front of the store and burst through the doors, leaving the throng of walkers behind in the dusty gloom.

Once outside, you sprinted toward the truck, gasping for breath. Daryl slammed the door shut just as a few stragglers lunged at the vehicle. Hearts pounding, you both sank against the truck, the adrenaline slowly fading.

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, a seldom-seen relief washing over his features. “Thought we were done for.”

You smiled weakly, still feeling the rush of adrenaline. “I could’ve handled it,” you teased.

“Yeah, like hell you could,” he shot back, a smirk finally crossing his lips, melting some of the tension that had built between you.

Returning to the Greene farm felt surreal. You had faced death together and survived. Only moments later, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the fields, you found yourself alone with Daryl by the barn. The silence wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“Listen…,” he began, his voice halting. He avoided your gaze, focusing on a distant horizon, but you could see the weight of emotions in his expression. “I... I need to tell you something.”

Your heart raced. Was he finally going to say it? Your breaths came in shallow bursts, the entire world narrowing down to just the two of you.

“I never thought I could let someone in like this,” he confessed, finally meeting your eyes. “But I do care about you, more than… more than I thought was possible in this messed up world."

You felt your heart leap. “Daryl…”

“I love you,” he rushed out, the words tumbling from his lips. His gaze was fierce, raw with vulnerability. “I don’t just want to be friends or whatever. I want you.”

It felt like time stopped. You took a slow breath, allowing his confession to wash over you. “I love you too, Daryl,” you admitted, sincerity resonating through every word.

" it took you us almost getting killed by walkers to tell me you love me " you tease

"Hey I told ya I ain't good at these types of things" Daryl answered

First fic in awhile! I'm slowly getting back into this but hope y'all like it

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sister-lucifer · 8 months

Text

READ THE FIRST PART HERE

READ PART THREE HERE

Genre: Fluff, a bit angsty but has a happy ending, not explicitly romantic

Summary: It’s been raining all day, and the gloomy weather has you thinking about what could’ve been, and especially what never will be.

Content/Warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol, brief mention of death/suicide, it’s a little sad, I guess? But that’s it. Reader just speculates on how life would’ve been if the Operator hadn’t fucked them over and gets down about it, but theres a happy ending.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

It’s raining again. Not that that’s new. Springtime out here sees its fair share of storms. Normally you’d observe the rain from inside, but today something inside was gnawing at you for some fresh air.

The old rocking chair creaks beneath your weight, moving to and fro softly as you watch the rain. It comes down in sheets off the sides of the cover, splattering to the muddy ground and making a shallow moat around the patio. It lands loudly on the old tin roof, rattling and groaning in a manner that is far too dramatic. It obscures anything beyond the perimeter of the cabin and hides everything in a misty haze.

It’s going to be foggy tomorrow, you think. It usually is when it rains like this. It’ll be cold for the next few days, too, and the ground will be soggy for weeks. Miserable weather, that is. Not that that’s new.

It’s a good day to wonder, that’s all. You’ve been doing plenty of that lately. A bit too much, maybe, but there’s no helping that.

You’ve been living out here with Tim for…shit. How long has it been? Almost a year, you think, but your perception of time is unreliable at best. It’s just one of the many things you lost when your world turned upside down.

That’s what it’s really about. The loss. Tim doesn’t like to talk about it, but you know you both feel it, him even more so than you. He was going to go to college, get a degree, and he’d be damn good at it, too. He was going to find a place of his own, maybe adopt a dog, a big old Saint Bernard like he had when he was a boy, the only type of housemate that wouldn’t annoy him. That’s what he’s told you, anyways. Not sober, of course, not even close; he’d never tell you anything that personal without at least a bit of alcohol in his system. He’s been drinking less since you showed up, though. You noticed he was cutting back a couple months after you moved in. You wonder if you’ll ever get him to open up like that again.

But those were Tim’s plans. He was already in his mid twenties when things really went south, you were barely out of high school when everything started. You didn’t really have plans. So…what are you mourning, exactly?

You don’t really have an answer to that.

You didn’t really have a set path for yourself. Your plan barely existed, and it’s feeble skeleton was little more than an intention to simply float around until something caught your eye. You’d find your way eventually, there was no need to worry. At least, that’s what you used to think.

Now where do you go?

You didn’t have any real plans, no, and you can’t mourn something that never existed, but it there’s this heavy feeling that comes with knowing you’ll never be able to choose.

That’s what it comes down to, you realize. Choice.

No, you didn’t have any plans, but that was because you had all the options you could ever want. Now, you don’t have any plans because you’ve only got one.

Tim does everything he can to keep you entertained out here. Hell, he risks his life every time he walks down the path to his truck to go to town for you, or when he just steps off the porch to refill the bird feeder he knows you love to watch. Nothing outside of these walls in these woods is safe. If it weren’t raining so hard, he’d tear you a new one for even sitting on the porch.

It’s a miserable existence, but it’s so nice to have someone to be miserable with, even if he can’t change anything.

You just wish that was enough to push away that yearning for more, that subtle thrumming ache that only wells up in your stomach late at night, that want that urges you to just take the truck and leave, to forget this cabin and Tim and everything in these godforsaken woods.

But you can’t.

You’d die. And even if you didn’t, the guilt of stranding Tim would eat you alive, especially knowing he’d kill himself before letting that thing get him.

You don’t want to think about that. You push the thoughts away before they can take root in your mind. It’s better to just not consider that possibility at all.

You jump when you hear the front door open. You look back to see Tim standing there, one hand buried in his pocket and the other still on the door handle.

“The hell are you doin’ out here?” He huffs, “I been yellin’ for ya, thought you up and ran off.”

You give him a weak smile, but you can’t keep it up for very long. You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin on them, curling up as if trying to make yourself look as small as possible. You mumble an apology, but don’t look at him.

He pauses, then, and you can imagining his expression changing to confusion and then concern before he covers it up again. His footsteps come up behind you, the wooden porch creaking beneath him. His hand grabs the back of the rocking chair and forces it to still before he pulls it backward to get a look at you.

“…What’s up with you, kid?”

You shrug. It’s an easier response than an explanation, but it doesn’t satisfy him at all.

“C’mon, we both know that’s bullshit,” He says with a dry chuckle, and he’s entirely correct. “What’s goin’ on?”

You sigh, thinking for a moment about your answer.

“…It’s just…I dunno. Do you ever, like…think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t…you know…”

It’s a stammering, stumbling attempt at explaining yourself, but he understands. He nods, crossing his arms and leaning back against the house.

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replies, scratching at his stubble, “But if I’m bein’ honest, it ain’t gonna do you any good. That sorta thing only gets ya down.”

He’s right about that, too. If only it were that easy to just stop. It’s just so hard not to wonder at least every once in a while, it’s human nature. You just wish you knew when to stop. You just wish you were able to ignore the ‘what if’s that piled up in the back of your mind until they couldn’t stand anymore and toppled over into a pathetic mess of rubble. They’ll crush you one day if you aren’t careful, but such an idea seems almost inevitable.

“Do you think—“ You start, but stop short before you can get any further. Tim quirks a brow, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s making that skeptical face.

“…Do I think what?” He asks.

You hesitate to answer. Is this really a question you want to ask? If this starts an argument you won’t be able to take back, will it ruin the comfort you and Tim have finally managed to establish with each other? You can’t just not tell him now, though, or you’ll just piss him off more. He doesn’t care for secrets, but he can’t stand when someone wusses out of a conversation at the last second.

“…Do you think if you had the chance you would…like, go back in time? If you could make it to where none of this ever happened, would you?”

You feel stupid asking that, and it doesn’t help that Tim is silent for far too long before he answers. You’re already regretting this.

Tim finally opens his mouth, and he stammers for a few moments before his sounds turn into words.

“…I don’t really think I can answer that, kid. That’s a tough one.”

He sounds monotone, almost uncaring, but you can tell he’s doing it on purpose

to conceal whatever he doesn’t want you to know he’s feeling. You finally turn to look at him with a look that says ‘Can you please try?’

His eyes widen for a moment, his shoulders tensing in that subtle way they only do when he’s scared. His lips part slowly, and it sounds like he’s forcing his next words out.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I…”

He trails off, and you turn away again. Then there’s silence for another few moments.

Then he’s beside your chair, slowly lowering himself to sit down and doing that annoyed groan he does anytime he has to strain his back. He takes a moment to get comfortable, and you see him reach for his pocket to grab a cigarette only to sigh in disappointment when he realizes he left them inside. You feel bad for smiling, but at least he won’t be able to hide behind his smoke the way he likes to when a conversation makes him uncomfortable.

He accepts his fate, leaning back on his hands and staring out into the rain with you.

“I might,” He finally says, “But it wouldn’t be an easy choice.”

“Why not?” You ask, and for some reason he chuckles at that.

“Good question. This isn’t how I expected things to end up, no one does, but…I couldn’t just up and leave this.”

‘This’ he says. ‘This?’ That hardly answers your question. You quirk a brow at him, and he begrudgingly continues.

“You know, I just…I’ve gotten attached to all this—“

“What’s this, exactly?” You interrupt, and he winces like he was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. “I can’t imagine there being anything here worth sticking around for.”

“…There wasn’t. Not for a long time,” He says, and now it’s your turn to pause.

“…What did you say?”

“There wasn’t,” He repeats, “Not until…not when I was alone. But now…”

‘You,’ you realize that’s what he’s trying to say, ‘You are the only thing worth staying for.’

For some reason, that hurts. Maybe you feel guilty that you ever thought about leaving him, or maybe you feel bad that you of all people are his only friend. The bar for happiness is really low around here.

You slowly unfurl from your spot on the chair, letting your feet rest on the porch as you slump down a bit.

“So…you’re saying you wouldn’t?”

You expected an immediate answer. Stupid of you, really. He’s hesitating again. You’d thought you’d get a quick yes or no. You’re not sure if this is better or worse.

“I’m not…saying anything,” Tim assures you, “I’m just saying that…I’d at least have to think about it.”

“Yeah, but you have to make a choice,” You say with an eye roll, and the words coming out more forceful than you intended. Fortunately, his stoney exterior deflects any vitriol you could spew at him.

The silence that settles over you this time is heavy. It makes you slump even further down in your chair. You hate the silence that always follows when you say something that turned out far too mean.

You don’t breathe until Tim speaks again.

“Okay, yeah…I would.”

You don’t know how you feel about that answer, but you don’t have much time to think before he continues.

“But only because I’d know where to find you this time.”

That surprises you. You sit back up in your chair, looking down at him with an unmistakably confused look.

“Huh?” You blurt out, and your cheeks warm a bit when he chuckles at your noise of bewilderment.

“I’d do it, yeah, but I couldn’t just leave you to fend for yourself,” He explains, “I’d do it, but I wouldn’t abandon you. Now I know who you are, what you liked to do, where you’d hang out, all those things from before shit hit the fan. I just don’t want you to think I’d, ya know…forget about you like that. I’d come find you, that’s all. I think we’d find each other anyways, though.”

