#Plastic Screen Filters | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

2cupids · 4 months ago

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warnings! camgirl!reader, use of a d.ildo, m.asturbation (f & m), reader tastes herself. mdni (17+).

length. 1.2k+

bachelor!jaemin who works a physically demanding blue collar job that leaves him feeling empty and soulless almost every, single day. and as good as the money is, he finds himself growing more and more tired of the same lackluster routine each day.

he chooses to relieve the stress caused by his job by blowing off steam at the gym, having a drink at the bar at one of the nearby restaurants, or simply just spending a quiet evening unwinding with his favorite meal as he sits back on the couch and appreciates the view of the city from his high rise apartment, occasionally even snapping a picture with his camera.

though he would have to say his ideal choice of relief at the end of a long day is when he gets to return home on the days you stream. the excitement that flows through his veins as he logs into the website and waits for your stream to start precisely at six o’clock is unmatched.

apart from your charming personality, pretty face, and lovely body of course, he was drawn to your creativity and dedication with every cosplay or costume you dressed up in, even noting the small details you would add to your makeup to really bring the outfit together. it was cute. honestly, he found everything you do cute, borderline adorable if he had to admit it.

he sits behind the computer screen with a smile on his face, typing his response anonymously behind his username as you talk to him and the other viewers with that bright look in your eye that could brighten even his gloomiest day. you recognize his user as one of your top viewers as you read his comment about how he finds the little bunny costume you have on today incredibly cute and you blow him a kiss.

right as he’s about to send you his second tip of the stream, another viewer beats him to it, tipping you and asking for a three-sixty of the outfit and you kindly oblige. jaemin leans back into the soft leather of the chair as he watches you do a slow turn for the camera to show off the costume. between your tits, hips, thighs, and ass, he doesn’t know where to look as his eyes roam over every visible part of you and he can’t but wonder how you could be anymore perfect in his eyes. “..damn,” he murmurs quietly, as he squeezes his dick underneath the computer table, feeling his jeans become a little tighter.

eventually, you get to the part of your stream that all your horny viewers are waiting for where you’re driving a big, fat, plastic dildo into your sticky core as your legs are spread nice and wide for the camera. your moans fill the expanse of the room as they filter through the speakers over into jaemin’s side, causing an intimate feel to permeate throughout the room.

jaemin’s rough, calloused hand glides effortlessly up and down his lubricated cock, wrapped tightly around his thick shaft like a makeshift vice. tips and comments continue to flow into the chatroom and you try your best to read each one, your breathy voice sending a shiver down his spine.

it almost feels like he’s on facetime masturbating with you by the way your heavy lidded eyes gaze into the camera seductively as you play with your pussy. jaemin’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip while he watches the juices that coat the toy you’re fucking youself with as it glistens under the bright lights of your set up. all he can think about is how much he wishes he could take the place of that stupid dildo, and how much better he could make you feel instead of a piece of plastic. you deserve it. not to mention how he imagines just how crazy tight pussy clenching around him would feel, sucking him in deeper and deeper into your warm, gummy walls.

he teases the head of his dick, smearing the oozing precum around his sensitive slit as his hips jerk into his hand from the stimulation and a thick moan leaves his lips. your soft voice reaches his ears again as you start to talk to the audience again. now your other perfectly manicured hand is stuck between your legs rubbing your clit as you pant with teary eyes. “oh my gosh. shit..,” you whimper. “let’s– uhmmp– let’s cum together.”

that soft, shaky voice of yours triggers something inside of him and he leans his head back against the head rest as he continues to watch you, now furiously fisting his cock as if your words were a command and he’s determined to obey them. your sweet sounds get louder as your face screws up in pleasure as you get even closer.

deep grunts originate from jaemin’s core and a thin layer of sweat covers his forehead. his body trembles slightly as his chest heaves until he suddenly freezes. his eyes close as orgasmic bliss fills his entire body, his heavy balls contracting as his cum spills from his dickhead and onto his hand. your voice pitches up in volume as your orgasm rushes over you as well, your release creating a shiny film on the sex toy as you cum all over it.

you quietly catch your breath as the comments continue to go wild and the sound of laughter is pushed out of your chest as you read them. reaching for a tissue to clean himself up, he glances up at the screen upon hearing your laugh and he can’t but smile yet again at your adorable little laugh, only to have that pleasant sound silenced a few seconds later as your lips wrap around the girthy toy, slobbering on it before moving to drag your tongue along it to taste yourself and jaemin’s dick starts to come to life again while he watches you.

after cleaning himself up, he leans forward to send another donation and to send a comment praising your performance. it’s nearly impossible to miss the way your eyes lingers on the camera as you read the compliment and thank him. it’s as if you know it’s him and you’re staring into his soul with those big, pretty eyes of yours.

jaemin stays until the end of your stream like always and keeps tipping random amounts of money at anything he finds cute that you do or more sexual acts you perform. time seems to fly and just like that, you’re already starting to bid your goodbyes to your viewers, making sure to give an additional shout out and thanks to your top viewers like you usually do.

“and lastly, a special thanks to 0813kitten,” you read off jaemin’s user and throw him a flirty wink. “see you gentlemen on sunday. like i always say, don’t jack off without me, but if you must, make sure to be thinking of your favorite model.. goodnight!” with one more wave to the camera, you click off your stream and finish it up for the night. jaemin looks at the dark square where you were just a mere few seconds ago and sighs deeply, already counting down the time until he can see you again.

god, what a hold you have on him.

tagging <3 @cheezemanz

cleo’s note. girl why this kinda ass but anyways, thank you for reading lol. feedback is appreciated!

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rafecameronssl4t · 7 months ago

Note

Could you write about a phone call from Morocco between the reader and rafe the reader really misses him

Lonely in My Mansion || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @rafeyscurtainbangs

A/n: loooove this!!!

Warnings: none rlly

Word count: 764

MASTERLIST

The sun filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the living room as the movers carefully set the velvet couch in place. You tilted your head slightly, stepping back to admire its placement. It was perfect, exactly how you’d envisioned it when selecting it from the showroom. A satisfied grin spread across your face as you clasped your hands together. “That’s perfect right there,” you said, your voice filled with approval as the movers carefully adjusted it into position.

“Where would you like this painting?” a woman asked, holding a canvas wrapped in protective plastic. Taking a moment, you scanned the room, letting your gaze settle on the wall just above the futon. “Right above that futon—” you began, gesturing toward the spot. But before you could finish your sentence, the vibration of your phone in your pocket interrupted you. Pausing, you slipped it out and glanced at the caller ID. A smile tugged at your lips when you saw the name flashing on the screen.

Rafe. The sight of his name alone filled you with a warm, familiar comfort. “Excuse me for a moment,” you said politely to the woman before stepping into the airy kitchen. Lifting the phone to your ear, you answered the call, your voice bright and eager. “Hello?” “Hey, baby,” Rafe’s smooth, familiar drawl came through the line, and you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. “Hi,” you replied, your voice soft but brimming with energy.

As you spoke, you instinctively reached for the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of freshly made juice for the movers bustling about. “How’s it going? Settling into the house okay?” he asked, his tone warm but with a subtle edge of distraction. “Yeah, yeah,” you replied, glancing back toward the living room where the movers worked. “They’re moving in all the furniture and decorations. It’s coming together nicely,” you added with a light laugh.

“Good, good,” Rafe said, his voice softening for a moment before shifting slightly. “Hey, listen, I need a favour.” You paused, your brows knitting together. “What’s up?” you asked, your tone immediately shifting to one of concern. “Is everything okay?” “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine," he reassured you quickly, though the faint tension in his voice didn’t escape your notice. “I just need you to find a pen that Groff gave me. It should be in the kitchen somewhere, in one of the drawers maybe. ”

“A pen?” you repeated, setting the juice pitcher on the counter and scanning the room. You began opening drawers one by one, your eyes darting around for the item. After a moment, you spotted it in the second drawer, its sleek design catching the light. “Found it,” you said, inspecting it curiously. “Perfect,” Rafe said, his voice tinged with relief. “There should be a name of a hotel written on the side. Can you read it out for me?”

Turning the pen over in your hand, you squinted slightly to make out the embossed letters. “Riyadh Mimouna, Essaouira, Maroc,” you read aloud, the foreign words rolling off your tongue carefully. “Okay, great. Yeah, I think I saw a sign for that,” Rafe's voice dropped, the lightness from earlier replaced by something heavier. You leaned against the counter, a faint frown tugging at your lips. “Rafe,” you said gently, “are you sure everything’s okay?” There was a beat of silence on the other end before he let out a breath.

“Yeah,” he said, though the hesitation in his tone made you question it. “I’m just handling some business. Don’t worry, babe. I’ll get it all back with interest.” Your chest tightened slightly at his words, and you instinctively ran your thumb along the edge of the countertop. “Just… be careful, okay?” you said softly, your concern bleeding through your voice. “I will,” he replied, a low chuckle escaping that managed to ease some of the tension. “I promise. I’ll get this wrapped up and come home as soon as I can.”

A playful smile tugged at your lips as you decided to lighten the mood. “It’s so lonely here,” you said dramatically, your voice taking on a teasing lilt. “And the bed is way too big for just me.” You heard him exhale sharply on the other end, followed by a groan. “Babe,” he drawled, his voice rougher now, “don’t do this to me.” “Do what?” you asked, feigning innocence, your grin widening as you bit your bottom lip to stifle a laugh.

“I think you know,” he muttered, a strained chuckle following his words. You laughed softly, leaning more comfortably against the counter. “Maybe,” you teased, drawing out the word just enough to make him groan again. He sighed heavily, his tone reluctant but firm. “I gotta go,” he said, and you could hear the pull of obligation in his voice. “Okay,” you said quietly, your teasing fading into softness. But just as he was about to hang up, you stopped him. “Rafe?”

“Yeah?” he replied immediately. “I love you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper but filled with sincerity. “I love you too, baby,” he said without hesitation, the warmth in his voice washing over you like a blanket. “I’ll come home as soon as I can, yeah? Can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the place.” “Please do,” you murmured, a soft smile gracing your lips as you held the phone to your ear, lingering for just a moment longer before the line went quiet.

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myfandomprompts · 2 years ago

Text

Unhealthy Addiction

(drugdealer!Aemond x Reader)

Synopsis: Your sister is a drug addict, at the mercy of a dreaded drug dealer group led by a mysterious man. When you decide to save your sister from this life that kills her, you didn’t expect to build a whole other addiction to a perfect stranger.

A/N: Just some illogical & weird moderndark!Aemond smut in the October mood.

Words: 5.6k Masterlist

Warnings: dirty talk, dom, oral , vaginal, fingering, manipulation, possessive, begging, light bdsm, slight mention of drugs, praising

Your sister was at her lowest.

She kept screaming at you, scaring the neighbours, alarming the entire street when she went into one of her tantrums and you didn’t know what to do. She was hurting, a pain that only something chemical could ease and you refused to indulge her. This was all she had in mind, getting that fix, and she didn’t mind doing the most violent things, saying the cruellest things to you in order to plead her case.

She kept screaming how she could not be done, how she bought all the drugs from this scary guy, that he convinced her to sell for him. That she couldn’t refuse.

She had no control over herself anymore, but you didn't back down, you had to get her clean.

So you decided that you would take care of it for her.

You made her tell you where she got it from, a shady little place on Silk Street with shady people going around all day and night with business even the police didn’t even dare looking into as you forced her down to the ER. If it was the last link that tied her to this life and her addiction, you would cut it, and, as she dozed off in her hospital bed, you rushed to her flat in apprehension, grabbing the bag full of those terrifying substances and heading down to Silk Street.

You knew it was a bad idea, but you knew you had to do it. You just had to give the bag back, explain to them that your sister wanted nothing to do with them anymore, pay up whatever amount was necessary to make them forget about her and leave.

How naive you were.

You knock on the scruffy-looking door with a trembling hand, the chilly night already settling around you as dogs barked in the distance.

The door creaks open, dim light filtering through a slim screen of smoke that comes out of the messy room. The few people inside look concerningly calm, the soothing electronic music making their head bob inconsistently as the smell of weed slowly reaches you and tickles your nose.

“What?” the huge man at the door says in a flat tone, tattoos on his face but alert eyes strained on you.

“I… have stuff to give back to you,” you courageously state, staring back at him with all the fierceness you could muster and only earning an unimpressed look.

You owed it to your sister, you could do it.

He gauges your appearance mercilessly, unfit for this place and only when you take out the heavy plastic bag out of your purse does he nod silently and step aside to let you in.

You retain a cough, the scent of smoke becoming much stronger as you enter and making your eyes sting. Several pairs of eyes which weren’t hooded and gazing into the void looked lazily at you, eyes so dark there was no more colour in them, swallowed by the blackness of their centre. Two or three men stared at you like they would jump at you at the first false movement while the few women present were half laying on the couches, mouth open in what looked like delight, but you knew better.

A chill goes up your spine, hearing the door close behind you in a sharp snap while you feel the air shift around you.

You did not belong here.

“Who are you?”

The man came out of nowhere, brown skin and brown eyes, luxurious dark hair falling to the side of his face and all dressed in white with a heavy chain hanging around his neck. He scrutinises you, looking you up and down with a judgmental frown.

“It doesn’t matter,” you state after a difficult swallow. “I’m here to return this.”

The man eyes the bag you extend to him, a flash of recognition passing through his features but he doesn’t take it, rather deepening his frown. “Where did you get this?”

You bite your lips, growing uneasy under his gaze. All that you wanted was to leave this place as quickly as possible, even if you had to lie to achieve that. “Maria doesn’t want to do this anymore, and we don’t want any problems. So I’m doing the right thing, and returning it to you.”

The man sneers, an amused smile dancing on his lips and you tense. “Yeah, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, sweetheart. You’re her sister, aren’t you?”

You don’t have time to answer as the man at the door approaches him with a serious look on his face, ignoring you. “Cole, the boss is back.”

“Perfect timing, he’ll want to see this,” the man named Cole answers without taking his eyes off you. “You’re coming with me, sweetheart. We’ll sort this out, don’t worry.”

You could feel it, the trap closing in on you as he takes the bag from your hands and turns away for you to follow him. “I just want to give you this and leave. Please.”

He gives you an uninterested look over his shoulder, shrugging. “It’s not up to me.”

