MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST PRO HERO DABI & INTERN!BAKUGO

桜梅桃李 (o-bai-to-ri) “never compare yourself to others”

This yo-ji-juku-go (Japanese 4-character idiom) is comprised of 4 beloved Japanese trees. They are:

桜 = cherry (sakura)

梅 = apricot (ume)

桃 = peach (momo)

李 = plum (sumomo)

桜 (sakura) are of course the cherry blossom trees famous for blooming spectacularly and incredibly briefly once a year, usually in April. Sakura trees in full bloom is an annual event, and people go to their local park to see them, take photos, and have picnics underneath them. It's such a big deal that it's reported on the weather forecast, with reporters commenting on how quickly the "sakura front" is moving northwards across the country.

梅 (ume) is the "ume" in umeshu! This is a sweet liqueur which is made from soaking ume in sake. It tastes amazing, and is one of the things I miss most about Japan. Japanese learners will no doubt recognise "ume" as usually being translated as "plum", however it is technically closer to the Western apricot.

桃 (momo) is one of the best-loved fruits in Japan. There is even a fairy story called "Momo-taro" about a little boy who comes from inside a peach. He grows up to be a great hero, of course, and saves everyone from a demon. "Momo" is also a fairly common girls' name.

李 (sumomo) are known as "Japanese plums" or "Asian plums". The trees are famous for their delicate white flowers. They usually bloom just before the sakura. Whilst not as famous or as showy as sakura, they are well-loved for their elegance, and for being a sign of spring.

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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“Mine. Only mine.” || Leto Atreides x Reader Smut

gif made by Cass - please credit us if you use the gif.

Summary:  The time is finally right for Leto to claim you as his.

Warnings: graphic smut without plot & well… Duke Leto (how is it possible for a man to be that handsome?!)

Word count: circa 2140

Pairing: Leto Atreides x reader

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

After the door to the bathroom closed, Duke rested his blanched hands on the edge of the countertop and closed his eyes. 

Within his bathroom, you were removing your clothes and allowing the warm water to splash against your naked skin. The fragrance of his soap was going to linger on your skin and in your wet hair. His hitched breathing was exacerbated by hazy images of you scrubbing your breasts and the length of your legs. Leto's trousers tightened as he thought about the peaks of your breasts, the way your fingers moved within the tightness between your thighs. Leto hadn't touched a woman for a long time; being a Duke of one of the Noble Houses was an incredibly significant role to play, and he barely had spare time. He married you for political reasons. There was never a proper time to consume the marriage, to claim you as his, and as Duke Leto Atreides was a man of honor, he wasn't inclined to push you. Spending time together meant having short conversations at breakfast or supper, saying goodnight once you were long asleep when he returned from important meetings, or just holding hands a little during official parties or meetings. However, the mere thought of your perfect skin and slight curves of your hips and waist was enough to drive him wild.

Under his uncomfortable pants, his cock hardened as his thoughts became clouded with you. He brought his palm onto the throbbing bulge, a small whimper falling from his mouth as he pressed down. A pulse of dull pleasure ran through his body as he rubbed himself over his clothes, drawing his lower lip between his teeth to muffle the threatening sounds. Duke wondered whether you were going to open the bathroom door and see him frantically jerking himself over a risque thought about you.

Although the warm water and your own touch felt wonderful on your skin, they couldn't compare to Duke's. You didn't experience much of it, but from what you did, you could tell you loved it already. Being a considerate wife, you understood that Leto Atreides was a busy man. Instead of pushing him, you gratefully accepted whatever he gave you. It was silly, but you fall for the Duke. It was just a political ploy, which made you feel silly. Though it was your duty, not a pleasure, you were completely charmed by Duke's looks and behavior toward you. Leto was respectful and caring. He always made sure you felt comfortable in every moment he spent with you or even when he was away. It was nearly impossible not to fall for this man.

You finished your shower and walked out of it to dry yourself, smiling at the soft scent lingering on your skin. It was his scent after all. Once you had dried your hair as much as possible, you wrapped the soft towel around your body. You took a deep breath and left the bathroom, not knowing what to expect.

