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joels-shitty-puns · 7 months

Note

I'm gonna make a request again (sorry your last one was too good for me not to ask again) but this time for a jealous Joel! Maybe the reader and him have been friends for a while and she's oblivious to his flirting and she finally lands a date? How it goes from there can be up to you! I just love the jealous and possessive trope.

The Jealousy Bug

Pairing: Jealous!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Hi!! I'm so sorry this took me so long to write, but thank you for the request!! I hope you like it!! I got a lil carried away... hope its not too much smut.

~~~~~

(Reader and Joel live in Jackson, amid the apocalypse)

Word count: 6.8K (oof)

Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI!! Smut smut smut. P in V sex (likely unprotected but not specified. Its an apocalypse, yo.), masturbation (m and f), sort of dubcon? voyeurism?? sorta?, kissing, talk of genitals and arousal, horny behavior. Explicit language and mean names. Alcohol. Violence: infected, guns, punching, mention of a knife. Joel is kind of a jerk sometimes. Possessive. Mentions of loss and grief (all within S.1 of TLOU). I haven't played part II yet so we're just gonna ignore what we know happens there. Joel and Ellie are happy in Jackson. Joel and Reader are friends and sort of neighbors. Clueless idiots in love. A total asshole of a guy in the town. Lil bit of fluff/romance? Mention of bugs (pill bugs), but not in a gross way. If I missed anything, please let me know, and I apologize!

Other Stuff: Avoidance of reader descriptors, other than reader is AFAB. Mentions of having hair on the noggin. She/her pronouns. Reader is clueless and also clumsy as hell. Reader also drinks coffee and alcohol. Italics indicate thoughts.

__________

It was around 4PM when you filed into the community center for another mandatory patrol meeting. It may be an apocalypse, but even now, you wished this meeting could have been an email instead. Alas, that was a thing of the past, and you were unfortunately stuck listening to the usual spiel about necessary vs. unnecessary items to raid… The importance of remembering to ABC, “Always Be Cautious,” plants that can and can't be eaten, etc.

You sat in your usual spot, the back row next to Joel Miller. A year ago when you first moved to this town, first started patrol, you came into this very room not knowing anyone. Friend groups stuck together, each of the two front rows filled, yet a few empty spaces here and there. Instead, you walked towards the back of the room. A handsome man, who you soon learned was named Joel, sat by himself, three rows back, behind the last full aisle. He was alone. The whole aisle of chairs was empty. He sat with his arms crossed, and you could tell based on his posing that he was not the social type.

You were feeling a bit nervous, having finally found a sort of civilization in this mess, and hoping the people of Jackson accept you and not just shoot you, like most camps do when they see unknown faces. Unsure where to sit, you continued to head towards the back, slightly drawn to the gorgeous gray-haired man in the last row. Not wanting to intrude, you sat at the far end from Joel. You could feel his eyes on you as you sat, but you didn't dare look over and make eye contact. Years of survival instincts have told you that, especially when someone doesn't want to be bothered.

_____

When you first walked into the room, Joel looked up. He sat in the back row, as usual, not wanting to get close to anyone. However, even if he did, nobody gave him the time of day. They have heard stories of what he’s done, they have seen him around town, often grumbling about something. They could tell he wanted to be left alone and they had no interest in testing how badly he wanted to be left alone.

Joel found it easier to not form connections. Tommy kept telling him to make friends, come around more, socialize in the town. But Joel had learned over the years why making connections never ends well. All he has is Tommy and Ellie, and neither of those were his initial decision, but Tommy is his only family, and somehow he let himself care for Ellie.

But when Joel saw you… there was a flash of longing. He saw you smile gently at Tommy with a small wave. He could see you shrink walking to your seat past the cliques. You were beautiful, and if it were pre-pandemic, you'd be the exact type he'd probably take interest to.

But those days are over.

Or… so he thought.

He set his eyes back down on his hands in his lap, avoiding eye contact with you when you sat down at the end of the row from him.

Why did she sit so far away? Am I that horrible to be around? His heart questioned.

You don't want to be near people anyway. Good she sat far away. Leave me alone. His brain tried to argue.

Tommy droned on and on, the meeting nearing an hour by now, and you could feel Joel’s eyes on the side of your face every few minutes. You don't know why he kept staring, but it made you feel nervous. Did you have something on your face or clothes? Did you smell bad?

Tommy knew his brother well, sometimes more than Joel likes to admit out loud, and as he talked, he took note of Joel’s staring. At first his expression looked confused, maybe irritated or disgusted. Then it looked slightly… disappointed. But he kept stealing glances your direction, and so with a smirk, Tommy assigned the two of you to be on patrol together. Joel questioned his reasoning afterward, but he knew there was no point arguing with his brother.

After that day, you patrolled together. You both went to the bar with the group after meetings. You sat closer and closer to Joel. You managed to get some words out of him, and he listened to you chatter on. But it was when you brought him a cup of coffee before patrol one morning that he finally let down his guard. His heart had betrayed his defenses.

“What's this?” He asked, gruffly.

“Coffee, Joel…” you replied with a joking eye roll. “It's black. I know you don't like anything in it.”

He took a sip, shocked to taste that you actually knew how he took his coffee. “How did you know that?”

“I notice things Joel.” You patted his shoulder, walking towards the group.

_____

Now, a year later, the two of you were very close friends. You still surprised him with things you remembered or noticed, but much to his chagrin, the one thing you didn't pick up on were his advances. He'd call you pet names, be sweet to you, treat you like a gentleman, flirt a little, and it was like talking to a robot. You were clueless.

Tonight's meeting finally ended, the large group heading outside to the chill fall air. “You wanna get drinks with the patrol squad?” you asked Joel.

“Wouldn't miss it,” he winked at you, putting his leather jacket on his shoulders.

Although you went as a group, ultimately you and Joel spent most of the nights in your own little bubble, occasionally making space in your circle for Tommy, or Maria if she joined.

Tonight, the two of you sat at the bar, the patrol group spread throughout the room at different tables. Joel excused himself to use the restroom, and while he was gone, Jimmy, one of the other patrol members approached you. Hurrying before Joel returned, he flirted and asked you out on a date. You told him you'd think about it, that you weren't sure if you were ready for a relationship after years of caution.

Not technically a lie, you thought. Although you really just weren't ready for a relationship because your heart was already taken by your handsome best friend.

Joel returned just in time to see Jimmy walking away. “What did he want?” Joel grumbled. “Ah nothin, just wanted to say hi while getting a drink,” you lied. Joel accepted this answer and the two of you drank into the night. At the end of the evening, you seemed pretty drunk. Jimmy offered to walk you home, but before you had a chance to reply, Joel replied for you.

“I'll take her home, thanks.” He bit, turning you away from Jimmy. “I don't like the idea of that boy walkin’ you home. Don't trust ‘im. ‘Specially not when you're in this condition,” he wrapped an arm around you, shuffling you toward the door.

“You don't think I can handle myself, Joel?” You asked him, pulling away, a little bit irritated at him treating you like a weakling. “I seem to do just fine on patrol,” you argued.

“I know that, sugar. I didn't mean it like that. I just don't trust that guy. Heard how he goes through women. Don't want him trying’ anything with you,” he brushed his hand over your hair, causing you to soften at his words and actions.

You gasped lightly. “Is THE Joel Miller… jealous?” You knew he wasn't, but why not test the waters?

“What? Jealous? Of what? No ‘m not.” he balked. “Just lookin’ out for you…”

“Mmhm… you just wanna be the only big strong man walking me home, huh?” You teased, tripping over your own feet.

Joel caught you in his arms. “Big strong man, huh? ‘S that what you think of me?”

Shit… did I say that? You panicked. Maybe I'm more drunk than I thought…

Deciding to tease it off, you replied, “well you do always seem to catch me when I fall…” with a wink.

Falling in more ways than one… you thought, frustrated.

He rubbed his neck with the hand not holding you upright. You could almost see a pink tinge to his cheeks.

No, that has to be the lights playing tricks on my eyes… you thought. No way Joel Miller was blushing at your words.

“I kinda have to, ya big klutz. Practically a liability. I oughta tell Tommy to add a safety section on patrolling with you,” he bantered.

“Ah, shut up” you laughed with a push, causing yourself to lose balance instead of Joel. He just gave a knowing look, causing you both to laugh as you continued walking, now side by side instead of him holding you up.

After a few moments of silence, you spoke up. “You know, I could've walked myself home, Joel,” you stumbled, giggling.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around you again, propping you up. “Don't worry about it. Let's just get you home. You've had way too much to drink.”

“You're so sweet Joel,” you pouted at him, booping his nose. “Joelly Joel.” You giggled. “Jolly Joelly.” Another giggle. “I dunno why people think you're so grumpy. I think you're just a big teddy bear,” you closed your eyes, leaning your head on his shoulder while he stumbled forward, trying to keep you upright.

“Who says I'm grumpy, darlin’?” He tilted his head towards you, smirking. “The whole town, silly. Silly Joelly. Joely-poly.” You gasped abruptly, causing Joel to jerk and turn to face you. “What? What is it?” His hand reached for his knife on his hip. Old habits die hard.

“Joely-poly!!” You squealed. “Awe! Roly-polies. Remember those!? I used to love them when I was little.” You pouted. “Before this whole world went to shit.”

Joel thought back to the little pill bugs, playing in the dirt with them when he was younger. Teaching his own daughter about them. His heart aches for what he lost, but he also thinks of Ellie. He bets she would love the little bugs too.

“That's a cute nickname for you,” you smiled. “They're so cute. Just,” you booped his nose. “Like.” Boop. “You,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Another gasp from your lips.

He flinched again. “Darlin’, if you don't quit that I swear-”

“Joeeeel!” You pouted. “Do you think the roly-polies all died off with the infection!?” Your eyes welled up.

“Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. There's probably still some out there. Bugs could get cordyceps long before the fungus attacked humans, and they were still alive back then.” You looked up into his deep brown eyes through your fluttering lashes. “You really think so?” You leaned in, placing both your hands on his cheeks. His breath caught in his chest. “Darlin’, you drank a lot tonight-” you cut off his sentence, running your hands down his neck, resting your palms on his chest. His heart was beating a mile a minute. If he didn't know better, he'd worry his heart would leap out and fly away.

Your eyes lit up and you slid off his chest, lowering clumsily to the ground and gripping his sides for balance. You were now on your knees, eye level with his crotch, hands on his hips. His breath was ragged and his stomach full of twirling butterflies. “Wh-what do you think you're doin’?” He asked nervously. You looked up at him with big eyes, your hands slowly falling down from his hips to his thighs as you tried to balance yourself in your drunken state. He couldn't help but feel his pants begin to tent at the position you were in. He would never take advantage of you in your current state, but trying to ignore the desire brewing in his body after so many months of unrequited feelings was challenging. Did you finally see his advances for what they were? Feelings instead of friendliness?

You grinned up at him, finally regaining balance. “I'm gonna go look for ‘em!” you turned and waddled away on your knees, heading a couple feet away, towards a patch of flowers off the path.

She just needed to use me as a ladder, or what…? Joel thought to himself with a sigh and shaking his head in disappointment, his sexual frustration at its breaking point.

You crawled forward, falling onto your hands and knees in the soft dirt. Joel quickly stepped forward to try and grab you but realized, despite your lack of grace, you meant to do that. “Ugh… darlin', it's dark out here. It's cold. You're drunk. Let's get you home.”

“I'm looking for buggies, Joel!!” You leaned towards a leaf, arching downward so that your face was closer to the ground, ass up.

“Oh, have mercy…” Joel groaned under his breath, his eyes drifting downward. Your ass was up in the air, facing him, the fabric of your dress having fallen forward towards your front. Your light pink panties were on full display for Joel, leaving little to his imagination in this position. Joel subtly adjusted his pants, looking up to the sky and shaking his head in a silent plea.

You whined. “Joel, I don't see any.” You leaned farther forward, wiggling your butt somehow higher. Joel looked around, panicked at the thought that someone else might see you in this position. But luckily, you were close to your house and it was just the two of you out here. He turned back to you again. “I think it's time you get up and we go in-” you moved further forward, the streetlight shining above you and illuminating your ass. Joel tried to be a gentleman, but his eyes betrayed him. As he snuck another glance, he couldn't help but notice a little wet spot over the crotch of your panties. “In-inside…” he finished his sentence, words catching in his throat. He gulped, trying to divert his eyes.

Taking a shaky breath and stepping forward, trying to ignore the throbbing need in his pants, he lightly grabbed your arm. “It's time to go sweetheart. The bugs are sleepin’ I think.”

You looked at him and smiled mischievously. “I know, Joel,” you winked. Jumping up, you scampered towards your house, leaving Joel to wonder what the hell just happened.

“Woman's gonna be the death of me,” Joel muttered under his breath to himself. He caught up to you, just as you both approached your house. “Joel, I don't wanna go home. Can't I stay with you? And Ellie?” you batted your eyelashes at him. He rubbed his neck. “Ellie's with a friend tonight. But, you do have a point. You probably shouldn't be left by yourself in this state. Don't want you gettin’ hurt, or sick, and bein’ all alone.”

“Such a gentleman, Joel.” You touched his bicep, the two of you walking towards Joel's house across the street.

Hardly, he thought, grimacing at the reason he was aching in his trousers, feeling like an old creep, and a terrible excuse for a friend.

Once inside Joel's house, he gave you a baggy sleep shirt and a glass of water with some crackers to help with the alcohol. You changed, brushed your teeth with a spare toothbrush, and used the restroom. He let you have his bed, while he took the couch down the hall, scrunching his legs up to barely fit.

_____

Joel tried his hardest to ignore what he saw earlier and just go to bed, but the aching only continued, making it impossible to sleep. Sure that you must have fallen asleep by now, tucked away in his bed down the hall, he quietly reached into his pajama bottoms and boxers, pulling out his rock-hard penis. Even the mere touch of removing himself from his pants caused him to hiss, so worked up he could have cum just watching you bent over earlier.

He was a gentleman, but he was still a man, and one that hadn't been with a woman in a very long time. With as many people as he'd lost by one means or another, he'd told himself he wouldn't get close to anyone else. Sarah's mom. Sarah. Tess. Bill and Frank. Sam and Henry. He almost thought he had lost Tommy before Jackson, too. It was against his wishes that Ellie crawled her way into his heart, and then he almost lost her as well. He was beginning to think maybe it was him. He was cursed, doomed to have anyone he loved ripped away from him.

Which is why when you came to Jackson, he tried his best to ignore you. But you always greeted him, cheerful and sweet, like a little ball of sunshine that was somehow untarnished by the storm clouds of an apocalypse.

He was irritated to realize that he had made room in his heart for you. You caused an ache in his heart that yearned to be filled. A missing piece in his soul. A place for him to someday fit, tangled between sheets and loving words. It had been about a year since you moved to Jackson, and he still feared getting too close to you, yet he would try his hardest to woo you the way a gentleman should. Sweet nicknames, flirting, gentle touches. You never picked up on it. Whether or not you felt the same, he stupidly fell in love. Unsure if it was mutual, yet pretty sure it wasn't after all this time, he tried to ignore the dirty thoughts revolving around you when the late-night urges would hit him. Somehow it felt wrong.

But tonight, it was hard to avoid. Having you touch him. His face, his neck, his chest, his hips, his thighs. Kneeling eye level with his crotch. Slinking away, sticking your barely covered ass in the air, letting your wet panties be shown to him and only him. He couldn't get you out of his head as he stroked himself. First slowly, but then harder and faster, trying to reach his climax with the thought of him burying himself in that sweet spot underneath your wet underwear. How he longed to see you with his own eyes, begging for him.

He tried to be quiet, to keep himself hidden from you down the hall, but the noise of skin on skin grew slightly louder with each of his quiet moans and panting breaths that managed to slip from his lips. Imagining himself buried deep inside you, taking you from behind in the same position he saw you in earlier, imagining the tight grip around him and the slick noises he could only fantasize about. He could practically hear you moaning and sighing, the sound seeping from his subconscious to the living room. He pumped harder, swirling his thumb around the head, drooling with precum, as his climax grew closer. He could feel his strokes becoming less controlled and his balls pulling upward as he began to shoot load after load of white hot release up under his shirt onto his stomach. Stroking himself through it, he milked his last few ropes of cum out before laying back to catch his breath, slowly tucking himself back away in his pants.

Coming back to his senses, he realized the sounds of your moans and whimpers that he was imagining were still happening. Taken out of his fantasies when he finished, there was no reason for the sounds to still be in his head. Needing to grab a cloth from the linen closet down the hall anyway, he walked, nearing his bedroom door, and heard the unmistakable sound of you pleasuring yourself. Quietly, he padded down the hallway, closer to the door. He could tell you were trying to be quiet, but could still hear you, soft whimpers and pants, surrounded by wet schlick noises.

Fuck, he thought. He could feel himself already getting excited again, despite having just released a few minutes ago. He desperately wanted to join you in his bed, or at the least, stand by the door and listen to your sounds while pleasuring himself, but he wasn't going to be a creep, nor scare you to death. You were still his friend. Even if he did want to move the couch across the living room to hear you better.

_____

Meanwhile in Joel's room, you had tried to sleep. You really had. But tossing and turning, each roll causing your nose to be surrounded with his scent, you were thrown into a frenzy, like an animal in heat. Each smell of his cologne, shaving cream, deodorant, and natural body scent that you picked up from his bed sent a wave of arousal directly to your core. You wondered how many times he'd pleasured himself in this bed and how frequently. You wondered if he ever thought of you while doing it, imagining himself buried deep to the hilt inside of you, each drag of his cock more perfect than the last, much like you were imagining now.

You would be lying if you didn't say there were a lot of handsome men in Jackson. Granted, you had been without romance for a very long time, but still. Many of them were single, and some of them were very sweet and friendly. Yet for some strange reason, your heart had been drawn to Joel. The first moment you saw him, with his silvery curls and his grumpy face, his shining brown eyes and his patched beard, you were smitten. You were a bit disappointed that he seemed to be a massive grump, but despite what everyone said, he was always nice to you. Granted, you were always nice to him, so why should he be anything less, right?

He was always a total gentleman, calling you names like darlin’ and sweetheart, his southern drawl pulling you in like a lasso. His care for his unofficially-adopted daughter warmed your heart, and you could see he was a real family man from both their relationship, and the one he shared with his brother. It warmed your heart, especially when you befriended Tommy and Ellie, getting to hear them talk about Joel. Seeing the love they feel, even if they give him a hard time sometimes. You didn't see how people felt Joel was cruel or heartless, even with the stories you heard. Times were rough, and people did what they had to for survival.

You were always too chicken to make a move, and you figured he wouldn't be interested anyway. Surely him calling you those names and being sweet with you was just his Southern gentlemanly nature, right? You were nice to him, he was nice to you.

So tonight, when Jimmy, the local heartthrob in town, asked you on a date, you told him you'd think about it and let him know. Yeah, you claimed you weren't sure how you felt about relationships after all the world had become. Truth was, you wanted a last chance with Joel before throwing in the towel and settling for Jimmy.

Sure, Jimmy was handsome. Blonde hair, blue eyes, rugged, yet boyish. Several of the women in town had crushes on him, and he had had several of the women in town. You weren't clueless to the rumors about his playboy behavior. But it had been a while and well, you weren't getting any younger. It might be nice to have a partner, even if he did only want a short little fling.

So throwing back a few drinks, you decided you needed the liquid courage to finally make a move at Joel. One last effort to get his attention. You still didn't want to say anything to him, lest it ruin your current friendship that had grown so strong, but you could certainly use your body to entice a little. Drinking just enough to be brave, yet not so drunk that you were completely out of it, you gave an impression you were much drunker than you were, and needed Joel to help you out. Jimmy had almost been the one to walk you home, to your disappointment, before Joel stepped in, seeming slightly irritated about Jimmy's offer.

Yet after practically waving your ass in his face, showing him your panties (which you were sure looked wet), being inches from his crotch at knee height, and hanging on him all the way home, to now sleeping in his house and his bed, you were quite sure he didn't feel the same. Obviously his gestures were pure gentlemanly charm if he didn't bite after tonight's show.

So you tried to sleep, still a little drunk, but getting drunker off his scent. You tried to ignore the ache between your legs but the thought of him in this bed, groaning as his hand pumped his member to completion, made you throb. Soaked and antsy, you finally gave in and stuck your hand under the waistband of your panties. You let your imagination run wild, picturing him taking you in this bed, bringing you to bliss more than once. You could practically hear him groaning and panting, the sound seeping from your subconscious to the bedroom.

Tomorrow you would likely tell Jimmy yes. But tonight, you would try your best to get Joel out of your system, one stroke of your fingers at a time. But as you finished, coming with a whisper of Joel's name under your breath, you could still hear the groans and pants from Joel. Climbing out of bed, you moved to the door, pressing your ear against it. You could just barely hear the sounds of him panting and groaning, intermittent with the fapping of skin on skin. Delightedly surprised, you listened harder, feeling your pussy drool at the thought. How desperately you wanted to go out into the living room and climb on top of him. But he might not want that… he probably just couldn't sleep. Probably nothing to do with the scene you put on earlier. So instead, you slinked back to his bed, opting for round two.

At some point, the two of you fell asleep, panting and writhing with the self-induced pleasure, and the sound of each other through the door.

_____

The next morning, you awoke, walking down the hall to see Joel in his pajama bottoms and no shirt, making coffee. Your eyes scanned his broad shoulders and back, naked and tan. Bringing you back to last night's events, you felt your breath catching in your chest.

“M-morning” you stuttered out, nervously.

Joel jumped, having not heard you. He turned, greeting you with a good morning. A faint blush crept across his cheeks and he quickly turned his head to pour a cup of coffee, offering you some as well. Thanking him, the two of you sipped in silence, both stealing glances at the other and thinking of the night before. Both of you felt like you had a dirty little secret the other didn't know.

“Thanks again for taking care of me last night,” you added. In more ways than one, you thought.

“Of course, darlin’. Couldn't have you walkin’ home all alone or getting sick in the middle of the night. You're always welcome here,” he smiled.

“Well, I guess I better head to my house now,” you sighed. “See you later at patrol?”

“Course. Take care, sugar.” He brushed his hand over your arm. That's new… you thought. But still, probably friendly, unfortunately.

____

Hours later, you show up to patrol, noticing Joel hasn't arrived yet. Still a few minutes early, you look at the map, thinking over the route. You felt a tap on your shoulder, and turned around to see Jimmy.

“Hey, Jimmy,” you greeted, feeling slightly awkward. You assumed he probably wanted (and deserved) an answer. You rubbed your arm nervously, staring at the ground, wondering what to tell him. He was handsome, you thought, and you weren't getting anywhere with Joel.

“Did you, uh” Jimmy scratched behind his ear, “give any more thought to that date?”

Geesh. Not a lot of thinking time here…

“I did,” you replied. “I think… My answer is yes. I'll go out with you.” You felt a pang of regret in your stomach, but you wanted a connection, and you just weren't getting that from Joel, despite what you wanted to think from last night.

Jimmy grinned. “Really?” He picked up your hand, holding it in his. “That's great. I know you have patrol today, but maybe Friday? I'll meet you at your house at 6?”

“Sure,” you gave a small fake smile. “Sounds great.” He still held your hand, warm and soft and nothing like the rugged, large, callused hands of hard-working Joel. Although Joel has never held your hand, the times he's touched your arms, or held you up on your walk from the bar, he left a trail of goosebumps and butterflies in his wake, despite being warm to the touch.

Jimmy went to kiss your hand, just as Joel walked up. “What’s goin’ on here, huh?” He asked, seeming almost… angry, looking from Jimmy, to your connected hands, over to your face. “Joel,” Jimmy dropped your hand, giving Joel a curt nod.

“Jimmy..” Joel replied, teeth clenched.

“I'll see you Friday,” Jimmy smiled at you, touching your shoulder before walking away.

“What did that little asshole want?” Joel growled.

“Geez Joel, chill out. What's your problem? I'm not allowed to talk to people?” You crossed your arms.

“I toldja last night. I don't trust that kid. Too busy sleepin’ around with the whole town. What's he talkin’ to you for?” Joel furrowed his brow, looking over at Jimmy across the room, now talking to some of the other patrolmen.

“Gosh Joel.. seriously what is wrong with you? First of all, he's hardly a kid. He's at least in his thirties. Second of all, everyone he's been with, I'm sure has been consensual, otherwise Tommy would have kicked him out of the town. And lastly, but probably more important. What do you mean “what is he talking to you for?” You mocked in a deep voice. “Like I'm the only option he has left? Like I'm not deserving of a man talking to me? Not that it’s any of your business, friend, but for your information, Jimmy is taking me on a date on Friday. So fuck off, Joel.” You started to stomp away angrily, grabbing your pack off the desk.

“The fuck he is,” Joel muttered under his breath, so quiet you didn't hear and grabbing his pack as well.

_____

Five hours. Five hours of riding in complete silence, checking out abandoned buildings in complete silence, and taking breaks in complete silence. Even your first patrol wasn't this quiet, and you couldn't help but feel like he was somehow angry at you.

As irritated as you were with him, not talking to him somehow felt worse. This wasn't like him. Is this the grumpy side everyone talks about? Is this Joel, the asshole you have yet to meet?

Feeling confused, your eyes started to cloud, slightly teary with anger and sadness, yet also a bit of dread at going out with Jimmy. You blinked your eyes, sorting through the abandoned drug store you and Joel were in.