Something in your chest aches as he speaks, and it makes you want to curl up again, but you can’t move. You stare at him for a long few moments, and you’re lucky he doesn’t look up at you because you wouldn’t be able to pull your eyes away. You can’t even blink.

“I told you kid,” He adds, “I care about you. I always have.”

What do you say to that?

You don’t know, so you stay silent. You want to say something, to return the monument of emotion he’s just offered to you, to somehow express reciprocity, but you don’t know how. You’re silent.

You don’t move as Tim stands back up, cracking his back and stretching his legs. He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving a small, affectionate squeeze.

“I gotta go start dinner,” He says curtly, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Don’t spend too long out here. If you get sick, Imma say I told you so.”

You nod, but give no further response. He pulls his hand away, and you think that’s the end of it, but just as you realize you haven’t heard him go to leave you feel him leaning over you.

You tense. You’re not sure why, but you do.

You feel him press a brief kiss to the top of your head before he pulls away again. It wasn’t even a kiss, really, he just pushed his lips against your head for a moment, but for that moment it was like everything you’d ever worried about up until that point was arbitrary. It doesn’t last long, but it lingers in the air like the smoke from Tim’s cigarettes as he pulls away and walks back into the house.

You’re alone again.

Now what?

You weigh your options for a moment, but once Tim’s footsteps disappear into the house it feels far too quiet out here, even with the rain beating down on the roof above you.

You wait for only a few moments more to make sure you won’t seem too eager to follow him before you get up, lazily making your way back inside.

You find yourself wondering again, this time about what Tim is making for dinner tonight, and you take a second to appreciate the pleasure in such simple problems.

There are things that will never be now, and there’s no changing that.

But for tonight, this is pretty damn nice.

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#gender neutral reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #creepypasta fluff #creepypasta angst #marble hornets fluff #marble hornets angst #fluff #angst #tim wright #masky #tim wright x reader #masky x reader

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dabisbratz · 1 year

Text

DADDY’S HOME — gojo satoru x male reader

w.c: 4.3k

warning: light angst, daddy kink, bottom male reader, finger sucking, fingering, apology sex, dubcon (gojo’s a lil pushy but everything is consensual), dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, biting, reader’s kinda bratty, possessiveness, established relationship, secret relationship, reader’s a regular civilian, anal sex, spit, mating press, sexualizing gojo’s thermographic xray vision, amab body terminology

a/n: the title to this is actually ‘kiss it better’ but i can’t give up ‘daddy’s home’….. s’too funny to changejsgshsgs

Tomorrow, like most days as of late, doesn’t come easy.

You don’t know exactly where Satoru is. Your last memory of him is rushed— it’s foggy and barely there, but you try to recollect how it went anyway. Over and over, you try to recall the curve of Satoru’s lips, his distinct scent, his words. It’s all a blur now, but you’re certain it wasn’t a goodbye. Not like how it feels now.

You’re tired, of that you’re certain, with your eyelids weighing more than the grief on your shoulders and your scleras burning a dark shade of red. Your bathroom mirror mocks you with your very own reflection, and as the bristles of your toothbrush are pushed to and fro, you catch yourself frowning at the dull depiction of, well, you. The distorted image of yourself stares back, tired eyes sunken in and rimmed in deep, dark circles. You try to put on a smile, eyes flickering up to meet your own heavy, mourning gaze.

But you know you’re being dramatic. It hasn’t even been a month yet (you still had eleven more days), just nineteen days of radio silence. Excruciating, lonely, isolating radio silence. The cordolium is almost too much to handle, heavy pangs in your chest as your heart twists and turns and squeezes itself. Like a washcloth wrung out to dry, you dampen and deflate as you make your way out the bathroom— but not before putting your things away and flickering the light off.

When you think about it, really think about it, you wonder if it’s all worth it. The waiting, the secrets, the silence, the mental gymnastics. The gangly limbs and unruly hair, pale and silky. The blotchy shade of pink that clashes with the rest of his face when you refer to him with a pet-name. Is Gojo worth it? If the ground opened up and swallowed you whole, would he be the first person you’d wish to see one last time? Satoru? No, it’s indubitable— he’s worth everything and more.

And to say you miss him would be an understatement.

Tomorrow, like most days as of late, doesn’t really come at all for Satoru.

In a way it does, of that he’s certain, but it doesn’t exactly feel like it. There’s no concept of time here, something a regular human wouldn’t be able to comprehend. If he were that— a regular human, that is— he’s sure his brain would’ve shut down the second he was sealed in the damned prison realm. Physically, he feels just fine. Almost akin to the moment he was originally sealed, as if the amount of time he’s actually spent here was a mere sliver of sixty seconds. Maybe like going to sleep, only with the visuals of the dream being dark skeletons and an inky black skyline, had it counted for one.

But it doesn’t last long— not for him at least— as he eventually finds himself fishing out unused, silver keys and standing in front of your apartment door. Should he. . . just walk in? As if nothing happened? It’s November ninth now, he was sealed in October— realistically, he’s been gone for nineteen days. But not for you, as he only had so often to find the time to actually be with you, he was lucky to see you throughout the entirety of the weekends.

Fuck. He misses you.

Your laugh, your smile, the boyish glint in your eyes. . . The way you frown when he makes an impossibly childish joke, as if you want to laugh but don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Your hands, so warm and gentle as they card through his opalescent strands of hair. Your throat, bruised and painted with fresh bites so everyone knows you belong to him.

That’s enough to get the door open.

Your apartment is dark, not dark enough that he can’t see, but it’s obvious you’re fast asleep. Gojo shuts the door behind him, turning the lock to warn a soft click in return, and immediately makes his way to your bedroom. He’ll be sentimental and sappy about the state of your house later— he just wants to see you.

And- ah, there you are. Facing away from him (or, the doorway) as you lay on your side. You look peaceful— the slow rise and fall of your bare chest as you hold onto your pillow like a lifeline. He’s missed those arms, warm and welcoming as they’re wrapped around his strong form. With your back turned to him, he watches your back expand and deflate, your face enveloped in the cool, soft fabric of your pillow. Your handsome face, something he’s missed more than you’ll ever know, completely covered. Gojo frowns, despite the light building in his chest as he makes his way to the bed.

You’re warm despite only sleeping in your boxers and— is that his t-shirt? He can feel the soothing heat of your body bouncing off your shoulders (your skin is entirely too bare for his liking, no longer littered in hickeys or indents of his teeth). It makes him want to curl up beside you, holding you until he’s stuck with his arms around your frame. Together.

“I’m home,” Satoru whispers, tracing the hill of your shoulder with delicate fingertips as he looks down at the side of your face. Peaceful, you’re unmoving, eyelashes resting against your cheek and pretty, soft lips relaxed. Your breaths come out in stifled, hushed chords, and Gojo finds himself enamored all over again. “Did y’miss me?”

You mumble something soft, not entirely there yet, as his big hands slowly part you from your pillow. He’s jealous of it, he’ll admit, seeing as it gets to press against your body every single night. A constant in your life, he supposes.

“C’mon,” His voice is a gentle purr, sweet in your ears as he coaxes you awake, “Wake up,” like a silent prayer drifting into the night, as he gently shakes you. He’s never been one for rude awakenings, after all. He’s missed your pretty eyes.

Almost on cue, your eyes slowly flutter awake with a groggy groan. Gojo watches the curve of your lips, the furrow of your brows, the way your fists clench around his shirt. Just as handsome as the day he left you, confusion fills your face until your jaw goes slack. The words die on your tongue, your brain slowly working to connect the dots as Gojo fondly watches questions mold your lips.

Nothing of Satoru has changed. His eyes are still so blue; and sparkling with shades that remain unrecognizable to this day. His hair’s still the cleanest twinge of white you’ve ever seen, brighter than the sun during early evening, quilting the rooftops and pavement. His glossy, rosy, lips curl into a small, genuine smile, chirping a quiet ‘good morning!’ and at this angle, shadows meet to frame him perfectly. The curve of his face, the slope of his adam’s apple, his silhouette blanketed by the yellow hue emitting from streetlights that peek through your desolate curtains.

His shoulders have never looked more broad, the expanse of his body large and big as he leans forward. He smells remnant of soap, and there’s something in his scent that makes you sleepier, gets your brain foggy as he looks at you.

With your lover hovering directly above you, an incredulous tremor racks your body. Your hands reach out to touch him, as if he’s not real, and once you’re met with the solid, silky skin of his collarbone you can’t help but gasp.

You watch dimples paint his cheeks as he leans in with his head, staring at your lips with darkening eyes.

“Satoru,” Cold shivers run down his spine, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth at the sound of his name leaving your lips. Like a broken record, you repeat yourself, completely at a loss for words. The love in your voice is audible, desperate, “Satoru.”

Curling your fingers into a fist, you bunch up the fabric of his— Jesus Christ, did he come here in a compression shirt?—shirt and pull him forward, shutting your eyes as your lips crash into his.

You can feel his teeth grazing your mouth, pearly fresh as he smiles. But you swallow it down, using your other hand to snake up the nape of his neck, bristles of his faded undercut prickling your fingertips. He tastes just like how you remember, sweet and soft, with his tongue as wet as it is sharp. He’s home, and he feels like it, too.

Gojo follows suit, snaking a large hand up your chest until it’s resting at the base of your neck, wrapping around the warm flesh. He can feel your heartbeat in your throat, rapid and sharp as he delivers a small squeeze. Frustration bubbles in your stomach, fast and sudden as you pull away, eyebrows knitting together the more you think about it.

“You left me,” It’s not a question, laced with anger as you keep him close with your fist in his shirt. He left you, and has the audacity to turn up in the middle of the night for what— to fuck? You try to ignore the slight fall of his lips, the flash of guilt that sparkles in his irises. “For two weeks. Now you just wanna fuck?”

No— that’s not it. Satoru has half the mind to paint his face with a smile, to block out the question like some kind of declaration against him. But it’s you, you’re saying it because you’re scared, because you care. Because you missed him just as much as he missed you, if not more. You’re not picking a fight, you’re worried. So Gojo lets himself visibly deflate, the smile on his face flickering as he squeezes your neck once more. Yeah, he wants to fuck you, but that’s not all.

“You know that’s not it,” And yeah, maybe he’s right, because you have yet to let go of him or push away his hand. You know he’s right, because you’re subconsciously leaning into the strong hand around your throat, the edges of your brain fogging up the longer he looks at you, “But you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” Gojo's gaze is dark, intense. He cocks his head to the side and smirks, showing off his sharp, shiny canines. Fuck. You’ve fallen right into his trap, letting him snake his hand up your jaw to make you nod, slow and steady, “You know I can’t help myself.”

