#i don’t have the attention span for anything else | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kithtaehyung · 4 months

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drabble: first one pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) rating/genre: pg ; fluff ; three tangerines au note: uhh. surprise and happy holidays LOL. based on this ig reel sent in the discord multiple times, this little slice is gonna kickstart the "3tan does sm" mini series! basically this little ongoing collection will have all the drabbles/requests based on social media things y'all send in. if it inspires me, i'll make a drabble or something out of it hehehe. enjoy! warnings: nothing big. just 3tan yoongi lol links: three tangerines mlist ; masterlist drop date: december 28, 2023, 7:07pm est word count: 1.1k

In the middle of winter, you decide that tonight is the perfect time to try something new.

Which leaves Yoongi confused as hell because this attempt requires him to be outside in the freeze, when the two of you were just bundled up in blankets and watching a movie minutes ago.

But he can scold your lack of attention span and tendency to watch videos during long movies later.

“What am I doing?”

Placing him on one spot of the sidewalk just outside his apartment, you urge, “Just, hold on. Stay right there.”

“Huh?”

Giggling, you give no other instructions, instead rushing forward to bring your phone to a nearby bench. When you set it down to see what the camera catches, you determine that you look fine enough, so you tell Yoongi—who is simply standing there and still looking devastatingly handsome—what you wanna do. “Okay, pull up the video I sent you.”

“Shouldn’t we go back inside?”

“Yes, yes, after this.”

When you walk up, he pulls up the link, and you both watch as people run to their partners and rush them out of frame, spinning them around or chasing them away.

Ever consistent, Yoongi is both unfazed and wondering what goes on. “What’s the goal of this again?”

Shrugging, you’re just happy he’s not tugging you back indoors yet. “I don’t really know, but. I just wanna see how you do it.”

“Mm…” He looks one more time, cementing his answer with the way he smushes his lips. “Fine.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Uh huh. But this is just for you.”

Right. Because of course this can't be seen anywhere else. Your smile is rueful with a tinge of holiday hope, “I know.”

And Yoongi’s expression carries the same weight.

Maybe one day this conversation will be a lot different. Just like the way your quick stay at his place while your brother is at a work dinner will prove a lot longer of a night. One day.

Maybe.

Cheering yourself up, you practically bounce back to where the bench is, slipping a bit with a tiny “whoops” before reaching out to press record. Backing up onto the sidewalk, you throw up peace signs, poses, do a few different filler moves until Yoongi does his part.

But nothing happens.

And no one appears by your side.

So you turn to see if he actually left but goddamn it is he recording you? “What the!”

Yoongi just laughs as you kick your head back in laughter, and stops holding his phone up. “So cute.”

Damn it, he can’t give you this fluttering feeling while being annoying! “Focus!”

Groaning, you turn your recording off and then back on again, repeating some of the same things for the camera and shuffling a little in place to warm up. Because it is freezing and this idea could have waited another season or two.

And when you look to the side after a pause, Yoongi is recording again.

You bend forward to shield from the chill, your yell echoing throughout the small little courtyard, “Yoongi!” Does he have to keep grinning like that? There’s no time for prolonging this even more! “I cannot with you right now.”

After another attractive huff of amusement, he keeps going, “I can’t help it! You’re being adorable.”

Well. At least Yoongi’s having his fun. If anything, he’s stalling because he doesn’t wanna do whatever challenge this is. So you can drop it. “Ugh… Never mind, we can go inside.”

After grabbing your phone, you walk up to him again before he stops you. And you think it’s because you were about to slip once more, but his low tone gets you to see his face under those locks.

“Nah, we can do it.” When you give him a pouting frown, his teeth shine. “Serious!”

Easily placated, you’re back to grinning. “Okay, for real this time! It’s cold!”

“I know! You didn’t even let me get my beanie!”

Laughing out your guilt, you warn him over your shoulder, “If you run into me, you better not knock me over.”

“I won’t, doll.”

“Okay!” Placing your phone down for hopefully the last time, you hit record, seeing yourself sigh before gingerly walking back to the sidewalk.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to try and get Yoongi to do this. It’s colder than hell’s deepest frost at this point, and some snow is still falling from darkened skies.

But all the little reactions in the videos looked too cute, and you are genuinely curious to see what he’s gonna do. So even through your poses, you brace yourself. Is he gonna run in for a hug? Is he gonna rush you off with a big warm embrace?

…Is he really not gonna do anything?

Feeling a little bad, you drop the cute poses and turn.

Only to feel him right at your side, gathering you with a soft, strong arm and leading you down the sidewalk.

Well, damn.

The gesture is so him that, for a second, you genuinely think that he saw something and led you out of harm’s way on instinct. But as you look around, you don’t see anyone else in the wintry courtyard besides the two of you.

“What’s wrong?”

Your vision flicks away from the lighted trees dotting the area. “Oh, nothing, I was just…”

“Wanna run it back? If we do let’s go somewhere else. It’s icy right there.”

Blinking, you see his eyes full of pure curiosity and attentiveness.

And suddenly you wanna go back inside for a completely different reason other than warmth.

“That felt perfect,” you whisper, eyes lowering to his ever inviting lips. “Lemme check it.”

Leaving his cozy side, you go back and retrieve your chilly phone, stopping the recording that you are relieved you successfully started. Both you and Yoongi watch as you play the full thing, and after he leads you out of frame, your jaw drops.

“Oh, my god. This beats all the ones I’ve seen.”

“Really?”

“Damn… Now I’m actually sad I can’t post this.” When you laugh, it’s not all joyful. Turning to him, you pretend to be mad. “Why are you so cool?”

Huffing small, Yoongi looks up and around you before giving your cheek a kiss, and your knees weaken at how tender it is. “Send it to me,” he murmurs.

“You want it, too?”

“Mm.”

“Okay.”

“Just a little longer, babe.” He gives you another peck on your very cold nose. Then both cheeks. And your forehead.

All while you’re out in the open where anyone could witness.

Just his willingness to amuse you was already perfect. Yoongi didn’t need to do any of that, and he certainly didn’t need to be so charming with his stylistic choice. But he did it all anyway while freezing his pretty ass off.

And his next words make your chest yearn to stay with him—for every holiday season and silly trend that comes around.

“Then this’ll be the first one of us we post.”

fin. :)

🌨️ what do we feel! i needed this little drabble :')) 🌨️

a/n: did i mean for this to be a full blown drabble? no! was this the video that bo originally sent me that i flailed over? no! but it's the reel i saw and apparently had been sent in the server multiple times. so here we are with a surprise hahaha.

enjoy your holidays, everyone! and if you have anything social media related that 3tan reminds you of - or you can see the 3tan crew doing - send them in and maybe i'll get inspired again. :D this didn't take me long at all and i wanted to do it, so no worries about extra work!

a/n 2: 3tan12 is going strong alongside the holiday fics! should be posting teasers and taglists for those, too. very very excited for all of them mwahaha

🌨️ links: three tangerines mlist ; masterlist

#oops surprise LOL #3tanslice #3tansm #*latest #*ryenfictalk #3tanextras #three tangerines #bts fic #bts imagines #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #bts reactions

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auteurdelabre · 5 months

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Code Broken (Series) dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni

summary: "You broke into my house," Joel says moving his gaze from your eyes back down to your mouth as his wide hand grazes his belt buckle. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."

You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this?

[AU where Joel Miller ends up in Jackson City by himself.]

warnings/tags: Extremely dubious consent, oral sex [m receiving], rough oral sex, face-fucking, Come shot, Joel is bad at feelings, Mean Joel, Dirty Talk

word count: 6.9k

a/n: Y'all, this whole series is pretty depraved (from my perspective) and much darker than my normal stuff. I wanted it as a challenge and I had a lot of fun doing the series, there's 5 parts so I hope you enjoy it. Comments and the like really make my day. xx

masterlist

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Chapter 1: Go your Own Way

Joel Miller is the most serious man you've ever seen. The rigidity of his spine when he walks, the dark eyes always darting around in stormy irritation. People still greet him when he goes into the center of town, and he nods politely and makes small talk. But he never looks anything other than bothered.

He terrifies you.

You know his name only because of your friends in the small community of Jackson City. His brother is Tommy, a cheerful man married to Maria with a baby on the way. Tommy is the one that welcomed you into this settlement years ago, the one that settled you into the modest home you now live in on the end of Rancher Street. Larger homes buttress you on either side and yours is dwarfed in comparison but you don’t care. You still can’t believe you have your own house. Your own bed. Your own everything.

You watched the survivors come from all over the globe, watched as the community swelled in number and joy over the years. It was like a slice of heaven in and amongst a hellish landscape of the undead.

And then Joel Miller had entered and everything for you changed.

Tommy and Joel couldn't be more different. Tommy is sweet and polite and likes to ask after people to make sure they're okay. He’s stoic and his dark eyes light up when he laughs or makes a joke.

Joel keeps to himself. He doesn't talk to many people. He answers people with a serious tone in his drawl. He likes horses and he likes music, that's as much as you can tell about what he likes because he rarely does anything else.

When he'd moved into Jackson City he'd been given the home next to yours. Yours was a simple one bedroom, meant for singles, his was a spanning home with a garage. You rarely saw him outside unless he was headed for the stables or communal meals.

Sometimes on nights your window was open to let in the night breeze you heard him playing his guitar in his place. On rare occasions he sang, his voice rasping and mournful under the chords. It made your chest tight and your eyes prick with tears. It made you remember a youth you’d rather forget.

It was actually the music that had inspired your first attempt at an introduction.

You'd been out planting in your garden when you heard the front door to his place creak open. You walked casually over to the fence that separated your properties to see him sitting on the front stoop of his place, a pale blue coffee mug in one hand.

He was looking into the middle distance, his profile strong. You'd leaned on the fence, hoping to catch his attention. As a man always on alert he had, his dark eyes sliding over to you as you greeted him.

"You play really well," you told him enthusiastically, recalling the tune you heard him play late into the night the evening prior. "Was that Fleetwood Mac you were singing yesterday?"

Joel hadn't replied. In fact he'd given you the coldest look you'd ever received, stood up and gone back into his house. You'd stood there looking after him in shock for several moments until going back to your gardening.

When you'd told your friend Trish what happened that following Tuesday during your weekly "book club" (drinking poorly made wine and playing cards) she'd laughed in that annoying way of hers and told you to stop being so sensitive.

