#I think I woke up and wrote this in the middle of the night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cillianmurphyygf · 4 months

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i think i'm in love with you

ꕥ luke castellan x afab!reader

warnings: descriptions of wounds + blood, allusions to sex but no actual smut, shitty writing (i havent wrote a fanfic in multiple years), not proofread cuz im way too lazy, (y/n) isn't used at all in this idk i almost like reading fanfic better without it

summary: you wake up in the middle of the night to strange noises. you find luke outside, with a deep wound in his side. you take him to the lake to take care of him. unfortunately for you, luke's in a teasing mood.

word count: 2.7k

You awoke suddenly to strange noises. Soft groans fell through the walls of your cabin. At first, you assumed it to be something you should be careful not to walk in on. But, as your head cleared up more as you fully woke up, it sounded more like someone who was in pain.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you slowly pulled the covers off of your body and stepped into a pair of soft slippers. You carefully weaved through the various beds in the dark towards the door. The groans continued, rendering you more concerned and nervous. You quietly eased the door open, wincing at every squeak it made. You peeked your head outside, searching for the source of the noise.

Through squinted eyes, your attention eventually landed on a certain Hermes boy laid down in the grass. Luke. You quickly shut the door, completely forgetting about keeping quiet, and tip-toe ran across the grass towards the boy. You and Luke had been friends for quite a while. You arrived at camp a month or so after him, and he was the most welcoming one there. While you remained unclaimed in the Hermes cabin for a few months, it didn’t really hurt as much while you were with Luke. He was the perfect distraction and a great friend, although you had begun to wish for something more.

“Luke!” You whisper yelled, causing him to practically jump a foot off the ground. Looking towards the startling voice, he realized it was you. He quickly sat up, his hand placed on his chest as he tried his best to calm his suddenly erratic breathing.

“Oh, thank gods, it’s just you,” he laughed breathlessly, suddenly wincing and placing his hand on his side. His flushed face turned down toward his wound before he threw his head back again, hissing in pain.

“What happened?!” You exclaimed in a panic, running to close the last piece of distance between you both. You quickly fell to your knees next to him, trying to get a good look at whatever was hidden underneath his hand. He attempted to laugh it off but immediately winced and groaned. His hand remained on his side, hiding whatever had happened. “Luke I’ve gotta see..” you tried.

“I’m fine,” he responded, dismissively. He gave you a tightlipped smile in an attempt to reassure you. It did quite the opposite. You reached your hand to pull his away from his side.

“You’re not fine Luke-” His free hand grasped your wrist tightly, preventing you from moving yours any closer to his wound. You stayed silent and unstill, unsure of the situation. In your moment of stillness, your eyes raked over his hand wrapped tightly around yours. The veins in his hand and forearm looked so perfect, especially under the soft moonlight. You wondered what his hand would look like wrapped around your-

“Hey!” Luke snapped his fingers in front of your face, trying to regain your attention.

“Huh?” You responded, clueless and still in a daze, your eyes stuck on his hand around yours. You could have sworn you saw a sly smirk adorn his face from the corner of your eye but you brushed it off. You were tired, you were probably just seeing things. You snapped out of your trance, looking back at his face, confused about everything. “Luke, you’ve gotta let me help you-”

“Princess, I-”

“I have no idea what you did or what happened to you, but I’m worried and you’re being so confusing right now..” You trailed off, avoiding his eyes for a moment. Princess. You hated (loved) when he used that nickname for you. It gave you hope that he could ever feel the same way about you. You heard Luke sigh.

“Okay, I just got in a bit of a fight with an Ares kid.. he pulled a knife on me, got me in the side.. I was clumsy, made a mistake,” he removed his hand from your wrist, prompting you to reconnect your eye contact. “I’m fine and I’ll be more careful next time.” He smiled, trying to dismiss your worries yet again.

“Can you show me?” You asked tentatively. He looked at you and nodded. You noticed that same smirk from earlier, only softer and more hidden. Maybe you hadn’t been imagining things. You watched his hand reach down to the hem of his shirt. Oh shit. You had not thought about that. You internally facepalmed. You were so fucked. His fingers wrapped around the bottom seam of his shirt as he pulled it up about halfway. Your eyes immediately darted to his wound. A seemingly deep gash ran from about the bottom of his ribs to the top of his pelvis. Blood trickled along his already blood covered skin. Oh it looked bad. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, a nervous habit.

As you examined the bloody gash, your eyes had other ideas. Your gaze slowly moved on to take in his toned abdomen. He had nice abs, prominent, but not so much like those crazy American bodybuilders. They gave you the creeps. His were just the perfect shape, size, and.. everything about him was perfect. While his side was doused in his own blood, the rest of his abdomen was covered in scattered beads of sweat. He looked good. Like really good. Luke’s sharp intake of breath broke you out of your trance. You quickly cleared your throat, hoping he hadn’t noticed you had been examining the rest of his body instead of his injury.

“I’d ask if you like what you see but.. I’m in a bit of a predicament currently.” Luke chuckled, referring to the bloody gash. Your face flushed red. Shit, he noticed. You fumbled over your words, trying to form a coherent sentence. He watched you, amused, but still very evidently in pain. You abruptly stood up, offering Luke your hand.