Finding some condoms on a shelf, you threw them in your pack. “What're you doin’?” Joel asked. “Those can't be sold, didn't you pay attention to Tommy? They're rarely effective this old.”

“Yes I paid attention, Joel. I know they can't be sold. They're for me. I figured it's better than nothing,” you replied bitterly. “I have a date in a couple days, I want to be prepared,” you scowled. Joel’s jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything, instead turning to look the other direction of the aisle.

Crouched down to search the bottom shelf for other items, Joel was still turned away from you, keeping lookout on the other end of the aisle.

You didn't even hear the stalker leap around the corner from the shadows and pounce on you. It opened its mouth, fungal strands spreading from its mouth towards your face. Pure fear pulsed through your veins.

“Joel!!!!!” You cried out, using all your strength to try and push the infected off of your body, but it was too strong.

You screamed and kicked, struggling to break free, when Joel fired his shotgun, shooting the enemy in the head and immediately running over to you. Throwing the infected off of your body as if it was weightless, Joel scooped you into his arms. His lips moved but you heard nothing. Your ears rang, high pitched squeals from adrenaline, fear, shock, and the bang of the shotgun.

Joel pawed over your body, roughly inspecting you for bites and wounds in a frenzy. When he didn't find any, he held you in his arms again. “It's okay baby, it's okay. You're alright sweetheart. Come back to me, it's okay. You're okay.” Your hearing must have returned. He rocked you, tears welling from your eyes and his. “You're okay. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” He kissed your ear and the side of your head, still rocking you in a hug, sitting on the floor, inches from the now-dead infected. The two of you needed to get out of here, but neither of you could move yet.

Finally you spoke. “Why are you sorry Joel?” You asked with a sniffle. You wrapped your arm around his back, the other hand finding the back of his head, gripping his curls gently.

“I'm sorry for how I've been actin’ all day. I'm sorry I didn't see that stalker before he attacked. I'm sorry for being so possessive earlier. I'm sorry,” he held you tighter.

You pulled back to look into his eyes. “Joel, you couldn't have heard or seen that stalker. That's what they do best. You saved me and that's all that matters. As for earlier, you were being an asshole, and it did really hurt my feelings. All this time people have said you're such a jerk, and I didn't see it,” you pulled away from his grip, “but today I did.” You looked at your lap. “Don't I deserve to go on a date? Don't I deserve to have someone love me?” You picked at the hem of your pants, avoiding his eye contact.

“Oh, darlin', I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to feel that way. I just - you deserve something real, not a hookup like that guy wants. I know his type. He'll sleep with you and toss you aside. You deserve to be treated like a lady.”

You snorted. “Yeah, Joel. That's how things are nowadays, too. Gentleman just waiting to sweep me off my feet. Shit, you literally just saved me from near-death, something that happens all the time today, and yet you're saying I deserve love? To find romance? Yeah, right.”

Joel didn't say anything. He just looked into your eyes, lips pursed and moving to the side in thought. His eyes drifted to your lips and back up to your sight.

You continued. “I don't even like Jimmy,” you said quietly. “I like someone else, but I just got tired of waiting and wanted some kind of connection. Even if it's just a night in bed.” At the last part of your sentence, Joel grimaced, almost in pain. And then he thought.

“Wait,” he sat back a little, scanning your face. “Who do you like?”

You gulped. Why not a little more adrenaline? “Well, it was you, until you started acting like an asshole. But I realized you probably didn't feel the same way a while ago. Especially after I practically threw myself at you last night.”

“Threw yourself at me last night? What are you talkin’ about? You were drunk,” Joel answered.

“I wasn't that drunk, Joel. My movements were pretty planned. The placement of my touches on your body. My ass angled up in your direction. I wanted you,” you added, pointedly.

Joel looked like he was solving a complicated math problem. “So you… last night when you… I heard you, in bed, pleasurin’ yourself. Were you… thinking about me?”

You looked up at him in shock and panic. “You heard me?” You asked in a frantic whisper.

“Yeah, I uh… I did. I got up to get a towel and heard your uh… sounds” he cleared his throat.

“I guess I should tell you then that I heard you too,” you said with a smirk.

Joel swallowed, hard. “Y-ya heard me?”

“Yep” you replied, popping your lips on the p sound.

Joel had nothing to lose at this point. “I was thinking about you,” he proclaimed. “Thinkin’ bout that wet spot on your panties when you flashed your ass in the air. Wishin’ I was buried inside you.” He ran his hand across your thigh.

Your breathing picked up. “I was thinking about you too. Wishing you'd bust through that door and take me in your bed, running my nails down your back as we came together…” you mimicked the motion with your fingers down his jacket-clad back.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes closing. You glanced down at the noticeable bulge in his jeans. “I like you too, I just never thought you felt the same. Y’never seemed to pick up on any of my sweet talkin’ or my names for ya.”

“I just figured you were being nice,” you replied, glancing back into his eyes.

“You should know by now, I'm only nice to you,” he growled. “I'm sorry I ruined that today,” he glanced at your mouth, licking his lips. “Was just jealous. Want you all for myself,” he stroked your thigh again.

You sighed at the feeling, pulling him by his collar to kiss him deeply. The kiss was frantic and rough, both of you trying to get as much of each other as possible, a year of build-up boiling at the surface. Teeth clashed and tongues danced and you pulled each other closer, grasping at clothes and skin.

The two of you broke the kiss, needing a gasp of air. You started to take off your shirt when Joel stopped you. “Whoa, darlin'. I want you just as bad, but not here,” he gestured to the old building. “It's dangerous, not to mention gross in here. I wasn't kidding when I said you deserve romance,” he stood, pulling you to your feet. “We're about a 20 minute ride from base, let's head home. Make your fantasy of fuckin’ in my bed come true,” he winked, giving a smack to your ass.

_____

The 20 minute ride felt never-ending as you both stole glances at each other, your panties still wet with arousal, and him still sporting the tent in his pants, which was hard to miss.

Finally making it back to the stables, you both quickly undressed the horses and put gear away, about to head out of the barn when Jimmy and his partner rode up. “Hey, babe,” he called to you. It sounded wrong from his mouth. Joel tensed at your side.

Dismounting his horse, Jimmy strolled over to you. “Hey Jimmy, I was thinking. I don't think I want to go on that date after all. I'm sorry, I just don't feel the same way.”

“What?” Jimmy asked in disbelief.

“I know, I'm sorry if I hurt you. I- I like someone else. I just didn't think they felt the same way,” you replied sheepishly.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“What?” You were in disbelief.

“Fuck you, bitch. One of the few women in this town who won't fuckin’ put out. I was even gonna take you on some shitty date before I got you into bed, and now you make a fool of me? Nah, I don't think so,” he stalked towards you angrily.

You stepped back, worried what he might do, but Joel stepped in first, nailing a punch at Jimmy's nose. “Don't you dare talk to her like that,” Joel yelled.

Tommy came running in, hearing the commotion. After hearing what happened, it was decided that Jimmy wouldn't be welcome in this town any longer.

Satisfied, you grabbed Joel's hand. “Why don't I show you who I really belong to?” You looked up at him, biting your lip.

“Lead the way, baby.” He pushed you forward, smacking your ass.

The two of you stumbled into his house, kissing with little regard for objects. Luckily, Ellie was still at a friend's house. The door slammed closed and you kissed furiously, undressing as you walked. Finally you reached his bedroom and fell onto the bed, where he made all your fantasies of the night prior come true. The two of you enjoyed the taste of each other's mouths, kissing and licking, while he pounded into you, leaving you breathless and screaming his name as you both came.

“That was even better than I imagined,” you sighed, rolling over onto his chest.

“That's my girl,” he cooed, kissing your head and rubbing your back.

“Mine,” he whispered.

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azrielsdove · 5 months

Text

Don’t Blame Me: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Suggestive

(loosely based on the don’t blame me x LWYMMD mashup from the eras tour ngl)

***

You heard a desperate, strangled shout of your name as he went down. You screamed, anger and fear taking over. No, no, no, you chanted in your head, diving in the direction Azriel had fallen. This couldn’t happen, not to him.

The two of you were sent on a mission to investigate unknown creatures breaching the borders of the Night Court. Rhys wasn’t even able to tell you what they were, just that they were more dangerous than anything you’d dealt with before. You had been given explicit instruction to leave once you found where they were residing and report back the location. From there a larger team would be sent out to eradicate the threat.

You had been tracking them carefully for days, trying to find their home base. You were beginning to think they didn’t have one, that these creatures were nomadic. Until an hour ago. Azriel had practically dragged you as high as you could go in the sky, pointing to a cluster of trees a while away. “There,” he explained, “they reconvene there during the day.” You nodded, preparing to fly back to Velaris and tell Rhys. Azriel caught your arm, shaking his head. “I want to track them a little longer. Make sure I have the pattern right so when we come back we can have the best chance at taking them out.”

You didn’t have a good feeling about staying out, but you agreed anyway. It was important to ensure the information you had was as detailed as possible. That’s how you ended up here, wind rushing past your face as you free fell down to where Azriel landed. Please be okay.

You dropped to the ground and surveyed the area for any sign of life. There was nothing there. If you hadn’t seen Azriel fall yourself you would have assumed nothing was ever down here. You took off through the trees, heading in the direction of what you assumed was their camp. You listened carefully for any sound, whether it be danger or Azriel himself. You were nearing the clearing he had spotted earlier when you heard a slow hum, ducking back behind a tree and tucking your wings tight against you. You poked your head out to watch two of the creatures move farther in the area, Azriel dragged between the two of them. Your heart ached at the blood running down his face and his limp body.

You followed the creatures until you were at the edge of the camp, watching their moves intently. The tied Azriel to a tree trunk, moving and muttering around him. You were taking in how many you saw, estimating that about 30 of these things were living here. Your nose wrinkled at the sight of the insect-like beings, their long stingers the supposed most dangerous part of them. The creatures were roughly the size of an Illyrian soldier, resembling wasps more than any type of fae. Large, disgusting wasps. The hum grew louder as what you supposed was the leader approached Azriel. Your toes curled as you watched the way it yanked his face up, inspecting the unconscious male.

It turned to one of its workers, a horrible clicking sound coming from its mouth. The other responded in the same way, the language grating against your ears. They turned back to Azriel, continuing to talk about him. You wished more than anything you could understand what they were saying. You looked over Azriel again, noticing that his blades were still strapped to his body. Did the creatures not realize what they were? Or were they truly so deadly they didn’t need to worry about disarming their enemies? A chill ran through your spine at the thought.

The leader let out a loud screech and the others filed into neat rows in front of it. You paled at the sight of them all together. What were you going to do? You desperately called for Rhys in your mind, knowing he likely would never hear you. Even if he did, how long would it take him to get here? Azriel might not have that much time left.

The leader gave some sort of command, and you watched in horrified shock as they all opened their mouths. Long, sharp, straw-like tubes came out, heading straight towards Azriel. You didn’t have time to think before you ran out there, quick enough to take them by surprise and get in front of him. The creatures all stopped, taking in this new sight in front of them. Adrenaline was pumping through your body, the only thought you had was to save Azriel.

Don’t blame me.

You pressed your back to his front, reaching behind to grab on to one of the swords strapped to his chest. Your warrior eyes darted around the creatures, desperately searching for any sign of weakness.

Don’t blame me.

The leader moved towards you, that horrible straw coming straight to your face instead. In a split-second decision you ripped the sword from its place on Azriel’s chest, a loud scream tearing from your throat as you swung. Tense silence spread through the woods, followed by a sickening squelch as the creature split in half.

Don’t blame me for what you made me do.

The other creatures all swarmed towards you at once, your screams and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor echoing through the woods around you. You became feral, tapping into the deepest parts of your Illyrian training. All you knew was to not let them touch Azriel. One of those horrid straws sank into your thigh, a searing pain ripping through your skin. You yelled, the next strike aimed at the creature who attacked. The wound burned like acid had been poured into your bloodstream, and knowing the way these creatures worked it probably had. You couldn’t let that stop you, not when Azriel was in danger.

Look what you made me do.

You fought back with more anger, cutting down creature after creature. You were a force of pure power, midnight blue siphons a thing of deadly beauty. Another straw embedded itself into your arm, the sword clanging to the ground. You wrapped your uninjured hand around the pulsating thing, ripping it out of your skin. You squeezed your hand around it, harder and harder until you felt the satisfying pop of it breaking. The creature it was attached to howled and you shot it square in the chest with your power. You looked around, noting there were only three of these left. Even with your arm and leg out of commission, you felt you could finish these last few off.

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy.

Your uninjured arm slid down, pulling out a dagger you had strapped to your thigh. You surveyed the three creatures around you, deciding to go for the middle one. You roared, jumping forward and latching on to the nasty beast. Your dagger rammed into its chest and you slid down, your weight pulling the blade down its body. It screeched as you were showered with its sticky green blood, collapsing backwards. You turned to the other two, adrenaline dulling the pain of your injuries as you pulled out a second dagger.

Oh, Lord save me, my drug is my baby I’ll be using for the rest of my life.

The two convened on you at the same time and you swung out both arms, spinning in a death dance with the blades. You landed on one knee in front of Azriel, twin thuds from behind you letting you know you struck true. Your breathing was heavy as you looked up, up into his wide eyes. He murmured your name and you dropped the daggers, the adrenaline rushing out of you. You winced at the sudden pain in your arm and leg, spreading quickly from your intense use of them. You fell forward, body shaking while you tried to push yourself up. You had to untie Azriel, he had to get out of here.

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy.

You forced yourself up with a cry, fingers undoing the knots the creatures had used to keep Azriel trapped. He pulled out of them the second he could, catching you as your weakened body fell against him. “I got you, I got you,” he whispered, cradling you tight to his chest before shooting off into the sky. Far, far away from the carnage you unleashed on those creatures who dared to threaten him.

***

“No, Rhys, i’ve never seen anything quite like it. She took out all of them. Heavily injured on top of that.” You recognized Azriel’s voice, muffled as if he was standing behind a door. You tried to open your eyes, but your eyelids felt as if they were ten thousand pounds each.

“That can’t be. You’re certain no one else was around? I’ve never heard of one single person taking out 30 of them. I’ve rarely heard of someone taking out just one on their own.” Rhysands voice was contemplative, trying to understand how you could have pulled off such a feat.

“I know that. I saw her do it Rhys. She was a true force of raw power.” Azriel sounded…in awe of you. You forced your eyes open, blinking as you adjusted to the soft light pouring in from the windows. You looked around the room, realizing Rhys and Azriel must be standing right outside the cracked door. You tried to sit up, a loud gasp of pain ripping from you at the action.

The sound alerted the two males outside, the door flinging open as they rushed in. “How are you feeling?” Azriel demanded, immediately coming to your side. You tried to sit again, the pain knocking the breath out of you. “Let me help,” he said softly, gently pulling you into a sitting position.

“I think i’m okay. In a lot of pain. What happened?” Your throat was sore, voice gravelly. You assumed you had been out for some time. Rhys observed you carefully, like you were a specimen he was investigating.

“You took on a hoard of those creatures. Alone. Do you remember that?” His question was almost accusatory, as if he didn’t believe the story.

You nodded. “Yes.” The reminder of those horrible bug creatures made you shiver, the sounds of them dying echoing in your ears.

“Can you show me? How you did it?” Rhys’ eyes bore into you, almost a threat. You stared right back, not appreciating the doubt from your friend.

“Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.” A claw stroked your mental shields and you dropped them easily. The memories of the fight began playing, the anger you felt overtaking your senses. If you hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have believed the strength you showed to defeat all of them. The reminder of your wounds stung your healing skin, Rhys even wincing as he watched. He could feel your rage, your power.

He could feel the dedication and love you felt towards Azriel.

You threw your shields back up at that, not wishing to let him in any further. He had seen enough. Rhys blinked at you, eyes flitting between you and Azriel. “I see,” he mused. “Well, you certainly did kill them all. That’s quite some feat of power. I think perhaps I should tell Cassian to up your training.” He winked at you and moved to leave the room. “I’ll let the healers know you are awake. I will be back later to check in.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him. Leaving you with Azriel.

Azriel, who was looking at you like you were the most delicate flower he had ever seen. “Are you sure you’re alright?” His concern struck a chord in you, a hand reaching out for his.

“I will be just fine. How are you? Is your head okay?” Your eyes scanned his hairline, relieved that there seemed to be no permanent damage.

“I’m good. My wounds weren’t half as bad as yours. They knocked me unconscious once I hit the ground.” His eyes lowered and he ran his thumb over your joined hands. “I should’ve been there for you. To help.”

You squeezed his hand in your own. “You were attacked, Az. I’m just glad I was able to get to you in time. If I were a moment later…” your voice trailed off and tears pricked at your eyes. Those straws were so close to stabbing into his body, sucking the life out of him.

“Hey,” he said, looking back up at you. “You saved my life. That’s all that matters.” He gave you a smile, your heart squeezing tight.

“Yea,” you agreed, even though you wished to say more. You wanted to tell him you loved him, be honest about your feelings. You were so close to losing him, to losing any chance to be with him. The fear of rejection stopped you from continuing, the way it always did.

Azriel was looking at you intently, eyes seeming to read your mind. You put on a small smile, pushing your feelings back down. His eyes dipped down to your lips, gaze heavy. Your heart skipped at his expression of hunger. “Az,” you whispered as he leaned closer to you.

“Hm?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your mouth.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was a whisper, so quiet you weren’t sure he could hear you.

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago.” He ducked his head down then, pressing his lips to yours. You went completely still at the touch of him, mind in overdrive. He began to pull away when you came to, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back. You kissed him hard then, the way you wished you had when you thought he was going to die. When you thought you’d never get the chance to.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight to him. You ignored the protest of pain in your arm and leg, focusing on the feel of Azriel pressed up against you. Of his mouth on yours. The way one of his hands began traveling down your thigh, fingers running along the edge of your nightgown. He bit gently on your lower lip, a silent question to open your mouth. You obliged, moaning at the taste of him. His fingers dug into your thigh at the noise and you let out a cry of pain.

Azriel pulled away from you quickly, apologizing immediately. “Maybe we should wait until you’re healed.” You sighed at the statement, but unfortunately agreed. You wanted to enjoy your first time tasting, feeling, loving Azriel. You pouted at him as he readjusted you, laying you back down on your pillows. He brushed a stray piece of hair off your forehead, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your skin. “I love you.”

Your heart was going to thud out of your chest. “I love you too.” Your declaration was a tad breathless, trying to decide if you could actually ignore the pain long enough to get on top of the male. He laughed, sensing your thoughts and gave you a soft kiss. You had waited so long for this moment, to have your love reciprocated.

“You need to rest.” He moved to hover slightly over you, carefully moving his way down your body. His fingers found the edge of your gown again, eyes looking up to yours from between your legs. “There are plenty of other ways I can please you.”

***

I needed to write something that was a request or a series, so this is what happened. I hope you guys enjoyed it!!! <3

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #acotar #azriel #azriel angst #azriel smut #don’t blame me

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dungeonpuppykai · 3 months

Text

Based on this mood prompt that @captregina told me to elaborate on.

Warning(s): Power imbalance, misogynistic husband Steve, spanking, degradation, dumbification, panty sniffing, infantilization. Minors do not interact.

Pairing: 40's breadwinner wallstreet worker husband!Steve Rogers | Housewife!You.

"I am sorry" Steve, your lawfully wedded husband, had to do a double take as he put down his work bag that you had refused to accept in your hands. "What was that, honey?" As you huffed and crossed your arms in response before putting one foot out and raising your chin up high, your newfound defiance caused him to raise a puzzled eyebrow at your smaller form.

"You heard me" you hmphed out your words.

"No" now it was Steve's turn to cross his massive arms -thanks to your hearty cooking and his knack for working out- across his broad chest as his sky blue eyes began to narrow down at your form. "I don't think I did" his head tilted to the side. It was a sign for you to stop; rethink your actions. "So tell me, dear. What was that, just now?" But you were beyond annoyed with him today.

You had been for a while.

"Ugh, aren't men supposed to be smart?!" You rolled your eyes that he usually adored with his whole heart. "I said, reheat your own food!" Now his other eyebrow shot up to accompany its companion.

Your husband had been at it for days and you just could not do it anymore. After you worked so hard all day long so you could spend some quality time with your hardworking husband who either had his nose buried in files or his ear glued to the telephone all day long, the man would show up late and tired at odd hours. Then he would expect you to understand -which you tried your best to but Lord you had needs too!-, reheat and ruin the food you always went the extra mile to prepare, eat with him while listening to him rant about things your domestic mind did not understand, then making him a drink with which he would watch tv and you would clean the kitchen before going to sleep cuddled up only to repeat the same day again!

Sundays -the only days when he was free- were not much different because he would always have plans with his friends that were getting fancier by the day and though you liked the get togethers, they held no measure to some one on one time with your dear husband!

Steve's fingers flew to your wrist before wrapping around it to pull you back and towards him when you went to stomp away to the bedroom. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To bed, obviously!" He was in disbelief when you went to yank yourself free. Good girls didn't turn their backs to their husbands. "Let go, I am done!" You refused to slave for someone who did not care for your requests even after you had communicated your feelings so many times at this point.

Your husband snorted. "And since when can you decide what happens around here, honey?"

"I am deciding for myself! You can do whatever you please like you do anyways!" He did not appreciate your tone.

"Come on, baby" your strength was no match to your husband's so you could not make him budge much. "I know why you're acting out, but I already told you why this is so important for us and our future" he got you to turn around rather easily despite your struggle. "Don't you remember?" Cradling your pretty face in his hands he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs tenderly. "Or has your little brain forgotten that already?"��

You pouted, not in the mood to cooperate. "You can secure your future however you desire, Steve" he was so used to you calling him by affectionate endearments that the use of his name stung like an insult. "But I am done with working hard all day long and staying up past bedtime for nothing!" You had hated chores with a passion before marriage as it was. "Since you're oh-so-big and smart I am sure you can figure out how to reheat your dinner!"

"Hey now" his eyebrows furrowed as the movement of his thumbs ceased. "Watch that tone, little girl" you were hanging by a thread but you were far too irritated to care.

"You watch your tone!" Your fingers curled around his to try and pry them off. "And let me GO!" Another huff escaped you as your eyes hit the back of your head to express your annoyance.

"You really wanna do this right now, young lady?" Steve had made it very clear when he was courting you that he did not like any of your sassy little habits.

Talking back, complaining, pouting, huffing, stomping around, disobeying, eye rolling and misbehaving.

"I just wanna go to bed, ugh!"

"Okay, you did this" your body had been hurled over one of his shoulders within the next second and while it thrashed in his hold, Steve easily walked over to the couch with one protective hand draped over your ass that he was determined to bruise now.

"Ugh– OWIE!" One of your legs kicked in protest and pain when his palm struck your clothed ass cheeks. "Stop, you meanie brute!" Your husband grunted under his breath as he steeled your knees in his hold before draping you over his lap.

"I should have known" both your cheeks received a spank each in quick succession. "It has been a while since your last maintenance session, hasn't it, baby?" You went to retort with something petty in response but the bratty way in which you started gave him a good idea and so he cut it off with random strikes all over your poor butt. "Aw, honey, of course!" Your backside had already started to sting like hell so when he yanked your panties off before pushing the hem of your dress up to your waist, you couldn't help but whine. "Your little girl brain forgot, didn't it?" The way he caressed your cheeks caused you to gulp for your sake.

"O- Ow… stop!" But that only made him raise his hand high to finally administer the first of many skin-to-skin spanks to come.

"Silly girl thinks she can tell her husband to stop" the hits were becoming more frequent by the second, your husband was settling on a rhythm. "Or tell him to do anything, really!" Your ass was blushing already and your pucker blinked up at him with each strike. Steve could not help but bite his lip at the sight but he knew discipline came first. It always did. He could not afford a mouthy brat for a wife. "Such an ungrateful little thing I've here" your hips tried to scurry left and right so Steve placed the elbow of his free hand between your shoulder blades before ceasing the side of your body facing away from his own until you were so sore you caved.

"I am sorry, oh my God, hubby, I am sorry!" A satisfied smile spread across his handsome features and his chest puffed outwards in pride.

"I am sorry, I couldn't quite get that over the sound of brat, honey" his palm was still unrelenting as he went about further reddening your sorry butt. "Why don't you try a bit louder and more convincing now?" It was a rule in your household; you had to mean your apologies.

Your back arched as you whined in frustration, hanging from his legs limp and resigned to your fate. "I am sorry, dear! I really am!" Your moans morphed into wails when he began to target your sit spots every few hits. "I am sorry for– owwwiee!" Your toes curled when a particular smack caught your pucker in it. "... F- For being ungrateful and n- not appreciating my husband's hard work and sacrifices for us and our future babies!"

"That's right" he made a point of sitting you upright and right on your sore ass. "And why do you think that was?"

You whimpered submissively as you lowered your head, unable to hold his authoritative gaze in this state. "B- Because my mind i- is too small to understand or remember such things for too long, hubby" reaching for the hand he had used to punish you, your fingers cradled the crimson palm. "But thanks to you sacrificing your hand for my well being after already working so hard all day long, my small brain has had its much needed reminder that you only mean well" looking up briefly to press an appreciative kiss to his cheek, you squeezed his hand. "Thank you for setting me straight, hubby" the most smug smile etched on his face.

"Oh, sweetie, that's completely fine" Steve's tone was tender but it switched up into an intimidating one briefly, "although mind that I did not appreciate it one bit" when you lowered your head further with a snivel, he continued but in a reassuring manner. "But of course, you're just a girl, aren't you?"