You shiver as panic starts to fill your nerves, the desire to flee, to run becoming stronger but you make the sensible choice and do as you’re told.

He leads you into a cold-lighted room where the sole wide window is draped with a thick grey curtain and blocks your view of the humid night. The carpet floor is dirty, rendering you uncomfortable as you advance further into the room, chairs and stools stacked along the walls and an old looking desk standing at the opposite side. Even the huge couch below the window isn’t welcoming, the mess on the low table in front of it is filled with objects you don’t recognise.

You shouldn't be here.

Cole throws the bag on the table unceremoniously, the sound startling you as he commands you to wait. “Don’t touch anything.”

You try to settle your breathing, the room suffocating you as you realise that you are stuck, led there by a fool’s hope of coming to an understanding with these men, with dangerous people. You recall the frightened look on your sister’s face as she yelled at you, saying that she couldn’t fail them, couldn’t upset them.

Maybe you should have listened to her. Maybe you should have been scared too.

Muffled whispers filter through the door over the faint music, making you turn around with renewed anxiety as you recognise Cole’s voice. You know your time is running out, and you have no idea what’s going to happen. But then the door opens and you freeze.

It isn’t Cole, but someone much taller, leaner, terrifyingly attractive.

He has long silver hair, silk cascading down over his shoulders that are wrapped around a dark green vest. He wears black trousers, matching with his tee-shirt that clings to his form and contrasts with his skin, fair and white. He effortlessly radiated an unsettling confidence, which you could feel even from a distance, making every muscle in your body tense, and you don’t know where to look. He hasn't even spoken yet.

His eyes are fixed on you, a perverted glow shining within them but you can’t meet it, too focused on the angular features of his face, on how flawless his marble skin and thin red lips look under the dim light. Everything about him is captivating, from his collarbone that peaks from under his shirt to the long scar that runs across his left cheek and further up his eye.

At this moment, you understood why your sister had been scared.

He stares at you for a while before finally smiling briefly in unconcealed satisfaction and closing the door. You don’t move, too stunned to utter a single word as he slowly walks towards the table to pick up the plastic bag and examine it closely, humming to himself. You watch, speechless, noticing the red marks over his knuckles, the bruises that stain his fist and you swallow the taste of iron in your mouth.

The bag is carelessly dropped again as he reaches for a cigarette within his vest without a word, fingers enticingly coming to trap it between his lips and you’re hypnotised, desperate for him to acknowledge you, to say something. But then he flicks the lighter, casting an orange flame on the upper side of his face and you can’t help but gasp.

Unnoticed in the dim light, you can see it now, see how one of his eyes shimmers an icy blue, while the other one shone darker, deeper.

Blue as the night sky.

“You’re Maria’s sister?”

His voice makes you jump, his deep and velvety tone making the hair stand at the back of your neck and your heart race in your chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, words coming out of your throat in strained sounds. “Yes, I am.”

He nods, one corner of his lips curving upwards slightly as he takes a drag, making a thin curtain of smoke escape his sharp nose. “And you’re here because…?”

You manage to swallow the lump in your throat as he draws closer, intelligent eyes searching your features, making you hyper aware of how small you are compared to him. “I… just want to give the drugs back, so she can leave this part of her life behind. We won’t cause any trouble, I-I promise.”

He stops inches in front of you, his body going rigid as his eyes turn a shade of black, making you take a step back in reaction. “And what makes you think I can let that happen?”

You widen your eyes at the soft-spoken threat, freezing as you cower under his gaze.

He sees this. It makes him smile.

��Relax, kitten. I'm not going to hurt you…” he says in the same unsettling tone as his blue eye lowers to the way your chest heaves under your shirt. “It’s just… not how we do things. When you take my stuff, you make a commitment, and you have to go all the way through with it or you get punished. There is no return policy.”

You could see it now, right beneath the scar, the gemstone shoved inside of his eye socket, as blue as the starless sky. It glowed softly, beautifully, and you were left to wonder how a man like him could be so dangerously pretty.

You urgently chase the thought away, slapping yourself internally as you feel yourself shrink under his gaze. “She can’t-,” you try uselessly, feeling the noose slowly constricting around your neck. “I understand, but I’ll pay for you to take it back. I beg of you, it represents almost nothing for you. Please…”

Something noticeably shifts in his eye at your last word, his nostrils flaring as he takes some time to compose himself before asking. “What’s your name?”

You hesitate, thrown off by the question and unable to come up with the simple answer and he grows impatient at your silence. He takes a firm step forward, making the back of your knee hit the chair behind you as the faint heat from the tip of his cigarette reaches your sides somewhere over the skin of your hand.

“What’s. Your. Name?” he repeats slowly, a hint of darkness in his voice.

“Y/N,” you finally blurt out, barely hearing your own voice as he claims your space like it’s his own, prowling.

His lips form silent syllables as he repeats your name to himself, finally satisfied. “And do you know mine, kitten?”

You silently shake your head, feeling excitement rise at the prospect of knowing, shameful eagerness taking hold of your mind, not thinking for a second that it might anger him.

But he only clicks his tongue in disapproval, watching you like you’re nothing more than a nuisance. “I’m Aemond, and if you had known that, kitten, you wouldn’t be here. Because everybody fucking knows I don’t take things back.”

Your nerves stir in renewed fright as his words ring like a death sentence in your ears. You have to find something, anything that would suit him, please him, but your mind draws a blank, the intensity of his gaze holding you in place. You remain silent as he takes a drag from his cigarette, not tearing his eye from you and when he suddenly turns away, it leaves a cold trail of chills along your spine.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, your lungs burning from your previous lack of air as he wanders around the room.

“I take it you don’t use?” he says unexpectedly as he crushes his cigarette in the ashtray before taking the bag again on the table, drawing a round white pill out with his usual soft tone.

“No…” you answer weakly as he rolls the pill between his fingers, your eyes following the movement, transfixed.

“Mh… You’re one of those… The ones that don’t take wrong turns, the good girls.”

The stress that had settled between your ribs turns into something warmer at the calling, his tone inexplicably making the last ounce of courage you have left emerge.

“If I didn’t take any wrong turns, I wouldn't have ended up here.”

He stills, his eye darting towards you like a single-eyed hawk and you bite your lips in instant regret, almost drawing blood as teeth sink into the thin flesh. His eye lowers to it and you instantly let go with a bashful expression.

He chuckles darkly, a devious smirk appearing on his features and you blink. “See, this is where you’re wrong. I don’t think you’ve realised the opportunity you just walked into… Y/N.”

You feel your stomach turn as reality hits you, your worst fear taking shape right in front of your eyes. Whatever he wanted with you, you could not let it happen, you could not fail your sister and get into the system like she did. She needed you. “Please, Aemond, I only want to be square with you and-”

There was a loud sound, plastic being crushed under immense force as his hand wrapped around the bag and violently squeezed. He took a deep shaky breath, his flashing gaze fixed on you as his knuckles turned white under the pressure. But it was gone seconds later, acting like it had never happened as he dropped the bag and started walking towards you.

“I used, once. This is how it all began,” he stated, a single slender finger brushing the edge of the table as he advanced. “I wasn’t really addicted, but I knew it was enough to cloud my mind, to make me believe that I needed it. But do you want to know what I really need, kitten? Why I stopped?”

You tried to hold his gaze when he lifted a single heated eye at you, excited by his little story, excited by something. He was in his element, he had the upper hand, he knew he was in control. You were only a slave to the fiery blood in your veins.

His finger had reached your arm by the time you registered his question, looming over it like a reverse magnet, untouching. He smiles when he sees chills prickle over your skin there, right before his pupils spread wider, an ink drop in water and you hold your breath.

“I like people begging me. I like the desperation in their voices, their scared little expressions as they mutter pathetic excuses, their pleas as I beat them…” You can feel the thrill in his tone, the pleasure that radiates off him, and you gasp when his finger finally touches your skin, burning. “I like hearing them beg me when they realise there is no escape, when they realise I’m the only solution, that I alone can give them what they want…I like this sensation of control, and I need to feel it on my own terms. Without any substances."

His hand has travelled down your arm, finding your pulse and you feel the thrumming of your heart meet his fingertips, pressing the delicate vein there. You wonder if he can feel your blood running within it, hot and wild.

“You know, when Cole told me there was a lost pretty girl that wanted a refund, I laughed and could not wait to scare that girl. How naive she must be, how foolish. Coming here, wanting nothing more but to protect her poor little sister, asking what I cannot grant you, thinking you’ll get out of it like it’s nothing and not realising the mess you’re in. Just… perfect.”

You want to talk, argue, but you had stopped breathing altogether when his face leans slightly closer to your shoulder and you hear him breathe in your scent, humming within your neck.

“But then, here you are… Pleading me, not once, but three times, kitten, with your sweet little tone of yours and I just-” he inhales brusquely, his pupil now completely blown out as you tremble beneath him. When he manages to talk again, his voice has dropped several octaves lower, guttural. “And now, let’s say that scaring you is not the only thing I want to do to you.”

The air feels sucked out of the room as tension fills it, palpable within the silence and you retain a whimper. His hold on your wrist turns stronger, as if to mark it, your pulse constricted beneath his fingers and you suddenly feel dizzy, gravity pulling you backward as you lose balance. You drop in the chair behind you like a stringless marionette, overthrown by him and his overwhelming presence.

He doesn’t flinch, neither does he comment as he leans over you, strong arms resting on the armrests at each side of you, trapping you as if he had planned everything. You huff when the tip of his hair grazes the skin of your cleavage, a silver curtain dropping under his face.

“So we're going to try this once…. Say please to me again, and I might reconsider your sister's situation.”

A ray of hope cuts through your foggy mind at his words, determination spurring within you as your treacherous tongue already rolls to form the words, eager to please him despite the lack of air in your lungs. “Please...”

The wood at your side cracks as he tightens his grip on the armrest, a repressed hiss dying within his throat as he composes himself again, hooded eye fixed on you, smothering.

“Hm… Yes,” he breathes, content visible on his features. “But the thing is, kitten, your sister was useful to me. She had access to people I didn’t, people like you. I’m sure you can see why it’s difficult for me to let her go.”

You know he is taunting you, dragging out what he wants from you and you know you have no choice but to indulge him, you need to indulge him. “She won’t survive if she keeps on, please.”

You can feel it, the pleasure he takes out of it, the delectable sensation he draws from your words as he licks his lips, a devious smirk tugging at them as he speaks slowly. “And what about you… Kitten?”

The near whisper makes your spine go rigid, his nose coming to loom over the junction of your jaw and you truly try to answer. “I- I don’t understand…”

He is the first to notice as his eyes are drawn to the sudden movement of your body under him: how tightly your thighs are clenched together, how tense you are as you shift, muscle tenses.

You blush shamefully, untying your legs to try to soothe the ache there as well as the heat pooling between them. He lifts a knowing eyebrow, observing you with excitement. "Hm… Not such a good girl after all, are you, kitten?”

He slowly lowers himself, broad hands coming to stroke the length of your thighs from your knees to your hips, the heat of his palms scorching you through your jeans and you repress a whimper, failing. “Did begging me turn you on, kitten?”

His voice is hoarse, playful. You notice his own arousal pressing against the fabric of his pants and it makes your legs widen, watching helplessly as your body responds to your primal urges. “Do you need me to touch you? Is that what you want?”

You struggle, trying to fight what had been evolving since he had entered the room but you find yourself overpowered by your desire, submerged by it. "Yes…"

He arches his eyebrow higher. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, please."

He almost groans as he slowly comes to unbutton your jeans, a warm hand sliding under it and your stomach tenses when he connects with your dampness. "Fuck, kitten. Do you want to say please to me again?”

He rises, giving himself a better angle as he comes to close his face over yours, suffocating as he waits for an answer out of you. When you give him none, he proceeds to grab your chin, pressing your cheeks between his fingers as he continues to stroke the heat between your thighs.

His face is close as he breathes your ragged breaths. “Lost your tongue?”

His gaze is unforgiving, his lips parted in delectation as you moan under him, and you suddenly feel the need to taste them, to chase them.

The movement makes him pull back, tutting as he grips your cheeks tighter. “That was bad. Very bad of you.”

You let out a plaintive whimper when he steps away, his hands departing your wet core and mouth as he comes to stand before you, jaw hanging low, slightly panting. His gaze is fixed on your glistening skin despite the harshness of it, a punishing glare within his eye as he lowers his jeans and briefs in order to free his bulging girth. You feel your mouth salivate as he starts pumping himself in wide long strokes, gaze transfixed on your face.

You’re unable to look away, heaving and hands gripping the wood of the chair tightly. You don’t realise the grinding of your hips against the surface of the chair, unconsciously chasing for what he robbed you of, wanting.

“Stop that,” he commands in a strained voice as precum starts leaking from his tip. You immediately obey, your body stilling as he comes closer, a pang hitting your core at the sight of his continuous movement over him. “You want a taste, kitten?”

One of his hands reaches for your hair, fingers tangling in them softly as he continues to stroke himself steadily, looking down at you with parted lips and he almost purrs when you nod bashfully. He guides you on the floor, eyes blown wide as he makes you kneel before him by a slight pull of your hair. You lick your lips in expectation, soothed by his hand within your strands and feeling the heat radiating off of him.

You feel warmth spread within your cheek as you approach but he suddenly yanks your hair strongly, holding you into place in a hiss. “Then beg for it.”

He has stopped his ministrations over himself, rather squeezing the base of his shaft and making the already swollen tip inflate with blood as he watches you with a harsh and wild blue eye. You have to swallow the saliva that has accumulated in your mouth to talk. “Please, I want you in my mouth, Aemond.”

He groans as he lets go of his throbbing cock and loosen his hold over your scalp, allowing you to finally run a playful tongue along his length and wrap your hands around him, appeased by the sounds you draw out of him. “That’s it… Good girl.”

You try to go slow, hollowing your cheeks while you take him deeper and deeper, but as the minutes pass you feel the pressure of his hand in your hair tighten. The next moment he is claiming your mouth, making his tip hit at the back of your throat in loud lewd sounds as well as gag several times before he lets you go with a low growl.

You try to settle your breathing again as he wipes the single thread of saliva that connects you to his cock before probing you up by your chin, chest heaving in lust. “Do you even know how good that begging mouth feels? Do you even realise?”