Heat pools in your stomach, intense as he laughs at whatever pathetic face you must be making in response to his casual manhandling. Pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, again and again, he takes initiative to gather your wrists in his warm palms, pressing your hands against his chest to feel his heart beat. The steady thump, thump, thump-ing is nothing compared to the vibration of your own, showing no signs of slowing as he lets go to lift your (well, his) shirt off your body.

“Feel that?” He breathes, immediately burying his face in your neck. He inhaled your scent, groaning low in his throat as he sinks his teeth into the soft skin. His eyelashes tickle your jaw, long as he closes his eyes and sucks along the skin. With short, stinging bursts, your neck is blemished with indents of his teeth and deep, blooming bruises.

“Mhm, yeah…” You whine, baring your neck as he reaches down to rub circles into your inner thighs. He's heavy lidded, following the curve of your cupid's bow and drinking in the way you bite down on your bottom lip between gasps- the plump flesh covered in a thin sheen of saliva that has his mind racing.

Pulling away, Satoru pushes you down on your back, spreading your thighs apart with two long, big hands. Sparks fly in your groin, legs instinctively coming to close around the pale hands holding you open until Gojo’s grunting, tightening his grip at your thighs to keep you still. “Don’t go runnin’ on me now.”

Sounds of protest bubble up before he can berate you, your body squirming under his strength as he moves a hand to tug at the fabric of your boxers.

He's watching your lips, pretending to listen to what you're saying: even playing the role well enough to add a low hum of response when it's required of him. You’ll never admit how hard it makes you, how your hole flutters around nothing in response to the intentional neglect— but he seems to get it anyway.

Satoru hums, offering a spare, stern glance as he frees your cock from the confines of your underwear. Springing to life, you feel yourself throbbing and achy as he lets out an involuntary moan. Hiking your knees up to your chest, Satoru doesn’t have to tell you to hold them there. You do it yourself, tilting your head to keep watch of his movements.

His biceps ripple and bulge against his shirt as he rids himself of his slim-fitting, matching black pants. He watches you the entire time, pausing to squeeze the base of his cock through his pants as if he’s impatient. There’s a wet patch adorning his underwear, ghosting over the head of his cock that you can make out through its long, thick indent. Saliva gathers in your mouth, threatening to spill as you watch him lift his shirt overhead.

“Gojo,” You hear yourself whine, holding your legs with one hand as the other claws at the sheets, pulling them forward. “Hurry up.”

“Tellin’ me what to do now?” His hair falls over his face, wisps of white disheveled enough to have him carding a hand through it. It falls back into place seamlessly. You’ll be damned if it doesn’t make your brain a little slow, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it because he’s grabbing you, pulling you down so your ass is flush against his bulge.

A small gasp leaves your lips, wet and watery as he ruts his hips against the swell of your ass, your thighs, your balls.

“Two weeks, Go’,” You’re rambling, wiggling your hips against his big, throbbing dick. Damned boxers, the most you get from him is the wetness of his pre-cum grinding against you. “Two weeks, nothing. Thought you left me. Could’ve fucked someone e—”

He cuts you off before you can finish, shoving his long fingers in your mouth to shut you up. His face is scarily calm, like the comment didn’t phase him at all. But you regret it before it even left your lips, your eyes widening as you gag on his fingers. Like he’s fucking your throat with them, wet squelches and drool slides down tithe seams of your lips. Then it’s there, a possessive fire in his eyes as he watches your pretty mouth wrap around his knuckles.

“Wanna try that again?” Narrowing his eyes, he presses his fingertips into your tongue. The weight of his fingers makes you short circuit, your brain blank as you blink up at him with glassy eyes. The cocky asshole has the audacity to look at you like you’ve grown another head. “What? Daddy's fingers fuckin’ your throat remind you who it belongs to? Make you stupid enough to drop the attitude?"

Oh.

He slowly slides out his fingers, giving you a chance to explain yourself. Glimmering and shiny with spit, Satoru inspects them before sucking the drool off with an expectant raise of his eyebrows.

“Be. . .” Quiet. He can sense the end of that sentence from a mile away, tutting as he shoves his fingers back in your mouth with a disappointed shake of his head.

“Where’d my good, sweet boy go?” With his ring and middle fingers fucking your mouth, he uses his thumb to smear your saliva along your lips. Fighting back the urge to spread your legs and whine, suckling on his fingers with a long, drawn out whine, it’s your turn to shake your head.

His good boy. . .

You gurgle around his fingers, sputtering something he can’t understand, as his free hand spreads the globes of your ass apart. He spits down, landing right along your perineum and slowly sliding down onto your cute, winking hole.

“Sorry! You’ll have to speak up!” He chirps, finally removing his fingers for good. But now you don’t have much to say, pursing your lips in defiance as his wet fingers trail down your shaft, balls, and crack. He finds your hole in an instant, rubbing the pads of his fingers in slow, tantalizing circles. “What was that? You know where he went? You sure?”

So deep, he pushes in one knuckle at a time, his fingertips sliding along your gummy, creamy hole, cursing out, “He does that too, grinds his pretty hole on my fingers.”

“Hate you,” Him and his stupidly skilled fingers. Him and his stupidly pretty dick. Him and his stupid, stupid mouth. You sniffle, vision blurry as you sit up on your elbows to watch Satoru’s long, skinny fingers push past the first band of muscle, slick and slow, “You….left me.”

“I know, I’m the worst,” He pouts, pink lips curving downward as he closely watches your velvety walls suck his fingers in deeper. So pretty, your rim stretching and fluttering along the digits as their own special greeting. He’s missed this. “Gonna let Daddy apologize?”

He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re shaking your head, pouty lips persistent as ever. It’s what he loves about you, though. Satoru can’t help but coo, high in his throat. You’re just so teary-eyed, he can’t take you seriously. But you nod, small and sweet as you avert your gaze. He’s sure you can see him from the corner of your pretty eyes, so he makes sure to keep his pride apparent.

“There he is,” He smiles, watching you clamp down on his fingers from the praise. His fingers hit your prostate, the special bundle of nerves sending electricity up your body until you’re wailing, back arched with tears spilling down your cheeks. “There’s my good boy.”

His cock grinds against your bedsheets, hard and throbbing. As torturous as it is for you— the slow drag of his fingers as he continuously spits into your hole— it’s tenfold for him. He’s nearly losing his head, eyes scanning over your body, then to your sobbing face.

You hiccup, wet and loud and pitiful, rocking your hips like some kind of slut, desperate to feel full again. Full of Satoru. But then you’re empty again, clenching around nothing but air and spit as he pulls away. He mumbles a few profanities, kicking off his boxers in a display that has your bed creaking and shaking— you along with it.

There’s a slick sound of his thick dick taptaptap-ing against your rim, wet and sticky as he grabs handfuls of your ass. Briefly admiring the skin that spills between his fingers, Satoru’s gaze lifts to meet yours. Your survey is lazy now, eyelids heavy as your drool-covered face contorts into a wobbly smile. He wants to fuck that stupid look off your face. He wants to make up for lost time.

“Ohh,” You sigh, melting into the mattress as he lifts your ankles over his shoulders and readjusts so he’s hovering over you in a squat, the head of his cock sliding along your sensitive hole and neglected cock. He’ll take care of you, he promises. “Daddy…”

He nearly shoots all over you.

What a pretty picture that would make, too. Your fucked out face blanketed in thick ropes of cum, your chest shiny with a thin layer of sweat and drool. But there’s somewhere else he’d rather shoot, somewhere deep and warm and mushy around his cock. Inside.

“Fuck,” It’s a sloppy, pathetic sound. The squelch of Satoru’s long, curved cock slipping past that tight band and into your messy hole. You’re not much help either, with your babbling and incoherencies and constant whining of ‘Daddy!’ and ‘please!’ Your hole is plush and tight, gripping his cock like a vice and refusing to let go. And with every drag of his dick comes more sounds, more sticky, clear precum (how cute, your cock is leaking down to your hole) that turns creamy and thick the more he pushes in and out. “Fuuck, don’t move. Sit there and take it.”

“Oh my—” You sob, thighs tightening and trembling at the stretch of his fat dick in your little hole. An intrusion really, because you’re struggling to take it— too big, too much, too good. If Satoru’s talking you don’t hear it, not over your own squeals and wailing, anyway. “. . .Please..!

“You even know what you’re begging for, baby?” Satoru keens, your tears spurring him up until he can’t do anything but mindlessly thrust, kissing away the fat, crystal tears rolling down your handsome face.

“Uh… Uh-huh,” You nod, fast and rushed as you lock your legs together. Your head luls to the side, as you’re much too weak to keep it upright as Satoru watches you. You just can’t help it, your lips parting as his cock bullies your prostate, poking and prodding and pounding. You’re sure you look stupid- utterly and completely fucked out on his dick, your tongue slipping from your mouth and panting like some sort of bitch in heat.

“Yeah? What is it, then?”

“Da—ddy,” You sob, blinking away tears as Gojo’s hips grind in slow circles, deeper and deeper and deeper. “S’so big, I can’t— How s’it even fit?”

Oh, fuck.

“I don’t know, baby,” It’s the genuine surprise that does it for him. Looking down, Satoru rests his forehead on yours as he watches his cock disappear inside you. In and out, in and out, sloppy and messy and— oh. He can see the warmth of your hole, the warmth of his dick, watches it leave and enter, fills you up and leaves you empty again over and over. The way your rim stretches special for his dick, then back to its tiny, winking state just to be split apart all over again. Fuck. “You’re just special like that. Perfect for my—fucking—cock.”

“Missed,” You hiccup, jolting up and down as Satoru pounds into you, relentless and desperate like he’s trying to get you there— trying to get himself there. He is, seeing as your cock feels just about ready to burst and your hole is sensitive it almost hurts. “Missed you, Daddy. . . N’… Missed your cock.”

“T’aww,” His cooing is genuine, not nearly as mocking as early, and heat prickles your body, even if you already felt on fire. “Really? Know something, I missed you too. And my cock— yeah, missed this pretty little hole too. All mine, isn’t it?”

That does it.

Your cock spurts against your stomach, your chest, with the help of a few short, shallow strokes on Satoru’s part. But it felt better, the twisting of his wrist that doesn’t stop even as you start to convulse, eyes rolling back until your vision goes white and cum ropes out your dick in quick, short, sensitive bursts.

You’re clamping down so hard, nearly spitting and pushing out Gojo’s cock the harder he pounds into you, murmuring into your neck until you feel warmth in your tummy. In thick, longer spurts that feel sticky and cling to your gummy walls. You’re full, whining and whimpering as Satoru slowly calms his feverish thrusts, fucking his cum in deeper and deeper, as if it’ll do anything.

“Daddy… too much…” You’re cut off by your own hiccups, feeling some of his cum seep out your sloppy hole and down your crack, globs pooling beneath your ass and sticking to Gojo’s heavy, spent balls. Despite your own protests, you make no movement to unlock your legs, your cock twitching pitifully as your lover’s thick cock nestles against that special spot deep inside you.