You nodded wordlessly without looking up.

His hand snaked out of yours to dip between your legs, the blunt action causing you to gasp aloud. "Tsk, look at all this mess, honey" your face became hot in an instant and your teeth pulled your bottom lip between them. "So worked up from your punishment, hm?" His face dipped closer to yours and you couldn't help but mewl shyly as you buried your face in his shoulder. "Is that why you were so frustrated? Because you weren't getting the kind of attention that you needed from hubby?" You nodded. He clicked his tongue. "Does my little girl also need to be reminded of the rule about verbally responding when spoken to, sweetie?"

Oh, yes.

The house rules.

Magnetized to the refrigerator.

"N- No, hubby. I- I remember…" Your eyes focused on his tie and you began to loosen it like you were supposed to after receiving his bag when he got home.

"Good girl" your eyelids fluttered at the way he kissed your cheek, lovingly caressing the inside of your thigh. "So, tell me, honey. Was that so?"

"I- It was, hubby" now you relieved him of his first few buttons. "J- Just need you so bad all the time… C- Can't think straight without you…" Steve had a shit eating grin on his face at this point. His ego -and something else- was so inflated that he did not even care about chastising you for your much forbidden actions tonight any longer.

"Go serve hubby his warm dinner and he'll consider" you obediently jumped to your feet in an instant and bustled to the kitchen with such speed that you didn't even remember to take your discarded panties with you.

Steve nodded to himself as he watched the way you had disappeared, pulling free the rest of his tie knot himself as he stood up with your underwear in his hand. "Now that's about right." With a deep sniff of the moist article, he walked off in the direction of the bedroom to freshen up.

MASTERLIST

Let me know what you think, feedback is much appreciated <3

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #captain america #marvel mcu #steve rogers x y/n #marvel smut #mcu smut

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hotchnisslvr · 3 months

Text

“After Hours”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x F!Reader

Summary: After ignoring orders on a case, Hotch calls you into his office to teach you an important lesson: there's no 'I' in team. (Highly Explicit)

Warnings: smut, p in v, blindfolds, bindings, delayed orgasm, vibrators, light choking, nipple clamps, dom!aaron hotchner

Words: 5.4k

Read on AO3:

Your spine stiffens as he calls your name. His voice is flat, but you know that tone. Just your name on his lips is an order all its own.

Derek’s eyes meet yours as you rise from your desk. “Good luck,” he whispers, though you’re the only two in the bullpen. You’d stayed late to finish paperwork after the closing of your most recent case before the weekend.“Nothing good ever comes from that tone.”

You smooth the front of your skirt and adjust the front of the button-up blouse that’s tucked into it. You thank Morgan as you pass his desk and he nods before hunching back over the file he’d been working on. Swallowing your nerves, you ascend the stairs toward his office. The blinds are shut, but the yellow light of the lamps peeks out from around the edges.

Hesitantly, you rap your knuckles against the door.

“Come in,” Hotch answers.

You do as he says and he doesn’t look up from the file on his desk. “Shut the door.”

Again, you do as you’re told and stand awkwardly by it, awaiting further instruction.

“Sit.”

He doesn’t indicate where you should sit; the couch or one of the two leather backed chairs in front of his desk. You choose the chair closest to the door and cross your legs, and hope he can’t hear how hard your heart is hammering against your ribcage.

“You went into that warehouse, alone, before we could confirm whether the unsub was there.”

“Sir—”

“Don’t interrupt,” he orders and you clamp your lips shut. “I understand that your actions resulted in saving that girl’s life. You were able to control the bleeding until medics could arrive. Your actions, brave as they were, were reckless and stupid.”

His words sting and you have to fight to school your facial expression, but you can feel the crimson rush of embarrassment flood your cheeks.

“You got lucky,” he continues, his voice hard. “We were able to apprehend the unsub as he was returning, but you had no idea if he was there or not. You didn’t wait for backup. We work as a team, you know this. The minute we start acting on impulse is the minute one of us gets hurt, or worse.” His eyes are steeled when they meet yours. “Do you understand?”

You nod your head, “Yessir.”

“Good,” he responds curtly.

“This can’t happen again,” he says, rising from his chair. Your eyes follow his movements as he shrugs out of his blazer and tosses it over his desk onto the vacant chair beside you. He steps from behind his desk and slowly approaches you, rolling the cuffs of his sleeves as he does so. He moves behind you and the click of him removing the paddle holster from his belt causes you to jump and you curse yourself for flinching.

“Something on your mind, agent?” he asks as he tosses his weapon onto the chair beside you.

You straighten your posture and answer him with as much nonchalance as you can muster. “No, sir. I’m just wondering if this will result in a write up or other form of disciplinary action.”

“As far as the Bureau is concerned, you saved that girl’s life. A meeting with me is all that’s needed to review your actions.” The soles of his dress shoes click against the tile and you feel his presence behind you.

“Whether you feel like another disciplinary action is necessary is entirely up to you.”

He always leaves the decision-making to you, but if this happens, it’ll be the first time it’s ever happened in his office, at your place of work. The thought terrifies you, but thrills you all the same.

So you dip your chin in the slightest of nods and the click of the lock on his door solidifies what’s about to happen.

“Good girl.”

Your nipples harden at the sound of his praise and you splay your fingers against your thighs, pressing the tips of your fingers into the muscle to keep yourself under control. Your body betrays you though as you feel your underwear dampen, your arousal building already. God, fuck him and his ability to do this to you with words alone.

His shoes click against the floor as he nears you and the hairs on your neck stand on end. You watch, eyes hungry, as he removes his necktie. He steps behind you once more and the familiar feel of silk over your eyes is almost a comfort as he secures it at the back of your head. With one sense cut off, you immediately feel your arousal’s intensity increase tenfold and you nearly want to cry out and come right then and there. Only he had this effect on you. Only he could do this to you.

Your chest is already heaving as you feel his hands slide over your shoulders and his mouth finds your ear. He inhales deeply and exhales slowly, his breath hot on your skin. “What’s your safe word?”

“Sage,” you breathe quietly.

“Good girl,” he murmurs and his hands slide over your breasts. You try to moan, but his hand quickly clamps over your mouth, firmly, but not enough to hurt you. His lips find your ear again, “Derek’s gone home for the night but Rossi is working late right behind that wall.” You can’t see it, but you know exactly how close his office is in proximity to Rossi’s. “So, keep quiet.” His hands slide over the fabric of your bra and you squirm against them. “Or I’ll have to gag that pretty little mouth.”

You swallow and nod to affirm your understanding. Your hands have moved to the arms of the leather chair, your fingers pressing into the material as you await his next move. Slowly, he unbuttons the first few buttons of your blouse and you shiver as the backs of his knuckles brush against your skin as he does so.

He slips his hands inside your bra and just holds both of your breasts for a moment, his thumbs skirting over the peaks of your sensitive nipples. You whimper and hear the soft laugh rumble from his lips. “Like diamonds,” he muses regarding the hardened tips and lifts both of your breasts, using the backs of his hands to push down the fabric of the cups so they sit prominently atop the underwire.

He hums low in his throat and your throat bobs. You feel his presence shift away from you. A drawer opens and items shuffle around. Something is turning and a soft click echoes in the room. “I figured it was only a matter of time before this happened in the office, so I tucked away a few…” he pauses as he draws nearer, “provisions.”

His cologne invades your senses, the cedar-based scent is intoxicating. He draws something small and metallic across your chest and a soft whimper escapes your lips. “Do you know what this is?” he asks, and you can hear the smile on his lips.

You lick your lips and whisper, “Yes.”

His fingers brush along one of your breasts and you inhale sharply as he rolls your sensitive nipple between his fingers. Your back arches slightly against the chair and you feel the dampness between your thighs begin to spread. You squeeze your legs together to try and assuage the ache to no avail.

“I’ve hardly touched you and you’re already falling to pieces,” he murmurs as he nips at the skin of your breast. You hiss and barely stifle a yelp as the nipple clamp pinches into place. Instinctively, your body jerks forward and Hotch chuckles as he catches you. He flicks the now-swollen nipple and you bury your face into the fabric of his dress shirt to keep from shouting. The sharp sting of the clamp compounds your pleasure and you know what comes next, but nothing ever prepares you for the pinch of the second clamp. You bite down into the muscle of his pectoral through his shirt to stifle the yelp that escapes your lips, hissing and moaning as the feeling overwhelms your senses. The growl that Hotch emits in response is primal. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and you don’t even remember when you had thrown your arms around him.

His hands slide up and over your arms. He curves his hands to cuff around your wrists. “As much as I love your mouth on me,” he says darkly, his hold tightening. His nose pushes into your hair as he brings his lips to your ears. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

There’s no time to gasp as he pulls you to your feet and whirls you around so that your back presses into him, and you feel him pressing against you. The quick jostling causes the clamps to tighten and your nipples protest the pulling sensation. Hotch threads his arms through yours and palms your breasts, the warmth of his hands momentarily soothing the sting of the clamps. His fingers slide down your stomach to unbutton the remainder of your shirt, which he then pulls down and discards absentmindedly; leaving you in your knee-length pencil skirt and black stilettos. Your exposed skin bristles in the cool air conditioning.

“Hands behind your back,” he instructs and you do as you’re told.

“Good girl,” he praises. Your ears prick as he unbuckles his belt, and you feel the throbbing at your core increase. He loops the belt around your wrists and pulls the leather taught, binding them together.

He tugs the belt, indicating you to follow his movements and you do so. He guides you, one hand on the belt, and one on your back. Slowly, he pushes his hand forward along your spine, urging you to bend forward. Your breasts press into the wood of his desk and he pushes his pelvis against your ass, a soft moan escaping his lips as he presses his dick into the curve of your hip.

“I wonder,” he purrs as he releases his grip on the belt. You pull at the leather wrapped around your wrists, hoping to brush your fingers against his hands and miss them. He chuckles as his hand curves around your hip. His fingers drop below the waistband of your skirt and you squeeze your thighs together as they continue to dip between your legs. “Just as I thought,” he says. His fingers pass over your clit and even through your panties, the brief brush sends thousands of tiny bursts of energy pulsing through your nerve endings. You jerk forward against his hand and he chuckles. “So wet,” he hums. “I bet you’d love for me to take you right here, right now over my desk, and fuck you from behind until you remember there’s no ‘I’ in team.” His hand gently curves around the column of your throat, his fingers pressing gently into the sides of your neck as he draws you up to your full height. The movement causes the clamps to tighten around your nipples and you bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. “Would you like that?”

You nod against his grip on your throat and feel your knees begin to shake, almost buckling. “Come on, baby,” he sings into your ear. “You know it’s not that easy.”

A pitiful whimper leaves your lips and you feel the laugh rumbling from deep within him. Hotch’s fingers drop from your hip and you miss the feeling already, even though you know it’ll only be moments before it’s back.

Suddenly, a buzz fills the air and you nearly fall to your knees when Hotch touches the vibrator to the swell of your breast. His reflexes are quicker than lightning as his hand drops from your throat so he can loop his arm around your waist to keep you from falling.

“If you’re that sensitive up here,” Hotch murmurs as he touches the vibrator once more to your breast. You gasp in response and he chuckles low in his throat. “I can only wonder,” he touches the vibrator to your navel and begins to drag it down the length of your abdomen, “what happens when I touch you down here.”

The vibrator grazes the fabric of your panties just north of your clit and you gasp aloud, an inhuman sound erupting from your lips. Hotch quickly lifts the vibrator and pulls you taut against his body as he falls into the chair behind his desk. Securely rooted on his lap, the hand around your waist snakes around your chest and covers your mouth. He kisses the hollow of your throat before his lips find your ear. “What did I say about keeping quiet?”

You swallow and mumble an apology followed by ‘sir,” and you feel his erection twitch against your thigh. A devious smile plays upon your lips and he can feel against his hand. He knows that you’re aware of how much power you have over him, but he’s about to do the same.

The vibrator dances along your thigh and your legs quake against his as you tuck your feet around his calves to hold yourself as steady as you’re able to.

“That’s right baby, anchor yourself against me.”

Your skirt rolls up your legs as you squirm against him and that only makes it easier for him to access the part of you he so desperately craves and you so desperately need him to touch.

He touches the vibrator to the southernmost part of you and you gasp against his hand as your body bucks against the sensation. Slowly, he drags the vibrator up your center and you feel the buzz like electricity in your veins. When it touches your clit, you moan. Hotch responds by lowering the speed of the vibrator to draw out the pleasure.

“Your moaning is music to me,” he murmurs as he kisses the column of your throat. Your chest heaves against his arm as he circles that tight bundle of nerves in small circles. “It tells me how much you’re enjoying this. Tell me,” he says, and his voice is low in his throat. “Are you enjoying this?”

You nod quickly against his hand and cry out against the palm of his hand as you feel the pressure in your abdomen begin to blossom.

“Do you want to come?” he asks. The hand over your mouth is still there, and he strokes your cheek with his thumb.

Again, you nod vigorously.

The pressure is building, that familiar warmth spreading through you. Your chest heaves. Your breaths become shallower as you cope with the budding orgasm. Just as the wave is about to crest, Hotch switches the vibrator off and pulls it away, halting the wave in its tracks.

You buck forward as the denial immediately sets in, leaving you wanting, needing more. Your clit throbs, pulsating against the damp fabric of your panties and you can only picture the smug look on Hotch’s face. He thinks he’s got you right where he wants you, but you know how to play this game too.

His erection sits right against your ass. Ensuring your feet are tucked tightly around his calves, you tighten your abdomen and roll your body, allowing your ass to grind against the entire length of him. His grip on you loosens as pleasure courses through him. He’d not been expecting that. You continue to grind against him and you feel each twitch of his dick beneath you. A tight moan escapes his lips, and you moan in response knowing it’ll get him all the more excited.

You feel him tilt his pelvis, leaning into the movement. He lowers his hand as he groans into your ear and a grin splits your lips. You turn your head and press a kiss at the corner of his lips.

“It’s not my turn,” Hotch murmurs, though it turns into more of a grunt as you continue working him through his pants

“I thought this was to remind me there’s no ‘I’ in team,” you say coyly. If you weren’t blindfolded, you’d be batting your lashes at him because you know it makes him weak.

“You’re right,” Hotch answers. “We are a team.” The vibrator switches back and the sound stops you in your tracks, which simultaneously earns a frustrated sound from him. “And because I’m such a good team player,” he touches it to the spot just above your clit, which elicits a sharp whimper from you. His hand covers your mouth and he pulls you against him. In your ear he growls, “I’m going to skip my turn and let you have fun for a little while longer.”

You grind against the toy, passing it again and again over your clit. He’s allowing you to set the pace and you want to touch him, god you want to touch him. You pull against his belt around your wrists and whimper. “Let me out of these,” you pant against his hand. You want to run your fingers through his hair, and scratch your nails along his back. Hotch chuckles and you feel his cock jerk against you. “Not quite yet,” he murmurs, and it’s strained. He’s close too. If he didn’t let you out soon, he’d be cleaning up a mess inside his pants.

You groan as heat pools in your belly. Your aching clit throbs and you increase your pace; grinding against it and Hotch.

“Go ahead, baby,” he entices. “Come for me.”

Your chest heaves, your nipples straining against the clamps which only causes that wave to build even faster. The pressure builds quicker than you can keep up with. You lose the rhythm, but you don’t stop chasing that high. When the wave peaks, Hotch doesn’t pull the vibrator away. Instead, the pressure builds and builds until it has no choice but to release. You ride the vibrator through your orgasm until you collapse completely into his hold around you, your body jerking uncontrollably as the aftershocks pass through your body. The vibrator clicks off and you hear him set it down on the desk with a dull thud.

He drops his hand from your mouth and says nothing for a moment as you take deep breaths.

“Lean forward,” he orders quietly, and you do. His fingers make quick work of the belt around your wrists. Once loose, he drops it on the floor beside you and you bring your arms in front of you. The thick corded muscles that make up his arms thread through yours and he gently palms your breasts. You exhale sharply as he undoes the clamps around your nipples. With the tips of his fingers, he delivers a short series of massaging movements against the tender flesh. Finally, his fingers trail the sides of your face. They hook beneath the lip of the blindfold and gently pull it up and over your eyes.

You blink a few times to allow your eyes to adjust to the dim lamp-lighting and your eyes quickly land on his deep brown gaze. His lids are hooded as he looks at you, no that’s not the word, as he admires you. Your cheeks flush and you lean forward to kiss his lips. They part instantly for you and you slide your tongue into his mouth. You slip your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. He groans into your mouth in response.

“I love the way you taste,” you mumble against his mouth.

You feel his lips smile against yours. “Nowhere near as good as you.”

You drop your hands to his shoulders and let your fingers find their way to the buttons of his dress shirt. You nip at his chest, leaving a purplish-red mark just beside his nipple. Your fingers brush the scars long since healed over from his run-in with Foyet as you explore his chest and abdomen with your hands. You need to feel all of him, to make him feel as good as he makes you feel.

Hotch slips his hands under your ass as you undo the buttons of his tailored slacks. His erection forces the zipper open before you get the chance to unzip it, tenting his boxer briefs.

Eagerly, you hook your fingers into the hem of his Calvin Kleins and pull down. He lifts his hips, with you on top of him, so you can jerk them down. His cock bounces up against his abdomen, pearls of pre-cum beading at the tip of his length. You eye it hungrily, but before you go any further you unhook your legs from around his and shimmy out of your skirt and panties. You unclasp your bra and let it fall to the floor, not minding where it lands. When you return to sit on his lap, you slide your legs through each of the arms of his office chair and press your slick cunt against the length of his erection.

His head tips back as a low groan escapes his lips. You press your lips to the hollow of his throat before moving to suckle gently at his collarbone. The benefit of wearing a suit and tie day in and day out means you can mark him as much as you want and no one is the wiser. No one besides him and you that is.

You curve your hand around his cock. Slowly, you begin to pump him in your hand. As you gingerly massage his length, you press your breasts against his chest as you lie flat against him to whisper in his ear, “I think you’re ready to take me now.”

You smile as his eyes screw shut as you have him literally in the palm of your hand. You always love watching the tables turn when you play this game. Hotch nods and grunts out an enthusiastic, “Yes!”

“Very well,” you purr into his ear.

Standing on the tips of your toes, you keep your hand wrapped around his cock and guide him to your entrance. As the blunt tip of his cock slides easily inside of you, you begin to sink down onto the length of him.

You both moan as he fills you, the width of his cock stretching your tight walls.

“God,” you gasp as you dig your nails into the skin of his shoulder blades.

“No baby,” Hotch breathes. “He’s not in this room tonight. It’s just you,” he kisses you once, “and me.”

You roll onto the balls of your feet and push yourself up before sinking back onto your heels. This helps you get used to the feeling of his cock filling and stretching you.

“Find what feels good,” Hotch says. “You set the pace.”

You repeat the motion again, except this time leaning forward just so that his dick strokes against your g-spot with each thrust. From there you begin a steady rhythm, riding him at a pace where you can still manage to kiss one another without breaking your teeth as you get lost in the throes of endorphins and hormones.

Eventually, you feel that familiar pressure begin to build and his fingers squeeze into your hips. He’s nearing his own climax.

“I want you to come with me,” he whispers against your mouth. “I’m close.”

“Help me get there, then,” you tease.

Hotch releases one of your hips and snakes his arm around your waist. His fingers find your clit without guidance and he begins teasing the tight bundle of nerves. For a split second, you lose the rhythm, but he helps you get it back by pumping his hips up to stroke that spot inside. The dual sensation is almost too much to bear, but as he begins to slam his cock up and into you, you know it won’t be very long now. You clutch at his shoulder blades, and he hisses as you dig your nails in deeper.

“Come for me, Hotch,” you plead. As your orgasm builds, you feel his breathing become erratic. “Aaron, I know you want to come in me.” You know using his first name drives him wild.

He grunts and drops his hand back to your hip, his grip bruising as he slams you down onto his cock. Each thrust strikes your g-spot and as his entire being locks up and his orgasm rattles through his body and pulses into you, your release follows almost immediately after.

You stay like that for a minute or two, a tangle of limbs. His arms wrap around your back, his palms flat against your slightly damp skin. He kisses your cheek once and helps lift you off his cock. You groan as he leaves you, and slickness from your combined arousal drips down your thighs.

Completely spent, he carefully stands, ensuring your legs don’t get stuck beneath the arms of his desk chair. Your legs feel like jelly, shaking and trembling as he lets go of you. He fastens the buttons on his slacks and tugs his dress shirt on, buttoning it haphazardly. A tired laugh escapes you as he scoops you into his arms and carries you to the leather sofa against the far wall of his office. He gently places you down and tucks his suit jacket over your shoulders. He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ll be right back.”

He ducks out of the room, careful to use his key and lock the door from the outside as he does so.

Your eyelids are heavy, and it takes everything in you not to tuck into the corner of the sofa and fall asleep right then and there. However, you don’t think the weekend cleaning crew would ever recover if they opened his office in the morning and saw you in this state.

The sound of his key in the lock brings you back to reality. You tug Hotch’s jacket tighter around you as the AC chills your sweat-dampened skin. He smiles at you as he enters the office. Hands full, he quietly shuts the door with his foot before approaching you.

He drops your go-bag by your feet and places two bottles of water on the table in front of you. He retrieves his own bag from beside his desk.

“I figured you’d want a change of clothes,” he says as he sits next to you on the couch.

“Astute observation,” you reply cheekily, though there’s a tiredness to your voice now.

He smirks in turn, “Come here.” He slips an arm around the small of your back, places his palm flat against your hip, and easily scoops you into his lap. He pulls his go bag onto the couch and unzips it. After rummaging for a few moments, he pulls out a small container of wipes, a washcloth, and a small container of something you can’t quite make out.

The lid on the container of wipes clicks open. He brushes your hair over your shoulder and begins to wipe down the back of your neck, your shoulders, and back; clearing the sweat away. He does the same to your chest, your breasts, and thighs. The wipe is cool against your skin and a chill runs down your spine.

He slides out from behind you, getting on his knees before you. He presses soft kisses to your inner thigh before using a fresh wipe to clean you up. “I’m sorry I don’t have something more formal,” he says with a soft smile. “You can take a proper shower at my apartment.”

You arch an eyebrow at that. “I’m coming home with you, now?”

He tilts his head. “Only if you want to.” He unzips your bag and pulls out a pair of gray sweatpants, the ones you take on every trip. He guides your feet through each leg and you reach to pull them up the rest of the way. He kisses the corner of your mouth as you bend down and his suit jacket falls aside revealing the marks he’d left on your breasts.

He sits and pulls you between his legs once more. This time he screws open the container he’d left sitting on the sofa. He scoops a small amount of the gel onto his fingers and rubs them together. “Lie back against me,” he says gently and he doesn’t have to say it twice. You roll back into the wide plane of his chest and let your head loll to the side. Your eyelids feel so heavy and you’d love to just curl up in his lap and fall asleep just like that. When the gel hits the sensitive skin of your nipples, you gasp.

“Shh,” he soothes as he rubs the gel onto your sore nipples. The movement is not sexual, but methodical, therapeutic even. There’s a cooling component to the gel and relief courses through the sensitive skin there.

He caps the jar, wipes his fingers on the washcloth, and pulls his hoodie out of your go bag. The letters ‘FBI’ were barely legible after how many dozens of washes it’d been through. The front pocket was barely hanging on and there was a hole in one armpit, but somehow the old thing held together. Hotch had considered his hoodie from the academy a good luck charm of sorts. He’d kept it with him his entire career with the Bureau, but when you first started seeing one another and you’d borrowed it after a night at his house, there was never any doubt that you should have it. He didn’t need it anymore, not with you around. He’d have all the luck he ever needed so long as you were there with him.

“What are you smiling at?” you ask as you let him help you out of his suit jacket and tug on the faded hoodie.

He passes you a bottle of water before he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in the crook of your neck. You place the bottle on the couch beside him and lay your head against his and squeeze his forearm with your hands. “Just how lucky I am,” he answers.

You close your eyes and lean into his hold, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours.

He sits up suddenly, jostling you. “I meant to ask, did you want an ice pack? I think I might’ve held onto your hips a bit too hard there at the end.”

You arch an eyebrow and turn in his lap to loop your arms around his neck. You smile before kissing the downward slope of his nose. “My hips are fine, especially when they’re in your hands.

His thumb strokes your hip in response as he looks down at you from beneath his dark lashes. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

You nod. “Do you think if we order a pizza from the car, it’ll get there before us?”

Hotch smiles and helps you to your feet. He quickly gathers the things from your ‘lesson’ into the lockbox and tucks them into his go bag. He gathers your discarded clothes from around his office and tucks them into your bag. After he passes you the water bottle you’d discarded, he shoulders yours and his go bags. You’ll do laundry at his place over the weekend and repack it for the upcoming week.

He stretches an empty hand towards you, “Ready to go?”

You intertwine your fingers with his and squeeze. With the hand holding yours, he pulls you against his tall frame, the movement quick and unexpected. He captures your lips in a deep, final kiss. His arm is secure around the small of your back and you lean against it, gaze locked on his as you do so.

“Hey,” you breathe as you catch your breath. “Hotch?”

“Aaron,” he corrects with an arc of his dark brow.

“Aaron,” you repeat, drawing out his name, smiling as you see his own smile widen after using his first name.

His eyes search yours, and you let yours drop to his lips. “I’m still not sure I’ve learned my lesson.” You look up at him from beneath your lashes and bat them two, three times.