You only feel the aching inside of your lower stomach heighten through your daze, and your mouth forms lazy words you don’t know the purpose of, blinking weakly. “Please, Aemond…”

“Fuck, kitten. Are you going to ask me to fuck you, is that it? Is that what you want to say?”

His thumb grazes the side of your jaw and you barely acknowledge his length against your hip, hot against your flesh. “I- Yes.”

A low grumble escapes his mouth right before you’re pushed on the sofa without warning, his hands rushing to get rid of his vest and pants before tugging at yours, forcing you to dig your hands into the cushions as he bends you over.

You quiver as your skin is met with the cool air but the next moment he moulds his chest against your back and you freeze, his mouth coming to position inches from your ear as a rough hand grabs your throat from behind, squeezing.

“From now on, kitten, you beg me for everything. You want to be touched? You beg me. You want to touch me? You beg me. You want my cock? You say please. You want to cum? You fucking ask permission. You’re gonna be extra polite for me, you understand?”

You let out a strained sound against his fingers he takes for an affirmation before taking hold of your hips, not wasting a second to align himself near your entrance and you exhale in want as he lets go of your neck. Your fists clutch the fabric of the sofa as he runs his length against your folds once, twice, and you can’t help but close your eyes in frustration, feeling his pleasure growing at what he knows you’re about to say. “Please…”

You hear his satisfied growl as his fingers presses deeper into your flesh and you let out a quick gasp as he plunges into you in a swift stroke, quickly replaced by needy moans as you feel the ache in your loins sharpen. He fills you, his thrusts growing from controlled to erratic, faint praises whispered through the sounds of smacking flesh as he roams his hand over your back, and soon you feel your muscles pulse around him in building tension.

It makes him tighten at once behind you, fingers bruising the flesh of your ass as he suddenly withdraws and with a few last strokes, spills onto your back with a ragged groan.

“Fuck, look at the mess you’ve made…” he tuts while you whimper from the sudden loss, feeling your walls pulsating over nothing as he watches his cock glistens with your fluids. “You don’t care about being dirty, do you? You just like being a good girl.”

You whine again as he spreads his seed over your lower back soothingly, not caring for the stains but rather snaking a hand under your shirt, cupping one of your breasts to squeeze it as you wiggle under him, his name on your tongue.

“What is it, kitten? Do you need to cum?” he purrs as he caresses your breast firmly, hoisting you up against him.

“Yes please, please…”

His hold tightens, his face coming close to your neck and you can feel his hot breath on your cheek as he coos. “Prettier.”

The heat in your stomach thickens, heart racing against your ribcage in nervousness and you melt into his embrace. “P-Please, I need to cum. I need you to make me cum.”

He hums in satisfaction as he turns you around, flattening you against the back of the couch and yanking your shirt over your head as he spreads your legs, his jaw dropping in elation when he slides two fingers inside of you, making your head fall back with a loud moan. Your legs barely hold you as he rubs his thumb over your clit at a consuming pace, his long fingers finding the rough spot within you as if he had known it all of his life, and you’re soon panting heavily.

His gaze is fixed on your face, enjoying every moment, every painful expression as you’re closing on your high, waiting for you to say exactly what he wants and when he feels your walls clenching around his fingers, he stops, violently squeezing your inside between his three digits.

You wail at the sensation, meeting his harsh gaze and fascinated eye and soon you let out a strained sob, your inside muscles constricting painfully. “Aren’t you forgetting something, kitten?”

You swallow with difficulty as he smiles, his grip on you merciless, unmoving and you feel your legs tremble. “Please, don’t stop, I want- I need to cum. Please, I beg you.”

“Good girls ask permission, remember?” he grunts as he starts his movement again, rough digits now too slow on your wetness. “Try again.”

“Can I please… cum,” you plead in a strained sob, gripping the back of the couch more tightly but when he starts stroking your insides again, you see nothing but white, the coiling sensation within your core finally snapping and he doesn’t stop until you’re a puddle under him, letting you sink on the couch in a ghosting embrace.

“That’s it,” he soothes, grazing your waist and breast before gently making you suck on his fingers after the last shockwaves of your climax, tasting yourself through your heavy breaths. “Such an obedient little kitten.”

You slowly start to get the control of your legs back as he wipes some sweat out of your hair, but his gaze is nothing but soothing. “Fuck, look how hard you made me again, with you begging me so sweetly…”

He slowly runs one of his hands up your thigh, his hardening state hitting your flesh briefly before he lifts your knees up, positioning his weight over each of your thighs and you blink in anticipation, too dazed to utter a word. You angle yourself better against his body, the only confirmation he needs before he plunges into you again, this time his desire is too strong to wait for you to find your composure back.

It burns, vividly so, your swollen flesh barely recovered from your previous climax and you start moaning loudly, your hand rushing to your mouth to stop the embarrassing sounds from escaping your throat.

Two hands come to snap it away, lacing them over your head in a secure hold and you sink your teeth in your flesh when you meet his fierce gaze, the roll of his hips unfaltering. “No no no, kitten. Let them hear you, hear how desperate you are for my cock, how much you like begging for it.”

“Kiss me.”

He recoils slightly, his thrust slowing gradually as his single eye widen, the black of it taking over. “I don’t kiss my pets.”

“Please...”

Your voice sounds broken, a hint of determination within it that makes him blink and you can clearly see him battling himself for a moment before he crashes his lips against yours. The suddenness of it makes you moan against him as he devours you, the roll of his hips starting again deeper, needier.

It hits every right spot despite the overstimulation and soon you feel a numbness take hold of you, goosebumps spreading over your body. “Aemond, I’m going to-”

He grunts against your mouth as his hand comes to play with your breast again, freeing one of your own in the process that you bring to his face, stroking the smooth skin there along with the scar that marks his cheek. “You’re not cumming yet, I need you to wait a little while longer, alright kitten?”

His thrust slows again and you feel the pleasurable pain of being denied once more, filled by the need to obey him. “I can’t-”

“Don’t you dare cum before I say so, be a good girl and wait for my fucking permission, you understand?”

You close your eyes in a tremendous effort not to let the stretching sensation of him rocking inside of you overcome you too fast, your back arching under him and you feel his free hand flatten against your stomach to immobilise you, shushing you in a husky tone.

You beg one last time, feeling your guts heating up with the way he is chasing his own climax with deep thrusts and you dig your nails in his shoulder.

“Fuck… Come on, kitten, come for me, you can let go.”

Your vision blurs, your eyes rolling back as you cry out, your body going numb under the shattering pleasure and you don’t register anything, not how he follows you minutes later as you clench around him nor where he spills himself. You just feel like your limbs don’t obey you anymore.

You huff, feeling Aemond’s scent and sweat envelop you and when you open your eyes he is looking down at you with a hooded eye.

His thumb massages a spot over your shoulder and a sorry expression passes on his feature as he sets a strand of your hair aside. “I can’t grant you what you asked for.”

You feel cold all of a sudden, the air biting your damp skin as his warm fingers graze your cheek, feeling your disappointment.

“I’ll leave your sister alone, as you wished, but I’m not taking the drugs back. You’ll have to find a way to sell, as Maria promised she would.”

A wave of relief runs through you, happiness for your sister but an odd sensation takes place within your chest as the man next to you watches you with fierceness. “Because you… you’re going to be very useful to me, kitten.”

You don’t glance away, you don’t recoil.

Because you’re not sure you want to leave anyway.

Tagging @watercolorskyy and thanking @babyblue711 for the beta reading. We cannot disappoint.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #usermyfandomprompts #aemond x reader #dark aemond #dark!aemond x reader #modern au #modern!aemond #drug dealer au #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #Modern aemond #Dark aemond #Aemond targaryen x you #Aemond x you

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marlynnofmany · 3 months ago

Text

Unexpected Blue

The ship’s engine changed pitch suddenly, and before I could worry about it, the intercom binged with an announcement from the captain.

“We’re making a brief detour,” she said. “A different courier didn’t quite make it to their destination, and they need us to do the dropoff. Should be an easy one. Mur and Robin, you’re next up.”

So I was. Dang. I’d thought I had some time before the next delivery, but it looked like reading in the crew lounge would have to wait. I turned back toward my quarters, leaving the sound of Telly purring under the heat lamp behind me. She’d probably still be there when I was done. I left my reading tablet in my quarters and hurried to the cockpit.

Captain Sunlight was already talking to Mur while Kavlae took us in for a landing. The view on the main screen was eyecatching: a nearby sun brighter than the captain’s scales, and something exceptionally reflective on the barren landing pad.

Is that the other ship? I thought, squinting. Ow.

Kavlae muttered about manufacturing regulations and adjusted the screen’s filters. The view dimmed, but not to the point where she couldn’t see where to land.

Mur huffed. “I don’t trust the judgement of anyone who flies one of those.” Several of his tentacles were crossed in irritation, with others tapping on the floor.

“I have my reservations as well,” said the captain. “But this delivery is both small and urgent, and they’re offering a more than reasonable cut of their rates. I understand the item is farming supplies of some sort. Needed in a hurry.” She glanced up at the view of the approaching landing pad. A figure in an exo suit waited outside the other ship. “Let’s hurry to the airlock.”

We hurried. I had the easiest time of it, walking at my normal long-legged pace while Captain Sunlight trotted along with dignity and Mur was a whirl of tentacles. We made it there as the engines whined a landing.

The nearest intercom beeped, and Kavlae’s voice spoke from the single speaker. “Ready? Our contact here looks ready to hand over the item.”

Captain Sunlight pressed the button and spoke back. “Go ahead.”

On the other side of the door, air whooshed and the outer hatch opened. I peered over the captain’s head to see somebody in an exo suit step inside, place a box on the floor, then run back outside and wave at us.

The hatch closed while the captain made a thoughtful sound. Air wooshed again.

Through the intercom, Kavlae said, “They’ve transferred a good-faith payment and another message to hurry. I’ve already scanned for known contagion. Grab it and I’ll take off.”

When our door opened, Captain Sunlight strode in and picked up the medium-sized white plastic box, then carried it out into the hallway, checking every side for damage. A gust of cold air followed, and the door slid shut behind her. Engine pitch said we were rocketing into space again. Good old artificial gravity meant I didn’t have to give it a moment’s thought. I could focus on the mystery item instead.

“So how close is — Wait, is that a timer?” I asked as I caught a glimpse of a digital readout on the far side of the box. The numbers were awfully low. Minutes.

“Yes,” said Captain Sunlight tersely. “Kavlae is hurrying. We’re going to land somewhere unofficial; be prepared to hop down if there isn’t a suitable landing pad and she has to hover.”

“Is it a farm?” I asked, thinking back to the earlier conversation.

“Do we need exo suits?” Mur asked. That was a better question.

Captain Sunlight shook her head. “No, the moon we’re headed to has standard air. The first delivery ship crashed on one that doesn’t. They almost reached the right one, then had a power failure. Assistance is some ways out.”

Mur wove his tentacles together in a new way that looked just as judgmental as the last. “Of course they had a power failure. They’re lucky they didn’t give that moon a new crater.”

“Their poor choice in transportation is not our problem,” declared the captain. “This is.” She handed the box to me. It was surprisingly light, though something slid inside when I tilted it to look at the timer.

That was a really short amount of time. “What happens if we’re late?” I asked.

Mur scowled. “That had better not be one of those fertilizer bombs.”

“The client said specifically that it’s not explosive,” Captain Sunlight told him.

“That’s just what someone hoping to trick us into doing something dangerous would say,” Mur replied.

“They had a respectable rating. Well. Respectable enough for someone with a delivery vehicle that breaks down if you look at it wrong.”

“There’s no way to look at it right.”

The intercom beeped. “Coming in for a landing,” Kavlae reported. “Farms and ranches, as promised, with permission from the property owner to hover over the road in front of her house. Air and weather are good. Be ready to run.”

Captain Sunlight pressed the button with a look at us. “Ready.” She stood to the side.

Mur grumbled, “Do we really need two people for this? It’s a one-person carry.”

“Best to follow protocol,” the captain told him. “And you get to catch it if she trips.”

“Hey, that happened one time,” I objected.

“This would be a bad time for twice.”

“Good point.”

Mur sighed dramatically, but took a position next to me at the airlock. In moments, the engines made their hovering-but-not-landing whine, and both doors opened.

Reddish dirt road, gray and yellow bushes, a domed house with ridges that looked like a seashell plopped on the ground, and several other fences and whatnot that I didn’t have time to take in.

There were seconds left on the timer, and a long driveway to run down.

As I tucked the box against my side and placed a hand on the doorstep, I felt the disturbing sensation of something moving inside of it. I jumped down and took the box firmly in both hands. It almost jumped out of my grasp.

Mur saw. “It’s moving?” He leapt after me with a plop. “Is it a faulty auto-drill? Those are dangerous! Don’t hold it too close to you!”

From the airlock, Captain Sunlight called, “Run!”

I gritted my teeth, held it at arm’s length, and ran towards the farmhouse. The sun reflected hot off the architecture, the wind in my face was hotter, and whatever was in the box jolted eagerly against the side. I desperately hoped that I wasn’t about to get a drill through my hand.

But the client was there on the front step waiting for me: a middle-aged Frillian woman wearing overalls that looked like they’d been a deep space jumpsuit once, cut to shape with gardening shears. Her frills were waving happily. Good sign.

“Just in time!” she declared as I skidded to a stop, holding the box with the timer toward her. She plucked it from my grasp. I caught my breath and tried not to look too relieved.

Tentacles slapping dirt told me Mur had joined us. I focused on breathing evenly and wondering what the client was about to do with that knife.

Without a word, she sliced the box open as easily as if it was cardboard and not industrial shipping plastic. That was some knife. But she didn’t open it; she clapped a hand on the top to keep it shut while she sheathed the knife at her belt. With the way the box was jumping, I was impressed she hadn’t cut her fingers.

When she moved forward with purpose, I danced aside to let her pass. Mur scrambled out of the way. The client strode over to a fenced-in area that had mesh over the top, looking something like a large chicken coop. She bumped a latch with an elbow, opened a little door, then shoved the box through and dumped its contents onto the ground.

Something round, brown, and furry tumbled free.

Mur asked, “Is that an animal?”

When it stopped rolling and stayed perfectly round, I said, “It looks like a coconut.”

It jumped some more, prompting Mur to guess again. “Is it an egg with fur?”

