absurdthirst · 1 month ago
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Fucking Fungus {Joel Miller x F!Reader}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 6k
Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dub con, post apocalyptic world, scavenging, guilt, shame, desire, Joel having a bad attitude, mentions of periods, rough sex, neediness, unprotected sex, cream pie
Comments: Coming across Wymore, NE, you hoped to find some much needed supplies for the coming winter but you find that the fungus has mutated in dangerous and frightening ways. Needing to insure that there are more hosts to infect in a very basic kind of way.
🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉Happy Birthday @storiesofthefandomlovers!!!! I love you and hope you have the best damn day! In thotty tradition, here is a sex pollen to celebrate another year around the sun!🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉
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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
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The world has changed in the past twenty years. None of it for the betterment of humanity. The crunch of the dried leaves grinds under your boots and your head rotates left and then right as you watch, listen. Waiting for any sign of life or more importantly, danger. The weight of your rifle is heavy in your hands, although you hold it down, unassuming but ready to be lifted at a second’s notice. 
“I don’t know why you don’t just hook it over your shoulder.” Ellie snorts, her backpack bouncing slightly on her back from the steps that seem so unencumbered by worry. Why should she worry when there are two fully armed adults on either side of her. Her own personal guard in a manner of speaking. “There hasn’t been anything out here for daaaaaays.” She drags the word out like it's the most horrible thing in the world that it’s been peaceful. 
Joel snorts, rolling his eyes as you glance over at him and then look back out at the surrounding terrain. “Yeah, that’s why we are on guard.” He grunts, even though his own rifle is on his shoulder. His hand gripped the shoulder sling loosely but he had only just put it up there half an hour ago after you had taken your turn relaxing as much as you can. “it’s too fucking quiet.” 
He’s right. After the disasters that had been Kansas City, you had tried to avoid major cities, but even in the small towns, you had come across plenty of cordyceps and clickers. You hate the clickers with a passion.
The isolation can account for a lot of the silence. Miles stretching between remnants of civilization. The crumbling buildings and overgrown roads give the entire midwest a sense of peace. It’s unnerving. 
Your grip adjusts, head rolling around your shoulders slightly to try to loosen the knot that builds up in your shoulders after so long. The weight of your pack isn’t as heavy as it should be, the rations not exactly filling since you had to escape that one clicker in Du Bois, Nebraska. Your pack had been ripped and most of the food you had been carrying was lost. 
You glance over at Joel, noticing the way his shoulders seem to hang, almost a reflection of the way you feel. “We need to risk a larger town.” You murmur quietly, knowing that his first instinct will be to argue with you. You stumble slightly over a rock and hiss when you feel the hole in the sole of your boots. 
“Too dangerous.” Joel snorts, shaking his head even as he watches you regain your footing. “I’ve got some duct tape in my bag.” He reminds you, knowing that you should probably reinforce that shoe before you lose the sole all together. 
“It’s not just shoes.” You protest, trying to ignore the way that Ellie groans obnoxiously loud and stomps her foot. 
“Come on, man!” She throws her own arguments into the ring. “I need tampons! We could find them if there was jack shit out here, but there’s not. Do you want me to attract wild animals?” She presses, glaring at Joel who looks equal parts horrified and unconvinced. She cracks an evil grin. “Circling us in the wild as I just leave behind a trail of blood? Aaaaand tears.” She adds, lifting her brows. “Periods are really emotional things.” 
Biting your lip to keep from snorting, you watch as Joel; normally stoic, no bullshit Joel, can’t seem to string together the words to respond. His eyes slide over to you, almost pleading with you to say something. 
Your brows lift in question and he twitches slightly, his dark eyes unhappy with you not immediately jumping in to save him. “We could use the food if we can find any.” You rationalize, smirking when his brows pinch together and he looks like he had just been betrayed. 
“Clean underwear!” Ellie adds. “Or….cleaner. And a heavier fucking coat.” She shivers slightly and you can see that is the moment when Joel caves. He acts like a prick most of the time, but he’s got a soft spot for the kid. He won’t admit, maybe not even to himself, but he looks over at the faded and nearly rusted out sign. 
You continue walking, not pressing any more and you can hear the grumbling thoughts that are rolling through Joel’s mind. The now half hearted protests about why this is such a bad idea but you wait for the sigh. 
Almost even with the sign is when it comes, heavy and it sounds almost pained. Like he is going against everything he believes in. “Stop.” He huffs, shuffling to pull his bag off his back and kneeling down with a groan and the small pops of fifty plus year old knees. Unzipping the pocket where he keeps the Atlas and flips the worn pages to Nebraska. Glancing back at the road behind you and then at the sign before looking at the map. Tracing the route that you had already traveled before looking ahead at the towns that were on highway 77. 
Ellie doesn’t say a word but she practically bounces on her toes as she waits for his decision. You know that he’s going to agree, it’s just a matter of which town he chooses. He knows the truth of the situation. Winter is going to come quicker than any of you want, your food supply is low, you could probably all use a new set of boots, and all of you would kill for a halfway decent musty mattress to sleep on. Four walls and a hopefully non-leaking roof over your heads would be the icing on the cake. 
“Wymore is coming up in fifty-eight miles.” He taps the map and looks up at you to see what you think. 
Ellie shuffles slightly and instead of grinning, you crane your neck to look at the map yourself. “It looks like it’s bigger than the last few towns, but at least it’s not like we are running into Lincoln.” You hum before you nod. “I say we try.”
“Yessssss!” The teenager pumps her fist in excitement and she grins when Joel rolls his eyes. You’ve noticed that like any normal teenager, her favorite activity is annoying any kind of parental unit and pushing boundaries. This applies to Joel whether or not he likes it. “I want to find another joke book too.” 
Joel groans but you just turn around, grinning yourself as Joel mumbles under his breath, stuffing the map back in his pack and zipping it up. Joel and Ellie are alike in a lot of ways, especially their penchant for mumbling. 
You resist the urge to offer him a hand up, knowing he will be even more pissy if you do. For someone who complains about being older, he gets downright grouchy when he’s reminded of that same fact. “Well then, the quicker we get there, the quicker we don’t have to hear ‘are we there yet?’.” You snort, making Ellie grin shamelessly as she shrugs, knowing she will do exactly that. 
“So let’s get going.” She doesn’t wait for anyone, just setting off down the road and leaving the two of you to catch up with her. 
****
It takes you nearly three days to get to Wymore. All of you are tired, but Joel is the one who barely sleeps, even when you force him to lay down. It’s as if he cannot stop trying to protect Ellie, and also you, long enough for him to rest. He gets upset when he has to sleep, staying up until he is nodding off. The coffee supply has been exhausted and it’s probably a good thing. He would drink it all day to the point where his hands would shake from too much caffeine. Still he just wouldn’t trust you to make sure that no one snuck up on you for a few hours until he was past the point of being useless. 
The first signs of the town are a welcomed relief but it’s also an added source of tension. Each mile that you had traveled had added to the fear that this might be the time that you fail. That something goes wrong and someone else dies. The road here has not been easy and the losses have weighed heavily on all of you. Joel still won’t even mention Tess and you hate it when you wake up in the early morning hours to find him staring down at the broken face of his watch with a look that breaks your heart. 
Every approach into a new area can mean danger, either from the clickers or from humans and honestly you don’t know which one you fear more. Your gun is back in your hand, the weight of it familiar and comforting as you pass the first gas station, the windows busted out and dried fungus clinging to the building. 
“Fuck.” You hiss, uneasy at the presence of the fungal vines, even if they look like they aren’t active.
“I wonder why it looks pink.” Ellie frowns as she squints at the building. “It’s usually an ugly brown color, right?” She looks towards Joel for confirmation, but he’s busy frowning at the building himself. 
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” If the cordyceps have spread this far out of town then there’s a possibility there are still active branches closer to the supplies that you are looking for. 
“Come on man.” Ellie groans, kicking a dirt clod. “There’s nothing for miles. It’s probably all dead.” 
You know that Ellie is probably right, but it’s a risk. You bite your lip, looking over at Joel. “Why don’t we sweep the town and we can see?” You ask, knowing that if everything is dead, you could desperately use the rest. Cordyceps rarely return en masse when the vines have withered and died. It could be a safe place to recharge and for Joel to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. 
You’ve stopped walking as you talk, Joel looking around as he contemplates your alternatives. To be honest, there aren’t many and both of you know it. Not without a lot of backtracking which none of you want to do. 
Joel sighs and you know that he’s going to agree. He turns to Ellie. “Don’t fucking touch anything until we say it’s alright.” He points at her for good measure, as if his finger would impress the importance of his words. “Got it?” 
“Got it.” She huffs. “Jesus, you act like we haven’t done this before.” You roll your eyes and look away, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her right now. 
It takes hours to make your way into the center of town. Not because you are blocked by clickers or avoiding humans, it’s because you are stocking up. It’s like the fungus took over this town and just let it rot. Nothing inside the first few blocks of town is disturbed. No looting has been done here, plenty of supplies to be had. 
Both you and Joel have been cautious but slowly optimistic as you’ve found boots and heavy jackets, gloves and hats. A new pair of clothes have been rolled into everyone’s bags and you’ve even grabbed another pack to fill with the mylar sealed packs of camping food from the sporting goods store. It was a miracle that nothing had been ransacked, but it makes you wonder exactly what the fuck happened here. Did the army sweep through and round up all the residents right away? It would make sense, but then why were there dead spores of the fungus here? You haven’t seen one body so far and it makes you nervous. 
“This place is a fucking gold mine.” Ellie grins like a kid in a candy store, perhaps because you’ve actually found candy and she has been sucking on the jolly ranchers until the top of her mouth is raw. “Now we just need to find a place to sleep. I want my own room.” 
Glancing over at Joel, you expect him to immediately tell her no, but he doesn’t say a word. Continuing to look around like he is expecting a clicker to pop out from the doorway of the local McDonald’s, now completely covered in that strange pink fungus. It’s like he doesn’t even hear her as he frowns at the building. 
She takes that as approval and immediately starts talking about how she’s going to spread out. Making you snort when she talks about sitting in her underwear for an hour. There hasn’t been a lot of privacy out here on the road, so you can understand that desire. 
“Joel.” You murmur his name softly, knowing that the best thing you can do is to find the motel and get settled down for the night before the sun sets. Even if this town is as safe as it appears on the surface, you would rather not be fumbling around in the dark . He doesn’t look over at you, still staring at the overgrown building as if it’s holding the secret. Maybe it reminds him of the Boston Museum, ominously covered with the tentacles of the fungus and the horrors that you had found inside it. “Joel!”
“What?” His head whips around, body tense as he’s ripped out of his thoughts. Relaxing when he finds you and Ellie staring at him. “We need to find the motel.” You remind him, nodding towards the sun getting lower in the sky. “I think we could all use a good night’s sleep.” 
He stares at you for a moment, his eyes searing your face, looking for some hidden meaning beneath your words before he glances over at an eager Ellie. “Yeah, sure.” He agrees, adjusting his rifle to sling it onto his shoulder and adjusts his now much heavier pack on his back. “Probably on the other side of the main drag.” 
His new boots thump against the cracked pavement. The roads leading deeper into the town is the guide towards what will hopefully be a comfortable bed and at least eight hours of sleep. 
Your own new boots feel pretty good, but maybe a day or so here, going through supplies and really making sure that you can take on the coming winter would be a good thing. Allowing you to break in the shoes without blisters. You’ll have to talk about it with Joel after Ellie sequesters herself for the night. 
It’s about another fifteen minutes before you get to the small motel that looks like it will be a good place to spend the night. Half the building is covered in another large cluster of the fungus, the pink hue looking particularly bright in the fading sun. 
“We’ll get some keys.” It will be better than breaking down doors, especially since the motel wasn’t equipped with the keycards that the high end hotels had started switching to before society came crashing down. 
The bad news is that the motel doesn’t have any adjoining rooms, so Joel and Ellie get into a small spat about her having her own room, Ellie eventually winning after promising that she will block the door with a dresser and he’s allowed to sweep the room before she locks herself in. Half the building is so overtaken by the vivid pink fungus that you swear looks like a big splat of bubblegum thrown over the walls. 
She doesn’t even want to have dinner with you and Joel, making the man go through the room and then telling you both goodnight and shutting the door in your face. Making you laugh as Joel frowns at the door, rethinking this entire situation. 
“Well, you can have a room to yourself too.” You offer, smirking as he cuts his eyes towards you. You know that Joel would rather everyone sleep where he can keep his eyes on them, so you getting privacy is off the table. 
“Shut up.” Joel grunts, walking down towards the next room and kicking it open, watchful even though you’ve both already been in the room and deposited your bags. It’s a nice room, two double beds so each one of you can stretch out and relax. 
You laugh quietly and decide to walk down the railing towards the portion of the building that has been overtaken by the fungus. Your curiosity about this variant is finally getting the best of you and you want to get a better look at it. 
It’s thick. The tendril that is draped over the metal railing of the second floor, wrapping around it and up the support column. You bite your lip, tilting your head when you see the withered remnants of some kind of flower. What kind of fungus sprouts flowers?
You jump when something touches your back, whirling around to find Joel behind you, holding his hands up. He smirks at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Fuck you.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes and he huffs. “What are you doing?” He asks. 
Turning back towards the fungus, you sigh. “This is different from any other kind I’ve ever seen.” You comment, stepping closer to it only to feel Joel reach for your arm to pull you back. “It’s dried out.” You remind him, jerking your head towards the husk of the cordyceps. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” You know that he spent a lot of time sneaking out of the Boston QZ, it’s possible he had seen it before. 
He grunts, relaxing his hold on you and he shuffles slightly closer, looking at the flower buds that extend from the tendrils. His own suspicions about anything fungus related is deep, but it’s dried. “I haven’t.” He admits after a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly and trying to think if there is any reason why this pink coloring has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. 
“So it’s something new.” You bite your lip and lean in, feeling the disapproval radiate off of Joel in hot waves but you ignore him. Tilting your head and reaching out to touch one of the dried flowers. 
“Don’t-”
The second your finger touches the wilted bloom, it bursts open, spurting you and Joel behind you in a cloud of pink dust. You gasp, holding your breath but there’s no hope for not inhaling the pollen. 
“Fuck!” Joel coughs, shaking his head and backing up so quickly he hits the side of the building and reaches out to drag you away from the lingering cloud of dust and starts to practically beat it off the two of you. “We need- we need-” He leans over and starts coughing, obviously having inhaled just as much of it as you had. 
“We’re okay.” You gasp, shaking your head and brushing the dust off your clothes. “We- it’s dead. Right?” You hate that you are asking that, but you hadn’t expected that from a dried out fungus.
“It- we should clean up.” Joel blinks, the pollen making his eyes itch and that has to be the cause of the rush of heat that slides over him. It’s just adrenaline. Fear. Anything that would scare both of you would make the slight nip in the air disappear and make you feel like your skin is superheated.
The water is gravity fed. The large cisterns on the roof are still full and while it’s not warm, perhaps a cold shower might be better right now. Joel drags you both to the room and locks the door, although he doesn’t push a dresser in front of it in case Ellie needs you in the night. 
In the bathroom, you are shaking as you start to strip down, worrying about how stupid you just were and if you completely fucked yourself. The anxious fear covering the way your skin seems to burn and feel so sensitive to everything. Shuddering when your hand brushes over your thigh as you push your jeans down and kick them off before you pull your shirt over your head and remove your bra. 
Clean up. Get the pollen off your skin and cool down. Your body seems to be working on overdrive. Your nipple hard under the cold water and instead of gasping in shock, you moan softly. Enjoying the sensation and reaching for the bar of soap that is still wrapped in plastic. 
Hurry up, hurry up. Joel paces around the room, his hands curled into fists. Practically sweating even though the air is cool as the sun sets. His body feels like it’s on fire, like he is battling a sickness. 
Over and over again, he goes through the symptoms of the infection of the cordyceps, there’s no veining, he’s stopped and checked his eyes and reflection in the peeling mirror about twenty times in the five minutes you’ve been in the bathroom. And he doesn’t fucking think the fungus makes his cock harder than a fucking rock in his jeans. 
He’s not thought about sex in months. Nothing beyond fleeting moments of attraction to you that he swiftly buries under guilt and responsibility. Normally, it is when you’re bent over and your ass is presented to him in such a way that he thinks about sinking into you from behind, or when your shirt pulls tight over your breasts and he imagines cupping them in his hands as you sit on his cock. Immediately dismissed and ignored as he reminds himself of how he had failed Tess, he doesn’t deserve to find warmth and comfort in your arms. 
Now, it’s all he can think about. The urge to palm his cock makes his fingers twitch and he almost moves his hand over his crotch before he flinches back to reality and tries to examine his face in the mirror again, wondering if his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep or if he is infected. 
Scrubbing your body is nearly painful, wanting to stop and touch yourself, but you can’t. You need to get this done and get out so Joel can shower. Still, despite the cold water, you feel like you are on fire when you shut off the water and realize that you didn’t bring your bag into the bathroom. You will have to go out there in nothing because you can’t put those clothes back on. Not until they have been washed. 
Moderately dry, you hear Joel bang on the door. “Hurry up.” He growls, making you clench your thighs together at the raspy tone and hating how it spears through you. You know Joel isn’t interested in you, hasn’t ever looked at you like that and the crush that you had on the man had been buried deep. 
“I’m done.” You don’t have a chance to be embarrassed as you open the door and Joel practically shoves past you into the bathroom and slams it behind him. “Fuck.” Your annoyance cools the heat for a moment, but it’s only temporary. 
The water is icy, but still, Joel curls his hands into fists against the shower wall. He’s fucking hard. Harder than he had probably ever been in his entire life, even when he was a horny teenager and would have fucked anyone who let him between their thighs. He’s not felt like this ever. The need to touch himself builds to the point where his hips are rocking into thin air against the spray of the water. Want clawing up his throat and pooling in his stomach in a heavy knot. 
You don’t dress, you can’t. Crawling under the covers of one of the beds, you listen to Joel groan in the bathroom, it’s muted over the sound of the shower but it’s sexy. All of his sounds are sexy, from the low grunts he gives when he’s stiff and sore, to the huffs and groans of annoyance. It’s all sexy to you. The rasp of his voice when he’s not spoken for a few hours. 
Closing your eyes, it’s easy to give in, to let your hands drift over your skin. He’s not here, you can take care of this frantic need that is swirling inside you. You just need to slide your hand between your thighs and ease it. It wouldn’t take much more than a few swipes of your fingers against your pulsing and aching clit. 
Trying to fight it, you concentrate on your breathing, in and out. Inhaling slowly and holding it so you can exhale when the burn in your lungs tells you that you’ve reached your limit. It helps, but not much. Not when you’re imagining Joel in his shower. Touching him. Being free to touch him and having his hands on your body in return. 
Your hands slip over your breasts, squeezing them hard enough to moan softly and your legs shift to press together. Clenching around nothing and wishing that you were full while your hands start to move down over your stomach. 
The first touch is almost a relief, your entire core quivering as your fingers press against your clit. It’s overwhelming and not enough. You need more, fingertips pressing and rubbing around the puffed up bundle of nerves. You’re already soaked and can feel it dripping down your slit. 
Spurred on by that insatiable need, you slide your fingers around your entrance and start to press them inside. Biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Imagining that it’s more, that it’s a cock that is starting to break you open and fill that void that is aching. 
You are so caught up in the bliss of that first stretch of your fingers that you don’t hear the shower turn off. The quiet curses coming from the bathroom are muffled by the rush of blood in your ears, the feeling of relief coursing through your nerves and taking over. You don’t hear the click of the lock and the turn of the handle. The door opening doesn't even register as you plant your heels on the bed and push your hips up, needing to get your fingers deeper, not quite reaching the spot inside you that craves fullness. 
You don’t hear him until he chokes out a sound that is pained and low, like he’s injured. Your eyes pop open as you lurch up off the bed, your fingers ripping themselves out of your cunt hard enough to make you whimper. Fixed on Joel’s towel draped body, tented over his waist. 
“Joel, I-” “Fuuuuuck.” He growls, his eyes closing and his hands bunches into fists, one holding his towel and the other by his side. “I’ve tried to not think about you, about touching you.” His words are rasped out, strained against his vocal cords. “I’ve goddamn beat into my brain that you aren’t to be thought about this way and now, I can’t stop.” His stomach clenches and his body twitches as he struggles to keep still. 
Your chest heaves and you see his eyes drop down to your uncovered tits. His jaw clenching and his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. “I - I need to touch myself.” You admit breathlessly. “I - it hurts so bad and I need something inside me.” 
Joel groans again, shuddering so violently that you can see him shake from where you are. “I’ve jerked off in the shower twice and it's still hard.” He drops the towel, revealing his hard and leaking cock, making you whimper at the sight and clench around nothing. “I think that- that we- that the flower-” “I don’t care.” You moan, shaking your head and crawling to your knees and shuffling forward. Showing him all of you and so goddamn desperate to touch him that you think you are about to explode. “Touch me, Joel. Fuck, touch me, please.” You beg, your hands on your own body. “We-” He shakes his head and his face changes, morphs into pain.
“Fuck me.” You hiss, watching as his resolve breaks. His cock bounces as he lunges for you, hard and swift, driving you back to the bed with a bounce. Almost as if he is attacking you. 
He’s not gentle. His mouth finding yours in a harsh kiss, your permission unleashing the coils of restraint that he had tried to put on himself. His grip bruises as he hauls you up the bed and settles between your thighs. 
You’ve always attributed Joel with rough gentleness. The type of man who would make you ache and then hold you close. Groaning in pleasure when you find out that is exactly what Joel Miller is like. His hands spreading your thighs with a desperation that proves he is just as afflicted by this fungal pollen as you are. His cock hard and pressing against your folds as he rocks his hips forward to line up. Almost unable to find the hole with his eagerness to sink into you. 
“Joel, hurry.” Your hands shake, holding onto him and urging him closer to you, frantic with need now that you know that you are going to have him inside you. 
“Goddamn, I’m trying.” He hisses, hating to let you go so he can take his cock in hand. Rocking into his own grip as he shuttles his hips forward. “I’m fuckin’ trying, sweetheart.” 
You whimper when you finally feel him pressing against your entrance, choking out a sound of need that is animalistic. Only to cry out in bliss as he pushes inside you without another delay. 
He groans, eyes cinched shut as he slides inside you to the hilt, burying himself in your heat and feeling that coil in his stomach tighten even more now that your walls are around him. Immediately starting to move just as soon as he fills you, driving by that need and burning in his very veins. 
It’s exquisite, the pain and pleasure blending and fusing in your stomach, nerves alight and responding to every small movement. You can’t get enough of him, you need more. Wrapping  your legs around his hips, you rise to meet his harsh thrusts. Clenching down around him every time he hits that spot deep inside you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers. 
He shouldn’t be inside you, he shouldn’t be touching you, but now that he is, he can’t stop. Turning his head, he presses his lips to yours and slides his tongue into your mouth. Needing more. Kissing you like he had imagined a thousand times before. Giving into every urge he has had since the day he met you and repressed before right now. Snapping his hips forward sharply and pulling every groan out of your mouth to swallow down. 
Every thrust makes it better, eases that burning in your core, your cunt slick and squelching every time he drives into you. He absorbs every sound you make, almost greedy for them. His hips jarring as they slam into you. Rocking you both up the bed. 
“Oh god,” breaking away from the kiss, you moan into his ear. Closing your eyes as he pants and puffs while he fucks you. “So deep, so deep, Joel.” Your nails drag down his back, making him hiss in pleasure and pain. 
“Shit.” He groans your name, lost in the rhythm of his thrusts and the building pressure. “You needed this?” He growls, making you clench down around him hard and whimper his name. “Yessss.” You agree, nodding against the pillow. “Needed it so bad.” 
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He huffs, burying his face against your neck. Continuing to pound into you, and not letting up even though his back is screaming in pain. His body won’t let him do anything but rock his hips. Driven by a need that overrides everything else. 
His words make you burn, making you even more desperate for him. Your hips rock up and legs tightening around his waist even more. Loving how his cock stretches you out and scrubs against every nerve in your cunt. Lighting up your body until you are gasping on the edge of that much needed orgasm. 
Every plunge into your body brings him closer to cumming, desperate to feel that emptiness, that wrung out filling once he has filled you. He shouldn’t cum inside you, he knows that, but he’s not going to be able to stop himself. He can barely pull back enough to rock his hips back into you. 
His arms have banded around you, holding you into place as he fucks you. Deep and primal, as if he is trying to fuse the two of you into one. His cock punches into the depths of your body that you never imagined anyone reaching, but he touches it with ease. Your body pulsing with that need to come apart. 
“So close, I’m so close, baby.” You whine, body starting to tremble underneath him. “So close.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, grounding yourself to him in desperation. “Joel.” 
“I gotcha.” He groans, eyes closed and his breath fanning against your skin. “I’mma take good care of you, sweetheart.” He promises. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock, ain’t cha? Just like you wanted.” 
His words throw you over the edge, that need built up so tight inside you that it busts on the next thrust. Lights careen and collide behind your eyes, bright and beautiful as your whole body ignites into pleasure like you’ve never experienced before. Crying out loudly and soaking  him in a wave of your juices. Cumming harder than you ever have before. 
Joel growls your name, his hips stuttering as you come apart around you. Unable to hold back any longer. He buries himself deep into your hot passage and paints your walls with sticks ropes of his seed. Panting against your lips as he empties himself body and perhaps his very soul into you. 
Both of you pant, relieved and exhausted from the pure exertion of need as you had taken from each other. Joel presses into you, trying to catch his breath, but the fire is still burning low in his belly, his cock still not softening as it twitches inside you. 
“Oh fuck.” You feel that same desire still curling in your stomach, not satisfied by the intensity of the orgasm that you are still coming down from. “Joel-” 
He huffs and shakes his head. “Don’t-” he presses his lips to your again, body screaming as he starts to move again. “Shhhhhh.” 
The need still burns and both of you are still locked in its fiery grip, not yet free from the desire that washed over you from a burst of pollen. 
****
“What the fuck man, open the door!” The thudding on the door finally penetrates the bone deep sleep you had finally fallen into. You don’t know how many time Joel fucked you, or how many times he had spend himself inside you as you blearily open your eyes. 
Joel grunts, slowly opening his own eyes and unwinding himself from the tangled together position that you had passed out in. The knocking on the door keeps on. “Joel!” Your name is also shouted, Ellie starting to sound somewhat panicked when neither one of you is immediately opening the door. 
“Fuck! I’m coming.” He drags the top blanket off the bed and wraps it around his waist before flinging the door opened to blink into the harshness of the sun. “What?” He growls roughly, making Ellie’s eyes blow wide with shock.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?” She demands, pushing into the room and stopping short when she sees you sitting up in the only bed that has been disturbed, the sheet anchored beneath your armpits. “Oh shit, you fucked.” She gasps, turning and shooting Joel an impressed grin. “Way to go, old man, you made a move.” Her grin quickly turns into an expression of mild disgust when she realizes that she’s congratulating you two on having sex. “Uh, I’m gonna go now.” She huffs, wrinkling her nose and pinching it. “It smells in here.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she darts back out the door and Joel just stands there for a moment before he rolls his eyes and goes to shut the door before he thinks better of it. Sticking his head out of the room, he shouts after Ellie. “Stay away from the fucking fungus!” 
You snort, grinning to yourself as your body starts to ache. Fucking fungus indeed. 
609 notes · View notes
sugarcoatedstarkey · 11 months ago
Note
hate sex. rafe or drew idc, u have total creative freedom w my suggestion!
Hate Sex
Pairing - Drew Starkey x costar!reader
Summary - good old hate sex.
Warnings - sexual intercourse, fingering, language, choking, name calling. 18+
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The anger bubbled in your chest, rising up your neck leaving behind a dark pink tinge to your skin. You had never let Drew get to you this bad before, you were pulling at the roots of your hair just thinking about his punchable but good looking face.
“Breath Y/n” your friend stated, she had hidden herself behind the very small table in your trailer. She was quite frightened when you let your anger out.
She jumped halfway into the air when you threw your phone at the floor, shattering the screen in the process.
“Now look what that fucker has made me do!” You all but screeched, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to go and speak to him, how DARE he talk about you like that in an interview.
“Oh no no no, you can’t go speaking to him when you're this angry! He didn’t do anything wrong!” Your friend shouted, slamming her palm over her mouth when she realized what she let slip.
“How could you side with him?!”
“Oh come off it y/n, he said lovely things about you!”
“All very untrue things! He made me look like some weak girl who was falling at his knees.. no you know what I’m leaving!”
Before your friend could stop you, you darted out the trailer door and sprinted for him. Exactly 23 steps later your fist pounded at his trailer, you didn’t wait for him to answer and stormed in.
Drew stood in the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his lower half, steam filling the very small shower. Both Chase and Austin sat on the couch staring at you with wide eyes, the sound of the PlayStation in the background echoed through the deafening silence from the four of you.
“What’s up y/n?” Drew sang, giving you his famous boy next door grin. You just wanted to rip his face off but also kiss his face off.
“How dare you?!” You yelled, Drew’s eyes creased together in the middle as he looked at you in confusion. “Want to enlighten me on what I’ve done now sweetcheeks?” He chuckled, stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door. Your eyes dropped for only a moment when a bead of water ran down his chest and dissolved into the towel.
He gave you a knowing look that you shook off. “What’s all that shit you said in the interview?” You questioned, he let out a throaty laugh. Almost a cackle. This had you wild, you stormed towards him with curled fists at your side. “Don’t laugh! You made me out to be some weak girl, talking about how I’m the main person who laughs at your jokes on set, that I always get emotional at old couples!” You shouted, the old couple remark was true.