Trish told you that Joel Miller was rude to everyone. That the only reason people put up with it was because his brother was Tommy and because Joel himself was one of the few bachelors in the community. Then she’d gotten a soft look in her eyes and sighed that Joel was gorgeous in that sullen, quiet way that made older men mysterious. You hadn’t understood that, having never found poor humor and a bad attitude attractive.

You’d decided it had been a one-off. Maybe Joel was just tired that morning. You tried waving to him if you saw him in the street, one hand usually on the reigns of a horse tugging it gently behind him. He never returned the gesture.

It came to a head when you and Trish had been to a movie night in the square some months later, the summer heat always driving you indoors where it was cooler. They were playing an old science fiction feature and finding seats was near impossible. It was always like this when a popular film was showing. The popcorn lay in big tubs and patrons brought bowls to scoop the kernels into.

The children were hunched in front of the large white blanket that acted as a screen chatting animatedly. Your co-workers waved, observing how busy it was as you scanned the space, seeing an empty chair in the middle row near the back. Trish told you to grab it and that she'd search for another free one.

You'd been so intent on taking the chair that you didn't even realize who was seated next to you until you plopped down, brushing arms with the bare forearm next to you.

You noticed his jeans first, the way they seemed molded to his muscular thighs. Then his forearms, his plaid shirt rolled to the elbows and then finally up his neck to his profile, the full lips, the hawkish nose and the dark eyes that you could clearly see were trying to ignore your presence.

"Hello neighbor," you'd chirped trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. You'd watched as he glanced out the corner of his eyes at you, nodding briefly. Emboldened by this you motioned towards the large white sheet.

“You a big fan of Charlton Heston?”

He’d given a short nod, a grunt of a reply. This had felt like such progress to you and you relaxed a bit into the seat. You saw Trish heading your way with popcorn in hand and your knee bumped into Joel’s as you swivelled in your chair, angling your neck to see if there were any other free seats.

"Do you see any other empty seats? My friend Trish-"

He gave you one sharp look, scanning your body from top to bottom before rolling his eyes and jerking from his seat. Your face went bright red as he sidled past you just as Trish approached with popcorn.

"What was that?" Trish asked, looking after his frame quickly disappearing down the street. You'd shrugged, embarrassment overtaking you.

But the message was clear: Joel Miller can't stand you.

You suppose after that is when you decided on payback. Something innocent, really, silly in hindsight. Something that would irritate him on a daily basis.

The plan was to hide his guitar somewhere within his home. Specifically, in the back of his under his kitchen sink... then the bathtub ... then under his bed.

It's immature, especially at your age. But you'd missed out on so much life during those twenty years of running and hiding that this felt fun.

You could imagine him going insane trying to find it. Shouting angrily when he realized it was misplaced only to find it popping up in random places in his home.

It was an innocuous prank, borne out of boredom and humiliation. And if Joel caught on or accused you and brought you before the sheriff, what could they do? The guitar never left his house. How could it be stealing?

It had seemed like the perfect plan.

But now as you pull the black hooded jacket over dark jeans and look into the night sky this evening, you're wondering if this was really is the best idea.

You've gotten away with it twice before. Once to hide the guitar in his shower. Once under his kitchen sink.

You do this once a month on one of the evenings that everyone is at the movies. After your last experience with Joel, when you started to internally begin cataloguing his movements, you'd noticed that Joel attends every single one. His only habitual act that you can count on.

His visits with Tommy are regular but never scheduled, sometimes they go to the bar, sometimes at Joel's and you assume, sometimes at Tommy's. He's not a big joiner, not found during game nights at the canteen. He rides, that much you've seen and know. He likes to be around the animals.

There’s not much to do in the evenings in Jackson City, and that usually rests easily on the community. After so much violence it’s nice to have quiet, peaceful nights. But the movie nights provide popular and give you enough time to act, a good hour and a half minimum. You could push it to two hours but that seems foolish. It's a perfect time because it's where your neighbors are usually spending their time as well.

The first time you'd navigated from your roof to his, you'd been shocked at how easy it was. Your homes were close together and jumping onto his shingles was nothing more than a gentle leap in the darkness.

The window to his hallway was unlatched, just as yours was, just as most everyone's was. You lived on a glorified compound; no one felt the need to lock up the upper floor windows.

You'd squeezed in, falling gracelessly onto the wood floor. You'd worked quickly, finding the guitar beside the fireplace downstairs and gently placing it into Joel's shower half leaning against the tile.

Then you'd run back, closing the window after you, jumping back onto your roof and throwing yourself back into your bedroom with your heart in your throat. You hadn’t taken time to catch your breath before you'd rushed down your own steps and run to the movies, coming in the back to make it seem like you'd always been there, standing near the far corner with your heart racing, trying not to giggle.

When the lights flickered on and everyone rose to leave you made sure that Joel saw you, brushing past him intentionally. You had to have an alibi. He needed to see that you’d been here the whole night, just as he had.

"Excuse me," you'd said airily, not even put off by the silence of his reply when you ‘bumped’ into him.

The second time in his place you were finding an appropriate hiding spot for his guitar when you'd noticed other things about him. Like the detailed wood carvings that lined the mantle over the fireplace. The paintings of landscapes filled with animals hung around the sparsely decorated home.

You’d taken time to wander around the home, noticing the records, the other guitars hung on the wall. You’d seen the reading glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa and the woodworking space in the garage. It had been thrilling seeing this interior life, knowing that the impenetrable Joel Miller wore reading glasses and carved wood figurines. There was something beautiful in those small pieces of him.

But tonight as you stand looking at yourself in your mirror you wonder if maybe that's enough. You've had your fun. You've tricked him twice; you've snooped in his home. That's enough.

That should be enough.

But you haven’t seen his bedroom yet. Something holds you back every single time you consider it. You’ve walked by that closed door twice, knowing that solving the mystery of Joel Miller could be even closer if you just walked over the threshold.

You’re broken from these thoughts when you hear his front door open. You creep to your bedroom window, hiding in the shadows to see his tall frame pulling his jacket on, locking his front door and heading to the center of town for the film. His boots crunch the leaves underfoot as he moves and when he turns the corner you know it's time to move.

You traverse across your roof silently, cloaked in the darkness of the night. The neighborhood is mercifully quiet and you take a moment to appreciate the view. Your thankful for the still of the evening, the quiet and you glance up to see the stars dotting the sky.

Then you’re back focusing, leaping onto Joel's roof and hurriedly moving inside. You pass the familiar sights of his closed bedroom door, the creaking wood hallway leading to bathroom. The single red toothbrush that sits sadly in a fogged water glass. You jog quickly downstairs to retrieve the guitar, always in its stand by the fireplace.

It gleams in the moonlight streaming through the window, as if it’s begging you to grab it, to hide it, to play a game. You take it into your hands, always sure to be careful with it. Pulling a prank on him is one thing, willful destruction quite another.

It's your last time doing this, you've decided. So where should you hide it?

The answer comes to you almost immediately - his bedroom. The only room of his house you haven't snooped yet. The only space of his that you haven’t conquered. Excited tingles go through you as you race back up the creaking step to his bedroom, pushing the door open without ceremony before your nerves overtake you.

It's a simple box shaped room, larger but the exactly the same shape as yours, which is exactly the same as the many homes that line these streets. Joel's is much less inviting than yours though.

He has a bed near the window, tan sheets and blue coverlet. The bed is hastily made, as if he'd been in a rush to leave. There is a small nightstand next to his bed holding a pile of books. On one wall is a well built shelf holding a myriad of records, all ones you've heard him play and on the table below it is the record player.

You observe that his closet doors are half open and you pull them smoothly apart, your gaze going hungrily over the contents inside. You’re amazed at how neat and organized it is. Shirts and jackets are hung, hats on shelves, belts strung on hooks.

The familiar green plaid is hanging there dead center, reminding you of that embarrassment at the movies. Despite this your fingers go to the fabric and you find it soft with use and age. Without thinking you dip your face forward, dragging the fabric to your nose and you inhale. It smells like him, or how you imagine he smells. Like the outdoors and fresh laundry and warm cologne. Probably the cologne you saw in his bathroom during your last adventure.

You take the smooth neck of the guitar and place it gently in the far side of the closet floor, next to what looks like a beat-up tan backpack. You close the closet doors with a smile of self satisfaction, imagining what his reaction will be.

You've never actually seen Joel get upset by these pranks but one day working on your garden you did hear him complaining to Tommy over coffee that he must be getting old because he can’t remember where I put my fucking guitar.

You'd giggled yourself silly at that, trying your best not to be heard as you moved the soil under your gloves. It had tickled you immensely to know that your small inconvenience was upsetting him. You felt vindicated for the way he had treated you.

You stand in the center of his bedroom and your eyes drift back to that pile of books and you find yourself curious about what he reads. You traces the spines with your forefinger and your gaze and you're shocked when you find classics by Jane Austen and books on astronomy. You'd expected worn paperbacks of cowboys or travel.

You notice that behind this stack of books there's a framed photo of a smiling Joel and a sweet faced little girl, obviously his daughter at what looks like a carnival. You can see a waving Tommy in the distance. You’re shocked at how different Joel looks when he smiles, his dark eyes crinkling authentically, his smile broad and his face boyish. Perhaps he is sort of attractive, in a brooding way.

You notice the yellow of age in the corner of the photograph and the realization that the photo is over twenty years old. When you look closer you can see Joel is younger, his hair and beard not threaded with grey.

Knowing what that means in this dark world of carnage is what solidifies the realization that you've overstepped.

You need to leave. Fuck the prank. Fuck harassing a guy who clearly has very good reason to not like people. You were so quick to judge, so fast to make it about you when maybe, just maybe, he was just a loner who never got over the loss of his kid.

You even think about taking the guitar back to its place by the fire when you hear the distant jingle of keys hitting the lock to the front door.

What the fuck? He was supposed to be gone at least another hour!

Your heart sinks when you hear him enter his home, tossing the keys onto the kitchen table and moving quickly to the stairs.

Fuck.

Now his footsteps are on the creaking staircase coming your way. If you run for the window in the hallway he'll see you through the gaps in the banister. If you hide under the bed you'll be easily seen.