He kisses you again, both sets of your lips smiling as you fail to make it to the door. He pulls away with a breathless laugh, steps towards, and unlocks the door. As he opens it with his free hand he smiles at you, “Good thing your boss gave the team the weekend off.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch smut #aaron hotch fic #x reader #female reader #smut #fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #drabble #bau team #bau reader #marchhotchness #f!reader

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nikandrros · 2 years

Text

Okay, I'm gonna go a little

but hear me out:

If Melinoe is the ghost goddess/chthonic nymph and has the same hair color as Persephone, and following the Melinoe hymn it's said that "whom revered Persephone bore by the mouth of the Kokytos river", I'm betting money on the fact that she was born just after Zagreus, but since Mel was... you know, phantom-like:

Persephone could not just leave her to be or get back to the Underworld, so I'm theorizing she did the second best thing: leave Melinoe with someone else who was more apt to take care of her, someone like...

since Melinoe was called a, you know:

and she also calls the new big mommy Headmistress, so if I'm theorizing right said headmistress could either be Hecate, Circe, or Medea. Circe is a good option because of her island, which is somewhere the teaser seems to be happening at? Or a garden of some kind, or Olympus garden for all that I know because Chronos got himself free and brought war upon the Olympians, and on that note, I would like to point out that this place can very much be Poseidon's domain:

Some other things that I would LOVE to point out:

This guy is a son of Nyx. He's Thanatos and Hypnos' brother.

Nemesis is also a daughter of Nyx and it's said in canon. Also: LOOK AT THE FUCKING SWORD.

And Supegiant said in the Steam intro that:

"Infuse your legendary weapons of Night with ancient magick, so that none may stand in your way. Become stronger still with powerful Boons from more than a dozen Olympian gods, from Apollo to Zeus. There are nearly limitless ways to build your abilities. Meet a cast of dozens of fully-voiced, larger-than-life characters, including plenty of new faces and some old friends. Grow closer to them through a variety of new interactions, and experience countless unique story events based on how your journey unfolds."

Can we expect Hera, Hephaestus, and Hestia? Because we already got this gay- I mean, guy.

Halfway through this, I was like "ok but the headmistress dress like Charon so it would be pretty fucking funny if it was just Nyx with a hat" and this thought does have some credibility bc:

I MEAN??? LOL I MIGHT BE WRONG BUT I ALSO MIGHT BE RIGHT?? I think two chthonic gods in a trench coat are not too far-fetched for Hades' standards

(Will she be a boss? Will Chronos be a boss? WILL CHRONOS STOP TIME JUST AS HADES GOT INVISIBLE?)

AND YOU CAN PET THE FROG, THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT (its name might be Frino, because it was the name of the file when I got it from Steam).

And who do you think this red-caped dude is? My friend is betting her money on Odysseus and Jason.

And I would like to finish this madness with the fact that since Chronos is fucking shit up and Hades is trapped inside a BDSM dungeon like this

Zagreus is probably doing what he hates most in this whole wide world: the desk job LOL GET FUCKED ZAG

AND GO WATCH THE ANIMATED TRAILER

#hades #hades 2 #hades supergiant #hades 2 supergiant #hades game #supergiant games

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lovespotion9 · 11 months

Text

Guilty Pleasure

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x little!reader

word count: 4.7k

a/n: Please do not hesitate to let me know of any warnings I might've missed! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy <3

Wanda's brought you to work with her, and you're so excited. You get to watch your mommy work! She's sat you down at the nearest vacant desk and you're quietly watching her have a serious big-people meeting with the rest of her co-workers, the Mighty Avengers.

"How is my little girl? " Wanda asks, glancing at you and making sure you're all right. You nod at her and try to be good.

"'m okay!," you squeak quietly, shooting her a subtle thumbs up and a shy smile. She laughs at your attempt at maturity and kisses your head, ruffling your hair a little. "Just behave yourself and you can have ice cream when we're finished here, okay?" she says sweetly. "Be a good girl for mommy." You beam at her and nod your head excitedly. "Yes ma'am!," you say with a cheeky grin.

You spend the next while quietly watching the adults talk, eating some candy mommy gave you as a reward for your good behavior. You try to stay out of everyone's way, but your little self has a mind of its own, and it's super interested in what's going on around you.

You get bored after a while, and start to poke around on the computer with some headphones. You've never really been all that good at technology, but you try to use the computer anyways. You click on some random icons until you stumble upon a folder of pictures and videos that have Wanda's name beneath them.

You click on the folder, but a password is required.

You panic. You can't go back to mommy now-- she's still busy talking, and you know better than to bother her when she's having important grown-up conversations.

You try your birthday typed about 3 different ways before the computer accepts your password and lets you into its secret files. You quickly put in the next attempt before the computer can lock you out again.

You're excited now that you have the password, but the folder only has one file in it-- a video.

You click it and it takes you to a website you're not familiar with. A big 'play' button blocks out the majority of the preview, but from what you can see- it's a video of another Mommy and her little sitting on a bed. They're talking quietly, but you can't really hear the words, just their voices. You scroll up and down the video a few times, trying to figure out how the video starts. The Mommy is holding something and you think maybe she has some sort of toy in her hand?

You don't know how to get the video to start, so you just decide to go for it and press the button. The video starts on an angle where you can't see the little's face, but you can see the Mommy.

"Hello, little one," says a sweet voice from behind the camera, "I bet you're excited to make a video with me?" There's a moment of silence, and then the Mommy continues. "Of course you are," she says. She's not speaking loudly, but her voice is soft and sweet, like someone talking to a baby. "You want to make mommy happy, don't you?"

The little nods eagerly. They look a lot like you... around the same age, same hair color, and y/e/c eyes-- but you've never seen the woman holding the toy before. She looks a bit older and taller than your Mommy and she has long dark brown hair and blue eyes.

Suddenly the little is being told to lie down and spread her legs and you notice that they're not wearing a diaper or any panties! Your eyes nervously search the room for Wanda, only to find her engrossed in conversation with the others, her back turned to you and the computer you sit at.

The video starts.

The camera pans to the little, who looks incredibly embarrassed. She's trying to hide her body, her hands clasped over her breasts and between her legs as if she's scared to show her special parts to the camera.

"Oh no, little one," says the Mommy, "you know you have to be good if you want mommy's special toy. You want to make mommy happy, don't you?" The Mommy runs her hand through the little's hair as if to comfort her. "I want you to be a good girl. Can you do that for me, little one?"

The little nods, but she looks nervous.

"Here," says the Mommy, handing the little a paci and some medicine, "you can suck on your paci and have some medicine so you feel better while mommy makes you feel good."

The little hesitates a moment before popping the pacifier in their mouth and swallowing the medicine. "Good girl," says the Mommy, kissing the little's forehead and rubbing her tummy. To your surprise, her hand slowly wanders below the little's waistline, prodding at the wet slit between their legs.

"You're such a good girl for mommy," says the Mommy, "now open up and show me that pretty little cunt."

The little does as she's told, parting her legs and revealing her wet lips and clit to the camera. They're not completely shaved-- she's got a bit of hair, but you've never seen anything like it before. She spreads herself open and the Mommy watches as the little's cunt twitches and gapes, the soft flesh glistening with wetness.

"Look at you, you're such a fucking slut aren't you?" says the Mommy as she starts to slowly finger the little. They moan and their body flinches at the contact.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the dirty scene unfold. Why would Wanda have something like this on her computer? The mommy was being so nasty to the little... did Wanda want to say mean things like that to you? She had only ever been gentle and sweet with you-- even during punishment, she never dared to insult you like the woman in the video does.

"Look at how wet you are," says the Mommy. She pulls her fingers out and spreads the wetness over the little's lips, smearing the slickness into the hair and making it messy.

You check for Wanda again, heart beat slowing a little once you see she's yet to move from her chair at the conference table. You feel a warm sensation beginning to brew in your tummy as you continue to watch the video, trying to listen to what the Mommy and the little are saying as she fingers them.

"Are you going to cum for me?" asks the Mommy. "Show Mommy how wet you are, slut." She speeds up the motions of her fingers and the little's body jolts, their hips starting to twitch as they cum. Her mouth is still wrapped around her paci, so all that escapes her mouth is a muffled high-pitched moan.

There's suddenly a growing heat between your legs that you can't seem to ignore. You squirm a bit in your seat, readjusting your legs to try and alleviate the feeling. You can't help but touch yourself a little while you watch the video-- slipping a tiny hand into your diaper to feel your wet slit. You think about the little and how much fun they're having with the Mommy as you start to play with yourself, your eyes fixed on the screen in front of you.

Your body begins to twitch and your breathing hitches as you feel yourself getting close. It feels so good that you forget where you are, your dumb little brain not thinking to check for Wanda's distraction from what you were doing.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a set of firm, warm hands taking a grip of your shoulders from behind.

"You've wet yourself," she says in that same scary tone. You don't answer-- you can't answer. Your mouth hangs open and you're frozen in fear. She reaches for your hand, gently holding it in her own. "It's okay, sweetheart," she says sweetly, "I think that diaper deserves a little change, don't you?" She turns to the group. "Pardon us, everyone," she says politely as she starts to lead you away, "I need to take my little one to the changing table."

Your eyes are wide with panic as she leads you toward the door. Your brain can't seem to understand what's happening and all you can do is silently follow your Mommy into the changing room.

Once the door shuts behind you, you freeze, unsure what to do or say.

"Go ahead and lay down on the table for Mommy," she says, starting to remove your clothes. You hesitate at first, but do what she says, laying your little body on the cold table, feeling a bit silly as you lay on your back with your legs splayed open in the cold air of the public restroom.

"Silly little girl, getting into Mommy's things" Wanda coos as she removes the blue diaper from your bottom, tossing it aside as she gasps at the scene between your legs.

Your face burns in embarrassment as your Mommy looks at you, examining the way your folds glisten and your slit drips wetness.

Wanda gasps and dramatically draws her painted fingers to her chest in shock. "Mommy's going to have to give you a spanking," she says, smirking, "Did my little girl like what she saw on Mommy's computer? Hm?"

"I'm sorry," you whisper, shamefully looking away from her.

"Oh, silly little girl. It's much too late for all of that." She spreads your legs further apart and leans down, her hot breath sending a chill down your spine. "Do you think you're big enough for Mommy's mouth?"

Your mouth goes dry as you stare at her. You want to answer, you want to tell her that you really don't know, but you can't find your voice.

"Why don't we find out?" she asks, grinning as she leans forward and takes you into her mouth. You gasp, shocked at the sensation of her tongue swirling around your clit, the heat of her mouth. She sucks gently and your eyes flutter shut, moaning quietly.

"You taste so sweet," she says, taking her mouth from you, "such a good girl." She leans in again, the wet heat of her tongue sending you into a daze. Her fingers reach down, rubbing gently at your folds, dipping them in just a bit. You shiver and let out a little whimper, feeling your thighs start to shake.

"Is Mommy gonna make her little girl cum?" Wanda asks innocently, the sound of her voice causing your heart to jump.

"Mhm," you moan, "Yes, Mommy," you moan. She hums and the vibrations cause a jolt of pleasure to go through you. Her fingers press deeper and you can't help but let out a desperate little mewl.

"That's too bad," she says, pulling away, "Mommy's gonna stop, I'm afraid." She stands and moves to look at the door. "I think that's enough fun and games for the night," she says, looking back at you with a grin, "let's get you home, malyshka."

"What? Mommy, no!" you whine, your face red at your outburst.

Her hand comes down on your cheek and your cry out. "No?" she asks, her eyes narrowing, "What has gotten into you, little one?" She chuckles as she starts toward the door, snapping at you to follow.

You sigh, pushing yourself up, getting off the table and following after her. You're not sure what's going on, but you don't think you like it.

***

You frown as Wanda unlocks the front door to the house, and you hesitate for a moment, wondering what you should do.

"Go ahead and head upstairs, malyshka," she says, pulling the door open and stepping inside.

"Yes, Mommy," you say, doing as she says, though you don't take to the stairs right away. You wait, leaning against the wall in the hallway for a moment instead.

You're not sure what's going to happen, but you can't shake the feeling that you're in serious trouble. You hear the front door slam shut and you flinch.

–<_>–

"I'm s-sorry!" you cry as Wanda’s hand comes down on your ass yet again. "I didn't mean to!"

"Aw, but malyshka, you don't look sorry." She frowns, "At least your pathetic little pussy doesn't..." She says, running her delicate fingers through your folds and collecting the sticky slick that coats them.

"Mommy," you whine, trying to cover yourself and stop her from touching you down there. You're too scared to talk back to her, not wanting to be punished any further.

"Such a filthy little girl," she scolds, "look how wet you are for Mommy." She holds up her fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips of them before bringing her hand back between your legs, rubbing your clit in small circles slowly as you moan helplesslyy into the sheets.

She sits between your legs and continues to touch you from behind, dipping two fingers into your waiting hole as her other hand continues to spank you. "Oh, baby, you’re dripping." she says sweetly as she strokes your clit, her fingers running in soft circles.

You sob into the pillows before you as Wanda has her way with you, legs trembling as your mind subconsciously wanders back to the video you had seen earlier. You're so confused by your feelings.

Your body starts to react as you approach your peak, your legs start to spread wider, your hips bucking off the mattress to chase her fingers. Your breath is coming out in ragged moans and whines, your brain completely distracted by the sensation between your legs.

"You gonna cum for Mommy? Hm?" Wanda asks as she rubs her fingers harder against your clit. You nod quickly, biting down on your lip to keep yourself quiet.

"Yeah?" she says sweetly as she speeds up the motion of her fingers.

You nod again, head much too fuzzy to realize that she's slowly inching her fingers away from your cunt until it's too late.

You begin to whine and buck your hips as your orgasm is no longer within reach. "M-mommy!" You cry. She looks up from between your legs and flashes you a devious smile as she brings her wet fingers to her lips and sucks your juices off of them.

"Please," you whine.

"Good girl," she says as she starts to rub again, causing you to gasp and squirm, still feeling on edge after she denied you your orgasm.

"Now get up." She says flatly, removing her hand from your cunt and stepping away from you. Her warm smile has disappeared and her Sokovian accent comes through much rougher than before.

Wanda's accent only comes out like that when she's really upset with you-- it's a bit scary to hear, but you can’t deny the fact that it makes your little brain feel all warm and gooey inside.

You do as she says, pushing yourself off the bed and sitting up. You see her holding the pink pacifier-- the one she likes to use during punishment, and your eyes go wide with fear.

"Put your hands behind your back and come here," she says, walking towards you.

"Please, Mommy," you say, standing up and doing as she says, putting your hands behind your back and letting her grab you and secure the restraints on.

"Dirty little girl," She mumbles as she turns you around so that you're facing her.

"Kneel."

You do as she says, lowering yourself to the ground in front of her. Your heart is pounding in your chest.

"Did Mommy's little baby like the videos she found?" she asks, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your head back roughly.

"N-no," you say, trying to look down at the floor, not wanting to see the anger on her face.

"No?" she says, "Then why did my little baby get all wet and sticky from watching? Hm?" She lifts your chin with her hand and you look into her eyes. Her face is blank, but her eyes are livid.

"I don't know," you say, not really sure of what else you can say.

"What a naughty, naughty baby," she says, grabbing your face and leaning down so that she's level with you. "You didn't like watching the mommy finger her little?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

"N-no, I didn't," you say, shaking your head.

"Really? You didn't like when she called them a little slut? Didn't like when she pulled their hair and spit in their mouth, like this?" She does this all while you're staring into her dark green eyes. Your mind is reeling.

"Didn't like when she made her little use their mouth on her, like this?" she asks, grabbing the back of your head and forcing your face into her crotch.

Your nose is stuffed with the thick smell of her cunt as she grinds herself against you, moaning as she does.

"That's right," Wanda groans as she rubs her clit against your face.

You can feel your face flush with warmth as she continues to grind against you, breathing in the thick musk of her cunt, letting her juices soak the bottom half of your face. You attach your lips to her clit and start to suck, causing Wanda to let out a high-pitched moan.

"Just like that, baby," she says as she thrusts her hips into you.

You start to move your mouth to suckle on her cunt, running your tongue in broad strokes to get her wet enough to open for you.

Wanda doesn't let up on the grip she has on your hair, using it to pull you where she wants you to go. Her other hand grabs a fistful of your hair at the nape of your neck, and she starts to guide you.

She pulls your mouth away from her cunt and holds your face still as she moves to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing you to kneel between her legs. She then spreads them again and motions for you to continue before shoving your face back into her cunt. .

"Lick it up, baby," she moans as her hips buck against your mouth. "Dirty slut," she says, pulling your hair.

You start to eat her out like she wants, licking up the juices that run down her thighs. She then grabs your hands and forces them into her cunt, letting out a throaty groan as she does.

You start to finger her, moaning as you do so.

"Yeah, just like that, baby," she says. "Don't you dare stop."

You start to tongue her clit, circling it slowly before sucking on it. Her breathing gets faster and you can feel her start to tense up. You can tell she's close.

"Good girl," she coos, grabbing your face with her hands and holding it against her cunt.

She comes with a deep groan and starts to grind against your mouth as she rides it out. She lets you go when she's finished, and you lick your lips, tasting her as you do.

She looks down at you, mouth held slightly agape as she tries to catch her breath. Then her hands are on you again, shoving you backward and slapping you across the face.

"Lozhis' na krovat', suka" (get on the bed, Bitch) she snarls, holding your chin in her iron grip. You blink several times as the sharp pain on your cheek turns to a dull stinging sensation, but you find your way to the edge of the bed just as she had instructed, nonetheless.

"Did my little baby like that?" she asks, forcing you to look her in the eye as she shakes you by the chin.

You stare at her in disbelief and her lips curl into a snarl as she slaps you across the face again, this time much harder. Your head is spinning, tears filling your eyes as you blink rapidly.

"Answer me," she barks, "did my little baby like that?"

"N-no, I didn't, Mommy," you whimper. She slaps you again.

"No? What's this, then?" she asks, kicking your legs open once again and motioning to the growing slick between your legs.

"You know what I think?" she says, leaning down so that her nose is touching yours. "I think you're a fucking liar" She wipes the slick from your inner thighs onto her fingers before she places them against your lips. "Suck," she demands, forcing them past your lips.

You take her fingers in your mouth and suck the thick juices off of them, hollowing out your cheeks as you do.

She pulls them out and spits on your cunt before pushing your legs further apart and spanking your mound harshly. You cry out and bite your lip as you try to stifle any more sound from coming out of you.

"Did I tell you to be quiet?" she asks as she grabs your jaw, pulling it towards her and kissing you roughly before slapping your cheek again.

You let out another sharp cry, sobbing as she grabs you by the hair and yanks your head back.

"No, you didn't, Mommy," you whisper. She releases her grip on you.

She's silent for a minute, seemingly scanning the room for a way to break you before those green eyes of hers light up with an idea. She reaches towards the nightstand and grabs the little bottle of lube that's usually reserved for her toys.

"Since you don't know what you want," she says as she pours a large amount of the lubricant into her hand, rubbing it between her fingers, "then I will show you."

"No," you cry as she approaches you.

"Quiet."

You start to thrash against your restraints as she rubs her lubed fingers against your entrance.

"Please!" You cry, looking up at her.

She spanks you again.

"If you keep it up, I'll gag you and have my way with you anyway, you little whore."

She presses her fingers into your entrance and starts to work you open, spreading your pussy with her long fingers as she does. She lets out a throaty moan as she feels you start to get wetter from her fingers.

"See, baby," she says as she continues to stretch you open. "You want this. You love it when Mommy fucks you with her fingers."

"No," you sob.

"No, no, no." She shakes her head before withdrawing her dripping fingers from your cunt. "Looks like somebody's learned a new word today, huh?"

You shut your eyes as tears run down your cheeks, the sound of Wanda fumbling in her special closet echoing throughout the room.

She pulls the toys she's selected out of the box, examining each one to make sure she has all she needs. You try to close your legs and kick her away, but she's already inching the newly secured strap-on closer and closer to the throbbing space between your legs.

"Come on, baby," she coos as she grabs your hips and forces you back to the edge of the bed. "Mommy's gonna make you feel real good."

She presses the tip of the dildo against your entrance and starts to rub it back and forth, letting it glide against your soaked cunt. You try to wiggle away from her, but she grabs your hips with both hands and slaps her dildo against your mound.

You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter as she starts to rub herself against you, coating her strap-on in your juices.

"Just like that," she purrs as she leans forward, pulling your arms behind your back again and taking your wrists into her hands. You stare up at her as she guides your hands together, placing a piece of rope around your wrists and securing it to your restraints.

She then sits back and admires her work, bringing her hand down to run her fingers across your nipples. She looks down at you and smirks. "Now, Mommy's gonna make you cum." She starts to rub the dildo against your slit before starting to push into you. "And you're gonna stay nice and quiet, okay?"

"Mhm!" You whine as she inches the fake cock into you, letting out a sharp cry as she does.

"Quiet, baby." She says, slapping your thigh. She then starts to thrust the dildo into you, slowly at first, before increasing her pace. She moves the strap-on in and out of you, pushing it in until her hips are flush with yours before pulling out slowly again.

You moan quietly into her ear as she fucks you. The sound of the bed creaking in unison with the sound of her hips hitting your thighs is so lewd that you can feel your cunt start to throb, desperate for more friction.

"You like this malyshka? Hm?" She whispers in your ear, "You like when Mommy fucks her little girl like the slut she is?"

You nod and she pulls her hips back, thrusting into you again.

"Say it, baby."

"I like it," you say, trying not to cry out as she begins to fuck you faster, harder.

"That's right," she coos as she kisses your cheek, her fingers rubbing against your clit as she does so.

The sound of the fake cock slamming into you echoes throughout the room and your juices start to drip down your thighs.

"Just a filithy little cockwhore who wants to be fucked senseless, isn't that right, malyshka?" She spits in your face and grabs a fistful of your hair as you cry out.

"M-mhm," you stutter. "I can't think right, Mommy," you whine. "Please, let me cum," you beg as her hand returns to your clit, rubbing small circles around it.

"Aw, that's alright, detka. Dumb little sluts like you don't have to think. That's why you have Mommy, hm?" She pants, keeping the same grueling pace with the strap-on.

"Please," you cry.

"Tell Mommy what you want, slut."

"I wanna cum," you moan, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill out as your orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach.

"Aw, my love, you know only good little girls get to cum." She slaps your cheek, making you cry out. "Are you a good little girl?"

"I-I am!"

"Do good little girls lie to their mommies?" she asks as she continues to rub your clit.

"N-no."

"Then tell me what a good little girl would say, right now." She spanks your thigh.

"I- I liked the video, Mommy" you start, gasping for air as Wanda continues to fuck you.

"Keep going."

"I loved it."

"Keep going, baby," she says, increasing her speed with the dildo.

"I love it when you're mean to me. I want you to call me dirty names." you sob, cheeks burning in embarrassment and shame, the sounds of your juices squelching around Wanda's cock filling the room.

"You're such a good little whore," she moans into your ear, pushing the dildo in as deep as it can go, grinding her hips against you.

"Oh, no, Mommy, I'm gonna--" you cut yourself off with a moan,

"Shhh, me too, malyshka. Cum with Mommy" She groans.

Your head is spinning as Wanda's fingers work your clit and her hips slam into you, you can feel every inch of her cock as it stretches your cunt, filling you to the brim with her length.

"I love you, Mommy," you gasp as your orgasm builds.

"I love you too, baby," she whispers into your ear.

"Mommy--" you cut yourself off with a loud groan, the warm, tingling feeling of your orgasm crashing over you, and you can hear Wanda's voice in the distance as she groans and grinds against you.

She thrusts into you several more times, riding out her orgasm as well.

After a moment, she pulls out and turns you over, removing your restraints. You lie on the bed, unable to move.

"There, there," she says as she lays next to you and pets your hair.

You turn your head towards her and smile. She kisses you on the lips and pets your cheek.

"Let's get you all cleaned up, princess" she smiles, sitting up. "Then maybe we'll watch some more videos, hm?"

#wanda x you #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff #marvel wlw #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x reader #marvel smut #marvel fic #love's letters #wanda maximov

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sleepiexx · 4 months

Note

Hi sleepie🖤!! SorryI'm bit shy but I was wondering if you could a valeria x fem!reader x farah if you can't it's ok.

(have a great day or night🖤)

Everything is Falling Apart

Farah Karim x fem!Reader x Valeria Garza

Note: you requested this in late December I’m soooo sorry it took this long 😭😩 I wrote a lot and I’m willing to do a part two so anyone feel free to request!!

Summary: Farah and Valeria were never destined to meet, but when they come across a common enemy they find they work rather well together.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, torture (not on reader

Word Count: 4476

It was not often that one of 141’s sworn enemies stormed through Farah’s front door looking to make a deal, yet in front of her stood the infamous Valeria Garza, backed by cartel, carrying a file of someone Farah knew very little, yet oh so well.

“Farah Karim.” Valeria addressed her steadily, looking at the woman for any hint that she would retaliate.

Farah straightened herself up, crossing her arms and staring with the exact same purpose, “Valeria Garza.”

Valeria’s lips quirked up into a smirk, “I see your little British friends have already told you about me.”

Farah continued to analyze every move the woman made, “what do you want?” She asked.