You did get emotional BUT that didn’t give him the right to tell people, it’s your personal life, personality. They get what they get, they don’t need to know the deeper version of you.
“Y/n, Come on. I wasn’t doing it out of spite” he stated, he was frustrated now. You always jump on him the second you can, yelling down his throat and making him feel like everything he does is wrong. “I honestly don’t give a shit! Don’t talk about me in interviews again!”
He rolled his eyes and looked over your shoulder at your friends, they had both gotten up ready to bounce. They hated being around when the two of you fought.
“Don’t roll your eyes! God! Drew you're so frustrating!”
“Me?! Me, frustrating? You talk some shit y/n, your always down my throat”
“Because you're always being so difficult!”
“Maybe you should lighten up a little and realize I’m a decent human being and your just angry at the world”
“Fuck you Drew”
“No, fuck you”
It happens in a split second, you're both reaching for each other. Your lips hastily press together, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. His hands cup your jaw, your tongues fight with one another. Even kissing, you have to be fighting.
“That’s our que” you heard from behind you, but you didn’t want to pull away. One of his hands drops from your face, grasping onto your waist he pulls you closer to his body.
“You're still annoying” you breathe, his lips trail down your neck. Sucking at the flesh between your collarbone and throat. Your nails scratched down the length of his back leaving deep red lines.
“You're still a bitch” he bit, pushing you towards the couch. Your back met the cushion with a thump, his body trailed behind closely. Parting your legs so he could slot between them.
You had forgotten he was only in a towel, which now parted giving you the most glorious view of his thick hard cock. “Shit” you whined, practically forcing his body down on yours. His hands bunched up your dress to expose your cotton thong, his cock nudged at your pussy.
“How can someone so annoying be blessed with such a perfect cock” you spoke, his chuckle was muffled by the skin of your chest.
“How can someone so frustrating be so fucking hot” he commented, his mouth left kisses along the apex of your chest. You pushed yourself to sit up, pulling the material of your dress over your head.
You now sat in just your panties, his hands palming at your breasts. “Fuck you” you moaned, his teeth pulling your hardened nub. Suckling at your nipple, while the other hand grabbed your ass cheek. “I’m getting their baby” he whispered, the pet name sending shivers down your spine.
“Touch me”.
His fingers dipped under the material of your panties, sliding his pointer and forefinger between your fold and back up to your clit. “Oh shit, yeah like that” you cried, grinding your pussy into his hand. Slipping his two fingers into your cunt, you bite down on his shoulder as he finger fucked you. Pressing the palm of his hand into your clit at the same time, sending your body into overdrive. “You like that? Of course the little bitch likes to be fingerbanged hm? Been thinking about these fingers inside of you huh?” He grunted, brows creased in the middle. He watched your face intently, the way your mouth dropped opened and you gasped for more breath.
“Answer me!”
“YES yes oh fuck yes! Wanted these fingers in me since I met you” you screamed, his dick twitching at your statement. Your moans bounced off the wall and you were sure everyone could hear.
He abruptly pulled his fingers out of you, a slur of protest fell from your lips. “What the fuck Drew?!”.
“Get up and sit on my cock, quit whining and do what I say for once you little slut”.
The vulgarity to his words had your insides fluttering like a damn school girl, pulling your panties down and straddling his hips.
Reaching between the two of you to grasp his cock, giving him a rough few tugs. “Fuck… what I’d do to have your pretty little mouth around my cock right now.” He groaned, his head arched against the backrest of the couch. You began to slide off him, his hands catching your hips before you could get on your knees.
“Right now I want your tight little cunt to sit on my cock, next time I’ll stuff your throat with my cock and make you eat the angry words that you constantly spit out”.
Your ears pricked up at the next part, unbothered by the way he spoke to you. “Fuck you Drew” you spat, his large hand held the base of his cock for you. The tip of his bright pink head nudged at your opening, you took him in painfully slow. Your eyes rolling back as his cock stretched you wide, your hands pressed against his chest for leverage. “Oh-h… oh” you cried, his cock buried deep within your walls.
He gives you a moment to adjust, eyes staring hard at your expressions. The moment your eyes reopened he was bringing your body up and down on him harshly, causing a string of curse words to slip from your mouth.
Your tits bounced in his face, you finally brought yourself out of the sex daze you had fallen into and moved your hips, grinding against him roughly.
Your fingers wrapped around the base of his throat, his eyes were wild. Dark and full of lust, watching you gnaw at your lip. “That’s it pretty girl, fuck my cock like its best goddamn cock you’ve ever had”.
Your nodding your head in agreement, “the best fucking cock, so big” you cried, unaware you had just agreed to him. You were so drunk on dick, you had forgotten how much he irritated you.
“That’s right, best goddamn cock you’ve had. Show me how much you love it” he ordered, and you obliged. Riding him like your life depended on it, throwing your head back. Your nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders, his fingers grabbing your waist tightly.
“Fuck! Just like that!” He groaned, his hands caressed your back. Ducking his head to envelope your nipple into his mouth. “Yes yes yes yes yes” you mumbled, your bodies had a light sheen of sweat to it. “Move” he order, pulling you up from his cock only to spin you around. Pushing your knees into the cushion of the couch and thrusting his cock back into you.
“SHIT!” You cried, clawing at the back of the couch. His large hand pushed you down against the couch, putting one of his legs into the couch to give himself a better angle to fuck into you. “Yeah you like it rough huh”.
The angle of his cock had you in tears, overwhelming pleasure coursed through you. “Of course you like it rough, you’re a dirty angry slut” He could feel you where close, the way your pussy walls fluttered around him, reaching around to grasp your neck and pulling out of you. “DREW! You asshole” you cried, the pleasure that had building in your lower stomach fizzled out only to reignite when his fingers closed around your neck.
“Jump”
You did as order and wrapped your legs around him, he slipped his cock back into you. Moving you both just enough so your bum sat against the bench, ruthlessly he fucked into you. Squeezing his finger around your throat, your own hand coming around to grip his wrist, you screamed and cried in pleasure.
“You dirty little slut! Who knew you were more than just a whining bitch” he spat, pressing his lips to yours before you could fight back. Your fingers scratched up and down his back, the only way you could tell him he was an asshole.
“Drew” you warned, your pussy walls pulsating around his cock and you chased your high. “You're gonna come? Go on then pretty girl, come around my cock” he urges.
His hips move faster and deeper, dropping his finger between you to fondle your clit.
“Holy shit! Oh o-oh!” You cried, letting the overwhelming pleasure knock you over. Curling your toes and tightening your legs around him, your pussy pulsated around his cock. Your nails dug deep into his shoulders trying to ground yourself.
He wrapped her arm around your waist tightly and followed suit, coming deep inside of you. “Fuck fuck fucking hell”.
His sweaty forehead met your chest, both your breathing labored. A few moments of silent breaths go by and he pulls away from you, helping you down from the bench.
“This doesn’t mean I suddenly like you” you comment, stepping around him to collect your dress. Rushing into the bathroom to clean yourself up.
A few moments and words to yourself go by and you open the bathroom door; eyes searching the floor for your panties.
“Looking for these?” He questioned as you stepped out, holding onto your thong with his finger like a prize.
“Fuck you”
“Just did”
Taglist - @laylasbunbunny @h34rtsformilli @lydiasxxsworld @hallecarey1 @mountloverr @outerbankspov @cameronmedia @crunchy-leaves77 @vigilanteshitposting @pedrisgatorade @phoenixssugarbaby @rafemotherfuckingcameron @s-we-e-t-t-ea @rafesthroatbaby @alltoomay @moremaybank @drewstarkeysbae @jjmaybankisbae
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miabebe · 4 months ago
Text
Camp Seventeen: Prologue
Seventeen as Greek Demigods Series
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Pairing - Reader x ot13 (Yes, you read that right, I am insane and you are allowed to scream at me)
Word count - 2.7k
Genre - Greek Demigod AU! We’ve mainly got crack cause all of them are idiots, and obviously smut because they are thirteen lonely, horny men afterall (aka reverse harem) also throwing in some fluff and angst as well because I gotta let emotions run high for plot sake :)
A/n - Hello hello, this is a new seventeen series I am starting and boy oh boy is it gonna be a wild ride! A special thanks to @okiedokrie @whipped-for-kpop-fics @ourdawnishotterthanourday @multi-kpop-fanfics for all their amazing help and bearing with me through the discussions for this, I’m so grateful to you guys :)
I will have a taglist for this so please comment/ send an ask to be added!
“Over here!”
Wincing, you looked up from the disgusting heap of mud your foot had neatly landed in, ignoring the way your little piglet was ecstatically rolling in the same filth.
The man before you looked equally disturbed as he walked over, pulling out a bottle of water apparently from up his ass because you didn’t remember him holding it a second ago.
Sighing a thank you, you took it, emptying it onto your boots before grabbing your gremlin of a pet from its happy place, resulting in a series of loud, incessant whining.
In all that noise, you heard your shoe savior take your name with a voice that was as pretty as him.
“I’m Jisoo.” He put out his hand. “You can call me Joshua.”
You nodded, unable to shake his hand thanks to the problem trashing in your arms earning Joshua’s amusement.
“And who is this?”
“Natalie.” You muttered as he raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Natalie Porkman.”
Joshua burst out laughing, looking away as he covered up a snort, shoulders shaking. You smiled, truly taking in his beautiful features for the first time. Cute.
“This way.” He pointed at absolutely nothing yet you followed this complete stranger, survival skills be damned. “We’ve got a half mile trek ahead of us but it gets a little confusing from here so I thought I’d come pick you up.”
Cute and kind.
You filed it away under ‘to-learn-more-about-when-I-fiigure-out-what-the-fuck-is-going-on-in-my-life.’
The two of you walked side by side, footfall softly echoing in the lush green forest around. Though silence was all you had been craving after the last few days you’ve had, that did not seem like an option since one, Natalie hadn’t stopped whimpering in fifteen minutes and two, Joshua kept glancing at you like you were some sort of ancient artifact.
Not the good kinds.
“What is it?” You said finally, starting a conversation you didn’t want to have. “Never seen a mess of a human before?”
“Never such an old one.” Well, at least you got ancient right. Joshua quickly corrected himself. “I mean I’ve never heard of a demigod surviving undetected in the mortal world for this long.”
Oh but you got ‘human’ wrong. You forgot. Normalcy was never your defining factor but at least now you knew exactly what kind of freak you were.
Almost.
“I wouldn’t call it surviving, more like ‘barely made it’.”
“But you made it.”
“At the cost of what?” You sighed. “Everything is much more complicated now.”
“Don’t worry.” He stopped at a large boulder at the base of an abnormally large tree in the middle of seemingly nowhere. “We’ll all help you.”
“All?”
He nodded, looking at you over his shoulder. “All.”
Your eyes followed his hand as he placed it in the middle of the rock, and after all that you’ve learnt in the last few days, you’re not sure why you were so shocked when it rolled away at his touch. You expected it to lead you to a dark, suspicious cave but a bright light poured out, making you momentarily lose both your vision and your pet who jumped out of your arms and ran into the illuminance, squealing in delight.
“Welcome to Camp Seventeen.”
Joshua grinned, pointing at the scene before him and your jaw dropped in awe.
It was a large opening in the middle of a forest that looked very different from the one you were just trudging through. There were hills on one side, a large lake shimmering far away, fire torches lit everywhere, little cottages scattered here and there, strange symbols topping them all off. Looking at everything curiously, you walked down the cobbled path, only just noticing the two men who were standing at the end of it, both incredibly beautiful. The blonde one was playing with Natalie and the redhead was staring at you with his arms crossed, expression smug.
“Would you look at that, the prodigal babygirl is here at last.”
You frowned, taking an almost immediate dislike despite his pretty, pretty face.
“Jeonghan, play nice.” Joshua muttered, walking over to him.
“Don't patronise me Aphrodite's son, she was supposed to be here at 4-”
“It’s 4:10.”
“-yesterday.” He turned back to you. “You’re a day and 10 minutes late.”
“Well you’re not the one who’s relocating your whole life.” You spat back at him. “I had things to take care of - my dorms, my bills-”
“So much that you missed the meeting with your lawyer.”
“I did ask to reschedule. It’s not my fault he’s an unsympathetic prick.”
“Careful sweetheart.” Jeonghan cocked his head at you. “I’m unforgiving too.”
You stared at him for a whole maddening minute, realizing why his voice seemed so familiar. You had heard him on the phone over the last few days.
“You’re my lawyer.”
“And the best in the city.” Joshua interjected, sensing the rising tension. “Children of Athena tend to be big brained.”
“And hot headed apparently.”
“Natalie says ‘not more than you’.”
All three of you turned to the only other presence there, the man who was carrying your pig, silent as a statue all this while.
“Jun, son of demeter.” Joshua introduced, pulling him ahead. “He’s a natural with anything, well... natural? Mostly plants but he also happens to talk to animals.”
“Domestic ones.” Jun mumbled. “Hansol is better with the wild.”
You greeted him awkwardly, half smiling to be polite and half frowning at the way Natalie was looking up at him with literal heart eyes.
“How did you come across a fledgling?”
“A what now?”
Jun picked your pig up by the arms like a little baby. “She says she’s 10 years old, yet is the size of a toddler. Have you never wondered why your pig never grew?”
“I uh….assumed it was just the kind of breed that didn’t?”
“What an intellectual.” Jeonghan looked at you with faux amazement making you roll your eyes.
Jun, however, still hadn’t met your eye. “Fledglings are creatures of Olympus. Time moves differently there so they don’t really grow like the others in the human world. In that sense, technically, she’s still only a few months old-”
“So you’re telling me this thing, which has lived with me for 10 odd years, is….magical?”
Jun shook his head as Joshua spoke up, clarifying.
“Not magical, that’s a whole different branch of powers and abilities. Your pig is just….not a part of the human world.”
“You betrayer.” You narrowed your eyes at what you thought was your loyal companion. “We were friends. How could I not know?”
Natalie whined sadly in response earning a smile from Jun and of course, yet another snarky comment from Jeonghan. “I don’t speak pig and even I know she said you’re not very bright.”
“Understanding your native language is not particularly intelligent, you swine.” You glared at him, receiving a smirk in response.
“Ten minutes in camp and you’ve already made Jun’s ears red and picked a fight with Han.” You turned to see three men walk up to you, the one in the middle with an amused look and a powerful aura. “You’re gonna fit in quite well Newbie.”
“Seungcheol, son of Zeus and leader of the camp.” Joshua whispered as everyone bowed to him. You imitated them quickly.
“This is Seokmin, Son of Poseidon and Minghao, Son of Ares.” Seungcheol added, pulling out his armor as one of them shot you a cheery smile and the other continued to look at you cynically. “They are our training specialists. Seokmin should help you with your overall fitness and Minghao will train you for combat.”
“C-combat?” You stuttered looking around. “You mean like war?”
“The world of demigods is new to you, don’t try to understand everything in one day.” The Son of Ares sheathed his twin blades behind his back. “Take a few days to adjust to the camp first. You can start training next week.”
You nodded, a little thankful that despite his cold exterior, he seemed to be surprisingly sympathetic of your situation.
“He’s right.” Seokmin chimed. “You should settle here first, not to forget, deal with that lawsuit before you focus on everything else.”
You turned to Jeonghan expecting yet another snarky remark but he looked worried, lost in thought.
When you turned back to Seokmin though, you bit back a scream, your face inches away from a man who appeared soundlessly and seemingly from thin air.
He gave you a cheeky grin with a tilt of the head, “I’m Chan aka Dino, Son of Hermes, Camp cutie, camp hottie and camp leader- ow!”
He rubbed the back of his head vigorously when a small rock hit him with a dull thud. You looked over his shoulder to see Seungcheol aim another one with just a flick of the wrist.
This one Dino skillfully dodged, stepping away from you as Joshua laughed, “Chan is the camp messenger. He’s in charge of all sorts of delivery and transportation.”
“You were the one who picked up my things.” The realisation hit you at last as Dino nodded, pointing at a pile of your stacked bags and trunks beside the entrance.
“Guilty as charged.”
“You were supposed to arrive over an hour ago.” Seokmin narrowed his eyes at the younger man.
“I got held up with some uh distractions.” Chan laughed nervously, scratching the back of his ear. “I didn’t know where to keep her things though, considering you know, she doesn’t have a place yet.”
Seungcheol turned to you to clear your confusion. “Everyone on camp has their own residence but you came on too short a notice so we’re yet to build one of you. We could have housed you in the guest cabin except it was recently damaged in a fight,” He glared at all the boys around him. “So that would not be feasible. Until your own place is not ready you can stay at mine - it is the biggest so you should be comfortable.”
You pursed your lips unsure about his offer. Did you think you would be unsafe in his presence? No absolutely not, the opposite in fact.
You wondered how long you could hold yourself back before unsuspectingly jumping this man and his huge biceps and beefy thighs and manly voice-
“She’s thirsty.”
Taken aback you looked around, searching for the owner of the voice who unnecessarily accurately voiced your thoughts. Instead, you heard the snap of a twig and a low growling sound from the area the forest got more dense. You narrowed your eyes, trying to peer through the overgrown wilderness only to meet a pair of menacing red orbs.
Your adrenaline response barely had the time to kick in before ten, no fifteen, wild hounds ran out of their hiding place towards you, making you scream and hide behind Joshua.
The boys laughed as the dogs circled around you and you gripped onto Joshua’s shoulders terrified.
“Stand back lads.” A silver haired man walked over with a golden haired one beside him, both with a bow and quiver strung over their shoulders. The dogs immediately ran over, aligning themselves in an obedient, straight line behind them.
“Hansol, Son of Artemis and Jihoon, Son of Apollo.” Joshua looked at you over his shoulder. “They are in charge of daytime border patrol. There are all sorts of wild animals out here, hence the hounds, for protection.” As you shuddered, Joshua looked around curiously. “The Son of Hades, is in charge of nighttime patrol. He should be somewhere around here…”
Your eyes widened as the water canteen hanging on Jihoon’s belt flew towards you on its own, making you almost claw Joshua’s arm.
“Wonwoo don’t scare her.” Joshua chastised laughing as you literally see a tall, lean man materialize out of thin air, the canteen in his hand and a smirk on his face. “How long have you been here?”
“The whole time.” He mumbled, handing you the water. “Jihoon said you were thirsty.”
“Not for water.” The blonde man whispered in a way only you could hear, looking entertained at how flushed you were. Did he actually read your mind?
Coming out of Joshua’s shadow, you grabbed the canteen before anyone else noticed, thanking Wonwoo with a hard smile. Tilting your head back you drank up, not noticing how all 10 eyes were intently fixed on you and your throat moving with each gulp. They all took a gulp of their own.
As you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, slowly looking around and noticing everyone’s gaze, the ground below began to shake, fazing no one but you.
Jeonghan pulled you out of the way of what seemed like a large mechanical bull charging towards you with an equally large man perched on top of it. A smaller man arrived right behind, riding a….. A leopard???
“You said you would win.” The muscled man slid off the mechanical creature, patting it. “My baby is faster.”
“I said a cheetah would win. My baby is a tiger.”
“It's a leopard.” You corrected, earning everyone's snickers and the not so threatening stare of its owner.
“It’s a big cat with an identity crisis.” Taking your hand in his, placing a soft kiss at the back of it, the muscle man gave you a fanged smile. “I’m Mingyu, Son of Hephaestus.”
The other man raised his hand. “Soonyoung, Son of Dionysis and that-” He turned to yet another one who was running over, looking frazzled.
“Seungkwan, Son of Hera, owner of a peacock that has yet again disappeared.” He bent over, grabbing his waist, panting and out of breath. “I don’t get why she keeps running away.”
“Maybe because you keep calling him a she.” Minghao nonchalantly glanced at his neatly filed nails.
“I can’t-” Seungkwan ran his fingers through his head, annoyed. “It’s confusing okay, who the fuck named him Patricia then?”
Behind you Jeonghan giggled.
“You coagulation of human evil,” Seungkwan threw his shoe, missing the target. “Now she- He won’t respond to any other name!”
The boys roared with laughter as Seungkwan unsuccessfully chased Jeonghan around, hands flailing everywhere.
Seungcheol walked over to you amidst all the mess, shooting you an understanding smile. “Your life has just undergone a major change, I get that it is intimidating but don’t worry. All thirteen of us are here to help you get through this.”
You nodded slowly, looking around at the boys, doing a quick, confirmatory headcount. “So there’s only thirteen of you?”
And why were all of them so gorgeous??
“Yeah, only.” Seungcheol chuckled, “Trust me thirteen is more than enough, I’ve got to run a very tight ship here.”
“I just assumed there would be seventeen people since, you know, Camp Seventeen.”
“The Oracle apparently told Woozi to name us Camp Seventeen.” He shrugged. “Not sure why.”
You hummed, as all of them gradually stopped behaving like toddlers and turned their attention to you.
“Wait,” The realization slowly dawned upon you. Actually, it hit you like a brick. “You’re all men.”
Seungcheol nodded carefully, like he didn’t know where you were going with this.
“Am I….Am I the only girl in the camp?”
Soft mutters went around as Seungcheol cleared his throat. “Yes and I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable but unfortunately, it was not a choice.”
“It’s not common for a girl to be assigned to an all boys camp,” Joshua stepped up. “But I believe since Jeonghan and Wonwoo are working on the lawsuit that landed you here, the authorities of Olympus must have thought it is better for you to be here.”
“But it’s not permanent.” Seungcheol added. “You can choose to change camps after Quest Season if you wish-”
“What is Quest season?”
Jeonghan let out a loud sigh. “You’ve been here for what, ten minutes? Don't overwork your brain. The world of demigods is complex, you’ll learn everything with time.”
“He’s right.” Seokmin leaned against the tree near him. “Why don’t we first move your things to Seungcheol’s cabin? We’ll let you get settled, then Joshua can show you around camp, walk you through the rules and assign a duty-”
“Except.” Soonyoung looked at you from bottom to top, like he was assessing you. “What kind of duty?”
“Exactly.” Mingyu threw his arm around his friend, his expression matching. “Daughter of Hestia, Goddess of Hearth and Home, what would you be good for in this camp?”
Minghao hummed, walking up to you, bending to meet your eyelevel. “Well, what can a woman be good for in a camp of thirteen men?”
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A/n - next will be a detailed post about each member, their background and powers so it's less confusing for those who aren't so familiar with Greek mythology and the series will start after that so stay tuned!
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nsharks · 2 years ago
Note
Hi! I love love LOVE the way you write Ghost and his relationship w/ the reader!! Ignore me if requests are closed, but how did he react when the reader discovered she was pregnant???
"surprising ghost with a pregnancy" words: 1.8k tags: pregnant reader, fem!reader, slight angst?, fluff
“Hope ya don’t miss me during breaks, Lt.”
Soap watches the man he admires, in his infamous ruthlessness and all, stare with a straight gaze at the base’s entrance.
“Only when I drink too much,” Ghost says.
His mask is good for anonymity, yes. But it also does well in moments like these: the Scot beside him has no idea of the pulsing artery in his neck, the eagerness in each flicker of his gaze. He’s looking for you. Looking beyond the gates where you should be hidden somewhere.
Soap has no idea.
“What do you do in your free time, mate?” Soap wonders aloud, shifting the bag over his shoulder. Then, in a cheeky murmur, “Didn’t hear this from me, but I’ve heard whispers ‘bout some criminal activity.”
“Criminal activity?” Ghost repeats dully.
They’re getting closer.
He looks towards the spot you normally wait for him in: is that—?
He can see you.
The tension in his limbs fades to adoration. In the shadows, perfectly hidden but readily visible to his knowing eyes, is his girlfriend. Wearing one of the black hoodies he’d left behind. So big on you. He nearly groans at the sight.
Girlfriend is a weak title.
He hates it. It doesn’t encompass the truth of you: it’s such a simple word, too simple to capture how complicated of an effect you’d had on his life for nearly five years. To say Ghost loves his girlfriend would be to say he has a reason to live. It would be to say that you’ve got this behemoth of a man wrapped so tightly around your finger that his lungs just don’t work the same until he’s holding you.
(Perhaps that’s the reason for the little black box in his bag.)
He turns to the Sergeant and gives a half-hearted clap to his shoulder. “I save the criminal activity for weekends, Johnny.”
And with that, he leaves him (never was one for heartfelt goodbyes).
But he is now one for heartfelt reunions, he figures, because he’s ghosting his way towards you like some wild creature. Preying. Slipping under any eyes. His skeletal hands beyond desperate.
If Soap were to look carefully outside, under the shadow of the building, he’d see how the Lieutenant actually spends his free time.
He’d see his broad form envelop you.
He’d see him eagerly inch up his mask to reveal a pink mouth that doesn’t waste any time before sealing over yours.
And maybe, if he really looked, Soap might’ve been able to see how you cling to Ghost’s chest and tremble.
(But Soap doesn’t see any of this. Not today.)
Not even Ghost, whose got you in his arms, sees the shaking at first. His mind is a bit frenzied with the sensory overload of your smell, your soft hair, your breasts against his chest.
He only ends the kiss so he can get a good look at your face.
“Three months,” he grumbles, lips wet as he ushers the mask back over them. “Felt like a fuckin’ lifetime.”
“I know,” you whisper, but you fail to meet his eyes. “I was worried about you.”
The faintest contour of a smirk beneath his mask.
“Worried, were you?” He rubs your knuckles. “Lovely girl. Don’ worry about me. I’m a bit tough to kill.”
“Don’t,” your eyebrows pinch together. “Please… don’t even mention that.”
He rests his masked chin on top the crown of your head. His arms are so strong and warm and you breathe it all in. His hands stroke your hair with the gentlest of caresses as if, even after five years, he thinks you might be a fragile dream.
“I was so worried,” you say again. A whisper that he barely hears. “I—“
It’s now that he notices something. The rush of adrenaline has soothed over and now, taking your hands in his, Ghost notices the little tremors, swallows them up in the gulf of his large palms.
“Jesus, love,” he frowns. “You’re trembling.”
“There’s… something—“
Ashen eyelashes flutter against smudges of black paint. His shoulders tense as he pulls his chin away from your scented hair. Shifting his weight from boot to boot, Ghost further tucks you behind the colossal mass of him so even now, if someone were to look, all they’d see was his back.
His brows furrow behind a hard-shell skull. “What something?”
You’ve practiced these word so many times but now—
“What?” your boyfriend repeats, low and gruff. His relief is quickly turning into something dark. “Fuck, tell me. Did somethin’ happen?”
“Well, yes—“
“Christ,” he chokes. He doesn’t want to assume the worst, but it’s a gnawing fear. Always. “Someone else?”
“No, Simon.” You’re shaking your head. “It’s not that—“
“What is it then? What’s got you like this?”
“Just—“ and you swallow your fear, “Give me your hand, baby.”
“My hand,” he repeats numbly and offers you one. You take his hand and tug at the glove. There’s little give, so he swears under his breath and helps you pry the fabric off to reveal warm, calloused skin.
Here, tucked away outside a military base, you guide his bare hand under the hoodie you’ve got on. Hold his fingers and spread them apart so he can cup the small growth of your stomach.
Because the reason for your trembling lies here.
Small, growing. Supple skin stretching over a little piece of him and you.
It takes him a moment to process the news under his hand.
He smooths his hand over you. Even after three months, he knows every inch.
This—
This feels different.
You watch a kaleidoscope of realizations, feelings, and perturbation play in his eyes.
You’ve had to keep this secret to yourself for weeks now because it wasn’t something you could just share over the phone. It was too heavy. Too intimate.
Surely, it’ll distract him from his job.
That’s what you figured. But now—
—seeing his eyes cloud frantically, you wonder if showing up 16 weeks pregnant was the best move.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost murmurs. Keeps moving his hand over your little belly as if he’s not quite sure it’s real.
So you lift up the hoodie even more, just here for the two of you to see, and reveal the entirety of your secret for him to peer down at.
And now that he sees it, the unmistakeable bulge, the reality truly sinks in.
He’s silent at first. You kind of expected him to be: your boyfriend is a man of few words. But it doesn’t make the drawn-out moment of uncertainty any less excruciating. You study his eyes with a bated breath.
Children. It’s not something you talked about too much. He’d said in the very beginning that it was completely off the table because “I’d make an awful father”.
But that was years ago and Simon had molded into someone softer, someone less afraid. Someone who, with the help of your love and light, had ripped through the tangled ropes of distrust and guilt that he’d been caught in.
“Say something,” you finally whisper. “Please, Simon. I know- I know this is surprising.”
But all he utters is, “How?”
“The pill isn’t perfect,” you explain sheepishly. “That’s what the doctor told me—“
“…Doctor?”
“Well, I’ve been to the doctor a few times already.”
Lowly, “You… a few times?”
“To make sure everything was alright, baby,” you whisper carefully. “But I— I didn’t ask for the sex yet. I wanted to… I thought you’d want to be with me for that.”
Ghost is controlled. He’s precise and tactical and rarely caught off-guard. But this, the swell that lays under his hand which he hasn’t been able to look away from, has managed to thrust him into feelings he rarely experiences. He feels confused. Shaken to the core. He’s spent most of his adult life determined to stay alone, protect anyone from ever getting caught in the hallow storm of tragedy that is his life.
But you—
You infiltrated his life with promises of bright colors and warm touches and suddenly, somehow, Ghost began to enjoy coming home. He ached for it. He wanted to keep you close and safely tucked away so that little light of yours would never fade from his life.