“I know,” Satoru doesn’t pull out, instead nuzzling his face into your neck and coaxing you into releasing your legs with small, languid circles to the back of your thighs. “I’m here. Daddy’s right here.”

You know what he’s trying to say, even in the cockdrunk state you’re currently stuck in. With foggy eyes and an equally foggy brain, you pepper tiny kisses along Gojo’s temple, smiling wide when he laughs into your sweaty neck. “Mhmm. . . Know you won’t leave me, ‘Toru.”

Never on purpose, anyway.

“Maaan, you’re always so honest after we fuck! I’m like some sort of elite sex therapist,” You don’t have the energy to grunt or roll your eyes, let alone push him. He continues anyway, teeth nipping at your sensitive neck. “I knew you didn’t mean it. You looooove me!”

Biting back the urge to take it back, you nuzzle your cheek against the silky, soft bundles of Gojo’s white hair, whispering a quiet declaration of love straight into his ear. You hope to stay like this for the rest of the night, limbs entangled as Satoru breathes you in, strong arms holding you in place— his cock inside you, slowly softening until you’re both asleep. Cleanup can wait— after you’ve talked about everything, after you’ve finally gotten a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow? Yeah, tomorrow comes easy. Of that, you’re certain.

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

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"She is not a bird" - Hvitserk x Reader

SUMMARY: In Eddas, every great warrior falls in love with a Valkyrie - a winged goddess equally beautiful and imposing. Hvitserk finds his after a battle as she's stitching wounds and bringing comfort to those who will not see another dawn.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2k

In a colourful dress, she busses around, Time and time she turns her head, gives a smile, You could swear you saw her wings yesterday, How she hid them under the dress, But she’s not a bird, Can’t you see? She is not a bird.

Hvitserk has no interest in medicine or healing. Despite that, he has found himself watching one of the healers as she’s running back and forth between beds. She’s been at it for hours now and Hvitserk begins to wonder how come she’s not tired yet. Her feet and hands are equally quick as they had been when they arrived at the camp after the battle. The mesmerising glint in her eyes, something between curiosity and adoration, is still just as bright. Whenever one of the wounded warriors wants to talk to her, she sits at the edge of their bed. Her head nods gently before her lips curl into a reassuring smile and she says something in return. Maybe she’ll even chuckle at something. From where he’s standing, Hvitserk can’t make out her words but he can quite clearly see the faces of the people she’s talking to and it makes his curiosity consume him entirely to know what words turn agony into peace.

Lost in his own thoughts, the young Viking doesn’t notice jarl Friedgeir approaching him.

“Enchanting, isn’t she?” he asks with a smirk. He’s seen this scenario one too many times to have any doubts about what Hvitserk is thinking about. Friedgeir himself has been in that very same position before.

Friedgeir Esrason is nimble for his age. White and silver hair circles his tired face like a halo. Sun-damaged skin makes him appear even older, although fuller of life. It’s a testimony of long days spent on adventures, seeing what the world has to offer. Despite nearing grandfather’s age, his torso is broad and his arms are about the size of a shieldmaiden’s thigh. Brass bracelets clink every time he moves his hands. The purple material of his tunic is clearly worn out, tearing in places of the most friction.

“She is,” Hvitserk admits.

Jarl puts his heavy hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder. For a moment, the young warrior wonders if Friedgeir could actually crush his bones should he squeeze his fingers a little tighter.

“Can I entrust a secret to you, son of Ragnar?” Friedgeir asks in a low tone. His grey eyes look around the two of them as though expecting to find a prying set of ears. Everyone besides them appeared too preoccupied with their own duties and worries to care about the gossip shared between the Jarl and the famous Lothbrok boy.

Hvitserk looks at the older man with a frown.

“My brothers and I have risked our lives for your cause, Jarl Friedgeir,” he reminds the ruler. “I have no interest in breaking your trust. You know that already.”

“Good.” Friedgeir pats Hvitserk’s shoulder. He must be unaware of his strength as the gentle slaps are actually quite forceful, making Hvitserk answer his own question about crushing bones. Friedgeir can definitely turn someone’s skeleton into dust with a squeeze. “My wife mustn’t ever hear what I’m about to tell you. That girl…” he makes a pause and points his finger at the healer, “I think she might be a bird.”

Taken aback, Hvitserk looks up and down the Jarl.

“Did the Swedes hit you on the head?” he asks half-heartedly.

“I wish it was that. But no.” Friedgeir laughs bitterly and shakes his head. A shadow of melancholy flies past his sun-damaged face only to reside inside his silver eyes as a teary glint. “I always knew there was something strange about her but I came to understanding only after seeing the great viziers of the East and their pets locked in golden cages.”

Hvitserk glances towards the healer. His eyes follow her like hawk in hopes of some enlightenment that would make Friedgeir’s words clearer to him. Alas, she appears as she did before - enticing and human.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t understand.”

The Jarl lets out a sigh.

“Just look, dear Hvitserk. See the colourful dress like a parrot’s feathers.” Hvitserk has never heard of something called a parrot, so he is left to assume that they must look nothing like the birds in Norway. “And look at men’s faces when she talks to them. Pain and suffering change into hope and peace. The only time I’ve seen that was when one of the viziers asked his angry guests to listen to his oriole singing. After an hour, no one remembered what they were fighting about.”

Time as if slows down as Hvitserk is watching the healer sit on the edge of a cot belonging to a dying man. She holds his hand tightly and tirelessly wipes cold sweat from his forehead. The warrior is stuttering, fever and pain making his wants incomprehensible. The woman sitting beside him only nods her head, offering a warm smile and a short response. Soon, the man falls limp. His eyes turn blank as his head rolls lifelessly to the side. The healer squeezes the corpse’s hand and only then gets up to continue her work. A pair of healthy warriors wrap up the body in blankets only to carry it away, to the place where a great pyre will burn after nightfall.

Hvitserk is more intelligent than the jarl. More perceptive. He’s seen geese flying southwards when winter was coming, only to come back after snow thaws. But not her - she stayed until the warriors’ skin turned cold and grey. Let go of dead hands only after the heart stopped, never earlier.

“She’s not a bird,” the young Lothbrok speaks up. Friedgeir looks at him curiously. “Can’t you see?” he asks with a chuckle on his tongue. “She must be a Valkyrie, leading fallen warriors to the gates of Odin's hall.”

The Jarl only nods slowly, pondering Hvitserk’s words.

“If she is, perhaps death isn’t a too high price to be by her side.”

But he’s too young to be this patient and Hvitserk has to find a reason to be beside her now.

You’re taken aback when someone suddenly takes the wooden crate from your hands. The unexpected helper reveals himself to be none other but Hvitserk with a playful grin on his face. Despite giving all he could in the battle, just hours prior, he appears to still be vigorous as though the fight was a mere warm-up.

The man puts the heavy crate on his shoulder, securing it with one arm. What has given you backpain and cold sweat, seems like no chore to him. The Ragnarsons really are a different strain.

“Where do you want this?” he asks casually.

“At the pyre.” You point in the vague direction of where the bodies will be burned. “Illness thrives within the old, used dressings.”

Hvitserk begins wandering to the place you have pointed out and, not sure why, you begin to follow him. His strides are long and sure, his breathing calm and steady. He hardly fits the image of a man who had to fight like a rabid dog to survive just earlier that day.

“Are you not tired afer the battle?” you ask him. Confusion slips past your words.

“I am.” Hvitserk glances at you. It’s a quick look but you manage to notice him staring you up and down. “But I thought you might need help. You’ve been tending to the wounded for hours.”

A melodic, light chuckle escapes your lips.

“You’ve been watching me?”

His playful half-grin turns into a genuine smile. Staring at the road ahead, he almost looks bashful.

“I have a habit of admiring enticing things,” Hvitserks admits.

You feel your cheeks burning at the nonchalant compliment but you don’t let him notice that. Neither do you let his sweet words distract you.

“Then you must lead a busy, beautiful life.”

The man’s voice seems faraway and absent as he answers, as though his mind is suddenly occupied with vivid daydreams:

“Not yet.”

The noise of the camp is inaudible now. Only pine trees and wild berries accompany Hvitserk and you. A murder of crows suddenly takes flight as you pass by. Their cawing echoes through the empty forest.

You can’t quite put a finger on this sensation but something about Hvitserk makes you feel warm and calm inside. It’s the same feeling one experiences when sitting in front of a warm hearth after spending long hours in the cold. When the blood begins flowing again and the relief of not freezing to death is forgotten, the warmth and safety make one sleepy and giddy. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

Hvitserk sets the crate down with a low thud. The sound shakes you awake from your thoughts. A strong, putrid smell of blood, fresh wood and animal fat fills your nostrils. Even after all those years, it never gets easier to prepare people for their final journey.

“Thank you,” you begin awkwardly. Some more anxious part of you is suddenly terrified that he will somehow learn of your thoughts about him. “I don’t know if I could have carried it by myself all the way here.”

His lips curve into a sly grin and you can tell he’s about to weave a string of charming words but something about him distracts you instantly. Hvitserk’s shirt, once greyish-beige, is now brown and crimson. Not thinking much, you suddenly grab his arm. He doesn’t even get a chance to protest when you roll up his sleeve to reveal a, re-opened wound.

“Your hand is bleeding,” you state.

Hvitserk is unsure whether your stern gaze scares him or excites.

“It’s nothing.”

He tries to roll his sleeve back down but you swat his arm away. Pushing down on his shoulder, you force him to sit down on the ground with you.

“Well, it’s definitely going to scar,” you say quietly as you inspect the deep cut in his skin. “But the good news is, some women like men with scars. I know I do.”

You take out a sewing needle made from animal bone. For practicality, you’re used to wearing it pinned somewhere in your clothing. After all, one can never know when they might need it like when a handsome, charming Viking suddenly needs his wound stitched. Gods work in mysterious ways, truly…

A drop of blood drips from the wound each time you push the needle through the pale skin. Hvitserk is impressively collected - he only grunts a few times and clenches his teeth.

“All done,” you whisper more to yourself than him. In a quick, mechanical manner you wipe the skin of his arm again and roll down the sleeve of his shirt.

You’re standing up when Hvitserk decides he’s not quite done being the apple of your eye:

“How hurt does a man have to be for you to stay around longer?”

As though he didn’t just get stabbed eigh times in his cut and bruised arm, he’s staring at you with than same insufferable mischieviousness that you’ve grown to love so much. Sometimes you wonder whether this is exactly the reason he’s never had trouble charming women.

“A broken rib would do it,” you say with a shrug. “Or you could just ask.”

Suddenly, Hvitserk jumps to his feet. A newfound fire is burning inside him - a flame known only to those, whose affections are returned.

“Please?”

Jokingly, you frown at him.

“I didn’t know the Lothbroks knew such words,” you say in a surprised tone.