“You got a kit or something I can use?” You asked as you carefully pulled him to his feet. His arm landed to rest over your shoulders. You felt the breath leave your body. He was so close. His body heat radiated heavily onto your already heated body. You hoped he couldn’t feel how hot you are, or how loud and hard your heart was beating. His quiet groan brought you back to your senses.

“Yeah I’ve got a kit hidden in the trees near the beach.” He finally answered. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Why.. there?” You asked, genuinely confused. Luke looked down at you as if you should have already known.

“For times like these.” He replied, as if it were obvious. You just shrugged and let him slowly lead you to the beach. The trek through the grass proved a lot more difficult than you had expected. Random bumps and holes in the dirt caused you both to almost fall multiple times.

“Here,” Luke spoke and pointed a few feet in front of you. You nodded and slowly lowered him to the ground, leaning him against the tree. Your hands rummaged and dug through the dirt in search of Luke’s medical kit. Your fingernail eventually scratched along a hard, plastic surface. You dug your hands further into the dirt to pull the case out of the ground.

“I got it!” You sighed in relief. Your hands were becoming increasingly tired from all of the digging. You sat next to Luke, opening the latches of the small box. He smiled at you, watching your every move, completely mesmerized by you. You grabbed the small bottle of rubbing alcohol and popped it open. You opened your mouth to speak, looking up at Luke, only to find him already looking back at you. You quickly looked away, your face flushing a deep crimson. You took a deep breath before allowing yourself to actually speak.

“I’m gonna need you to hold your shirt up above the cut, if you’re comfortable.” You looked back up at Luke, nervously waiting for his response. You shouldn’t have been that nervous, you were just tending to his wound, nothing else. But still, the idea of asking him to lift up his shirt and reveal his really nice abdomen embarrassed you a lot.

“Yeah of course.” He replied in a suddenly husky, low voice. It caught you off guard, causing even more heat to rush to your cheeks.. and to the spot between your legs. He grasped the hem of his orange shirt and pulled it up, revealing the wound again.

“Okay.. this is gonna hurt, but I’ve gotta clean it out somehow.” You warned, slowly starting to pour the rubbing alcohol over the cut. Luke nodded in acknowledgement, hissing immediately as the strong liquid hit his skin. You hadn’t really treated all too many wounds in your lifetime, let alone a cut as deep and bloody as this one. You hoped you were doing it right and you weren’t making it worse. Luke’s harsh groans and hisses weren’t aiding your stressed mind. Throughout the few minutes you spent drenching his side in rubbing alcohol, you noticed him drop his shirt a few times, muttering apologies, saying his hands were having trouble keeping it up. You brushed it off each and every time it happened.

Once you finally deemed it enough rubbing alcohol, you moved away from his abdomen, grabbing the cap of the bottle. Your shaky hands tried closing the bottle but to no avail. You were stressed and embarrassed, and your entire body was shaking way too much. Luke’s warm hands grasped yours.

“Hey,” He whispered, grabbing your attention. You looked up at him. “I’ve got it.” He smiled at you, and carefully took the bottle from your palms to close it himself. You whispered your thanks under your breath, so quiet, you almost couldn’t hear it yourself. You reached back into the medical kit to pull out a cloth and an antiseptic wipe. You placed your hand on Luke’s cheek. Red slowly started to creep up his neck and into his cheeks, unbeknownst to you.

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna wet the cloth.” You told him, smiling and standing up.

“You’re too good to me.” Luke said, in that low voice, again. You turned quickly to hide your blush, making your way to the shore, as quick as you could. You dipped the cloth in the cold water and rung it out. You jogged back to Luke at the tree, dropping back onto your knees next to him. You lightly dabbed the cloth around his cut, trying to pick up and clean up the blood all over him. You did your best to avoid pressing into the actual cut, but failed a few times. Luke tried his best to keep his cool, but you could see how much he was hurting. You felt awful.

Occasionally, Luke would let the hem of his shirt slip out of his hands, obscuring your cleaning abilities. He would apologize profusely, telling you he had no idea why it kept happening. When you would shrug and go back to cleaning the blood, a smug smile would pull at his lips. You were so clueless.

You continued to clean the excess blood off of Luke’s body. His shirt would drop every couple minutes. He would apologize, and you would get back to work. This went on for a little over ten minutes.

You placed the cloth at your side, actually proud of what you had got done so far. You had managed to clean up the majority of the blood from his cut, and it was looking a lot better now. All that was left for now was to wrap it up and then send him for Ambrosia to finish the healing process.

As you grabbed the roll of bandage from the box, you watched Luke drop his shirt yet again. He sighed dramatically and threw his hands up in defeat.

“I just can’t keep my shirt up. Guess I’m just gonna have to take the whole thing off.” He sighed and grabbed the hem, pulling it up and over his head. You were practically drooling as you watched. The way his muscles flexed when he ripped his shirt off.. it was so.. hot. You could now see his entire toned abdomen, and his chest. Your face was surely beet red at this point. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

You had no idea in your trance, but Luke was watching the way you looked at him, a smug smile adorning his perfect face. He loved the way you reacted to his body. He thought you were the cutest thing. It was fun to see you all flustered like this. Eventually, by some miracle you were able to pull your eyes away from Luke’s body to focus on bandaging him up. You hastily unraveled the thin cloth, trying to ignore the burning feeling of Luke’s eyes on you, watching your every move.