And now you’ve given him another promise, one that rests in his palm. Death— he understands that too well, perhaps. But this little promise of life is so new and confusing and in mere seconds, it has torn the past from the future. Ghost could never be the same shell of a person he once was because now he’s been filled to the brim. Could he even be trusted with all of this? He’d always felt like there was a carved void where his boyhood had been taken from him, ripped away by terror. How could he be a father with such hole in his chest?
What could he give?
You’re crying. He’s been thrown into such a daze that he failed to notice the onslaught of tears and quiet sniffling coming from his girl.
“Hey,” he’s grounded in the present now, swallowing down the shards of his hesitation and wrapping his arms around you. He could give this. “Hey now. I’m here… I’m here.”
“You’re here?” you ask him, weeping.
“Yes, sweetheart. Christ, m’here. Always.”
In perhaps his first act of fatherhood, Ghost holds you close and murmurs promises of love and safety into your hair. You’d been so scared to tell him. He wouldn’t leave you, no, he could never. If there was ever an ounce of worry that he might—
It’s now smothered by his presence, his warmth, his strength.
“You’re making me a father,” Ghost whispers after the two of you just stand there for sometime. His voice: terrified and in awe all at once. “Don’t know if I’ll be a good one.”
“Simon-“
“But-“ And he gives the entirety of you a squeeze. He’s not going anywhere. “But I won’t be like my old man. Fuck, I swear it to you.”
“I know you won’t, Simon.”
Ghost decides to push his inhibitions to the back of his mind. He can be strong, he can be what you need. He will prove this to you over and over.
“And here I thought you jus’ liked wearing my clothes,” Ghost mumbles, a bit numb and a bit elated.
He reaches for your stomach again and rubs the bump over the fabric of his hoodie. (Perhaps, here lies another reason to live.)
Your crying has ceased. Twisting his uniform in your hands, you murmur with a weak laugh, “Might be the only thing that fits me soon.”
“Bloody hell.” And Ghost sighs. Holding the two of you now, he already feels like all the synapses in his brain have been rewired. Lighted up with a primal urge to protect, he doesn’t think about all the worries for right now. No— just thinks about how he’s going to smother your stomach with kisses once you’re home.
“I’ve got plenty more of those for you to wear.”
7K notes · View notes
bitchlessdino · 1 year ago
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I have this in mind, maybe svt member x reader where they are classmates from college, they are close but not THAT close lol. Until one day they started talking about house prices and how the rent is so expensive, but still with the desire of living alone, so he (maybe hoshi or woozi) proposed that they should find a place together to split rent. It started as a joke, but then they found a really good place and decided to try to live together for at least one semester.
so yeah at first everything is great since both of them are always busy, so they dont really see each other that often around the house.
until it could be that they are sexually frustrated and start a friends with benefits relationship (but in secret, so their circle of friends dont know about it). However, reader always had a big crush on him, but never said anything. idk what else to say
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Pairing: college roommate!soonyoung x afab!reader Genre: smut Word count: 5.9k tags: pwithplot, established friendship, roommate au, friends to fwb, pining, pervert!reader, pervert!soonyoung, mentions of alcohol, mutual masturbation, blowjobs, missionary, doggy, praise kink Summary: When it comes to the economy and needing a roof to live under, having a roommate is your best option, especially as any desperate college student. When arrangements are made with Soonyoung, a friend you admittedly have a visceral lust for, things take a turn one messy night. Making this arrangement more of an edible arrangement. author note: so i may have run wild since hoshi posted those thirst trap photos haha. im very proud of the header i made for this. this was something i planned on posting before my unprepared hiatus, and hopefully i'm still in spirits on continuing this. please anticipate more of me and remember that writers love interaction, criticism or not <333
Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @wonuhour @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun
“That’s funny, Soonyoung’s looking for a place too.”
You looked over at the man in question to see him mid-feast on a sandwich bigger than his face as it puffed his cheeks full like a common squirrel. “Why are you looking for a place? I thought you made plans with Seokmin?”
The man struggled to swallow down the larger-than-life bite, barely managing to do without scratching the back of his throat before answering. “His parents convinced him against it. I should’ve known he’d back out when he didn’t know how to do his own laundry.”
“Do you know how to do your own laundry?”
“I know there are colors and whites, detergent and softener—I’d figure it out.”
“I’m hearing a no…”
“Youtube exists. How hard could it be? But yeah, I’m looking for a place.” He set his sandwich aside to lean in closer, washing down any remnants with a swig of his Jihoon’s stolen Coke Zero, who at the moment couldn’t be more distracted with Physics paper. “It’s not easy that’s for sure. A single bedroom is way too much on its own and anything bigger I can barely cover half of.”
“Here’s an idea,” Mingyu suggested like it wasn’t on his mind for the fifteen minutes you’ve been complaining about being essentially homeless, “Why don’t you guys figure something out together?”
“Really? Me and Soonyoung?”
Your counterpart couldn’t help the offense washing over his face. “What’s wrong with me?”
“I don’t know if you’d be a good roommate.”
“What makes you roommate of the year?”
You rolled your eyes. “We’ve known each for what, a semester and a half, and I don’t know what your living habits are. I’ve basically lived alone all my life with my parents working all the time. How do I know you won’t push all the housework on me?”
Scoffing, his lips twisted up in a cocky smile. “You’re looking at the flail youngest of two who did almost a decade of housework for a hundred dollar allowance for a week. I don’t waste Pinesol, I hand wash dishes, and I keep my 50 pairs of shoes neatly out of the doorway and in pristine condition.”
“You can do all that and not operate a washing machine?”
“The buttons and colors confuse me.”
“So,” Mingyu interrupted again, “How about it? Sounds like you guys a both a little desperate. The housing market isn’t getting any lower.”
“I guess you don’t sound all to bad to live with then,” You replied with a tinge of a tease.
“What do you bring to the table?” Soonyoung interjected.
“Discounts for food at my work, a Netflix account, a pack of scrub daddies, and a decent amount of disposable income for half an average month's rent and fun stuff if we ever get bored. Down?”
Soonyoung stroked his chin as if to think, but his head, the deal sounded as good as it can get. If he was being honest, he was desperate, but after the berating, he couldn’t let you know that. “Add in some salon-quality shampoos and conditioners and we have a deal.”
You groaned. “Fine, for a semester for now, but you’re getting laundry stuff and learning how to use the machines.”
You hadn’t expected to be apartment shopping with Soonyoung looking like a pair of newlyweds, but here you were doing exactly that. There wasn’t anything particular about him that bothered you, (except maybe the harboring attraction you had for him since freshman orientation that you blanketed over with over argumentative banter and an aloof attitude when he was around).
But as far as you knew, you were morning and night.  Sure, you’ve gotten along in social situations, but you knew how drastically different your lives were. When you aren’t working, you were a homebody and he’d bring bodies home. He lived differently than you did to put it plainly.
And perhaps the idea of waking up with him every morning possibly shirtless and/or naked frankly made you both terrified and aroused all at once.
The moment you shook his hand to agree, you were already feeling some regret, but hey, maybe that’ll actually do you some good. Maybe you’ll finally get over this school crush on this unattainably hot guy after seeing how disgusting he is leaving his underwear and socks in every corner of the place. It’s inevitable things can only go down from here, right? Right?
“A few ground rules should be in order.”
Soonyoung nodded, putting away the remainder of the edible arrangement gifted to you by your collective friends in the fridge. “Like what?”
“Chores should be switched off every week so we know how to handle all types at all times, but we do our own laundry. No exceptions. Dinner is a group effort. If we get takeout, always tell the other at least an hour in advance and costs are split. Groceries are bought biweekly with a set budget.”
“Strict, but ok. I’ll do my best to follow them. Anything else?”
You were reluctant to bring up this last one. You cleared you through, taking a second to properly form the words before letting them out. “If we have someone that we’re getting involved with, it’s either done at their place or in an empty apartment with plenty of notice.”
Soonyoung can’t help but bust out a wide and perfect grin, crossing his arms seeing the timid expression on your face. “Fine. I’ll make sure when I have sex with someone, it’s under those guidelines.”
“Ha, thanks,” You awkwardly respond, “I’ll abide the same.”
His eye narrowed at you dubiously. “Wait, you’ll actually get around?”
“Why are you doubting me?”
He chuckled, shrugging smooth broad shoulders through his black sleeveless tee. “You just don’t really seem about that. There’s nothing wrong with it, but—“
“You don’t know every detail of my intimate life so butt out.”
His arms rose up in defense, nodding along. “Alright, okay. If that’s all, I have a few rules of my own.”
“Okay. Have at it.”
He mused to himself for a few seconds. “Bathroom schedule: first come first serve.”
You nodded, easy enough.
“At a few hours of the day, the living room becomes an at-home gym when needed.”
Okay, that one had a little kick to it. “Alright.”
“And we have a safe word.”
You blinked back at him, heart pounding a little louder than it should, legs clenching as if they were being pried apart, and sweat burning the temple of your forehead with the unnecessarily dirty thoughts running through your mind. “A w-what?”
“A safe word,” he repeated as a matter of fact, “a word we can use when there’s conflict and something wrong and we just completely stop what we’re doing.” He grinned a little. “It’s not just for sex you know.”
You shoved him, earning his chuckle. “I know that, jerk. But fine, what do you suggest?”
“…Tiger.”
“How did I know that’s what you’d say?”
“Because we’re good friends.”
“How about ‘hamster’?”
He frowned. “No.”
“But look how effective that was.”
For the most part, things went smoothly. It helped that things got busy and tasks barely needed to get done with the exception of laundry. You saw each other more in your friend group gatherings than at home in your shared arrangement, and despite everyone knowing you live together, neither of you made it a point to make a big deal about it, even if everyone else does.
The countless times you had to fight Seokmin, Jeonghan, or Jihyo about the possibility of something developing between you and your new roommate romantically pained you with their inaccuracy. It seemed left and right that’s all everyone could talk about since it was arranged. It seemed as if there was nothing better up for discussion. Soonyoung dealt with it all the same, being constantly asked what kind of nefarious doings are being done behind closed doors that no one knows about. It always came as a disappointment when it was broken towards them that nothing was happening and that nothing ever will.
Even to you. Surprising enough.
If you learned anything from living with Soonyoung, it was harder than you expected it to be, especially with a still festering crush that is only developing into something almost tangibly heart-wrenching and stomach churning. It seemed to have taken a turn for the worse when Soonyoung started to take advantage of the home gym more due to the massive heatwave in town. 
The damn pull up bar.
You’ve only realized the time you’ve wasted after hearing the kettle whistle you put out apparently ten minutes ago. Your mind was too clouded by the flex of his biceps lifting his body in the air. Or the contracting and releasing of his shoulders that were lightly misted by perspiration. Or were too preoccupied with wanting to lick off the veins of the poor man’s lower abdomen. Or thinking about what those arms could do flinging you upside a—
“Oh, early class?”
“Uh, yeah. There’s a lot more traffic today, so I'm getting there earlier than usual.” 
His feet landed on the ground with a thud and he grabbed a towel to wipe over the sweat that was making his body glisten like glaze on a smooth buff donut. “I’m guessing you have no time for breakfast then?”
“Unfortunately,” you respond, quickly pouring your tea into your thermos before getting to your shoes, “I was gonna grab something at the Starbucks on campus after.”
“Here.” He tossed something from a box behind him and watched as you flimsily caught it from the front door.
“Oh.” A protein bar, a good one from your experience of raiding his side of the pantry. “Thanks.”
“And cancel all previous engagements. Dinner’s on me tonight.”
You squinted at him, “Why?”
“We’ll have something nice for once tonight,” he grinned, “be home at 8 tonight.”
Soonyoung’s plan for dinner was a free courtesy of Mingyu who found a nice little gig as a sous chef in a trendy place uptown. The whole circle celebrated together and you only got around to knowing after Soonyoung kept you updated on news knowing you’d be too busy to look at the giant groups chat you’re in. You should’ve been appreciative. That should’ve been your first instinct, not…entitlement. Not envious of him making eyes and flirting with the waitres. Not embarrassment for expecting something more from his brazen invite to dinner with you.
So, by then you’ve had a bit to drink. Okay, a lot to drink. Just enough to drink to have you stumbling on the center dance floor that garnered the attention of prying eyes. At that moment, nothing really mattered. You knew where lines lie, but lines eventually blur.
One second, you’re alone swaying to Britney Spears’ “toxic”, another second, Seungcheol’s crotch is up against your ass. It was a nice sentiment since you were definitely craving a bit of attention tonight, although you weren’t sure if you could look your friend in the eye again after that. Fortunately for you, it only got so far until a shapeless, but familiar, body pulled you away from the scene, forcibly putting you away in a bright yellow car. With your many failed protests, they managed to reach the footsteps of your building and finally reached for keys in their front pockets to open up your apartment.
“Hold still. Please…God, I am not sober enough for this.”
“Soonyoung….” You whined like a lost child.
He gripped you tighter by the arm to lock you in place, preventing you from falling. He was used to being taken care for and the grass was not greener on the other side. He has a lot of people he needs to apologize to. “Almost…okay, okay. I’m in. Go. Go shower and sober yourself up.”
You tugged him at the wrist, pulling him towards you. “Shower with me…”
He scoffed, a smug smile forming on his face. “You have no idea what you’re saying. Go before I make you, and I really don’t wanna have to make you.”
“Fineee…”
Logic flew out the window tonight. Not paying it a second thought, you began stripping yourself of your clothes in the middle of the living room, from socks to immediately your shirt. Soonyoung’s eyes nearly shot out of his skull as he scrambled to cover you in your abandoned shirt before it almost hit the ground.
“Undress in the bathroom please.” Even in your intoxicated state, you could feel the tension of his muscles brush against your back, causing the heat to creep up on your skin.
You let yourself melt into him giggling, turning your head back to meet his cautious eyes. “Maybe you’d like to help with that.”
You can see the bit of shock in his eyes, fluttering back to something more composed once he internally reminded himself this was the ramblings of a drunk person. “You really don’t know what you're saying.” He then pushed you inside the restroom, holding the door by its knob, “Shower and brush your teeth. I’m not letting you out until I’m sure you’re done.”
“Soonyoung…”
“Please, just do it.”
Eventually, he finally convinced you to do as he asked and he hears the shower running, but a mere second later a thud follows. You busted out in a fit of pain, slipping on the already wet floor and immediately your roommate comes running in concerned. “What happened?”
He turned his head the second he processed your fallen body on the ground was bare naked. Shower water poured down on your head, drenching you from head to toe, and glistening your body like a wet dream. Your eyes lit up at him in a timid demure, barely covering your intimate parts with your arms and hands. He coughed dramatically, pinching himself to find restraint, and repeated his quarry of concern with avoidant eyes before you pointed out the obvious, “I fell.”
“Hold on to the rails, that’s what they’re for,” he groaned.
“Sorry.”
He sighed, slightly glancing. “Do you need help?”
You shook your head even when he wasn’t looking. “No, I think I’m good.”
“Good. Just be careful and tell me when you’re done.”
And you’re alone again.
You pulled yourself up from your pathetic state and then the warm water run through your features, letting out a loud sigh. You finished up the best you could, ridding yourself of a night full of grime. Grabbing a towel on the rack, you wrapped it around your damp nude before letting Soonyoung know from the other side of the door. He finally let you free from his handmade prison before watching you go scurry to your bedroom in a concoction of drunken embarrassment.
You muttered to yourself scoldings for letting something like that happen, clenching your legs together in bed the moment you hear his round of shower hit the tiles through the thin walls. A groan unexpectedly sounds off abundantly clear, and your shameless thoughts take action while he’s preoccupied. 
Still naked, you let the towel fall to the ground and you crawl under the sheets of your bed, not caring in the slightest about your hair getting your pillows wet. Your hands slowly trail down to your chest, ghosting over your skin until the pads of your fingers finally found what’s between your legs. You moaned at your self-discovery. Filming your fingers with your filthy arousal, a smile derived from self-indulgence shaped on your face. There you let your fingers slide between your folds and you shudder.
Meanwhile, Soonyoung couldn’t get your image out of his head. The glimpse alone was enough to make him think of you in compromising positions. Lips around his angry stiff cock, your tongue sliding against the veins of his shaft. He’d then hear the wet suction, the vibrations of your mouth humming around his skin, moaning his name like the perfect dessert you were. He groaned again to himself, pressing his length against his abdomen, not thinking you’d hear.
But you do. In fact, it’s so coherent, it makes you wet enough seep past your thighs, trailing down your legs. Your fingers plunged in you deeper while the palm of your hand rubbed against the shape of your clit. Your hips heave up from the mattress, pressing deeper into your palm as the image of Soonyoung’s face stayed a constant in your intoxicated head.
Soonyoung could hear your moans through it all, even if you didn’t think they did, and you only further fed his imagination. He braced against the wall behind him, thrusting into his fist with gritted teeth. The squeeze he had on his girth was merciless and all he had to rid of his overwhelming sin. In his head, you batted your pretty eyes back him, trailing your hands over his body, mouth gaping that looked ready to be filled one way or another. He threw his head back, whispering your name softly. “Oh, baby…you look so good swallowing my cock.”
You felt tears soak your eyes, swallowing a desperate breath.“Mmh, fuck…just like that please…”
“Gonna fuck your pretty pussy…” His thrusts roughly pulled himself at his base, clenching the life around it.
“You’re so deep, fuck, you feel so good—“
“You’re gonna make me cum—“
“Shit, I’m gonna cum—“
“Shit—“
“Shit—“
Simultaneously, you both were freed of your tension, a sudden release of breath escaping your lungs. The spilled cum fell at Soonyoung’s feet, melting in the heat of the water before it followed down the drain, while you fell slumped in bed in your own filth. You lazily reached out for your towel to clean the rest of the mess, tore away your dirty sheets, and settled into a tired slumber.
Soonyoung, overwashed with shame, hung his head down as he quietly cursed to himself. He shut off the shower head and reached for his towel. He finally concludes this evening, having taken a load off. There wasn’t much left on his mind that night, only teh thought of wanting it to be over.
The morning comes sooner than you realize and you find yourself at the mercy of a shirtless Soonyoung like most mornings, except this time he wasn’t doing pull-ups. Instead, he walked to you, a vigor to his stride and he decidedly met your eyes, while you were still focused on his body.
“You’re not very good at hiding things,” he said with a knowing smile.
“Soonyoung—“
“Should I just give you what you want? Should I fuck the shit out of you until all I can hear is my name?”
An answer was caught in the tightness of your throat when he lifted you off the ground and instinctively made you wrap your legs around his bare torso. The heat of his body is all you could focus on until he planted you flat on your kitchen counter, parting your legs to reveal the sudden bareness beneath your oversized t-shirt.
He licked his lip, tensing up his abdomen excitedly before he found home between your thighs. Your fingers threaded through his hair, crying out in soft breaths, and pulling his head back to meet his pretty eyes glossed over with lust. 
He mumbled into your skin, specifically one thing. And he said it over again and over again. Unable to make out what he says, you asked him to repeat it more clearly. It was then he rose up to the surface, a sticky sweet sheen of your arousal in his lips before he drew them close to your ear. His breath fanned your skin, shivers running down your spine, and finally what he says makes sense.
“Wake up.”
Your eyes ripped open like the ground beneath you should’ve. You ran a hand over your face, groaning at your own dismay. “What the actual fuck…”
It took a minute for you to pull yourself out of bed, groggy and with a raging headache to blow over throughout the day, only to be met with nearly an identical circumstance you met in your dream. Your roommate’s bare back stared back at you as brightly as the morning sun. You shrunk back at the reminder of your dream, walking on eggshells towards him to reach the fridge. “Morning.”
Soonyoung coughed on his water recognizing your presence, timidly greeting you back.
“Plans today?” You asked.
He nodded, “Yeah, classes in the afternoon.”
The silence couldn’t be more deafening.
“You.”
“Yeah, me too. Will be back at home at 9 after work.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
And soon you parted, embarrassed that encountered ever happened.
The rest of the day, there was much of seeing each other like most days, but this particular instance felt there was more of a reason to it. Even when it came around to your mutually available time at lunch, you made the extra effort not to run into him. How could you?
After making a pass on him and making the half-conscious decision of touching yourself to him while he was in the shower?
You’d be insane to go about things as if they were normal. They weren’t. 
When you came home that night, he was home like he always was, yet nowhere in sight. You knew he was home when you noticed his bike locked up where it normally was and shoes placed at the front of the door. You were tempted to call out his name but refrained when you reminded yourself you were yet ready for that confrontation yet.
Unfortunately for you, you didn’t have a choice in the matter as  Soonyoung seemed to be already walking out of his room, shocked to see you actually home despite it being the time you said you’d be home by. “Hey…”
“Hey.” You let your stuff down before heading to the kitchen. “Did you eat yet?”
“Uh, yeah. I got pizza with a few Chan and Seungkwan.”
“Cool. I’m just gonna make myself something real quick.”
“Alright.”
“Did you need something?”
“Hmm?”
You pointed to his door. “You came out of your room.”
“Right,” he quickly scanned the floor before claiming nearly finished bottle of water on the couch's corner table. “W-water. I got thirsty.”
Obviously, it was an excuse, but you weren’t going to point it out with your lack of backbone. “Okay, well, I’m out here if you need anything.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Before he retreated back to the room, a halt was squeezed out of your throat, catching him in his eager steps. He turned to you with unfocused eyes, hard swallowing in an attempt to calm himself down. “What is it?”
“I need to get this off my chest. Yesterday…I’m really sorry for everything yesterday.”
He sighed. That’s what all that was? “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Also. Shit, um. I don’t know why I’m saying this because it's not like it matters. Well, it does a little bit. It could totally come off wr—“
“Hey,” he interrupted, “I doubt it’s as big a deal as your making it out to be, and I’m okay with not knowing.”
“But you should know actually.” You steadily approached him, letting out an exaggerated exhale. “Yesterday, you were showering and I don’t know what got over me. Well, I was drunk, so I guess there was that bit. Anyway, I heard you, you know, and I guess I—“
“Touched yourself when I was in the shower?”
You shut your eyes, preparing yourself for the worst. “Okay, we’re getting right into it, but yeah. It just felt weird not telling you, I just—“
“You knew I was masturbating?”
“Well, yeah? It was obvious if I’m being honest. Not the point. I invaded your privacy and indulged in it. I don’t know, maybe it’s been a while since…I just want to apologize.”
“For what, overhearing me whack myself off,” he took a step closer, eyes a lot like your dream meeting yours, “or for cumming to the thought of me?”
You breathed out through your nose. In and out. Your eyes for the life of you could not stay steady. “B-both?”
“If we’re being honest here, I should come clean too, shouldn’t I?”
Your hand steadied on the couch, almost letting the force of gravity pull you down along with your sanity, but tried maintaining eye contact as if that would change the dynamic even a little bit. “About what?”
Soonyoung finally found the humor in the situation to smile, one that caused the stagger in your step. “About how your face would come up when I touched myself in the shower.”
“Soonyoung—“
“You can be mad at me, but I won't be mad at you for doing the same thing I did. I don’t regret it because that was the best orgasm I’ve had in mon—“
You silenced his lips with your own, launching you into him until all you felt was the heat of his furnace of a body. His hands claimed the small of your back before pressing your curves into his hollows. He received your lips feverishly, moving against you as if in heated debate, and crashed your body into the furniture closest to you. 
“Didn’t know you were this eager,” he mumbled, “you should've told me.”
Your hand gripped his hair, your teeth taking his bottom lip between and pulling, emitting illicit whines that filled your stomach with warmth. Your leg propped to his side, embracing him hungrily there wasn’t even space to breathe. His hips knocked back into you, his bulge grinding against your clothed heat as he arched you over the back of the couch.
“You’re a bit mean. I like that.” He giggled.
“Shut up,” you mumbled.
“May I remind you, you kissed me.”
“And I can back out right this second.”
“Oh, but we can’t have that,” he utilized his upper strength to lift you off the ground looped tightly around his torso, a gasp leaving your lips. You reunite with his eyes that are now leveled with yours. You’ve looked into them before but it shocked you with how dark they are, how earnest they look. “You see it, don't you? How much I want you? I see it in your eyes too.”
“T-this a tactic you use on all people you sleep with?”
He shook his head. “Just you, and only because I really want you.”
Your hand planted against his cheek, the curve of your palm hugging his jaw. His breath hitches from the mere tenderness in your eyes. His body has ever only told him he was you carnally and raw, but that gaze. If he would just bottle that gaze and show off like a trophy.
Your hand crawled over to the nape of his neck, there your digits ran up his hair, pushing him innately close to yours, and you whispered cautiously, “We can never tell the others.”
“I’ll take this to my grave if it’s what you want.”
You nodded. “Good boy.”
He transported you to his room, dropping you on his mattress with him to follow. Your lips stay glued together a perfect mold, tongue clashing in a union that you’ve only even dreamt of having. Soonyoung only briefly pulled away to reveal his torso. He was firm, flushed to the touch, and heaving under the heat of your palm.
You gasped as he pressed his body against your touch, smiling against your skin as he asked if you liked what you were seeing. All you could do was nod, somehow lost in the trance that you never wanted to escape. His mouth took your neck, roaming starved as his hands undressed you down to your underwear.
“God, you’re gorgeous.” He slipped you out from your sleeves and made skin contact. Chest to chest, waist to waist, hips to hips. You sense his want through touch alone and for once being wrong felt so incredibly right. What a relief to know, he felt what you did. “I never wanted someone this badly before.”
“Soonyoung…”
He nipped your neck, teeth scratching against your skin. “You say my name like that, I’ll have no choice but to ruin you. Be careful around me. Or don’t. I’d show you a good time either way.”
“You’re—mmp—such a…ah—s-sweet talker.” You could hardly talk back. He made love to your skin as if he’d done it before, touching every pressure of your body like a skilled lover, both attentively yet without remorse.
“I’m only saying what I’ve been thinking. Like how desperate I am to feel myself between your thighs.” He tugged down your underwear to your feet and let the fall to the ground, allowing your legs to hook around him. “Or how your lips taste like caramel coffee, the candy you eat every time you need a ‘pick me up.’”
“You pay attention to that?” You asked, fiddling over the button of his pants.
“I don’t make an effort to, I just do.” He found your hands, aiding you in your efforts, soon you heard the sound of fabric hitting the floor. He held your gaze still, guiding your hand over his hard cock, taking from the base up to the shaft. You swallowed memorizing his shape, his length, his weight. There was so much you wanted to be able to share with this part of him alone. “Now it’s your turn to pay attention to me.”
Your lips stretched over your cheeks. “What makes you think I don’t?” 
You trace over something particular with your other hand, something that bulges at you even with his pants on. You lifted yourself to sit up, folding your calves behind your thighs. Stroking his length with one hand, you admire your veins leading down his lap with the other. “I’ll have you know, my patience is admirable. It took a lot within me to blatantly ignore these pretty veins you have on your stomach.”
“Someone’s never called them that before,” he chuckled, “no one’s even acknowledged them before.”
“I guess no one’s been privileged enough to see them as often as I do. Lucky me.” You thumbed over the blue, scrapping over its stroke as you lowered your head and your lips wrapped around the head. You covered his underside, tugging  your lips around him, and watching his jaw drop lower when you began covering more of his length.
“I’m the lucky one,” he acknowledged, his hand dropping to the crown of your head before caressing the length of your hair. “You should see how good you look sucking my dick right now. I’m never gonna see this image without wanting to cum on the spot.”
You steadied yourself at his hips, tongue gliding over the underside, and you hugged your cheeks tighter around his girth. Eyes fluttered back at him, and you wretched to take more of him, already felt him hit the back of your throat. When you heard him moan, it fed you more encouragement, giving your best efforts to fit all of him. You coughed at the tightness in your throat but remained resilient. The vicious substance of your saliva coated him from tip to base as your hand stroked him repeatedly, pushing him deeper into you until your vision grew weary. 
Soonyoung told you to take it slow, stroking the back of your head with a gentle hand. You inhaled him for as long as you could, the sounds of your efforts growing dim the deeper he made it past your mouth. Ultimately, tears ran down your cheeks, oxygen cut from your airways, and you felt no choice but to pull him out, resting his cock between your fingertips as you gasped for breath.
That breath was quickly stolen when Soonyoung dived in to claim it, his body caging yours. His weight against yours was comforting, enticing, addicting. He moaned your name sweetly like a song, and it filled your stomach with embers of desire. “You’re so hot…I’d make you do that again if I wasn’t worried about killing you.”
You pathetically scoffed in an attempt to cover up discomfort. “That? Pff, I’m fine.”
He grinned, kissing you long and deep. “You’re so cute when you lie. I’ll make sure to return the favor now.”
Pulling at your thighs, he dragged them towards him, barely touched your eager heat, and his twitch urging you to pull him close. He leaned over somewhere behind you to tear open a condom, rolling it over himself. As he drew closer, so did you, feeling the inviting head of his cock glide over your wet cunt, you trembled in thought. Soonyoung, just—
“Put it in me.”
“Now, now. I’m not going anywhere,” he smiled cheekily.
“Soonyoung,” You whined.
Your impatience is rewarded when he plunged himself in slowly, but completely, embracing the stretch of your walls as he filled you out. “So…needy...”
His initial thrust is deep, strong, and then he landed another, quickly adjusting to the plush of your pussy. You held your thighs back to your chest, and spread your legs wide for him. Your pretty lips weren’t shy with praising him, asking him for more of his pretty cock, and earning just as you ask. “You’re mind-numbing, shit…what a good fucking pussy…”
“Your cock’s so g-good in me…you feel so good inside me, Soonyoung…”
“Fuck, say my name like that again.”