Valeria’s posture changed, any sign of smugness erased as she got to business. “We have a common enemy.”

Farah scoffed, “what common enemy could I have with you and your drug runners?”

Valeria threw the file she’d been carrying down on the table between them, opening it up and displaying its contents to Farah. Farah looked at the file, then back at Valeria with a quirked brow.

“Two weeks ago your systems were hacked by a seemingly untraceable source.”

Farah straightened her posture, gaze turned scrutinizing. She thought through a million different ways she could disarm Valeria and her men, holding steady, waiting for just one reason to enact any one of those plans.

Valeria’s smirk returned, “That got your attention, huh?” She laughed slyly, at the standoffish look on Farah’s face, “don’t worry, I had nothing to do with it.”

“And how am I to believe that?” Farah glared, “Am I meant to take your word for it?”

Valeria shook her head, “No, you’re not. But right there in front of you is proof that it was not me.” She pointed at the file, Farah began to read some of it.

“I only know that you were hacked, Farah, because three nights ago that very same hacker stole some important information from me.”

Farah nodded, a new sense of understanding, “so what do you propose?”

Valeria stepped forward, making the conversation more intimate and intense, “alone, neither of us have had much luck finding who did this. They’re skilled, I’ll give them that. Covering their tracks like nothing you or I have ever seen before, no doubt they have someone strong backing them. But with your forces and mine combined? They stand no chance. What do you say?”

Farah looked back to the file once more, taking in as much information as she could before offering her hand, “Deal.”

Valeria had proven correct.

Working with Valeria who wasn’t constrained by the politics and the rules enforced by the government proved to ensure things were done in half the time it took Graves or the 141. Their forces together found out more about this hacker in mere days than Farah alone had achieved in weeks.

And while they hadn’t exactly found a name, they found something much better: a location.

Still, they couldn’t go in straight away. They needed a plan. Blueprints for the building, how to get in and out, methods of capturing this hacker— and yes, they’d opted for capture over kill because while Valeria wanted the situation over and done with, Farah made good points on how they needed more information. Hacking through both cartel and rebel militant networks is not just an everyday endeavor, after all.

The time they spent prepping allowed for multiple revelations by the hacker herself.

She sat in a cold room, staring down at a computer monitor and debating herself. There was not a bone in her body that was confrontational. An anxious people pleaser, always scared to disappoint. Yet everyone has their breaking point, in which those bones which constantly allow themselves to be stepped on snap under pressure and you rapidly try to mend them with a splint of rage and conflict. Overcompensation.

She was anxious to disappoint, yes, but there were bigger issues at hand; namely, the documents she had nabbed. She was not supposed to be going through them, her job simply being to acquire them through any means necessary and, well, she’d always been good with computers. But it’s only human nature to peruse information you were never meant to have. The original sin, Eve and the apple, y/n and the documents she was absolutely under no circumstances allowed to open. Tale as old as time.

She knew it had to be bad. You kidnap someone to hack into such intricately protected servers, those servers are bound to have something important. She’d realized that as she hacked the first network and the fact that she wasn’t meant to look at the contents only cemented that fact.

Clicking into the files left her with an unbelievably guilty conscience, but that was nothing compared to the guilt she felt antagonizing over the possibilities of what her hacking would be used for. She knew nothing of the people who kidnapped her, but she knew they could not possibly be the “good guys.” Her mouse hovered over the most recent file for all but three seconds before she took the leap of faith and clicked on it. What she found was, simply put, confusing. Lists of locations, dates, times, she didn’t recognize any of it. No major events which had happened, although she didn’t much watch the news. She clicked into a search engine, looking up each of the dates and locations, only to come up short.

Her brows furrowed, left with more questions than answers. But there were more files she could search, she’d done a lot of digging, they ensured that. She clicked on another file, opening up a black screen with a play button and a timestamp on the bottom. She double checked that the volume on her computer was quiet enough that it could not be heard from outside of the room before pressing play. The scene was horrific.

It was an interrogation, clearly. A man tied to a chair, bag on his head. In front of him were two people, a man and a woman. Both looked intimidating, dressed like they were ready for trouble, muscular arms painted with inky black tattoos, a stare lingering on either of their eyes like they hungered for blood.

The bag was ripped off the man in the chair’s head by the man who was standing. The woman remained where she stood, leaned against a table, arms crossed, watching. Y/n didn’t let the woman’s lack of involvement fool her. The woman had the same predator stare as her companion, if not more sinister. She did not take the backseat, it was almost as if the man was following her silent command.

The interrogation methods which ensued were gut wrenching. Y/n felt as though she may get sick. The man’s screams were unlike anything she’d witnessed or heard before in her entire life. She pressed her palm to her mouth as she stared on in shock. Despite everything, the man would not give the pair the information they wanted. Y/n had no clue what the breaking point was, but the woman stepped up, waving away the man as she called him incompetent— he seemed fairly competent at torture, at least to y/n. She couldn’t fathom what the woman had in plan.

Her face flushed and dread seeped into every inch of her body. She had no idea it could get worse, but it did. The man was left choking on his blood, finally breaking to the woman’s will after a mere five minutes.

While her attention was fixed on the computer screen, the sound of the door opening went unbeknownst to y/n. She clicked off the file, opting to open another but she was stopped short by a stern voice.

“What are you doing?”

Her head shot up from the monitor, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “I- I was just-“

“Opening the file you were specifically instructed to leave alone?” He took a pernicious step in her direction.

She was scared, beyond belief. She knew she had to respond and she had to respond well, but thinking on her feet never seemed to be her thing. “Well it- it’s necessary that I- uhm, ensure I uploaded everything properly.”

His face was stone cold, he was not fooled by her words, that much was evident. “Shouldn’t you have done that when you acquired the file to begin with?”

She licked her lips, shifting her gaze across the room, “I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

There was nothing to do but double down, it was almost like she could physically feel her chances of making it out of this alive spill away and seep down the cracks in the floor as the “mhm,” left her mouth.

In anger, he violently slammed his boot clad foot into the metal trash can beside him, creating a thundering noise to go along with his rage filled voice. “Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? Huh?”

“No- No, no sir! I just-“ her voice cracked, she knew she couldn’t talk her way out of this one, “please just let me go! I won’t tell anyone I swear. I just want out, please!”

The man shook his head, “we will let you go when we are through with you. Until then, you stay right here.”

She shook her head in frustration, “these people you’re fucking with are dangerous, I- I don’t even want to know what they’d do to me if we’re caught.”

He got up in her face, grabbing her wrist with a near bone breaking clutch, “you don’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you don’t do as I say.”

Her face twisted in pain, “fuck- fuck- Jesus fucking god okay! Okay? Let go!”

He dropped her wrist, allowing it to fall to her side. For a moment, he stood unmoving, yet all at once he was impossibly closer, “I’m the one in charge here, you’d do well to remember that,” he snarled. He stared for a tense moment before turning on his heel and leaving the room, not bothering to lock the door when he knew well that there were guards she wouldn’t dare cross.

And all at once she was alone again.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

She pleaded with herself. She could not cry, not here, not now. She would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her tears.

She sat still and suffered in silence for just a moment, praying to everything and to nothing, that this would all just be over.

Hours passed, and she swore up and down she was driving herself crazy in that room. Those four walls seemed to cave in on her, she paced and paced, thoughts racing, searching for any way out of the situation she’d found herself in that fateful night she decided to go on a walk at night. Such a stupid idea, looking back on it, to walk the barely lit pathway from her apartment to the corner store, music blaring in her ears. Almost as though she was begging someone to snatch her up off the street and take her away, never to be seen again.

She felt sick, but self hatred had to be cast aside for now. She had to clear her mind, had to think. How could she get out of this? Could she get out of this?

She was shook from her thoughts by a loud explosion, like gunshots— no, not like. The closer she listened, she realized they were gunshots.

The door slammed open, some part of her, no matter how minuscule, hoped it was the man from before. Better a devil that you know, right? But it wasn’t that man, no it was some woman she’d never seen before. She knew better than to trust it, but her brain couldn’t help her here. Not against trained freedom fighter Farah Karim.

She didn’t know the woman but she knew she was screwed as she was slammed against the table. Even more so when she caught a glimpse over Farah’s shoulder. No more than 5 feet away stood the woman whose image she would never burn out of her head, the woman from the video.

Terror shot through her very being. She knew this whole thing would go tits up, could feel it from the moment she saw that goddamn video. This “organization” which had kidnapped her would fuck up and she would reap the consequences.

She kicked and she hit, flailing around in a desperate attempt to fight her way out of the grasp of the woman on top of her. It wasn’t until she felt the sting of cool metal on the base of her throat that she stilled. Her eyes met cold, dark brown. The same eyes she’d seen torture that man in the video without a hint of sympathy. Her chest heaved.

“You’re not going to move unless I say so, you got that?” The hacker tried to nod but the knife moved further up on her neck, pressed harder, nearly piercing her skin, “What did I just say? Tell me, out loud.”

“‘M not gonna move,” she breathed out.

The woman scoffed, lightening the tension between blade and throat only slightly, keeping it there as a reminder of what would happen should the girl before her choose to disobey, “damn right you’re not.”

The other woman in the room was aloof, uncaring about the air of violence caused by her comrade, almost relishing in it yet refraining herself, “Where are they?”

“What?” The hacker asked, wanting nothing more than to answer without a struggle but not understanding the question.

“The files you stole, where are they?”

Those files were important, she could guess that the moment she was kidnapped and forced to retrieve them. Even more so when it was drilled in her head that she was never to give them up, that the man tasked with holding her captive would hurt her worse than the women before her could even imagine. But in their presence, it was easy to tell who was scarier. After all, she’d seen what just one of them could do. But that man? Well, who’s to say he’s not just all talk?

“They- they’re on the computer.”

The knife was pulled from her neck Valeria gestured to the desk. When y/n made no attempt to move, she spoke, “go on then, show us.”

She stood hesitantly, keeping her eye on the women as she went over to the desktop. It wasn’t password protected, there was no need. Not when it wasn’t her own personal device and the men holding her hostage couldn’t tell their ass from their elbow when it came to technology.

She clicked on the file which she’d opened mere hours before and to her horror, what popped up on the screen had been the last thing she viewed. The sight of blood spattered all over that room made her queasy, the fact that the woman who spilled that blood was right behind her with a knife bid her no semblance of security. She flinched, like a teenager who’d been caught watching a porno. And all the same, she scrambled to click out of that specific file and into the folder containing all the information she’d thieved.

The tension was thick, yet it was broken by the loud click of the door being slammed open. Every head in the room turned toward the man in the doorway.

Shit.

She’d been obedient to these women, riding on the fact that the man who threatened her not to wasn’t in the room. Yet here he stood before her, pointing a gun like he’d done so a million times— and she didn’t doubt that he had. What that said about his aim was scary, her end seemed almost imminent yet she could not just accept that. No, her body refused. Adrenaline raced through her veins, preparing her for something she hadn’t half the mind to do.

“Hands up!” His voice boomed. They each listened, her scurrying to put her arms up, palm faced towards him. The other women were slow to do it, but followed, scoffing as though this were only a minor inconvenience.

He did not seem to like that.

“What? You think this isn’t serious?” His brows furrowed, and his face twisted to near rage. The barrel of the gun scanned the room, coming to a stop on the hacker.

Her mouth fell open— she was the least threat in this room, why was the gun on her?

“You need her, right? She’s the one who knows everything you need. I put a bullet in her brain and you’re left with nothing.”

She looked at the other women, suddenly realizing that they were fuming. Farah’s eyes shot to her, searching for signs of betrayal. She found none, but fear was evident— must not have been close with this specific man.

She was patient, calculated. And so was her confidant, but in the presence of such a foolish man, brash measures were deemed necessary. They stared on like predators.

Events flashed one after another, adrenaline making it seem like time ran faster than it truly did. One moment the man held a gun in his hands, trained on the talented young hacker, the next a fight broke out between him and the two military trained women and just when it looked like he had the upper hand, y/n found herself standing over the man, hands coated in thick splatters of blood that wouldn’t seem to stop spewing from the wound she’d made in his eye. The scissors weren’t meant to go so deep. Fuck. This couldn’t be happening.

She had no idea what came over her, it was like she wasn’t in her own body. Like instinct had taken over; if you don’t kill that man, he’ll kill you first. But, he couldn’t be dead, could he? She couldn’t have killed him.

Her bloodied hands shot to his neck, holding two fingers to where she assumed the artery was. She didn’t know what she was searching for. A pulse, maybe, something to prove that she wasn’t a killer. That she hadn’t done this. She moved her fingers around when she felt no movement, surely she just hadn’t found the right spot.

Valeria pushed her hands aside, taking over where y/n had left off with 20 times the precision. Her head turned back to the other woman, “he’s dead.”

Y/n’s heart dropped, her airway seemed to tighten and her face twitched as if in agony.

“One less problem for us to deal with,” Valeria remarked with a smile.

Farah shook her head, eyes trained on the bloodied hacker. This prompted Valeria’s smile to drop as she turned to where Farah was looking in curiosity.

The face the girl before them made was one they knew well. Innocence broken. First blood. She had never killed anyone before.

“Oh- oh god. He’s dead- I killed him!” Her eyes couldn’t stop themselves from holding steady on the man’s body, “they- it, it wasn’t supposed to go so deep. Oh my god, I’m a killer.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

The voice that seemed lately to constantly echo this in her head, finally went silent. Tears dripped down her face. She felt pure dread.

Farah and Valeria couldn’t take their eyes off the scene. They couldn’t get a proper read on the girl. Maybe she’s been conducting her crimes behind a screen, never getting into the nit and grit, leaving the dirty work to other people. But one nagging thought creeped in, one neither of them could seem to push away no matter how hard they tried; maybe, just maybe this hacker girl wasn’t as guilty in this as they had originally thought.

“Fuck.” Farah whispered, cautiously stepping towards the near catatonic hacker despite the harsh look Valeria gave her. She kneeled between the girl and the body, hoping it would urge her eyes from the spot where his body lay, it did not.

“Look at me,” Farah said, voice steady, commanding, yet full of tact. Y/n looked up, lashes lined with tears, lips trembling, nose twitching, still desperate to listen to the woman who seemed to hold her fate in her hands. “You didn’t do anything you didn’t absolutely have to.”

The girl shook with such intensity you’d think there was an earthquake, a haunted look in her eyes as she sniffled and sobbed, “I killed him.”

Valeria was slower to melt at the sorrow than Farah had been, burned one too many times by some teary eyed kid pretending they were traumatized only to sheath a knife in her back. But that look in her eyes was unmistakable, the type of panic and grief you couldn’t fake. An innocence that was irreplicable.

She kneeled beside Farah, placing a hand on the shaking shoulder of the hacker, “for good reason.”

The girl shook her head, in a downward spiral, end nowhere in sight.

But there was no time to console her. Alarms blared across the building, startling the hacker into letting out something between a sob and a scream.

No matter how much the women wanted to help, they knew it would have to wait. Time was running out. Valeria pulled her off the ground, grabbing her shoulders and giving her precise instructions.

“You listen to me, you do exactly as I say and you make it out of this alive. Go to the computer, I want you to put all the information— the files, videos, logs— on this drive,” she pulled the girl’s hand from her side, roughly placing a thumb drive into her hand and clasping her fingers around it, “and then you are going to follow us out of this room and we are leaving. Do you understand?”

She nodded, unable to even form words. When the woman let go of her hand, she hightailed it to the desk, moving information faster than she had ever done in her life. It wasn’t like she did high-stress “hacking,” on the regular, just small things, things that seemed stupid in comparison. When she was done, she placed the drive on the table, wiping all original copies clean off the computer.

The second she gave the indication that she was done, they were out the door. Farah behind her, Valeria in front, pulling her along by her wrist.

They didn’t get far before they were stopped. Pulled into a flow of violence and fighting as they went down a flight of stairs, meeting what was presumably their forces fighting ferociously in the hall. The hacker had no clue what to do with herself, staring around aimlessly, for a moment, she considered tucking tail and running while everyone was distracted but the thought was quickly snuffed out as she made eye contact with Valeria. Brown eyes glared into her own and she stood confused, it’s not like the woman could’ve heard her thoughts.

A slamming pain is what made everything make sense. Oh. She was not glaring at y/n, rather what was behind her. All too fast, the world faded from focus.

Existence was fuzzy. Life seemed so far away. A ringing in her ears was all she could tether herself with, floating around the endless mind scape that was her thoughtless brain.

What brought her to consciousness was a stinging pain ringing through her skull, like the buzz of an amp before a concert. She was confused. Looking around, her surroundings were unfamiliar. Had this entire ordeal been a dream? Some weird post-one night stand nightmare? Post nut clarity? She didn’t remember sleeping with anyone, and she knew good and well that she had a couple weeks worth of memories in captivity, but the mind was a fickle thing, and that was a kinder thought than the realization that everything she experienced had actually happened.

She went to wipe her tired eyes but found that she couldn’t move her hands. Looking above her, she found her hands bound with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. Huh, maybe this had been some weird sex dream after all. But if that’s so, where was her partner? And why was she still tied.

She tugged at the cuffs, seeing if there was any give, but her hands stayed trapped. She huffed in frustration and a slow building panic, what if the organization recaptured her? The fuzzy cuffs were strange, sure, but maybe they figured her wrists needed to be in tact for hacking. That didn’t take other forms of torture off the table, she had betrayed them after all. Whether she had any loyalty to them in the first place or not.

She heard the door to the room open and she sank into the bed, letting her eyes fall shut as she pretended she was still asleep.

The room was quiet for a moment, until right next to her ear she heard, “I know you’re awake.”

She flinched, eyes opening only to be met with the same dark brown she’d seen as she was hit over the head.

She wondered briefly where Farah had gone, but her question was answered as a scoff sounded behind the other woman. “Leave the girl alone, she passed the test.”

The hacker’s brows furrowed, “test?” She wondered aloud.

Valeria smirked, “the cuffs. Any trained professional could know how to get out of these in seconds,” she grabbed onto the metal, tugging on it to prove that the cuffs were still tight, “you, clearly, are no trained professional.”

Anxiety bubbled in her stomach, it felt as though they could smell her fear. They knew now that she had absolutely nothing over them, no way of fighting back, no thumb drive as leverage. They could drag her through their every whim and she would have to just take it. Her frightened demeanor was evident.

Farah stepped forward, “you have nothing to worry about,” she fiddled with the cuffs before pulling them away and holding them up, freeing the hacker’s wrists, “just means you don’t have to wear these any more.”

“Can I- can I go home?”

“Not yet.”

The hopeful gleam fell from her face unceremoniously, you’re not out of the woods yet, she reminded herself.

“Cheer up,” Valeria almost commanded, “we just have some things we need to sort out, until then you’re staying with Farah and I.”

The hacker looked on expectedly for the woman’s name, presuming that Farah was the other woman in the room.

“That’s Valeria,” Farah explained, “what’s your name?”

The hacker's eyes flitted between the women, anxious, holding off on answering until it seemed almost inappropriate to do so, “y/n.”

Unbeknownst to the group, this little alliance between Valeria and Farah which held y/n captive would become so much more than ever intended.

#farah karim x reader #farah Karim x you #farah karim #farah cod #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza cod #valeria garza #valeria cod #call of duty fanfic

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silverheartlugia2000 · 1 year

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DCXDP prompt

Ok, so there's plenty of Danny laying low or freaking out about the no meta rule, but I have this CRAVING of someone for once just explaining it to him? Like whoever bird or birds he's talking to just leans in and whispers "Wanna know a secret? That's mostly just a mind control precaution. I mean would you want to see Supes jacked up on fear gas? If the league do come over he prefers to be called first so he's close if something happens."

Danny- "Oh... yeah that makes sense actually, that shit isn't fun to be under.."

"Wait is THAT why you have that string of robberies on your record?!"

"That and the time my whole town got possessed in order to make me look bad and get arrested.."

The bird then drags Danny into the cave to open Bruce's file on him, and they both sit down and fill in the gaps on the shadier spots of his record. Heck Danny eventually gives Bats a few thermoses and other less harmful but still disabling device blueprints to add to the contingency file cause even if Dan is in therapy and on probation he knows his shit luck will probably make it needed sooner rather than later and he knows how fast it will go bad.

It comes in very handy at the next gala when Vlad attempts to have a duplicate overshadow Bruce who refuses to take his business propositions. Vlad gets nosey before Danny pulls up his king rights and makes vlad take an Oath (the magic binding kind) to not mess with Bruce or his family or reveal any of their super identities to anyone at all. Constantine is there beforehand to read over the contract and outthink any loopholes before vlad can take advantage of them.

Danny gives them samples of ecto-dejecto for medical emergencies, the Bat's keep them refreshed and in stock especally after they meet Ellie and hear about her stability problems. With help from Frostbite and Danny's ok they start working on a more reliable formula just for Ellie's sake.

Yes Jason is calmer around the halfas and he is slowly stabilizing enough form a proper core from it, (not an instant fix this time!) whether hes becoming a true halfa, more towards a remnant, or both they arent sure. But one night when the phantoms arent around Jason is having a bad time, reacting from something he was hit with during a fight. Tim just grabs one of the ecto-pens on a whim and it just flushes out the toxin so fast Jay passes out. When he wakes up his core has had a good growth spurt, its still not complete yet but he's beginning to get some minor abilities, the Phantom sibs start coaching him before it gets strong enough for Jason to turn completely intangible and if Jay starts complaining? Clockwork whisks them ALL up to the tower for a home movie night of Danny's greatest fails. Grampa has a collection, good and bad XD. Yes Danny is cringing in shame while eating Clockwork's ecto cookies but Jason is slowly starting to understand the importance of getting the basics right cause he does NOT want to accidentally sink completely under the ground without being able to get back out no thank you!!

What core type would he get anyway? Shadow's like Johnny because of the stealth perks? Earth to prevent being buried again? Would he have literature as a secondary obsession cause obviously he's gonna follow Danny into the family/protection category but since Danny also has a space obsession why not?

He puts Jazz's name in the list of superhero safe therapists, the fact she's already making waves at Arkam is only boosting her reputation. Especially once they read her paper on ghost obsessions and how sometimes they are comparable to hyper-fixations in autistics in the way they both satisfy and promote healthy growth for a ghosts physical and mental state but also how being deprived of them or forced to go against them can be severely harmful to their literal health.

And that was one thing the birds kept tripping on to understand whenever they needed to bench one of the halfas but they would end up just hovering around NEEDING to be helpful no mater how much they are told to go back to bed. They also get a whole new understanding on what happened to Dan cause yeah his whole timeline is based on loosing his family and retaliating out of grief.

So from then on the halfas are allowed to help with little tasks as long as they do not strain their recovery at all. Whenever Danny gets sickly and depressed they take him up to the watch tower, Ellie gets lessons in different languages so she can interact more when they let her join them on international trips, Jason gets set loose in a newly discovered bookstore when the manor's or Bab's library isn't enough, and Dan.. they're still figuring him out but he seems to enjoy wrecking little play city set ups and games where you play as the monster like Godzilla or Rampage along with general ghost sibling rough housing. (Lilo and Stitch is his favorite movie but you'd be hard pressed to get him to admit it,)

As for ships, definitely anger management. Jason becomes an unofficial fourth Phantom sib. Platonic everlasting trio cause Danny loves his friends and they will pet him like a cat for hours while his tail coils around them possessively like a giant snake and still make memes of it when he's grumpy. Brain dead is fun also, especially if Danny or the others are capable of Little Baby Man form and Tim has to fight Damian for cuddle rights! Bats has his usual girls but hey superman isn't that bad to hang around either.

#dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #silverlugia's free prompts #danny phantom #batman #jason peter todd #danielle phantom #dan phantom #halfa jason #tag me if you use this #little baby man danny?

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venus-haze · 1 year

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Kick It Out (Queen Maeve x Reader)

Summary: Maeve doesn’t date, for her own good and that of anyone she might be interested in. Teaching you how to kickbox definitely isn’t dating, even if the two of you do flirt every time you’re alone.

Note: Female reader with some references to being plus size, but not enough for me to designate the fic as such. No other descriptors are used. This takes place slightly before Homelander outed Maeve, but she still does a lot of internal shittalking about him. Hopefully I did well with her characterization because I’m already planning a follow-up. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Some references to homophobia Maeve’s experienced. Homelander vaguely threatens the reader to Maeve. Semi-public fingering, Maeve's kinda rough. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

It was a coincidence, really, when Maeve walked by Vought’s employee gym during one of the yoga sessions that was part of HR’s company wellness initiative. She’d forgotten Vought even had that, not interacting much with the corporation's rank and file on a regular basis and using The Seven’s exclusive gym to train. The employee gym was spacious, clean, and at that moment filled with dozens of Vought employees in a rainbow of athleticwear. Maeve could remember the old Jane Fonda workout tapes her mom used to put on in the mornings, how pleased she was with little Maggie’s rapt attention at the videos. You always need to keep your body moving, Maggie. It’s so important.

Her eyes scanned the group lazily until they landed on you in the middle of a stretch that made Maeve feel like that little girl staring at Jane Fonda in spandex all over again. She licked her lips, giving you a quick once over before anyone could notice. You would become target number one the moment Homelander got a whiff she was remotely interested in you. Her fists clenched at the thought of how he–and her own complacency–ruined her relationship with Elena. She couldn’t do that to you, not that she even knew your name, and she wouldn’t learn it if she could help it. She wasn’t that selfish.