You leaned over his body, trying to reach to start the wrapping. It turned out to be really difficult, as you could barely reach. You sat back and sat there for a moment, trying to clear your head and figure out your next plan of action.

“I’m not sure how I’m gonna..” You admitted quietly, embarrassed. Luke looked up at you with a very clear and obvious smirk on his face. This worried you. You had no idea what he was planning, and you did not want to make a fool of yourself.

To your immense surprise, Luke’s hands grabbed onto your hips and lifted you off the ground, making you squeal. He sat you down on his lap, in a straddle position. You were so close. Too close. The embarrassingly warm area between your legs sat right over his. You prayed and prayed he couldn’t feel it. You would never live it down.

“That’ll do it.” Luke smiled and pat your thigh encouragingly, causing you to let out a sharp squeak. You gulped and tried to focus on the bandage again. Your shaky hands brought the edge of the bandage to his back as you wrapped it around his torso, multiple times over. You wrapped it tight, but not too tight as to suffocate Luke.

Although, at that point it wouldn’t have mattered. Luke was completely focused on making you a flustered mess. The intense pain he was in was in the very back of his mind. He could barely feel it at this point. He was having way too much fun with you.

After the most painfully long two minutes of your life, you had finally finished wrapping Luke up. You let out a huge breath you didn’t know you were holding, feeling a weight drop off of your shoulders. You had never felt so stressed and embarrassed in your life. You hoped your work would hold up well and you had done it right.

Luke’s arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you in even closer. His nose brushed against yours as he looked up at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Thanks for your help,” he whispered in his gravelly voice. He leaned in even closer. “Means a lot.” He mumbled, almost against your lips. Your heart rate was through the roof. He was so close. So close you could kiss him. You could feel his breath mingling with yours. The warmth between your legs only continued to grow now. Luke chuckled lowly, watching the thoughts flow through your mind.

Luke moved his lips ever closer to yours. Dropping to a deep whisper, he spoke again. “I think.. I’m in love with you..” His lips moved slowly to capture yours. Your eyes widened, before you closed them, easing into his kiss.

Your lips moved in perfect unison, as if made for eachother. Your hands moved to grip his dark curls. You softly pulled, feeling him moan into your mouth. Luke pulled away, moving his lips to your neck. Nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He was sure to leave many marks on your delicate skin.

“I-” You were cut off by your own moans as Luke’s hands moved to rest on your breasts while his kisses along your neck became harsher. He slowly pulled away from your neck, keeping his hands on your chest.

“What were you gonna say, baby?”

“I.. love you as well.” You replied, breathless. Luke smirked, crashing his lips into yours again.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #pjo series #percy jackson series #x reader #pjo show #percy jackson show

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7ndipity · 2 months

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Sweet Morning

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Just a lil thing about Yoongi looking after his S/o when they wake up sore after a particularly intense night together.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: slightly suggestive, implied smut, implied drinking, swearing, mentions of bruises, bathing? not proofread

A/N: I’m back! Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! I decided to stick with Yoongi for this one, but if you’d like similar blurbs for the other members, let me know! This turned out a lot softer(and longer) than I planned, but I couldn’t help it, I love sweet caregiver Yoongi 🥺(also, I wrote part of this at like 4am, so I’m sorry if it’s eh)

Masterlist

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At first, you thought the late morning sunlight was what woke you, managing to shine through a gap in the curtains directly in your face and pulling you from the cozy cocoon of sleep. The shifting weight of the bed behind you though proved otherwise, a sleepy grin spreading across your face as you felt a familiar pair of arms slip around your middle, a set of warm lips leaving a trail of soft kisses along your bare shoulder.

“Morning.” Yoongi rasped, his voice somehow even deeper first thing in the morning.

You hummed contentedly, memories of the night before flickering back through your mind as you stretched.

Yoongi’s lips somehow never leaving yours for more than a moment as you’d fumbled through the front door and to the bedroom, clothes hastily discarded in your wake, tasting the whiskey he’d drank at dinner on his tongue. Falling back on the bed with him, desperation making each touch somehow feel a thousand times more potent, swallowing each other's moans as you rode out wave after wave of pleasure til you were both too exhausted to continue, falling asleep still clinging to one another.

Yoongi’s feather light touches pulled you back to the present, in stark contrast to the night before as his lips drifted up the side of your neck.

"What time is it?" You asked sleepily.

“Late, but I have the day off.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the faint purple mark that was forming just below your ear. “What do you want to do today?”

“I think this is pretty good,” You replied happily, rolling over to face him, but pausing midway as you winced, hissing slightly at the pain in your lower half.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, brow furrowing in concern.

“I’m just a little sore from last night.” You said easily, trying to pull him in to connect your lips, but he pulled back, looking down at you with growing alarm.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, sounding horrified.

“What? No, Baby, I’m fine.” You quickly tried to convince him, but he sat up, gently tugging the blankets away from your body.

“Fuck.” He whispered.

Your skin was littered with hickeys and marks from him, some faint and barely discernible, others blooming in deep shades of red and purple.

He didn’t remember leaving so many marks, but when he was with you, it was like his brain shut off. All he could remember was the taste of your skin and all the sweet noises you made every time he’d dragged his teeth across your flesh.

His frown deepened as his eyes landed on the marks that decorated your hips and thighs, faint imprints of his fingers evidence of his vice-like grip on you from the night before.