Panic overtakes you and you do the only thing you can think of and dash into the closet, sure to avoid hitting the guitar with your leg. You close the doors, leaving them open just a hair, just as he had.

You don’t want to arouse suspicion. You'll just stay here a little bit. Wait until he goes back downstairs and then try to sneak back out the window.

"The fuck?"

You hear Joel on the landing and now you realize your fatal mistake when he murmurs something else to himself and you hear the heavy sound of the window being closed.

You left the fucking window open.

He knows someone is inside.

You cover your mouth, muffling the shallow pants of terror that go through you when Joel enters the bedroom. Through the slits between the slightly parted closet doors you can just make him out. He doesn’t turn on the light in the bedroom, so everything is still bathed in a blanket of darkness tinged blue from the moon’s glow.

He’s wearing a flannel, this one tighter around the shoulder, emphasizing the muscles of his back and broad expanse of his upper body. He looks suspiciously around, his face stoic like someone on a deadly mission.

He walks past the closet, his body strong and his movement’s solid in a way that intimidates you. If he wanted he could snap you in half and not break a sweat. He scans the room before slowly dropping to his knees beside the bed, craning his head to see underneath.

When he sees it's clear he stands again and moves out of your view.

You tilt your head, trying to listen for his footfalls but hear nothing but silence. Did he go downstairs? You figure he's gone to check out the other rooms when the closet doors fly open revealing you to him.

Joel is there, his hands on either door as he looks down at your hooded frame hunched in the corner.

"I fucking knew it."

He reaches in and pulls you out of the closet by the arm of your jacket but you stumble out, wrenching out of his grip enough to run into the hallway, your heart pounding.

The window is closed. It'll take too long to open. Your best bet is to run downstairs and out the front door. You think since you're hood is still on he hasn't seen your face properly and there is a chance to make an escape.

You move swiftly down the hallway, your eyes on the nearing stairs but he's immediately there, gripping you by the back of your jacket and tugging harshly. You fall back into his arms before he’s whirled you around to face him.

You give a sharp yelp when he slams you against the nearest wall, his hand around your throat pinning you there.

"Who the fuck are you?"

His voice is loud and echoes in the barren hallway. He sounds furious, not that you're shocked. If you'd come home to a stranger hiding in your closet you likely wouldn't be elated either. You try to hide your face in the hood of your jacket, panic making you feel cold all over. If you could just-

His large hand comes to rip the hood of your head, taking with it a few loose strands of your hair. You give a hiss of pain as your scalp tingles.

You're caught.

Joel's stares down at you with fury in those dark eyes of his that fades abruptly when he recognizes you. "You live next door."

He still has you loosely pinned to the wall by the throat, but now he drops his hand, gliding it down your collar before pulling it from your body. He smooths his palm over his wavy hair, not out of nerves but more out of disbelief at seeing you of all people in his home.

"Did I hurt you?"

You stare up at him in shock. You've broken into his house and he's the one asking if you're hurt? You shake your head. The slam of your back against the wall had shocked you more than anything. He looks confused, his eyes narrowing on your face.

"How'd you get in my house? Why are you here?"

You're both breathing heavily and you can only hope he doesn't see the fear in your eyes.

"I'm sorry," you sputter instead of answering him. "Just a joke, was just-"

"How did you get into my house?" He repeats though this time his voice isn't as hard, more curious.

"I j-just climbed in the window," you explain shakily pointing to the window at the end of the hall. "My roof is close enough to yours that..."

You trail off, not wanting to incriminate yourself further. He's so close to you that you can feel his warm breath falling over your cheeks.

"I've never stolen anything," you assure him just in case that's what's really upsetting him. "Never touched any of your stuff except your guitar. Just hid it a few times and I was really careful with it."

"Why were you doin' that?'

"It was just a joke," you say again weakly, though now under his severe eye line you can't understand why at one time you thought it was so amusing.

He's not responding, not replying, just staring at you with that inscrutable gaze. There is a flutter of panic starting in your belly, the realization that no one knows you’re trapped between Joel Miller and the wall. The knowledge that despite a few interactions, he remains a mystery.

"I should get back home," you whisper, trying to sidle off to the left. "My boyfriend is waiting for m-"

His palm comes to lay flat against the wall just next to you, boxing you in. Its dark in the hallway, but the moon hits you both, silhouetting you and showing you Joel’s expressive eyes.

"You live alone," Joel says with a sigh, as if your lie has disappointed him. "Have for as long as I've been here. Only company you get at your place is on Tuesday nights with that gal of yours."

You gape up at Joel, shocked at how accurate he is. Your brows furrow in confusion. "How do you know that?"

"Same reason you know I go to the movies every other week."

He's been watching you.

Just as you've been watching him. And while you know why you've been following his schedule, noting his arrivals and departures you can't understand why he would be doing the same for you. He just keeps staring at you in that intense way of his that makes you feel warm and tingly all over.

"My friend Trish-"

"No one knows you're here," Joel murmurs, his eyes moving to your mouth and then back to your eyes. His voice is so low, so velvety, so soothing despite the inherent menace in the sentence.

You swallow thickly, the sensation of fear slowly curving the length of your spine. You’re suddenly so aware about how little you know of Joel Miller. For all you know he could be a serial killer.

But that doesn't fit with how he's studying your face. He looks more open, even bordering on amused. But that can't be right, he can't stand you and now he knows you've broken into his house on more than one occasion.

"Had a feeling someone was fucking with me,' Joel observes evenly. "S'why I turned around tonight. Realized the guitar thing only happens when I'm out at the movies."

You remain silent, feeling so stupid. Why had you needed to keep going? Why didn't you just go with your gut instinct and stay home?

"I’ll go," you croak, hoping that Joel will take pity on you and just let you leave. Joel's face remains placid, his hand going to rest where your neck meets your shoulder, stopping you from leaving.

"You broke into my house," Joel says moving his eyes from your eyes back down to your mouth. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."

Polite? What is that supposed to mean?

The meaning becomes quite obvious when you feel his heavy hand on your shoulder begin to press, moving you back to slide down the wall until you're on your knees between he and it. The wood floor bites into your denim clad knees, but you remain still.

His eyes stay on your face as realization dawn's on you. His fingertips are ghosting over your shoulder and you watch as his free hand goes to his jeans, undoing the button and bringing down the zipper. You can see his pale boxers underneath and watch his hand flexing.

Your eyes dart back up to his face, seeing the way he towers over you, his breathing elevated only slightly and his eyes fixed on yours.

Why aren't you running?

He reaches and grips your wrist in his fingers. You watch almost detached as he opens your hand with his own and slides it under the waistband of his boxers.

Why aren't you screaming?

His stomach is warm and taut, strangely smooth for a man of his vocation. You hesitate before his hand is forcing yours to continue, wrapping it tightly around his hard cock. You hold in a gasp as your palm hits it, instinctively curling.

"Like that," he murmurs gently.

He's warm and thick and under your exploratory fingers you can feel him twitch which excites as well as terrifies you. He hisses through his teeth softly as you begin to squeeze, your eyes focused on his face. His eyes never leaving yours, the full mouth dropping open as he groans.

You continue slowly, feeling the ridge of his shaft, the pulsing heat of that iron under velvety skin. He has his palm flat on the wall above your head, his forehead moves to rest in the crook of his arm as he gently shifts his hips.

You stare up at him from your spot kneeling on the floor, still in disbelief that this is happening. Usually just the sight of him walking down the same street as you is enough to send you bolting in the other direction.

But now his gaze is soft and half lidded. His mouth isn't curled into a sneer or scowl. Joel Miller is much less intimidating when he's leaning into your stroking hand.

Then with a soft grunt he bats your hand away and brings himself out of his boxers. You hide a sigh at the sight of his broad hand curling around his thick cock. You hadn’t expected beauty in him, a softness of movement inside his rigid edges.

He remains standing there unmoving and watches you stare, breathing shallowly as you drink him in. You think he must like it because you can see droplets of pre-cum gathering on the tip. It's obvious what he wants.

Your heart gallops. "I don't-"

"'Course I could just go down to the sheriff and see what they make of this break in," Joel interrupts tightly. "Whatever you'd prefer."

It's blackmail, plain and simple. And considering how the threat of being tossed into the wild with the ravenous clickers is always an option when it comes to the sheriff, you know your choices are limited.

His large hand has come to slip over the head of his cock, his hips moving to press into his fingers slowly. You seriously consider your chance of survival outside these walls survival when Joel tilts his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"I think you want it," he croons, his hand continuing to stroke himself shallowly. "Think you've wanted my cock for a while now, pretty eyes. Just been afraid to ask for it."

You frown, protestations dying on your lips as you consider his words. Had a small part of you been wondering what lay beneath your neighbors rough exterior? Was that why you had been so determined to engage with him in the first place?

Wait, did he call you pretty eyes?

A steady thrum starts between your legs at that, your knees pressing into the wood floor harshly. You feel too warm in your jacket, but you don't dare move. You feel like a trapped animal trying to outwit an apex predator.

"Just a taste," Joel suggests when you don't reply, his hand moving from his cock to cup your cheek. You feel your lips parting subconsciously to take in a sharp breath as you regard him twitching inches from your mouth.

Fuck why are you even considering this? You should be screaming, running away, not on your knees and looking at Joel's hard cock with what feels like a burgeoning anticipation.

No. You're not doing this. It's fucking degrading. You barely know Joel Miller and this is- Your eyes fly open when his hand comes to grip your chin. His eyes are heavy lidded with lust, the pupils blown wide.

"Open up," he commands huskily.

When you don't immediately acquiesce you feel his thumb drag over your lower lip, curling over your bottom teeth and urging your mouth to open for him.

After a moment of consideration your jaw goes slack and you feel your heart leap when Joel gives you a ghost of a smile. There is a brief shadow and you're almost convicted you saw a dimple in his right cheek.

You don't have time to consider this because he's taken his cock in his hand again, stroking the base languidly.

"Mouth open. Tongue out."

You hesitate, wondering how far this is all going to go. He's not actually going to go through with this, is he? You open your mouth a bit, your breathing coming out in hurried puffs. The amusement has fled from his features and he narrows those dark eyes of his on you

"Tongue. Out."

The words are clipped and offer no room for negotiation. With a quiver that goes through your core, you do as instructed, slowly inching your tongue out of your mouth and letting it hang over your lower lip.