At least, that’s what she thought, until somehow she kept running into you. An interview here, a briefing there, she wasn’t even sure what you did at Vought exactly. It didn’t matter. You clearly hadn’t drunk the Kool-Aid, viewing your job as a way to pay the bills instead of the feverish devotion so many of its employees had. She started looking forward to seeing you, taking the opportunity to stand next to you when she could and exchange quips back and forth about how corny a promotion seemed or how weird the marketing team was.

Like clockwork, though, you’d be in the employee gym whenever the yoga classes were being held. She casually brought it up one day, asking if you were really that into yoga, or just taking advantage of the free classes.

You nodded. “Yoga’s nice, but I’d love to get into kickboxing or something. I’m kind of nervous to sign up for a class. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up.”

“I can teach you,” Maeve said, the words coming out of her mouth before she could even think.

“Are you sure? That’d be great, but only if you have the time and everything.”

“Yeah, let me give you my number. It’ll be easier to plan that way.”

You handed your phone to her, and she quickly entered her personal number into your messages, texting a simple ‘Hey’ to herself. She hesitated a moment before giving you back your phone. Okay, this was for real. She was committing to it.

“I’ll text you later. I’m free most weeknights, so just let me know,” you said cheerfully.

A sour mix of excitement and regret clouded her mind until you left, and as she walked down the hall to the elevator, she thought she’d at least have a chance to at least convince herself that it wouldn’t be that bad. She was never that lucky.

“Uncharacteristically nice of you to offer to help out Y/N,” Homelander said, almost as if materializing out of nowhere.

Maeve balled her hands into fists at her side. Why did he always have to be lurking? Recently, he had been fucking off to god only knows where, sometimes for days at a time. Of course he had to be around when she finally made a move. “I’m just full of surprises.”

“Your heart’s beating like a racehorse, Maeve. You’re not that excited about just practicing some kickboxing moves, are you? I’d be a better partner than her, in that case. You and I are practically indestructible. Her on the other hand—it’s amazing how fragile humans are.”

Maeve remained silent, letting out a shaky breath as she refused to acknowledge his taunting.

“You think she knows her sports bra is a size too small? I mean, one downward dog and her tits are practically spilling out of—“

“Get a grip,” Maeve snapped.

“Hey, don’t be like that. It’s just locker room talk,” Homelander said, a menacing smile plastered across his face. “Speaking of surprises, I wonder what Y/N would think if she knew this was all a ploy for you to get into those tight yoga pants of hers. I guess I can’t blame you. Not exactly my type, but with the way you can see her panty line through them, she’s practically asking for it.”

“Asking for what?” she asked, standing taller as she looked him in the eye, daring him to make his threat.

“Hit a nerve there, huh, Maeve?”

“Mind your business, and I’ll mind mine.”

“Well, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” he said abruptly.

She knew him well enough that it meant someone was coming down the hall, and he didn’t want them hearing a word he said. Scoffing, she shook her head as she walked away, trying to keep a brave face as she made her way to the elevator.

Storming into her suite, she slammed the door behind her and threw the nearest breakable object at the wall before collapsing onto the couch, her head in her hands. Fuck. She’d been too obvious, too careless, and now you were going to be on the receiving end of it. Keeping her distance wouldn’t be fair to you, and it’d only put you in more danger when it came to Homelander. As much of a Girl Scout as Starlight could be sometimes, at least she was willing to risk it all for Hughie, even when he was lying through his teeth to her about Butcher and Compound V. At the very least, Maeve could do the same for you moving forward.

Still, she decided she was way too sober for her liking, and dug through her cabinets to find a half-drunk bottle of vodka, wanting to escape the gravity of the situation she found herself in for just a little while.

The next day, she woke up a few minutes past eleven, her head pounding as she checked her phone. A few missed calls and texts, including one from you: ‘Hey! Homelander said you were sick. Hope you feel better soon💐’

Between the thought of Homelander being near you and her raging hangover, Maeve leaned over the side of the bed, throwing up into the nearby trash can. She got another text from Ashley, asking if she’d still be able to do her designated crime fighting schedule that night since she was supposed to team up with A-Train. Staring at the text, she grinned, getting out of bed to choke down a few aspirin and make her way to crime analytics.

The department’s office was depressingly dark, and the girl who nervously pulled up the schedule for the next few weeks looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Opening the notes on her phone, she quickly typed what days and times Homelander would be away from the tower. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d do while she figured out how to take control of the situation.

Your kickboxing lessons with her began a little after seven on a Thursday evening. Maeve had asked you to keep everything under wraps, claiming she didn’t want everyone pestering her to train them. This was a one-off thing because you were friends. She was relieved at how your face lit up when she put it that way.

The whole arrangement made her realize how rusty she was at flirting with someone she was actually interested in, as opposed to the sleazy guys she’d bring up to the tower for one-night stands only to kick them out afterward. Training with you was great, you were eager to learn despite struggling to pick up some of the moves. She took the opportunity to stand close to you, putting her arms over yours and guiding your movements, her body framing yours. Sometimes her hands would linger over your skin, feeling how soft you were against her until she felt you shiver or heard your breath hitch. The physical, intimate closeness drove her crazy. In those moments, she wondered what your whole body felt like, your stomach and thighs surely plush beneath her fingertips.

Things came to a head during your fourth training session. Homelander hadn’t been at the tower for a day or so, and you were acting bolder. There was no way you didn’t catch her staring at the way you bounced around while Heart’s ‘Kick It Out’ blasted from the speakers you’d connected your phone to. She was sure you were doing it on purpose at that point.

“I think I’m almost as good as you,” you joked, beads of sweat rolling down your forehead.

She laughed. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Bring it on!”

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you stood across from her on the training mat. Your stance wasn’t the best, but you were trying despite her dodging your blows with ease. Just because she liked you, it didn’t mean she was going to hand you a win. You were having fun, a smile on your face as she caught your lifted leg before you could really kick.

In any other scenario, she figured you could hold your own pretty well in a fight with a non-supe. You threw a punch which Maeve blocked without so much as blinking. One more time, you went for another kick, only for her to send you flat on your back with a thud.

She pinned you to the mat, the two of you silent except for your breathing. Maeve didn’t do anything but stare at your face, just mere inches from hers for a few moments. God, you were fucking pretty. Your eyes seemed to sparkle despite the harsh gym lighting, and your parted lips were almost calling to her.

“You win,” you said softly from beneath her.

“Do I get a prize?”

“Wanna get drinks after this? On me?”

She smiled, reluctantly getting up from on top of you. “Hope you have your credit card ready.”

You took her outstretched hand, almost surprised at how fluidly she pulled you up onto your feet, until you remembered she was the strongest woman in the world, after all. The fact that she was getting drinks with you was a plus.

“I know a few places in my neighborhood, if you don’t mind going out to Brooklyn,” you said. “They’re kind of dives, but they’re fun.”

“That honestly sounds perfect.”

“Okay. I’m gonna shower and change really quick.”

She nodded. “Take your time.”

As soon as you disappeared into the locker room, Maeve looked down at her costume, internally groaning. It was the furthest thing from inconspicuous. In all honesty, she missed having a secret identity, the small thing that separated her from the persona that Vought manufactured for her. Whether for sentimentality or foolish hope of a situation like this one, she’d kept some of her street clothes.

Glancing at the locker room again, she decided to rush up to her suite and throw on something that would afford the two of you some privacy. Tapping her foot impatiently, she waited for the elevator doors to open before slipping inside and pressing the button for her floor.

When she reached her suite, she frowned at the selection of clothing in her dresser. Touching one shirt, she felt a lump form in her throat. The somewhat coarse fabric sent memories rushing back, she’d worn it on one of her last dates with Elena, before she handed her whole life over to Vought and Homelander sunk his hooks into her. There was a slight stain on the sleeve, evidence of Elena’s wine glass that had tipped over when some asshole decided to make it clear that he didn’t approve of their date, so he had to make it the whole restaurant’s problem. When he started becoming aggressive, Maeve grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him over, knocking him into at least three other tables with the sheer force she used. That was the catalyst for her initially fake relationship with Homelander, as Vought’s marketing team decided it would improve her image after the incident.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she tried grounding herself. Things could be different with you. She’d take back control of her life—from Vought, from Homelander, from her own self-sabotage. Her outfit choice for the kind-of-but-not-really date was simple. She ran her fingers through her signature styled waves, messing her hair up a bit to make her less recognizable. Seeing herself in the mirror, she smiled. For the first time in months, she looked and felt like herself.

Her phone buzzed, and to her relief, it was a text from you.

‘Hey! Ready to go when you are🍻’

Biting her lip, she retyped her response to you three times before sending, ‘Great be down in a min😄’

She instantly regretted her choice of emoji, but it didn’t matter, something that simple wasn’t going to ruin her night. After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she was asked out by someone she actually liked. You hadn’t explicitly said it was a date, but the tension was there, and Maeve hoped to god she wasn’t reading too much into things.

You were waiting in the gym for her, now changed back into your work clothes of a blouse and skirt. In the meantime, you had pulled up the info for some of the bars that you and your friends frequented in your neighborhood. She looked over them quickly, settling on a 70s-themed one you recommended based on the decor and cheap burgers. Her mind raced while the two of you walked down the hall and to the elevator, deciding to leave through a service corridor rather than the building’s main floor.

As the elevator made its descent to the lower levels of the building, Maeve figured she at least owed it to you to let you know what you were getting yourself into. She’d already put you at risk with the amount of time she was spending with you. You looked at her in confusion when she pressed the emergency stop.

“You know this isn’t just drinks, right?”

You smiled a bit, “What is it then?”

“Y/N, I’m serious,” she said. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Maeve, can you just be real with me instead of the cryptic shit?”

“Fuck," she groaned. "Okay, look. I’m into you, but Homelander’s a jealous son of a bitch who won’t let me have a life, so the fact that we’ve been spending time together and going out for drinks means you’re in serious danger.”

You were quiet for a few moments. She took your silence as an understandable rejection, moving to press the emergency stop button to bring you back up until you spoke.

“I’ll take the risk.”

“Are you sure? Y/N, Homelander won’t hold back. I’ll do what I can to protect you, but–”

You looked at her, really looked at her, as she laid out the risks for you clear as day. It didn’t matter. You’d come to the conclusion pretty quickly that she was worth it. She was Queen fucking Maeve for Christ’s sake. Most importantly, though, you were into her too, and you’d never forgive yourself for passing up the opportunity to go out with her and see where things led.

As she was in the middle of listing ways Homelander could kill you, you interrupted her with a quick peck on the lips, enough to startle her out of her rant for a moment. That seemed to get the message through, because she kissed you, backing you into the elevator wall across from the closed doors.

You parted your lips for her, happy to let her take the lead as she cupped your cheek in her hand, her fingers pulling your face closer to her. Even though she’d just pinned you to the floor less than an hour earlier, you were taken aback by how strong she was. She bit gently on your bottom lip, her teeth tugging at it before kissing you again.

Groping one of your breasts through your blouse, she moved her hand further down your body until she reached your thighs, her fingers gently tracing undistinguishable patterns into your skin. You could feel her start to play with the hem of your skirt before sliding her hand beneath it.

You whispered a soft “yes” against her lips when her fingers brushed against the damp spot on your panties. Pressing her fingers against your core, she watched your face contort in pleasure as you whimpered for more.

It felt like eternity before she finally pushed her hand past the cotton material and began teasing your clit, ignoring your aching pussy. She pressed hot, open kisses against your skin before settling on the crook of your neck, biting into the tender skin so hard you almost thought it would break.

“Maeve, fuck,” you moaned.

“Too hard?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Harder.”

Maeve grinned, slipping her index and middle fingers into your pussy, and you were almost embarrassed at how wet you were. She didn’t care, curling her fingers inside you, pumping them in and out until your breath caught in your throat. You gasped as you gripped her shoulders, trying to keep your legs from giving out from under you. Using her other hand, she held you up by your thigh, her fingers squeezing your soft flesh.

You leaned your head back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut as she began rubbing her thumb against your clit, bringing her attention back to it as your pussy clenched around her fingers. She brought her lips to your ear, her teeth grazing your earlobe before she whispered, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“I’m close,” you barely managed to say.

“Don’t hold back. I wanna feel you,” she said, her voice raspy as she squeezed your thigh for emphasis.

“Fuck–fuck, I’m–”

You came on her hand, fully relying on her strength to keep you up as she kept fingering you through your orgasm. Pressing her lips to yours, you were hardly able to kiss her back as you moaned into her mouth, your fingers clawing at the wall behind you as you tried getting a grip on something.

Finally, she pulled her hand from your pussy, and the one that had been holding you by your thigh wrapped around your waist to support you. She brought her hand to her mouth, licking your juices off of them so casually you wouldn’t have thought anything of it. You kissed her again, feeling lightheaded at the taste of yourself on her lips. Still, you figured someone must have noticed by then that the elevator wasn’t working. You didn’t even want to think about anyone finding you and Maeve like that, especially if Homelander ended up hearing about it through the grapevine.

“My roommate’s working the night shift,” you whispered, your voice noticeably hoarser than before. “I’ve got beer at my place.”

“Fuck the bar,” Maeve said, kissing you again.

You let out a yelp that dissolved into a fit of giggles as she literally swept you off your feet. She smiled, pressing the emergency stop button, sending the two of you back down to the service corridor you’d be slipping out into the night from.

#queen maeve x reader #the boys x reader #queen maeve #maggie shaw #maggie shaw x reader #the boys #queen maeve imagine #the boys amazon #the boys tv

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animalcrossingshowdown · 5 months

Text

someone sent in this ask and I spent literal hours putting together this tutorial but then it wouldn't let me post it and when I went back into my inbox the ask was gone?? good thing I copy and pasted it, so here it is in its own post

I'm not sure if this will work with programs other than photoshop, but this is how I do it. I know @shinobi-bacon has a tutorial here on how they do it which is pretty different from the way I do it, so if my tutorial is confusing maybe theirs will click with you better lmao. I stole the greenscreen idea from them anyway

SO FIRST, you want your villager on a green screen background. to do this, go to harv's island and use a custom pattern to make the walls and floors bright green. If the villager you're using has green in their design, you'll have to pick a different colour that isn't in their design, but for most villagers green is fine.

if your villager has every colour on them like pietro or stiches then rip you're gonna have to do some manual editing frame by frame. try to choose a colour that doesn't touch the edges of their silhouette too much in that case because it'll make life easier for you

so once you have them in green purgatory, record them doing their emote or whatever. I just use the built-in screen record function that the switch has. press and hold this button to record the last 30 seconds that your switch displayed:

next send that video to your computer and trim off the start of the video so it starts right before a recognizable part of the animation. for this emote I cut it off right before the blink. if you have a slow computer, you'll probably want to trim the end off too so the video is only a little bit longer than one full animation loop

(you can use the video editing software of your preference, I just use quick time player Edit -> Trim)

okay time for photoshop. go File -> Import -> Video Frames to Layers

for "range to import" select "from beginning to end" (or you could skip the last step about trimming the video and select a range here, but I find it kind of finicky), and make sure "make frame animation" is checked

once imported, if it doesn't pop up on it's own, go Window -> Timeline to get your animation at the bottom

click through those frames at the bottom until you find an easily recognizable frame (I chose the first frame where her eyes are closed) and delete all the frames before it. in the layers panel, the layer from the frame you've selected should be the only one turned on. delete all the layers below it

now go through the frames to find the next identical frame. this is where the animation loops. delete that frame and all the frames after it, as well as all of their corresponding layers (note in the picture, frame 121 is selected, and it's exactly the same as the frame from the start of the animation)

hit the play button on the bottom left to double check that it loops properly

next, make sure both THE FIRST FRAME AND BOTTOM LAYER are selected, and crop and reduce the image to your desired size. you can do this step later if you want, it's just that doing it now will reduce the load on your computer and make it run a bit faster. just as long as the first frame and bottom layer are selected, you can do this at any time

SAVE HERE because if you mess up this next part it's a pain to fix, but it's easy to quit and start over if need be

now it's time for my best friend the actions panel !! say hi actions panel !! (Window -> Actions). what the actions panel does is record your steps so you can quickly automate repetitive tasks.

in the actions panel, click the folder and name it whatever you want

then click the little plus and name that whatever you want and hit record. You'll see the dot turn red to indicate that your actions are now being recorded

now with the BOTTOM LAYER AND FIRST FRAME selected (ignore that I have the wrong layer selected in the pictures, I fixed it after), go to Select -> Colour Range

click on a part of the canvas that would be green

shift+click on the rest of the green background and adjust the fuzziness until just the character's silhouette remains

hit OK, now the background should be selected. go Select -> Inverse so that the character is selected, and click on layer mask.

click the next frame button (you MUST click the button, not the actual frame. you need the recording to recognize "go to next frame" and not "select frame 2"),

then keyboard shortcut option + ] to select the next layer up (again, you MUST use the shortcut so it knows to move up one layer and not just "select layer 2"),

and then stop recording.

now just repeatedly click the play button and it will do all those steps we just did for each frame :)

this part is usually where it gets messed up for me. if it did something weird like duplicate the same frame or layer your animation over a static frame, just quit and reopen that save I told you to make earlier. the action recording you just made will still be there when you reopen photoshop, so just select the first frame and bottom layer and repeatedly hit play again. if it STILL doesn't work, you probably did something wrong

the recording is now saved in photoshop forever until you delete it, so you can reuse the recording for other gifs! but if they use a different colour background, you'll need to make a new recording (you can see I have separate ones for blue and purple screens). also if you were working with one of those colourful villagers and parts got masked out that shouldn't have been, you'll have to go frame by frame and manually fix them. that's why we masked out the background instead of deleting it.

now it's time to make it into a gif! go File -> Export -> Save for Web. make sure Matte is set to "none" so you don't get those weird white flecks. colours and dither you want as high as they can go, but you can lower them if you need to make the file smaller (though I'd recommend resizing the image smaller first). the bottom left shows your file size. currently as of January 2024, tumblr allows gifs of up to 10MB

and there ya go! gif! :)

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weirdmarioenemies · 1 year

Photo

Name: Guppycruncher

Debut: Insaniquarium

Insaniquarium is a really, really stupid game. I love it! Look at the little freak that is Guppycruncher! This is an ambiguously arthropodian creature whose body consists of massive slicing mandibles, a head to power those mandibles, eyes, to seek out its next target, and legs to get it to its prey. Its prey are your beloved, valuable guppies. And best of all, Guppycruncher is your friend!

Here we have a Baby Guppy. The foundation of our entire gameplay experience. Take care of your guppies well, and they will reward you with money! As they grow, their rewards increase, and they may even grow up into a resplendent crowned guppy dropping dazzling diamonds! But sometimes that’s not a viable enough strategy. Sometimes you need money FASTER. And that is where Guppycruncher comes in!

You get no points for guessing what Guppycruncher does to guppies. You do however, get a smile! You are all winners :)

You may think it is silly that, in a game where the goal is to reach a certain amount of money by raising fish, you would intentionally purchase a creature whose sole purpose is to kill and eat these fish before they can even mature. Well, I’m here to tell you that YOU are the silly ones!

See? As Guppycruncher eats guppies, it creates Beetles! Yes, kids, this is where beetles come from! No, I don’t know what an “egg” is! Guppycruncher’s massive jaws make it look quite a bit like an antlion larva’s head, and it functions sort of like the opposite of a real antlion! Guppycruncher eats fish and spits out insects. Meanwhile, real antlions eat insects! And for all you know, they could be pooping out fish underground!

That all being said, I would not be at all surprised if Guppycruncher was inspired by the bobbit worm! Unlike an antlion, it jumps up to catch its prey, as a bobbit worm lunges out from its burrow! It’s like a bobbit worm head with legs. Also, I just want to mention that the butt-like shape of its head reminds me of how big dogs have a butt shape on the top of their heads due to their large jaw muscles! They probably did not have that in mind here, but it is fun anyway.

Anyway, Beetles are where the REAL money is! It quickly becomes more economical to have a steady supply of cheap little guppies in order to feed a growing army of Guppymunchers, since beetles are worth more than currency. But what if you want MORE? More than beetles? Frankly, how dare you ask such a thing. But fine.

Name: Beetlemuncher

“Finally! A use for all those pesky beetles!” -an utter fool

It’s true, I love beetles, and I belittle those who disrespect them, but boy howdy, I love Beetlemuncher, too! Beetlemuncher loves beetles, and in fact thinks they look good enough to munch! However, that will have to wait. Beetlemuncher has a more important mission.

Just kidding! Beetlemuncher’s purpose is to eat beetles. But why? Why continue to extend this cycle of creatures eating creatures? Because Beetlemuncher drops PEARLS! Like an oyster, except these pearls are BETTER, and more valuable.

Just like Guppycruncher, Beetlemuncher is a bizarre but delightful sort of creature! This one is a chameleon head with chameleon arms and a tadpole tail sticking out of it. I love it! In the files, it is known as “gekko”, but I just finished telling you it is more like a chameleon. Please trust me!

So, guppies eat fish food. Guppycruncher eats guppies, and makes beetles. Beetlemuncher eats beetles, and makes pearls. Nothing eats pearls, because pearls are a choking hazard, of course! I hope you have learned a lot about Fish today!

#insaniquarium #guppy #guppycruncher #beetlemuncher #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako

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totowlff · 7 months

Text

the encounter

➝ a painting, an agent and a crime. sounds good, no?

➝ word count: 3,9k

➝ warnings: descriptions of crimes, reader being clumsy

➝ author’s note: i finally felt safe enough to post this story. it's a more or less alternative universe, since it has some real things (i'd love to know your bets). hope you like it.

It was an ugly, gloomy day in Vienna, and you found yourself sitting in the cafe you tended to frequent these days. As far as anybody knew, and as far as you told anybody, it was a nice place to come and work during the day, so almost every day for the past few weeks, you sat in your usual seat by the window and sipped coffee as you ostensibly worked on something important on your laptop. As far as anybody asked, the cafe was comfortable enough and it was fairly close to your apartment, and you simply weren’t quite as productive when you were working at home. That’s what you told people, along with the fact that you worked in finance.

You weren’t working on anything at the moment, because your mind was elsewhere, and your eyes were fixed on something across the street from the cafe. You were staring at an old antique shop, with a dark green facade and gold lettering across its front window. You were watching the people inside, talking animatedly, trying to imagine what they were speaking about.

— Maria — you heard someone say. The name was familiar, after all, that was the name that was listed in the identity documents that your boss handed to you in a manila envelope a few weeks earlier, along with an investigation report. Hearing the name brought you back to when he was briefing you on the operation, which had been named “Królowa”, a reference to the object of the investigation. You had been assigned to search for information on a triptych painted by the Polish master painter, Jan Matejko, that depicted a procession accompanying the Virgin Mary and the Baby Jesus to a cathedral in Kraków.

The triptych was considered a lost Polish national treasure, stolen from its most recent owner during the Nazi occupation. Previous investigations into its whereabouts dragged on for years, buried in the files of the Europol, based in The Hague, in the Netherlands. When you started working there, almost a decade earlier, the case was stuck on a cold lead about the piece's last owner, Count Hieronim Tarnowski, a Polish aristocrat.

The last documented whereabouts of the triptych was within Montelupi Palace in Kraków, which was owned by the Tarnowski family. However, the palace and all of its contents were expropriated by Nazi command in 1942, before the interior of the Palace was consumed by fire. From then on, there was nothing further documented about the of the painting. It and some other cultural treasures seized by the Nazis were long considered lost by the Polish government and Europol. That is, until one day, you found something that made you dig deeper into the case.

You were doing some research for another art theft case when you found an open thread about Matejko on an art forum. While you were reading praise for the painter's work, you came across a photo posted by a user called Piter1974 that caught your attention.

It was a photo of the triptych, clearly taken with a modern camera given the quality and colors of the image. They contrasted sharply with the images attached to the investigation that you had as reference, which had been taken from pre-war catalogs. The only existing photos of the work were all in black-and-white, taken with early 20th century cameras. You did some cursory checking on the authenticity of the image, and didn't hesitate to print it out. You placed it on your boss’ desk with an air of confidence.

— What is that? — your boss, a burly, perpetually grumpy Frenchman named Romeo, asked.

— It’s Matejko’s triptych.

He looked unconvinced as he cocked an eyebrow.

— Came to show me your Photoshop skills? The colors look nice, but…

— I didn't color this photo.

Romeo blinked.

— Do you mean…

— It's a recent image — you said, proudly — The EXIF data shows that it was taken on October 6, 2022.

— Where did you find this?

— On an internet forum. A user posted this in a discussion thread about Jan Matejko's works.

— You…

— It’s not AI or Photoshop. I checked, Romeo — you replied, smiling — The triptych still exists!

Your discovery led to the case being reopened, with the image being examined pixel-by-pixel for any inconsistencies, and your findings being verified. The EXIF data buried in the picture not only showed the date, but it showed what kind of camera the image had been taken by, which was a high-end professional model popular with archivists and museum curators for taking high-quality images suitable for cataloging.

You felt frustration wash over you. The trail seemed to have gone cold again, after all, how many art galleries were there in the world? It was like you were looking for a needle in a haystack.

But again, fortune smiled on you. While analyzing an old catalog of Jan Matejko's works written by a Polish author, you came across new information about the triptych's whereabouts. According to the catalog’s author, after being confiscated by the Nazis, the triptych briefly reappeared in the 1960s, in the inventory of a well-known antiques shop in central Vienna. Your relief was short-lived when you saw the name of the shop’s owner.