He flipped you on your stomach, pressing his fingers into your as he found his pace from behind you, ramming into you until your cunt has tasted every inch of his cock. You gasped as his hand maneuvered you to push back against him, like a toy to be played with he used every bit of you, your energy, your sexuality, and he embraced it. You felt amazing. 
“Soonyoung, I’m—ah—I’m gonna cum.”
“You’re gonna cum around my cock? Hmm? Is that it? My cock fucking you that good?”
You bit into his cheeks nodding, in the urge to respond before the wave of arousal crashed into you. You were clenching your stomach as his name came in tidal waves, grinding towards him to prologue the high. Loudly, you cursed, balling the sheets underneath you into fists. 
Soonyoung nodded proudly, the shaky view of your body trembling beneath him fuels his ego and it’s not long before he orgasms, filling the condom until it nearly burst. He pulled out of you finally, quickly discarding the trash before he joined you in bed, hugging your fatigued body to his side and there was silence. Only silence.
And breathing. Mainly Soonyoung’s. And that went on for a good fifteen minutes until someone spoke again.
“I’m glad I waited for that.”
You looked up at your roommate curiously, the smile on his face felt warmer every time you saw it. “What was that?”
He met your gaze, hand softly moving over your hair. “I feel like I’ve gotten closer to you. I always wanted that.”
“Really?”
He nodded, planting a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Who knew sex would make us closer friends?”
Your body ran cold, in the distance you could hear the shattering of glass far off from reality. You stayed frozen under his touch as he embraced you closer to his naked body, hooking his chin over your neck. “We should do this again. I wouldn’t mind getting used to this.”
That’s what you were scared of. Getting used to this. To this arrangement. To the sensation of his cock inside you. To the sense that it’d never be more than you hoped it would be. You’d never have Soonyoung be yours, but you knew somehow you’d always be his.
2K notes · View notes
rowdyluv · 3 months ago
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what a shame that he’s leaving
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summary: Jack and y/n have been wanting to spice up their life in the bedroom.
word count: 3.8k
warnings: 18+, nsfw, ‘sensory deprivation’, threesome, talks of alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, deceiving, oral (female rec and male rec) fingering (female), there’s probably more but I can’t think
notes: hi bff @mirrorballmcgroarty convinced me to post this monstrosity of a fic. i hate it so much i wish i never created it or spoke it back into existence BUT enjoy anyways
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Jack, Luke, and John sat around the sticky table at their favorite dive bar, the smell of greasy burgers and spilled beer lingering in the air. They were deep into their third round of drinks when Jack leaned in closer to John, his eyes glinting with a mischievous twinkle. "Hey, man," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "are you still down for that thing I talked to you about?"
John's eyebrows shot up, he had been serious about that? He took a sip of his beer, the condensation cool against his top lip. What Jack was referring to wasn't about the upcoming Olympic Games. John adverted his eyes over to Luke quickly and back over to Jack. He had to admit, Jack's proposal had been a bit of a shock, but also intriguing. John has always had a bit of a wild streak, and the thought of being part of Jack's and y/n's intimate experiment had left him more than a little curious. "Yeah, sure I'm still game," he murmured over the top of his beer mug, his voice low and casual, trying not to be betrayed by the sudden thrill that shot through him.
"Good," Jack said with a knowing smile, slapping a hand down on the table. "Because she's down for it too…sometime." Jack leaned back in his bar chair, watching John's reaction carefully. "But I've been planning it out, and tonight's the night. She thinks it will just be me coming home, but I've got a little surprise for her. If you’re going to come with me."
John nodded, his heart racing with curiosity. Jack wasn’t someone who typically beat around the bush. "What's the plan?"
But before Jack could elaborate, Luke slammed his hand down on the table, interrupting the hushed conversation. "You two are giving me a headache with all the whispering," he complained, a scowl etched on his face. "I'm gonna head out." He tossed a few crumpled bills onto the sticky wooden surface and stood up, swaying slightly.
“Don’t go home. You won’t get any sleep.” Jack snickered.
Luke narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to. You two cannot whisper no matter what you think. You also are not sly as to what you’re going to do.” Luke pretends to gag before he stalks off from the two older boys and their laughs.
Jack's grin widens as the door swings shut behind Luke. He turns back to John, his eyes full of excitement. "Alright, let's get to it," he says, leaning in closer. "Here's the plan: I'll go in first, set us all up. I’ll have her believing it’s just her and I, but I’ll get her all hot and bothered. I’ll get her riled up more by blindfolding her. She'll be thinking it's just me the whole time, wait until I get her blindfolded then you’ll come in.”
John nods slowly, his pulse quickening. "And what do you want me to do exactly?"
Jack's grin turns devilish. "I'll have her all ready, practically begging for it, and you go straight for the good stuff, man."
John laughs nervously, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. "If she thinks it's you, then it'll be your name she yells out," he points out, raising an eyebrow.
Jack's smile doesn't falter. "Well, that's half the fun, isn't it?" he quips, downing the rest of his beer. "No don’t worry man, I’ve got something worked up for that too.”
John raises an eyebrow. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"
Jack nods confidently. "Almost everything. Let’s go.”
They left the bar, the neon lights flickering in the early evening darkness. Each man climbed into their respective vehicles, the engines rumbling to life as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards Jack and y/n's apartment. The city streets were alive with the low murmur of traffic and distant laughter, a stark contrast to the heated anticipation that filled the confines of their cars.
Jack's mind raced as he navigated the familiar streets, his thoughts a whirlwind of excitement and apprehension. He'd been planning this night for weeks, ever since the trade had been confirmed. It was the perfect opportunity to push the boundaries of their relationship, to explore the wild side that y/n had hinted at but never fully embraced. The leather seats of his SUV hugged him tightly as he sped through the yellow lights, the wind in his hair feeling like a freedom he hadn't experienced in a long time.
As they pulled up to the apartment complex, Jack's heart hammered in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before they executed the plan. They parked side by side, the engines ticking as they cooled. They both knew that once they walked through the door, there was no turning back. John's eyes met Jack's, a silent confirmation of their shared excitement.
Jack stepped out of the car and unlocked the front door, calling out to y/n, "Hey babe, I'm home!" He waited for a moment, listening for her response. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway, and he could feel the tension in the air thicken as she grew closer. She appeared in the doorway of the living room, her eyes lighting up when she saw him. She was wearing nothing but a large t-shirt that barely hung to her thighs, her skin glowing with the warmth of the setting sun.
“Hi.” She smiled softly.
Jack took three strides forward lifting her over his shoulder.
“Jack! What are you doing?!” Y/n squealed.
“I want you baby girl, I can’t wait.” His voice low, seductive. His statement true, but he was also needing to move away to allow John inside.
Y/n giggled, throwing her hand over her mouth. “Jack, put me down!” She protested playfully, her laughter bouncing off the walls of the hallway.
Jack smacked her ass gently. “Oh, I will, but not yet.” He said, carrying her into the bedroom. He tossed her onto the bed, his eyes full of hunger. He took a step back, admiring her in the soft light that filtered through the blinds. Her t-shirt had ridden up, revealing her red underwear and the tops of her thighs. She leaned on her elbows, her eyes shimmering with excitement.
Y/n watched as Jack approached the bed, his movements deliberate and predatory. He leaned down, his warm breath tickling her skin as he whispered, "I've got a surprise for you tonight, baby." His lips grazing against the column of her throat ever so slightly, before he playfully nips at her neck. He leans over to his bedside table and pulls a bandanna out of his drawer, holding it up.
“Are you ready to have some fun?” Jack’s voice was gravely. Y/n only nodded, her eyes shining like diamonds in the sun. Jack grinned, over eager to get the bandanna on her.
Jack returned to his original space over her, the soft fabric of the blindfold brushing against her cheek. His eyes searched hers, looking for any signs of doubt. She bit her lip, but nodded. He could tell she was nervous but incredibly turned on. He placed the bandanna over her eyes, tying it tightly behind her head. The room was plunged into darkness for her, and her pulse quickening in anticipation.
Before she could react her panties were stripped from her, her legs spread wide, and she heard Jack’s tale-tale moan. “Oh babygirl, you’re already so fucking wet.” He drug a knuckle over her clit. Her hip bucked. “Fuck, Jack. Please” Jack smirked and retreated from the bed to wave John on down the hall.
John’s heart was racing as he tiptoed into the room, the sound of y/n’s breathless gasps guiding him like a beacon. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him: her half naked body stretched out on the bed, her chest heaving with every breath, the blindfold hiding the secrets of the evening from her eager eyes.
Jack gave him a nod, gesturing for him to join her on the bed. John’s pulse quickened as he approached, his eyes drinking in every inch of her exposed flesh. He climbed onto the bed, his body quivering with anticipation as he positioned himself between her thighs. The scent of her arousal was thick in the air, and he couldn’t help but lick his lips at the thought of tasting her.
John leaned in, his mouth hovering just above her sensitive flesh. He took a deep breath, savoring the sweetness of her. Then, ever so gently, he kissed the inside of her thigh, his tongue darting out to trace the delicate skin. He could feel her body tense with excitement, her legs instinctively spreading wider for him. He continued his kisses, moving closer and closer to her center. He teasingly hovered right above her core. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, and he knew she was ready.
Finally, John couldn't resist any longer. He parted her folds with his thumbs and flicked his tongue over her clit, eliciting a sharp gasp from y/n. She squirmed beneath him, her hands reaching out to grasp the sheets tightly. He licked her slowly, savoring the taste of her. Her hips began to rock against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction. He chuckled darkly against her, his breath hot against her skin, before he gave in to her silent plea. His tongue swirled around her clit, licking and sucking until she was bucking her hips up to meet him, her moans muffled by the pillow she had buried her face in.
Jack watched from the side of the bed, his own arousal growing as he saw y/n's body respond to John's ministrations. He had never seen her this wild, this uninhibited, and it was a sight to behold. He began to strip off his own clothes, his eyes never leaving her face. The way she thought the way she writhed and moaned, the way she arched her body off the bed, was all for him—made his cock harden. Every whimper she let out, every desperate plea for more made it hard to resist touching himself.
John's tongue grew more insistent, his hunger for her clear in every stroke. He lapped at her like a man starved of water in the desert, his mouth greedily devouring her wetness. He could feel her getting closer, her legs trembling and her breaths turning ragged. He knew she was on the edge, and he was eager to push her over. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, spreading her wider, giving him better access. He took her clit between his teeth, sucking gently before letting go with a pop, making her cry out.
Y/n's body was a symphony of sensations, her mind a whirlwind of pleasure. She had never felt anything like this before. The mystery of not knowing where the next touch was coming from, when it was coming, who was touching her added an extra layer of excitement, making her crave more. She let out a whimper, her body begging for release. "Jack," she elongated his name as she moaned, her voice strained with desire. "Yes, Jack, right there."
Jack grinned triumphantly, he leaned over her grabbing her chin. “Oh sweet girl, it’s not me doing this to you.” He all but growled.
Y/n's breath hitched, her eyes flying open in shock. She reached up to rip the blindfold off, the room coming into focus with a jarring suddenness. Her eyes darting down between her legs frantically, her pupils dilated with lust. They fell on John, meeting his eyes dark with desire as he hovered just above her apex. When their eyes met, John took his fingers and plunged two deep inside her. Eliciting a sharp scream guttural scream from her. Her eyes darted over to Jack. She felt her cheeks flush with a mix of shock and arousal, her body betraying her with a needy moan.
Jack leaned in, his eyes dark with his own hunger, and whispered in her ear, "Surprise, baby." His hand reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin tenderly. "John's here to help me give you the night of your life." He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, making her shiver.
John took his tongue swirling around her clit once more before pulling away. "You're going to come so many times tonight," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "But not yet." He replaced his mouth with his fingers, working her clit in a steady rhythm that had her writhing and begging for more.
Jack chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down to his own erection. He stroked himself leisurely, watching the scene unfold before him. "You're so beautiful like this," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "So open, so ready."
Sliding his fingers out of her and replacing them with his cock. John pushed in slow, watching her face contort with pleasure and surprise. "Jack's not the only one who knows how to make you feel good," he said, his voice a gravelly growl. He began to thrust, his movements measured and deliberate, drawing out her pleasure. “I can promise you that.”
John's cock filled her completely, reaching deep inside her and stroking against her g-spot with every push. Y/n's eyes rolled back into her head, a silent scream building in her throat. Her body was no longer her own, it was a playground for Jack and John's desires. She felt so full, so complete, and the sensation was overwhelming. Her hips began to match John's rhythm, her body begging for more.
Jack's hand was at the back of her head, guiding her mouth onto his erection. The salty taste of him filled her mouth, and she took him in eagerly, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock. She could feel him pulsing with every beat of his heart, the veins in his shaft throbbing with his excitement. He talked dirty to her, his words a mix of praise and filth that sent shivers down her spine. "That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You look so fucking good with his cock in you, with my cock in your mouth."
John's thrusts grew more powerful, his hips slamming into hers with a force that had the bed shaking. Y/n could feel him stretching her, filling her completely. Each stroke was a delicious mix of pain and pleasure, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her own moans vibrated against Jack's shaft, muffled by his skin. She could feel her orgasm building, a tight coil in her stomach that threatened to unravel at any moment.
Jack's grip tightened on the back of her head, his hips moving in a matching rhythm to John's. His words were a constant stream of filth, his voice a dark caress that only served to heighten her arousal. "Look at you, baby," he murmured, his voice low and sinful. "Taking both of us like a champ." He groaned as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock. "You're such a good girl, letting us both use your tight little body."
John's eyes met Jack's over y/n's trembling form, a silent communication passing between them. They had been friends for years, and this was a moment they had never dared to imagine. The shared excitement was palpable, the tension in the room thick with lust and the thrill of the taboo. John leaned back, his hands on her hips, watching as Jack's cock disappeared into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with each bob of her head.
Jack's hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head, guiding her movements, setting a pace that had him groaning with pleasure. His eyes were locked onto hers, watching as they watered with the effort of taking him deep. She was so eager, so hungry for it, and it only made him want to fuck her face even more. He could feel John's thrusts into her pussy, the mattress squeaking beneath them, and he knew she was being driven wild by the sensation of being filled in both places at once.
“You think you could take us both at the same time here?” Jack reached behind him grazing his hand up the side of the globe of her ass. A drug out moan shuttered out from her throat and around his cock. Her pussy clamped down around John’s cock both in response. “I take that as a yes?” Jack raised on eyebrow questioning her.
Y/n pulled Jack out of her mouth with a pop. "Yes," she panted, her voice shaky with need. "I want it all."
“Who do you want where sweet girl?” John’s question hung in the air, his eyes burning with lust.
Without missing a beat, y/n responded, "John, I want you in my ass," she said, her voice shaky with excitement. "And Jack, I want you in my pussy." She looked at both of them with glazed eyes. If some one didn’t know better, they’d think she was pure and innocent.
Jack's eyes went wide, but he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a bottle of lube from his nightstand, handing it to John. "Looks like someone's eager," he said with a smirk, watching as John's eyes darkened with lust.
John took the bottle, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers before sliding them into her ass. Y/n whimpered, her body tightening at the sudden intrusion. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she pushed back against John's hand, urging him to go deeper, faster.
Jack leaned in, his lips crushing hers in a bruising kiss as John's fingers slid in and out of her ass. The feeling of being filled in both her ass and her pussy was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a delicious pressure that had her pussy clenching around Jack's shaft. He groaned into her mouth, his hand tangling in her hair as he began to thrust into her.
John's fingers worked her ass, stretching her, preparing her for his thick cock. He watched her face in the mirror across the room, her expression a mix of pleasure and pain, her mouth open in a silent scream as he replaced his fingers for his dick and stretching her wider, stroking in deeper. He whispered dirty words into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "You're so fucking tight," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I've never felt anything like this."
Jack's hips moved in tandem with John's, their bodies working together in a rhythm that was both mesmerizing and carnally intense. Y/n's moans grew louder, her breaths coming in short gasps as they both pushed into her, filling her completely. She could feel their muscles tensing with every thrust, their sweat-slicked skin slapping against hers, the sound echoing through the room.
Their words a symphony of filth that had her pussy contracting around Jack's cock. "Look how good you're taking us," Jack said, his voice deep and commanding. "You're such a dirty little slut, aren't you?"
John groaned in agreement. "Fuck yes, you are," he said, his voice strained. "You're going to come so hard with both of us inside you."
Her orgasm building faster and faster, a crescendo of pleasure that was almost too much to bear. She clung to Jack, her nails digging into his shoulders as John's cock hit that perfect spot deep within her ass, at times nudging against Jack’s. She was lost in the sensation, her body no longer her own.
Jack's hand slid down her body, his thumb finding her clit. He began to rub it in tight circles, his movements synced with their thrusts. She bucked her hips and cried out. The two men held her tight, their movements growing more frantic as they felt her approaching climax, as well as their own.
Her moans grew louder, her body tightening around them. "I'm going to come," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Oh, fuck, I'm going to come."
Jack's grip on her tightened, his thumb pressing down harder on her clit. "Come for us, baby," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Come for John and me."
Their strokes grew more powerful, their bodies moving as one. And then, with a scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, y/n came. Her orgasm washed over her, a tidal wave of pleasure that left her trembling and gasping for breath.
Jack and John didn't let up, their strokes unrelenting as they chased their own releases. They watched her face, the way she bit her lip and arched her back, her body shuddering with the force of her climax. It was intoxicating, a sight that pushed them closer and closer to the edge.
With a load groan of ecstasy, Jack came with an intense shudder, inside her. John followed suit, his cock pulsing as he filled her ass with his cum. They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and their hearts pounding.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the three of them lost in the aftermath of their shared passion. Then, y/n reached up, her hands shaky as she touched Jack’s face. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and amazement.
"That was... amazing," she said, still breathless. "I never knew I could feel like that."
Jack and John shared a grin, their eyes gleaming with a newfound camaraderie. They had given her an experience she would never forget, and the memory of it would surely fuel their fantasies for weeks to come.
But for now, all that mattered was the here and now, the three of them tangled together in the afterglow of their shared desire. They lay there, panting and sweaty, the warmth of their bodies melding together. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure, a moment that would forever be etched in their memories as the night they pushed the boundaries of their friendship and their love lives to the absolute limit.
“It’s a shame you’re leaving man, might’ve considered doing it all again.” Jack laughed tugging y/n over a little closer to kiss her a top the head.
John smirked, his hand idly tracing patterns on her hip. “Maybe we can make it a send-off tradition?” He suggested, watching her face for a reaction. “When Utah plays the Devils it becomes a thing?”
“Ehhh. Maybe. Don’t get too excited Marino.” Jack stiffly chuckles while he’s moving y/n around to get her up for a bath. She’s already falling asleep on him. Making it harder on him. “Not saying no, not saying yes, it’s upset to babygirl here. I’ll do anything for her. Absolutely anything.”
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itsphoenix0724 · 9 months ago
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All Things Vile (Eris x Reader)
Summary: A recon mission to the Autumn Court gets more heated than you intended. They say Autumn males fuck like they have fire in their veins-you guess you're about to find out.
Warnings: ROUGH SMUT (this is pure filth and I'm not sorry), kind of dark, oral (m!receiving) choking, bondage
Word Count: 2.7k
A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for him, been a while since I wrote in general since I'm adjusting back into my school life. Chapter 3 of MMOTI is drafted and will hopefully be released soon! But anyway here's a smutty Eris fic for all of you <3
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The Autumn Court was ablaze in moonlit revelry. The scent of spiced cider and ale consumed the grove along with the smell of the blazing campfire. Fog weaved in and out of the shadow-drenched woods, urging the partygoers to follow its trail into the darkness. You could make out bodies against trees, males and females losing themselves in one another, as you jumped silently along the oak’s branches. It was a simple mission; Get in and get out, that’s what Rhys had said, and that’s what you fully intended on doing. Cloaked in darkness, mask pulled up to hide everything but your eyes, you found your target. 
A drunken blush stained his pale cheeks, and the blood-red silk shirt he wore was unbuttoned so obscenely low you could see the dappling of freckles along his chest in the firelight. His auburn hair was unruly; the waves held down only by the circlet of gold leaves that marked him as the firstborn son of Autumn. His lips were stained from the wine he was sipping and his eyes had taken on a seductive half-lid as he somehow fixed his burning gaze straight onto you. 
Fuck, Rhys was going to kill you. 
Eris stood from his chair in one smooth motion, prowling towards your spot hidden in the woods like a mountain cat, amber eyes burning. You jump down from your tree, weaving through the branches like smoke to try to lose the lordling who’s hot on your tail. Nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the sounds of footfalls echo through the dark wood. You just need to get to the border, Eris won’t have the gall to cross after you. You can see the green grass of Spring, the pastel pink of the cherry blossoms grotesquely clashing with the russet hues of the forest that currently surrounds you.
You can almost smell the sickly sweet air when a hand encircles your wrist like a hot brand.
The world tips and falls, the grass slipping out from under your feet as you’re dropped into a room, landing on all fours against a hardwood floor. Bands of fire wrap around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the ground, not burning but holding you there. The tell-tale wave of nausea that means you’ve been winnowed somewhere quickly overwhelms you as you try not to heave onto the plush burgundy rug infront of you.
Eris has taken you to his room at Fir Hall, his private estate away from his life wrapped in court politics, you’re familiar with the home after many spy missions here. Your eyes fix on the Autumn Prince with a burning ferocity, and he does nothing but glare back down at you from where he looms above you.
“Well, well what has fallen into my trap,” He fixes you with a wolfish smile as he pulls down your mask, and your lips peel back into a snarl. “Hello Sweetheart,” he purrs as he tucks a loose hair behind your ears. “I’ve missed you, it’s very nice to see you again.” He tries to run a thumb over your bottom lip, but you snap your teeth in his direction like a feral animal and he wisely pulls his hand away. 
“Bite me,” you growl out as Eris crouches down until he’s at eye level with you. A hound cornering a wild fox, it seemed the hunter had won tonight as he lets out a laugh that leaves a burning caress down your spine. 
“Oh, I intend to.” He promises, stroking his hand along the back of your hair, pulling out the hair tie, and letting it fall around your face. “Now will you mind your manners?” He raises a copper brow, eyes dancing with amusement. The bond buried deep in your chest tries to wiggle free of its restraints, begging you to let it play with the other half of your soul. 
“Never,” you vow to him even as the mischief in his eyes turns to longing. This is torture denying yourself of him. 
But how could you not? 
Beron is still High Lord, if you were to tie yourself to him you would have to abide by his rules. You would rather claw your own eyes out. And if your family ever found out, if Mor ever found out, the shame and guilt would burn more than the roaring fire in the hearth. 
So you have this, you take every mission you can to Autumn and collect all the broken pieces and scraps that you can get. This is what you will allow yourself.
“I thought that would be the case,” Eris gets up and languidly strolls away from you, plucking the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and pouring himself a drink. You watch with adept interest as his ring-clad fingers tighten around the crystalline glass, he strolls over to his bookshelf and plucks a well-loved novel off the dark shelf. 
Then the bastard settles himself into one of the plush armchairs and starts to fucking read. He ignores you as though you’re nothing more than a potted plant in the corner, he doesn’t even so much as glance at you, fully enraptured in his novel. A few minutes pass when you clear your throat. Eris deigns to look bored as he lazily turns his head toward you. 
“Yes?” He asks, propping the book against one knee and taking another sip of his whiskey. Your eyes track the movement of his throat involuntarily. 
“Aren’t you going to do something?” You push, urging him with your eyes as you lift your head through the curtain of your hair. You hope your gaze communicates everything you cannot bring yourself to voice, fearing your body will refuse to allow you air if you try. 
I love you, please don’t ignore me, I need you, play with me
He chuckles a dark sound and picks up his book again, pointedly flicking a page as the rubies on his hands glint in the firelight. 
“I’m not in the business of playing with unwilling toys,” Eris supplies, purposely staring at the fire instead of you. “Perhaps I should call Rhysand to collect you and tell him I don’t appreciate being spied on. Perhaps, he will never send you back here.” His brows scrunch in frustration but you both know that the threat is empty. It seems he is tired of your games. 
“What do you want?” You barely grind out, still refusing to relent to the signing inside your soul. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Princely bastard.” You practically spit, and faster than the blink of an eye Eris is in front of you, fisting your hair in one hand and tilting your chin to meet his smoldering gaze. 
“Are you ashamed of me?” He questions, and you can see the vulnerability dancing in his eyes. You shake your head as the fire binding your wrists recedes and you move into a more comfortable kneeling position, hands now bound in front of you. He soothes his hand along your cheek again as your brows knit together. You thought that the two of you had a kind of understanding. You had no idea where this was coming from. “I tire of this ruse, my love.” If Eris notices the mournful look in your eyes he says nothing. He strokes a warm hand through your hair, admiring your eyes in the firelight. “Why don’t you show me how much you missed me huh?” The wolfish grin is back and you hum your agreement as he runs his thumb along your bottom lip again, pleased at your cooperation as he slides his finger into your mouth. He thrusts it into your mouth and as you teasingly run your tongue over the pad he lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core. 
He undoes the belt at his waist, pulling his cock out with his hand, and your mouth waters at the sheer size of him. 
“I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he rumbles, pure authority and power radiating off of him. A glimpse at the future ruler he will become one day. You nod your enthusiastic consent as he grips the back of your head and thrusts into your mouth at a merciless pace. Your head empties as he hits the back of your throat, the hand cupping the back of your hair surprisingly gentle compared to the way he was brutalizing your mouth. “That’s a good girl, take me down your throat.” It spills out of his mouth like he can’t even control it as your eyes roll back in your head at his praise. Eris pushes your mouth all the way down to the base of his dick and holds you there for a few seconds as your nose connects with his pelvic bone. He’s relentless as he uses you for his pleasure and you think that he might bruise your vocal cords. 
He spills down your throat as your binds dissolve into nothing, leaving behind a warm tingling sensation where the fire licked at your limbs. 
You swallow what he gave you, opening your mouth in emphasis as whiskey eyes blow wide with lust. You’re drenched at the sight of his cock already stiffening again. He walks to the mountainous bed in front of you, making himself comfortable against the pillows. 
“Come here pet.” He growls fisting his cock in his hand and crooking his fingers with the other. You start to rise to your legs on sore knees, but you freeze when Eris tuts–holding his hand out to stop you. “No. I want you to crawl to me.” The order wraps around you like warm silk, voice sliding against your bones. You lower yourself back down to the floor, humiliation burning hot on your cheeks as you sway your hips in what you hope to be enticing. He stops you quickly and you look up at him from under fluttering lashes. “Strip. Slowly.” Your face burns even hotter and Eris can’t take his eyes off you as you rise, slowly undoing every single buckle on your leathers and letting them fall to the floor, leaving you entirely exposed to him before climbing onto the bed. His body is so warm against your skin as he draws your mouth to his, the burning taste of cinnamon whiskey floods your mouth. He dominates you even here, claiming you as his tongue wrestles with yours. The moan that slips out of you comes out scratchy from the abuse of your throat, and in a flash, you’re below him as he grinds his hips into yours. 
“Eris,” you whimper as his cock brushes against your folds. You need him to fill you to the brim, wanting him as close as possible. He shushes you gently as he bites at your pulse point, the only goal in his mind is to claim as he sucks dark marks into your neck. 
You’ll surely be wearing only turtle necks for a few weeks after this. 
His warm hands skate down your body, pulling and prodding at your sensitive nipples, letting out a dark chuckle as you whine at his ministrations. Eris mocks your moans as he rubs a finger at your center, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between his fingers. Finally, he slips a finger inside of you rubbing at the spot that makes you see stars. He knows exactly where to touch to get you to dissolve, his beautiful mate bending to him like water running through his fingertips. That ring-clad hand curls around your throat, cold metal contrasting with his warm hands, and you keen as the pleasant dizzy feeling takes over your whole body. 
That feeling combined with the addition of another finger in your core sends you hurtling through gold-flecked oblivion.
He pulls his fingers out of you, sucking them into his mouth and moaning as he relishes the taste of you on his tongue. Staring down at your shaking form with smugness in his eyes as he circles the skin of your inner thigh, enjoying the way the muscles quiver under his touch. Eris sinks himself into you, inch by tortuous inch until you can’t tell where your body ends and he begins. He strokes slowly and deliberately, bruising you with his intensity as your vision goes white with searing pleasure every time he moves his hips.
You want him to leave his imprint everywhere on your body, that unanswered bond begging you to never leave this bed again. Eris must feel it too, that golden thread wrapping around his heart begging him to keep you, to never let another male so much as look at you. That makes something ugly twist in his chest and he almost snarls at even the thought of another male near you as his instincts take over and he draws your legs over his shoulders to hit an even deeper part inside of you. Your walls are clenching and fluttering around him as his pace turns ravenous, all you can do is try to hold on as your nails scrape jagged lines down his back. Eris scrapes his teeth over your neck, then he moves down to your nipple biting down as you scream his name before giving the other one equal attention. 
“Who do you belong to pet?” He murmurs in your ear in time with a thrust that's so deep your eyes roll back in your head. “Who’s the only one that can make you feel like this?” You can barely give him anything but a whimper as he devastates your body, pinching your clit in a way that elicits a pleasure-soaked sob. “Scream it for me,” he punctuates it with a slap against the apex of your thighs. 
“Yours Eris, I’m all yours!” You scream as you orgasm, tears running down your flushed cheeks, Eris follows soon after you spilling himself deep inside of you.