He moves slowly, but you're still shocked when his hips shift forward. You turn your head at the last minute, panic overtaking you. Joel gives a grunt and you feel the warmth of his cock pressing against your cheek having just narrowly missed your mouth.

He growls in frustration, his hand coming to grip the back of your head as he drags his cock along your cheek. You feel the pre-cum smearing along your skin to the corner of your mouth like some debauched trail of pleasure but you seal your mouth closed, a small form of rebellion.

"Don't make me ask again."

His voice is low and dangerous. If it hadn't been so intimidating you might have pointed out that he hadn't asked for anything, just demanded. But as it is you’re caught in his home, his hand is wrapped in your hair and he doesn’t look like he’s fucking around.

You tilt your jaw and again stick out your tongue. With cock still in hand, he taps the weeping head onto your flattened tongue before letting it rest there, heavy and pulsing. The salty flavor of him explodes on your tongue, the ridges of his cock pronounced on your sensitive tongue.

Your eyes crack open and move up the length of his body, noting that Joel's breathing picks up when your eyes meet his again.

Without ceremony he slips past your lips, tensing only when you let out a small cry of surprise. When you offer no other protestations his cock inches further into the slick heat of your mouth. He gives a small shudder, his head tilting back and exposing the column of his neck.

Your eyes shutter closed, your mouth working around him, confused as to why you're not fighting this more.

"You deserve this," he says through slow exhales, his hand bracing on the wall behind you. His eyes are closed so you're not sure if he's talking to you or to himself.

His hips snap forward and you whimper, feeling him inch closer to the back of your throat. One of his hands moves down to stroke your hair as he withdraws, his slick cock dragging against your lower lip. You exhale through your nose, catching your breath as you look up at him.

He's breathing heavily, his mouth parted ever so slightly.

"You can take it all," he tells you plainly.

And without another word he's thrust himself back fully into your mouth. So deep that your nose brushes against the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. You feel him hit the back of your throat and it takes everything not to gag or pull back. You have a feeling if you did he'd stop.

But you want to continue. You want to hear what other noises Joel Miller makes when he gets his cock sucked.

Does he do this often? Instruct women like he's done to you this evening? Fuck their mouths? The thought overruns your senses, imagining Joel in the throes of orgasm. Imagining that its you doing it to him. Your tongue swirls on the underside of him and you're rewarded with a shallow gasp.

Joel groans, watching your bob your head along his shaft. His hands are on either side of your jaw, guiding you along his slick member.

"I just know this is makin' you wet," Joel grunts as his hips continue to thrust forward. "Me fucking this sweet mouth of yours."

While you wish you could deny it, he's completely right. You are shocked at how wet you are. You can feel it there, pooling between your legs as you suck him.

His movements increase in tempo, the motions are abrupt and you search for purchase anywhere. Your hands go to the bottom of his t-shirt, gripping it as you urge him to bury himself completely in your mouth.

He growls as he begins to fuck your throat hard, so hard your head jerks back and presses into the wall behind you. He pins your head there and shoves his cock deeper into your throat, giving sharp moans as you whimper and writhe, knowing you can't escape. For a moment all you can feel and see is Joel's cock, slick with your saliva sliding between your lips over and over again. After a few guttural grunts and thrusts his movements slow and he lets his cock simply pulse there, your lips straining to wrap around it.

"Show me those pretty eyes," he murmurs. He doesn't need to ask you twice, you lift your gaze up the length of him, hollowing your cheeks. When your eyes finally meet Joel's you hear a sharp inhale from him.

"You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look right now," he says, his teeth clenching as you continue to suck him. "F-fuck, those eyes staring up at me.. Your mouth so... So full of my cock... You like it don't you? Having my cock fill your sweet mouth?"

You make a low humming noise of approval. Those words, those filthy, delicious words wrap around your insides. Now your hands are at the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft.

"So good," he grunts, his hand going to the top of your head. But instead of using it to brace you and push further into your mouth, it just rests there, almost fondly.

It's you who grips the back of his thighs, urging him down your throat. You who moans wantonly not for him but because you're so turned on you can barely function.

You suppose that's what tips him over the edge, your open desire.

Now his movements are erratic and he's fucking into your mouth so harshly you think you might faint. Not from pain but because it feels so fucking good to be used like this. So taboo to have the grouch from next door using your mouth for his pleasure. So fucking heady knowing that he’s going to come because of you.

Your hands fly back to the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft. He makes a sound that could almost be a whimper if it weren't so low and gravelly. He tilts his chin down, watching you.

"You want my come?" He grunts, pulling your hair back at the nape of your neck, forcing your gaze to his. You nod, your mouth stuffed with him and he makes a noise in the back of his throat as he pulls out from between your lips.

"Say it.” He's visibly shuddering as he takes his cock in his hand and begins stroking.

"I want it," you whimper, your body aflame.

"What do you want?" He asks jerkily, his movements becoming staccato-ed. "You know what I wanna hear."

"Please Joel," you say; drifting forward and licking the reddened head of his straining cock. "I want your come. Please."

He licks his lower lip swiftly.

"Fuck yeah you do," he sighs almost reverently before the fist around his cock increases in speed. "You're gonna take every last drop aren't you?"

Another nod from you and now your tongue is out, flattened and ready for him as you arch. Joel makes a tortured sound in the back of his throat.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me," Joel whispers raggedly. "Don't you dare look away."

Your eyes open just in time to see Joel Miller come undone before you. The face normally contorted into a frown or grimace is replaced by his mouth curved into a disbelieving smile as he looks down at you, his breathing coming out in short little rasps. Then he stills and you watch him spill out over his hand.

Thick ropes of his come erupt over you, landing in warm strips along your cheeks, your lips, your tongue. His hand continues stroking, painting you with him, muttering filth that you can't really hear before he is spent.

Joel's legs tremble a moment, but grow steady as he leans against the wall with his forearm. You go to wipe your face but Joel shakes his head.

"Don't move," Joel demands breathlessly. "I.. I just need to look at you."

You sit there, your face decorated with his seed and your eyes fixed on his face for what feels like forever. He looks at you as if you are art. As if you were designed and molded to be everything he wants.

You want to bathe in the warmth of his eyes forever, but soon his breathing becomes even. He tucks himself back into his boxers and zips up his jeans.

You sit there expectantly, unsure of what to do next. After everything that happened is-

"Get out."

You blink twice as the words sink in. You’re still kneeling there, still staring up at him when Joel pulls back, his gaze hard again. He raises a brow in irritation, a silent question of why are you still here?

Humiliated again by Joel Miller.

You hastily wipe at the cooling seed on your face with the arm of your jacket as you scramble to a stand. Your eyes go to the stairs, thinking of how you'll get back inside your place and you make a motion to go down them. His hand shoots out, holding it in front of you to stop your movement. You notice he doesn’t touch you when he does this.

"You can go the way you came," Joel says without inflection and somehow this option of escape feels like a further sting. He steps back, indicating the hallway window with a tip of his head and you move past him quickly, hot tears pricking the back of your eyes.

You pull open the window with ease, not looking behind you to see if he’s watching. You hope he’s not. You pull yourself over the sill and lower yourself onto the roof. You hate yourself for looking back over your shoulder, hoping he’ll stop you and bring you back inside.

Instead you watch as Joel brings his wide hands to the lip of the window, preparing to shut it the moment he stops speaking.

"Don't ever break into my house again."

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #smut #fanfic #pedro pascal #dad joel miller #fanfiction #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #deaddovedecember2023

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callme-holly · 30 days

Note

Can you do a three times the gang almost caught and the one time they did with two dal or steve

But the reader is also a Curtis? Like their sister?

𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 [𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - i'm so sorry this took so long omg. I'm really trying to be faster but my attention span is so short and I just can't sit down for longer than 10 mins. I will probably also end up writing this sort of fic for Two-bit and Steve too, only bc I have literally nothing for them yet lmaoo. Anyways, hope ya'll enjoy and as always my asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 3.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mild swearing, mentions of fighting

0.1 - more charm than sense

The Curtis home is unusually quiet; everyone either out or at work.

The radio plays on low, some commercial station that only seems to play the same ten songs before switching back to the first and replaying them all without end.

You’re standing in front of the sink, towel in hand, and as you clean up the remnants of breakfast, your brother’s dirty plates are dumped haphazardly atop the counter in a less than neat pile. The water runs clear under your steady hands, and for a moment you forget that you aren’t entirely alone in the house, too focused on cleaning up to notice anything further than the sound of your own breathing and the light static of the radio.

You're so lost in thought that you barely register the lingering presence behind you, only startling once a familiar pair of arms wind themselves around your waist from behind, the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and cheap, most likely stolen, cologne filling your senses. Lips are pressed against the base of your neck, and a chin rests on your shoulder. The sudden weight is warm and familiar.

“I thought ya invited me over to spend some time with me, doll, not clean.” Dallas drawls, his voice rough and his accent heavy. You can feel him smile into your skin as you sigh, letting go of the cloth in favour of turning towards him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His hands fall to your hips, and his thumbs trace lazy patterns into your skin.

“I didn’t invite you, Dal,” You raise your brows, “You climbed in through my window.”

Dallas laughs lowly in response, shrugging nonchalantly as he drops a kiss on the corner of your lips. “Didn't expect ya to be so preoccupied.” He trails off, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and nipping lightly along your jawline. “Thought I’d be gettin’ more attention than this.”

You roll your eyes fondly in response, but don’t move away as he continues peppering kisses down your jaw and collar, your hands wandering idly to the hem of your shirt. You’re quick to slap him away, fixing him with a warning look. He just grins lazily, leaning in close enough to press his lips just below your ear.

“Dallas.” Your tone is stern, and it has absolutely no effect whatsoever on the greaser, who merely hums in reply, hands moving back to your waist to pull you closer. “Not here.”

Dallas’ grip tightens for a moment, and he pulls back, tilting his head to the side. “C’mon, doll… You’re brothers are gone; what’s there to worry about?” There’s a wicked grin on his lips as he steps away from you and leans against the kitchen counter, watching you carefully.

It had been a mutual agreement to hide your relationship from the gang, a decision made to spare you from the headache Darry would no doubt give you and the black eye Dallas would receive for even thinking about touching you. You knew it was stupid to try hiding things from the gang, especially when they could see right through you like nobody else did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell them.