His breath wavered as he fumbled for his buckle and unzipped himself, pushing the material of his briefs to the back of his thighs. A dreary relief filled his mind as he slowly pumped himself. There was a bathroom door between you and him, preventing you from seeing the leaking cock he held in his shaky hand. Before he continued yanking, he placed his hand in his mouth and gently licked it with his tongue. Moans emanated from his open mouth, gentle breaths, and whiny whimpers as he decided to take more comfortable position by sitting on the edge of his bed. As he jerked his hips and dragged his tongue against his bottom lip, he threw his head back. He thought about your fingers soaking into your tight pussy as the shower's waterfall drenched your skin. He imagined the soft moans you would make as he kissed the softness of your breasts, his tongue memorizing your taste as it touched your nipple. Your ass would be squeezed tightly after he sucked on your fingers, the taste of your pussy glistening on his tongue as he moved his fingers across your soaking folds. He wanted you to clench around him as you rubbed his curly hair, his name slipping from your lips.

Since you were barefoot, you left the bathroom quietly. At the unexpected sounds that came from Leto himself, I immediately perked up. Evidently, you weren't the only one who was impatient for any kind of contact. As luck would have it, Duke sat with his back to you on the edge of the bed. It was obvious what he was doing. As you slowly approached the bed, you climbed on it, sitting right behind him. Your only response to his attempt to turn around was a whisper. "Don't move." Your palm rested on his shoulder as your other hand moved down his still-covered chest.

A shiver ran down his spine as he was unaware you had joined him in the bedroom. While he did not respond out loud, he gave a nod to your whisper and leaned into the touch.

As you hummed, you kissed his shoulder before moving to his neck until you reached his ear. Your deep voice whispered, "Undress for me, my love."

Though he wasn't used to being given orders by women, you had control over him; after all, you were a Bene Gesserit sister. After he undressed and tossed his clothing on the marble floor, the Duke looked down at you, gazing into your eyes.

"Sit back down, just like a moment ago." You ordered, patting the place where he had been sitting.

Despite his reluctance, he followed your order.

"There's no need to give me that face." You chuckled as he sat back down beside you. As you moved closer, you wrapped your arms around his waist, nuzzling his shoulder. "I waited so long to finally be alone with you like this," your hand slowly moved up his chest, gently touching his skin as your other hand wrapped around his shaft. "But shall I be offended that my dear husband started without me?"

The moaning came out of his parted lips as Leto rolled his head down, resting its back on your shoulder. "I couldn't help myself, Y/N. Just thinking about you drove me insane."

Kissing him on the cheek, you purred softly. As your small palm moved up and down his cock, your other hand caressed his stomach. "I wouldn't mind if you joined me in the shower, love."

"I could, indeed." His body wash was already oozing from your wet body. This did not help his situation. “God, yes.” The words escaped his reddened lips before he could even think of what was happening. Your hand was gently massaging him, and your pretty mouth was looming closer to his.

With a soft smile on your lips, you whispered, "I waited so long for you and you never claimed me as yours. The image of you and my own hands wasn't enough when you were leaving me all alone here. I couldn't wait for your cock to stretch me out. I couldn't wait to yell your name so loud that everyone here knows that I belong to you."

The man's thoughts were erratic as he tasted your lips and tentatively caressed your tongue. "As I heard all of the sisters are skilled, I presume you can take care of your needs."

You kissed him softly and focused fully on his cock before saying, "You heard right but my hands can't compare to your touch, love. I was sure you knew this." You teased his tip with your thumb. You continued to massage his balls with the hand that was caressing his chest.

Leto rolled his head back and turned his head; he was kissing you, entangling his fingers in your hair as you touched his cock. "Fuck. Take off that towel."

Having asked so nicely, you gave him one last kiss before moving away and further down the bed. As you sat down, you removed your towel and threw it aside, presenting yourself fully to him.

Your naked body was scanned with administration by his eyes. "You're so perfect."

"Thank you," you whispered, moving your hand down your body. "It's all yours."

He touched your curve, repeating, "All mine."

"All yours. Till death separates us." You reminded him. Grabbing his wrist, you gently pulled him closer so you could cup his cheeks. Your thumbs caressed them. "My Duke. So strong, so perfect. Kiss me and claim me as yours only. I am begging you, love."