He pulls out, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a clean rag to wipe up the mess he made between your thighs. He collapses onto the mattress next to you and pulls you to his chest, warming his hands with his power as he rubs slow circles into the small of your back. You look up at him and he’s taken aback at the vulnerability in your eyes. “Eris I-” you choke, unable to force the words you so desperately want to say past your lips. He shushes you with a kiss against your forehead. 
“I know,” he mutters into your hairline “I know.” You hold him tighter, blinking back tears as you lock the bond back down in its obsidian shackles,“I’ll wait an eternity for you.” It’s the last thing you hear before closing your eyes as you let him soothe you to sleep.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“I trust everything went well?” Rhys asks, raising a dark brow at your form where you stand across from his desk. You subconsciously pull the dark turtleneck further up, the deep purple marks burning like a brand. You scrubbed yourself raw as soon as you winnowed yourself to your apartment, and you’re praying to the Mother that Rhys doesn’t even catch a whiff of Eris or the frankly copious amounts of sex. The thought of Eris enjoying it this morning, pressing his nose against the crook of your neck to make sure it really stuck, before crawling his way down your body to settle in between your thighs makes you triple-check that the steel of your mental shields was still in place.
“Nothing to report,” You rasp, voice destroyed after last night's events. The attempts to clear your throat are doing nothing to help you
“Are you alright?” Rhys questions, wringing his hands together on his desk as he shoots a concerned look. 
“Must just be a chill I caught in Autumn, those woods get cold at night.” You supply and he hums his agreement. 
“Well go rest, you’ve earned it. Perhaps you should see Madja for something to soothe your throat.” Rhys says and you nod your agreement, taking the cue for your dismissal. You wait until his office door clicks shut behind you to let out your sigh of relief, thinking of nothing but soft sheets and warm hands. 
You can only hope you get another mission there soon.
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sophiethewitch1 · 9 months ago
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What We Want - Chpt. 4 - Nightmares Too
In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe
(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!
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SUMMARY
Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.
Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?
As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.
And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.
Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?
(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)
PREV - NEXT
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“You wanna get out from under there?”
What sort of question is that? Of course, you don’t. You’re going to live here now. You’re never leaving this tiny, cramped space till you rot away and die. The stained underside of some IKEA desk was your new home.
Well, since your actual home was seeming less and less like an option. Which kinda sucks, because you’re feeling surprisingly possessive of your stuff. You don’t want fancy dresses or bubbly champagne, you want your ratty couch and the neighbour’s cat that liked to visit in the middle of the night. Your mother was right, you were the type of person to never be happy no matter what. You could appreciate the food, though.
Shaking, trembling, knees clutched to your chest, you look up. Slowly, because you’ll probably piss yourself if you don’t.
Now that you weren’t holding his hand, the vigilante known as Red Hood was much, much scarier. He was sitting on the carpeted floor with you, but he still somehow looked incredibly menacing. You preferred his old look, honestly. The helmet had less ‘grim reaper’ vibes. The hood and metal face mask made him seem like a cyborg assassin, or something equally terrifying. He was terrifying.
Still, you could appreciate the insane sort of hilarity of this situation. The notorious crime fighter and crime committer was sitting here with you, crossed legs, twiddling his thumbs away. You press your face into your hands, laugh, and then scream. The sound is muffled, but he probably still hears the exciting new phase of your breakdown.
“Don’t…” your voice cuts off, you have to think before you can manage to speak again, “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”
His giant shoulders shrug.
“I’ve got time.”
Did he? You don’t know how long you’d been up here, how long you’d been sitting here either. You’d fallen asleep, despite your desperate fight not to, so it could be anywhere between 10 to the next day. Had you missed midnight? God, you hoped not.
That stupid little ritual is what convinces you to leave. Not common sense, not the Hood, not your desperate desire to get home and sleep. No, it’s the image of your mother’s tired smile, the city in the background as you wish her another happy birthday after a long day of work. It’s a memory you’re not willing to give up, even if you technically already made your wish.
You’d lived this awful day twice. You got to blow out your candles twice, too.
Slowly, surely, you climb out from under the desk. Red Hood is quiet, careful. He doesn’t move apart from a subtle shift in his hood, suggesting he’s watching you. He’s acting like you’re a wild animal or something, like he might scare you off, or might prompt you to attack.
If he tries anything, you will. It doesn’t matter that he could snap your neck like a twig. Maybe he’s right to act that way, you’re feeling pretty feral right now. Half giving him your back, you turn the monitor for the computer on. It’s Wayne property, so you think you technically have some right to it. It’s not like you’re going to hack it or anything, you just need it to-
11:48.
“Thank god,” you sigh, relieved. Still, you’re not out of the woods yet. You needed at least a lighter, hopefully, a candle and a desert of some kind too. There were lots of cakes downstairs, if you felt you could do it. Big ‘if’ there. The mental breakdown was still well underway. And not everyone could dodge a punch like Red Hood could. Knowing you, you’d probably get sued for millions if you accidentally snapped at some poor rando.
Let’s start small. You wrench open the office’s drawer and start rooting around. You find lots of things, a Wayne Enterprises-themed stress toy, a kid’s drawing of them and their parent holding hands, and a surprising amount of hand cream, but no lighter. You slam the drawer closed and move to the next one.
“Hey, what are you doing?” his voice rumbles out, and your head snaps around.
You look down. Right. This is probably illegal. You were rooting through someone else’s private property. Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it was definitely the first time you’d done it in plain view of a vigilante.
Crap. You hadn’t thought. That was your entire night, summarised.
“Uh, this is… Do you have a lighter?” you ask, wincing. You don’t really like the mask he’s wearing. Apart from being so intimidating, you’re shaking like a wet chihuahua, it’s also impossible to tell what he’s thinking through it. The domino mask, the metal face mask and the voice changer completely hid any emotion. Full coverage and all.
The helmet probably would’ve made that even harder. You’d still prefer it. This guy's creepy.
“You smoke?” he responds, slowly but surely getting to his feet. You back up quickly, pressing yourself to the wall of the cubicle. Red Hood pauses and then moves even slower. He’s careful not to frighten you any more than already.
This was all really strange. One of the strangest things that had ever happened to you. And you might’ve woken up this morning in an alternate dimension. Or something, you had zero clue what was going on. God, you really wished you’d paid more attention in science class. You’d thought Mr Gregory was crazy, but he’d gotten the last laugh.
“I don’t,” you clench your sweaty fists tight, “Maybe I should.”
“Don’t get started, it’s impossible to stop,” Red Hood says, digging into his pocket for something. You freeze, but relax again when he hands you a scuffed metal lighter.
Holding it close to your chest, you whisper a thank you to him. He nods his head in acknowledgement.
This was really weird. You couldn’t say it enough.
“I hate you,” you state because you sort of have to. Even when he’s being nice to you, helping you. It’s an obligation. You have to make sure that despite the show of good faith he was offering, you were certainly feeling no such thing.
“I figured,” he replies, which like- What the fuck? Does this make absolutely zero sense to anybody else? You’re not sure what about your panic-stricken tears and desperate hand-holding made you seem hateful, but you could work with it.
Maybe all the feelings you push down are starting to show. You ignore how worried that makes you because you’ve had enough for today. Today was more than e-fucking-nough.
You were going to find a cake and a candle, and you were going to make your wish. Again, because life sucks. You were going to finish this horrible day again because life sucks. And hopefully, you’d wake up tomorrow… tomorrow, not today.
You weren’t sure if you would. Life sucks, right?
You look the Red Hood in his creepy glowing red eyes and say, “I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, I don’t think it is.”
There’s quiet between you two for a moment. You think he’s staring at you, trying to figure you out. He knows you hate him, but you’re… well, you’re too tired to be angry right now. You just want to go to sleep. You just want this damn day to end. Tomorrow you’d go back to hating all the vigilantes of Gotham with a fiery passion, but today…
Well, you wouldn’t call it peaceful, whatever this situation is. Maybe it’s understanding. He seems understanding, for some reason. You don’t really want to think about that.
You just wanted to hate him. It was easier that way. Then you didn’t have to hate yourself so much.
“I’m going to go find some cake and a candle. It’s my birthday and I haven’t made a wish.”
Red Hood nods, “I could eat.”
That wasn’t an invitation, but whatever. Guess you’re blowing out your candles for your twenty-first with… this guy. Better than yesterday, which was with nobody but yourself and your trashy TV. Or, well, the first today.
You really think you are losing your mind. Whatever, whatever, let’s worry about it later.
After one of the most awkward and uncomfortable elevator rides of your life, squished into a corner as Red Hood took up the lion’s share of space, you find yourself back on the first floor. It’s chaos. The gorgeously decorated gala is now in rubble, and people are rushing around with the sort of fear you’d expect after the fucking Joker showed up.
He wasn’t here, which was good. It was important to focus on the good.
First responders flit around the space, checking the people who seem worse for wear and the rich bastards who think they’re more important than the service workers who are cut or bruised. All the food tables have been knocked over, the waste of it making you upset. Of course the Joker wastes food, he’s gotta be the evilest man on earth or something. It’s not just the interior that’s been destroyed, either. The giant gothic windows have been shattered inward, and broken glass covers the entire floor space. Red and blue lights flash through the gaping holes, bits of glass still attached to the stone sending it cascading across the walls.
You look down. You’re missing your shoes.
“You can’t walk on that,” Big Red says, which like, duh.
“I know that,” you mutter, looking around for another way. Ah, good, there’s a staff entrance over there, which you think probably leads to the kitchen-
“I could carry you.”
You give him a disturbed look and he shrugs. Pointing to the ‘staff only’ door, you wish you had the strength to tell the guy to fuck off. He feels like a babysitter or something.
“I’m going in there.” ‘Please don’t follow me.’
He follows you, because of course, he does.
Lucky for you, the staff entrance leads straight to the kitchen. Even luckier, there’s absolutely nobody here to witness you lose your mind. There are also lots of dishes waiting to be served, already plated and perfect. This is a professional kitchen, but it was your birthday so you have to assume they’d have had candles or a cake prepared.
You walk through the giant kitchen, and Red Hood hangs back. He leans against the doorway, crossing his tree-tunk-esque arms and glowering. Nowhere can do a scary hero like Gotham can. He was really messing with your vibe, which wasn’t all that great in the first place.
Your eyes rove over the platters, head snapping back when you spot a tiny set of confectionaries at the back. Cupcakes, three in total. They don’t match the rest of the other high-quality foods, but you know they’re the ones you want anyway. You hope this didn’t belong to someone else, and promise to pay them back… somehow. You’d write a note or something, leave your number behind.
You were rich now. You’d have preferred the lottery instead of all this. What’s the saying, ‘beggars can’t be choosers?’ You’d certainly been begging.
It’s a struggle to reach the back of the counter without knocking any of the other food. You grab the plate, lift it up and over, and then set it back down on an empty stretch of countertop.
You look over the three cupcakes, trying to pick one. There’s one that’s a dark raspberry pink. A pink that’s a little too dark, actually. Almost… reddish. You glance over your shoulder at the devil lurking behind you, wince, and decide you’re going for the blue cupcake. You think this might’ve also been one of Sam’s favourite colours. It would’ve been at some point, at least.
Now, candles. This might be the hard part, but it’s the most important one. Again you start rooting through some stranger’s property, and Red Hood just watches silently. It’s weird. This whole situation is weird. You’re tired and confused and you’re half convinced you’re dreaming it all, but… but you’re definitely starting to think this might be real.
And that’s fucking scary. So, back to candle hunting. They had to have some, it was your birthday. Maybe, you were pretty sure. Somehow the worst day of the year had happened twice because God knows you had some shit luck. You’d really like some solid answers, instead of just ‘maybe!’. And for some reason, you really didn’t think you’d be getting them anytime soon.
Ah, shoot. You found your candle. It’s one of those giant ‘Happy Birthday’ cake toppers, all loopy and connected words. Your cupcake is way too small, and your candle is way too big. Well, you’re nothing if not resourceful. When you bend the candle, the wax snaps easily under your grip. You’re left with a capital ‘H’ and under that the ‘B’ and little ‘i’ and ‘r’ from the beginning of birthday. Good enough, you suppose.
You stick the crumbly, glittery monstrosity on top of the stolen cupcake, and swipe the lighter again. The letters sag to the side, and you nudge them back into balance.
You glance down at the ovens, reading the bright neon numbers. 11:57.
You wait, flicking the lighter open and closed. The metallic click, the rhythm of the movement, it settles you a bit.
“Why are you waiting?” Red Hood pipes up, breaking that comfortable silence. At least he doesn’t come any closer, still lingering half in the room, half not.
“It has to be midnight,” you answer, wishing him away. This is your thing. You didn’t want anybody here for it, didn’t want anybody else’s presence tainting this piece of your mother’s memory. You were greedy for it, not eager to share.
You were sharing today. There’s a part of you that wants to scream and rant at the man who for some unknown reason simply will not leave, but you imagine your mother’s frowning face, and you can’t do it. She’s the angel on your shoulder (nagging, nagging, nagging) compared to your usual devil-inclined self. She was always insisting you needed to be a better host, be nicer to people. Maybe make more friends. And after she’d gone, you’d tried, you really, really had.
But Red Hood was an altogether different matter. Everything they were, everything they represented, was an altogether different matter.
You were obsessed with the Waynes. And in a different, more bitter, spiteful, malicious way, you were obsessed with the Bats, too.
You weren’t going to be friends with Red Hood. You hated him, despised him. Mum always said you needed to get better at forgiving people. You disagreed, but just… maybe just for today, you wouldn’t make him leave.
You could glare at him, though. You felt that was fair enough. He ignores your narrowed eyes like a seasoned professional. Bet he’s had a lot of people hate him. Bet he deserves it.
“It’s 11:59,” he tells you, and you stop glaring at him to light the candle.
The light is weak, barely able to touch you. Still, it’s strong enough to get rid of those tiny glimpses of red and blue police lights, to keep away the darkness for just long enough. You sigh into the light, absorbing it into yourself. You’d always thought the world was too dark, and you hated winter when you’d lose the sun. So like you had to hate the dark, you had to love this light. This tiny little candle, burning away.
“What’re you gonna wish for?”
You stare at the flickering flame. It twitches back and forth. Casts light into the kitchen. Mesmerises you. It’s barely alive, and you’re about to put it out before it can even start. It could’ve been some great fire, some city-destroying blaze. And you’re going to kill it. Kill it before it can kill you, can kill everyone here. Kill it before it could have ever hoped to live, to thrive.
Just a baby. Just a little, little baby.
It doesn’t deserve it. That never seems to matter. It never mattered before.
“The Joker to die.”
You exhale, blowing the light out and sending the kitchen into darkness. When you manage to find the light switch and turn it on, the room is empty. It’s just you, your cake, and your tears. Your hands clench, and then you realise you’re still holding it.
You still have the Red Hood’s lighter. He left without it.
Well, finder’s keepers, right?
-
You’re shaking in the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders not enough to keep out the Gotham night’s chill. You don’t really remember how you got here, to be honest. Everything’s pretty goddamn blurry. You were talking to a vigilante, a red one. Not down here, staring up at the Wayne Tower. You remember his face in the shifting candlelight. Did you blow out your candles with him? That was a fucking crazy thought.
And now the Bruce Wayne has a hand on your shoulder. You don’t remember when he arrived. He’s talking with the paramedic, chatting over the top of your head. There words are going in one ear and out the other, it’s alien for as much as you can understand. You want to shake his hand off, you don’t want anyone touching you right now. Especially not a stranger.
Even if it was a guy you had owned a fan Twitter for. Those were the darkest days of your past. Even more so than the time you’d totally thought about jumping in front of the Gotham subway. You’d only not done it because you’d have felt bad for wasting other commuters' time. What were you doing? Ah, right.
In the end, you don’t shove him off, because you don’t know if you can move other than blink. Even that’s against your will. Your eyelashes are fluttering randomly, eyes flicking around the interior of the ambulance. You’re barely conscious. And you doubt you’ll remember any of this later, either. You can feel the memories slipping away, the drain at the back of your mind sucking up the fear and bad thoughts and leaving you blank and empty. Numb, safe, but numb.
The paramedic’s mouth moves. You don’t think she’s talking to you, which is good. You can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. She does some final checks, and then she’s off to the next person.
The two of you are left to silence, to watch the rest of the world in its chaos. You feel like there’s a barrier, a pane of glass, between you and the other people here. Like your TV screen, really. The paramedic goes to a woman and her son. The woman seems fine, but the son has a long gash on his arm. She’s screaming, he’s crying, and the paramedic is handling it all with calm professionalism. You wanted to start screaming too.
You glance at a man in a suit yelling at another first responder, spittle flying into the air with his rage. You think he’s one of the ones you saw earlier in the ballroom. His suit is still perfect, and he doesn’t have a speck of blood on him. Even his hair is still perfectly brushed and coiled.
You looked like a drowned rat in comparison.
“…Are you alright?” The question breaks the silence, and you slowly turn to look up at Bruce.
Well, that’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. You thought Bruce Wayne was supposed to be brilliant. Maybe he’s just feeling bad because of the new trauma he’s gifted you tonight? It wasn’t his fault. As most of your mental health issues stemmed from, it was the Joker’s fault.
“No,” you answer, and he nods stiffly. Great chat.
He huffs out a sound of frustration, lifting the hand on your shoulder. Immediately, some of the tension in you seeps out. You hope he doesn’t notice. You think he probably does.
Someone calls out your name. Your head turns to the crowd. They call out your name again, this time closer, and you call back. You’re sort of surprised when a crying Jeanine pushes out of the throng of people. She’s a mess, her hair out of her pristine bun, her suit missing its jacket, and her glasses cracked. Seems she didn’t have a very nice time either.
You look down. She’s also missing her shoes. It’d be kind of gross, walking around on Gotham’s streets barefoot, if you could manage to give a shit. You’re still restarting, however, and all energy is going towards not crying again. You’re failing. Awfully bad, at that.
Whatever. Gotta try.
Panting, Jeanine places her hands on her knees, “I’m so, so sorry.”
It takes a moment for you to load the words through your Windows XP brain, but when you do, you’re more confused than you were a second ago.
“What? Why are you sorry?” you say, for a second imagining Jeanine as one of the people that attacked you.
“Because you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t… hadn’t forced you to come…” Jeanine’s voice trails off, a look of horror on her face. Ah, she’s noticed Bruce. Apparently, she’s quite afraid of the man. You feel a sense of camaraderie towards the woman. God knows how many times you’d worn the exact same expression talking to one of your own bosses.
And then, well, then you usually got fired. It’s not looking good for her.
“Mister Wayne! I didn’t see you there, apologies!” she says, straightening her shoulders.
“Jeanine, it’s good to see you. Are you well, have you checked with the paramedics yet?”
“I have, Sir. Thank you for worrying about me,” Jeanine answers, with a healthy dose of hero-worship in her voice. You can’t judge, you’d be staring all starry-eyed at Bruce if you weren’t falling asleep where you sat. Apparently, traumatic experiences make you sleep. Who would’ve thought?
Like you hadn’t experienced this scenario a thousand times before. First time with fucking Bruce Wayne standing right next to you, though.
“Of course, I would. You’re one of my people,” he says, giving her a warm smile. Jeanine physically sags with relief at his words, because it sounds like she’s probably not getting fired tonight.
Bruce gets a notification on his phone, hums, and then slides it back into his pant pocket.
“Jeanine, we’re going back together to the manor tonight,” Bruce continues. Also, you were? Nobody mentioned that to you, and certainly nobody asked you about it. Well, fuck what you want, right? Who cares if you desperately want your cramped apartment in the Narrows, you’re getting shipped off to the fucking Wayne Manor of all places.
You just go along with it. Just go along with it. Wayne Manor probably has lots of nice, plush beds, and you’d kill for a pillow and some ambient rain sounds right now.
Bruce looks off to the side, where Tim is on the phone. They make eye contact, Bruce nods, and then turns back to the two of you.
“I’ll be right back. You two stay here, do not go anywhere,” he commands, king of the castle.
There’s quiet between the two of you. Jeanine squirms under your gaze, obviously guilty. You think back over her words, and then you groan.
“Jeanine. Jeanine, did I not have to go to this fucking party?”
Jeanine is quiet. She’s too fucking quiet.
“Jeanine?” your voice is shaky, and you have to bite the inside of your lip to force yourself not to tear up again. It was getting kind of embarrassing, honestly. You did not cry this much. Usually. This was not a usual day, of course. You’d been Ground Hog Day-ed into another reality… you think.
“No, Ma’am, you didn’t need to go. You’re… you used to be a Wayne, and even if you’ve parted from the name, you still have the power that comes with that. You did not have to come tonight,” she says, sounding remorseful and afraid. And maybe she should be.
If you had as much power as she said, you could probably fire her. You press your hands into your face.
“I thought you said you’d quit if I didn’t go,” you grind out, digging your fingers into your eyes, clawing into your already ruined makeup.
“I was lying, Ma’am. As I always do. I’m sorry,” she apologises. None of this makes any sense, and neither does she. Why would she lie? Why is this normal? What is the new normal, and how are you supposed to hide if you don’t know how to blend in?
You realise that you’re falling into old habits instinctively. That maybe you should say something about all this, or at least that you have some weird form of amnesia. You don’t, though. You’re scared, you’re far too scared.
“Well how- I thought you were serious this time!” you cry out, stuttering over your own lies, flinging your hands from your face. Jeanine winces at you. It’s probably the dried mascara running down your face in black rivulets, making you look like an odd mix between a raccoon and a banshee.
You’d seen your reflection in the ambulance’s side mirror. It had almost been as scary as the Joker’s goons. Almost.
“…Please, please don’t fire me,” she begs, her hands clasped tight in front of her.
You realise you probably should for an admittance like that. This was too complicated, this woman and her non-existent relationship with you was far too complicated. You also realise that whoever ran this stupid body before was very used to Jeanine’s baseless threats, and it wouldn’t be at all fair to her. And she seems quite desperate for this job. Which really doesn’t make much sense, because she seems quite important, and she’s working for you, someone else who seems quite important.
God if you fucking knew. You were quickly discovering you didn’t know shit.
“I won’t, just… just don’t say anything about this to anyone, okay? I’m…” you sigh, uncertain what to do, what to say, “I’m having a hard time.”
“Thank you, thank you so, so, so much. I’ll pay you back, I won’t do it again, I’ll do whatever you ask me to-”
“That’s enough, please. I just… I’d like some quiet,” you cut her off, closing your eyes and shuffling back in the ambulance. You cut yourself off from the rest of the world, hide your head behind your knees, and try to ignore the flashing lights and yelling voices. The ambulance shifts weight slightly as Jeanine sits beside you. She’s not too close to feel uncomfortable, just toeing the line.
Bruce comes back, looking over the two of you. He seems sombre, but you’re not sure why. Is it the entire night? Did something bad happen again? Is it just how miserable the two of you look? You don’t care enough to ask.
You just don’t care.
You tune out of their conversation again, even knowing it might be important. When Jeanine leaves, and Bruce invites you to a black car, you follow silently. He opens the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, you follow him in.
He knocks on the panel separating the two of you from whoever’s driving the car, and like a well-oiled machine, the car pulls out of the traffic and the paparazzi and out onto the street. Must be nice. You bet Jeanine is going to have to walk home.
Ah, wait, you’re one of them now. You’re one of those ‘must be nice’ types. Weird. You kept forgetting, somehow. Even with Gotham’s prince sitting next to you. Weird.
“I want you to stay at the manor for the night,” Bruce says, and you nod, barely listening. You’re barely conscious, far too tired to understand the implications of the words he was saying. If there were any, like you said, you couldn’t tell.
You’re watching the city go by, the light streaming past in a blur of colours. You rest your head in your hand, your elbow on the armrest. Even with you pressing your face to the glass, you can’t see the sky. The buildings stretch too high. And even if you could, it wasn’t like you’d see anything aside from some late-night flights. The Gotham light pollution and the smoke-filled sky would see to that.
Bruce doesn’t say anything else after that. You’re grateful for the quiet.
You squeeze your eyes shut, and maybe in some act of self-harm, try to remember what happened tonight. Try to pick through your thoughts, and understand whatever happened. That man… that horrible man. He disappeared into thin air. Gone, just gone.
And your world had changed. You’d gotten richer, more powerful. And yet, and yet… you knew this feeling. You knew this weakness. You knew what it meant when you looked in the mirror and you saw something barely alive.
You knew what grief looked like.
You want to rip out your own hair and chew off your own skin. It didn’t make any sense, and you felt crazier and crazier by the second. And none of it made sense, and yet, you had the worst feeling. An omen, a dark cloud. Something worse than the Joker, something that made even less sense.
Even in this life, were you alone? That wasn’t fair. That didn’t make any sense. That didn’t make any sense at all.
Your voice is quiet in the car. Her voice is quiet in the car.
“Do you know where my Mum is?” a little girl asks the big, strong man, her tiny body dwarfed by the black leather of the car. She’s out of place, out of time. She doesn’t fit here.
She doesn’t think she ever has.
The big, strong man, the hero, stays silent, his face hidden by the darkness. The little girl sobs, cries, wails. She wants her mum back. She wants her family back. And now, she wants her life back.
All have been stolen from her.
Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were dead. Maybe this was another world, and both you and her now have to navigate another lonely place. At least you’d do it together, hand in hand.
It didn’t matter. You knew where you needed to be.
“I want to see it.”
You need to see it. You grasp desperately at Bruce’s arm, nails digging into his expensive and ruined suit. Begging him, pleading him.
He says something. You think it’s a ‘what?’
“I want to see their graves. I want to see my mother’s grave.”
Bruce’s face darkens, and you’re too tired, too exhausted to tell what emotion flits across it. You wonder if it’s the same desperation you feel. But it confirms it. They’re dead. They’re still dead. Despite everything, despite the entire world changing for you, the most important part had been forgotten.
They were still dead. And you were still here. Alone.
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to rest,” he promises you, and your hand releases. You watch your palm hang limply in your lap, and for a second, it doesn’t seem like your hand. Bruce starts speaking again, this apologetic, pitying tone. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand it one bit.
And in the rudest, most cowardly thing you’ve ever done, you cover your ears like a child.
The rest of the car ride passes in a blur of colour and sound. You’re in Gotham, driving away from the Tower, you’re at the edges of town, passing over one of the bridges, you’re driving through New Jersey’s countryside, passing green fields and old buildings. You go by the iron-wrought gates of Wayne Manor, up the alley’s winding entryway, and finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of the stairs.
To Mr. Wayne’s credit, he doesn’t open the fucking door for you again. You get to stumble your way out on your own two stubborn legs, swaying drunkenly, sickly. He waits for you at the stairs, and you ignore the arm he offers you. He’s just as blindingly irritating as his son.
Didn’t you like these people? You would again in the morning, you just needed your hate. It was the only thing keeping you going at this point. Pure rage was fueling you as you climbed those steps. You’re panting, but you don’t really know why. They’re not that tall.
You feel weak. You feel so, so weak. And you hate it. You’d worked so hard to be free of it, even when you longed for it like a toxic ex-lover, you’d pushed it away. And now it had it’s fangs wrapped around you again, and again, you’d have to climb out of hell.
Today, it was more literal. Tomorrow? God fucking knows. People were literally vanishing from thin air, Pete’s sake. You’ll try, of course. But god fucking knows.
A butler opens the door, and Bruce enters. Once you follow in, the butler closes the door behind him. This time, you really do try to hear what they say. It’s impossible. You concentrate, but all you get for your hard work is a headache. Tomorrow, you’ll try again tomorrow.
The butler rushes off, something important and butler-y to be done. You really didn’t know what butlers did. You couldn’t imagine what their jobs were other than cleaning and cooking. Accounting? Did butlers do accounting?
“I need to handle some things. Will you be able to find your old room alright?” Bruce asks, interrupting your increasingly inane thoughts.
You blink, at him stupidly. Because you were stupid. You had a brand to keep.
“Yes,” you lie. You don’t really know why you do. Some odd mix of self-protective instincts, exhaustion-induced delirium, and also a deep desire to be alone. You really, really wanted to be fucking alone.
“Goodnight then,” Bruce says, he pauses like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He’s done that twice now, you think. Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re worth the effort. He’d be right.
You watch his back as he strides off into the darkness of the manor, leaving you shivering in the empty foyer. Your expensive ballgown is tattered, grimy, and worst of all, bloody. You want to get out of it. And then you want to sleep.
The click of his dress shoes fades, and you’re left wondering what the fuck you’re going to do next. Could you just start storming into random empty rooms? Where would you find any clothes? You were not going to sleep in this dress, no way.
So, you start up the grand staircase and start storming into random empty rooms. You find studies, bathrooms, and bedrooms. None that seem like anyone lives in them, of course. They feel like fancy hotel stays, the type you see online and sigh about.
The house, no, the manor, is quiet. Empty. It feels haunted, honestly. It probably was, a building this old and important. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know about Martha and Thomas Wayne. You didn’t think any Gotham native didn’t know about them, about the tragedy that had struck them.
It made Bruce seem like someone real, someone like you. Because if even the billionaires could get shot in alleys in Gotham City, it made more sense when the poor folks died. Like you were all human like God didn’t play favourites.
But, let’s be honest, you’d prefer to be an orphan in a mansion than the Narrows. Bruce Wayne had time to heal after what happened to him, for you it was from the frying pan to the fire.
The orphanage you’d been in for two years before you’d turned eighteen and been kicked out had had a very strict hierarchy. Probably still did, you never went back to check. It was technically a foster home, but the ancient sign beside the front door spoke differently. ‘Gotham Orphanage - Founded by Alan Wayne 1878’, the mark of the Waynes even found there. You used to touch the sign every time you went past it like it was some odd good luck charm. You still owe that sign your first successful job interview. Like you didn’t touch the copper plate every damn day, including every day you’d failed another interview.