Darry would probably skin you if he found out you were dating a hood like Dally, and you didn’t want to risk it.

“There’s plenty to worry about,” you conclude, turning back to the sink. “What if Two-Bit or Johnny decide they wanna pay little old me a visit, huh, and they catch us here in the kitchen?”

Dallas chuckles before placing his hands on your shoulders, leaning in close to whisper directly into your ear, “They won’t catch us, darlin’. They haven’t yet.” His hands begin to wander once more, and you drain the sink with a sigh, trying to find what little composure you have left to resist him and his words. He's relentless, damn him, and you know better than to hope for any sort of peace and quiet when you're home and alone.

His lips continue to trail a line down your neck, mouthing teasingly along the sensitive skin before moving back to your lips. This time, however, you give in, your fingers threading into his hair as you meet his eager advance.

It's almost too easy to lose yourself in the haze of the moment, so much so that you hardly notice the thumping of footsteps on the porch until the screen door opens suddenly and Sodapop’s voice rings out.

“Y/N! You here?” His voice is loud with excitement as always, and you’re quick to jump away from Dallas, your eyes wide with surprise.

“What the hell?” You hiss, glancing around the room frantically before spotting before your gaze lands on the bathroom door. You shove Dallas towards it, mumbling under your breath as you do so. “Get your ass outta here.” He snorts quietly, following your gaze and pressing a kiss to your cheek before closing the door behind him just as Soda rounds the corner in search of you. He beams brightly, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re home early…” You start, and he shrugs, heading to the dining table to grab his lunch which is still sitting where you’d left it out this morning.

“Forgot this,” He holds up the bag and you roll your eyes internally. Typical.

“You know,” You head back to the sink, taking out the now-clean dishes and stacking them back in the cupboard. “Sometimes I wonder how you’ve lived this long.”

Soda smirks and raises an eyebrow, backing towards the door, lunch now in hand. “What can I say? What I lack in sense, I make up for in charm.” He winks, flashing a cocky grin as he leaves the house, the door banging shut behind him.

You watch to make sure he's completely gone before jogging to the bathroom and throwing open the door. “I told you this would happen.” You start, but stop short when you see that the room is empty.

The only sign that anybody had even been in here in the first place is the open window, the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, and that stupid cheap cologne that lingers in the air.

“Goddamnit, Winston…” You huff, shaking your head and walking over to pull the window shut.

0.2 - some unwanted visitors

There’s a slight chill in the air; the summer nights slowly beginning to turn cooler as fall begins its slow, sleepy crawl across the state.

Dallas has an arm thrown lazily over your shoulders, a cigarette dangling between his lips as he presses close, and a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. You lean into him slightly, savouring the warmth surrounding him and feeling content in his hold. A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, neither wanting to break it nor quite being comfortable staying silent either.

“So... I suppose you're wanted back before curfew, huh?” Dallas eventually drawls, shifting slightly to lean his head against yours. You let out a small laugh, leaning further into him and allowing your cheek to rest against his chest.

“You know it,” You murmur, and he hums, his fingers tracing little circles on the small of your back absentmindedly. “Darry thinks I'm out with friends again, so you’ll have to drop me off at the end of the street.”

The greaser frowns at that, a faint crease forming between his brows. “I ain’t lettin’ you out of my sight, doll, 'specially not this late.” He looks almost offended that you'd even suggest such an idea, and you shake your head, looking up at him.

“Dal, I can handle myself. I don’t need you watching my ass 24/7.”

He rolls his eyes, giving you an indignant scoff. “You ain’t got to act all high and mighty, doll. You know I ain’t going to let you walk alone.” He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers the next part. “Besides, we both know you like it when I watch your ass.” He pulls back then, grinning wildly when you roll your eyes dramatically, pushing him away.

“Whatever, Winston,” You mutter, a coy smile tugging at the corners of your lips as he reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together loosely. “But seriously, though, I’ll be fine.”

Dallas simply grunts, choosing to drop the subject, giving you no further argument. You know he’ll still insist on walking you to your porch, regardless of whether your brothers spot you or not.

He thrives on adrenaline and the thrill of getting caught is just too much for him to resist.

You both turn back to the movie playing on screen—some old beach movie with a plot no different from every other. It's cliche and unrealistic, but you're willing to put up with it just so you and Dallas can spend time together without hiding.

It's not until halfway through the movie that you spot a familiar pair of faces making their way towards your row of seats, too caught up in their debate to spot you. Dallas currently has his head buried in the crook of your neck, the movie long since forgotten as he trails kisses along your jawline, and you're barely keeping your attention focused on the screen.

“Dal,” Your tone is hard, and you elbow him sharply in the ribs, eliciting an annoyed groan. “We’ve got company.”

Dallas turns to glance towards the end of your row, and, sure enough, there stands none other than your brother Ponyboy Curits and Two-Bit Mathews, both of whom are yet to notice you both.

“Shit,” He growls under his breath, arm slipping from around your shoulder as he turns his body away from them. “What’re they doin’ here?”

You give him a half-hearted shrug, scanning the area for a way out and coming up short. The closest exits are the ones closest to your brother and Two-Bit, and you have no doubt that they’ll spot you if you try to make a break for it.

You're about to suggest going the long way and cutting through the crowds when suddenly someone comes up behind you, hands slamming into your shoulders and your voice cutting through your internal panic.

“Y/N Curtis!”

You whip your head around, meeting the gaze of Two-Bit, who is grinning like a madman. Dallas lets out a grunt of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting the two boys a cold look.

“What’d you want?” He snaps, and Ponyboy frowns, looking over at you curiously.

“I thought you told Darry you were out with friends tonight?”

Your eyes widen, and your face heats instantly. “Well…” You trail off. “There was a change of plans.”

Pony raises an eyebrow, seemingly sceptical at your words, as Two sits himself down in the seat beside you, stretching out and taking a sip from his drink. Dallas says nothing, his expression darkening, and you feel him tense up beside you.

There's an awkward pause, broken only by the crackling audio of the movie, before Dal huffs impatiently and rises from his chair. He shoots you a look, and you instantly understand, standing in your own chair.

“We’re going to go grab some drinks.” You state this before turning on your heel and following Dallas away from the seats, weaving through the rows until you find a secluded spot, away from the larger crowds and the prying eyes of the two greasers.

Ponyboy and Two-Bit watch to both go, frowning in confusion before Two raises a brow. “They seem pretty close.”

Pony shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “My sister isn’t stupid enough to date a hood like Dally.” Oh, how wrong they are…

0.3 - who’s jacket is that?

You’re at the DX, leaning back against one of the gas pumps as you listen to whatever wild story Steve is telling you. His hands flail around dramatically, and you nod along slowly, only half paying attention as Dallas comes to stand beside you, a cigarette hanging lazily between his lips.

He doesn't speak, simply resting a subtle hand against your lower back, his fingers drawing lazy patterns into your skin. Your mind races, and you take note of the people around you. How could any of your friends notice the small display of affection happening between the two of you? But they all seem too caught up in their own conversations to notice.

Steve’s voice cuts through your thoughts just then, drawing you from your reverie and your attention away from Dallas.

“And then she tosses her milkshake right in this asshole’s face and leaves!” You have no idea what he's talking about, but let out a small laugh regardless, at least trying to look somewhat interested in what he’s saying.

Dallas shifts a little next to you; the pressure of his hand is now more noticeable against your lower back, and you know that he knows you're distracted. You can almost sense the smirk he’s holding back, and you resist the urge to turn and glare at him, instead focusing back on Steve and the other boys, their mindless chatter continuing for a few moments longer before Johnny speaks up, his tone laced with curiosity.

“Hey, Y/N, is that a new jacket?”

You turn to stare at the boy, brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?” You glance down, and you swear your heart stops for a moment. You're still wearing Dallas' jacket. Shit.

Quickly, you clear your throat, hoping that the colour flooding your cheeks isn’t too obvious. “Oh… Uh–” By now, all eyes are on you; the previous conversation has long been forgotten in favour of watching you intently. It’s uncomfortable, and just as you’re about to offer up a poor attempt at an answer, Steve pipes up again, his brow furrowed.

“Ain’t that your jacket, Dal?” He looks over at the greaser beside you, and Dallas hums, taking another drag of his cigarette. There’s a small smirk on his face, his eyes flickering down at you before he gives a shrug, blowing out a thin cloud of smoke.

“Dunno. Could be.” He states this nonchalantly, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and slouching against the gas pump. “It looks awfully similar.”

You swallow hard, averting your gaze as the gang glances back over at you, all sharing the same confused expressions. It seems Dallas isn't going to offer up any more on the subject, so with a few heavy sighs, everyone seems to drop it, returning to their previous conversations.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, you turn to look up at Dallas, who is still grinning smugly. His hand rests comfortably on your back once more, your fingers resuming their rhythmic pattern, and you allow your shoulders to relax a little, knowing he’ll tease you relentlessly later on.

“They look awfully comfortable.” Steve remarks quietly, nodding his head in yours and Dallas's general direction. It seems your fond expression for the hood hasn’t gone unnoticed, and Soda snorts, nudging his buddy in the ribs.

“What’re you talking about?” He raises a brow, taking a rag from his pocket and wiping off the oil staining his hands. His attention moves to you and Dallas, a knowing look spreading across his features as he watches the two of you interact and an impossibly soft look in Dally’s eyes as you talk to him.

He can’t help but notice the jacket once more, how it’s just a little too big on you, and how it looks a little too much like Dallas’'s to just be a coincidence. No, there’s no doubt in his mind about who exactly owns it, and if the smug smirk tugging at the corners of Dallas’ lips is anything to go by, then maybe, just maybe, Steve is right.

Things are slowly starting to add up.

0.4 - caught...

It’s early evening, and the sun is sinking low in the sky, casting dim rays of golden light throughout the room. It’s peaceful; the excitable chatter of the gang in the living room fills the air, muffled by your closed door.

Dallas has his head resting in your lap, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers as he blows smoke out through your open window. His eyes are closed tight, bruises and cuts litter his face, and his skin is stained with blood and dirt. He doesn’t speak, merely wincing as your fingertips trail over his wounds, stopping occasionally to press gentle kisses to his hair.