His lips quickly found yours, crushing on them.

You chuckled as you kissed him deeply, "No need to be so gentle with me, love. I am all yours, and I don't bite." You chuckled as you kissed him deeply. 

He towered over you fully as soon as you lied down on the bed. A boyish smile appeared on his lips as he reached for your breasts and squeezed the mounds. He tentatively pinched your nipples as you gasped, fearing that he had somehow hurt you. Your expression revealed pure bliss when he looked up at you. His hands gently caressed your stomach, hips, and thighs. When you inevitably left his room tomorrow morning, he didn't want to forget how you felt or what your skin felt like. With elation in his eyes, his fingers stopped over your pussy. Leto's hands moved back and forth across your stomach, his calloused hands caressing your hip before inserting two fingers into your pussy.

As your hand grabbed his shoulder, you gasped and let out a whimper. You already felt full from his fingers, and you wondered how full you would feel later. Rolling your hips in excitement, you purred loudly.

His fingers pumped as he flicked his tongue across your clit, gently sucking as you throbbed on his fingers. He curled his fingers soon after. Your body moved against him as you moaned his name like a desperate prayer, nearly begging with dwelling tears as his confidence soared. Every night he would have fallen on his knees and pleaded with whoever answered his prayers to let him taste you again, for you tasted like the forbidden fruit, dangerously intoxicating.

While arching your back, you moved your hand into his thick curls to pull them. Every time he touched you, you sang. "Oh, please have mercy on me, Leto!"

Despite the fact that it drove him crazy, he loved it so much. With his cock in hand, he stroked the shaft a few times before guiding it to your entrance and digging his hips deep into your body.

It didn't take Leto long to intertwine his fingers with yours. The sound of his cock gliding in and out of you made you hear how wet you were, which was a sound filthy enough to drive your senses wild. The sound of his skin slapping against yours in a quickening pace coupled with both of you being desperate for release. After eating you out, Duke was so irritable that he knew he wouldn't last long. It was heaven for him to feel your cunt swallow his length with such ease, pulsing around it.

Every time you held his hand, your grip grew tighter. You were turned on more by the sounds of skin hitting skin, your moans mixed with his groans. The climax was near, you could feel it as your walls tightened around his cock.

One of his arms slid under your back to pull your upper body closer to his chest. His thrusts became more violent soon as he increased his pace.

“Oh, sweet Y/N.” As he finally came, Leto grunted deeply, looking down to where your bodies had become one. Hot cords of cum spilled deep inside of you, which felt so right. While your cunt milked his twitching cock, Duke kissed your shoulder and then buried his face in your neck, completely driven by bliss.

With your nails marking his back, you finished with him, screaming his name so loudly that everyone probably heard you.

Instead of pulling away from you just yet, he laid on top of you, kissing your cheeks and neck.

Wrapping your leg around his waist, you kept him close. With a gentle stroke of his hair, you whispered, "Now I can call myself fully your wife. I think everybody heard me..."

"My guards definitely did."

As you kissed his cheek, you laughed, blushing slightly. "Then I hope they enjoyed it as much as I did."

Leto's brows furrowed a little, but shortly after he offered you a soft grin and whispered in your ear, "You are mine. Only mine. You’ll fell me stroking slowly inside of you every night as I whisper to you that you are only mine."

A fit of jealousy - Akaza x Reader x Douma

Synopsis: Douma's constant touches on you ignite a raging fire of jealousy in Akaza, causing him to grow increasingly angry

Akaza watched from a distance as Douma pulled you close, his arms wrapped around your waist as he whispered something in your ear. He could feel his blood boil as he watched the way you giggled and leaned into Douma's touch. It was becoming unbearable to watch his partner being constantly touched by Douma. As he approached the two of you, Douma gave him a smug grin before turning his attention back to you. Akaza gritted his teeth, trying to control the anger that was building up inside of him. He couldn't believe that Douma was so bold to touch his partner in front of him like that. "Douma," Akaza growled, his voice low and menacing. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

Douma shrugged, releasing his hold on you. "Sure thing, Akaza-dono!"

As Akaza and Douma walked away, you watched them go with a confused expression. You had no idea what had just happened, but you knew it couldn't be good.