The client just grinned at us, clearly enjoying this.

I thought wildly of Mexican jumping beans back on Earth, and the larva that grew inside. Surely not.

The thing stopped jumping and kind of wiggled in place, and I heard a scratching sound. There was a flash of motion on the far side of it. Amazed, I stepped to the side for a better look. The client joined me, and so did Mur. The three of us watched a small blue creature crawl out of a hole in the nut, then spread its wings for what had to be the first time. It looked like a feathery moth the size of a kite, with a row of crab legs along the front. The feathers shone iridescent blue in the sun.

The client tutted beside me. “It’s not ultramarine at all! Those liars. I am going to tell everyone. What a waste. Just another blue.” She tapped the wire mesh with a palm. “Hey all, come meet your new friend!”

The bushes along the edge of the coop that I hadn’t been paying attention to — the ones I’d subconsciously assumed were covered in big blueish leaves — exploded into a cloud of vivid blue wings. They swirled around the coop before coming to land on every available surface, fanning their wings in the sun. It was a glorious sight.

“I really hoped to breed some ultramarines,” the client said with a sigh. “Oh well, maybe I can find a reputable seller next season. Thanks for the rush delivery. You’ve got a feather on you.”

“What?” I asked, but she was already plucking it out of my hair and handing it to me.

“Keep it if you like; my stock is carefully screened for everything. Oh, and you’ve got — well, that’s valuable stuff in some circles.”

She was talking to Mur now. I looked down to see my squidlike crewmate covered in a fine dusting of blue iridescence. A glance at the feather showed it to be trailing similar dust across my fingers.

Mur said, “I shall take that under advisement,” then he began tentacle-walking back toward the ship with as much dignity as he could muster.

Normally I would have had the client sign for the delivery, but this one was a rush job without the usual paperwork. “You’ve been in touch with our ship, right? Got everything settled?”

“Yes, I authorized the payment when you got here,” she said. “Your pilot assured me all was well, and she was right.” She glanced back at the coop full of blue. “Well, as right as can be. I should have known not to trust a breeder who flies that brand of ship.”

“Was that the actual person you bought it from?” I asked, thinking of the silver disaster. “Not another delivery company?”

She waved a hand. “He does a lot of things. Never sticks with any of them long enough to get anywhere. Like I said, I should have known.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he’s currently broken down on a cold moon with the repair services a ways out.”

She smiled. “That does make me feel better. Thank you. Now I must be off to warn everyone else not to believe that liar, and you should make sure your friend there gets all of that off. I’m told his species doesn’t react well to it.”

“Good to know, thank you. I’m sure our medic will be all over it.”

“The extra dust will brush off that easily enough,” she told me, pointing at the feather. “Goodbye!”

I said my goodbyes and more thanks, and hurried after Mur. I carefully dusted off the feather as I went, leaving a trail of brilliant blue glittering in the breeze.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#I explained my inspiration for this one on Patreon #some of it is probably clear by the end #but definitely not all #my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #science fiction #writeblr

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nevadancitizen · 1 year ago

Text

-> CH. 3: ANDROID AUTOPSY (OR IS IT NECROPSY?)

synopsis: you start to work on the autopsy of the ortiz android. connor tries to establish a friendly rapport with both you and gavin. but gavin is, as always, a fucking cunt.

word count: 2.4k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: connor looks so fucking funny while he's falling in the break room scene 😭😭 like i hate that he's getting hurt but his face is EMOTIONLESS LOLOLOL

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

When you walked into work ten minutes ago, you expected something to be wrong. That’s just how it goes these days, with deviants running rampant in the streets and all.

But not this. Not the deviant from last night, deactivated in his holding cell. Apparently, he rammed his own forehead into the wall and didn’t stop until he died. Thirium stains the wall, the floor, and his already-bloody uniform.

You sigh, holding a hand to your forehead. “Блять…”

“I recognize that one,” Chris mumbles as he unlocks the cell.

You slip on your bib apron and tie it in the back. “Yeah, most Americans do.”

You walk into the cell and gently put your hand on the android’s shoulder. He doesn’t move. He really is dead.

“I fucking hate this job.” You grunt as you pick him up in a bridal carry. Thirium stains your apron as he slumps into your front. “Goddamnit. I’ll slap whoever triggered the deactivation so hard they’ll remember it ‘til the first of next month.”

“Sure you will.” Chris locks the door as soon as you exit.

You huff out a light laugh. “Accompany me to the autopsy room?”

He smiles. “Anything to get out of being in Gavin’s company.”

You and Chris mostly walk in silence to the autopsy room. There’s early morning chatter and the scent of coffee floating through the air. People give you a wide berth when they see the limp android in your arms.

But the walk is short. The door before you reads ANDROID AUTOPSY ROOM. You adjust the body in your arms and press your right hand to the biometric scanner. It beeps once and the door opens.

“And this is where I get off,” Chris says.

You smile and bend at the knee, mimicking a curtsey. “Thank you for accompanying me. And if Gavin burns his tongue on hot coffee again, please! Feel free to get me right away.”

Chris laughs. “Yes, Officer!”

You laugh in kind and enter the autopsy room. The door shuts automatically behind you. Inside is a long steel table and lots of electronics – screens, wires, outlets, cords. You set the body on the table and get to work.

You flick on the power switch and the computers come alive, one by one. The screens come on and quiet music starts playing – a string piece accompanied by softly-sung Russian.

Once everything has come on, you move over the android and press just behind his ear. With a soft click, the plastic flicks open and a small port is revealed. When you open your left hand, the wires of your polymer glove snake out and plug themselves in.

The screens light up with reports on the biocomponents – percentages, damage reports, the like. Your eyes flit over the numbers, trying to decipher what was abnormal.

You unplug and the wires slither back into your glove. You sigh and start filtering through the data, finding what was important and worth noting down. You work that way for a while – looking over numbers and biocomponent data and listening to music.

After a while, you feel a buzz in your pocket. You pull out your phone, read the text that just came through, and send a quick one back.

Chris: Connor just came thru. Said it was looking for you and Hank. Sent it your way You: you sent an ANDROID to an ANDROID autopsy room?? Chris: Humans are in human autopsy rooms all the time dumbass You: true. just hope connor doesn’t freak. hank here yet? Chris: What do you think? You: axaxa you’re right ))

You look up from your phone as there’s a knock at the door. You get up and unlock it, revealing who’s behind it – and, of course, it's Connor.

“It’s nice to see you again, Officer.” He smiles. “May I come in?”

“Nice to see you, too. And, uh…” You move to the side, gesturing inside. “Yeah, sure. I know a deactivated deviant isn’t the most welcoming sight, but…”

“It’s okay.” Connor moves inside, rubbing his hands together as he observes the room. “I’ve seen plenty of them.”

“Ah.” You move back over to the computers. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or concerned.”

“Impressed, Officer.” Connor stills in place, his eyes flitting over the computers and the numbers on them. “I’m the one who deactivated most of them.”

“Oh. Okay.” You glance over your shoulder at him – you’re not used to having someone else in your workspace. You gesture to a chair that’s tucked into a corner. “Uh, you can sit. If you want.”

Connor nods. “Thank you.”

He moves over to the chair and sits, folding his hands in his lap politely. His eyes are still on the computers, quietly watching as his LED flickers yellow and processes the data. The only sound is the soft music and your footsteps as you move between screens, noting down abnormalities.

Connor cuts the semi-silence. “Where are you from, Officer?”

You glance over at him, then back to the computers. “Chelomey, Russia. Why?”

“I want to establish a friendly rapport. It’ll be easier to work together if we know each other better,” Connor says. “I’ve heard Chelomey described as ‘the first city of the skies.’ It’s on the first successful flying platform – the Icarus, correct?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “That’s right.”

“How was that?” Connor asks. “Living there, I mean. What was it like growing up?”

“Eh.” You shrug. “Got a nice Makarov Pistol when I was ten. Never had a snow day in school – we were just above the clouds. Was surrounded by children of astrophysicists and bioengineers.”

“You say that like they’re a separate group of people,” Connor says. “What are your parent’s career paths? If it’s not too intrusive to ask.”

You turn, leaning back against the autopsy table and facing him. “Sounds unrelated, but – do you know how the Icarus Platform works?”

Connor furrows his eyebrows, his eyes flitting to the floor as his LED turns yellow and flickers. After a moment, he looks back up at you. “The engines operate on the principle of the Archimedes Screw. The propellers don’t interact with air currents, but directly with Earth’s magnetic field instead.”

You bring a hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Did you just look that up?”

“No.” Connor’s gaze immediately falls to the ground. “Yes.”

You cough to hide your laughter and turn away. “Okay, okay. Don’t worry – I won’t tell anyone. I didn’t expect you to know anyway.”

Connor clears his throat. “Please, let’s return to the topic at hand.”

“Yeah, okay.” You scratch the side of your nose and smile. “The engines take up a ridiculous amount of energy, yes? So there are nuclear reactors on the platform to supply a continuous energy flow. My parents worked in the northern reactor together.”

You shrug. “Not much more to them. Named Olga and Yegor. Nice people. Doubt you’ll ever meet them.”

“True,” Connor says. “I doubt they would let an American-made android into the USSR. I also doubt that the travel ban to and from the USSR will be lifted anytime soon.”

Your head dips in a nod. “Maybe if you were manufactured back in my home. But there’s a chance that, if you were, you’d be dancing ballet in the Maya Plisetskaya Theater.”

“I feel like that’s a metaphor.” Connor’s eyebrows furrow. “But I don’t understand it.”

“It’s not.” You laugh, hiding your smile behind a hand. “There are specialized robots that dance ballet in the theater – I went once, not my style. Just a chance that, with how nimble they made you, you could’ve been a ballet bot.”

“There are robots made specifically for ballet?” Connor asks.

“Well… they’re…” You cringe a little. “Multifunctional?”

Connor shifts so that he’s sitting on the edge of his seat, his elbows on his knees and his hands together. He seems intrigued. “Multifunctional how?”

You look away and cover your mouth with a hand. You can feel your face start to warm. You really don’t want to talk to Connor about this. He obviously knows about sex and prostitution, because it might be involved in the cases he’s handling. But you don’t want to talk to him about either of them!

You bite down on the inside of your lip, hard, to dismiss wandering thoughts. (Because, honestly, you shouldn’t be wondering what his model is capable of doing! Not when he’s right there in front of you!) You swallow thickly and try to talk.

“Господи, khm…” You groan quietly. “It was also a, uh, brothel? Kinda? The clients were human, but the whores were… not.”

“Oh.” Connor looks down at his hands. He rubs them together, almost like a nervous tic. (But androids don’t have nervous tics. Do they?)

“Yeah.” You scratch your cheek, trying to ignore how warm it is. “I’m, uh… I need a coffee. And I can’t leave anyone alone in the autopsy room if they’re not authorized to be.”

“I understand.” Connor stands. “I’ve been meaning to explore the office. May I accompany you to the break room?”

You nod. You really hope he’ll continue to act like the past half minute didn’t happen.

As soon as you have all the computers in standby mode, the music paused, and your Thirium-stained apron hung up, you lead Connor out of the android autopsy room. The walk to the break room is short, and he adjusts his pace to match yours as you walk.

Internally, you really hope that Gavin isn’t there. Maybe he got hit by a car coming back from O’Mansley Donuts.

But, of course, hopes are meant to be dashed. And that dream is crushed when you hear Gavin scoff as soon as you enter the break room.

“Fuck, look at that…” he says. You tense as soon as you hear his voice. “Our friends, the plastic detective and the werewolf, are back in town!”

“Please, not today, Gavin.” You spare a glance at the poor officer that Gavin has trapped in conversation. Then, you move over to the counter to find a spare paper cup and the coffee pot.

“What? I just wanted to congratulate it on its good work last night!”

“Thank you, Detective Reed.” Connor nods politely.

You scoff under your breath and internally curse him for being programmed to be so nice. As you pour yourself some coffee, you wonder: would it really kill him to tell Gavin to fuck off?

When you turn around, hot coffee in hand, Gavin is standing a few feet away from Connor. You lean back against the counter and decide to let this play out.

“Never seen an android like you before.” Gavin looks Connor up-and-down. “What model are you?”

Connor stands, unfazed. He doesn’t even blink. “RK800. I’m a prototype.”

“A prototype!” Gavin parrots. He turns to the other officer, gesturing at Connor vaguely. “Android detective!”

He looks back to Connor – looks up at Connor. It would be funny if you weren’t so on edge.

“So machines and commies are gonna replace us all.” His eyebrows raise. “Is that it?”

Connor stays silent, just looking at Gavin.

“Hey.” Gavin clicks his tongue. “Bring me a coffee, dipshit.”

“Gavin,” you cut in, a warning unspoken in your tone. Connor blinks once and tilts his head slightly to the side.

“Get a move on!” Gavin snaps.

You set your coffee on the counter and hurry over. You put a hand out towards Gavin – again, a silent, unspoken warning.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says. “But I’m not permitted to take orders from you.”

“Oh! Oh.” Gavin cracks a wicked, sarcastic smile before driving his fist straight into Connor’s solar plexus, quick and unpredicted.

“Вот чёрт!” You immediately move to catch Connor as he almost collapses, wrapping an arm around his front and steadying him with your other. He recovers after a few moments and blinks hard before pulling himself away from you. He adjusts his tie (which, honestly, didn’t need readjusting) and sighs sharply.

“Are you okay?” You ask. You’re tempted to hold a hand out just in case he collapses again.

“Is it okay?” Gavin laughs sarcastically. He jabs a finger at Connor. “If Hank hadn’t gotten in the way yesterday, I would’ve fucked you up for disobeying a human.”

He steps backwards. “Stay outta my way. ‘Cause next time, you won’t get off so easy.” Gavin’s eyes turn from Connor to you. “Same goes for you, werewolf. If you stay in my way, I won’t fucking hesitate to trample you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Last I remember, wolves eat pigs.”

Gavin just scoffs and turns to the other officer. He exchanges a glance with her, and they both walk out together. He gives Connor a way-too-forceful shoulder-check on the way out.

You turn to retrieve your coffee from the counter, then lean back against it. “What an asshole.”

“Is Detective Reed usually like that?” Connor asks. “That… aggressive?”

“Yes.” You blow the steam off your coffee and take a sip. Way too bitter, but you don’t have any other choice regarding caffeine.