There’s a nasty gash above his eye, the blood trickling freely in little rivulets, and you wipe at it lightly with a wad of gauze, the sting of the alcohol drawing a pained grunt from the greaser.

“Do ya have to do that?”

You give him a sympathetic smile, brushing your lips over his forehead tenderly. “Sorry,” you mutter, running your fingers through his matted hair. “I’m almost done.”

Dallas doesn't move; he just stays silent, letting you dab gently at his injuries, his expression unreadable.

You never know how he's going to act after a rumble. Sometimes, he's fine, joking around and teasing with the others, but then there’s those small moments where the tension from the fight doesn’t dissipate, where he sits in complete silence, letting you work without complaint.

These are the times when you worry, when it becomes obvious that he is hurting. He won’t tell you, not directly at least, but you know something's wrong. You can tell in the way he holds onto you, his face hidden from view, as his hands grip desperately at the fabric of your shirt.

“Dal,” You murmur softly, and your tone is soft and soothing. “Talk to me.” Your fingers trail softly through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp, and you notice his shoulders drop a little. He exhales heavily, pressing his cheek against your thigh, his eyes closed tightly.

“Not right now,” His voice is thick and rough, and words slurred slightly as he struggled to stay awake. Your eyebrows furrow as a soft sigh escapes your lips, reaching your free hand out to brush over his bruised jaw. It's rare to see him so vulnerable and obviously upset, and it hurts knowing that he will bottle things up and hide them away until he’s forced to let it all out.

You don’t push, though. Instead, you take his hand in yours, running your thumb over his bruised knuckles as you lay back against the pillows. The movement causes Dallas to shift slightly, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close, and he drifts off within seconds.

You let your slip shut, allowing yourself to drift easily along with him, content to lay here with him and wait patiently until he’s ready to talk.

“Hey, where’s Dally and Y/N?” Pony’s voice breaks through the cheerful laughter of the gang as they bounce around the living room, most still high on adrenaline and excitement, only slowing down slightly once the question reaches their ears.

They all glanced about the space, their eyes scanning over every possible corner, before coming to rest with each other, sharing the same look of confusion.

Darry pushes himself up from his chair with a sigh, tossing the first-aid kit in his lap to Soda, who catches it with ease. “Y/N is in her room. She might know where Dallas is.” The gang all watches as he heads down the hall, stopping just outside your door to knock softly.

When there's no response, he frowns, glancing back towards the gang before knocking again. Still nothing. With a quick shrug, he turns the doorknob gently, pushing open the door and peeking inside.

Your bedroom is dark except for the faint glow emanating from your desk lamp, which illuminates the walls with a soft pale glow. Darry is about to call out to you, about to question you on where Dallas is, when he spots the hood in question asleep with his head in your lap.

His breath hitches, and he pauses, his gaze wandering to you, your fingers threaded through his blonde locks.

“Soda. Pony.” Darry calls quietly, catching both brothers’ attention immediately as he speaks. “Get over here.”

The two boys scramble up from their places on the couch, racing across the room and peering into your darkened room curiously, their eyes widening at the sigh before them.

“Well, damn.” Sodapop lets out a low whistle as the rest of the gang come up behind them. Two-Bit lets out a short laugh, and Steve cuts him off with a sharp elbow to the ribs. “I told you,” the former whispers, grinning broadly. “I told you they had something going on!”

The group all share a look, the sound of Darry clearing his throat echoing in the quiet house. Slowly, he backs out of the room. closing the door once more and letting out a breath.

There are words that will need to be had, promises that need to be made, but he supposes that can wait for another time. Right now, he'll let you and Dallas have your moment because it seems it's been long awaited. And it certainly has.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders preferences #the outsiders imagine #dallas winston #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston headcanons #dallas winston imagine #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #two bit mathews #steve randle

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shinsocest · 2 months

Text

No. 002

Notes: Another reupload with some minor little touch-ups ♡ but I'm feeling some spark lately and just waiting for my attention span to take it easy on me and give me a fighting chance

Warnings: fem!reader, humanoid but definitely monsterfucking ♡ voice kink with a touch of hypnotism, blood, good ol' size difference

“Won’t you turn around?”

His voice makes it feel like the bright summer sun is still warming your backside even though night fell long ago.

“I want to see your face. Please?”

Your breathing is labored, your pulse roaring in your ears so loudly that you can’t hear your own steps, the crunch of leaves as you keep your eyes glued to the forest trail. Not that you can tell, but the forest is silent save the voice behind you. It’s as if the very trees are holding their breath in fear, or sick anticipation.

It’s agonizing to ignore the voice that seems to trail only a few steps behind you at all times, and it’s only the words your grandmother had drilled into your head all your life that keep you from turning around.

Don’t look behind you. If you must enter the woods, never look behind you, not even for a second. Or you’ll never be seen again.

“Come now, you must be curious. I can tell—you want so much to see me.”

You shudder at the purr in his voice and how he seems to be looking into your mind, plucking your thoughts for himself.

“I’ve seen you, you know. You’re in this forest all the time. Always during the day. Always so careful.”

Your footsteps falter before you right yourself, chest growing tight as your breathing goes shallow. You move faster, but his voice never gets any farther away.

“You always leave before the sun sets. Always. So tonight makes me wonder, maybe you wanted to meet me.”

Why does he have to sound so human? You’ve heard the stories from everyone; the hushed whispers from frightened women that carried farther than they think, the low rumbles of worried hunters that found their way to the ears of everyone in town. You know what he really is.

“Fur as black as night. Unnatural the way it stands like a man.”

“I heard they’re yellow, the eyes of a true monster. The stuff of nightmares.”

“Claws that look like they can rip through bone if it so much as touched ya.”

“The teeth of a demon, that’s what it must be.”

“Legend says even Hades spat him back out. That beast is poison.”

Demon. Beast. The stuff of nightmares. That’s what creeps behind you in these woods, haunting your footsteps like a dutiful shadow. Silent. Dangerous. Lethal.

But his voice? No one ever said anything about that. It makes you question everything, enchanting your mind with how rich and charming it is, how warm, calling out to you like a siren song. You feel yourself torn two ways, fear wants to send you running back to town, never to enter these foul trees again but your curiosity wants to turn and face him, to find out if all the stories and legends are a lie. How could such a voice belong to a monster?

“That’s it, isn’t it? If that’s what you want, just turn around and see for yourself.”

Your vision blurs and something warm drips down your cheek. When did you start crying?

“Don’t you know how long I’ve waited to meet you? Maybe this is fate. Why else would you be here?”

The edge of the trees is in sight now. Only a short distance until you’re safe. So why are your steps slowing? Why are you doubling the time it would take you to exit these woods? Maybe you’re wondering if he’s right.

His voice seems to reverberate through the trees, getting stronger and more enticing as the distance grows shorter.

“Can you live with not knowing? I can promise you now, if you leave, you’ll never find out. You’ll never get the chance to see me again. I’ll make sure of it.”

That promise would be a gift, a blessing among blessings, to everyone you know—so why does it make your heart thump heavier? Why does the thought make you feel so hollow? Your steps carry you, shaky and regretful, outside the treeline and then you stumble to a stop, dragging air into your lungs with heaving breaths. Your head spins and you don’t know how long you stand there. The trees are silent behind you and so is the voice. Maybe he really is gone, like he said. Gone forever.

That same accursed curiosity grips you so tight that you can’t breathe, and you turn, scanning the forest with wild eyes.

Almost immediately your gaze falls on the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. He’s tall, taller than any man, and his hair is black and carelessly ruffled. His features are strong and masculine, with a sharp jaw and a straight nose. Where is the monster? Surely this can’t be him… But his eyes are yellow and glowing just like the stories say.

He wears no shirt, and his tanned skin almost glows in the moonlight that dapples through the gaps in the trees. His legs are cast in shadow from where he leans against a tree, covered in black rags. Your eyes dance over his broad shoulders and tapered waist, briefly taking in the raw strength and rippling muscle, before flicking back to the face you can hardly bear to look away from.

“There you are. Thanks, sweetheart.” For a moment he smiles, and it strikes you dumb with the beauty of it. Blinding, distracting. You almost don’t see his eyes go from yellow to red. Almost.

He lunges and you scramble back and turn to run, driven on pure animal instinct, but you barely make it step before something closes around your arms and begins to drag you back under the canopy. You kick and struggle and scream to no avail, clothing ripping as it tangles with the brush as you’re pulled farther and farther away from the familiar trail.

Your next scream gets muffled into a warm palm, but it dies in your throat when something sharp pricks at the skin of your cheeks. Eyes wide with panic, you struggle, only to be bodily turned around to see him giving you a feral smile, interrupted by the finger he raises to his lips. Ivory claws adorn the ends of his fingers, monstrous and lethal, and you realize that they are the same as the ones clutching your face.

“Shhh. Don’t scream again, okay?” He smiles and now that you’re closer, you can see that his teeth are those of a predator. Razor-sharp, carnivorous fangs with serrated edges. How did you miss them before?

You close your eyes and turn around, leaning against a nearby tree as if it will help tether you, or shield you from your current fate. He lets you pull away, but he still crowds up behind you. You can hear his nails—claws—scraping against the rough bark as he leans closer. And the rags on his legs? They aren't rags but fur, you can feel the coarse bristle through the tears in your clothing, his significantly higher body heat leaching into your skin. For a moment, the warmth is comforting.

“Won’t you tell me your name?”

It’s much easier to forget what’s behind you with your eyes closed. As long as you listen to the saccharine sin of his voice, everything will be fine.

You gasp as he grips the back of your arms, impatient for your answer. There’s hot pain burning through you where his claws pierce your flesh. “I want to know what to call you. I think a long time ago I was called something… a name.” There’s a heart-pounding silence as the creature seems to get lost in thought, but his hold on you is no less vicious. The silence breaks with a self-satisfied purr. “Ah yes, Tetsurou is what they called me.”

The sound of his name falling from his lips seems to light a fire within you, and you gather the courage to whisper your own into the night.

Tetsurou repeats it slowly as if he’s savoring it, and the effect is immediate. You fall limp in his grasp and your pain is slowly forgotten, and with the way your blood turns to rivers of liquid fire, you swear there must be something magic to his dulcet tone because you can’t explain the way your body is responding. This heat boiling within you can’t be natural; why would your body be responding so positively to a monster, this creature? As human as he appears, you know for sure he is not. It must be magic. It has to be. Because the alternative is...