“Of course Bednarczyk is involved in this”, you thought to yourself, letting out a long sigh.

Czesław Bednarczyk was an old acquaintance of the Polish justice system. He had been a notorious smuggler, taking vast amounts of Poland’s cultural treasures and gold abroad, most of it to be sold in his antique shop in central Vienna, on the Dorotheergasse.

Despite the mountain of evidence against him, the antiquarian never faced justice for his crimes, nor did his reputation within the art world suffer. When he died in the late 90s, the funeral was attended by great figures from the industry, all paying their respects to the patriarch's family, who worked to preserve his legacy to this very day.

Bednarczyk's antique shop was taken over by his eldest daughter, Elisabeth. She was known for being one of the leading experts on Viennese porcelain, which kept her from being a major suspect. However, you thought, that didn't mean the place couldn't be involved in some way, as other Matejko pieces had been sold by the Bednarczyks over the years. And so, you went to Vienna with a false identity and a single objective: find the triptych.

After arriving in the city and settling into the apartment that would be your base, you tried to investigate the surroundings of Dorotheergasse, the narrow lane where the antique shop was located. In short order, you found the perfect place to monitor movements in and out of the shop without raising any suspicion — a cafe next to the Jewish Museum across the street. — Maria — the voice repeated, making you wake up from your thoughts. You glanced over your shoulder, finding the friendly smile of Kristina, the cafe's barista — Is everything okay?

— Yes, everything’s fine — you replied quickly, fumbling to hide the fact that you had forgotten that was the name you’d given to the waitress — Why?

— Oh, you… Called me over to place your order, but when I asked you what you wanted, you didn't say anything...

You felt your own cheeks heat up.

— Sorry, Kristina, I was distracted…

— By the antique shop?

You were apparently being too obvious. You wished the ground would swallow you whole.

— Well, no… Not exactly…

— Oh, I’m not surprised. — Kristina laughed — When you said you had just moved to an apartment nearby, I sort of figured you had an eye for art and antiques.

— But, how?

The barista chuckled.

— I mean, you’ve seen the kind of people that come in here. It’s only old people or people that are crazy about art, and you’re obviously not old.

You smiled, trying to hide your discomfort at feeling so transparent.

— I do like art — you lied — My parents had a lot of pieces at home, like sculptures, porcelain...

— Oh, that shop has a ton of those things.

You raised your eyebrow.

— Have you ever been inside?

— Yes. I got curious about it and went after work one day.

— Did you talk to anyone there?

Kristina was clearly taken aback by your interest.

— Oh, yes, I talked to a man, he…

— Alexander? — you asked, taking a few seconds to realize that, in your eagerness to find out more about the Bednarczyks, you were close to showing your hand.

— No, his name was something else — she replied, with suspicion on her face — Who’s Alexander?

In truth, you knew that Elisabeth had a son named Alexander. According to the case’s dossier, he was a specialist in contemporary art and responsible for numerous sales of works to foreign galleries and museums. If the triptych had left the antique shop heading abroad, it likely would have passed through Alexander's hands.

— Well, like I said, my parents like art and I remembered they bought a few pieces from a shop in Vienna run by a man named Alexander — you said, trying to cover your tracks — I thought it could be him, but I think it's unlikely, come to think of it. After all, how many art and antique shops are in a city this size, right?

After staring at you for a few seconds, Kristina smiled.

— Unlikely, maybe, but not impossible. I imagine the art world isn’t a very big one, after all.

You went back to focusing on the antique shop. You had noticed some movement near the door and you were trying to pay attention to whoever was leaving, when Kristina cleared her throat.

— Yeah? — you muttered.

— Do you still want something?

Looking at the table, you noticed that your espresso cup was empty, as was the plate full of crumbs from the chocolate cake you had devoured after lunch.

— I think another espresso — you replied. With a nod Kristina walked away from your table, while you looked again at the door of the antique shop as two blonde women came out of the shop’s door. Both of them were talking animatedly and had boxes in their hands.

Just then, you’d decided you’d spent enough time over the past few weeks watching and waiting — you had to see what was inside.

The next day, the plan was already drawn up in your head. You would go into another antique shop in a different part of Vienna and buy something made of porcelain, something that seemed to be antique. And then, you would go into the Bednarczyk’s shop to try and have it appraised. It belonged to your mother, you would tell them, and you wanted to find out what they could tell you about it and see if it could be restored. Anything to buy more time.

You’d let the staff at the shop talk to you, you knew what questions to ask to not seem like you knew nothing about the pieces, but what to avoid asking to not show that you knew too much. While you were talking to them, whoever they were, you would try to work in a way to ask about any Matejko pieces they knew of.

Your plan was hastily arranged, but it seemed like it should be perfect.

You found another antique shop in Ottakring, across the city, and bought the first porcelain piece you spotted that you knew was old enough to seem like a treasured family heirloom. You thought it would be a good idea to stop by the cafe first and have an espresso to settle your nerves before heading into Bednarczyk’s.

You walked down the street to the direction of the antique store with the box containing the little sculpture in your hands, confident this would be a big step forward in the investigation of the tryptich’s whereabouts.

As you were glancing toward the shop’s entryway, you let your attention slip for a moment, crashing into the back of the man who was walking ahead of you. The box in your hand slipped and fell toward the ground, the muffled tinkling of shattering porcelain coming from inside the box. You immediately sank to the ground and lifted the flaps on the top of the box.

— No, no, no, fuck — you said, seeing the ballerina you bought reduced to a pile of shards.

— Shit — the man said from above you. When you looked up, you realized that you had stumbled into a man with dark hair and brown eyes, who were fixed on what was once a small porcelain statue — I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming in behind me…

— No, it's okay — you murmured, trying to hide your displeasure at having broken the piece. You had chosen the porcelain ballerina precisely because you knew that it was old enough to be of interest to Elisabeth. However, you couldn’t exactly get her to appraise a pile of dust — Isn’t a big deal...

— From your reaction, it seemed like something important — the man said, as you closed the box quickly and stood up — I’m so sorry. I hope it wasn’t a family heirloom.

You looked up at him, pressing your lips together as you realized how tall he was. “Focus… Maria”, you thought to yourself, feeling your face heat up. You couldn't let your cover identity slip.

— Yeah, it was. I had brought it to see if there was somewhere that could appraise it, maybe restore it, but… I don’t think there’s much to be done about it now.

Looking at the box, the man seemed to think for a few seconds, before looking up at you again.

— Well, if you want, I can find something else to give you instead. I’ll pay for it.

— I don’t…

— That won't replace the sentimental value, no, but it's the least I can do, considering your little ballerina is broken because of me.

You hesitated for a few seconds. You didn’t want to involve another person in your investigation, especially an innocent bystander that made you feel a strange heat in your chest and a strange flush in your cheeks. However, before you realized it, you were following him down the street, the box with the porcelain shards in your hands, into the front door of the Bednarczyks' antique shop.

He opened the door and motioned politely for you to walk in first, which you did, unable to hide the shy smile on your face. The man closed the door behind him as you approached one of the shelves. It was stocked with a huge assortment of miscellaneous knicknacks - silver candelabras, ceramic vases, sets of different glasses and jars, all polished and carefully arranged. Your eyes landed on a velvet box on one of the middle shelves, and you couldn’t resist the compulsion to step forward and carefully tilt open the lid, trying to see what was inside.

— It's a set of silver flatware — a female voice said behind you. You turned around with a start to see a short, blonde woman with kind brown eyes staring at you. She smiled — Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Mr. Wolff asked me to come assist you.

— Mr. Wolff? — you asked, confused.

— The gentleman who came in with you.

You were still confused, wondering how she knew the other customer’s name.

— By any chance — you started, stopping when you felt someone touch you shoulder.

— Ah, you found Petra, excellent — the man, apparently Mr. Wolff, said — Petra, could you show us the porcelain?

The woman nodded and directed you to another set of shelves, chatting about , the woman guided you between the shelves, chatting about the store's new arrivals. However, your mind was occupied with trying to remember if you’d ever seen the name Wolff anywhere in the case files. The man seemed to be too familiar with the staff to be just another customer. You remembered reading about Elisabeth, her son, Alexander, and Alexander’s wife, Amy. However, you didn't remember any man with the surname Wolff.

— Here is our selection of porcelain. I'll leave you to choose what you would like — Petra said, with a smile.

— Thank you very much, Petra. As soon as we choose, we will call you.

With a nod, Petra walked away, leaving the two of you alone in front of the shelves filled with figurines, cups, teapots and porcelain vases. After a few seconds of silence, you finally looked at the man next to you.

— Mr. Wolff, is it? — you asked, the tone of your voice causing a smile to appear on his lips.

— Well, yes. Torger Wolff. But you can call me Toto.

Something about what he said made you smile.

— Toto, like the dog in The Wizard of Oz?

— I would say like Toto Rina, the Italian mafioso, but most people think of the dog first — Toto said, without taking his eyes off you — And you, what's your name?

You hesitated for a few seconds.

— Maria.

— Just Maria?

— Maria Bauer.

Toto chuckled.

— Ah, a fairly common name, no? — he asked. “It had to be something from the idiots in the operations department”, you thought to yourself, giving a wry smile.

— My parents weren’t the most creative…

— In my case, they were too creative — he said, looking at the shelf again — I suppose you’re not not from Vienna?

His question made you swallow hard.

— No, I'm not. I moved here not long ago. How did you know?

— Your accent — Toto replied — I'd say you're from the south, maybe. Graz?

— Klagenfurt — you said. That’s what was in your identity document. You hoped he wasn't familiar with the accent there, since you were sure that the Dutch and English you were used to speaking on a daily basis with your co-workers was present in the way you slurred some syllables.

— But you've lived abroad, haven't you?

— Why do you ask?

— Your accent doesn’t sound like a Southern accent. I have an acquaintance from near there, but his accent is a bit different.

— My mother is Dutch — you lied, almost in an attempt to stop that interrogation — So, I grew up listening to her accent and ended up picking it up.

— Ah, yes, I understand — he said, giving a gentle smile.

Turning your attention to the shelf, you tried to focus on the china in front of you, trying to decide which piece would be the most similar to the one he had broken. Not that it mattered much, but one did catch your eye. It was a figure of two people - a man and a woman, sitting next to a column, with the woman holding a rose and the man holding a basket of flowers on his lap. It was romantic, and oddly endearing.— Did you like this one? — Toto asked.

— Yeah — you replied, your fingers brushing the top of the porcelain column, where there was a small hole to hold a few flowers — It's very beautiful.

— I agree.

— With such a renowned expert curating the collection, it's not surprising — you said, taking the porcelain figure in your hands.

— Oh, do you know of Elisabeth? — he asked. You glanced over to Toto to find that he had a curious expression, like something you said made an impression.

Maybe you’d already said too much.

You’d betrayed the fact that you were not from Vienna and had recently moved to the city, leaving you no acceptable excuse to explain how you knew who owned the shop you were in. It wasn’t as if she was well-known outside of very specific Viennese society and academic circles — No, I don't know her — you said, giggling nervously.

— So how do you know she curates the porcelains here?

— Well, like I said, I recently moved and I'm still cleaning up my apartment, so I'm working from the cafe across the street — you lied, trying to sound as calm as possible — And, one day, I noticed the antique shop across the street and looked up some information about it online. My parents collect art - mostly these porcelain figures, so I thought I’d bring in one of their older pieces to have it appraised and restored, since she seemed like the best person to do it.

— Of course, the internet — he said, laughing — What's not on the internet nowadays, right?

— Right? You can find anything — you smiled, feeling your heart pounding. He seemed to buy it, but you couldn’t guarantee that you’d be so lucky next time.

After asking if you liked the piece you were holding and calling Petra to confirm your choice, Toto asked you to stay there, before heading towards the counter at the back of the shop together with Petra.

Watching him talk to Petra, you started feeling guilty. You had only just met Toto and you already felt terrible about lying to him, which made you feel even worse, as feeling such strong emotions about telling lies was an occupational liability for you. But still, he had nothing to do with the investigation beyond knowing who Elisabeth was, and ostensibly frequenting her family’s antique shop. He certainly wasn’t a person of interest, so you could only conclude that he was one of her wealthy patrons. “He must be rich”, you thought, watching him scribble something on a piece of paper and hand it to Petra.

Perhaps, in other circumstances, you could get to know each other better. It was crazy, you thought, to be imagining a future with a man you knew nothing about and had just met mere moments ago, but you couldn’t help it as you looked at the way he smiled at you. It was a sweet, warm smile, and you’d never met anyone else you felt a connection with so immediately. It was the same smile he gave you once more as he handed you an elegant box that Petra had given him. “What a handsome son of a bitch”, you thought, giving him a small smile.

— Here — Toto said, handing you the box — I know it's not a one-for-one replacement, but it's my way of apologizing for the accident earlier.

— It’s no problem, really. You could very well have ignored what happened and kept walking, so…

— No, I don’t think that would have been — he murmured, eyes fixed on yours. That intensity of his gaze on you made your own cheeks feel hot.

— What do you mean by that? — you asked, giggling nervously.

— It would be impossible to ignore you — Toto said, seeming to realize the effect of his own words on you — I could never just walk past you.

The room filled with silence that stretched out long enough for you to think of a million scenarios in which you would end up with your lips pressed against his.

— Well, I'm going to take this home — you finally said, taking a brief look at the box — Thank you for your kindness, Toto.

— It was the least I could do, Maria — he replied with a smile, putting a peculiar emphasis on your name.

Giving one last wave, you turned around and left the antique shop feeling like you were floating. However, nothing compared to the feeling that came over you when you opened the box and found a note on the bubble wrap that surrounded the delicate piece of porcelain.

— I'd love to see how it looks on your shelf — you read quietly, realizing that Toto had written his phone number below his message while Petra was wrapping the figurine.

You dug into your purse and pulled out your phone, but started feeling guilty again. You were in Vienna for work, not to flirt with strangers. You were dealing with dangerous people and getting involved with more people meant additional risk, not only for them, but for you and your career.

“Well… one photo of my bookshelf probably won’t hurt anyone”, you thought, before saving the number on your cell phone.

#toto wolff #wlffog #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fluff #formula one fanfic #formula one fic #ocwlff

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

ii. coffee + fruit

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter two of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, no use of y/n, mild use of a codename for story purposes. wordcount: 5.5k an: as always, a huge thank you to @guyfieriii who talks me down from panic, and @yeyinde who listens to my insane plans

He finds that spot on his forehead, thumb and index digging—massaging into his skin and bone. The edges of himself, frayed, stressed—teased to the point they could almost pull away and crumble as he walked past your desk.

It’s empty. The half-drunk coffee still there.

You’ve not been there for a while. Not since earlier, when he should have looked away at the sound of raised voices, instead of honing in on them. Something wrapping around his insides—

“You got a minute, sir?”

He listens, even if he doesn’t. He hears the important parts: Miami, Cornerstone. He also hears the noticeable slap of the file on the rest of his files—the ones with your post-its and notes all over.

“What’s this?”

“A shitty diagram.”

He stares—feels himself glaring. Ridding it, hopefully before the agent can even notice it. A reaction he blames on a headache, even if he knows it has more to do with earlier.

“What’s your name?”

“Fiestl.”

Javi chews it. Staring up and down at him.

“Chris Feistl.”

He smirks at the rest of his speech. That same gnawing feeling rising inside of him, half-hoping the man in front of him isn’t the reason you’ve been hiding, but heavily suspecting he is.

Javi likes shooting him down, he realises, when he watches that same kicked-puppy face stretch across the man’s features—the same way it did when you muttered whatever you did under your breath.

It’s only as he crosses the office, hoping to rid him—when his eyes land on you through the blinds. Thankful you’ve made another appearance, looking somewhat more you than you had done earlier. Coffee firmly in hand—chewing the inside of his cheek. Relaxing him—having not needed to go find you.

“Nice office by the way.”

He snorts. Realising quickly how fucked he was. “Thanks.”

Yellowing light woke you as it bled through the open window.

The scent of him still clings to your skin. All Marlboro smoke and ambery wood, blended with the sultry scent of whiskey and something you suspect is just him.

It was easier to leave.

To watch his eyelids grow heavy, sliding from under his arm and dressing in the silence of his government-issued apartment. You’d thought about staying, about the morning when he’d wake and likely feast on you for breakfast. How good it would feel, how good he is.

You’re not young and impressionable. Good sex is good sex, not an invitation to begin manifesting and dreaming about a life together taking down narcos.

So, it was easier to leave.

To burst the fantasy before it could begin growing, amassing into something which would involve hurt feelings from either side.

You do this a lot? Fuck my boss? No. Have you seen Stechner? I just m— Don’t lie to me, Peña. It’s beneath you.

You weren't quite sure what to classify last night as, but guilt began to peck at you, all the same. It made you consider things. Turning them over in your mind under the low pressure of the shower…

Maybe you should have left a note. Something. Anything.

Although, when it boils down, you’re not entirely sure what the appropriate messaging even would be. Never having needed to do it before. Maybe it never happened to him either.

He struck you as a man who did the leaving over being the one who was left. It crossed your mind, only then, that maybe he wouldn’t take kindly to being greeted by cold, undisturbed nothing.

From what you knew—outside of the rumours and the intern—he didn’t tend to fuck his colleagues. That thin line is the one he drew. Javier Peña didn’t like to shit where he eats. The thin line, though, has been erased, kicked away until dust covers it.

Your soap slowly rids you of his scent, his touch—leaving only the blossoming-welcome bruises and the soreness. The only thought which began to appease you as you turned the water off, is that judging him or not, he didn’t appear to have a reputation that screamed he’d ever left a note himself. That and the fact you owed him nothing except professionalism.

You’re late.

Not late for the start of your shift, but when you’re usually in. People have come to expect you around sunrise. Not today. Today, you’re greeted by some of the agents beneath you, their smirks being the evidence of your unexpected time in. The gossip already likely fluttering around, half-expecting the whispers to chirp before you’ve even removed your coat.

If you were a man, it wouldn’t happen.

They wouldn’t bat an eyelid if Peña walked in draped in two women. It was a thing reserved for women. The shame-guilt. The whispers behind your back, trying to act as though by doing it in a low voice, they’re doing you a favour by keeping back what a whore they think you are.

Because usually, you’re the one to turn the fluorescent lights on. The only one making noise in the large expanse. But, there’s already chatter when you throw your bag in your drawer. Your phone is already ringing before you’ve even made a coffee.

It is distracting. It smothers wandering thoughts and any chance at regret. It’s only when you’re making your final note for him, all set to sit down ready to consume the coffee when you see him.

And time slows.

Everything around the two of you almost stops as you let yourself take him in. Meet those same eyes which had almost cut your clothes off last night. He doesn’t look embarrassed or regretful, but sorrowful. No spark in his eyes, no twitch of his lips—two things you’d been washed in by the time you reached his place last night.

You should tear your eyes away as he nods at someone and heads in your direction. You should stand up, hand him the notes and a coffee—unsure why you’ve even stopped to stare.

Your legs have other ideas, already carrying you to him. Watching him trace his eyes up and down you like he didn’t have his fill of that last night. Acting normal, no smirk, no blush of his cheeks, as though he didn’t have his tongue, cock and fingers inside of you hours ago.

You should be happy. Grateful.

It isn’t as though you like mess or complications. It had churned inside of you on the drive in, hands wrapping around the steering wheel, unsure if you’d made things difficult. If you’d blurred the complicated lines before they’d even really been laid out.

You take his wrist, lifting it as you coax his hand around the mug, looping his fingers around the warmth. His touch sends sparks up your skin, along your fingers, and forearms all the way to your chest. Ones you have to ignore. Ones you pretend aren’t there.

Because he’s like fire. He burns, but you welcome it.

Like you did last night, over and over again.

Your throat goes dry, watching as he brings the mug to his lip. Your mug. The one you hadn’t drank from and craved more than anything.

“Morning.”

It comes out normal, but it’s forced. Trying to banish any sound of indifference, hand grasping at some papers before you turn to walk alongside him, matching his strides.

“You have a meeting in ten—which I’d do your top button-up for. There’s also a file on your desk, less important than the meeting, but more important than the phone calls you need to make.”

He looks good.

Something you had noticed before sleeping with him—not able to help but acknowledge it, even if you hated it. But now, having seen him more undone, more walls torn back, it was hard not to look for longer. Linger. Let your eyes trail down from his eyes to the slope of his nose, to his lips—

“Fuck. This is good—“

His eyes widened, taking another sip of the drink.

Your hand tugs on his elbow to stop him, keeping close to him as you smile. “Look. Tell anyone, and I’ll cut you.”

“About last ni—“

“No.”

It comes out like a squeak. Something which quickly warms your cheeks and ears, tugging your shirt into place, swallowing back further denial.

“The coffee,” you continue, straightening your spine. “I don’t—I don’t care if you climbed a desk and told everyone I fucked you senseless last night. I do care if everyone knows I have a stash of good coffee.” Your head tilts behind you. “They’re feral—fucking… animals. For good casework and for good coffee.”

For a second, he stares. Just stares. His mouth opened, before closing.

He’s hard to read. Even when you know so much about him. Some things are easier, like the things he wears. The shame—the need to do right. Even if he blurs the lines, even if he gets lost along the way of finishing the task at hand. Other parts of him are harder, hidden behind thick walls of concrete you don’t expect to ever see past.

And yet, it makes something bubble in you. Something you can’t place, but really hate.

His hand twitches though. Not the one around the coffee, the one limply at his side. The only sign that your nonchalance is bothering him, his eyes attempting to claw through you the same you’re doing to him.

“Drink up,” you say, licking your lips. “You’re gonna need it.”

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s with the Ambassador.”

“Shit.”

Draining the mug, you take it from him, handing him the file in your hand. “Try to smile, Peña—you make it through this, I may be able to give you a bigger reason too.”

“That so?”

You smirk, and he has to know how warm your cheeks are. Must be able to feel the heat from them through the air as you avoid his eyes, hating the impact his words have. Two simple fucking words.

It’s dangerous, the game you’re playing.

Red lights flash, a warning tone sounding in some dull recess in your mind.

“Yes,” you smile, with equal wickedness. “I’ll take some of your paperwork from you.”

He rolls his jaw, smirking in return.

“What?” you ask innocently. “Something else on your mind?”

You wondered if he hoped.

If he’d woken up and stretched his hand out to find you, to pull you close. From the small window into his life, he was insatiable. Good. Knowing exactly where too…

Shaking your head, you smile. “Just so you know, I’m also good at things that don't involve me being naked.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Plus, I already saved your ass. I delivered the news and not Stoddard.” You stop at your desk, putting a distance between the two of you. “Well, I’ll be here if you need me.”

He nods.

Just nods.

You’re a coward.

Even if you’re not ashamed, even if you had been happy you went home with him. You still hid. Flipping between your desk and the file room.

The fact both Dan and Peña, plus Stoddard, had fucked with your filing had proven a blessing in disguise. Your hands itching to put it right all day, thankful whatever the meeting this morning was, it kept Peña behind glass.

“Hey.”

You know the voice before your eyes land on the face. It's ingrained into you. A voice you used to love, but now makes your blood boil. Quickly, you try to rid the heat from your cheeks, lifting up to watch him—the former lover: the romance that ended in disaster.

He wipes his mouth before he leans down on your desk.

Even now, all you can think is Chris Feistl still has a cute smile. That and the fact you like the way strands of his hair fall over his face—just like they are now. A slight urge, the slightest need, to brush them from his face rose inside of you.

In the same way, you had done before things got complicated, before when things were wonderful and lovely—before they went up in flames.

You always wondered how hard it would be to get over a breakup when you were confronted with it every day. Having always been thankful your previous relationships ended as you were required to move, whether across the states or to a different country.

It’s hard to ignore what you have learnt quickly. Difficult to rid everything, such as the mug on your desk that was a gift before anyone knew you were both a thing. Knowing that when you walk past him, he’s seen the lingerie you’re wearing under the clothes. That he’s the one you had originally bought them for—the one who peeled them off your skin while dinner bubbled messily in either one of your two’s kitchens.

It hadn’t been him who ruined them the other night.

That had been the man to the side of her—the one surrounded by glass and wooden blinds. The one you’re hiding from.

“So… you good?”

Smirking, you put your pen down. “You walked over here to ask me if I’m good?”

He stares for a second, reconsidering his words. “You didn’t answer my call… last night.”

You bite your tongue, leaning forward. Remembering.

Recalling how you’d cancelled it at the bar, and again before you left the bar…with Peña. How his lips had ghosted over your neck as you dug your hand in your bag to silence it. Ignore it. His teeth grazing your—

“I know that you’re strong, but I also—“

“I’m fine, Chris.”

His silence is damning. The air is tightening as you stare, hoping he doesn’t push, silently hoping he doesn’t. The two of you having spared mess and more pain than needed.

“You don’t have to lie to me. I know. I know that you’re not doing as well as you… like to let people believe.”

It’s instant, the way a cold chill spreads down your spine. Your lips straighten before the words meet your ears, knowing how this is all going to go.

“I know you’re not eating, so I can only assume you’re not sleeping.”

Your body knows before your brain does—the hold on your chest tightening, pain spreading like ink across your heart, poisoning and squeezing.

Him calling it out—the panic, the memories, the fucking nightmares.