You feel his fingers dragging up your arm until his palm gently brushes against your cheek. The skin of his hand is dry and calloused, standing in a stark opposition to its owner.

“We hold it for special occasions.” Hvitserk’s voice is low, almost raspy.

“And me standing here is somehow special?”

“You don’t even know,” he whispers. His breath is hot against your cheeks. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

“Then tell me.”

At that moment, he knows he will have his entire life to remind you just how special you are to him; he will have his whole saga to love a Valkyrie.

#vikings #vikings tv series #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #vikings fanfiction #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk #hvitserk fanfiction #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk x you #vikings hvitserk #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk fanfic #vikings x you

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sexydoffyman · 1 month

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FRIENDS TO LOVERS P.1

genre: romance/fluff

character: Kyle Gaz Garrick

P.1 P.2 P.3 P.4 P.5

A/N: P.2?🪿

You met on a base. Price was just in a meeting and the 141 were standing in front of the door since they were told that they would need to be there in a while anyway. They sat there alongside some other people.

One of those people was you.

You were sitting next to Gaz. Your back was slouched, your posture terrible. Your hands were supporting your head from falling. Your elbows were seated on your knees for comfort. At the time Gaz was a stranger, but that would change just in a few hours.

You were lost in your thoughts wondering what your captain wanted. He usually told you face to face. “No need for a meeting.” He used to say. It must’ve been something very important for him to call you in like that.

Your thoughts were interrupted by someone opening the door. You looked up. It was a guy in his late thirties. He had a beard and casual clothes. “Common in boys.” “I’m going to be here for a while.” You thought to yourself, looking at the guy next to you get up alongside the two others. You leaned back in your seat, ready to wait for at least two hours.

“You too.” You looked up, to see that the man, who invited the others into the room, was still standing there, holding the door. As your eyes met, you realised that you were the one he was staring at. You quickly pointed to yourself to make sure, you were the person he was talking to before. He nodded slightly. You got up, brushed your pants, and walked into the room.

He came right after you, closing the door. For the first time, you examined the people who were in the room with you. There was the guy who sat next to you.

He was young probably in his young twenties. He was black, well-kept, had brown eyes. “He looks so innocent. Almost like a toddler” you thought to yourself. Next, you noticed a man slightly taller than him. He had a mohawk, which, surprisingly, wasn’t the most interesting about him.

Making eye contact with him you realised that he was staring into your soul. It was his blue eyes. “Blue-eyed people. Why do they always have to pierce you with their eyes?” You thought as you quickly looked at the other guy.

He was the tallest one there. He had a skeleton mask. And unlike all the others, he wasn’t dressed casually. The others including the bearded man, had short-sleeved shirts with normal shorts or jeans. This guy had a hoodie and cargo pants. Was this guy someone important? A colonel from a different base, maybe?

You immediately dismissed that idea when you remembered that the bearded man said “boys” which could only mean one thing. He was the boss there. You just assumed that the man with a skull mask is just some kind of an edge lord. “Imagine if his callsign is something like “grim reaper” or “ghost” that would be the cherry on top.” You thought.

You looked around the room to see none other than your captain. You made a quick mental note about their appearances and made nicknames for them. “Next to me guy, mohawk guy, emo guy, old man”

You looked at your captain, wondering what was going on. “Why are we here?” The “emo guy” said with a heavy british accent. You thought that they would know more, but found out that they knew dog shit. “Right. Well, let me introduce myself. I’m Captain Wyndham.” Your captain glanced at the others. “This is reader name.” Eyes were on you. The emo guy just stared at you. “Mohawk guy” nodded like he knew everything, but his eyes looked like there were two flies flying in his empty head. “Next to me” guy gave you a small wave and so did “the old man”.

“Don’t be shy now boys. Introduce yourselves.” “Next to me guy” smiled a bit “I’m Gaz” “strange call sign, but better than the nickname I gave him.” You thought, wondering how he got it. “Mohawk guy” had a smirk on him the whole time “John Soap MacTavish” The scottish accent hit you like a brick. “So it’s either mohawk guy, the scottish one or… Soap?” You thought. “Captain John Price, just Price is fine.” “The old man” said. He held out his hand to shake yours. “His grip is pretty damn firm.” You thought.

You looked at the last guy. “Ghost” was the only thing he said. And the only thing you could think of was.

“No fucking way I got that right”

#requests are open #requests open #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #cod x male reader #cod x female reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz x you #gaz x male reader #gaz x female reader

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 15 days

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You know what I love? Flavour text on my items!

So here's some BG3 flavour text I found for Aylin's, Isobel's, and Ketheric's items, many of which are not lootable in-game - and some of which the characters themselves aren't seen wearing. I've had this lying around for a while, but now the toolset has given me a simple way to pluck out some neat "loot" visuals to go with the words. I'm going to list their names as they appear in the files, as well as include the non-unique descriptions some of them have (when they simply inherited from the template of another item of an appropriate type).

Aylin

Nightsong's Armour

Nightsong's armour is evocative of her personality - prickly, hardy, and about as agreeable as a clenched fist.

Nightsong Helmet

The Dame's resentment and anger toward Ketheric cannot be overstated. Still, her dreams rove sweeter corners, beyond the cruel hardwood floors of vengeance, the rooms of pain and discipline. Hers is a complex house, a house of the heart.

Nightsong Boots

Scratched in places, scorched in others, and worn thin at the heel, these boots bear the indelible marks of experience. (Metallic Boots default text)

Nightsong Gloves

Made from steel hammered thin, these gauntlets are a fine investment for any warrior. (Metallic Gloves default text)

Isobel

Moon Devotion Robe

A memory from her childhood: a warm bed. Through the cracked window, she could see the moonlight cupping the plums in the tree as if in silver hands. The name of the goddess Selûne came to her, and never left.

Isobel's Boots

Isobel's boots are haphazardly repaired, and have a humble snug fit for the wearer, snug as strong faith in the chest of a religious devotee.

Jhannyl's Gloves

(Left image is Isobel's actual visible gloves which don't have a "loot" equivalent, right is the visual for the ones that she actually has in her inventory)

Divine runes accentuate the finger pads. While not a religious sect, the Harpers do not demand the occlusion of religion in their members.

Isobel Headwear

She prayed for words and received silence. She prayed for intimacy and slept alone. She prayed for fruit and ate charcoal. She prayed for death and wanted to live. Then she grew older, and received things she'd wanted. Still she prayed.

Isobel's Circlet

Provides its wearer a touch of elegance but no additional protection. (Circlet default text)

Ketheric

Reaper's Embrace

Heavy steel bones and teeth enclose the armour's chest and neck like a grotesque exoskeleton that both swallows and protects the wearer.

Ketheric Circlet

Grants the wearer an austere presence, but no magical benefit. (Circlet default text)

Ketheric Circlet B

In his youth, Ketheric Thorm has the same puzzled, ever-curious brow belonging to any kid. Lamentable, that the brow this circlet adorned warped with tragedy and a sick determination over time.

Ketheric's Boots

Scratched in places, scorched in others, and worn thin at the heel, these boots bear the indelible marks of experience. (Metallic Boots default text)

Ketheric's Gloves

Not linked to any description and no "loot" visual I could find, but they're neat and have more little skeletons on them, so here they are.

Ketheric Cloak

Woven of heavy wool, this cloak is solid of make if somewhat stiff to wear. (Cloak default text)

Ketheric's Shield

In the theatre of dreams, Ketheric killed his wife every night. That wasn't how things happened... but always upon waking, he would glare into the dark, long-faced and solemn, and he would think: 'I keep you alive with my memories, beloved. I kill you with what I've become.'

Ketheric's Warhammer

This hammer's weight is centred on enchanted obsidian at the base of the head. Some nights before bed, Ketheric would sneak a whey-faced glance at the hammer, and think about the stone, and wonder what unknown facet of his heart bore his weight.

#baldur's gate 3 #dame aylin #isobel thorm #ketheric thorm #bg3 #datamine #flavour text #these three all have such killer designs and details on their stuff... ketheric's danse macabre armour gets me every time #also isobel's little silver lady-ish hood? chef's kiss... wish she'd worn it sometimes #really like the lil folded visuals for when things are in your inventory btw #please excuse me while i continue to indulge my very specific interests

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unknownarmageddon · 2 months

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Killer watched Cross from where he was sat, slumped, legs up against his chest, pressed into a corner of the crumbling building they sought shelter in. He rest his head on the wall beside him. Cross was tending to the fire he had gotten going, and fiddling with his backpack, a handful of feet in front of Killer.

The fire’s light and warmth barely reached Killer from where he was, and so he was cold and shrouded by shadow. He watched its flames dance, but really he was focused on Cross in the corner of his vision. Cross didn’t look at him. Maybe he glanced up at him, once, twice, but Killer acted like he didn’t notice. There was so much distance between them now, had been for a painfully long time. He felt it. It made him so tired.

Killer felt weighted down, heavy. Sluggish. Like he just wanted to sink into the concrete below him. Cross wasn’t there to pull him out now.

Eventually, he watched as Cross killed the fire. Darkness swelled to fill the building, and Killer could only barely see the vague outline of Cross’ body now. Killer shifted to a slightly more comfortable position, assuming this was Cross getting ready for bed.

But then Cross didn’t move. Instead he pulled something white, about the size of his head, from his backpack. Killer couldn’t quite make out what it was, but he saw Cross mess with it. In the silence that came with the dark, the sound of plastic clicking came to him.

Cross was oddly gentle with it, Killer noticed, as he carefully, slowly, did what Killer could only assume was inserting batteries into it.

Batteries? Couldn’t be. Those were a precious resource now. Batteries meant electricity, and electricity was as valuable as life. People sought them like water in a desert. Especially since by now, they had all either corroded or been snatched up by other scavengers. Where in the hell did Cross get batteries. And how long had he been looking.

Killer sat up just a bit straighter, squinting at this object Cross held. What was it.

Cross stood. Killer heard the brushing of his clothes. He stepped over toward Killer, eyes not fully on him. He paused a hesitant couple feet away, and when Killer didn’t react, he sat down beside him. But not too close.

Killer now saw that the white thing was a short cylinder with a navy blue dome protruding from the top. All of it sat on the bottom half of a cone that stuck out underneath. It was placed in front of Killer, then Cross pressed a button on its side.

Stars erupted from the dome, spewing out from every side and scattering across the ceiling and the walls. They seemed to stretch on forever, reaching every corner light could. The skeletons were instantly illuminated by a soft blue-white light; Killer saw stars dancing and spinning on Cross’s face, and he became visible to him again.

Killer’s soul almost exploded. He felt it flare, spark, like a fresh wildfire. He was surprised his ribcage didn’t cave in. He wrapped his arms around his legs, stared with wide eyes, tracing the ceiling. He couldn’t fucking believe it.