He traced a finger over the marks, causing you to wince slightly, shivering from sensitivity. His attention snapped back to your face.

“Fuck.” He repeated, looking at you sadly. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Yoongi, I’m okay, really.” You tried to reassure him, trying not to grimace as you sat up, but he just shook his head.

“I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.” He said.

“I wanted you to be rough.” You reminded him, catching hold of his hands to pull him closer. “Did you once hear me complain last night?”

He shook his head again.

“Exactly, because there was no reason to. Everything about last night was amazing.” You said, caressing his face gently. “You made me feel so good, you always make me feel so good."

He smiled faintly in spite of himself, leaning into you instinctively as you kissed him, his lips dropping back into a frown as he felt you wince again as you tried to press closer to him.

He pulled away, looking at you softly.

“Wait here.” He said, climbing off the bed.

You did as he asked, sinking back into the covers as your eyes drifted closed.

You couldn’t lie, as much as you might have enjoyed the night before, you were beyond tired, your whole body feeling heavy and achy.

You had nearly fallen back to sleep before Yoongi returned, smiling down at your sleepy form for a moment before rousing you gently.

“Come on.” He said, tugging you up from the bed.

He helped you up slowly, wrapping an arm around your waist for support as he guided you to the bathroom, the scent of lavender enveloping you as you stepped through the door.

He’d prepared the bath just the way you liked, even setting a few of your favorite bath bombs out for you to choose from, as well as lighting a few of your favorite candles to further set the mood.

“What’s all this?” You asked, looking at him in surprise.

He didn’t answer right away, focusing instead on helping you slide in, smiling at the way your eyes fell shut as you sank into the warm water.

“Feel alright?” He finally spoke.

“Mmm.” You hummed, looking up at him expectantly. “Aren’t you getting in too?”

“I can, if you want me to.” He said uncertainly.

“I want you to.” You said, shifting forward to give him enough space to sit behind you.

He slipped in quickly, letting you lay back against him as he grabbed a cloth and started to wash you.

Normally, you’d argue a bit with him, just for the hell of it, saying something about how you were perfectly capable of washing yourself, but you let it go this time, enjoying the feeling of his gentle touch.

“Do you feel any better?” He asked after a bit.

“Mhm,” You practically purred. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” He replied.

“For what?” You glanced up at him quizzically.

He shrugged. “Letting me have you.”

You grinned.

“You know, you didn’t make it out of last night unscathed either.” You said, poking a mark on his neck, making him wince slightly.

“At least I can still walk though.” He said pointedly.

“I can walk!” You argued.

“Like a penguin.” He smirked.

“Yah!” You splashed him, making him laugh. “I thought you were being nice to me?!”

“I’m just trying to keep things balanced.” He said, kissing your temple. “I can’t spoil you too much.”

You pouted, making him chuckle.

“I love you.” he said, pecking your cheek.

“Love you too.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

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tryslora · 1 month

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On Writing Combat and Sex Scenes

Today I want to talk about writing sex and combat (and no, I do not mean combative sex). This post is inspired by a few recent events:

Once, a long time ago, I read a blog post that said “if you can write a combat scene, you can write a sex scene” and that was mind-blowing for me because while I was well-versed in writing erotica, I couldn’t write combat to save my life.

More recently, at Boskone, I participated on a panel about writing combat, and the research involved there-in.

Even more recently, I had someone look at me say, “You’re not a gay guy. How do you write gay sex scenes?”

So. Let’s begin.

I get it—sex and combat aren’t interchangeable. But at their core, they have some strong similarities which can be leveraged while writing. Both are intense, high drama, and can involve a lot of anxiety and quick thought. Both tend to narrow focus down to the moment and the current feeling and action. Both are heightened emotion and physical reaction. Both can involve actions that lie outside the author’s personal experience.

I started writing erotica when I was a freshman in college. I posted it online (does anyone remember rec.arts.erotica?) and was surprised (and pleased) by the compliments I received. Turned out my readers were not expecting the idea of emotion being entangled in their erotica. They were invested emotionally in how the stories went, and how my characters felt. Since I was writing from the point of view that made sense to me at the time, they were het stories from a female perspective, and they were very focused on the emotional connections and how the physical events heightened those emotions.

Male readers were surprised by the intensity of the feelings that these stories gave them (as opposed to pure arousal). It got me thinking about how I wrote, and why I wrote, and I tried to talk about it some at the time. I was eighteen. I was still a new writer. The internet itself was new. I wasn’t entirely certain how to frame it, but I remember getting one comment where a guy was surprised at how struck he’d been by the moment in the scene where everything shuddered to a halt due to an event in the story that interrupted the action, and I replied that that was because I wasn’t writing about the sex. I was writing about the character’s reaction to the sex.

Which has always been how I write. At the time, that was my only tool: put myself in the character’s mind, and write what they feel. If that’s affection and attraction and physical reaction, write that. Tangle it up, and hope the reader feels that entanglement.

Now, fast forward several years, and take a little side trip onto a tangent wherein I learned something very important about writing craft.

I was reading Syne Mitchell’s End in Fire, I think it was, and I kept having panic attacks. Now, I did most of my reading late, often when I woke in the middle of the night due to stress, or just because my brain refused to rest. I was in a rough place in life in general, with a lot of external work stuff going on and very small children. I wasn’t sleeping well. And it took me some time to figure out why I was struggling to read a book which I actually loved (and when I read it later in life, I enjoyed it greatly).