Once they were out of earshot, Akaza turned to Douma with a scowl. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you insist on touching Y/N like that?"

Douma rolled his eyes, clearly not intimidated by Akaza's anger. "Oh come on, Akaza-dono! You know there's nothing going on between us. It's just harmless fun, and I like her much."

Akaza's scowl deepened. "It's not harmless. It's disrespectful. You have no right to touch her like that."

Douma crossed his arms, a smirk on his face. "And who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? Last time I checked, she's her own person, not your property."

Akaza's fists clenched at his sides. "I never said she was my property, but she is my partner. And as her partner, I expect you to show her some respect."

Douma raised an eyebrow. "And what if I don't? What are you going to do about it, Akaza-dono?"

Akaza took a step forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "If you don't stop touching her like that, I'll make you regret it."

Douma let out a laugh. "Is that a threat? I thought you were better than that, Akaza-dono! You're just jealous because you know you can't make her feel the way I do, and I'm not putting in much effort!"

Akaza's rage boiled over. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had swung a punch at Douma. In a swift and merciless motion, he struck Douma's head, severing upper part of his head from the rest. Blood sprayed everywhere, drenching the wooden floor with crimson.

As soon as Douma took the hit, his body reacted almost instantly. The wound that was inflicted on him started to regenerate, the demon's regenerative powers quickly healing the damaged tissue. Within moments, the wound had disappeared, leaving only a faint scar as evidence of the attack. Douma retaliated with a swipe of his fan.

Akaza dodged with ease, his eyes glinting with fury as he lunged forward again.

The two of them circled each other, both ready to fight. You trailed them into the adjacent chamber and watched with horror, not knowing what to do. You had never seen Akaza like this before, and it scared you. Akaza proved to be a devoted partner, with his caring nature and protective demeanor, yet when it came to Douma, his boundaries seemed to vanish. As the tension between Akaza and Douma escalated, you could feel the anger and resentment radiating off of them in waves. You knew that this argument was about to spiral out of control, and you couldn't let that happen. Without hesitation, you stepped between the two of them, facing Akaza and placing a gentle hand on his chest. "Enough. This is ridiculous. You're both acting like a bunch of children."

Akaza glared at Douma. "He's the one who started it." Akaza's eyes blazed with fury as he glared at Douma over your shoulder, but your presence seemed to have a calming effect on him. Slowly, he began to relax, his muscles unclenching as he took a deep breath.

Douma held up his hands in surrender. "Fine. You won, I'll back off. Just calm down, Akaza-dono! It's not worth getting this worked up over, but if anyone were to ask for my subjective opinion, which I doubt any of you care about or value, I would suggest seeking anger management classes or other means of controlling your recent aggressive behavior, Akaza-dono."

You turned to face the Upper Moon Two, giving him a stern look. "And you," you said, your tone firm but not unkind, "Don't you think you should be more respectful of Akaza's feelings?"

Douma's expression softened, and he nodded. "Well, maybe you're right," he grinned. "I'll be more careful in the future, although comprehending emotions is a challenging task for me…"

Akaza snorted derisively. Soon, he took a deep breath, his fists unclenching. He knew that you were right. He couldn't act like a fussy baby. You were the most important thing in his life, and he didn't want to risk losing you over something as stupid as jealousy.

As the tension between the two demons dissipated, you felt a sense of pride and satisfaction wash over you. You knew that you had helped them avoid a potentially disastrous confrontation, and you were grateful for the opportunity to keep the peace.

As the three of you walked away from the confrontation, Akaza pulled you close, his arm protectively wrapped around your waist. He knew that he couldn't stop Douma from being who he was, but he also knew that he would do anything to protect you.

Lake Mashu, eastern Hokkaido, Japan. It is a rare day when the lake surface is visible like this due to the fog.

You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want your annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while launching a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out.

Your last "wish" was a week ago and the chain reaction is still going on.

It's a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming... On days like these, kids like you? Should be burning in hell.

Chapter 353 - Endeavor

The Gift (2000)

A portrait of Chris Evans I did to practice textures, shadows and highlights (Photoshop CS6, about 8-9 hours)