Stars. Almost proper stars, too, not the triangular ones in children’s star projectors. Maybe there were even real constellations in this thing.

It was beautiful. Christ, it was fucking beautiful. It felt unreal. And to think, all this was held in that little bit of plastic in front of him.

Killer could almost make himself believe it was the real thing. He could almost pretend the dark dusty concrete above him was the night sky, he could almost pretend these stars weren’t powered by just batteries. That the bomb-smog had finally settled and the stars had come back. It was damn close, anyway.

God, when was the last time he saw stars? It felt like he was a kid again, truly looking up at the sky at night for the first time, when everything was new and wonderful.

“…I.. I remember you saying how much you missed the stars.“ Cross spoke up softly. “Figured this would be the next best thing.”

Killer felt his cheeks grow wet, and his vision was blurred by the dark tar now pouring from his sockets. He wiped at it, if only to keep seeing the specs of light.

This star projector was a promise. They both knew it the moment it turned on. It was a promise. A whisper. A promise of how Cross cared so much it almost hurt. A promise of their survival. Not just physical, literal, survival, but their survival. Together. A promise of them getting out of this pit, bridging the distance, refounding the proximity. A reiteration of all the nights they spent sharing warmth in the same sleeping bag.

Fuck holy matrimonies and rings, none of that mattered now in the end of the world. Not in the same way. But this projector….. Cross had seen Killer mourning the stars and given them back to him. Cross had fucking given him the stars.

God, he had even found batteries. Batteries.

At some point Cross had moved closer. Killer didn’t care. He leaned on his shoulder, and his soul burst all over again from feeling his warmth on him after however long it’d been. It was a warmth that made him want to just melt into him and not ever think about the world.

Maybe things would be okay. It’d take some more time, but maybe it would end up okay.

apocalyptic kross au belongs to me, @psycho-chair, and @denieatsart

#short drabble or whatever. i forgot why i wrote this wailing #also didn’t do a ton of editing and i’m not entirely sure how accurate this is but we ball #armageddon’s fanfics #apocalyptic kross au #uhhh what else #kross ship #criller #sanscest #cross x killer #killer x cross #utmv

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zo3mess · 5 months

Text

From The Bottom (Of My Heart) | Part 2 to Bitter-sweet

Summary: Officers from other towns were reassigned to help the understaffed police force in Evergreen after the butterfly massacre. The good old game of cat and mouse begins with Vigilante continuing his shenanigans and one police officer determined to catch him. Except it is not entirely clear who is chasing whom.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, thigh riding, foul language, forced proximity, reader has slight anger issues, female reader, no Y/N, Minors do not interact

Word count: 4.2k

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: This needed to continue, right? So here is another part. I’m currently writing another one, so this will be 3 part story. Did you guys know that writing smut for your favorite character is a great way to relax in between exams and panicking? Yeah, now you do, give it a shot. Anyway sorry for any grammar mistakes and stuff. Love ya <3

When you started working for the Evergreen police department, nobody warned you that there was not much work to do. Not the dynamic part, the one you were living for. Your coworkers were happy with the lack of risk, rather hiding behind stacks of paperwork and handling noise complaints and petty conflicts.

The working morale was benevolent at best. After one especially tedious shift at the precinct, you packed yourself up to go for a walk, to scout out the sleepy town. You longed for anything to put you back in motion.

After the whole fiasco with Vigilante you were unsure of your every move. Mind bent, soul crushed. The way you just gave yourself away, determination, ideals being snatched from you the second his bloody lips collided with yours in a dark alley.

Thankfully, soon enough you found yourself running after a car thief, poor guy did not see you coming from the shadows, while he was prying open the trunk of an expensive car. Hope started to spark again deep in your core. The pleasant burn of lungs as cold air filled them with every shallow breath, flashing lights blinding you, legs cramping. Oh you needed this after your slump.

What you did not need was a well-known person closing in behind you. His heavy footsteps gave him away. Vigilante…

“Who are we chasing?” He caught up to you with ease, his speed always surprised you, however that was the last thing you appreciated at the moment. This was your time to shine, not his.

“Where did you come from?” You asked him breathlessly and sprinted faster. For a car thief, that guy was goddamn fast. You couldn’t get distracted with Vigilante barging in your chase. But him being by your side rather than the one you were chasing was a pleasant surprise.

He didn’t give you an answer to your question, he much rather came up with a stupid idea. “Who catches him first gets to kill him!” The lively voice catches you off guard every time, talking about murdering people like it was nothing.

“Don’t you dare! I need him alive!” That pleasant surprise turned into an unpleasant one in a second.

“Run faster then, chicken!” He’s laughing. Of course he was laughing. How could he not. Everything was a game for him, no real stakes, no real consequences. Well… Game on Vigilante.

You kept running after your target for quite a while, feet began to trip over each other, vision getting blurry, not noticing the change of environment. The thief led you from the town center, aiming for abandoned buildings, construction site long lost and forgotten.

That was where you finally got an advantage, leaving Vigilante behind you while you both zigzagged through empty halls until you reached a massive room that made you wonder how is this structure still standing. Rubble, trash, graffiti, skeletons of dead birds covered the ground and there was a giant pit in the middle of the room.

The criminal ran right by the hole and you were close behind, just a few more seconds you would tackle him. Except Vigilante had other plans, his ego would not allow him to lose this. Once you catch the bad guy before him and the next you will think you can catch the infamous Vigilante.

No, he could not let you win. Somewhere deep inside he found an extra strength to side up with you. The plan was to just slightly shove you out of the way to earn leverage.

Unfortunately for you, he miscalculated the force he did it with. Weak knees buckled under you and your body toppled to the side.

Before you could fall to your doom into the abyss, you grabbed his arm in one last attempt to save yourself. And unfortunately for Vigilante, his legs did not support him either. With united screams, you both fell down the hole.

You landed with a loud huff and painful groan. Everything hurt as hell. This evening was going far worse than you anticipated. Was it in your fate to mess up anything you touched?

You heard Vigilante cry out next to you, lying like a starfish on the ground. It was all his fault you ended up at rock bottom. Metaphorically and literally. You got onto your feet with struggle and sharp pain jolted through your whole body.

“Are you alright? You hit your head pretty hard.” For a moment you were actually afraid for his well-being, even though you should hit him twice as hard for his sudden ambush.

“ ‘Tis but a scratch.” He got onto his feet quite quickly and brushed himself off. Dust, rubble and dry leaves that got carried inside by a strong wind stuck to his suit, drowning the bright white and blue stripes in grey.

“Great, you’re talking nonsense.” You shook your head and limped past him, analyzing your surroundings in the low light of the dawn. He just shot you a glance but did not say anything in defense of his Monty Python reference.

It seemed like an empty pool, with colorless tiles that barely stuck to the walls. Only water ever filling this tank were puddles of dirty rainwater and muck.

Edges were too high for you to reach, maybe if you ran up the wall, you would be able to get to the surface. However, the missing strength was undermining that perfect plan. Vigilante had the same thinking as you, except for the realization that the plan will ultimately fail. You just watched with a gleeful smile as he tried to jump up over and over again with no outcome.

“If you give me a leg up, I could help you out once I’m on the surface.” You threw the idea in the air like it was nothing, you really needed his help though.

“You’re out of your mind, you’ll call for backup and I won’t have a chance to run. You boost me up! I can pull you out.”

“I don’t trust you, you’re gonna leave me here.” You half expected he would defend himself against all the accusations. But tension sparked in the air and it made you realize that it was the truth. Your precinct would probably receive an anonymous phone call about a person stuck in a hole on a construction site. But how long would it take for him to report it?

You were sure you heard a loud crack when you fell. Wishfully a delusion, in reality, it was the walkie-talkie that broke thanks to the impact. And phone signal? Of course not. You let out another disappointed groan when you found out.

“If you don’t wanna help me, fine. But know that my coworkers will notice I’m gone and will look for me.”

“Doubt that,” He walked past you to the other side and sat down with his head thrown back against the wall “You’ll change your mind.”

He did not care at all. His suit shielded him perfectly from the cold wind that had been afflicting Evergreen for several days.

You walked all over, trying to catch some signal on your phone, looking around and trying to find a way to get out of this situation while a focused hawk followed your every move with a burning stare.

“Shit, officer, are you shivering?” His voice was full of fake concern, if only you were able to see his eyes you would see mocking puppy eyes to match his words. “I heard the justice is best served cold, I thought you cops would be used to lower temperatures.”

“And I’ve heard cold-blooded animals don’t mind cold. No wonder you’re fine.” You snapped back with an equally fake tone and looked away from him. You wrapped your hands around yourself, rubbing to keep yourself warm at least a little bit. He was right, goosebumps were rising on your skin.

“Hilarious! You should have been a comedian. Maybe that way you wouldn’t have fallen into a pit and taken me with you.” He pointed his finger at you accusingly. It made you stop in your tracks, eyes wide with unbelief. How dare he accuse for it.

“Maybe if you did not poke your nose into my business we wouldn’t be here at all!” You scoffed at him in return and rolled your eyes. Like it was your fault. If he did not shove you to make room for himself you would not have ended like this.

“Please, you looked desperate for help.” Your blood has already been boiling and this was a final blow. Spare metal pipe lying close to you was viewed as far too tempting. In a second you bent down and threw it at him. Vigilante dodged, even though the pipe was thrown far off, crashing against the wall a few inches away from his head.

“See? You can’t even aim!” His laugh drowned the frustrated noise you made in sheer freakout. You decided to follow his lead and slid down the wall on the floor. You were already freezing, the icy ground made you shiver even more, but your legs ached, you needed a rest.

You sighed with exhaustion and bent your knees to your chest, tucking your head down, eyes closing just for a second. Vigilante’s laugh was still ringing in your ears, at this point you were sure it was forced. You simply had to wait it out, someone from your work will eventually notice you’re gone and will look for you. At least that is what you hoped for.

You curled up into a tight ball, breathing heavily, trying to calm down strung nerves. You did not care how weak you might have looked at the moment. You needed comfort. You failed to catch a criminal, had an overall shitty day, fell into a pit on an abandoned construction site and were stuck with Vigilante laughing at you once again. A psychopath that broke into your home and fucked you dumb. A psychopath you swore to catch. Path to glory was not going according to plan at all.

You kept thinking about the best option to get out of there in case no one came in time, as well as contemplating the strange relationship you started with the guy in front of you. You could almost feel his burning gaze on your body, but were not brave enough to check what he was doing.

The crinkling of wrapper interrupted your train of thought. You opened one eye just in time to see Vigilante stuffing his mouth full of a chocolate bar while humming away some tune. He looked so childish. Sitting criss-cross applesauce, mask familiarly rolled up again, snacking and mouthing away text of some song that was stuck in his head.

He did not owe you anything, however part of you felt a bit betrayed he did not offer you a bite.