Connor moves beside you, facing the entrance of the break room. “And what did he mean when he called you werewolf?”

“There was a Russian serial killer called The Werewolf.” You look down into your coffee. “He was a cop. It spread, and now corrupt cops are just called werewolves. Gavin thinks he’s smart, calling me that, even though I’m not technically a cop.”

Connor hums. When you glance over, his LED is flickering yellow. You choose not to comment on it.

“Are you okay?” You ask. “Like, actually. Gavin punched you pretty hard.”

“Androids don’t feel pain,” Connor says. “The impact disrupted my Thirium pump for a second, but it quickly regulated itself.”

“Good.” You take a sip of coffee.

Connor turns to look at you. “Why are you concerned, Officer?”

You glance at him, then look down into your drink. “I don’t know. Just don’t need Gavin putting sticks in our wheels, that’s all. And putting you out of commission would be a major problem.”

You can see Connor still looking at you out of the corner of your eye. His eyebrows draw together a fraction of an inch, then he looks away.

You turn the other way and choke down another sip of bitter coffee.

#riptide writes 🌊#head of false security #dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #dbh x reader #detroit become human x reader #dbh connor x you #connor rk800 x you #rk800 x you #connor x you #dbh x you #detroit become human x you #connor rk800

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midseo · 5 months ago

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Gravel Filters, Media Filters, Manufacturer, Supplier, Sangli, India

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slamdunkhcs · 7 months ago

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A story i had thought of for years now ngl 😭

rukawa visiting hanamichi during rehabilitation, a short story

The off-putting smell of disinfectant hung in the still air, mingling with the low volume of a midday game show playing on the small TV mounted in the corner. The hospital room was unremarkable—plain walls, a small window filtering gray light—but to Hanamichi Sakuragi, it felt like a prison. He sat slouched against the headboard, his gaze stuck on the screen but his mind miles away. His red hair, which was now overgrown and unkempt, had lost its usual vibrancy under the harsh fluorescent lights. For someone who had always lived in constant motion, a boy who had gone about life energized and brimming with reckless energy, being confined to this quiet, sterile place felt like slowly disappearing.

The days blurred together, each one stretching into the next. Rehabilitation was tough, not just on his body, but on his pride. After the Sannoh game—after putting everything on the line—he’d found himself here, recovering from the spinal injury that cut his season short. The doctors were optimistic about his recovery, but for Sakuragi, it felt like he’d been benched by life itself. Just when he thought he had discovered himself and his greatest passion. It hurt Hanamichi deeply, to say the least.

He poked at the tray of hospital food on the table beside him, which had gone cold and untouched, as his appetite had become buried beneath frustration and exhaustion. The early days of rehabilitation had been filled with visitors—his teammates showing up with easy jokes and loud promises that he’d be back on the court in no time. But life moved on, and the visits trickled away, leaving Sakuragi alone in a limbo of uncertainty.

A knock at the door jolted him out of his thoughts. He frowned. It was probably a nurse coming to nag him about his progress—or lack thereof.

“Come in,” he grumbled, not bothering to sit up straighter.

The door creaked open, and Sakuragi blinked in surprise. Standing there, calm and completely unbothered, was Kaede Rukawa. He was dressed in a hoodie and jeans, with a plastic bag in one hand and a basketball tucked under his arm. Without saying a word, Rukawa stepped inside, his sharp eyes sweeping the room before landing on Sakuragi.

“Fox?!” Sakuragi shouted, his voice somewhere between shock and indignation. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting,” Rukawa replied simply, closing the door behind him. He placed the basketball on the chair near the bed and set the plastic bag on the small table.

“Well, I don’t need your pity,” Sakuragi shot back, folding his arms with a defensive scowl. His movements were stiff, the soreness in his back betraying him.

“It’s not pity,” Rukawa said, his voice as steady and indifferent as ever. He unpacked the bag and placed a bento box and a sports drink on the tray. “But you do look pathetic.”

Sakuragi’s jaw dropped, his fist clenching on instinct. “Why you—”

“Eat,” Rukawa interrupted, cutting him off with a tone so calm it was infuriating. He sat down in the chair, leaning back as if he had all the time in the world.

Sakuragi scowled at him but reached for the bento anyway. His hunger outweighed his pride, and he wasn’t about to starve to make a point. As he unwrapped the box and picked up the chopsticks, he shot Rukawa a suspicious glance. “Alright, what’s the deal? Why are you really here? Coach send you?”

Rukawa gave a slight nod. “Anzai-sensei wanted me to check in. Said you’d probably be sulking.”

“I’m not sulking!” Sakuragi shot back, his voice rising. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About what?” Rukawa asked, his gaze was direct in a way that made it impossible to dodge.

Caught off guard, Sakuragi hesitated, poking at the rice in his bento box. “About… basketball,” he muttered. “About whether I’ll ever play again.”

“You will,” Rukawa said, his voice so annoyingly matter-of-fact it left no room for doubt.

Sakuragi glanced at him, his irritation giving way to something softer. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re too stubborn to quit,” Rukawa replied, leaning back further in his chair and stretching his arms. “Even when you’re terrible, you don’t stop.”

“Terrible?!” Sakuragi snapped, his voice fuming with indignation. “Are you here to insult me or motivate me, fox?”

Rukawa’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. “Both.”

For a moment, Sakuragi didn’t know whether to laugh or throw the bento box at his head. He settled for a grudging grin and shoved another bite of food into his mouth. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. For once, it felt… natural.

As Sakuragi finished his meal, he leaned back against the pillows, his expression growing more serious. “You know,” he began, his voice quieter now, “when I first got hurt, I didn’t want to see anyone. Not you guys, not even Coach. I felt… weak. Like I let everyone down.”

“You didn’t,” Rukawa said. His voice was slightly softer than usual but just as steady and certain.

Sakuragi let out a dry laugh, and his gaze dropped to his hands. “Yeah, right. I barely lasted the game. I pushed myself too hard, and now I’m here. Meanwhile, you’re all out there playing while I’m stuck in this bed.”

“You gave everything,” Rukawa responded. “That’s what mattered.”

Sakuragi looked up and blinked, startled by the blunt honesty in Rukawa’s voice. “Did you just… compliment me? Did Kaede Rukawa actually say something nice?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Rukawa replied with a shrug, though there was a faint trace of amusement in his expression.

Sakuragi laughed, the sound spilling out before he could stop it. It hurt, his back protesting the sudden movement, but he couldn’t help himself. Rukawa stood, grabbing the basketball and placing it on the bed.

“When you’re ready,” he said quietly, “we’ll see who the real tensai is.”

Sakuragi’s grin widened, and in that moment, it was as if his old spark returned. “You’d better be ready, fox. I’m coming back stronger than ever.”

Rukawa didn’t respond, but as he reached the door, he paused and glanced back. “Take your time. Don’t rush it.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, Sakuragi stared at the basketball sitting at the foot of his bed. The sterile room felt a little less suffocating now. For the first time in weeks, he felt something close to hope—something solid enough to hold on to.

He leaned back against the pillows, his hand brushed the basketball as a small, determined smile crossed his face. The road ahead would be long and hard and painful, but he’d take every step. And when he came back, he’d make sure Rukawa never forgot who the real tensai was.

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adoreispunk · 29 days ago

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Out of Reach (joel miller au)

"…Dad agreed, then clapped Joel on the back. "You should get home, man. Don't wanna keep you here all night."

Joel's eyes flicked to mine for half a second, before he nodded again.

I stepped forward before he could move. My voice didn't shake, even if my stomach did. "Actually," I said, "can you stay a minute?" “

wc: 2.6k

an: at the end of the chapter;)

masterlist (21)

twenty one

The backyard had finally gone quiet.

The music had faded into silence, and the last few guests trickled out through the side gate, their laughter fading into the dark like the smoke rising from the fire pit. The string lights above us still glowed soft, casting long shadows over the lawn, now littered. My dad's oldest friends were still posted up near the fire, voices low, holding on to the last drops in their cups like they could stretch the night out a little longer.

Sarah had said goodbye about twenty minutes ago. She hugged me tightly before leaving, leaned in with a mischievous smile, and whispered, "Good luck." Like she saw right through me. I'd barely managed a shaky "thanks" before she was gone with Tommy, waving as they disappeared into the driveway. Joel had agreed to uber home.

Joel was folding up chairs and stacking them against the fence, sleeves rolled up, forearms tense and dusted with grass. He looked tired but steady, like he always did when he was trying to stay in motion. Keep his hands busy so his mind didn't wander.

I stayed in the kitchen for a while, pretending the leftovers needed urgent attention. Sliding foil over trays of ribs, scooping potato salad into plastic containers, and gathering trash. My hands worked on autopilot. My brain, meanwhile, ran circles.

There was no more putting it off.

I glanced out the window and saw the last of my dad's friends clapping each other on the back, saying their goodbyes. One by one, they filtered out, leaving behind only the quiet flicker of the fire and the sound of Joel's boots on the patio.

Shit. Now it was just Joel, my dad, and me.

I took a deep breath and carried the last stack of empty beer bottles outside to the bin. The screen door creaked, and I stepped out into the stillness.

"Hey, sweetheart," my dad called, voice loose and warm. He was leaning against the picnic table, cheeks still a little flushed. Not as drunk as earlier, but buzzed enough to smile like everything in the world was good. "You killin' it in there?"

I smiled faintly. "Trying to. We had a lot of food."

"We always do," he said with a chuckle. "You remember last year? We had, like, four trays of wings left. I ate them for breakfast for a week."

I laughed under my breath. "Yeah, and you got sick."

"Worth it," he grinned, and nudged me lightly with his elbow. "You okay, though? You seemed kinda quiet the last hour or so."

I hesitated, heart skipping. "Yeah. Just tired, I think."

He studied me for a second, eyes squinting a little. "Well... I had a real good time tonight. Really. Best birthday I've had in a long time."

"I'm glad." I reached over, touched his arm. "You deserved it."

He got soft at that, a little emotional the way he always did after a few drinks. "You're a good kid, Liv. I don't say it enough."

I felt the lump rise in my throat. My voice came out a little quieter than I meant. "Thanks, Dad."

Then he looked over toward the chairs and raised his voice. "Joel, buddy—you don't gotta keep folding all those. I can finish up in the morning, promise."

Joel paused, setting down the chair in his hands. "Just trying to help."

"You already did more than enough," Dad said, pushing off the table and crossing the yard to him. "Thank you, though. Seriously."

Joel gave a small nod, wiping his hands on his jeans. "You're welcome. It was a good night."

"It was," Dad agreed, then clapped Joel on the back. "You should get home, man. Don't wanna keep you here all night."

Joel's eyes flicked to mine for half a second brief, before he nodded again.

I stepped forward before he could move. My voice didn't shake, even if my stomach did. "Actually," I said, "can you stay a minute?"

Both of them looked at me.

My dad blinked, then grinned. "Uh-oh. I'm not in trouble, am I?"

I smiled tightly. "No. Just... need to tell you something."

Joel stood still, hands at his sides. Waiting.

My heart thudded hard.

This was it.

I swallowed hard, eyes flicking from Joel to my dad. My mouth opened, but the words felt thick in my throat.

"I just..." I started, my voice careful. "I wanted to say that Joel's been a really big help to me these past couple weeks. With the internship stuff. And just... figuring things out."

My dad raised his eyebrows, smiling as he leaned back slightly, clearly not expecting that direction. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "He's really helped shift the way I've been thinking about everything. The job, my future, even my photography. He's let me be creative with it, like actually trust my ideas, and I just—I don't know, I'm excited about it again. In a way I haven't been for a while."

Joel shifted behind me, still quiet.

My dad grinned wide, squinting at Joel like something had just clicked. "Oh shit. Are you givin' her a permanent position or somethin'? That what this is?"

Joel opened his mouth, probably to clarify, but I cut in fast.

"No," I said sharply, too fast. "Dad, I'm trying to—"

I winced, cursed under my breath. "Shit."

My dad's brows drew together, the smile fading as he glanced between us. "Alright, then what the hell is goin' on?"

I looked at Joel. He didn't move. He just stood there. Then I turned back to my dad, heart slamming so hard I could barely hear my own voice.

"Joel and I have been seeing each other."

Silence.

For a second, I thought maybe he hadn't heard me. But then the shift happened—slow but sharp.

His face dropped. The confusion twisted into disbelief. Then into something colder.

"Seeing each other?" he echoed, like he didn't understand the words.

"Yeah," I said, barely above a whisper. "As in... we've been... involved."

His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes cut to Joel, narrowing.

"You're joking," he said, but it didn't sound like he thought it was funny.

"I'm not," I replied.

His gaze cut hard to Joel, and everything in his face changed. Something behind his eyes snapped. His posture went stiff. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"With him?" he spat. "You're tellin' me my daughter—" His voice cracked. "You've been messin' around with him?"

Joel shifted a step forward, cautious. "Theo—"

"Don't," my dad barked. "Don't you fucking say a word to me."

Joel stopped. I felt his energy shift. My dad stepped closer to me, face flushed deep red. "How long?" he demanded. "How long has this been goin' on?"

I didn't answer fast enough.

"How long, Olivia?!"

"Since the internship," I said quickly. "Not from the beginning but—"

He didn't wait to hear the rest. He turned and stormed straight toward Joel.

"You motherfucker," he growled, grabbing a fistful of Joel's shirt and shoving him hard in the chest. Joel stumbled back a step but didn't raise his hands, didn't defend himself.

"You son of a bitch. You've been in my house. You sat at my table. And this whole time you've been fucking around with my daughter?"

Joel didn't say anything. His jaw clenched, eyes steady, like he was ready to take the hit if it came.

My heart slammed into my ribs. "Dad, stop—!"

"I oughta kill you right here," he seethed, getting in Joel's face. "You think I don't see what this is? You think I don't know what the fuck you're doing?"

"Stop it!" I yelled. "It wasn't like that! He didn't do anything to me!"

He turned toward me then, voice breaking. "You're twenty-two, Olivia. What the hell do you think this is? Love? This ain't love. This is bullshit."

Joel finally spoke, low and gravelly. "It wasn't supposed to happen. I tried—"

"I don't give a shit what you tried," my dad roared, shoving him again. "You did. And now you show your face here? Like you got a right to stand on this lawn tonight?"