And, well, it was Gotham. It wasn’t a good place. It had long been cemented in your mind that those theories that Gotham was cursed were true. That there wasn’t any other explanation.
You pause in your musings when you find a room that actually looks like it might be lived in. A long time ago, you think, from the dust covering the shelves. When you check the closet, you find men’s clothes, also untouched. You hope whoever lives here doesn’t care if you steal their shit, because you certainly don’t. Oh wow, this bathroom is gorgeous. The tub is gigantic, easily able to fit a group of at least six, maybe more. Still, you want to go to sleep more than you want a nice soak, so you go for a quick shower where you get rid of all… all the blood.
You watch the red run down the drain and are brought back to much simpler times.
Even as one of the older kids, you were still new blood. You hadn’t made any friends when you tried to defend the younger, weaker kids, either. The foster ‘parents’ who didn’t let you call them anything other than Mrs and Mr Hemming didn’t care about any abuse that happened under the house, as long as it wasn’t visible. You’d done this ritual before, but it actually had been your blood. It hadn’t hurt as much as this did, for some unknowable reason.
You weren’t a fighter. The very few punches you did take, you never hit back. Not like you had tonight. You’d been terrified the Hemmings would kick you out, stop feeding you. Still, you never moved, either. Never let the others take their anger out on the younger kids. You couldn’t do it. And now, looking back on it, your fear of the Hemmings retaliating was stupid. They’d needed the funds the foster caring gave them, and they were always trying to take in more and more kids.
They were empty threats. You were a terrified child. The what-ifs didn’t really matter anymore.
And maybe you were a bleeding heart type, like the other kids had said. Maybe you were gullible, naive, and a pushover. Like you hadn’t been through all the bullshit everyone else had. Like you being nice and hopeful and all those things that got you picked on weren’t all deliberate choices. One day, all the anger and rage you had would bubble over. It would destroy you and your life in a catastrophe, not unlike the one that took your family.
You’d already pushed it down so many times. Waking up today, in a different, unfamiliar world, had probably just made it worse. As always, you ignore it. It’s not worth worrying about.
Getting out of the shower, you do a very lazy towel off and then grab that mystery man’s clothes. They’re mostly dress suits, but you find a few old T-shirts. It hangs off you like a curtain, but it’s warm and it smells nice. Minty and earthy and… oddly free. Bouncy, alive, but still calming and relaxing. It’s a nice counter to the corpse vibes you’re rocking right now, which is decidedly un-alive and un-calm.
You wonder what it would’ve been like to mourn in safety. Where you didn’t have to worry if someone would steal your portion of food or the few funds you could hide in the garden. Where the glares of others didn’t constantly dig into your skin, reminding you that you weren’t wanted there. That you never would be.
That was alright. The place had stunk of mould and rat shit anyway. And maybe you had in this life. It didn't look like you were doing much better, anyway. No, this version of you somehow looked worse. You didn't know how it was possible, and then you remind yourself that none of this is possible, and you really ought to let go of that word.
Still, you lived in Gotham. You would always live in Gotham. You couldn’t leave, it was your home. It was a part of you, like every other sorry idiot who still lived here. School shootings, bomb threats, the city’s regular ol’ disasters. Even if you had been put in a good foster home, even if you had lived... here, you doubted your life would’ve been that much better. Of course, you were still bitter about it. Couldn’t the world just take a little bit off your plate? Maybe it was now, maybe this was the universe's way of saying sorry. A fancy, but empty house, with a still dead family. Maybe you were a little too greedy, a little too jealous.
You slide the duvet covers to the side, untucking them just like you do whenever you do stay in a crappy motel. When all the sides are thoroughly untucked, you slide underneath the covers. When your face lands on the pillow, you sigh in relief. Despite all the bullshit you’d suffered tonight, you had silk pillows, and this phone had youtube premium, so you could listen to rain sounds on it.
Safe. Sort of. Happy. Sort of. Alive. Sort of.
You told yourself it could be worse. And it could’ve been, so you kept on. Today, even after the night you’d had, you tell yourself it could be worse, again. At least the goon didn’t capture you, at least you didn’t actually see the Joker, at least you had a safe bed for the night, at least…
At least the Batman didn’t rescue you. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think it.
You hated him almost as much as the Joker, which was saying something since you regularly daydreamed about ripping that man limb from limb. Because the Bat refused to do anything about the supervillain, to finally put the mad dog down, you would always hate him. There wasn’t any other option. You sort of hated his entire entourage. Even Red Hood a bit, since even if they constantly fought, it was obvious both of them held back when dealing with each other. Still, you hated Red Hood and Robin a little less, after tonight. You kind of owed it to them.
You didn’t want to. You wanted to hate them and keep hating them till you died. It was one of your little things, the little things you couldn’t let go of. The little things that hinted at your less-than-perfect sanity. You felt that if you ever forgot what they’d done, what they kept doing every day, that you’d be disrespecting your family, forgetting some part of them. Some part of their memory, which you greedily hoarded away. Not a single precious recollection was to be lost, not ever.
You weren’t allowed to move on. Weren’t supposed to. Sometimes the many little rules you’d made for yourself felt like they were going to eat you alive. A swarm devouring its master. Swallowing you down bit by bit. Up and up, eating all the parts of you pushed down.
You wrap the blanket tighter around you, closing your eyes tight. Like if you tuck your feet inside the duvet, the monsters can’t get you. Your monsters can’t get you. Sometimes it felt like they were already feasting, and you just refused to feel it.
But only sometimes, right?
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MASTERLIST - NEXT
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cosmicdahlias · 1 month ago
Text
What You Deserve
a ford x reader fic
MINORS DNI
read part 2 here!
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warnings: HEAVY NONCON, smut, possession
i really went wild on this one i hope y’all enjoy
Ford has been worrying you lately. His sleep schedule is erratic, he barely eats, and it seems like he’s always talking to someone that isn’t there. But there is someone, you’ve come to know him as Bill.
In Ford’s words Bill is his muse, his inspiration. You hadn’t questioned it at first, it kept him so driven. But now things were different, Ford wasn’t quite the same as when you first met him.
You’ve never spoken directly to Bill, only when he speaks through Ford via possession. You never let Ford know but it terrifies you to see Ford so unlike himself. He turns wild, dangerous, unpredictable. Sometimes disappearing for days at a time and returning with no recollection of what transpired. One time coming back sporting a tattoo that he had no memory of getting, but a tattoo was the least of your worries.
You’ve started to hate Bill for what he’s done to your partner. You fear the day that you turn on the news and see that the local mysterious scientist in the woods has turned up dead.
You secretly love him too. He captivated you, perhaps that’s why you cared so much. If he was just your coworker it wouldn’t keep you up as often as it did. You wanted to take him away from all of this, to just kiss him and tell him that there was more to life than being Bill’s puppet.
These thoughts consumed your mind as you sat at your desk going over your research notes. You were so in your head that you didn’t sense the looming presence behind you.
A hand grasped your shoulder, you jumped nearly a foot out of your chair. It was Ford.
“JESUS Christ, Ford. A little warning next time?” You gasped.
He released his hand. “Oh dear I’m sorry I hadn’t realized I’d scare you like that, you just looked so wrapped up in your own thoughts. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
You huffed. “Yeah, it’s just… I have a lot on my mind right now.”
“Oh? Perhaps I can take your mind off things.”
“How so?” You asked.
“Well for starters sweetheart I can rip off those clothes.” He cooed.
“What?” You stammered.
“You heard me.”
You blushed, this was so unlike him. “Ford are you feeling okay?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve never felt more like myself.”
It was then you noticed his eyes, the yellow tint and catlike pupils. Your heart sank. Bill.
“I know it’s you Bill. What do you want?” You spat through gritted teeth.
“I’m just doing old sixer here a favor. I’ve seen inside his mind and I know what he thinks about you. Thing is, he’s too damn shy to just go for it. So I figured, why not do it for him?”
You felt like a rock just sank to the pit of your stomach, you knew what that meant. Your thoughts quickly screamed at you to defend yourself. You knew you had a small knife in the drawer of your desk, but could you grab it before Ford, rather, Bill reached you?
You decided to take the risk, you shot up and darted your hand to the drawer, pulling it open. You quickly grabbed the knife and held it out in front of you. Your hands trembled.
Bill laughed coldly “That’s cute of you, but here’s the thing, you try hurting me and you’re just gonna kill Fordsy. And we wouldn’t want that now would we?”
Before you could say anything Ford descended on you, coming up behind you his hands gripping your wrists and wrestling the knife out of your grasp.
“Now listen to me toots, we’re gonna have some fun on behalf of my good old pal here. You can struggle all you want, but I think you and I both know he’s a lot bigger and stronger than you.” He said, running the knife against your throat.
You felt his teeth sink into your neck, rough kisses left at every bite mark, his hands traveling up and down your body. He hooked the knife underneath your clothes and began to tear away at the fabric, leaving your top half exposed.
You wanted to run, to scream, to cry, but you knew it would be in vain. Where would you run? To whom would you scream or cry to? You were all alone in a cabin in the middle of the woods with a man possessed by a twisted demon.
The knife slowly cut away at your skirt, next your bra and panties. Ford kept a hand on your waist, the other still holding a knife to your throat.
“Now,” he said, his fingers massaging your breasts “I’m going to have my way with you.” His voice sent a cold chill down your spine.
In one quick motion Ford spun you around and forced you to the floor, hands holding down your wrists.
“But first, I think Ford deserves a good look at my work, don’t you?”
As you looked up at Ford you saw his eyes return to their normal whites and rounded pupils. He looked down at you, confused, then the horror set in.
“Y/n, what are you- oh god no, Bill what have you done?”
Before he could even remove his hands from your wrists his head snapped back violently, when he returned his gaze to you it was with the same terrifying look, Bill had retaken control.
Keeping a hand on your wrist he began to wrestle with his belt.
“I’ll never understand you humans and your complicated clothing.”
He slipped his pants low enough to reveal his cock, which was dripping with precum. You tried hard to fight against him but your efforts were in vain, Bill was right, Ford was stronger.
Sharply and violently he slid himself into you all the way to the base. You screamed from the pain and Ford let out a loud groan. He began to thrust hard and fast, growling and breathing heavily into the crook of your neck.
“Ah fuck, now I see why sixer wanted this so bad.” He hissed.
You felt your will begin to fade, you were stuck like this, there was nothing you could do, no one was coming to save you.
“I think Ford should feel this too, I never know if he feels anything I’m doing.”
His eyes reverted again, they widened.
“No no no, dear god, make it stop. I’m so sorry, y/n.”
Ford tried to fight it, he struggled to get himself off of you but Bill began to take hold again.
“Fordsy might be sorry, but I’m not. Quite frankly I always feel like you’re getting in the way of things, perhaps this will teach you to stay away.”
He resumed his brutal pace, the loud slapping echoing through the lab accompanied by his grunts and your whimpers. All you could see was his yellow eyes and wicked smile. This was pure hell, you wanted Ford, but not like this, never like this.
He could feel himself getting close, he grabbed your legs and hooked them over his shoulders. His nails dug into the soft flesh of your calves.
“Hahhh, hahhhh. I’m going to… make you regret ever agreeing to work with Ford. You’re gonna… keep your distance. You hear me?”
Tears began to stream down your face, you started to hope that Bill would just kill you after he was done.
Ford was fucking you at a punishing speed, as he forced a hand to your throat Bill released him right as he began to cum. Ford let out a deafening moan and his whole body shook. Everything went white for a few seconds, when his vision returned he was greeted with a frightening visual beneath him.
Ford let you go and backed up against the wall, he had to focus all of his attention on not vomiting.
“Y/n, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
All you could do was lay on the floor, nothing felt real. Ford took off his trench coat and wrapped you in it. Tears began to fall down his face.
“I’m so sorry, y/n. I never meant to hurt you.”
~~~
click here to go to part 2!
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ilsanslut · 10 months ago
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꒷♡꒷ THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR FUCKING!
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♰ art credit: eriimyon on twitter!
♰ featuring: wriothesley + neuvillette. (separate) [genshin]
♰ note: crazily enough, i’m not in heat for once, HOWEVER, i cannot, FOR THE LIFE OF ME, get over wriothelsey and neuvillette’s boots. ever since the release of fontaine, i’ve been SO DOWN BAD for those two men and the fact that neuvillette wears literal thigh highs + boots aND SO DOES WRIOTHELSEY likeee???? they’re so cunty??? like what the fuck??? i want them to ruin me fr.
sypnosis: you take your obsession with your boyfriend’s boots into your own hands. word count: 3.3k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. smut. female/fem-bodied reader SHOE/BOOT HUMPING! name calling/degradation. spanking. praise. minor petplay themes/usage of the names: puppy, pup, mutt, bitch, etc. (wriothesley) poor reincarnated hydro sovereign being scaroused yet fascinated by human desires. minor exhibitionism (neuvillette).꒷꒦
when you first mentioned what you wanted to do with wriothesley's boots to him, he laughed in your face—not maliciously, but simply amused—because he could tell from your longing stares that there was something more to the way you were practically drooling at him. so, to find out that this is what you had in mind all this time, he was not opposed to it. in fact, he was utterly fascinated to partake in your little fantasy alongside you.
“you got it, baby.” his smooth voice would come from above you as you sank to your knees before him.
your sheepish gaze lifted to meet his, and you felt yourself clench around nothing from the look in his eyes. his eyes were full of wild, unbridled lust as he peered down at you with a half-lidded gaze and salacious smirk. he was relaxing back against his large office chair, the golden lining around the red velvet making him appear kingly and regal from your position, perched on your knees like his consort. his legs were spread wide, making room to accommodate you, allowing you to take in the way his muscular thighs bulged from beneath his tight slacks, nearly bursting their well-tailored seams. he was so effortlessly hot that it drove you insane.
“c’mon, y/n.” he spoke to you, maneuvering his leg until he was able to nudge your panty-clad folds with the steel toe of his boots, causing you to immediately whine at the sudden contact and grip his calf for support. his smirk only grew, cruelly grinding the toe against your sensitive clit. “you wanted this, and yet you’re making me do all the work? take those panties off and get to it already, babe.”
you nodded, rising onto your knees, albeit shakily, as you hooked your thumbs into the waistline of your panties and pulled them down your thighs until you could discard them beside you. afterwards, both of your hands wrapped around wriothlesy’s bulky calf, and used the leverage to lower yourself onto the smooth leather of his boot’s surface. as the cool leather settled against your heated clit, your hips lurched forward while a startled squeal escaped your lips from the unexpected contact.
wriothesley was quick to soothe you, placing his hand atop your head to smooth your hair back against your crown. he lifted your chin just enough to meet your gaze, silently observing whether you were alright or if you were having any second thoughts. you responded by simply lowering your hips onto the leather of his boots again, whimpering as your puffy folds squished against the leather.
keeping your hands wrapped around his legs for purchase, you slowly but surely rocked your hips against the smooth leather, instantly becoming overwhelmed by a wave of euphoria. despite the boot's steel toe, the surface was even and soft. not to mention the excess thick stitching from a rhombodious design embroidered on top, which caused you to bump your clit against the rough, dull edge with each raunchy rock. the friction was nearly mind-numbing.
a chorus of sultry sighs left your mouth before you pulled your bottom lip between your pearly whites to muffle the sound. you felt a wave of shame wash over you as you realized what a depraved act you were committing. wriothesley, however, wasn’t having any of it.
his partially-gloved thumb met your lip, pulling the soft flesh free from your teeth. in an instant, his large palm was cupping your chin as thick digits squished your cheeks with enough force to pucker your lips. your gaze rose to meet his own, which was now boring down into you, steely and cold.
“now, now, being shy, are we?” the faintest hint of a mocking, snide smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked down at you from the bridge of his nose, as if you were inferior to him. something about the cruel, haughty look in his eyes as he glowered down at you caused your pussy to clench, your juices shamelessly squirting between your folds and his boot as your arousal became unbearable. you could barely utter a sentence in response, too desperate to chase your release as you continued to hump your messy pussy against his boot like a rutting puppy.
“you certainly weren’t shy when you were gawking at me like some kind of sex toy while squeezing those pretty thighs of yours—" he paused, quickly bending at the waist to pop two quick swats against your bubbly rear and thigh to accentuate his point, relishing in the sharp squeals that emitted from your lips afterwards. “—together like some bitch in heat, now were you?”
you warbled, an incoherent cacophony of pleas for him to be nice to you competing with your pleas for him to spank you again harder, amidst your pleasure moans, unable to say anything else. so, he answered for you.
using the grip on both your chin and cheeks, he nodded your head up and down like a ventriloquist manipulating his prettiest puppet.
“yeaah, i’m right aren’t i?” his words were dragged out like a mocking hum, and that amused smirk finally emerged in the form of a salacious, sly grin that spread across his lips, exposing his pointed canines.
you nodded for yourself this time, tears springing from the corners of your eyes as the pleasure you felt building within you began to grow to much for you to bear, your thighs quivering around his boot as your clit throbbed against the now ruined leather.
“so don’t you fucking dare hide these precious little sounds from me again, got it? you’re going to let everyone outside of this office know that the duke’s girlfriend is a needy little slut who gets off on rutting her pretty pussy against his boots like a naughty little puppy. understand?”
you nodded, thin lines of translucent drool beginning to pool over your blushing brims as your vision grew blurry, barely able to decipher the reality around you as the knot in your tummy grew tighter with every sloppy, needy hump of your hips.
“y-yes, wriothesley— mpfh! f-fuck, please, m’gonna cum, i can’t—!”
“—don't fuckin' back out now.” with a snarl, he interrupted you, releasing your cheeks to grasp your hair and force your gaze onto his. “come on, princess. make a mess all over my fuckin’ boot.”
and you did exactly that. with an uneasy, sloppy final stuttering of your hips, you finally came undone from your depraved acts. with your nails digging deep cresents into the leather straps that held his boots taut around his calves, the knot in your belly finally released it’s tension, allowing you to fall into the sweet bliss of your orgasm. your voice echoed through the steel chambers of his office as immeasurable warmth and pleasure washed over you, misting your senses. your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, your panting, heaving breaths creating puffs of condensation against the steel that encircled the front of his thighs, where your cheek was now nestled. you could feel your clit throbbing against the ruined leather of his boot, your juices squelching out of you and smearing against both his boot and your folds in an obscene manner. a manner that made a satisfied, smug smirk arise on wriothesley’s lips.
soon enough, you came down from your high with his large hand stroking along your tresses, coaxing you along the whole way. when your shrill mewls turned into breathless pants and occasional whimpers, his hand would find itself on your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek in an endearing fashion.
“there you go. y’did so good for me, princess.” his smooth, baritone voice calmed you, bringing you back to reality from the high heavens.
you mumbled a feeble "thank you" for him allowing you to indulge in your fantasies while nestling your cheek against his soothing touch.
he laughed at this, deep and throaty, as he slipped his foot from beneath your messy folds, chuckling at the high-pitched whine that ripped from your lips as he did so.
“you’re welcome, precious . . . but you do know how things work around here in the fortress, don’t you?”
his voice had dropped an octave with a suggestive undertone, prompting you to open your eyes and peer wearily up at him with a confused glint. he met your gaze with a lascivious narrow, slowly removing his hand from your cheek and dragging it languidly over his own thigh until it rested atop the prominent bulge that had recently formed in his slacks. your mouth watered at the sight of his painfully erect cock threatening to burst through his zipper at any moment now. it seemed as though he enjoyed your little show just as much as you did.
“what is once graciously given, another must receive in return.”
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“you want to what?” neuvillette would inquire, pausing mid sip from his silver chalice containing the finest water in fontaine as he peered you incredulously—an emotion rarely present on his otherwise stoic and aloof visage.
being the iudex of fontaine, he has seen all counts of life and even the darkest parts of humanity present in the courtroom. he even went out of his way to better understand you, your likes, your dislikes, your interests, your kinks, and your deepest desires. when dealing with humans, he knew to never be surprised by whatever they could have in store for him, but nothing could’ve prepared him for your anything-but-innocent inquiry.
what made matters worse is that you couldn't even explain where this desire stemmed from or why you wanted to perform such a lewd act—not to him—but rather to his boots of all things. luckily for you, your lover was a curious being, no matter how much he seemed otherwise.
wordlessly, he placed his chalice atop his large oak desk before scooting his chair back to make enough room to accommodate you. silently, he raised a hand, gesturing to the space between him and his desk, inviting you to sit. your gaze rose, meeting his own, only to see that there was an essence of carnality present in his bright periwinkle eyes.
“come.” he ordered, his voice bellowing with the faintest of echos in the spacious chamber of his office. his hand turned, his gloved index finger pointing to the carpeted floor beneath his feet. “show me.”
like a sacrificial lamb being offered to the shrine, you hesitantly pranced around the large oak desk until you came to stand before your sovereign lover, just as he had asked. his legs spread wide, both of his knees resting mere inches away from both of your thighs. your gaze fell to the ground, admiring his expensive shoes with regal gold rivets branded on the tips. thinking about the cool metal and how the smooth ridges would feel on your clit, your thighs squished together as you felt your arousal brewing between them—an action that immediately drew neuvillette's attention.
“you know i’m a busy man, and yet here you are, hesitating when i’m giving you exactly what you desire.” the deep rumble of his voice drew you from your reverie, drawing your attention back to him, only to see that he was now leering at you from where his head rested on his balled fist. his free hand rose, gently ecircling his large palm around your hip, his thumb rolling slow, titillating circles against the bone. you could feel the slightest of unsteady trembles in his grip, almost as though he were refraining from taking you right then and now atop his desk.
“do you intend to continue to waste both of our time, or will you finally kneel and act on your licorous endeavors?”
a meager apology tumbled from your lips, and you finally gathered the courage to lower yourself to your knees before him, both of your thighs straddling his right boot. one of your hands wrapped around his spat covered calf, steadying yourself as you hovered above his shoe, already feeling the coolness of the riveted, feathered-diamond design beneath your heated core. pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you grabbed at the seat of your panties and pulled them to the side, watching as a thin strand of your translucent arousal already leaked onto his shoe.
you let gravity take control of you, allowing it to push you down until you sank against the cool leather and smooth gold of his shoes. as the underside of your sensitive pearl rested on the smooth ridge of the steel, contrasting blissfully with the strapping leather, a shuddering sigh escaped your brims. you had only imagined what his shoe would feel like beneath your folds, but this was beyond any expectations you could’ve had. without wasting any more time, you slowly ground your hips to and fro along the surface of his shoe, each sensuous drag of your puffy folds against chilled steel and leather drawing a mewl of bliss from your brims.
above you, you heard your draconic lover chuckling in a cacophony of emotions: amusement, fascination, and, most of all, incredulity.
“humans.” he sighed mirthfully, a fond smile on his face, as he watched you rut against his shoe like a needy puppy in need of proper discipline. “your kind never ceases to amaze me with their intricacies—you included, starlight.”
you could only manage a whimper in response, your words becoming garbled and incoherent as you attempted to utter a formulated sentence amidst your writhing but failed horribly.
“what’s that, love?” he was having fun with this now—something about witnessing your sinful plight warming his water-tight heart. “use your words, darling. don’t tell me you’ve gone stupid on me already."
you glowered at him from under your lashes, your lips forming an indignant pout as your cheeks burned from his taunting and your embarrassment. your mouth opened—not to release more of those sweet moans that were music to his ears—but instead to shoot back a brazen retort, when all of a sudden, you were cut off by raucous knocking on his office door that captured both of your attention.
“monsieur.” a flat, feminine voice spoke from the other side—one that you both recognized.
clorinde.
immediately, you froze. your nails dug into the fabric of neuvillette’s spats as your hips stilled, your body trembling from the way your clit throbbed against chilled steel, aching for you to continue and bring you your sweet, sweet release.
your gaze shifted to his, and you noticed that all amusement had vanished from his eyes, leaving only a fleeting trace of unease behind them. placing your weight on your knees, you made a move to push yourself up so that the both of you didn’t get caught in your nefarious actions, but you were stopped.
a hand, gentle yet firm, placed itself atop your head, preventing you from rising but mere centimeters off of his shoe. confusion washed over your features, as you were shocked that he had stopped you knowing that someone else had just arrived, but everything became clear when you noticed the lecherous glint in his now narrowed eyes.
he needn’t utter a word to you to convey his intentions. instead, he arched his foot, causing the tip of his arousal-slickened boot to once again meet your sopping folds, eliciting—what would have been—a startled squeal from you if you had not muffled the sound by shoving your face into his knee. your pleasure-stricken, pleading eyes met his own, begging for mercy at the prospect of being caught in the act by not only your friend but also his closest subordinate, but his order was clear.
he wanted you to continue, regardless of your newfound audience.
and who were you to disobey the iudex’s orders?
it was only when you succumbed to his will by sinking yourself back onto his shoe and resuming your sloppy pace that he said anything else.
“enter.”
the sound of heavy oak swinging open, followed by the dull tutting of sharp heels against carpeted tiles, effectively sealed your fate. you tried your damnedest not to draw suspicion from the extremely perceptive woman by keeping your sinful mewls quiet, but as your orgasm drew nearer, the effort became not only more difficult but also taxing. daring a glance neuvillette's way, you could only smolder in silent, seething envy at how composed he remained, as if his lover were not riding his shoe within an inch of her life beneath him.
"i have completed the report on the recent fatuus trial that you requested. the one where he failed to best me in a duel before the trial carried on as normal."
her voice was so close, so unassuming. the sound of a sudden weight striking the oaken surface indicated that she was only a short distance away from the desk, probably dropping a heavy folder on it.
your cunt could not help but gush at the allure of it all—you grinding your pretty pussy against the now-tainted leather of your lover's shoe, right under the duellist's nose. the pressure behind your abdomen had begun to build, threatening to burst at any moment. you prayed to whatever higher being was listening that clorinde would not hear the downright debaucherous sound of your pussy squelching against his steel tip.
“hm, i see.” you could hear the inquisitiveness in neuvillette’s tone as he spoke, flipping through the pages of clorinde’s report to skim over the report that would be gone over later in greater detail. “thank you, this is very much appreciated.”
whatever clorinde uttered in response, you couldn’t hear or see. the tiniest of breathless squeaks emitted from your lips as your hips drew forward with one more quivering drag, finally delivering you over that cliff to your sweet, sweet, blissful salvation. you would have to apologize later for the deep teeth marks you left on neuvillette's spats, which were accompanied by a sharp and sudden clearing of his throat to warn you of those misbehaving pearly whites. you were powerless to stop it, though. that was the only thing keeping you from being exposed in this manner and losing the last shred of your dignity.
languidly and sloppily, you rode out those last few serene waves of your orgasm before finally slipping back to reality—one that was about to drop a rude awakening onto you.
“oh, and monsieur?” clorinde's voice echoed throughout the chamber as if she had already moved to the other side. when had she arrived over there?
“hm?” neuvillette responded, his hand casually returning to your head and stroking over your locks to coax you through those blissful waves in an endearing fashion.
“the next time you and y/n are intimate, could you please not accept guests during your private sessions?”
you could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.
defeated, you deflated against your lover’s thigh with an audible groan, to which neuvillete would in turn reply with a chuckle of his own, offering a nod of confirmation the duellist’s way.
“so we’ve been told. thank you once again, clorinde.”
her departure was signaled by the heavy doors swinging shut, leaving you and your draconic lover all alone once more. with your cheek pressed against his inner thigh, you peered up at him, mortification evident in your eyes. except for a reassuring pat on your opposite cheek, neuvillette, however, did little to ease your displeasure.
“making a mess of yourself and my shoes, and getting not only yourself but the both of us caught, y/n? by our champion duellist no less?” he tutted at you, one hand coming to his wrist to peel off his gold-riveted gloves, revealing scaled and oceanic blue-tainted hands.
when you realized what his words and actions meant, your heart dropped into the deepest recesses of your stomach, festering with the butterflies that had begun to flutter.
“n-no, i didn’t mean—”
a mere glare was all it took to effectively silence you, your lips pressing shut against one another as you nearly flinched from the severity. you would be lying if you said that your clit didn’t throb with anticipation for whatever he held in store for you.
“stand. i do believe you’re in need of a proper punishment, darling.”
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would you guys like a part two with different characters? mayhaps a cute lil' series? name a few characters down below or inbox me! ♡
ⓒ vampiie 2024 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.