“Some of the guys said you were in late—“

“Will you keep your voice down?”

Your eyes cast to the side, finding narrowed brown eyes staring at you through the blinds. Ones which you hold for a second too long.

Ones who seem to be assessing the situation quicker than he should.

Chris leans closer, likely so the whole office doesn’t begin its idle gossip again. It does that.

Breathes and spreads ideals and rumours quicker than a virus spreads in a hospital. You can feel the eyes through the blinds now, the ones watching—studying, trying to understand the office dynamics and who knows who.

“I just don’t want you to think you’re alone, no matter what’s happened—happening—between us—“

Standing, you place your palms flat on the desk. “—Stop. For the love of my sanity, please can you just stop, Fiestl.”—“

“I know you chose to end things but I still want—“

You shove him. Lightly. Two fingers at most, not even likely to bruise—but enough to make his words shrivel in his throat. Your eyes, burning holes into him.

“You know what, I was with someone,” you say, snappier, harsher than your previous words. “Last night.”

They hit the air like bullets. Piercing into him and the air. It washes over you both—your confirmation, your acknowledgement. They shatter the space between the two of you like glass. Watching as his eyes acknowledge your words, temporarily frozen before his jaw tightens and his teeth grit.

You’d sympathise if he hadn’t pushed. It is the sole reason why you don't shift your expression, keeping it firm, and rigid. Feeling the pair of eyes in your back, the ones behind the open door—having likely heard every bit of his speech.

“I told you to stop.”

He nods, reeling back, standing—running his hand through his impossibly thick hair as he forces a laugh. All half-hearted, weak, as though the air had been punched from his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

“I’m not your problem.”

He frowns, tilting his head. “You’ll always be my problem. I—“

“Please, s-stop.”

It’s less this time. It cracks out of you. Voice shaky, more tinged with threatening-to-spill tears.

His words fade, vanishing—disappearing into the air without truly being spilt. So much more on the cusp of his tongue, but you stare until he swallows them. Watching him instead nod.

It pricks at your heart. Hating how it makes the part of you which had already healed, throb. It hadn’t been easy, as much as you pretended it was. But, it was better to pretend than to acknowledge how car-crash-like their argument had been. How it began as one thing and ended as something neither of you both could come back from.

Everything good having wilted when you’d gone to Cali, coming back to crumbling roots and sharp-edged memories. It had been wrong beforehand, tainted. But, it had worsened, leaving behind nothing but death and the ghosts of what once was.

“I have work to do, so if you’re done...”

“No, I’m d—“

“Good.”

You straighten fully, moving past him as you head to the bathroom. Feet moving you around bodies and desks. Waiting for the inevitable.

Thankfully, it slams into you when you’re on the other side of the door.

The thread he’d unpicked with his words. I know that you’re not doing as well as you’d like people to believe. Feeling your throat tighten at the memories, how you bristled at the feel of the door on your spine.

Seeing them—the cold, dark eyes. How even though you know they aren’t here, they’re staring at you as stones cut into your knees and weeds tried to wrap around your ankles. The sight—the blood. The crimson staining your hands, knees and soul as helplessness stole your facade, confidence and belief.

It makes you weak.

Makes you crumble from the inside, out all over again.

Shifting to dust, turning to something opposite to the training you’d taken to be here and more of a shadow of someone you once knew. Something you know they’re waiting to see—the higher-ups. The ones who are desperate to be proved right.

Then, when it’s raging through you, ripping apart the carefully placed threads and walls that keep you up straight, you’re flooded with grief.

The nightmares that have bled into the moments you’re awake. Its grip on your chest tightens, restricting—hand grasping at the cold bathroom counter as you will yourself to snap out of it. Shakily turning on the tap until cold water slams into your skin—

It lessens.

Looking up, meeting the mirror, seeing only thick tears that have carved into your cheeks. Sweat pebbling at your brow, your mouth taking in copious breaths as you slowly find you can stand straight.

Shame vibrates in your bones. That and tiredness.

You've spent the better part of your day darting through an array of emotions—all of which had given you whiplash—and made it hard to smile.

You had taken a while to resurface from the file room, awkwardly holding a mug up to Peña through the blinds once again—noting how the office had emptied.

It’s nice, the silence. The lack of ringing from phones, fingers on keyboards and low-murmured chatter. It’s even nicer seeing the glow the setting sun casts over the place, casting shadows. Not needing to glance at the clock, you know the hour is late. Is time to be going home, even if you’ve stayed far later than this on so many occasions.

You have to show him you’re okay, even if you’re not.

Even if you’re barely held together by the threads you usually are.��

The aftershocks of your panic ebbing through you. Small little wobbles and pricks to your eyes, followed by a slight gasp as breath is lost. Worsened by your anger when the news hit the office.

That once again a mission went sideways. That two more agents were going home—and that someone they put in a position to lose something, happened again. Under it all, like the low hum of a song from a distant radio, you thought of Cali.

You’re used to them, the thoughts, the panic—having slowly become the norm. Yet, they’re rarely here, rarely ever embedding into your day—they normally wait until you’re in your car or at home. Appearing like ghosts when you’re alone, when there’s very little to distract you.

On another day, you’d likely have handled it better. But, Chris had done a number on you. He had bruised you, in some ways. Knocked you off your confidence and thinly-veiled pedestal you climbed up onto to appear like the same agent the rest of the office knew before you came back.

You don’t have to pretend with him, though. It’s why you stayed in the bar longer than you should have. Why you didn’t bat his palm away from your knee and why you traced little shapes with your nail against the back of his hand.

Peña didn’t know you. Likely didn’t care too—not that you want him to.

Feelings are messy. A tangle of things that would worsen as and when you were sent home. If you grew too attached it would hurt when the inevitable crashed down; if you remained distant, it would lead to awkwardness and more office dramatics. Neither of which you wanted—having already ticked both of those of yourself not that long ago.

Your eyes catch Van Ness and Chris’s new desks, the ones they’d moved into before the seats of the other agents were even cold.

It pecked at you, the day. It wove under your carefully constructed armour and threatened to showcase who you were—a fragile, half-broken soul haunting a place you used to run. The thought niggled, swirling, capturing other feelings in its wake until it grew larger and larger.

Blinking, you stared as the pot brewed. Finding it all of a sudden hard not to acknowledge that the first time you’d stopped thinking—outside of drinking and the few hours of sleep you were given—was when you were with him. That he had fully engrossed you, not allowing you to sink off to any recess or corner to drag up old demons and shadows to ruin what it was.

You place the coffee down in the centre of his desk. Taking a while to drag your eyes from the steam spiralling up into the air, watching it softly before it’s lost to the air. Each silvery twirl captures your attention until all you see is caramel chestnut.

Then you see the rest of him, trying not to let your mouth drop open at the sight of him.

He’s removed his jacket since you’d asked him if he wants a coffee, his hair far more tousled—likely from pulling at it, something you’ve seen him do all too often. The cause for the dryness in your throat is the sight of his top two buttons undone. His tie loosely hanging, his finger probably having stuck in the knot and yanked it down.

It almost cracks you. Makes you almost forget how to breathe, stomach tightening—wanting to spread through you as it reminds you of last night—his phantom touch spreading across your hips. Even if he’s safely behind his desk, not touching, breath not dancing across your jaw.

“Everyone else has gone.”

His hand gestures to the chair opposite his desk, one you know you shouldn’t sit in—should head back to the file room or go home before the stars come out. But you sit, slowly too.

It would be a lie to say you hadn’t noticed the same thing countless women did. The angle of his jaw, the way his eyes hold yours, as if you’re the only source of light in a room. You’d just hoped to be better than the other women, able to snap out of it—keep a respectable distance.

“They do that. Go home at the end of their shift.”

He snorts. “Not you, though.”

“Not you either, Sir.”

Watching it land, that three-letter word is like a shot of caffeine to the veins. It makes his jaw shift, his eyes try to inconspicuously drag along your frame.

“Look, it’s likely not any of my business, but…” you look at him, watching him play with the ends of his tie as he meets your eyes. “I didn’t ask earlier, you alright? Looked heavy—the conversation with—”

The lump appears before you can stop it. Before you can think about willing it away, it shifts at the last second.

“Fiestl. Which, I suspect you already know his name,” you smirk, crossing your leg over the other, “But yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

The most honest you could be. Your half-smile meeting his, hoping it soothes him—settles him.

“You two date, or something?”

It surprises you, somehow. Prickles at you, makes you sharpen and straighten your spine. “You jealous or something?”

“No.”

He says it too quickly. Only realising his mistake a second too late, the same regret you felt at instantly snapping at him.

Clearing your throat. “Sorry… I just, we did, yes.”

He nods, and the way he leans his head back in acknowledgement makes you notice how drained he looks, how withdrawn—how sunken.

“This your coffee or the offices?”

Twitching your lips, you relax again. “Try it and find out.”

His eyes narrow, his lips shifting across the front of his teeth as he offers that slow smirk-smile he does. The one he did so much last night, once whiskey had loosened him and humour had let the weight from his shoulders lessen.

“How’s your bad day?”

He half-smiles with a snort, hand swiping over his jaw as he sighs.

Because you know how hellish it has been. You’d seen it, heard it—watched it ripple across the office.

Clearing your throat, leaning back against the chair, you tilt your head. “No one’s going to blame you for Duffy and Lopez. For one, Duffy is real a dick.”

Folding his arms, he mirrors you. Leaning back, not even moving for the coffee. “You know the right words to make me smile, cariño.”

Smiling, you look down. Needing too. It almost catches you off guard: cariño. Makes your tongue heavy—forcing your thighs to push together as your mouth drops open. Dawning on you that this must be how ‘sir’ makes him feel.

Then, like rain on a beautiful warm day, you begin remembering why you left this morning—why you’d told yourself it was the best thing, and yet here you were undoing it.

The air puckers, ruffles and wrinkles as no words are spoken. The steam from the coffee continues to swirl, performing a dance neither of you are paying attention to. His eyes are on you, and you’re firmly on the spot on the floor, warming under his gaze—wishing you knew what he was thinking, and yet wishing you didn’t know him at all.

“I left because whatever… last night was, it wasn't serious.”

Flicking your eyes up, you expect contempt. Instead, you see understanding.

You see softness, shame—but you suspect not because of the act itself, but rather because he understood.

“Because you know so much about me or?”

Your watch as his forehead creases, waiting expectedly for your response. His fingers run across his jaw as he stares, more in waiting than anything else. Your eyes staring at his index finger, remembering—recalling.

“Because I’m really not that person, Peña. I know people say that, and they usually don’t mean it. But, I didn’t expect coffee and a piece of fruit this morning. And I really couldn’t stand the idea of having an awkward morning conversation when we’re both naked and wondering if the other regrets it. Which I don’t, by the way—regret it.”

He slowly takes the coffee, fingers wrapping around the white porcelain, a stark contrast in size as he keeps his eyes on you. Assessing you, trying to peel back layers and uncover things.

You’re smarter. You’ve had to be.

Already hard enough fighting amongst other agents for a shot, never mind the fact that so very few of you make it to Bogotá—least of all women.

Throwing up walls, you quickly hide the complexities that make you nervous, the things which keep your adrenaline heightened and your nightmares prickling close to daydreams.

“I wouldn’t.”

“What?”

“Keep looking for a secondary reason for why I left you in bed,” you say with a knowing smirk. “There isn’t one. I just prefer my own bed.”

Smirking, he brings the cup to his lips, pausing as he stares over it and through the swirls. “Guess next time it’s your place then.”

You have to laugh, to hide the heat in your cheeks. “Cute, Peña. Real cute.”

He takes another sip, a larger one—rich flavours of herbs, nuts and chocolate flooding his tongue. “Fuck, tastes good.”

It’s a bad idea.

That’s what you think. What instantly follows behind the other thought, the one on the tip of your tongue, the one you should hold back, but—

“Odd, not the first time I’ve heard that in the last 24 hours.”

Whatever the air was doing previously, it stops—and something far worse replaces it. Something heavier, thicker. Something which makes your body thrum and his eyes momentarily widen, before darkening—almost obsidian in shade and so shiny, you almost slip on them into his soul.

He places the cup down. The ridge of its base echoing all around the room in the silence—it like a note, spreading through your ears and leaping from bone to bone.

You watch as he drags his thumb across his bottom lip, shifting in his seat, leaning more over the desk. Not taking his eyes from you for one second, as though by blinking you’ll vanish. You should. You should excuse yourself before you give in, before you snap and bury yourself in him until every other emotion is muted and easy to stuff away.

Dragging his tongue across his lip, the corner of your lips twitching at the sight.

Folding your arms, you smile. “What you thinking?”

“That I shouldn’t do this.”

It’s natural, how you slowly sigh. “I’m very aware, I’m not even informing you of anything.”

Glancing at him, finding the light catching his dark eyes, how they look like pools you, all of a sudden, want to slide into them—drown in them.

“Also thinkin’ how we shouldn’t repeat it.”

Swallowing, you lift your chin. “No. We probably shouldn’t.”

Standing, he drinks you in, slowly moving around his desk. Each step, he doesn’t take your eyes off you. The gap is shrinking and shrinking.

It’s not until he’s in front of you, leaning on his desk, foot nudging against yours. “Is it bad that I want to...”

“That good, was I?”

His fingers brush over his chin, and you feel it—anticipate that in a second you’re going to snap and be pressed against him. You are almost holding your breath. Needing it too. The way he has already silenced things, stilled the nerves in your body. Afraid of showing that you want nothing more than it.

“Yeah, cariño. You are.”

You shift in the chair, staring up at him, counting—not sure at what number you’ll either close the gap or leave. Would it be ten, twenty, fifty—

You don’t get past five. The ring of his phone cuts through the air.

“Shit.” His eyes slide from yours, staring at it. “Do not move.”

You smirk, listening to him answer before you slowly stand. Your legs feel like lead, trying not to let his frown halt your movements—because you shouldn’t do this. Listening, hearing him say his name, short, sharp and breathless.

His one-sided conversation blended with the ghostly whispers of gossip likely to come. The ones which worsened when you came back from Cali—the ones which follow you.

You're at the door as you hear him, his voice a little louder—a little more stressed.

“Wait—I’ll call you back. Hey.”

Spinning on your heels, you meet his odd expression face on, slowly walking backwards in pursuit of your desk—your coat, bag and keys—until his fingers lightly touch your forearm. Thumb around your elbow, soft, gentle—almost surprisingly so.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t.”

“Words rarely ever said to me.”

Smirking, you almost roll your eyes. Almost. “Take it as a sign, then. Your phone call saved you from another thing to get in trouble over.”

His mouth clamps shut, a thin line appearing between his brows. The same one you saw when he was sleeping, and you dressed in silence. The one which you’d wanted to run your finger over and thin out, take it with you, leave it in some distant part of the city for someone else to wear instead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sir?”

“Less of the sirs.”

You pause, half tempted to just close the gap and be done fighting him. “Why? Worried about something.”

His lips curl. “I’m tryin’ to be decent.”

“How’s that going?”

“Fuckin’ poorly.”

You smile. “Goodnight, Peña.”

He doesn’t nod, not until his fingers remove themselves, one by one, sliding from your forearm.

Wanting to stay. Wanting nothing more than to press your lips to his.

“You owe me a coffee.”

He doesn’t smirk, but his lips try to. “And a piece of fruit?”

Shaking your head, you grab your coat, and then your bag. “Night, sir.”

“Night, cariño.”

chapter three ->

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javi peña x f!reader #javier peña narcos #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena #narcos x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #mm: nowhere to run #javier peña fanfiction #javi peña fanfiction #javi peña narcos #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier

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katmaatui · 9 months

Text

Hal Jordan Reading List

Hal Jordan is a man of many names and many legends. He was once the Green Lanterns' best and brightest. His name and legend is written into the stars. He fell, brilliantly and terribly. He rose again as the Spirit of Vengeance, the Spirit of Redemption! He returns in the end to his place among the Green Lanterns. But to truly know the man, you must read the stories.

Most important stories are bolded and my favorites are asterisked

Origin Stories

Some of these repeat, not all are necessary but I advise reading at least Emerald Dawn/Emerald Dawn II or Secret Origins or Showcase #22

Emerald Dawn (1990), first appearance of the Martin Jordan backstory

Emerald Dawn II (1991)*, Hal is trained by Sinestro for the first time

Secret Origins (Green Lantern (2005) #29-35), Geoff Johns’ version of Hal’s backstory if reading modern Hal stuff, its important

Showcase #22*, what actually started it all

Superman: Man of Steel Annual #4*, Hal meets Clark for the first time

Secret Origins (1986) #36, Hal retells his origin to a new friend (set post Action Comics (1938) #606)

One Shots

Green Lantern Secret Files (2004) #1 “Flight”, three flights in Hal Jordan’s life*

Justice League: The Darkseid War - Green Lantern #1, Hal becomes a God and gives it up*

Green Lantern 80th Anniversary, a tribute to the Green Lanterns across the ages* (Skip Geoff’s story. You’ll thank me. Four should be read after Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps #35.)

Early Days

Green Lantern (1960) #6, first appearance of Tomar-Re*

Green Lantern (1960) #7, first appearance of Sinestro*

Green Lantern (1960) #8, introduction of the Solar Director of 5780 plot*

Green Lantern (1960) #9, second appearance of Sinestro + first appearance of Hal’s brothers*

Green Lantern (1960) #13, first team-up with The Flash (Barry Allen)

Green Lantern (1960) #16, first appearance of Star Sapphire

Green Lantern (1960) #26, second appearance of Star Sapphire

Green Lantern (1960) #30, first appearance of Katma Tui*

Green Lantern (1960) #36, Hal falls in love with an alien*

Green Lantern (1960) #45, Hal and Alan team up issue*

Green Lantern (1960) #49, Hal leaves Coast City

Wanderer

Green Lantern (1960) #51, conclusion of the Solar Director of 5871 arc

Green Lantern (1960) #53, family team up issue*

Green Lantern (1960) #57, an old enemy returns

Green Lantern (1960) #63, Hal saves the world from an alien who wants to destroy it*

Green Lantern (1960) #64, Hector Hammond returns*

Green Lantern (1960) #70, Hal gets a new job + first questioning of Guardians*

Green Lantern (1960) #73-74, Hal returns to Coast City and fights Sinestro and Star Sapphire* (note: there will be a panel that will make your jaw drop in how racist it is, there’s some good meat besides that panel but that panel…its bad)

Questioning and Politics

Green Lantern/Green Arrow

Green Lantern (1960) #76-#87, #89

The Flash (1959) backup stories: #217-#219, #226

Hal’s solo backups in The Flash (1959)

The Flash (1959) #220-#225

Space Exile and Return (I frankly rec reading all of Green Lantern (1960) #133 to #200, but these are the best issues out of it)

Green Lantern (1960) #149-150, 164-170, space exile!

Green Lantern (1960) #172, Hal gets to return to Earth

Green Lantern (1960) #181, Hal quits

Green Lantern (1960) #191-192, the Predator is revealed

Green Lantern Corps (1986) (might be under Green Lantern (1960) depending on website) #220-224, Sinestro is executed (warning, this is part of Englehart glc and thus includes small references to hal/arisia, that relationship is out of character for everyone involved and I don't support it, but these issues are otherwise good)

The Return

Action Comics (1938) #606 "The List", Hal reaches out and no one responds*

Green Arrow (1988) #20, Hal goes and helps Ollie once again*

Secret Origins (1986) #50, Hal and Ollie make up from their fight (last story, only)

At this point, Hal has been wandering and questioning for years. He’s a drifter, especially since the Guardians left the Universe to go make new Oans.

Green Lantern (1990) #1-8, the reintroduction of the Corps*

Green Lantern (1990) #25, Hal and Guy fight

Green Lantern: Ganthet’s Tale, Hal learns the Guardians have been lying to him

Parallax

Superman (1987) #80, the Destruction of Coast City

Green Lantern (1990) #46, Hal fights against Mongol and speaks of hearing voices*

Green Lantern (1990) #47, Hal and Ollie team up

Green Lantern (1990) #48-50, Emerald Twilight* (if you read one thing on this list read this)

Guy Gardner: Warrior (1994) #18-21, Guy learns about the destruction of Coast City + what Hal did

Zero Hour (1994) #4-0, Hal destroys time*

Green Lantern (1990) #0, Hal and Kyle finish their fight from Zero Hour*

Green Arrow (1988) #96, Hal meets Ollie once again*

Green Lantern (1990) #61-63, Hal attempts to get Kyle’s ring back

Final Night (1996) #1-4, Hal dies to save the universe

Parallax: Emerald Night (1996) #1, read between issues #3 and #4 of Final Night, Hal looks over his life

Green Lantern (1990) #99-106, Kyle travels through time and meets Hal Jordan, in the middle of his first fight with Sinestro. Young!Hal returns to the present with Kyle.* (Read Green Arrow (1988) #136 inbetween #104 and #105, One of my favorite arcs of all time. Please read it 🥺)

The Spectre

Day of Judgment (1999) #1-5, Hal becomes the Spectre

Day of Judgment: Secret Files #1, Hal gives others the way to kill him

Legends of the DC Universe #33-#36, Hal’s first mission as the Spectre*

Green Arrow (2001) #7, Hal reveals that he’s the reason why Ollie is alive*

The Spectre (2001) #1-27

Especially read

The Spectre (2001) #1

The Spectre (2001) #5, Hal and Carol reunite*

The Spectre (2001) #15-17, Spectre but in Space!

The Spectre (2001) #21-23, the return of Sinestro*

Geoff Johns era Hal

Green Lantern: Rebirth #1-6, Hal comes back to life

Green Lantern (2005) #7-8, Hal and Ollie get stuck in Hal’s version of their perfect world

Green Lantern (2005) #10-13, the lanterns Hal killed come back to life*

Green Lantern (2005) #14-17, Hal deals with his time as a POW and gets wanted in Russia*

Green Lantern (2005) #18-20, creation of the Star Sapphire corp (note; this is the most sexist set of issues I’ve ever had the misfortune of reading, I will tell you what happened if you want)

Green Lantern: Sinestro Corps War (You’ll be confused but the Hal portions are in Green Lantern (2005) #21-28)

Blackest Night (2009) #1-8, the dead return

Green Lantern (2005) #43-52, Green Lantern tie in to blackest night

War of the Green Lanterns, the 4 Earth GLS must become members of the other corps to save the Green Lanterns*

Green Lantern: Emerald Warriors #7

Green Lantern Vol. 4 #63

Green Lantern Vol. 4 #64

Green Lantern Corps Vol. 2 #58

Green Lantern: Emerald Warriors #8

Green Lantern Vol. 4 #65

Green Lantern Corps Vol. 2 #59

Green Lantern: Emerald Warriors #9

Green Lantern Vol. 4#66

Green Lantern Corps Vol. 2 #60

Green Lantern: Emerald Warriors #10

Green Lantern Vol. 4 #67

War of the Green Lanterns: Aftermath #1 (2011)

War of the Green Lanterns: Aftermath #2

N52

Green Lantern (2011) #1-20, Sinestro is a Green Lantern and Hal Jordan isn’t!* (Conclusion of Geoff Johns’ run, Actually one of my favorites especially issue 20)

Green Lantern (2011) #21-26, Annual #1, Hal is in charge of the GLC

Green Lantern (2011) #29, Hal tells Jim he can't come back to Earth

Green Lantern (2011) #41-46, Annual #4, Hal steals Krona’s gauntlet and becomes a Renegade Green Lantern*

Convergence: Zero Hour #1-2, Parallax Hal returns!*

Green Lantern (2011) #47-52, Renegade!Hal meets Parallax Hal*

Rebirth

Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps: Rebirth #1, Hal makes his own Green Lantern ring*

Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps #1-7, Hal fights the Yellow Lantern corps!

Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps #8-12, Kyle helps revives Hal while Soranik and John try to work out the Sinestro Corps-Green Lantern Corps partnership

Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps #14-17, Hal and Kyle attempt to revive the Blue Lantern Corps

You can read Prism of Time and Fracture (#18-#25) but also you can chew glass. So. Soranik is evil now and Tomar-Tu killed a Yellow Lantern from Xudar named Romat-Ru. Don’t read it, it took me three days to finish those issues at a point where I was reading more than 30 issues a day.

Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps #30-31, Hal meets Parallax again, this time possessing Clark Kent*

Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps #33-36, the Earth GLs work together to save the Guardians

Famous Quotes- “Four legs on a table, four walls on a house, and four seats in a mustang gt. We’re the four corpsmen. You don’t screw with what works.” (Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps #35)

Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps #37-41, Hal is captured by Zod*

Hal Jordan and the Green Lantern Corps #42-50: Rise of the Blackstars*

The Green Lantern (2018) #1-12, Morrison writes some very interesting Hal stories

Green Lantern: Blackstars #1-3, Hal creates a perfect world*

The Green Lantern Season Two (2020) #1-12, major stories include the multiversal Green Lanterns and Carol Jordan and Hal Ferris

Present

Green Lantern (2021) #1-12, more John and Jo focused but Hal has some fun moments.

Green Lantern (2023) is currently coming out.

#Hal Jordan #dcmultiverse #Reading List #Red's Work

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