Joel didn't fight back. "I'm sorry."

"Get the fuck outta here," my dad snarled. "Before I put you in the goddamn ground."

Joel looked at me one last time for comfort. Then he turned, jaw tight, and walked toward the front of the house without another word.

I watched him disappear around the corner. My chest felt like it might cave in.

When I turned back, my dad was staring at the ground like he didn't even know where he was anymore.

"I can't believe you'd do this," he muttered. "You had every man in the world, Liv. And you chose him?"

"I didn't choose it," I said, voice shaking. "It just happened."

He shook his head, like he couldn't hear me. "You don't know what the hell you're doing."

"I do," I said, fighting the tears now. "You just don't want to see it."

His eyes lifted to mine, pained and furious. "I don't wanna look at you right now."

He turned and walked back inside, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

The sound echoed through me. Something cracked in my chest. I didn't even realize I was crying until I felt the tears on my neck, hot and sudden. I brought a hand to my face, gasping out a breath that caught halfway up my throat. Everything inside me was unraveling too fast to hold together.

I stood there a second longer, trembling, unsure if I should run after him. Try to make him understand. Beg him to listen. But the urge to have Joel in this moment was stronger. My legs moved before I had a plan, cutting across the grass, through the gate, and down the driveway in a blur.

"Joel?" I called, voice breaking.

He was still there.

Standing just at the curb, head tilted down, thumbing through his phone. His broad shoulders slumped forward in a way I wasn't used to seeing like he was carrying every ounce of the tension too.

"Joel," I said again, softer this time.

His head lifted. When he saw me, his expression shifted. I broke into a run and flung my arms around him. My fingers curled tight into the fabric of his shirt. He caught me, instantly, one arm around my back, the other cradling the back of my head. He didn't say anything. Just held me like he could feel me falling apart in real time.

"I'm so sorry," I sobbed. "I'm sorry—I didn't think—I thought maybe if I explained—he wasn't supposed to react like that—"

"Shh," Joel murmured, voice low against my temple. "It's okay. It's alright."

"I didn't want you to leave like that," I choked out. "I didn't want it to happen like this."

"I know," he said. He didn't let go. His hand smoothed gently down my spine, trying to settle me.

"I don't care what he thinks," I whispered into his chest. "I don't. I don't want you to go."

Joel was quiet for a moment. His hand slowed. I could feel the weight of his thoughts in the silence. "I get it," he finally said. "He's your dad. And he's... well, he's who he is. I didn't expect rainbows and sunshine, Liv."

I pulled back just enough to look at him, searching his face. "I know how he is," I said. "But I thought—I hoped maybe if I was the one to tell him, it would be different. I don't know what I was thinking. I just didn't want to hide anymore."

"You did the right thing," he said gently. "You told the truth."

I swallowed, chest still heaving, scared of the next words out of his mouth.

"But—" I started. "If this is too much for you—"

Joel's hand came up to cup the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I promised, remember?"

I blinked through the tears, my breath catching. "But my dad—"

"We'll figure it out," he said. "Give him time. It's not just us he's processing right now. The drinking didn't help. He was already riding high from the night, and then that?"

He shook his head, jaw tight for a second before softening again.

"I'm not mad. And I'm not giving up. I want you, Olivia. That hasn't changed."

A sound escaped me—half laugh, half sob. I threw my arms around him again, tighter this time.

"I want you too," I whispered. "So much."

His arms came around me again, stronger now, like he was anchoring us both. Like he meant it.

I pulled back again, just far enough to see his face in the low glow of the streetlight. He looked wrecked in the way I felt—like all his muscles had been holding tension for hours and had only now started to let go. His eyes found mine, and for a second, neither of us said anything. Just breathing. Just being there.

Then I reached for his face. My hand slid to his jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble there. He looked at me like he already knew.

"I love you."

The words were quiet, but they rang out loud in the silence between us. I watched as his eyes widened, something sharp and startled flashing across his expression like I'd taken the air right out of his lungs.

But before he could speak, before he could even blink the weight of it away.

The headlights swept across us.

A car turned the corner and rolled slowly into the cul de sac.

The Uber.

Joel's mouth opened, then shut. His eyes flicked to the car, jaw tightening. For a beat, he looked like he might say something anyway. Like maybe he'd grab my face and pull me in and say it back, kiss me stupid in the middle of the street because he couldn't help himself.

He exhaled hard through his nose, gaze dropping briefly before finding mine again.

"Come with me," he said. "Just for tonight."

"Joel—"

"Sarah's already asleep," he added. "We'll explain something to her in the morning if I need to. She'll understand. But you shouldn't go back in there tonight."

I hesitated, glancing back toward the house, "I don't have anything with me," I said quietly. "Just my phone."

He reached for my hand. "It's okay. I'll get you what you need. Just... be with me."

I nodded slowly. I couldn't bear the thought of lying in my bed while my dad's words echoed in the walls. I couldn't stomach the silence or the shame or the way everything good had just shattered.

So I squeezed Joel's hand back.

"Okay," I whispered.

He opened the back door for me, hand guiding the small of my back as I slipped into the seat. He followed a second later, and the car pulled off.

I glanced out the window as the house faded behind us, my heart still splintered but tethered to the one thing I knew I didn't regret. And just before we turned the corner, I saw him.

My dad.

He was standing in the front window, the porch light casting him in shadow. His arms were crossed over his chest, his shoulders tense. He wasn't moving, just watching.

He didn't wave. But he saw me. And I saw him.

I turned back around, breath catching in my throat. My phone felt heavy in my lap, screen still dark.

I would text him tonight. Even if he didn't want to hear it. Even if he wouldn't respond.

He deserved to know I hadn't meant to break him.

And I needed him to know that I meant every word.

- - - - - - -

an: y’all I honestly didn’t know if I wanted them to say I love you but i’m just a lover girl and I like a little bit of fluff☺️☺️☺️ soft joel >>>>>

#dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x female reader

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spongum · 1 month ago

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Zero Day Mother’s day headcannon scenario!

Mother’s Day, May 11th(My mommy’s birthday!)

(Camera clicks on in Andre’s room. It’s late afternoon, sunlight filtering through his blinds. He’s sitting at his desk, he looks grumpy and tired).

Andre-“So. Mother’s Day. I gave my mom flowers. Just those plastic-wrapped ones from the grocery store. Red and pink, the whole cliché thing. She loved it.”

(He pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek).

Andre-“I didn’t say much. Just handed them over and said, ‘Happy Mother’s Day.’ She hugged me like I’d done something amazing. I don’t know… I’m not good at this stuff. But I think she gets it.”

(He leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling).

Andre-“I don’t hate her. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. She’s alright. I just don’t know how to be around her sometimes.”

(Cut to Cal. He’s sitting in his bedroom, surrounded by a little chaos laundry on the floor, a half empty soda can on the nightstand. The camera is propped on a shelf. He holds up a mug with “#1 MOM” painted on it in smudged blue and red).

Cal-“Got this at the flea market. Two bucks. The paint’s chipped and the handle’s crooked. Still, she liked it. Said it was ‘sweet.’”(Broke loser[I can’t talk]).

(He rolls his eyes, setting the mug down roughly).

Cal-“I don’t really care for holidays like this I rather be with Andre than with my family.”

(He runs a hand through his hair, a half-smirk on his face).

Cal-“Anyway. Mother’s Day, check. Back to the real world tomorrow.”

(The screen fades as Cal reaches forward and shuts off the camera).

#tc community #zero day #tcc tumblr #tccblr #zero day 2003 #zero day movie #andre kriegman #cal gabriel #calvin gabriel #andre keuck

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enormities-writes · 9 months ago

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Makeover | Penelope Garcia x Fem! Reader

Summary: Penelope decides to cache in her chips on a day off and give the reader a makeover.

Warnings: kissing, reader doesn't have Penelope's taste in fashion, skin color, body type, and hair type not mentioned, the nickname "Pen" is used, kinda falls off at the end but oh well, probably ooc Penelope

Words: 1898

A/N: Please tell me if Penelope doesn't seem like herself, I'd love any help with her, still trying to get her character right. There is a part where it says she puts her chin on the readers shoulder and I didn't realize how short she was so if you're tall (like me), pretend she's wearing high shoes and she's on tip toes lol. Masterlist

Please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work. Thank you!

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I’m jolted awake from a nightmare at the sound of my ringtone, my phone vibrating on my wooden bedside table, the noise reverberating off of the noiseless walls of my room. There's a thumping of the blood pumping in my heart echoing in my head and throat as I peek my eyes open, turning my head to the very lively object.

The music choice is girly, spoiling who was on the other end of the call. Lifting a heavy arm out of the soft comforter laying atop my body, my fingers outstretched and curled around the brick, touching the green “Accept” button shown on the screen.

“Hello?” My voice is groggy and breaking up with the first word I utter that day. It reaches the speaker and the cold glass screen presses against my cheek.

“Hey, sexy lady. Still sleeping?” Penelope’s voice filters through the small speakers of my phone, her tone much more vibrant and alive than mine. Moving my hand away from my face, I glance at the white text showing the time at the top of the screen reading: “12:54”.

Lifting it back within speaking range, I answer her with a completely unbelievable groggy comment. “No?” The statement comes out worse than I thought it would and I’m forced to clear my throat after the unmistakable sound.

“Well don't worry, my love, I’m coming over. Do not get dressed, okay?” “Wait, why?” Before either of us could utter another sound, the beeping of her hanging up was heard. I furrow my brow, a little confused and a tad offended as I look at my devices screen as if I could see her thinking process in not answering me.

I throw it to the end of my bed, the impact of the small rectangle bouncing and shifting the blanket by my feet. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, sleepy tears staining my hands after pulling away, I lug my body to the bathroom.

Going to the bathroom, washing my face, and brushing my teeth are all I get done as I hear the front door open and close, the familiar sound of heels clicking on the floor filling the quiet small apartment.

I look up to the bathroom mirror to see the beautiful Penelope, her hair in spiky buns, decorated with plastic flowers, her bangs hanging over her forehead and framing her face perfectly. She wears a soft cardigan and a cute dress, a design intricately adorning the fabric. Finishing off the look with glitter and red lipstick, making her look so incredibly kissable.

“You look amazing, baby.” No matter how many times I compliment her, a blush always heats her face, a bashful look coming over it. “I look amazing? Look at you.” She then proceeds to wrap her arms around my waist, her chin coming to rest on my shoulder.

Her hold is warm, comforting, relaxing, familiar, and loving. Penelope always gives the best hugs, her beautiful curves hugging against my body. Her fingers trail on the hot skin of my thighs as I turn in her hold, facing her.

I move and capture her plump lips with mine, them molding together in a feeling of passion. I pull away all too soon, our lips smacking in protest. Her eyelids flutter, lifting to show her brown eyes. Her pupils dilated, irises flicking between my eyes and lips, looking at me as if I had hung the moon just for her.

“I have a surprise for you.” Her soft hand grasps mine and tugs me out of the room, all the way to my bedroom. On the bed sits bags of makeup, clothes, and hair styling tools and products. “What's all this?” I ask, not being able to find a reason why she brought her whole vanity and closet to my apartment.

“Remember this?” Penelope rummages through her purse, clicks, and clacks filling the space before she lets out a little “aha” and pulls out a piece of thick, laminated paper, my handwriting adorning the front. She reaches her hand out and shows it to me.

Familiarity fills my brain as I see the “coupon” I gave to her as a present for Christmas. The text reading, “Free Makeover” at the bottom is my signature, and an empty line to sign the date of when it is used.

I huff a laugh and take it, “Today?” I look back up at her. “Why not? It’s our day off.” She whines, her voice higher pitched than usual. She bats her eyelashes and juts out her lower lip, pouting. Pen had me wrapped around her finger and she knew it, she had me right where she wanted me. And if that wasn’t enough, Penelope takes my hand in hers, stroking her thumb across my skin.

After thinking about it for a second, I conceal my smile and utter, “You're lucky I love you”. She squeals, coming closer and kissing all over my face, her lipstick leaving soft markings across my skin. The gesture makes laughter bubble in my chest, a grin gracing my face immediately.

Once she pulls away, we both plop on my bed, smiles gracing our features. I pull up a hand-held mirror, seeing the evidence of the kisses across my skin. “Is this the finished look?” She scoffs, amused. “Are you ready?” “As I’ll ever be.”

An array of makeup ranging from lipsticks, mascaras, blushes, and more sits along the cushion of my blanket, stacks of clothes across the bottom of the bed.

She starts with moisturizer, getting it onto her fingers and smearing it across my skin, the room-temperature liquid being warmed by her hands, the soft feeling of it gliding with her fingers making me close my eyes. She rubs it in, her digits running along every pore and wrinkle my face adorned.

After a few steps, Penelope runs eyeshadow across my lids, the velvety bristles blending out the pigment. They dip along the curve of the eye, digging into and shading the crease.

I make sure to get as many kisses as I can before the lip products glide onto my lips. My hands cradle her hips, her warm breath hitting my face as I lean in, our lips meeting in a familiar embrace. Molding into each other in a dance.

Our lips part and I immediately lean in for another, my nose digging into her cheek and her into mine, trying to get as close to each other as we possibly can.

The welcoming, soft, pads of her fingers sweep my hair back, her hand coming to rest at the back of my head, pulling me in deeper.

Our tongues tangle with a nice, gentle, slick feeling. The clock of how much air we have slowly ticks away but I couldn’t care less, I’ll die from suffocation, as long as she’ll let me do so.

After makeup, she starts holding up hangers to my body, clicking her tongue at some (the clothing of course being at fault), giving me a smile and compliments at others. So many clothes are tried on, my body in just underwear and a bra half the time, not that she seems to mind whatsoever.

Penny finally decides on a cute look, her signature cardigan and accessories decorating and accentuating the attire. Although more dressed up than usual, she constantly makes sure I'm comfortable and that my needs are first, always a giver.

She lets me figure out my own hair but makes sure to add her signature, final touch on it, glitter, and other objects decorating it in a beautiful, eclectic way.

Her soft hands gently go over my eyes, obscuring my vision, and leads me to the bathroom mirror, squealing and giggling the whole way. I’d do anything to hear that sound, it made me feel giddy myself, in anticipation.