“Do you always carry around snacks?” You meekly asked, this time trying to sound friendly. Maybe a nice attitude was in place, considering you would be stuck together for some time. Plus if you were mean to him, you would never persuade him to boost you up and get you to the sweet, sweet freedom.

“Only when I plan to be lost in the middle of nowhere with a big meanie who throws pipes at me.” He looks up to you and finishes his chocolate bar with a single bite while you stared at him back and rolled his mask back down. “I mean… I bring some food with me sometimes. I get peckish during patrols, no biggie.”

In the end, you both realized that arguing would not help your whereabouts. You nodded to his answer and shivered again when the wind blew into your face with freezing intensity. What would you give for a mask like Vigilante right now, he was all warm and cozy inside his suit.

“Come here..” He stretched his hands towards you, the sudden change in atmosphere took you aback. “Have you heard about penguins?”

“I know they exist, yeah?” Your brows furrowed with confusion, basically like every time he opened his mouth. What was he babbling about this time?

“When it is too cold they cuddle and share body warmth,” His hands still hovering in the air, now making grabby hands at you. “You will freeze until someone finds us here. Unless you wanna help me get up?”

“No way.” Mind was set with the opinion he would just leave you once you helped him out of this hole, maybe his idea was the best option for warming up.

With sluggish steps you walked over to him. Vigilante focused on your scrunched eyebrows, a thing you absentmindedly made in sheer embarrassment, but decided to not comment on it. However, when he saw the uncertainty in your eyes, his hands reached out for yours to guide you down in his hold.

What was the probability of ending up tangled around Vigilante again? Pretty high appartenly. Was it you? Were you the reason you always get into situations like this? You’d much rather blame it on fate. Life has a weird sense of humor.

You straddled his middle and awkwardly hugged him back. Thankfully Vigilante did not mind you were shivering in his hold, moving around, trying to find a comfortable position. He simply held you close to his body.

“Can I ask you something?” Was that worry in his voice you could hear? You hummed in agreement instead of actually answering.

“Why are you after me? Other officers like- weren’t happy with what I was doing, but they never chased me when they saw me or anything. Why do you care?”

Damn good question. Maybe he deserved an explanation of why you were busting his nuts all the time.

“Since I was little I’ve dreamed about being a hero. But I’m no Superman, no Batman, I don’t have god-like powers or millions of dollars,” Cautious words spilled from your mouth. Who would have guessed you’d be telling your life’s story to Vigilante. “And I wanted to make a difference, to catch criminals. If I came to Gotham with zero experience with catching real villains I would be just another nobody.”

“I’m not a villain-“

“Neither a hero.” You interrupted him. So what was he? Not a villain, not a hero. He was someone flickering in the middle, in the little grey area. A nuisance messing with your idea of good and evil.

“So if you came to Gotham with me on your list…” He fell silent at the end and his hold on you loosened.

“I would be somebody.” Now that you said it out loud, to him, you realized how stupid it sounded. Like in elementary school, when you had to have the same toys as others to fit in. This time you had to have a good history of arrests.

You were able to feel his fingers stretch on your back, hear a long exhale, almost feel his heart beating. Maybe the truth hurt more than any of his ideas of why you kept meeting each other.

“You’re not nobody to me.”

Your heart sank. His words made you feel… comfort. The one you kept looking for the whole time. All your life your achievements have driven you forward, ambitions controlling your every move. And to be praised even when everything was crumbling under your hands?

No matter how his embrace loosened, you hugged him tighter in reaction to his sweet words. An unspoken ‘thank you’.

The air was thick with tension. Emotional. Physical. And for a while you just listened to shared breaths, dripping water echoing somewhere in the room, wind whistling around your ears. You kept moving around, trying to adjust to more comfortable position. It didn’t even pass your mind how you were affecting Vigilante under you, until you felt something pressing into the crest of your hip.

“Is that a gun or your dick?“

“You can guess,“ He giggled and pressed himself closer to you. “I’ll give you a hint, it’s fully loaded.”

“I’d rather not know.” ‘Vigilante, don’t get horny in the most inappropriate time’ challenge. Level impossible. You wondered how this guy managed to work so far, he just appeared at random places, did the most odd things, and got surprise boners at any given moment.

There was something that fascinated you about Vigilante. At first, it seemed he had some sort of routine, you soon found out that was not completely true. The more you were after him, studying him and now being given a chance to get him to know on an almost personal level, you realized he acted on impulse with little to no plan whatsoever. In case there were some sort of plans for his actions, they were sculpted on different frequencies your brain could not comprehend.

His dick throbbed in his pants with need. Every time you were close his brain threw logic out of the window. Magnetic attraction controlled his and your brain with such cruelty. He experimentally jutted his hips up. And again and again. Bulge rubbing against your core ever so lightly.

“Don’t-“

“Don’t what?” He immediately stilled and lifted his head. Unsure eyes stared at you through the bright red visor.

Don’t what…. Don’t do this? Don’t tempt me into giving myself to you? Don’t give another blow to my already shattering views? Don’t make me feel something I haven’t felt in eternity? Don’t make me feel alive…

“Don’t stop.”

You didn’t even notice how tense he had become when you stopped him with panic in your voice. But now, with your words of confirmation, he molded against your freezing frame with such natural grace it made you question your reality for a split second.

Two cold bodies moved in waves with each other, creating fire to not only get rid of the crawling cold but also to melt the ice-covered hearts.

His face was hidden in the crook of your neck and despite the mask, you were able to feel the hot breath he puffed out. And he felt the same sensation from you, quiet moans were silenced by his suit, but still, he felt the warmth of your lips.

You held each other in such a tight embrace you were afraid he would squeeze out your last breath. But did you mind it? No, not really. He kept bunching up your clothes in his hand with every little move. Scrunching and letting go, scrunching, letting go.

The silence of the night was getting interrupted by heavy breathing, whimpers, and shuffling of clothes. It wasn’t enough for Vigilante, his mind had a tendency to run off with quietness, even when he was in the middle of bucking up his hips against yours. So he chose what he always did. Talking.

“Fuck, it feels good,” Vigilante hissed out throught gritted teeth “I thought humping was for horny teens.”

“And for two idiots like us.” He was right, it felt too good to stop.

“Yeah, yeah” he chuckled and drove himself to you faster. The friction in his pants became unbearable. “I bet you’re so fucking wet for me right now. Tell me, are your panties soaked?”

“Oh God, you’re gross.” His words made you smile nonetheless.

“You love it though. You love me,” Poor boy sounded so wrecked when his set pace stuttered “Tell me you love me.” Last pained whine before he stilled and came on the spot. Cock flaring and twitching in his pants, cum staining his boxers.

This time you had a chance to watch Vigilante ride out his orgasm, and even without seeing his face, it looked beautiful, it sounded beautiful. You waited patiently for him to calm down and once he locked his tired eyes with yours he was able to enjoy the sweet smile you gave him.

“I hate you.” You could not resist the temptation to answer to his wish with another snarky remark.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” One of his hands left your waist and tucked a few stray hairs behind your ear, he was being sweet again, but his tone was downright sarcastic and mean “You sound like a broken record. Did you cum?”

“You can guess.” You answered with a mocking tone and rolled your eyes, yet another involuntary smile appeared.

His strong arms lifted your hips just enough to seat you on his thigh, straddling the big tense muscle. Hands enveloped your ass and a sigh left your lips when he started guiding you to grind on him. “Go on then, take what you need. At least you will warm up more.”

You exhaled and leaned your forehead on his padded shoulder. Face covered with cold sweat that formed with each roll of your hips, dust and debris smudged your skin. You were dirty, tired and overall worn out, yet a weird sense of peace filled your insides.

Vigilante pressed your body close until there was no inch of space between, fingertips digging in the cloth of your jacket, masked face planted at the crown of your head. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”

Barely audible praise and promises soon turned into soft buzzing in your ears and they kept you going despite the ache. The delicious feeling was neverending. You were already pretty close before, it did not take long to be tethering on the edge again.

Vigilante was enjoying every second of it, his pretty bratty girl riding his thigh with such fervor, gasping and whimpering for him. He wasn’t that dumb to say you’re ‘his’ out loud, you would swipe that idea off the table immediately.

But in his mind, you two were tangled to the point of no return. Even if you did arrest him and leave, you’d be forever his in those regretful memories. Your name would be on his lips to the end of times just like it is now. The only thing keeping you from floating away on the intense pleasure.

“Come on, cum for me.” A simple command that threw you over the edge. Your body seized in orgasmic bliss, twitching and shaking while Vigilante held you tightly.

A few minutes of calm down cleared your mind and you quickly realized the position you were in. If anyone came to save the missing officer, they would see you cuddling with the guy wanted for multiple counts of murder.

So you rolled away to sit next to him, shivering immediately when his hands left your body. He did not want to let go, you became his only want and only need. He would sit in the cold pit, in the middle of the night, with freezing wind blowing over his head, hungry, thirsty, sleepy, if it meant you would stay in his arms a bit longer.

“Shit.” You could not help but laugh, running your hand through messy hair and wiping away droplets of cold sweat.

“Hey uhm… ” After a few beats, Vigilante spoke up carefully “Are you okay?”

He was already staring at you when you turned your head to look at him, sitting on the ground like a rag doll, completely spent just like you. Your lips pressed into a thin line when you got up with weak legs. “I’m gonna help you up. But promise me you won’t leave me here.”

“I swear on my dead mother.” He jumped up to his feet and got closer to you in an instant under the promise of getting out of there.

“That’s dark, dude.” You brushed it off, but your head got into detective mode right away. He just carelessly threw you another piece of information about his real identity.

He just snorted in retaliation. After you decided on the best place to climb up, you allowed him to stand up on your connected hands and tried your best to lift his heavy build. With a struggle, but successfully after all, Vigilante climbed up over the edge. To keep his promise, he offered you his hand when you ran up the wall yourself and pulled you up.

“Anything else I can help you with?” You couldn’t care less about his smug question, saying like he just saved your life. Truth be told, this was a big point for him, maybe you hated him a bit less.

“You can walk me back to town, this place gives me creeps.” If luck was on your side, you would not see this half-collapsed building ever again.

That night you parted ways on weird terms. Awkward ‘goodnight’ and pat on the shoulder. Both of you were tired and quite frankly confused about the state of your entanglement. If you did not fall asleep the second your head hit your comfy pillow, you would be thinking about Vigilante for the rest of the night. Those caring touches and comforting affirmations, his over-the-top competitiveness, his dirty talk you wished you heard more of.

The next day, when you were leaving for work, you bumped into a surprise on your front lawn. The pleasant/unpleasant surprise was knocked out and tied car thief you were chasing the night before. His bruised face was pressed in the wet grass and a lousily scribbled note was lying next to him, reading ‘For my favorite enemy’.

Vigilante just upped the game.

#adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #vigilante #vigilante x reader #adrian chase smut #vigilante smut #vigilante imagine #adrian chase imagine #peacemaker

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sukioyakio · 2 months

Text

Siren Sukuna

an:just more headcannon on this au,and more in sight of reader. Also maybe edited or not 😭 Part|, Part||, Part|||

TheifReader who has been stealing stuff all her life,and now she’s this Sukuna company for life.(and she did once not come back with food and ended up sleeping in an empty alleyway.And she after that day she learned her lesson about the spell he put on her,her whole half body hurted)

Theifreader Who completely amazes and terrified of Sukuna.And at times she wonder if she will one day his lunch.

It was a good afternoon at the new place,and reader was very pleased with watching the little fishes in the pond.Your smiling at how cute the fishes look. Until A large sea creatures with reddish scales just bite off the fishes body and then killed them with his hands.In which your mouth dropped in sadness and disgust. And then Sukuna coming up to the coming up to the shore where you were.Just to show you how he brutally killed the fish with just his teeth and nails. “W-wwhat ..w-why the Fishes,I-i would’ve got food” You said completey upset at him eating the fishes.As you watch him tear up the fish head so easily and eating it. As you see him look at you with a Uninterested look. “Don’t care about your opinions brat,I was hungry” he replied while he sides another fish in his mouth.As you gulp down saliva in horror. ‘Oh lord,why did you give me to him,he just gonna eat me up’ You mentally said,shaking your head to the horrible thought of it.

TheifReader Who just gets lost in sight of staring at Sukuna body,and at times you wonder how such a beautiful creature would have a scary presence.(Girl is completely oblivious to her little feeling for the damn fish),Whenever she get food in the afternoon and if she has extra time she’ll looks though rich folk house and try not to get caught up in the act of robbing jewelry or jewels that reminds her of the scary siren.And then brings to him as a gift from her. After she done running away from the guards.

After running a while from the guards and making sure that the food wasn’t too shaken up by all the running (she gets her food from a old friend who had known her since she started her life a thief and treated her like a family friend) when you got to the large pond,you walked around the grass and announced your arrival to a particular siren fish.You were more happy to show the jewelry you ahem borrowed from. ”Sukuna!!Im back from My visit” You announced once again,now continue walking towards the water fall,As you wait near where the water fall to see if the red siren would appear. As you watch the sky and sun shine turn it into it most beautiful colors.You put the plates of food onto the ground so you could glance at the jewelry you brought. Dangling it in the sky The red ruby shines with the sunlight making it look so beautiful and divine.It was a Necklace with gold base but the charm was a skeleton case in a ruby gem. ”Brat im here” Sukuna response with a big yawn on his mouth as he swim where your at.His face shows disinterested in what your holding. As you turn to see him at the shore of the pond,you smile at him;you quickly put the jewelry’s in your pocket and grab the plates of food.Now Sitting off in the shore as you give him his plate of food (ever since your first day of giving him food he clearly didn’t like vegetables very much but liked meat). You haven’t look at him or touch your plate yet. He quickly grab the plate and began chomping on the cooked meats.He could see that you had something to say to him,either it was another question or another story time. ”What is it women,You haven’t touched your plate yet or it because you think very highly of me and give it to me” Sukuna says with a tease and a smug smile as he plotted another steak into his mouth. You look at him with an ‘Are you seriously think that’ kind of face.You just mutter ‘as if’ underneath your breath.As you sip out a heavy sigh.And began talking.And as observant Sukuna is when reading your expression,he couldn’t read this one.Which has him curious about what it is. “It nothing,I swear” You said with an awkward smile waving your hands as to dismiss it.Sukuna wasn’t going to have you ditch what bothering you. ”Spilled it already brat” He replied with a glare of irritation at your attempt of dismissing your point. You flinch at his gaze as you started to speak. ”o-ok alright,I’ll just didn’t think you’ll like it,but I got you a small little gift,Well it almost got me stopped by the guards but I couldn’t stop myself from getting these jewelry.It reminded me of you so here it is” You rapidly spoke with a little shy smile scratching the back of your neck. As you go into your pocket and show the necklace and the other jewelry such as rings with red gems on it. You even stole some from the those stands that sell jewelry. As you show the necklace,while holding it with delicacies. If anything hearing you talk about how stuff reminded you of him made him feel something in heart that he had never felt in his entire fish existence. Which get this scary looking fish cheeks and ears red.Who just flick your forehead off,making you groan out in pain. You put the necklace down to rub your forehead But without asking him a simple question. “So Do you like it?Can I put it on you”You asked him with a cheeky smile,As you watch him covered his face his large hand.He doesn’t want to appear weak.He just grumble about how stuipd of a brat you have to be. “Ugrh no now just eat your food before I do it for you”

Siren Sukuna who still allows you to put on the necklace on;on the very next day.With some Grumbling and hissing he allow you.In which he couldn’t admit that he didn’t enjoy seeing how you smiled at him When you were done with puttting the necklace.

Siren Sukuna who at random days Tells you mini stories about his life,either it would be about the spells he could do or how many people he had killed in one day.

“I have family out there in the ocean” He says nonchalantly without a single thought to what he said,floating in the pond watching the clouds move and the sun shining down onto them with it warmth as well it breeze of cool air. As you were doing the same watching the sky with a small smile on your face,as you lay on the bright green grass. ”that cool. .. must be nice to have family there” You breathlessy says without a the need the need to continue on. You pause for a moment before riseing up from your position and turning your head to him with a confused face. ”arent your family just fishes,how can you called them family if you literally eat them?”You answered him with your hands animating how he eat fishes. ”No you fuck tard,How dumb are you,Brat.Never mind what I said.” He replied with irritation creeping up his face. “Nuh Uh!!Your not leaving nor swimming out this conversation”

Siren Sukuna hates whenever you ask him to do your hair,or help you brush the nuts off.Like what is he your maid or somthing.(he still does it,but at times he will tug down on your hair on purpose)

”OWW!!!Please Don’t fucking brushed so hard” You said with a mumbbling of how your head hurted. It was technically your fault for asking a siren to do your hair,and the first thing he bring is a fork (I could never use a little mermaid reference 🙄)He just replied with it your fault that you don’t have a high pain tolerance or not being able to do your hair. “Shut it brat you want your hair down or not”He harshly says. “Urghh fine stupid brunt fish” you replied as soon as you finish speaking another tug was done again.You cried out in pain and curses at Sukuna. And Sukuna smirking devilish.

Siren Sukuna Who randomly blurs out that he can use a spell to give him a human form just to see your reaction.

”WAIT!!Really?!?Then why don’t you use it fish!” You exclaimed loudly as you shakes your hands up in frustration as an angry pout is painted across your face. And a smug expression is painted on his as well. ”I Still dont believe you,Fried fish,how About you show me your big fat lie of a spell!” You announced to Sukuna with a disbelieving eyes staring down at Sukuna red orbs. ”And what make you think you are deserving to see my human form or matter of fact spell,maybe if you don’t talk for a whole day then I’ll be willing to show it to you” He says with confidence and proud,his voice carrying himself as you pout for a bit then put on a fake smile. ”you know how your pretty voice of a siren would do for me when I do my job aka stealing,quick answer FUCKING EASY!” You yelled at him with your hand crossed at him. You felt a sense of pain flatter on your shoulder,making you cry out in pain. You glare at Sukuna.Ofc Sukuna pinches you if you become to loud.

Siren Sukuna who doesn’t know or want to understand what he was feeling when you came back from the city all hurt and bloody.But he hated the most is when you came back to him like your left leg isn’t broken or the fact your shoulder is bleeding out blood because of a arrow.With a reassuring smile to think that he’ll be alright to see you like that.

It was your fault for thinking that you’ll be able to steal something from the royals house.The First thing that was wrong,was that you decided to steal something in daylight.You didn’t even get anywhere near the castle.Because you landed off and broke your left leg. But you push yourself to walk into the house and quickly walked into whatever room and steal anything.But right when you were going to walk out one of the royal guards saw you and yelled at you and yelled for backup.In Which your body was in fight or flight and you started to run as fast as you could even if it meant hurting your left leg. You were able to get on top of houses to jump onto other house so the royal guard couldn’t get you.But even that they were able to land a arrow onto your shoulder. All you thought was going back to the pond. When the guard shot you in the should you were going to jump down the last house,but you slip your landing badly,hitting your head onto the building but your made it,and continue to push the pain and run down onto the grass of the exits. But your head was bleeding and blood dripping from your head onto your face. Full on running,toward the pond and fully escaped the guards.You try to maintain your breathing while trying to keep focus on your movements and not the pain that radiates through your body.As you pass through multiple trees. When you made it to the pond you couldn’t even see clearly,holding your right arm close to at least stop the bleeding.You couldn’t think properly as you called out for a fellow fish. “S-sukuna!!-You cough up a bit of blood walking more closely to the pond before-Sukuna. . . I’m back.”You breathlessly spoke up,as your breathing was becoming more heavy and unsteady. Sukuna lazily got out of the little cave inside the water fall and now swimming up to the surface with a completely disinterested look. That until he saw you in that state,His eyes widened in fear or in shock or in anger he couldn’t tell. ”What the fuck happened!”He exclaimed in a harsh tone but lance with concern.Already in your direction.He could see that your breathing isn’t steady. And the fact you couldn’t even stand properly. “O-oh hi Sukuna… L-look what I got for. . Y-you” You replied barley properly with each other word your breathing get more shaky. You took out two bracelet pieces with a weak small. ”Fucking Brat!! I didn’t ask for that! I’m asking what the fuck happened to your body!!You can’t even walk or breathe properly!!Stop fucking smiling at him like that When your ass is fucking bleeding out so much”He yelled with a stern and cold voice as his eyes were filled with anger,fear,and worry. His heart beating and pounding against his heart.He fucking didn’t even know why he so scared if that what he calls it. “Ha-ha … you should look at . . . Yourself. . it was.. T-the guards”You said so weak and small before you could even get to give his bracelet.your vision turn black and you collapse onto the grassy ground. When Sukuna saw you collapse onto the ground his heart sank into a thousand pieces,He scream your name out as he quickly transformed into his human form and carried you into his large body. He started to perform his healing spells on you,as he curse multiple times underneath his breath,about how dumb you are and that he hates how you brings him things that he doesn’t need like your jewelry’s. He nevers wants to see you like this ever again.You made a deal with him and you will keep it.

Siren Sukuna Who makes sure to visit the city,especially to the royal guards and burn and killed multiple people with the same logo of the arrow that was used to shoot you in the shoulder. And when he was done he cancel his fire spell and Grabs him clothes for him to cover his naked body and some clothes for you too. (He says that he did this not for you,yea right.But for him to remember that he is still the strongest creature alive)

That all I wrote today,I hope you like this one,even though I Think I wrote a little too much 🥲

But if you have any suggestions or ideas or opinions on this please feel free to share them in the comments.

Made by @sukioyakio

also thank you for 180 followers

#jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader

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