He’s silent for a moment before asking slowly, “...Do you like the sound of my voice? Is that it?”

You whimper and nod, keeping your head lowered. Tetsurou grows still behind you and then he emits a small huff, as if amused. Then he purrs your name softly, almost crooning it to you.

The noise it tears from your throat is almost inhuman.

Tetsurou groans. "I've been waiting for you for a long time, did you know that?" A breathless moan rattles in your throat as something hot and wet drags against the side of your neck, despite the sharp claws that still dig mercilessly into your arms. "I can smell you—you—for miles. I can pick your scent out of thousands of others. Would you like to know why? Go ahead and ask me why."

“Why?” You tremble, trying to be still as he shifts behind you, pleased by how quickly you’re beginning to respond. You wait with bated breath as he pauses, teasing you with his silence. Seconds tick by and all you can hear is the rush of your pulse as you wait impatiently for that warm voice of his to speak again.

“Because you have the sweetest blood of anyone in that little forest town.”

You freeze. “Wh—What?”

“In the last three hundred years, I have never hated the curse binding me to this forest, not really. After a few decades, I stopped feeling the hunger; I stopped feeling the loneliness. I was satisfied with my lot, tempting a stranger here and there into turning to face me so I could be allowed to touch them. It was only when I first caught your scent did I truly begin to hate it. I thought I understood madness,” he chuckles lowly, drawing a tingling shiver out of you at the sound. “But I was wrong. I felt true madness knowing I would have to wait for you to come out here on your own, torn with the idea that you never might. I know the legends I’ve created—I enjoyed creating them. It brought me amusement for some years. But I cursed myself every day for years when I realized I may have cost myself the chance to—” A rumbling growl sounds above you, interrupting his rant but you’re still and starstruck, bound by his voice. “For some mere entertainment. No source of entertainment could ever be worth losing this.”

He groans as he presses his nose to your neck and inhales and you gasp as he shifts and you feel something hard and warm pressing into your back.

“Are you still listening?” There’s laughter in his voice that makes your blood sing praises.

“Yes.”

“You really do like my voice, huh?” Tetsurou lowers his tone to a purr that raises pleasurable goosebumps across your skin, heat prickling beneath it.

“Yes,” you moan. You’d give anything to listen to him speak for the rest of your life.

“I guess the spirits did take pity on me when I asked them for something that would give me a chance to keep you.”

You’re barely processing his words anymore. All you’re aware of is how the longer he speaks, the more you feel as if a cocoon of safety is being wove around you, warm and secure. It’s all you’ll ever need.

"I bet you'd do anything I ask." It's almost as if he's talking to himself, but then his words drip like honey and you know he's talking to you once more. "Wouldn't you sweetheart? You'd do anything for me, right? I'd do anything for you, you already know that."

"Um, I—" You feel dizzy. You're drowning in him, any whispers of discontent quieting to the back of your mind as a careful hand traces the column of your throat. The movement is so gentle that you forget to be afraid. There's nothing left but the desire to hear him speak and the curiosity that brought you here in the first place.

"Tell me yes." Tetsurou murmurs.

"Yes," you breathe. "Anything."

An approving growl rumbles in his chest, followed by the sound of shredding fabric. As the brisk night air tickles your skin you realize that it was your clothing being torn from your body.

You gasp as you're pulled away from the tree and spun to face him once more. His eyes are still red, and rapt with hunger. A flutter of fear and anticipation twists in your stomach as your eyes trace lower to see what hangs between his legs. It's no doubt a cock, but much unlike one you've ever seen. It's large and covered in swaths of veins, but it also has a tapered tip that is drooling obscenely and bumps and ridges that you're ashamed to admit heighten your sick curiosity. He's so much bigger than you that you begin to doubt.

Tetsurou traces a claw between the valley of your breasts. "I can't promise it won't hurt, but I can promise to make it worth it. Understand?"

"Y-yes." Your voice shakes.

"Good." Without saying another word you're yanked to his chest. Before you can so much as squeak in surprise, his teeth are buried in the flesh where your neck meets your shoulder.

Tetsurou's moan is completely drowned out by your howl of pain. It hurts so much. You can feel your blood rushing to the wound and down your chest. Thankfully he releases you quickly, his tongue hot as he laps at the streams of red pouring from the wound.

"You taste so good." His eyes are wild, lips and chin dripping, his sharp teeth coated in crimson as he smiles at you. "So good. I knew you'd be perfect."

"H-hurts," you whine, shaking. "Oh my god, it hurts! Tetsurou—"

"Mmm," the beastman shudders. "You sound real good saying my name like that, my darling." He nods along with you as you continue to cry about the pain; he doesn't even think you notice that you're no longer standing as he hovers over you, curiously rutting his throbbing length over your bare cunt. He grins as he notices that you're wet. Not enough for his cock, but he can do that enough for the both of you. "You agreed to this, but don't worry; I won't bite you that deep again. I can't have you bleeding out on me. I want to keep you after all. I just needed to taste you so badly."

There it goes again. The sound of his voice is making your pain float into the background. Your vision fuzzes in and out as you stare up at him, open-mouthed and panting.

"That's my sweet girl. You're so well-behaved," Tetsurou purrs, continuing to slide his length between your folds to stimulate himself. Each drag on your plush skin causes more slickness to gush from the tip of his cock. He's growing impatient but he doesn't want to break you. Not yet.

He's so hot, and you can feel yourself squirming. The heavy weight of him against your cunt is awakening your arousal and your breathing quickens. You're really doing this, and you're enjoying it. One of his ridges catches against your clit, drawing a breathy moan from your lips.

Tetsurou pauses for a moment and grins when you whine in protest. "This? This is enough to make you feel good? Humans are so easy to please."

"Tetsu—" You're cut off as he leans down and kisses you. If you could call it a kiss. His tongue is licking sloppily into your mouth—you shudder at the coppery tang of your own blood—and there's no pattern to his movements. He's simply greedily taking what he wants. It distracts you from the firm press of his cock as he lines up with your slick-soaked core.

But no amount of tongue and spit could distract you from the way he shoves inside your dripping hole. You choke and jerk your head to the side, mouth open wide in a soundless scream as you try to adjust to the sudden, thick intrusion. Between the both of you, you're wet enough, but with no preparation, there's sharp discomfort in how full you are.

Tetsurou groans deeply at how warm and tight you are around his dick, giving a few experimental thrusts, grunting as your walls spasm and protest. "You're a lot tighter than I expected, I'm not sure I can fuck you like this."

"Slow! Gimme a minute!" You find your voice suddenly and beg. "Big, 's too big, it wasn't supposed to fit!"

"Not supposed to fit," Tetsurou barks a small laugh. "My dear sweet, it was always going to. You’re mine, have been since the moment you turned around. You feel amazing, so just relax for me okay? Everything's going to be fine." He lowers himself onto his forearms, but not before grabbing you by the thighs and locking your legs around his tapered waist. He coos your name, moaning when it causes you to clamp down on him even more. "Do you hear me? Relax, darling. Calm down for me."

"Okay, okay. Okay—" you whimper and babble, repeating the word mindlessly as you try to comply. Tetsurou is still whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he begins to fuck into you again, each dulcet syllable turning making you feel as if a current of electricity is lighting up across your whole body. Your toes curl and your eyes clamp shut, chest heaving as you emit loud moans and warbling cries. Tetsurou groans heartily as your pussy relaxes and begins to suck him in, thrusting his hips more fervently until he's battering the entrance of your womb.

"Ah, fuck. There you go. Good girl," he murmurs, pleasure making his voice breathy and warm. A growl rumbles in his throat as you moan and your eyes roll back. He sits back on his calves, keeping you down with a hand on your chest as he rolls his hips into you again. Sharp eyes are watching the way your tits jiggle, the tremble of your thighs, the way you're leaking around his cock, the obscene squelch-like music in his ears.

His eyes zero in on your clit, swollen and throbbing pathetically from neglect. He drags the back of his knuckles across the bundle of nerves, eyes lighting up and taking in the way you moan loudly, back arching as you try to shove your hips towards him for more friction.

“Is that what you like?” Tetsurou muses out loud, not pausing in his thrusts. He does it again, harder, licking his lips when you squeal out a litany of ‘yes’. Your silken walls are throbbing around him, clenching and fluttering. “Those are some pretty sounds. Are you close? Look at me.”

You look up at him with tear-clumped lashes. Something is boiling and twisting inside you with each snap of his hips and all you want to do is reach it. “Please, I wanna cum.”

“You want to cum?” It sounds like he’s mocking you and it makes you gasp, nearly sobbing your reply.

“Tetsurou, please! Yes, yes!”

His grin is feral as he leans in and nips at your breast, drawing his tongue through the blood that slipped down your shoulder. He nudges at your clit once more and his command sends shivers across the planes of your body

"Then touch it. I'm sure you don't want me to. I could… miss." His words are teasing and you recall his claws with a shiver, immediately reaching down and circling your clit desperately. Your head falls back against the earth and you wail out as he starts timing his thrusts with your movements. His pants are getting quicker, interrupted by heavy grunts and groans, each one getting louder.

“Fuck—”

Tetsurou swears and moans your name and it’s the final snap. You come undone with a scream that echoes throughout the trees, and it’s the fierce squeeze of your cunt that tips him over the edge, leaving the beastman to snarl and slam into you one last time before something slick and hot fills you up.

It’s not long before a new story becomes whispered in that quiet little forest town. It speaks of the ghost of a lost woman who wandered too far from the trail one night and was never seen again. If one stops to listen, they might hear her cries echo through the forest at night, an eerie reminder to not stay in the trees too long.

#haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu smut #tw.monsterfucking #tw.blood #yuli writes

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greynatomy · 3 months

Text

where were you in the morning? - two

alessia russo x reader

previous - next

———

When Alessia woke up, she was cuddled into a body causing her to freeze. She remembers the night before very vividly. She loved it, but she’s never done something like it before. She freaks out, needing to get out of there.

Carefully getting out of your grasp, she dresses, making sure she doesn’t leave anything. She stares at your sleeping form for a bit, thinking if what she’s doing is the right choice. Your face looking very peaceful, a small smile can be seen. Biting on her bottom lip, she tiptoes out of the room, not looking back.