“Are you ready? I don’t think you’re ready.” I can hear the smile in her voice, making a grin grow on my face as well. “Yes, I’m ready, baby.” Without further ado, her hands lift from my eyes, my vision blurry as they adjust to the light, my eyelids fluttering quickly to try and take the fog away.

The vision in front of me is amazing, all the brightest colors imaginable, tastefully of course, mixed with neutrals (although very few). My reflection looks back at me, almost unrecognizable with the difference in my usual taste in fashion.

“I’m a god.” Penelope stares agape, at her work that took several hours, as if she didn’t see the whole process. Nonetheless, her eyes widen, as she looks fixedly in the mirror at me.

I have to say, she did go all out. Not my particular style but I look quite amazing.

“I mean, I am an artist, not that your sexiness didn’t make a big contribution. But wow. I mean you look like a model.”

The compliments bring a smile to my face, I’m glad her little coupon gift has made her happy. I turn on my feet and look at her, a glint in her eye. I bring my arms around her and right as I’m about to speak, a phone rings.

I sigh and give her a peck before she turns out of the bathroom, a dazed, mopey grin on her face and checks the person calling her. “Morgan” She utters happily, the screen shining with a photo of him on it.

“Ugh, go ahead and flirt with him baby, I know he must be lonely considering he’s not dating the best person ever.” I try to tease her and her gaze turns mischievous, even with the blush glittering her cheeks. “No one could ever replace you, mon chéri”

The French sends a tingle down my spine, unable to hold back the want in my eyes as I watch her pick up the phone. As she speaks, I bite my lip, knowing I’m going to give her a more intimate present tonight. My mind is distracted, thinking of all the ways I could show her I appreciate this little afternoon we’ve had so far.

Penelope hangs up rather quickly with a “See you soon”. One of my eyebrows raise in a silent question. She decides to answer me, saying, “We have to go in. Now. Emergency, grab your go bag.”

As we open the door to the precinct, looks are thrown and I can practically feel all eyes on the lobby floor go to me. As we get to our destination, I link my fingers with Penelopes in a bit of an anxious hold. I can feel the steps of our shoes thunder down on the floor, the suspense jacking up with each square foot we cross. The anxiety is quelled with the presence of my girlfriend and I swallow the saliva in my throat.

When the team sees us, Reid is the first to let out a surprised scoff, and Morgan's eyes light up as if he’s seen the best thing in her life, JJ tries to “secretly” take a photo, cringing when the flash goes off, and the rest of the team simply stop and stare.

I decide that I’m the one who has to break the ice and announce, “Pen gave me a makeover. I think she did a great job.” I will go to infinite lengths to see Penelope's proud, happy, bashful look that comes upon her face at my words.

#fanfiction #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #penelope garcia x reader #penelope garcia #shes so cute #i love women #x female reader

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fameandfiction · 10 days ago

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IMAGINE PART I: “Hearts in Permanent Ink” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Training Class (Security & Zip-Line Safety).

[10:43 AM – Some random safety training room in West L.A.]

It’s always cold in rooms like this. Fluorescent lights, plastic chairs, windows that look like they haven’t been cleaned since Bush was president. There’s a projector up front that whirs like it’s struggling to keep breathing, and a tall, sunburned guy named Greg is lecturing about carabiner strength like it’s the next national emergency.

You're sitting near the back—by design. Reneé insisted on it.

She’s slouched so far down in her seat, one more inch and she’ll fall into a full nap. Her legs are spread like she owns the space. Your leg brushes hers every few minutes, and neither of you adjusts.

You're trying to focus. Genuinely. Something about safety ratios, shock absorption, locking mechanisms—stuff that matters if you're ever going to be thrown on a zip-line set for that ridiculous survival-themed interview shoot her team signed you both up for.

Reneé, on the other hand, is not focused.

She’s been uncapping and recapping the same pen for fifteen minutes. The second you rolled up your hoodie sleeve—too warm in the stuffy room—her eyes lit up like she'd found a blank page she could vandalize.

"You're warm," she mumbled like it was a fact only she was entitled to know.

You didn’t answer.

Now she’s leaning her elbow on your thigh like it belongs there, and you’re her personal art project.

She’s been drawing hearts on your forearm for ten minutes straight.

Not just a few. Dozens. Tiny, inked ones—some hollow, some filled in, some skewed like she didn’t care about symmetry. They trail from your wrist to your elbow and now up your bicep. One loops around a faded birthmark. Another overlaps a tiny scar you got years ago and never talked about.

It should tickle. It should distract you.

But mostly, it just feels… intimate. Casual in a way that only happens when it’s not casual at all.

You glance sideways.

Her face is twisted in concentration, tongue peeking out slightly between her lips. Like she’s trying to tattoo you with her attention span.

"You’re not listening at all," you whisper, amused.

She doesn’t even look up. "You are. One of us has to keep us alive when this thing snaps mid-air."

Your chest shakes with a silent laugh.

Then you hear the soft shutter click of her phone camera.

She’s filming.

You glance down—her phone angled just right to capture her hand drawing another heart on your skin, the gentle curve of your shoulder in frame, your matching bracelets glinting faintly in the light.

“You’re filming this?” you ask, half-laughing, half-warning.

“Obviously,” she mutters, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “My fans are starving. Give them something to chew on.”

Your stomach twists—giddy and nervous.

She taps the screen. A Weeknd song filters through her speaker for half a second before she mutes it again. You catch just enough to recognize the beat: “Die for You.”

Your eyes flicker.

“Really?” you whisper.

She just smirks. “What? It’s romantic.”

"That's not romantic. That's explicit."

Reneé shrugs, all teeth and nerves. Then, with fake innocence: “It’s not my fault if they read too much into it.”

She presses ‘Post.’

[11:06 AM – Still in class, but your pulse is no longer regulated]

The comment section explodes before the safety instructor even makes it halfway through the evacuation slide.

@/rappswife: “the WEEKND??? bestie be serious rn” @/reneesstrap: “THOSE ARE NOT FRIEND HEARTS. THOSE ARE LOVER HEARTS.” @/babygirlfan98: “she said DIE FOR YOU and filmed her arm tats like she ain't in love HELP” @/ziplinerush: “imagine ur crush drawing on your arm while pretending you’re just friends. I’d combust.” @/lovetruther: “Babe it's supposed to be the other way around 😭 she's the one who should die for ✨Reneé Rapp✨”

You can’t look away.

Reneé’s still lounging next to you like nothing happened. But she knows what she did. Her leg nudges yours, teasing. Her pen pauses near your shoulder.

"I’m out of space,” she murmurs.

“There’s a whole other arm.”

“I like this one better.”

“Why?”

She glances up. Her voice lowers.

“Because this one’s already mine.”

Your breath catches.

It’s one of those moments where time sharpens. Where something flips inside you, and your body realizes what your heart’s been pretending not to know.

This isn't platonic.

None of this has ever been platonic.

You pull your arm away slightly. Not because you want her to stop—but because you're scared of what happens if she doesn’t.

"Reneé..." you start, quiet.

She tilts her head. “Too much?”

You swallow. “It’s just—”

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not—”

“You are.” She grins. “It’s cute.”

You shake your head and turn back toward the screen. But the lecture has gone silent in your brain. There are only two things you can hear now: her breath next to yours and that muted loop of Die for You playing in your skull like a confession.

[12:15 PM – Outside the training center, waiting for the rideshare]

You’re both sitting on the curb now. The class ended. Greg handed out reflective vests “for practice” and you crumpled yours into a ball, unconcerned.

Reneé’s phone is buzzing nonstop in her lap. She turns the screen toward you.

“Do I delete it?”

You glance at the video again. Your forearm. Her pen. The hearts. The song. The caption:

“to be loved by a patient and calm bestie 💘” audio: The Weeknd – Die for You

It doesn’t look like a joke. It doesn’t even look casual.

It looks like something you’d post about someone you’re in love with and too scared to say it out loud.

You meet her eyes.

“No,” you say softly. “Keep it up.”

She blinks. A pause.

You add, “Let them keep guessing.”

Her breath catches. “They’re not guessing anymore.”

You grin. “Yeah. That’s the fun part.”

Reneé watches you for a second longer like she’s trying to memorize the moment you stopped pretending.

Her fingers find your hand.

She doesn’t lace them.

Just rests them there, quiet and sure.

The fans are right. They always have been.

#fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #imagines #x reader #Reneé Rapp #Renee Rapp #Reneé Rapp x reader #Renee Rapp x reader #RPF #Real People #Real Person Fiction #Real Person Fanfic

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icallhimjoey · 2 years ago

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Lost & Found

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You take a little break, a week away to somewhere warm to relax and calm your senses. So does Joe – same flight, same hotel, same travel plans and, worst of all, same suitcase. What was meant to be a lovely trip to the sun starts off on the wrong foot when you find expensive designer outfits belonging to a man in what you thought was your suitcase.

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, lots of swearing, we get a little spicy but nothing too bad, 18+ just in case though!

Author’s note: i know i already said we were going at a slower pace, but, i really meant it - ive got too much other things going and i apologise! part four might take EVEN LONGER ive got a busy month coming up, so we'll see how it goes! thanks for being patient with me <333

Wordcount: 4.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Your breath hitched as your fingers twitched with need of a self-destruct button when you saw him.

Swimming shorts, black. The ones you’d had in your hands two days before. Linen shirt, short sleeves, beige – unbuttoned. It was one of the things you’d tried on. Your friend had said it looked like a pyjama top on you. You were glad to learn it did not look like a pyjama top on him.

Sunglasses. Black, dark, and designer if you were to go by the large metallic logos on the sides.

Hair sort of all over the place, like he hadn’t touched it after rolling out of bed this morning. Book in hand, paperback, folded corners and broken spine.

If you were honest, it was kind of a vibe. Until you panned down, and...

Loafers.

You hoped that the glare of the sun didn’t turn your sunglasses transparent enough for Joe to notice you weren’t looking at your phone screen when you saw him step out and enter the pool area.

He walked past a couple of sun loungers that had towels on but seemed otherwise fairly abandoned. The pool was empty, the water too cold to casually dip into, so the towels probably belonged to people who dumped them there before breakfast, just to ensure they’d have a space of their own in the sun later.

Well, it was later now, and had there been no empty sun loungers free of towels, you’d have tossed a random one to claim as your own. Like the one right next to you. Just a big white towel from the hotel on an empty sun lounger that seemingly belonged to no one.

You saw Joe get closer and closer until you realised that he seemed to be coming right over to you.

Maybe he’d seen you and was now just there to come and tell you that he needed his jacket back. The one he gave you last night. The one you were meant to return to room 907. The one you still had up in room 1103.

Listen, it had gotten late. And you’d gotten too tipsy.

You also weren’t sure if you’d remembered 907 correctly, and, what if he was asleep already, you know? You decided after having your 6th drink poured into a plastic cup that you’d bring Joe his jacket tomorrow.

Maybe just after breakfast.

But then, you’d slept right through breakfast, hadn’t you?

You’d woken up two hours after falling asleep, and hadn’t been able to slide back into slumber until after you’d watched the sunrise from your balcony through blinking bleary eyes.

You’d only gotten a very quick gulp of water into your system after brushing your teeth, and now here you were, by the pool, living your best holiday-instagram-filtered-story life.

When Joe walked into earshot, you were ready to launch an excuse at him for not having returned his jacket yet.

But then he bent and sat down on the sun lounger next to you and you realized; that was his towel. One he'd probably laid down just before breakfast to ensure himself a lounger for when he'd want to enjoy some time by the pool side later.

Later was now, apparently.

Joe sat and took off his loafers as he looked over at the pool where the sun made the surface glitter, and then you saw him turn his head to look at you, giving you a polite smile.

“I was going to bring it over last night,” you blurted out as you sat up a little, “I promise, room 907, I didn’t forget. It was just, it got a bit late, and I didn’t want to maybe wake you– I’ll give it back today,” God, the nervosity practically dripped from the words you squeaked out.

Joe just smiled, which only made it worse.

“I... I’ll go get it right now, sorry,” you swung your legs to the side but stopped when you heard Joe laugh.

“That’s okay, no worries,” he quickly said, stopping your feet from finding your flip flops.

“I wasn’t going to keep it,” you reassured.

“I didn’t think you were.”

Okay, good.

“None of my other things have gone missing, so you’re fine,” Joe scrunched his nose and made a face before he got comfy with his book in his lap.

You thought back to that first night with his suitcase. He was sort of right. You could’ve easily kept something - probably would have if you’d listened to your friend who kept telling you, “That looks great on you, fucking keep it,” over and over.

“About that...” you heard yourself say it before you could stop yourself.

“Can I, just, do you want my unsolicited opinion on something?”

Joe found the page in his book he’d left off on and used fingers to bend the spine a bit further. He didn’t really reply, which you took as an invitation to just drop what had been on your mind without holding back.

“Just, I don’t understand, you seem–” you thought your choice of words over just for a second. “You sort of seem like you know what you’re doing. Man on a business trip, expensive clothing, all tailored I’m guessing, and then there’s– I’m sorry, but why would you use two-in-one shampoo?”

Joe blinked at you a second.

“And not only use it, but bring it?!”

It took Joe a second to figure out how to react to your animated question. You seemed genuinely grossed out and properly confused.

Man on a business trip.

That tickled him.

“You um... you went through my toiletries?” Joe asked, eyes back in his book, hoping that maybe the question would get you to blush again like you’d blushed when you’d met at the airport the day before.

“I went through everything, and you fucking know it,” you couldn’t help but laugh yourself now. “Please tell me that bottle has been in your that bag since the nineties and you don’t actually use it still,”

Joe snorted, head bobbing a little.

“I mean,” he started, “It’s how long I’ve had the bag, so that’s not as implausible as you’d think,”

“Yea, it looks it, Joe” you jabbed, grinning, and that’s when Joe realised.

The fucking toiletries bag.

The one he’d had since he was eight.

The one his mother had written his name on with black sharpie so he wouldn’t lose it.

JOE

He could picture it clear as day.

You knew his name because you’d read it on his toiletries bag.

You didn’t know who he was.

His mother’s handwriting had revealed his name to you, and you didn’t fully understand the wistful little smile that overtook his face for a moment as he frowned at his book a little.

This new knowledge shifted something for him. He could dissect the relief of it all later, if he wanted to. Now, it just made him want to entertain this interaction further.

So he did.