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creepzkilla · 2 years ago
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No because those EJ headcannons 😳 are so good aldhworjeoejekr you wrote him so perfectly 😫
If it's ok, can I request some NSFW Creepypasta Toby headcannons? You can make them as dark as you like, but DAMN I have to admit the way you write characters is so gooooodddd 💖💖💖
↳˳⸙;; ❝ TICCI TOBY KINK HC'S! + BONUS ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗
[A/N]--tyty i always enjoy slasher creepypasta-- the more realistic version of the fandom. its always been more entertaining for me... the mansion kinda HC never really stuck with me unless portrayed really good? its so hard to find fics that are like that... but anyways wtf my first ask this deserves a bonus smut at the end?!?!?! sry for the delay too i’ve had writers block wtf… the second half is shit ngl
NSFW. warning— NOT PROOF READ fem! anatomy, dub-con, somnophilia, toby being a perv, sadist, bondage,breeding, exhibition
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TOBY IS A CLOSET PERVERT--
he remembers when he first started stalking you. when he first snuck into your house while you were fast asleep as he kept a watchful eye over your sleeping form. you were ethereal, he couldn't help himself following you home- or going through your panty drawer. you couldn't blame him, really, you couldn't. you look so cute in your satin pink thongs that he just had to steal one. or three.
sadist-- toby just adores watching you contort underneath his touch as you squirm away from him. he won't hesitate to leave harsh slaps across the meat of your ass or dark bruises made from his belt into makeshift handcuffs
bondage-- he loves tying you up in all sorts of different lewd positions. toby takes pride watching you whimper under his calloused hands begging for your hands and/or legs. he knows that those whimpers are only for him.
breeding-- toby has family issues... at first, he wouldn't want kids. he would dismiss the thought of ever having any kids in the first place... not wanting to turn into his dad. he was terrified. that was until he came in your pussy the first time. it was fucking life-changing. he loves the feeling of spilling his seed into your pretty pussy... he just can't go back after that. why buy condoms when he could watch his cum seep out of your pussy? he wouldn't mind having a kid or two.
mutual masturbation-- he goes wild watching your hands disappear into your heat as your mouth lets out a barrage of whimpers and moans. toby can't help but join in. whether you know if he's watching or not.
exhibitism-- this man just dont give af. if he wants you, he wants you. anytime, anyplace.
oral(fem receiving)-- this could be considered a kink because toby could probably cum buy just eating your pussy. he just cant get enough of it. he gets so painfully hard when he goes down on you. so you cant blame him when he paints his pants white.
corruption— this is a big one..you were a virgin, with little to no experience before you bet toby. something about that innocence he just had to protect… something he just had to corrupt. toby remembers when he first taught you how to give a blowjob. he could just cum by the perverted memory.
TOBY DEFINITELY JERKS OFF WITH YOUR PANTIES—
there’s no way he doesn’t. he fucking obsessed with the taste and smell of your pussy. the nights where he can’t come and visit you bet you can find a pair of your satin panties wrapped around his cock. toby just can’t help himself. he loves feeling the feeling of your juices rubbing up against his cock as he imagines runtting against you. it’s his dirty little secret… well it’s not much of a secret when your prairies start showing up stained with a white excrete.
HES SURPRISINGLY KINDA BIG—
now don’t get me wrong… toby isn’t a petite guy, he’s rather tall standing at 5’11 or 6’0. he’s a pretty built guy—he kinda has to be. so when i say surprisingly i mean you wouldn’t really except him to be a whopping 6’0 inches. his girth is on the skinny size but he makes up for it when hes hitting places you never knew existed. his tip is a dark pink, and the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. you never thought that you’d be saying that about a dick or specifically a serial killers dick; but here you are… your not exactly complaining.
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—-ˋˏ [‘Ill give you everything’] ˎˊ
—(Toby couldn’t help himself. He really couldnt. You just looked so gorgeous in your pink satin panties— which are your favorite pair— he couldn’t help but rub against the cotton material. It’s not like you’d mind anyways…you’ve always asked him to fuck you awake before, why not take you up on that offer?
He carefully moves the comforter from your shoulders, peeling it back allowing him to slip into your bed behind you . Toby sinks into the bed, spooning your relaxed body as the curve of your ass pressed into him.Almost instinctively your body pressed into the slasher completely, being enraptured by his warmth. You were oblivious to what you were doing to him.
His aching boner stretched against his pants, and fuck it was painful (from aching not actual pain) as he rubs up against your panties. It was almost like you wanted him to do this. Sleeping in only your underwear? It was like you’re asking him to move your panties to the side and fuck you.
His cold finger tips brush against your damp panties, hooking his finger on the seam of fabric, slowly and carefully pulling them down. toby was careful not to wake you—-not yet. He wants to savor this.
It was so unbelievably hot in your bedroom, almost like a sauna. If anything he was helping you cool down. You should appreciate his kind and just actions by taking of your clothes before you got too hot. He chuckled at that thought, ghosting his finger tips over your exposed shoulder, leaving goosebumps in his wake.
His lips hovered above your exposed neck, sending chills down your spine. Dark bruises soon began to litter your neck, ruining its once pristine image as Toby sunk his lips deeper in your skin, all while his other hand disappeared into your cunt.
You were so incredibly wet, so incredibly tight. His calloused hands slid in and out with ease, your walls sucking him in ever time. Toby was enraptured with your beauty, your flushed cheeks, your rosy lips, the soft whimpers that left your mouth; utterly gorgeous.
“Toby?” You awoke to nothing but darkness with an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, an all too familiar one. A warmth spread throughout your body like wildfire as the prevalent feelings grew. The sensation— that you couldn’t put a finger on—- just felt so good, you couldn’t help but melt into it.
Toby hummed in response, too busy on concentrating on the task at hand; fingering your tight cunt. The lewd sounds that gushed around his hands was deafening; almost forgetting that you were awake.
“Are you e-enjoying yours-self?” He laughed, curling his fingers inside of you, rubbing up against a patch of sensitive nerves.
You yelped, now being fully awake, clearly aware of the sensation— that is being full. You could only moan in response as his fingers continuously plunged in and out of sopping cunt as your core tightened.
Toby’s lips attached to the crook of your neck once again, tracing over the dark bruises that began to form— biting ever so slightly on your sweet spot (that only he knows of). His unoccupied hand, cupped the meat of your thigh, lifting it up to gain better access for his other hand that was moving at an insatiable speed.
“P…Please, I need you…I want all of you.” A barrage of moans left your lips, as your hand curled behind you to grip the man’s hair that assaulted your skin. Your sharp nails dug into his scalp, tugging on tuffs of his unkept brown hair—signaling your desperation.
Suddenly, he was on top of you. Straddling your exposed bottom half with his thighs, a lustful glint ever so present in his eyes. His lips were a cherry red, presumably from his attack on your neck as well as his hands that were slick with your cunt. You take immediate notice of the large tent swelling in his blue jeans, you could only guess at how painful it was.
“A-are you sure?” Toby hummed, his scarred hands tracing over your waist, “I’m not g-gonna go easy on you.” His voice came out as a whisper, as if it was some horrible secret—a taboo. To which it was, not like you knew or anything— but toby has a secret, commmited horrible sins that can never be reversed— you shouldn’t be doing this with him… He feels guilty almost— yet it’s so enticing… His hands devouring your body as if his hands weren’t covered in blood merely hours before.
But you’ll never know, right?
“I want all of you, Toby.” He looks down at your delicate form, such innocence. Your skin was practically glowing in the moonlight that shone threw the raked blinds, making you look almost angelic. He was scared to touch you, like you would crumble under his touch. Like you would see him for the monster— the pyschopath he truly is, a devil.
Yet, that’s what makes it so exciting, so enticing to see your angelic body beneath him. The danger, the corruption. It only added fuel to the fire, and soon it would become a wild fire.
Your body; merely heaven and earth wrapped into one.
He; the virus, a plague that never stops— pollution your body and everything in between.
Is it really worth it? If he really loved you— he would let you go— right?
“I’ll give you ev-verything. Anything you w-want.” Toby whispers, his hands on your waist crawling towards your chest—drawing secret messages that only you would know. His usual ice cold hands, were anything but cold. They were warm. His hands roamed your body, and spread throughout your body like a flame— he devoured everything in his path.
Your body reacted to him like a magnetic. His name fell off of your lips along with whispered promises and wonton moans. You were meant for him— maybe poisoning you isn’t so bad. Maybe—just maybe, it was meant to happen.
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pickingupmymercedes · 6 months ago
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Thank you, for everything (it takes a village) - Lewis Hamilton ft. Ayrton Senna
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Little something for the 30th Anniversary of Senna's legacy
pairing: Senna! Reader X Lewis Hamilton
warnings: mentions of death, mourning, 30th anniversary of Senna's legacy
wordcount: +4k
song: In your arms - Birdy
a/n: People in Brasil don't say is the anniversary of his death but rather of his legacy, and it's such a beautiful way to see it. I hope Ayrton knows, wherever he is, how loved he still is.
a/n.2: Ayrton was known as Beco/Becão by his family and friends
As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi! (Also, my written portuguese is a bit rusty, so if there's anything weird, please let me know)
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When hope went away I still held on, to the love that you gave, it’s all I’ve got of you now. I will never know you, don’t get to understand, no answers to questions. It’s too late for that. But I was in your arms, once
A pre-dawn Miami humidity clung to y/n like a second skin, even inside the automatically cooled hotel room. The city slept, but the salty air carried a raw energy that mirrored the turmoil brewing within her. Today, the 1st of May, was a day she always needed to face alone.
She laid there, staring at the ceiling, the weight growing with each passing moment. Today, the air itself seemed thick with an unspoken grief, a shared memory of loss that resonated across the globe. 30 years. Three decades since the world had watched in horror as lives changed forever, hers included.
The sheets felt too restrictive, the silence too loud. Pulling them back, she tiptoed past the rumpled form of Lewis, still fast asleep. He'd offered to come with her, to run by the beach together, but she needed this. Needed the solitude, the rhythmic pounding of her feet against the pavement to chase away the ghosts of a past she barely remembered.
Miami slept, bathed in the faint glow of pre-dawn light, but Y/N felt wide awake, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Stepping out onto the balcony, the salty air stung her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she gazed out at the vast expanse of the ocean, the darkness slowly giving way to a canvas of vibrant oranges and pinks.
A single tear traced a path down her cheek, a silent tribute to a love stolen too soon. Every year on this day, it was as if the world held its breath, waiting for her grief to surface. This anniversary wasn't a celebration; it was a stark reminder of the void that had forever shaped her life.
The need to move, to outrun the memories that threatened to consume her, became an insistent ache. With each step, a memory flickered to life, but one always stood out the most, the one few people knew of.
She was four, piloting her tiny kart around a makeshift track at Interlagos. The familiar scent of burnt rubber and exhaust fumes flooded her senses, transporting her back to a time before tragedy struck. Y/n grinned, her hair whipping in the wind, as she pushed her little kart to its limits.
A wild turn, a sickening jolt, and the world tilted sideways. Then, strong arms scooped her up. "Tudo bem aí, filha?" (Everything okay there, darling?)  Her father's voice, warm and reassuring. He checked her over, a playful glint in his dark brown eyes. "Você tava indo bem, se assustou?" (You were doing great, did you scare yourself?)
Y/n shook her head, a defiant tear clinging to her cheek. “Eu acho que tá bom por hoje já.” (I think that’s enough for today) Ayrton ruffled her hair, a conforting glint in his eyes. “Não pai, eu quero baixar o tempo da volta”(No dad, I wanna lap faster) little y/n stood her ground, already half way back into her kart. "Vamos voltar lá e mostrar como se faz então, Senninha” (Let’s go back there and show who’s boss then, Senninha).
The memory faded, replaced by the rhythmic sound of the waves. Y/n stopped, chest heaving. Frustration gnawed at her. She would never know that feeling of hearing him cheer her on in that deep, familiar voice again. All she had were these fleeting snippets, these echoes of a life stolen too soon.
Each stride was a battle cry against the past, a desperate attempt to find some semblance of peace. She ran until the sun climbed higher, painting the sky in vibrant hues, until her lungs burned and her legs screamed for mercy. Finally, Y/n slowed to a walk, chest heaving, sweat stinging her eyes.
Collapsing onto a weathered bench, she leaned forward, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. As the initial wave of exhaustion subsided, a new clarity washed over her. The memories would always be there, a bittersweet reminder of a love lost.
But today, she would celebrate his life, his passion, his legacy that lived on, not just in her name, but in the hearts of countless who still chanted his name at races.
Returning to the hotel, Y/n showered, the steam slowly clearing the remnants of the run and the emotional turmoil. Opening the bathroom door, she found Lewis propped up on the bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, a concerned look in his warm brown eyes.
"Morning," he said, his voice slightly raspy. "Early run?"
She offered a tired smile. "Needed to clear my head." She sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling a towel around her damp hair. "Big day ahead"
Lewis put down his phone, his gaze intent on her. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice softer now. "You alright?"
Taking another deep breath, she met his gaze. "Yeah, I'll be okay. Just… emotional, even more so this year"
Lewis reached out and took her hand, his touch a warm anchor in the storm of her emotions. "No judgment," he said quietly. "Today isn't easy for you, I know."
Y/n leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his understanding. "Interviews all day and the dinner at night" she sighed. "They want me to relive it all – the memories, the grief. It gets exhausting sometimes."
Lewis nodded. "Maybe you could have your people reschedule some of it. There's no need to—"
She cut him off with a gentle shake of her head. "No, Lew. I can't hide from it. Today may be hard, but it's important. It's a chance to celebrate his life, to keep his memory alive." she squeezed his hand, a newfound determination strengthening her resolve. "I just…" she hesitated, her voice thick with emotion, "I wish I could remember more."
Lewis's gaze softened further. "You may not have years of childhood memories, but you carry his spirit in you. His passion, his strength, that's part of who you are."
Y/n looked out the window, at the city slowly waking up to a new day. His words held truth. She may not have clear memories of her father, but his legacy, his love, was woven into the fabric of her being.
Taking another deep breath, she met Lewis's gaze, a small smile danced in her eyes "I hope so.”
Today would be impossibly hard. As people celebrated a hero, she would mourn a loss, but they would all be facing the future nonetheless. He may have been gone, but the love he gave her remained, with her and in her.
"I remember you my way, It’s not perfect or fair, I paint you with colours, That weren’t ever there. Feels harder these days after so long, ‘Cause my memory fades"
The sterile hotel conference room felt strangely warm, the air thick with a mix of anticipation and unspoken grief. Y/n sat opposite Galvão Bueno, the legendary Brazilian motorsport commentator, his kind eyes reflecting a lifetime of witnessing triumphs and tragedies on the track.
But this wasn't just another interview. Galvão knew Ayrton. Knew him not just as a driver, but as a friend, a competitor, a kindred spirit who left a void in Brazilian hearts, and most acutely, in Y/n's.
The interview began, a dance between formality and shared history. Galvão's questions flowed, laced with a quiet respect that Y/n appreciated. "Ayrton" he began, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips "sempre teve uma maneira diferente de cativar o público” (always had a way of captivating a room"
Y/n nodded, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her eyes. "Ele tinha” (He did) she admitted "Mas para ser bem honesta, eu lembro de sempre ficar puxando ele para sair dos lugares porque ele parava para conversar com todo mundo” (But to be honest, I remember always dragging him out of every room because he would stop and talk to everyone)
A warm chuckle escaped Galvão's lips at her confession. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Você sabia que antes de toda corrida, ele fazia um ritualzinho? Ele parava na frente do carro, fechava os olhos, e... bom, ninguém sabe direito o que ele fazia. Mas ele tocava o carro em três lugares específicos – o nariz, a roda direita dianteira, e aqui” (Did you know that before every race, he'd have this little ritual? He'd stand by his car, close his eyes, and…well, no one knew exactly what he did, but he'd touch the car in three specific places – the nose cone, the front right wheel, and then, right here) Galvão tapped his chest over his heart.
Y/n smiled, surprised that someone still remembered that sequence. But, although this was the Ayrton Senna she knew from the countless documentaries and newsreels, how he recounted that from memory was a glimpse of a private Ayrton, a man seeking solace and strength before the roar of the engines began, not something she would notice while watching a video.
"E tem mais, Senninha” (There's more, Senninha) he said, using the affectionate nickname many Brazilians called her by. "Você sabe que ele era muito supersticioso. Ele nunca usava um capacete novo pela primeira vez em um final de semana de corrida. Sempre insistia em um mais velho, mesmo que estivesse ruim para usar.” (He was fiercely superstitious, you see. He wouldn't wear a new helmet for the first time on a race weekend. Always insisted on the old one, even if it was a little worse for wear.)
Y/n couldn't help but let out a small laugh, a welcome sound that broke the tension in the room. "Parece exatamente algo que ele faria” (That sounds exactly like something he’d do) she said, a newfound appreciation blooming in her chest.
Galvão continued, weaving a tapestry of anecdotes. He spoke of Ayrton's meticulous work ethic, his relentless pursuit of perfection, and then, with a twinkle in his eye, of his playful side. "Ele sempre arrastava os reporters brasileiros para o kart em Interlagos, lá onde você aprendeu a pilotar” (He'd always drag Brazilian reporters to go-kart at Interlagos, right there where you learned how to race" he reminisced, a fond smile creasing his face. "E deixa eu te contar, seu pai sempre ganhava da gente, por muito!" (And let me tell you, your father would always beat us, by far)
Y/n listened, captivated. These were stories of a man, not just a legend. A man who found joy in competition, even outside the high-pressure world of Formula One. As the interview progressed, a kaleidoscope of Ayrton unfolded before her, a man filled with complexities and contradictions, yet undeniably her father.
Stepping out of the stifling conference room, Y/n felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Galvão's interview had stirred a potent cocktail of emotions within her – a heady mix of pride, nostalgia, and a gnawing sense of loss. Back in her hotel room, she found her ant Viviane unpacking a basket of goodies as she waited for her youngest niece. The scent of warm pão de queijo filled the air, a familiar comfort amidst the whirlwind of emotions.
"Você chegou, florzinha" (You’re here, little flower) the elder woman said, her voice as warm as the sun, pulling Y/n into a tight embrace. "Como foi?” (How did it go)
Y/n sank into the hug, the scent of lavender and her ant’s comforting embrace temporarily pushing aside the weight of the interview. "Foi bom” (It was good) she mumbled, pulling away slightly. “Galvão knew Dad well, that's for sure” y/n’s changed to English, hoping it’d be okay to use the language she didn’t have to think so hard to answer back in.
Both women sat by the outdoor sitting area of the room, the crash of the waves a comforting distraction as y/n ate the last bits of the cheese bread that were being served all day during the interviews on the anniversary and promotions for the new Netflix show.
"I believe everything's going well for the dinner latter tonight” the younger offered, more out of obligation than conviction. Viviane’s gaze sharpened, the lines around her eyes crinkling with a quiet understanding. She held Y/n’s gaze until she asked "But something troubles you, doesn't it?"
Y/n hesitated, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her shirt. It was a familiar pattern her family knew all too well, the switch to English, the fiddling, the lack of glint in the eyes she had inherited from Ayrton.
Taking a deep breath, y/n confessed, "It's just…all these interviews, all these stories about Dad. I feel like everyone knew a part of him I never did."
A shadow flickered across Viviane’s face, a brief echo of the grief they both still carried. She reached out, gently squeezing Y/n's hand. "My love" she began, her voice soft yet firm “Beco was a complex man. Even those closest to him couldn't fully grasp him. He was a whirlwind, a force of nature on the track, but off it…" she paused, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "He was a private man, and yes, perhaps a little distant at times. He lived for his racing, dedicating every fiber to it."
Y/n nodded, a familiar ache tightening her chest. "It's not that I blame him," she said quietly. "He was the best."
Viviane’s smile softened. "He was, my darling. But being the best came at a cost. It left little room for the mundane, the everyday things that build memories."
A flicker of a childhood memory sparked in Y/n's mind – the faint scent of her father's cologne, the warmth of his hand enveloping hers as they walked through a park. They weren't grand gestures, but they were hers, proof of a love that existed beyond trophies and championships.
The elder saw the shift in Y/n's eyes, the glimmer of a forgotten memory. "Não se compare com o Galvão ou com qualquer outro, meu amor” (Don't compare yourself to Galvão or the others, my love) she said gently. "Você é a filha dele. Você conheceu o Beco, o homem com o mesmo olhar que o seu” (You are his daughter. You knew Beco, the man with the same eyes as yours)
Y/n's gaze drifted out to the bustling Miami cityscape, a blur compared to the vivid image forming in her mind's eye – a playful smile on her father's face as he taught her how to say pão de queijo. It was a fleeting memory, but a precious one nonetheless.
The stories, though fragmented, were pieces of a larger puzzle, a picture of her father that was starting to take shape, not just as a legendary driver, but as a man capable of love, laughter, and quiet moments of joy.
As they finished their lunch, Viviane placed a comforting hand on Y/n's cheek. "Go now, my darling," she said, her voice soft yet strong. "Celebrate your father, honor his memory. But don't forget to celebrate the love you shared, the love that lives on within you."
Y/n nodded, tears welling up in her eyes, this time tears of gratitude for the woman who had been a constant source of love and support throughout her life. Leaning in, they embraced tightly. "Obrigada, tia. Por tudo" (Thank you, antie. For everything) she whispered, the words thick with emotion.
As she left the hotel room later, for another round of interviews before the official dinner, Y/n went to the window, gazing out at the ocean once again, taking a deep breath, she whispered, "Obrigada, pai. Por tudo.” (Thank you, dad. For everything). It was a simple phrase, but for her, it held the weight of a lifetime of love and an unspoken promise to keep his legacy alive.
"And these aren’t tears because you’re gone, But for all the years that we lost, All those times I missed that love, Had it just for a moment"
As the night dawned in Miami, the heat dissipated but the humidity continued to clung to the city like a second skin. Y/n bustled around the room, a flurry of nervousness. The dinner to celebrate Ayrton Senna’s legacy started in a couple of hours and although the event had been meticulously planned for weeks, and by at least 30 people, the weight of the world felt concentrated on Y/n shoulder’s, the formal host to the dinner.
Lewis emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his lower waist, beads of water clinging to his dark braids. He stopped short at the sight of Y/n, a smile spreading across his face as he took sight of her sat perched on the edge of the bed, a faded white t-shirt of his hanging loosely on her frame, a white towel turbaned around her wet hair.
"Planning on hitting the town like that?" he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. "Although" he added, his voice dropping a touch lower, "I do love the look."
Y/n laughed, a sound that banished the last vestiges of worry from Lewis's heart. "Not quite," she said, her smile widening. "I’m trying to figure out what to post"
He noticed her phone held open on the bed, displaying two video options. As he walked closer, his bare chest brushing against hers for a fleeting moment – a small reminder of the intimacy they shared – Y/n looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a light he hadn't yet seen earlier in the day.
"Help me choose" she said, her voice filled with a newfound energy.
He picked her up and sat her on his laps, occupying her place by the edge of the bed, the scent of his shower gel a subtle but pleasant counterpoint to the sweet aroma of the lotion she had applied. He leaned over to see the two videos.
The first one, showed a baby Y/n, barely a year old, toddling through a sun-dappled garden, her chubby arms flailing as she chased a flurry of brightly colored butterflies. In the background, Ayrton with a gentle smile on his face, playfully swatting the butterflies away from his daughter.
The second video, showed a slightly older Y/n, around two years-old, in a swimming pool. Ayrton, submerged in the water next to her, was demonstrating how to blow bubbles. Y/n, a mischievous glint in her eyes, mimicked his actions, creating a flurry of glistening bubbles that danced around her face.
"The bubble one. Something about that mischievous gleam in your eyes always has me hooked” Lewis said, amusement dancing in his voice
Y/n laughed, a sound so genuine and unburdened that it made Lewis's heart skip a beat. "I was always a rowdy thing" she admitted, a playful glint in her own eyes.
"A charming one, at that" Lewis confirmed, reaching out to kiss her shoulder. Picking the video, Lewis handed the phone back to her. "Let the world see that side to you" Y/n grinned, tapping on the screen to schedule the post.
She got up and disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed, and a few minutes later Lewis walked into Y/n intently listening to her phone on speaker, as she fiddled with a stray curl as she spoke.
"Adriane" she soothed; her voice laced with a warmth that cut through the phone's static. "Você está indo como minha convidada, lembra?” (You're coming as my guest, remember?)
A nervous laugh tinkled on the other end. “Eles sabem disso?” (Do they know that?). Andriane, Ayrton's last girlfriend and a prominent Brazilian television personality.
Y/n bit her lip, a pang of sympathy shooting through her. "Eu sei.” (I do know) she sighed. "Eu sei que eles nunca realmente te aceitaram, mas você era diferente. Você foi a única que ele me apresentou” (I know they never really accepted you, but you were different. You were the only one he introduced to me."
A brief silence followed, then Adriane spoke, her voice softer now. "Ele queria uma família, Y/n. Uma família para você. Ele sempre falava isso, seu futuro, com ele” (He wanted a family, Y/n. A family for you. He talked about it all the time, your future, with him)
Y/n's heart clenched. Memories flickered – fleeting glimpses of her father smiling at her from across a dinner table, his eyes holding a tenderness she hadn't quite understood at the time. Perhaps, she thought, there had been more to those moments than she'd realized.
"Obrigada Adriane, por tudo. Por ter sido parte da vida dele, e por ser parte da minha, do seu jeito.” (Thank you Adriane, for everything. For being a part of his life, and for being a part of mine, in your own way) she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Adriane sniffled softly and then laughed “Você é tão charmosa quanto ele, Senninha” (You are as much of a charmer as he was, Senninha) a sound that banished the last traces of tension. "Vai dar tudo certo.” (Everything will be alright)
With a final exchange of goodbyes, Y/n hung up. Glancing over at Lewis, who was attempting to catch the few Portuguese words he could understand. She took a deep breath. "My family’s not gonna make this any easier" she sighed, her voice hesitant.
Lewis turned and reached for her, pulling her by the waist with a questioning look etched on his face. Y/n, feeling a flicker of anxiety, explained the conversation, but mostly of the unwavering loyalty she felt towards the woman who held such a significant piece of her father's story.
As she finished, Lewis placed a gentle hand on her cheek. "You miss him, don't you?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with understanding as you gave him a sad smile and nod.
"It doesn't matter how long it's been" Lewis continued, his voice firm yet gentle. "Grief doesn't have a deadline."
Y/n remained silent, the weight of his words settling in. He knew the anniversary was a constant reminder, a punch to the gut every year. He could only imagine the whirlwind of emotions it brought – the bittersweet memories mixed with the crushing weight of what could have been.
"It feels unfair, sometimes…" she started, her voice catching signaling she wouldn’t complete her thoughts. Lewis tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer. "It is unfair," he agreed, his voice a low rumble against her ear.
Y/n leaned into his touch, seeking solace in his words and the steady beat of his heart. The dam finally broke, and a light sob went thought her body. Tears streamed down her face, hot and silent. Lewis held her close, whispering reassurances against her hair, letting her feel without judgment.
"Every year," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "it's like a punch to the gut. A reminder of all the birthdays, holidays, just…everyday moments I missed with him." Her voice cracked. "Everyone has stories, memories. They remember his laugh, his jokes, his warmth. All I have are these…flashes of moments, barely enough to string together a semblance of who he was."
Lewis didn't try to fix it, to offer empty platitudes. He simply held her gaze as she spoke, a silent promise etched in his eyes. He wouldn't try to replace the memories she never had, but he would be a part of her future, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold.
“It's okay to mourn the future that was stolen from you” he whispered, his voice gentle, as Y/n leaned into his touch, a flicker of something akin to peace flickering in her eyes. "Do you think he would have liked me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The question hung heavy in the air. It was a question she'd probably grappled with for years, a silent fear gnawing at the edges of her grief. Lewis knew he couldn't give her a definitive answer, but he could offer her the solace of a possibility.
"There's no doubt he would have loved you fiercely." he said, his voice firm with conviction. “And he would have been so proud of the woman you've become."
Silence settled between them once more, but this time it was a comfortable silence, filled with a newfound understanding. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For being here, for listening, for understanding."
Y/n turned, her eyes meeting his in the mirror, a fresh wave of tear forming in her eyelids. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"These aren't sad tears" she explained, wiping away at her eyes "They're just…wish you were here' kind of tears… For this" Y/n gestured at the phone on the counter. "For the celebration, for being surrounded by people who loved him. I just wish he could be here too."
Her voice softened, an acceptance in her eyes. The pain and loss would always be there, a part of her story. But there was also space for joy, for celebrating his life, and for building a future for herself.
As he pulled her into a warm embrace, Lewis whispered into her ear, "He is here, Y/n. In you, in your strength, in the mischief you still carry in your eyes. Every step you take forward is partly because of his love for you."
They stood there for a moment longer, a silent conversation passing between them. Y/n pulled away, wiping the last vestiges of moisture from her cheeks.
"Alright then" she said, a playful glint back in her eyes. "Let's go celebrate Dad. And show Miami a little Brazilian hospitality."
Lewis grinned. "Lead the way" his arms wrapping her and turning her around so he could kiss her.
The 30th anniversary of his death, although grim and a meticulously planned affair, held a significance that went beyond events, interview and RSVPs. It was a celebration of a life well-lived, a father cherished, and a daughter determined to carry his legacy forward, one mischievous bubble at a time.
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xoxoladyaz · 1 year ago
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AU-gust, Day 6: Domestic
Eddie Munson was a rockstar. Eddie Munson was a renegade. Eddie Munson was a bad boy, living life on the edge, destined for wild nights on the open road, for success and fame and riches. Eddie Munson was – 
“ – ridiculous.”
“Excuse me?” Eddie whirled around from psyching himself up in the mirror to glare at Jeff. Jeff, who had the utter nerve to roll his eyes at him.
“You’re being ridiculous, man,” Jeff repeated.
“He’s not being ridiculous, he’s being a baby,” Gareth cut in with a snort.
Eddie gaped at his two best friends, his musketeers, his brothers in arms. “What – I – how dare you! I am not being a baby, I’m Eddie fucking Munson, I’m a high-rolling freak on the streets and in the sheets - ”
“Dude, gross.”
“ – who’s ready to rock across America!” He finished emphatically.
Jeff just quirked his eyebrow at him. “You’re literally pouting right now.”
“No, I’m not!”
Jeff and Gareth shared a look before sighing in tandem. “You’ve gone to bed before eleven every night the last few weeks. The rest of us aren’t even out of the venue by the time you’re asleep,” Gareth started.