It was the sentence structure.

In order to induce the emotion of the scene, the sentences were short. Sharp. Quick. There was no time for the reader to breathe, much like there was no time for the heroine to do anything but act. The reader was caught up in the rising tension, to the point where my anxious, sleep-deprived brain, caught a panic attack from it.

The technique was brilliant.

Now back to our original timeline, wherein I read a post about how if you can write combat, you can write sex scenes. This post assumed that more people felt comfortable writing violence than sex. I was the reverse. I’d been writing about sex for over a decade when I saw this post, and it made a light bulb go off in my brain.

If writing sex was like writing combat… was the reverse also true? Could I improve my skills at writing battles by analyzing what worked when I wrote erotica?

So I tried doing just that. Back then, I found combat overwhelming. There was so much going on, and I was trying so hard to write good description that I lost all of the intensity. I was focusing on everything that was going on at the same time.

Thinking about how sex scenes were all intense emotion and narrowed focus, I applied that to my combat scenes. I wrote only what the point of view character experienced, and tied everything to their actions and reactions. I thought about how they breathed, how they moved, how they thought. I used those short, sharp sentences as they processed the scene.

That doesn’t mean I forgot about everything else going on in the scene. That’s impossible. After all, in any story the things the character doesn’t pay attention to might be as important as the things they do focus on. Stuff still happens, and there is still fallout. I needed to know what else was happening so that if the character moved from one place to another, or did something that put them in the path of a different part of the action, I could have them start processing it.

But it also meant that on the page, out of sight was out of mind. Everything narrowed down to the now. The immediacy. Suddenly my combat scenes snapped into focus.

During the panel at Boskone, all of the panelists had experience with different fighting styles (fencing, street combat, and of course, me with taekwondo). I spoke about how for me, that narrow focus is very real when I spar. I know there are some people who naturally see a move or two ahead while fighting; I don’t. I am stuck in act and react mode. Can I kick them now? Can I attempt a head shot? Oh, no, circle back and away or they’re going to hit me… that’s how my brain works during a sparring match.

It’s not like a total blackout—there should be a vague awareness of things around the character. Sounds in particular, or sometimes flashes of movement. Something distracting can catch the attention of the fighter, but the personal fight will always pull the character back.

Combat feels easy when I’m writing like that.

Of course, there’s still the question of writing about something if I’ve never experienced it. As someone did point out to me: I am not a gay man, so how does that affect writing sex scenes? I’ve also never fought with a sword. Brawled. Fought from horseback. I have, however, held a blade, shot a gun, shot an arrow, rode a horse. I have a vague idea of how these things work, much like I have a working knowledge of sex in general.

So yes, research gets involved. Sometimes research is observational, sometimes it’s reading (there’s so much good stuff out there). I highly recommend video for combat scenes—find things that have the feel that you’re going for, then put yourself in the place of the character you want to write about. Practice. Work through the ideas of how things fit together, and what your character will (and will not!) know during the fight.

If you need to, stand up and block the scene by thinking about how you would experience it. What can you see, and what is out of sight? If someone is coming at you with a blade, what are your options? How do height differences affect you? Yes, I have asked friends and husband to help me block scenes.

“Stand right there and show me what it looks like if you punch me. Okay, so if I do this then…” Yeah. It’s a thing. But it works.

When doing your research, remember that movie fighting (and hell, movie sex scenes) isn’t realistic. It’s meant to look good. For combat, if you can find re-enactments, or sparring videos, I highly recommend taking a look at those.

Anyway, the point is: I don’t have to have shot someone, and I don’t have to have had gay sex in order to write about them. What I do need to know is how it feels emotionally to do those things, and I can extrapolate that from what I do know. I need to know enough about the details so I can get it right, and that’s where research will help me. Also, use language to create emotion. Because emotions are where we grab the reader, and how we pull them into the scene.

Combat and sex aren’t so different when it comes to writing, and the personal experience. Now, go forth and write!

#writing #writing resources #writing sex #writing combat

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eideticallys · 9 months

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New Favorite Banter

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you should've felt satiated. last night’s affair should’ve been enough for you. after all, for the first time, spencer finally let his inhibitions go and railed you six ways to sunday. it should have been enough if only you weren’t greedy. well, you never prided yourself on being selfless. (part 2 to new favorite game, but it can also be read as a standalone.)

genre: smut (minors dni!)

warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), dom!spencer, mean!spencer, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, riding, name-calling (calling you a slut), degradation, slight dumbification, choking, spanking, masturbation (f) & spencer being a cutie after

word count: 2.4k

author's notes: hello! i'm back with another smut and a much filthier one at that compared to the first one. this is a part 2 to my other fic, new favorite game, but it can also be read as a standalone. i wrote this after someone requested for a part 2 to nfg & for me to write a longer smut fic. i hope you'll love this! also posted on ao3 (spencereids).

PART ONE

YOU SHOULD’VE FELT SATIATED. Last night’s affair should’ve been enough for you. After all, for the first time, Spencer finally let his inhibitions go and railed you six ways to Sunday. It should have been enough if only you weren’t greedy.

Well, you never prided yourself on being selfless.