Asked you if he was correct at having missed you at breakfast. Told you he wasn't actually on a business trip, but just there for a short break from the hustle and bustle of the city, of work.

You told him you were there for the same reason, and you swapped similar stories of busy jobs and hectic schedules, of tensed shoulders and worried supervisors who pressured you into trips to the sun, and now, here you were. By the poolside of a nice hotel where they served nice drinks and, would you like a drink? What did you have last night?

“Stop, if anyone needs to get anyone a drink here, it’s me. As a thank you for the jacket and not having me, you know, arrested.”

You got up, were about to wave your card in Joe’s face but found yourself plonking back down onto the lounger.

Weird.

You didn’t feel dizzy at all, but somehow your balance felt off. You went to test it by giving your head a little shake, and then suddenly, the world moved sideways. Gravity pulled at you from the side, making you lean there a little, and then, a lot.

There was lounger where you landed, shoulder first, but there wasn’t enough lounger. After bouncing once, you felt yourself slide.

It somehow felt fine, didn’t make you panic at all, your brain already making sense of it but in all the wrong ways. You didn’t feel so heavy, head all light, and so the thud to the floor wasn’t so bad. It was almost like you floated down there, but then, with your cheek pressed against the warm concrete, everything unexpectedly moved upwards with a rough jerk. Smacked you right in the face and the rest of your body sort of slumped down, hurting your cheekbone and what you thought was your brow bone as your full weight seemed shoved into them.

It hurt.

Not in the same way the cold water of the pool hurt the bones of your feet when you'd sat on the edge of it earlier – this felt worse. Cutting.

Your face was pushed into the ground by your own weight until out of the blue, the concrete moved away from you, and you floated back up. Back the right side up.

There were hands and they pulled, and it hurt your arm, your elbow, your shoulder.

“Did you faint? What the– did you faint? No, you– hang on,”

Hands clambered at you until you were back on soft familiar surface, but everything felt a little sticky. And somehow you were fucking freezing.

“Joe?”

You felt your vocal cords say it, you knew you just said something, but you didn’t hear them. Was your voice not working? Or was it your hearing that had gone?

“You fainted,”

“It’s fine, I don’t– what’s happening, what is…”

“Fucking hell, lay down a second. Legs up too, just, I want you flat– be flat,”

You didn’t move quick enough for Joe’s liking, which Joe realized, of course you fucking didn’t. You just smashed yourself face first into the concrete and your eyebrow was bleeding now. In an attempt to gracefully get your legs up onto the lounger too, Joe nearly flung you off of the whole thing on the other side. Managed to grab you by the side just before you swung too far.

“Hands, hands,” Joe just grabbed them. “Give me your hands.” He was already holding them. “Here, hold the sides for me. I need to move you into the shade.”

And then the whole world moved. A tree came into view as the lounger you were on got dragged across grass. It disoriented you into a dizzy spin that made you forget which way was up for a second, even though you were staring right at up.

In no time, two guys who wore polo shirts with hotel-logo-nametags hovered over you and a lady from three sun loungers over stepped in to tell them to get a first aid kit. Something to clean that gash with. To make the bleeding stop.

Joe stepped back and let her mother you for a second, told one of the guys who worked at the hotel that you’d gotten up from the sun lounger and then just… fell.

The lady asked if you’d eaten, and you tried to convince her you were fine and that all of the fuss was a bit much, but then you had to confess that you hadn’t actually eaten and you’d also not slept very well the night before, and the night before that, and, you actually hadn't slept normal in ages, and your shoulders hurt, lower back too, and you’d drank a lot the night before, and, Jesus Christ, you were so fucking cold.

“Someone get her something to drink, she needs sugar,”

“And a sandwich maybe? Something to eat?” Joe added, making the other man scurry off.

There was a moment where the lady and Joe looked at each other and then both looked back at you and you felt so stupidly embarrassed.

“Can I– I want to go back to my room,”

So you could fester in your own embarrassment by yourself in peace and quiet. Without people staring down at you, and no doubt from all around the pool too with all the commotion that was made.

“They’re getting you a drink and some food, and you need your eyebrow looked at,” the lady smiled politely at you, using a finger to wipe some of your hair away from getting stuck in the blood there.

You moved a hand up to touch it, to feel how bad it was, but saw Joe reach an arm out that he quickly snapped away when you halted. You moved it to your mouth instead, to bite at the thumb nail to stop your teeth from chattering.

You were outside and people were barely wearing any clothes and seemed fine – why were you still freezing?

“Are you cold?” the woman asked, already looking around for a towel to drape over you.

“I’m fine,” you lied, and heard Joe huff a laugh. Obviously, you weren’t.

“Here,” he said, and you saw how he handed over the white hotel towel from his sun lounger. It got carefully placed over your shoulders, and it helped a little, but you just wanted to go upstairs and crawl back into bed. Get under the warm covers and sleep this off.

The first aid kit arrived, and this random hotel guest in a bathing suit took it from the guy who’d brought it over. She took over completely, cleaned your face with disinfectant and asked for Joe to help her cut a piece of tape to bandage it up. You saw his fingers fumble, shaking a little bit, like he seemed nervous.

A plated club sandwich and a can of coke arrived. After plenty of “How are you feeling?” and you repeating that you were fine over and over and over in between sips and bites, you were finally asked which room you were staying in, and if you were there with someone.

You hesitated to answer, afraid that if you said you were alone, they wouldn’t just let you go back to your room. They should, of course they should just let you do whatever, but there were three strangers doting over you all worriedly, and then also a fourth one who, even though you'd gone through everything he brought on this trip, was still technically a stranger too.

“It’s okay,” Joe then said. “I’ll take her up to her room.”

And before you could complain about it, he’d slung his towel around his neck, had taken the glass and the plate, then bent sideways and stuck an elbow out for you to loop an arm through.

It was a little weird to walk into the hotel with Joe. To get into the lifts with Joe. To step into your room with Joe.

It was a little weirder to say you were going to shower and that you were fine, thank you.

It was a little weirder when Joe didn’t just accept that and looked at you with worried eyes before he asked if you could shower with the door open, and if he could sit just outside in case the hot water did silly things to your blood pressure. What if you dropped in the shower and no one would be there to stop you from drowning?

“Drown? It’s a shower.”

“Place could flood.” Joe shrugged.

It was weird when you looked at each other a second and you realised he wasn’t going to leave. Wasn’t going to let you shower with the door shut and locked, and so, fine.

Joe awkwardly stood in the middle of your hotel room, plate and drink still in hand, when you moved the desk chair closer to the bathroom door.

“I’m sorry, I just, that lady from downstairs will murder me if I don’t make sure you’re okay,”

You laughed at his excuse and gestured for him to put all he was holding down on the desk.

“I’ll be quick.” You said, finding a change of clothes to take into the bathroom with you.

“Please, take your time. Don’t rush.”

You didn’t rush, but were quick anyway. You now had a man waiting for you to finish a shower and you knew you’d gone through all of his things, but leaving him alone in your hotel room surrounded by all of your things felt invasive.

The warm water was nice and managed to relax your shoulders a little.

Not a lot.

But, you know, all little bits helped.

“I’m okay,” you called when you shut off the water, hoping maybe Joe would reply, ok great, and maybe leave. He didn’t. Just said, “Good.” and then stayed put.

When you emerged with wet hair, in soft shorts and a white tank top, Joe smiled at you. His eyes immediately went to the wet bandage that covered your eyebrow still, the tape strong enough to have kept it in place. Good. That was good.

His smile quickly disappeared however, when he saw you rub a hand at your neck, your face displaying a painful grimace.

“Your jacket,” you pointed and Joe looked. Saw his jacket. Had seen it already.

He didn’t move to grab it, instead turning back to you. His eyes flicked between your face that displayed painful discomfort and the hand that was squeezing at the flesh of your shoulder now.

“All right, I’ll leave you alone in a second, but before you tell me you’re fine again, can I… can I just…” Joe held both his hands up. You just looked at them and didn’t move. Joe, in turn, placed both hands on top of your shoulders and frowned at what he felt.

“Jesus, all right,” Joe turned, looked around the room, eyes darting and brain going at top speeds to put a plan together.

“Do you mind if I…?”

Perhaps Joe could start actually finishing his sentences, you thought, although you thought you knew what he meant and shrugged both your shoulders up to your ears.

“No,” Joe’s eyes grew wide before he tutted at you. “Don’t, that doesn’t help. Come, sit,”

Joe sat down on the edge of the bed before you did.

“Face that way,” Joe pointed towards the windows, away from him. You followed instructions without question and felt how he collected your hair into one hand before carefully placing it over a shoulder so it’d be out of the way.

“You know this isn’t what this is meant to feel like, right?” You could hear the humour carried in his voice. Of course you knew that. You knew you also weren’t meant to bite at your nails until your fingers bled. Weren’t meant to wake up sweating and panting because you’d hallucinated being trapped in a small dark place again.

You felt the mattress level out behind you as Joe got up and stepped forward. He bent to the side a little, getting his shoulder in front of your face.

“Here,” he touched himself where he’d touched you just before. “Feel this bit, how you can easily squeeze the soft tissue here?”

You reached up, hesitated for a moment, but then touched Joe over his linen shirt that had a few buttons done up now, and squeezed where he told you to squeeze. Like it was normal.

That was… that was all muscle.

Not as thick and hard as whatever was happening to your shoulders, but these were Joe’s warm muscles you were pressing your fingers into.

“Now feel yours,” Joe moved back, touched his fingers to where he wanted you to feel, and made you squeeze yourself in the same spot and, yea, okay, that was a big difference.

“I am also here to relax, but clearly one of us needs it more than the other,” Joe huffed a laugh through his nostrils as he sat down on the bed again behind you and he got back to what he was doing before.

“I've not gotten a good night's sleep in months,” you revealed as Joe dug thumbs into where it hurt.

Hurt good.

Hurt so good.

“You should book a massage,” Joe spoke softly, but kept massaging your shoulders, the bottom of your neck.

“Hmmh,” you replied, afraid that if you’d say anything else, he’d stop what he was doing.

Joe kneaded and pushed and squeezed and touched for a while, and you noticed you were starting to have to work really hard at not flopping over. At sitting up right and keeping your eyes open. You repressed yawns and tried to remember to breath properly, but you’d just had a nice shower and you’d barely gotten any sleep before and now you were on your bed in a comfortable outfit and Joe was massaging you with his big hands and maybe you could rest your eyes, for just a second, you know?

“Here, lay down,” Joe suddenly whispered and without acknowledging how weird it was that Joe just sat outside your bathroom whilst you showered and was now massaging you to sleep in your hotel room, you just laid down. Instantly got comfortable on your stomach leaving enough space for Joe to sit on the side, one knee folded onto the bed and the other dangling down the side still.

“There’s a– do you feel this?” Joe pushed knuckles exactly where you wanted them. “Huge knot.”

“Feels nice,” you whispered, breathy and exhausted.

“I can loosen it up a bit more, but this– you really should get a professional massage,”

Joe kept working strong fingers and even stronger knuckles into the same spots until you couldn’t even feel it anymore. Just felt numb. Or maybe you were just falling asleep and not stopping yourself from slipping under.

Joe’s hands never ventured much lower – maybe just a little, but nothing inappropriate. You were only strangers after all. He thought that you knew who he was but then you didn’t and now the playing field was level and, sure, you knew more about him because you’d gone through his whole suitcase, but he was in your hotel room now and you were falling asleep under his touch.

Fell asleep under his touch.

You woke up in an empty hotel room hours later, covered by the folded-over other half of the duvet you were lying on top of.

You felt… well rested. Only a little disoriented. A little thirsty. Nothing crazy.

The last thing you remembered feeling was Joe’s fingers trailing from your shoulders down your arms and back up again and you felt a little sad that he wasn’t there anymore.

It was still light out, but the sun was setting and it felt like the whole day had passed you by today. You stretched, body feeling looser. Better. Joe was right though, you needed to book a massage. Maybe two. Or three.

When you looked over and saw Joe’s jacket still there, slung over the back of the chair that was now back in its spot behind the desk, you couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped you. He could’ve taken that – should have taken that, and yet…

Yea, the day had been weird.

Had been weird from the start.

The weird night's sleep, Joe's toiletries bag, the wound above your eye, the empty coke can on the desk, the massage that had put you to sleep for several uninterrupted hours, and, Joe's jacket.

Weird.

And then room service was weird.

And watching the sunset from your balcony was weird.

Then trying to get back into bed for actual nighttime sleep was weird.

All of it, just... weird.

Room 907.

You'd said you would return the jacket today.

And then he'd been in your room and he'd stayed with you until you'd fallen asleep and then he hadn't taken it.

Joe's jacket was still in your hotel room.

Weird.

You tried ignoring it. Tried to watch TV. Scrolled on your phone. Thought of taking a long bath, maybe.

But that stupid jacket. It kept calling your attention from across the room.

Even after turning off all the lights and tossing and turning for about an hour, you could still feel it there. Taunting. Whispering dares.

Bring me to his hotel room.

Take me there.

Come on.

And...

Fuck.

All right.

You sat up in bed, flicked on a light and squinted both eyes at the sudden brightness.

There it was, still in the same spot. Joe's jacket.

“Fine. You win.” you told no one and slung your legs out of bed, grumbling with annoyance as you took the jacket from the chair and found your hotel room key on the side.

Room 907.

The hotel was quiet as you took the lift down two floors and found Joe's room quick enough.

You stalled a second, unsure if you should knock, but then thought, fuck it. You were there now, jacket in hand, and you'd said you'd bring it back today. You knocked softly, then waited and listened. Nothing. Just to be safe, you knocked again, and then heard the soft click of a light switch. You ignored how that made your heart thunder in your throat.

It didn't take long for the door to open. When you saw Joe's tired face, you immediately knew you'd made a mistake.

You should've waited 'til the next morning. This wasn't a cool move.

“Your jacket,” you felt so dumb. Looked so dumb.

But then you caught sight of the smallest of smiles as Joe took it from you, holding the door wide open as he did.

A beat of silence followed where you hoped Joe'd say thanks, so you could tell him thank you for letting you borrow it in return.

The thanks never came.

Instead Joe stepped aside, door still wide open, and gave a tiny backwards nod that welcomed you inside, followed by a quiet whisper.

“Come on.”

---

The Taglisted

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taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #icallhimjoey #lost & found #lost and found #part three

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