Arriving home, Alessia first hops into the shower, cleaning all last night off. She blanked out most of the shower, not really sure how to process what had happened. Alessia wasn’t one to have one night stands. Especially not with strangers, strangers who also happen to be as famous as you are.

A few days later, a couple people from the Arsenal team are gathered at Leah’s house. Everyone was gathered around the living room, a movie being drowned out in the background by all the chatter.

“Hey, what are you watching?” Beth asks, looking over Vic’s shoulder.

“My favorite musician. She posted a teaser for a new song.”

“Let me see.” This got peoples’ attention, wanting to watch too, gathering around Victoria.

liked by victoriapelova, harrystyles and 2,576,446 others

yourinstagram lil something i wrote

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user the lyrics-

↳ user who hurt her

user i need this released NOW

user 💳 take my money 💳

taylorswift can’t wait to hear this!

↳ yourinstagram i’ll text you!

victoriapelova so good!

—

Where were you in the morning, baby? You didn't leave your number for me Left me without a warning, baby Where were you in the morning, baby? How do you, how do you just walk away?

—

“Who hurt her?”

While everyone discussed the song, Alessia sat quietly. Was this about her? No, it couldn’t have been. Right? You were famous, could’ve been another girl in the span of… four days? Yes. No?

She was conflicted. She knew she shouldn’t have left you that morning. It was one of the best she’s ever felt, connecting to someone emotionally - and physically.

“Alessia?” She breaks out of her trance and faces Leah. “You Alright? Been spaced out for a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. What’s on your mind?”

She’s debating whether she should tell them or not. They are her teammates and more importantly, also their friends.

“Okay. This stays here. Okay?” They all nod their heads. “Remember when we went out a few days ago? Well, uh, I met her there.”

“Met who?”

“Y/N Y/LN.”

“What?” “When?” “You’re joking.”

“Okay! Okay! Uh, and I’m pretty sure that song is about me.”

“Wait, wait. Back up for a minute. So, you’re saying you slept with Y/N Y/LN.”

“Yeah.”

“How was she?”

“Katie!”

“Does she know who you are?” Kyra asks, getting everyone back on track.

“She knows my name?”

“That’s all? What else did you talk about?”

Alessia goes into vague detail on what happened, making sure not to share anything very intimate.

“…and we talked about getting breakfast in the morning.”

“And you just left her?”

“I know!” Alessia’s voice raised, then softened. “I know. I regretted leaving the moment the door closed.”

#woso x reader #woso #greynatomy #woso imagines #woso imagine #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso community

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redpenship · 6 months

Text

an: a little fic i wrote in a couple of hours about sonic having terrible hedgehog eyesight <3 (1.6k words)

Sonic can’t see very well.

There’s a lot about the hedgehog that Tails doesn’t know. He doesn’t know Sonic’s birthday, where he comes from, why he doesn’t like to talk . . . his new friend is a big mystery to him, and one that would apparently prefer to remain unsolved, at that.

One thing he does know, however, is that Sonic has very poor eyesight.

Of course, Sonic has never directly revealed this to him. His weak vision has simply become increasingly obvious over the course of their short two months of friendship.

Tails curled up for a nap on their shared blanket around half an hour ago, but despite his growing body’s need for rest, he can’t fall asleep just yet. He’s too busy watching Sonic through the gaps in his tail fur, which he has placed over his snout to conceal his face while he ‘napped’. It’s probably wrong to look at people without them knowing, but he’s too intrigued by Sonic’s bizarre actions to look away.

A few minutes ago, Sonic had put down their pack of matches on a stump in front of him while he opened the canteen to take a sip of water. After putting down the water, he’d looked back up and apparently, in such a short span of time, lost the pack of matches needed to light the fire. He’s been searching since then, notably patting down his surroundings with his hands in lieu of conducting a visual sweep of the area. If anything, it almost seems like he doesn’t trust his vision at all.

It doesn’t take much longer for Sonic to find the matches. He turns the once-missing box over in front of his eyes, a hard expression on his face. Is he upset?

Suddenly, Sonic stiffens in place. His right ear swivels towards Tails, and the young fox knows he’s been found out even before Sonic’s head can follow through on the movement.

They meet eyes through Tails’ fur. Sonic frowns, blinks once, twice, and then turns back to the fire pit.

He avoids Tails for the rest of the night. Tails learns something important that day: Sonic knows he has bad eyesight, and he doesn’t like it when other people know about it too.

Quietly, to himself, Tails swears to pretend he never saw anything. If Sonic doesn't want him to know that he can't see very well, then he'll just act like he never figured it out in the first place.

Sonic's eyesight goes unacknowledged for a whole year, until there’s a storm bad enough to ground the Tornado on Angel Island during what was supposed to be a brief trip to visit Knuckles. The storm winds up passing not too long after sundown, and the clear skies reveal light years of stars and constellations above where they’re resting in the grass.

“The three dots are called Orion’s Belt,” Tails says, pointing to the sky in an effort to guide Knuckles’ gaze to said constellation. “Do you see it?”

Knuckles squints. After a moment, he nods. “Yes, I do.”

They take turns pointing out different stars to each other. Tails is having fun until he remembers the hedgehog sitting beside him.

He glances over. Sonic is staring at the night sky with that same hard expression from the time he lost the matches, lips turned down into a scowl. He isn’t happy at all.

It dawns on Tails for the first time that he might not be capable of seeing the stars. Thinking back, he can’t recall many times Sonic has actually looked up at the sky. His gaze is usually set straight ahead, focused only on what is right in front of him. It does not wander because there is not much else it can see.

“Hey, hedgehog,” Knuckles begins, pulling both Sonic and Tails’ attention towards him. “Are you going to help, or are you just going to sit there and do nothing?”

Sonic’s jaw tenses. He snaps his head away from Knuckles, staring straight ahead at nothing instead. “I’m going to sit here and do nothing, thanks.”

Knuckles smirks. “Why? Do you not know any?”

It’s the wrong thing to joke about. Sharply, Sonic says, “No, I don’t know any.”

In a flash, he’s on his feet at the other side of the meadow. Knuckles rolls his eyes and accuses him of melodrama, but Tails stops listening as he watches Sonic disappear into the woods at the edge of the grass. A rock as big as the Master Emerald has settled in his stomach. He wants to follow him and try to make things better, but knowing Sonic, that would only make things worse . . .

Tails sleeps in the meadow. He doesn’t see Sonic until the next morning, where he largely avoids talking to both Tails and Knuckles until it’s time to go.

Sonic’s eyesight does not impair his ability to forage. His nose twitches continuously while he looks through he forest for food, leading Tails to believe that his sense of smell and hearing carry the bulk of this spatial awareness.

They help him fight badniks, too. Eggman’s machines are loud and smell like metal and oil. During a raid on one of the doctor’s bases, Tails puts this theory to the test by closing his eyes and trying to detect the objects around him.

It works. Even without his sight, he’s able to keep track of nearby badniks pretty well. Sonic isn’t blind, per se, but it becomes evermore clear to Tails that Sonic’s resistance against Eggman would be much more challenging if he didn’t have his other senses to fall back on.

The issue, today, is that those senses have been taken out by an explosion.

It had started as a standard attack on an empire base. As they’d approached the last room in the base, neither of them had noticed the razor-thin tripwire stretched across entryway.

There had been no time to escape. Before Tails could blink, a fiery force knocked him off his feet and slammed him against a metal wall.

His head hurts. He moves to get up, but comes to a stop when he notices a shrill ringing noise overtaking his hearing. The rest of the world is muffled, as though his head were underwater.

If he can’t hear, then Sonic probably can’t, either . . .

That thought is enough motivation for him to slowly rise to his feet. He can’t see Sonic through all the smoke, so he tries to sniff him out to no avail. The excessive smoke is blocking his sense of smell, too.

His heart skips a beat. He needs to find Sonic and get him out of the base before Eggman’s badniks launch their counterattack—without his additional senses to guide him, Sonic has no chance of defending himself.

Tails stumbles around the room, calling out Sonic’s name as he climbs over rubble despite knowing the futility of communicating with sound right now. The chaos of the scene around him is making him desperate. He knows a single explosion isn’t enough to kill Sonic, but the pain in his skull is sharp enough to stunt his logical reasoning and he struggles to resist the anxiety trying to pull him towards his darkest thoughts. There’s always a chance, after all, that Eggman has already arrived with his badnik forces and Tails just can’t hear or smell where they’re fighting Sonic . . .

Eventually, he finds the hedgehog on the other side of the room. A small army of badniks have entered through a recently-blasted hole in the wall. Sonic has not taken notice of them, back to the horde as he digs through a pile of rubble nearby.

One of the buzz bombers is charging a shot. It makes the pain in his head spike almost unbearably, but Tails manages to spin his tails for a boost and tackle Sonic out of the way just before the beam could release from the bee’s stinger. The shot rang out beside them, making contact with the wall instead.

Tails fell on top of Sonic during the tackle, so he quickly scrambles off and turns to face the badniks. They’re charging more shots, and it looks like the Motobugs are going to start moving any second. Tails has to get them out of here now.

He looks back down, ready to pull Sonic to his feet, but stalls for a brief moment when he registers the look on Sonic’s face. There is no hard, bitter expression this time—he just looks terrified. His ears are pinned back against his head, and his eyes dart every which way in desperation to get a grasp on his surroundings. His quills are flared up in a way Tails has never seen before, sharp and poking in all directions to maximize their protective properties. In all their time together, he’s never once witnessed Sonic appear to openly vulnerable and helpless.

He has no desire to prolong Sonic’s suffering. Tails pulls him to his feet, keeping a paw in Sonic’s own so they won’t lose each other. Then, as fast he can without using his tails, he leads them out of the base through the hole the badniks made in the wall.

Tails refuses to stop until knows they aren’t being followed anymore. They stop next to a small stream, where they’re able to wash the soot out of their fur and rest until they’ve recovered enough to begin the trek back to the Tornado and head back to the workshop.

It doesn’t take too long. A couple hours later, Sonic breaks the silence. “Okay, the ringing is gone. I can hear again.”

Tails stares at him for a long time. Sonic squints a little while he looks back at him, and this action is enough to finally make Tails break his promise.

“Sonic, I think you need glasses.”

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #get this guy some fucking contacts please #redposts #my fics

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