“Not to mention the fact that you can’t do anything in the morning until you’ve called and talked to Steve,” Jeff continued.
“And if you can’t talk to Steve during his lunch break then you’re grumpy for the rest of the day.”
“You keep complaining about the fact that none of his shirts smell like him anymore - ”
“ – seriously, you threw a temper tantrum until Stu stopped and bought a bottle of his shitty cologne for you to spray on your pillow - ”
“ – and you keep making super long and sappy speeches about missing your ‘sweetheart’ every single performance before we play ‘Faithfully’ - ”
“ – it’s embarrassing dude, we’re a metal band!”
“ – and to top it all off, you literally can’t go more than three minutes without talking about Steve or what Steve would think of what we’re driving by and God forbid you make any sort of decision without talking to Steve first.”
Eddie stood frozen, paralyzed by the heat rushing towards his face. “I – I do not!”
Phil walked in from the back of the bus and chuckled. “Dude, you literally called him to ask if you should order ketchup or mustard with your burger last night.”
“I - ” Eddie sputtered before crossing his arms. “I – he was having burgers too and I wanted us to match!”
“Awww,” Gareth cooed mockingly, fluttering his eyes back at Eddie. “That’s so sweet.”
“Ignore him,” Jeff said, shoving Gareth off of his chair. “For the record, it is really sweet, man. So why are you trying to hide it with all this ‘bad boy of rock and roll stuff?’”
“What do you mean ‘hide it?’ I’ve always been a bad boy.”
Silence. (If they weren’t on a moving bus and had their windows open, it would have been the perfect moment for a symphony of crickets to kick in.)
Eddie squeezed his arms against his chest and pouted (and yes, he knew he was pouting this time, thank you very much.) “Rude.”
Jeff rose with a sigh and crossed the tour bus. When he reached Eddie he threw his arm around him in a half-hug. “Eds, my man, I love you, but you’ve only ever been scary looking.”
“Seriously, you’re the sappiest guy I know,” Gareth added unhelpfully.
“And before you say that’s not metal,” Jeff kept going (and yeah, he knew Eddie pretty well to head off that train of thought), “that’s what sets us apart from the rest of the bands on the scene.”
“What does?”
“You being a super loving guy, man,” Phil nodded with a dazed look in his eyes. “Truthfully, I think love is the most metal thing of all. It can change the world.”
“Wow,” Gareth snorted after a few moments, “have you gotten up close and personal with Mary Jane already today?”
“Well, yeah, but - ”
“What Phil is trying to say is that you’re made of love, dude. And it’d be a real shame if you lost track of that, especially because that’s what we love about you, and that’s what Steve loves about you,” Jeff finished. He squeezed Eddie’s shoulder comfortingly before letting go.
“You’re right,” Eddie rubbed his hands against his arms. “I know you’re right, it’s just – this was supposed to be what I wanted, you know? Touring and fame and the open road. But - ”
Jeff prodded him gently. “But?”
“But I miss Steve,” Eddie sighed. “I miss seeing him come home every day. I miss waking up next to him every morning and falling asleep next to him every night. I miss his delicious pasta dinners and his burned pancakes because he always burns them and I just – I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. I just miss him. But I don’t want to give up what we have either.”
The boys were silent for a moment, looking amongst each other and back at Eddie, who was wilting in on himself.
“Well,” Phil started, “we don’t have to tour like this. We could just do weekends maybe?”
“Or summers,” Jeff hummed thoughtfully. “That way Steve can come with us.”
“And Will!” Gareth perked up, grinning. “He doesn’t take classes in the summers, he’d be able to come with us then.”
“And that way by the time we’re done touring, Steve will be headed back to work and you can be home with him,” Jeff nodded, like it was decided. “We can definitely make that work.”
Eddie’s voice was small and quiet when he spoke. “You’d really do that for me?”
“I mean, it wouldn’t be just ‘for you,’ it would be good for all of us, but yeah, man. We just want you to be happy. That’s way more important than any tour.”
Eddie nodded once, twice, and then he was throwing his arms around Jeff and tackling him to the floor. “Thank you thank you thank you, you guys are the best, Steve’s gonna be so excited I gotta go tell him RIGHT NOW - ” and then Eddie was off, whooping happily into the back of the tour bus.
Jeff sat up from his spot now on the floor and exchanged looks with Gareth and Phil. “You’re good with that, yeah?”
“Dude, if Eddie wasn’t going to say anything, I was,” Gareth shook his head. “Eddie’s way less of a slob when Steve’s around.”
“And he’s a great cook! I’m getting tired of all this Taco Bell.”
“Speak for yourself, Phil!” Gareth growled, affronted, and the three remaining Corroded Coffin members began arguing about the nutritional benefits of Taco Bell.
(When they finally went on tour again the following summer it was a much better experience for everyone involved. Eddie was almost constantly in a good mood, Gareth didn’t feel the need to strangle Eddie for hogging the phone, Phil ate his weight in homemade – or hotel-made – pasta, and Jeff? Jeff got to enjoy himself without any worries about his best friend losing his way, because anytime Eddie got a little stressed or in his head, all it took was one look at Steve and he was okay, and that was more than worth the crowded tour bus.)
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scififettuccine · 4 months ago
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A Wild Fix: Part 2
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Pairing: Frenchie x Reader
Summary: The day of the dreaded Supe Convention is finally here. After being paired with Frenchie for your part of the mission, you run into some unexpected conspiracies with some unexpected people.
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: Homelander, mentions of suicide, mentions of suffocation, Supes being Supes, not proofread (they never are)
Notes: Omg guys look at me being fancy and trendy and cool with the photo header >:)....(Please don't make fun of me I'm a writer not an editor, I tried my best okay?) Anyway here's part 2! Finally posting it after a lot of deliberation, but I hope it was worth the wait! Lots of description in this one, I'm proud of myself 💪 Here's Part 1.5 if you missed it. Big plans for part three, enjoy <3
The day of the Supe convention approached fairly quickly. You would be lying if you said that you hadn't been losing sleep over it. The whole situation was sort of a tightrope walk. If you went to the convention with The Boys, it was bound to end badly. Like you had mentioned to Butcher, it was a suicide mission. But if you told Butcher no, there was a possibility of losing the group as a whole. For better or for worse, they had been the only people in your corner since you joined The Seven…the only thing keeping you stable. As much as you hated that basement…it had become more of a home to you than the tower, even with Frenchie’s irritating presence. You had lost a lot of things in life. A lot of important things. You knew, even if you didn't want to admit it, that you were not stable enough to lose anything else. The outcome of the convention, at least in your mind, would be grim regardless of whether you worried or not. But you couldn't risk losing them, not when they were the only thing close to family that you’d had since…well since you could remember. Calling them family seemed stupid, as you’d only known them for about a month and a half. But truthfully? You didn't know what else to call them. No word seemed good enough.
Butcher had informed Annie of the plan, and the three of you had gotten together to discuss how dangerous the whole ordeal was. Butcher, of course, didn’t care. So, like clockwork, when the day arrived, everyone was informed of the base plan, and ready to go. You and Annie had shuttled into the casino turned convention center with the rest of The Seven, as was planned. The ride was tense and awkward, as it usually was when all of you were together. No one except for you and Annie were really friends, but of course Homelander tried to make it seem like you were. Unfortunately, you got the privilege of sitting across from him on the way there. He tried to create conversation, and you played into it, scared of what would happen if you didn’t. You two hadn’t gotten off to a great start, due to the fact that you had talked back, and he had choked the fear of his every movement into you. And ever since Butcher had info dumped about all the things he had done? You were even more careful around him. The conversation was bland small talk, not exactly focused on anything. You were honestly sort of drifting into space until he mentioned something that caught your attention.
“You’re young, right? You like music?” He asked, his sickeningly white smile on full display. You tried your best not to make a face, unsure of where he was going with it.
“I’m 27… and yeah. Yeah, I like music.” You responded, your fingers moving idly to crack your knuckles one by one. Homelander tilted his head ever so slightly before his gaze shot down to your hands. But as quickly as he had looked, he made eye contact with you once again.
“You know that guy, Mixer? He’s performing at the convention. Feisty little thing, I’ve met him on a few occasions. I remember the day he was signed on to the company.” Homelander paused, chuckling. “He was nothing, then. Fresh out of highschool. The kid could barely look me in the eyes…Now he’s dominating the music industry, with shitty pop but…Still dominating. Funny how those things work out, huh?” He asked. You nodded, glancing over at Annie for support. You didn’t have a clue how any of this was relevant, and you honestly didn’t know how to respond. Annie looked back at you and gave an encouraging smile. What a help she is, you thought.
“I met him at this convention a few years ago, right before he joined Residency.” You informed. Homelander audibly scoffed when you mentioned the team.
“Residency? They’re a PR nightmare in the making. It’s such a strange mix of people, too. I never understood where the inspiration came from.” He chuckled.
“Weren't they kinda supposed to mimic Payback to an extent?” You asked, genuinely curious. He waved a dismissive hand.
“Payback was a PR nightmare too. Come on! I mean, one death and the whole team dispands? Where's the strength in that? This is America! Keep fighting until you can't fight anymore. That’s what I always say.” His disgusting, distorted sense of patriotism always made you nauseous. The man was a blatant white supremacist, and saw the country like it was some holy land. The ideals itself weren't the most sickening part…it was the fact that he wholeheartedly believed them., to the point of influencing others to do the same.
“Yeah…Yeah.” You chuckled awkwardly, putting your hand over your heart, and shaking the other fist in the air. “Land of the free.” With that cringeworthy comment, the conversation sort of died off, ironically just in time for you all to head into the convention center. You and Annie had a few things to handle first, but you had already given The Boys their passes, so they could get an early start.
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
It was around lunch time when you and Annie met up with the rest of the group. You had decided to grab a bite to eat at one of the restaurants in the casino. Everything was open and being paid for by Vought, which was honestly one of the nicer parts of the convention.
“Oi. Listen up.” Butcher started, cutting through the small talk once he finally finished his food. “I say we split up into groups, yeh? Divide and conquer. There’s an even number of us, which makes it an easy split.” He scanned the group with his eyes. “MM and Annie, you take the arcade floor, all levels.” He pointed to Hughie. “Hughie and meself will take the shopping center…” His eyes fell on you, and he chuckled ever so slightly. You weren't even paying attention, too engrossed in the pasta you were eating. “Oi, marinara face.” He called, trying to get you attention. You instinctively looked up and wiped your face, figuring you were being messy.
“Sorry…” You grumbled.
“You and Frenchie take the theaters. Go sit in on as many presentations as possible, and bring back anything of interest.” You almost groaned when he paired you with Frenchie. There were four other people for fucks sake, and he knew for a fact that you two didn’t get along. You looked over at Frenchie, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly. He didn't look too happy about it, either, rolling his eyes as he pushed his plate away from him. He muttered to himself in French when he stood up. From what you had gathered over hearing it often, it wasn’t the most accurate.
“Right. That settles it. You know your tasks. Meet back here around…” Butcher looks down to his watch. “3:30-4:00 yeh?” Everyone exchanged one last ‘good luck’ before splitting up, leaving you with Frenchie. The two of you stood in awkward silence for a good minute, before you reluctantly broke it. 
“Of course he would task us with sitting through the boring stuff.” You joked weakly, hoping he’d laugh. He did, but it wasn’t genuine, strained too. Neither of you really had a reason to be nice to the other, in all honesty. All you ever did was insult each other. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jackets before speaking. 
“Oui. Let’s get it over with, then?” He asked, finally meeting your gaze. He was glaring daggers at you. That pissed you off. You were trying to be civil, at least long enough to get through the night. But when he looked at you like that? Like he wasn’t even trying? You glared daggers right back at him. The tension between the two was frustrating, partly because you couldn't figure out what type of tension it was.
“Lets.” You responded, your tone unreadable. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could get away from him.
Upon inspection of the schedule that had been sent to you on your phone, the first event happening in the theater on the first floor was a presentation of Vought’s assets, given by one of the higher ups from the company. Not much info would come from that, you figured, but you wouldn't know unless you sat through it. You turned your head in Frenchie’s direction as the two of you walked out of the restaurant and towards the theater.
“The first presentation starts in forty minutes. It's nothing exciting but it wouldn’t hurt to sit in and listen.” As you waited for Frenchie to respond, you realized your inside hand was a little too close to his. You pulled it away ever so slightly and moved to put your hand in your pocket. Frenchie nodded in response, not seeming too interested. You shouldn’t have let that tick you off…but you did.
“Listen dude. If you’re gonna be an asshole all day you can go do something else. I can handle this myself.” You said, your tone sharper than intended. Frenchie scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking over at you.
“I did not say anything!” Frenchie protested. “Did my nodding offend you that much?”
“It was the inflection.” You huffed, rolling your eyes in return.
“Mmm…Oui. The inflection.” He said mockingly. At that point? It was no use fighting with him, so instead of coming up with a witty retort, you looked around the casino. The line outside the door to the theater was already a bit long, and very colorful. Most Supes wore their uniform suits to the convention, so you could pick out almost everyone, at least those who were signed with Vought. Your eyes fell on a few old friends you had gone through the scouting process with, some people you had met at the last convention, and then an extremely familiar color scheme to a certain Supe’s suit that stuck out like a sore thumb. A bright white ensemble that stood out in a sea of colors…one that belonged to the Supe, Laugh Track, one of the Supes you had mentioned to Butcher.
Laugh Track was another member of Residency, one you were not particularly fond of. You had never personally met the guy, but something about him was just…unsettling. He was rather tall, not as tall as Playback, but almost a head above Mixer. Build wise, he was lanky, at least from what you could see. His Supe suit mainly consisted of a white jacket that resembled those worn in asylums on television, almost a straight jacket, but with control of his arms. There was no visible zipper, and the jacket’s collar went all the way up his neck. His mannerisms were always strange, which was sort of on brand for him. His powers were described as “weaponized hysteria.” It was just a fancy way of saying that his contagious laughter made people go absolutely insane, or at least laugh until they turned blue and suffocated. Laugh Track always stood very stiffly, and usually had a very blank expression on his face, his eyes wide and observant. You’d heard him speak in commercials before, and his voice didn't necessarily ease the feeling of dread you felt when you saw him. He had a strange accent, almost British, but not quite. It was very breathy and weirdly persuasive. He wasn’t unattractive by any means. He had neatly kept bleach blonde hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin…Something was just off.
Laugh Track was standing towards the end of the line, eerily still, his hands, which were covered in little bandages, twitching ever so slightly at his sides. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could only assume that they were darting around the room. You looked over at Frenchie, who was coincidentally already looking in your direction, his mouth slightly open, as if he was about to say something. You shook off the strange feeling that filled your chest and gestured to Laugh Track.
“Do you see the way his hands are twitching?” You asked, purposefully going out of your way to not look directly at Frenchie. Why the hell was he already looking at you? Was he staring or something? Frenchie looked over to the Supe, his eyes narrowing.
“Maybe he has a tremor. Rude to judge him for it, non?” You huffed and looked back to Frenchie, a less than amused expression on your face. You went to go say something else, but your ears perked up when you heard a familiar voice.
“Roman! There you are. I was looking all over for you.” The voice belonged to the man who was arguably the talk of the whole convention, Mixer. Frenchie followed your gaze and looked over at him too. Mixer originally had a Supe suit as well, but ever since he got popular and became more of a poster child than a Supe, he sort of just wore the stylish shit he wore on stage. On that particular day, the outfit consisted of a sleeveless black t-shirt with his logo on it, and ripped black cargo pants with a bunch of adornments hanging off of them. You had to admit, he knew how to dress. The shirt showed off his tattooed arms, and was tight enough that you could see the outline of his chest. After the slight shock of Mixer just appearing in front of you, you added his comment to your mental index. He called Laugh Track “Roman.” That must have been his legal name.
“I haven’t moved since the last time you saw me.” Laugh Track responded, his breathy voice mixed with the accent making you slightly nauseous. Mixer laughed and playfully nudged Laugh Track’s shoulder.
“I figured you would have gone to get a drink or something.” Mixer smirked and nudged his knee with a bottle of Dr Pepper. Laugh Track turned his head towards Mixer, which gave you a moment to catch a glimpse of his smile. It was…unsettling. Disturbing, even, he looked almost manic. But Mixer? He just tilted his head, and smiled sweetly back at him.
“I told you that I wasn’t thirsty.” The taller man let out a chuckle that honestly made you want to walk away. It was so unnerving, yet Mixer didn't seem affected at all. You and Frenchie made eye contact for a moment, before looking back to the two Supes. Frenchie looked just as uncomfortable as you.
“I know you did, but this thing is going to be long. And if we intend to get the info that he wants us to get, you can't be running on nothing.”
You played that sentence back in your head for a moment. The info that he wanted them to get? Who was “He”? And why were other people at this convention also digging for information? Especially people like Mixer. He had it made in the shade, what else would he need to know?
“You are being very loud about this. Hush.” Laugh Track said, taking the bottle of soda from Mixer’s hand. Mixer laughed softly and nodded.
“Right, right. My bad.” Before Laugh Track could respond, the doors to the theater opened, and the line started to move. “Remember, seats closest to the under-stage door on the left side of the theater. He said they should be reserved.” Mixer reminded as the two started walking, their shoulders practically glued together.
“Yes. Under-stage door on the left side of the theater, stage right in perspective of the presenter, reserved seats.” Laugh Track responded. You and Frenchie exchanged a look as the Supe’s in front of you had their lanyard passes scanned, and walked into the theater. As your own passes were scanned, Frenchie leaned over to you.
“Let's follow them and try to sit as close as we can get, oui?” He suggested. You nodded. That actually wasn’t a half bad idea.
“Good idea.” You responded. You could have sworn that you saw Frenchie smirk. The two of you kept a safe distance away from Laugh Track and Mixer as you made your way into the theater, but made sure you didn't lose sight of them. The flow of the crowd pushed you and Frenchie closer together, but in the heat of the task, you didn't really notice.
Maybe this presentation wouldn't be so useless after all.
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Sorta kinda leaving you on a cliff hanger there if ya squint. I really like where this is headed and I'm very excited to start writing part 3. Lemme know what you think! Full disclosure I laughed harder than I should have at the “Land of the free” comment so I hope it made you chuckle. Adieu!
teeny tiny taglist: @llynx7 @stinkysam @xcryptk33p3rx
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wadewnstonwilson · 5 days ago
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maximum effort;
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summary: wade's possessive jealousy flares up when someone gets too close to you, leading to over-the-top displays of affection, sarcastic threats, and playful sabotage. beneath his chaotic charm, wade’s jealousy stems from a deep vulnerability, making his overprotectiveness both endearing and humorous.
word count: 1.1k
a/n: okay so this was originally a headcanon idea but i love writing for wade. probably only staying as a one shot but more wade stories coming soon!
Wade had always been a walking contradiction. A hurricane of chaos wrapped in sarcasm, with a rare streak of vulnerability that would break through his rough exterior when he least expected it. And you—you were his world. His partner, the one person who could both rile him up and calm him down in the same breath. Yet with that love came something Wade wasn’t quite used to: jealousy. Sure, he laughed it off, made jokes, and played the fool, but beneath his wild exterior was a man who feared losing you more than anything. It was a fear that manifested in strange, often unpredictable ways. Like today.
The evening had started out normally enough. You and Wade were at a local bar—his idea, naturally. He claimed it was to “blend in with the common folk” and "maybe punch a few jerks in the face." You knew the real reason, though: Wade liked having a few drinks with you, watching people, and, of course, making lewd comments that had you rolling your eyes or grinning despite yourself.
You hadn’t noticed it at first, too busy laughing at one of Wade’s ridiculous stories about his latest mercenary gig. Something involving cats, dynamite, and a malfunctioning coffee machine. You were leaning back in your chair, the comfort of his presence putting you at ease. But Wade… Wade had noticed the guy. The one sitting at the bar, glancing over at you far too often for Wade’s liking. It wasn’t the first time some guy had checked you out—after all, you were undeniably gorgeous—but tonight was different. Maybe it was the way the man’s gaze lingered a little too long, or how he edged closer every time you laughed. Maybe it was the casual glance over his glass, a little smirk playing at his lips.
But tonight, there was an added tension in the air.
Whatever it was, it had set off a fuse in Wade.
“Hey,” Wade started, his tone still light but with a sharp edge, “what do you think of that guy over there?”
You blinked, confused for a second. “What guy?”
Wade jerked his chin toward the man at the bar. “That one. The one who’s mentally undressing you with his eyes.”
You chuckled. “I think you’re exaggerating.”
Wade leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave. “Oh no, babe. Trust me. I know that look. I’ve given that look.” His lips twisted into a smirk, but his eyes were darker, more intense. “Except it’s not on me this time, and that’s making me feel all kinds of homicidal.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re overreacting.”
But Wade wasn’t about to let it go. He sat up straighter, adjusting his posture as if preparing for battle. The next time the guy looked over, Wade made sure to "accidentally" stretch, leaning in closer to you, practically draping himself across your shoulders.
“This fine specimen is mine,” Wade declared dramatically, loud enough for the whole bar to hear. He planted a loud, exaggerated kiss on your cheek, smirking against your skin as you half-groaned, half-laughed.
“Wade…” you warned, trying to push him off gently. But he wasn’t having it.
“Nope,” he continued, eyes darting over to the guy at the bar, “can’t help it. Just gotta remind everyone here that you’re all mine, honey-bun, love-of-my-life, future partner in crime.”
You could practically feel the possessiveness radiating off of him. While the rest of the bar chuckled or pretended not to notice, Wade's playful display was as much about territory as it was about affection.
His voice dropped a little lower, an almost dangerous edge to it as he pressed another kiss to your neck, just behind your ear. “Mine, my love. And anyone else who thinks differently is going to have to talk to my katanas.”
You smirked, though you felt the tension in Wade's grip. “You know that guy doesn’t stand a chance, right? You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m never ridiculous,” Wade countered, his grin wide but his eyes burning with jealousy. “Also, I’m totally ridiculous, but that’s beside the point. The point is, he is making me feel territorial, and I don’t like it. So, do you mind if I accidentally maim him?”
The poor guy at the bar had clearly realized what was happening because he was now deliberately avoiding eye contact, but that didn’t stop Wade. Oh no, he was in full Deadpool mode now, enjoying the game way too much. He leaned back in his chair, still keeping you close as he "whispered" loudly to you, “Did I ever tell you I know 50 different ways to disarm a guy with a single fork? No? Maybe I should demonstrate…”
You gave Wade a warning look, but he just grinned wider, mischief dancing in his eyes.
Even when you moved away from the bar to find a quieter corner, Wade was on edge. He walked with one arm around your waist, keeping you close. His gaze flicked constantly around the room, scanning for any potential threats—or, more likely, any guy who dared look at you for too long.
“What’s with the paranoid look?” you teased.
Wade squeezed your waist a little tighter, pulling you closer. “Just making sure no one gets any ideas. You’re like a rare gem, and I’m the only one who gets to admire the sparkle.”
Later, when you were both getting another round of drinks, you couldn’t help but notice that Wade had knocked over the guy’s drink at the bar—on purpose, of course. The man looked annoyed, but Wade played it off with a sheepish grin. “Oops, my bad! Gotta watch out for those butterfingers.”
You shot him a look. “Really?”
“What? It’s not like I killed him. Yet.”
After a while, the playful possessiveness faded, and something more vulnerable slipped through. Wade leaned against the table, his fingers tracing circles on the back of your hand.
“You know,” he started, voice softer now, “I just don’t want you to realize there’s someone out there better than me.”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. Wade wasn’t usually one to show insecurity, not like this. You squeezed his hand.
“There’s no one better than you, Wade.”
You slowed your steps, glancing over at him, his usual playful expression replaced with something more serious. Reaching for his hand, you squeezed it gently, your voice soft but firm.
He snorted, trying to mask the moment with humor. “Yeah, you say that now, but wait until you meet someone with a less hideous face.”
Later that night, when the bar had cleared out and you two were walking home, Wade was uncharacteristically quiet. Finally, he sighed.
“Look, I know I’m kind of… a lot to handle. And I’m definitely not the best option. But I don’t want to lose you. You’re… important."
You slowed your steps, glancing over at him, his usual playful expression replaced with something more serious. Reaching for his hand, you squeezed it gently, your voice soft but firm.
"Wade, you’re not just an option. You’re my choice. And I’m not going anywhere."
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riordanness · 2 months ago
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burning it down — [p-jackson]
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wordcount: 1.1K
warnings: vague mentions of sex
requested: yes!!
It had been a crazy, impulsive thing. Getting tangled up with Percy Jackson, of all people. Letting myself fall into his god-like charms, his mischievous grin that seemed to make all girls swoon.
I told myself I wouldn’t ever let him get to me like that.
And yet. Here I was, in bed with Percy Jackson, son of the sea god. His fingers are knotted in my messy hair, his mouth on mine. Our clothes are discarded somewhere on my bedroom floor. A messy, wild, tangled together night, followed by another, and another, until my life is a blur of him.
“No one has to know what we do,” were his whispered promises in my ears, the quiet assurance that this was a secret. A well kept one, too.
But, all good things come to an end. Or rather, bad things that you pretend are good to fool yourself into believing it’s alright.
He never liked me. He never loved me. He never pretended that he did. But my heart didn’t want to listen to reason. I realised it one night, as Percy’s mouth made its usual trail down my collarbone, his strong fingers pressing marks into my sides, my entire body warm for him.
I was in love with Percy Jackson.
“Percy.” I knock on the open door frame of the Poseidon cabin.
Percy, a mess of black curls and hoodie, sits up and stares at me, slightly confused. We barely speak during daylight hours. “Hey.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, my foot tapping on the floor behind me. “Can we talk?”
He puts down his blue plastic water bottle. “Ye-yeah. Of course?”
I shut his door behind me, quickly checking that no one is watching first. Then I approach his bunk, trying not to think of what usually happens in it.
“We have to stop this,” I say slowly, my voice dragging.
Percy’s sea green eyes don’t reveal anything. “Why is that?” he asks carefully, his finger tracing a slow circle on his bedsheets. A movement I know all too well.
I force my gaze away from his hands and back to his eyes. “I’m done with this… whatever it is. Okay? So, yeah.” I spin on the heel of my shoe, intending to just walk away and pretend Percy Jackson never happened to me, but his voice stops me in my tracks.
“Wait.”
His voice, oh, how familiar and pretty a sound it is. Part of me aches at the thought that I won’t be hearing it nearly as much anymore.
I turn back. “Yes?”
I half expect him to say something more, something important. But all I can see in his face is an easy smirk. “Don’t forget about me,” he jokes, his sea green eyes glittering with mirth and teasing.
I purse my lips, part of me wishing he would say something more, something to make me stay. Because I would, if he wanted me to. I think that I would do anything he wanted me to do.
I study him, imprinting his appearance in my memory. He’s tall, and gods, handsome as hell, with his sea green eyes and messy dark hair that curls at the edges. His tan skin with the crinkles in the corners of his face. His troublemaker smile that takes girls’ breaths away.
I know that I am lucky for the time I’ve been in his life. Of course, I want more, but not everyone gets close to Percy Jackson like this. He’s the kind of guy every single girl falls for, but most of us get ignored. And, as I know, when he does pick you, he drops you again soon after.
Bad, but doing it very well.
“See you, babe. You were fun.”
The simple, dismissive words make something inside of me snap a little. Now I’m mad, angry that this is all I ever was to him. A plaything to last until he got bored, and if it ended, he wouldn’t care at all.
I scowl, my fists clenching a little. “That’s all?” I snap.
Percy’s face crumples in confusion, the first real emotion I’ve ever seen in his gorgeous eyes. “What do you mean? This wasn’t serious, you know that. We agreed.”
“Yeah. I know that,” I say. “But that’s really all it meant to you? You seriously didn’t… ever…” I trail off, not really knowing what I’m trying to say exactly. I’m just angry and hurt, and… in love.
“I broke the rules,” I admit. “I fell for you. That’s why I’m leaving. Because I know we weren’t supposed to do that.” I hesitate, draw a long breath. “I guess I’m just here to see if you’re going to stop me. If you… have a reason to.”
Percy’s expression is back to its usual unreadable form. His eyes study me for far too long.
“No,” he says finally. “I don’t.”
That’s all I need to hear. I nod, a shaky smile on my face. “Okay. Then this is goodbye, I suppose.”
I then away again, glancing down at my red dress, wiping my palms on the skirts. At the door, I glance over my shoulder. “Just… say you’ll remember me, at least? You can’t pretend we weren’t… something.”
“We were,” he whispers. “Trust me, I don’t think I could forget you. Your red lips, rosy cheeks, the way you sound when…” He doesn’t finish, but I know what he’s implying.
I flush ever so slightly. “Good,” I say. “Think of me, even if it’s just in your wildest dreams of what could have been.”
I shut his cabin door behind me, and it’s not until I reach my own that the tears come. Nothing lasts forever. I knew that. I always knew that. And yet I still let myself down. I let myself fall for the one person out of reach.
In hindsight, I think I would have done it differently. Not gone into something like that with Percy Jackson, the irresistible son of Poseidon. I don’t think I would have been able to resist him, though, even with the gift of hindsight.
He really was a magical boy.
Just too confined to be open, too gorgeous to be kind, too bad to be good.
We were truly something special. Like a firework. Hot, blazing, but dangerous too. Get too close, and you’re on fire. I got too close, and then everything came burning down.
The memories will always be there, though. Memories of scattered shirts and messed up bed sheets, damp curls and whimpered names.
In my wildest dreams, he will stay. Locked in the secret parts of me that not many people will see. Safe, in my vault of dreams and memories.
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