And now, here you are, lying awake in the middle of the night, a few hours just after being in the throes of passion with Spencer, unimaginably horny. But Spencer was asleep and as much you want him to shove his cock so far up in your walls, you know sleep is a luxury in your field of work as FBI agents.

So, you suck it up and decide it’s time you use your fingers. It’s not like you haven’t tried that before. Looking to your left, it is unmistakable Spencer is in a deep sleep, breaths coming out softly with his mouth slightly open. He looked so peaceful. A part of you feels guilty for thinking raunchy thoughts about him.

You crossed your legs to apply enough pressure. It felt so good but so, inadequate. You needed more, but you couldn’t risk waking Spencer up. You already feel guilty as it is. How much more if you woke him up from his restful sleep all because you were horny? But, you needed more, something to touch you right and fill you up. You check on Spencer again to see if he is still asleep, afraid the quiet rustling from crossing your thighs together to relieve your neediness awakened him. To your dumb luck, despite being a light sleeper, Spencer was still fast asleep.

Gently, you slowly slid your fingers into your sleep shorts, carefully sliding your panties to the side. You are drenched. Your wetness seeps through the thin cotton of your underwear and slowly slides down your knuckles. Spencer would’ve made fun of you if he was awake right now. Are you really that desperate? Three rounds from last night weren’t enough for you. You had to go again and touch yourself. You could imagine Spencer saying those exact lines to you as you started mimicking the movements he’d dole out. Caressing your nub, you started making figure eights on your folds, carefully doing it as quietly as possible to avoid waking the man sleeping beside you.

However, it was as if fate was playing tricks on you because for some reason, rubbing your clit tonight wasn’t enough for your needy cunt. It was as if the past few hours didn’t happen. You were feeling very deprived of the feeling of fullness. Stopping to take a breath and decide whether you should continue, you checked on Spencer again. He was now lying on his stomach, hair splayed out over his face, one arm slung over the pillow as he was facing you now. Fate was playing with you right now. Out of all the possible positions your boyfriend could’ve moved into, it had to be the one where he could wake up and see what you were up to immediately.

But you were horny and desperate to get off.

Forgoing all the possible consequences of touching yourself beside your fast-asleep boyfriend, you continued your ministrations. You started slowly easing two of your digits inside your warm walls, setting a slow yet sweet pace. You wanted more. No, you needed more. Biting your lip, you start curling your digits and plunge them back and forth. In and out. Faster. Harder.

You’re getting there. Just a few more pumps and it’ll all be good. You just needed to stimulate your clit as well. You spit on your free hand, slowly trailing it toward your needy nub. You were about to reach your climax when you heard it loud and clear.

“God,” Spencer muttered in disbelief. You could almost hear the sleep slowly waning off of his voice. “Are you that much of a slut?”

You froze one hand mid-air and the other deep inside your walls. This was embarrassing as hell. You were like a little kid caught red-handed trying to steal from the cookie jar way beyond your sweet treat hours—like a teenager caught sneaking off in the middle of the night. Not to mention, you feel guilty as well for disrupting your partner’s sleep. You knew proper sleep was hard to come by—for both of you—and you just had to ruin it all because you were horny. Blushing red like wildfire, you cautiously removed the hand buried inside you.

“Fucking hell, Spence,” You tried acting nonchalantly like being caught touching yourself was something that happened a lot between the two of you. “You scared me. Go back to sleep, Spence. I can handle this myself. I know you were having a good sale—“

As soon as the indication of the word sleep was out of your mouth, Spencer was quick to mount you, gripping both of your arms over your head with one hand. You gasped in shock, almost frightened by how quickly your boyfriend moved. Your fight skills almost kicking into high gear—you had to remind yourself this was Spencer. Your Spencer, not some random guy nor an unsub tackling you.

“Take deep breaths, baby,” Spencer murmurs as he nuzzles the side of your face—pecking the sides of your face, your jaw. “It’s just me. Nothing to be scared about.”

Really? You thought.

Spencer was never the dominant type in bed and last night was the first time he tried exerting control over you. But it seemed like after knowing what it was like to be in control, Spencer had acquired a taste for it.

“W-what are you doing, Spence?” You ask, chastising yourself for sounding like a deer in the headlights. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

“Sleep?” Spencer scoffs as he ascended a bit to look you in the eye. “How am I supposed to go back to sleep knowing you were fucking yourself beside me when I’m right here?”

You moaned at his vulgar words. He was never one for being blatantly erotic, always coming off shy and a little bit inexperienced. But this wasn’t the case right now. This isn’t the usual Spencer you were used to. Something snapped in him last night and you know it. You just wish you knew how to handle him.

“I can’t sleep knowing your fingers are inside your pretty little cunt,” He continues as he still rendered you speechless. “When it should have been mine. Don’t you want that, Y/N?”

“Y-yes,” You croaked.

“Yes what, baby?”

“Yes, I want your fingers, Spencer,” You panted. “Please. I want it.”

Spencer chuckles at your admission—begging—satisfied that you wanted it as bad as he does. The erection poking your inner thigh was a telltale sign of that. He languidly slid his free hand in between the both of you, his palm cupping your warm, soaked cunt.

“Shit,” You swear, wanting more than just what Spencer is giving you. Your hips roll as you try to grind against his palm to relieve the pressure. “P-please, baby. I need more. M-more.”

“God, you’re filthy,” Spencer groans while he stops your grinding by pinching your clit, making you yelp. “Fucking you dumb earlier wasn’t enough, you had to go and disrupt my sleep. Do you know what kind of girls do that?” He asks you as he swipes his thumb across your clit making you pant some more.

You were too lost in the pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head, panting like a dog in heat. You never wanted anyone the way you wanted Spencer. You’ve never acted this way with anyone. It was as if he unfastened something in you the moment you got together. Too lost in the pleasure, you forget to answer Spencer’s question—annoying him as he pinched your clit once again.

“Answer me!” He snarls. “Answer me, or I’m going to fuck my hand while I tie you up and let you watch me.”

You sobbed and nodded. “Y-yes.”

“Then, tell me, sweet girl,” Spencer coaxed you as you felt your slick drip down his fingers and your inner thighs. “What kind of girls do that?”

“Sluts,” You mumbled, embarrassed as you see Spencer smirking in triumph. “I’m a slut.”

“Good girl,” Spencer murmured, removing his palm from between your legs. You squirmed in protest, to which he simply tightened the hand holding your arms and tutted. “Stop that, or you’re not getting anything from me.”

You merely whimpered and stopped moving. You almost cried when you felt Spencer moving off of you when you noticed he was moving lower. Oh. His face is now inches away from where you need him the most. You swear you could hear your heartbeat with the way you were excited about where this was going. You gasp when you feel Spencer press a kiss to your swollen clit. The touch almost made you pass out as you writhe, trying to force Spencer into doing more. But despite his lean form, Spencer was a lot stronger than you. His hold was iron-clad as he keeps you from squirming too much.

And as much as Spencer was stronger than you, you were selfish and desperate to cum.

“M-more. Please,” You beg, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment at how deprived you sounded. But it was true. You wanted more. You needed more. “I need your tongue, baby. Please.”

You could feel Spencer smirk as he obeys. He grants you the tip of his tongue as it plunges inside of you, tasting you. You whimpered as you scramble to clench your bedsheet. Spencer continued dipping his tongue inside you as his nose nudged your clit. You’re sure you’re about to lose your mind with how good he’s making you feel. You were so close to your climax, hoping Spencer doesn’t let up. Worried that he might stop, you clutched his hair as you tried burying his face into the apex of your thigh when you felt Spencer stop. He removes his tongue from inside you, licking a stripe up to your clit, and kneels.

You’re going to cry.

“W-what?” You blubber. You could see Spencer trying to hold off a grin like something funny just happened. “Why’d you stop, Spence? I-I was so close. You’re being so mean.” You sob as he finally couldn’t fight off the laugh bubbling under the surface.

“Oh, baby,” Spencer chuckles, lying down on his side of the bed. “You’re hopeless. My poor baby just wants to cum. Too bad, you don’t deserve it. You have to work for it, Y/N.”

He pats his thigh, beckoning you to sit on his lap. You do so as you hiccup, to which he simply laughs. “Poor baby. Do you want to cum?” You nodded at his question.

“Then. ride me like you mean it.”

You clamber to sit on his hard cock as you pushed him back to the bed. Spencer complies, enjoying the show—the desperation—you were putting on for him. You sink to his dick in one slick motion causing the both of you to moan out loud.

“You’re so tight,” Spencer groans as you started moving in circles. You couldn’t take it any longer. You need to cum. “Fuck! That’s it, baby. K-keep going. Good girl.”

Your head spins at the praise as you clamp your walls around him as he pulls out drenched in your slick and sinks back in.

“S-shit,” You whimper. “Fuck! Oh my—G-god!”

Your eyes roll back when you finally feel Spencer take over—he’s probably had enough of your pace which only seems to satisfy you, and not him. Holding your waist tightly, Spencer thrusts into you roughly as he tries to capture your right nipple. You manage a moan, or something similar, you think. Your desperation slowly fogs up your brain while Spencer fucks up into you. He merely hisses when he feels you clenching like crazy, prolonging the stretch his big cock gives you every time he enters.

“How are you so wet?” Spencer hisses. “Shit!”

One of Spencer’s hands slides down to your ass and smacks it once causing you to yelp in pain—pleasure.

“God, you get off on this, don’t you?” Spencer growls as he gets a good grip on your reddened ass cheek. “You’re such a slut. Do you enjoy hearing how tight and wet you get? F-fuck!”

With Spencer’s taut hold on you, the thrusts seem to be sharper, more precise as you bounce up and down his cock, and you scream. You try biting Spencer’s shoulder but before your teeth could sink into his muscle, he manages to pinch your clit causing you to wail.

“P-please,” You beg, for what? For him to make you cum or for him to stop, you don’t know exactly. “S-Spence.”

“Shit,” Spencer mumbles, thrusting up into you as he drags you down to meet his hips. “I know, baby. I know.”

Clutching his hair, you forced him to look at you as you smashed your lips against his. The kiss is needy and fiery and you could briefly taste yourself when Spencer’s tongue finally slipped into your spit-slicked lips. Moaning and panting, you could taste each other’s breaths and feel each other’s thundering heartbeats.

You are so close and you know Spencer is too.

You guided Spencer’s hand towards your neck and gently squeezed as you looked into his eyes to tell him this is what you want.

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, never failing to ensure your safety even during your intimate moments. You simply nodded, to which he groaned quietly. “Fuck!”

Bouncing a lot faster now, Spencer slipped his other hand as he stroked your clit. Your mind blanks and you’re vaguely aware of Spencer coaxing you to come with him, the gentle hum of the air conditioning unit, and the sounds of your skin slapping.

And you shatter.

When you finally come to your senses, you feel Spencer gently cleaning you up with a rag. You whimper in sensitivity when you feel him clean the apex of your thighs. He gently presses kisses on your inner thighs and you smile.

“Before I forget,” Spencer breaks the silence. “You have to pee before going back to sleep. There’s no specific time frame for you to pee but you must pee at least thirty minutes after having sex as it flushes bacteria that could cause a urinary tract infection away from your urethra.”

You roll over and groaned to your pillow to tease your boyfriend. “Not now, Spence. You just rearranged my guts! Give me a minute.”

“F-fine!” Spencer sputters out. You’re certain he was blushing. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you complain of a UTI!”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, baby.” You say seductively. “Banter with me some more and maybe I might just come again.”

Spencer merely sighs.

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sweetsreverie · 1 year

Note

I absolutely love the Ghost x Pink!Reader fic you wrote! Could you write a sequel? Maybe a breakfast next morning + cute and fluffy waking up with Simon. Those two were apart from each other for a while I assume so being a bit clingy is understandable.

summary: pt. 2 of this opposites attract fic. you and simon spend the morning together before he leaves once more.

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x female reader

wc: 1,147

Simon and the rest of 141 slept soundly that night. Simon was glad to be at home with you, in his own bed, and the others were glad to not be sleeping on the ground and in a proper house. You’d also given Soap a sherpa-lined blanket to sleep under, and he definitely enjoyed that.

As happy as you were to have Simon home for the night, you knew it was going to be just that: for the night. He would probably be leaving as soon as the sun came up, and it wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary for you to wake up to his side of the bed empty and cold.

But when you woke up the next morning and opened your eyes, he was still beside you. He wasn’t asleep, but rather just resting beside you as you did.

“You guys haven’t left yet?” You ask him softly, and you stretch your arms out towards him, which he welcomes. You lean over and put your head on his chest, with your arm around his waist. Simon isn’t always one for cuddling, but he always lets you rest against him.

“We should probably be gone by now. But I don’t hear Price making a fuss so we must be fine.” Simon says softly in his gravelly morning voice that you’d come to love so much. His hair is tousled and his eyes are droopy, and it just makes you want to tuck him in once more.

“Let him make a fuss in my house. He’ll see.” You mumble against him, and you feel the small chuckle that leaves Simon.

“Yeah. you’ll give him hell, won’t you.”

“That’s right.”

Simon gives the top of your head a little tap of his fingertips, and he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and brushes some hair away from your face once you turn and look up at him.

His touch is featherlight as always.

“We should get up though. Don’t want those bums to think they can stay here forever.” Simon murmurs, and when he moves to try and sit up, your grip around his middle tightens.

“Five more minutes?” You ask him hopefully, and he settles back down in his spot on the bed.

You and Simon spend a few more minutes in the bed before you get up, and you make your way to the kitchen after freshening up in the bathroom, and Simon stays behind to brush his teeth.

The three other men are awake by the time you enter the room, and Price was already working on folding the blankets and cleaning up the pillows and things.

“Are you guys hungry? I can make some tea or coffee- I think we have some biscuits too?” You offer them, and honestly you don’t have a ton in the kitchen, considering you weren’t expecting to be feeding guests any time soon.

“That would be wonderful, thank you very much Y/N. We’ll be out of your hair shortly. Thank you for letting us stay the night here.” Price says while he takes a seat on the couch, and Soap sits down at the kitchen table while you start warming up a kettle of water.

“You know, I think Ghost is real lucky to have a woman like you in his life.” Soap says, and not even a second later, Simon steps in, clad in his gear and some clean clothes.

“And why is that?” He asks, and while you could barely contain the giggle that left you, Soap was quick to shut up. Simon’s hand brushes against your waist while he passes by you in the kitchen, and that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by the others.

The five of you sip on tea and munch on biscuits, and you know that shortly after, Simon is going to pack up his things and head out again.

Simon hates having to leave you. He hates not being able to tell you where he is, or when he’ll be home. That is.. if he comes home.

So while Price, Soap, and Gaz start to pack their things into the truck they came here in, Simon takes you back to the bedroom and sits on the bed with you. He sits with you on his lap, and one of your arms is around his neck while you lean against him.

“You know I’ll be back soon, love. I always come back to you, don’t I?” Simon asks you, and he reaches up to tuck some hair behind your ear. You nod, though you still always fear the worst while he’s away.

“You do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you while you’re gone.” You tell him softly, and he puts his hand on your knee and gives it an assuring squeeze.

“I don’t want you to worry yourself sick over me, Y/N. You know that.” Simon says while he rests his chin on top of your head. Simon doesn’t want to imagine you worrying about him while he’s away. He wants you to just take care of yourself, and he’ll return in due time.

“Meeting your team makes me feel better, you know.” You tell him, and Simon lets out a quiet chuckle while he shifts on the bed, and gives you a gentle nudge so you stand up, and he stands up also.

“C’mon. I gotta get going” Simon says while he leads you out of the bedroom, and he slips his mask over his head during the short walk outside. You take his hand as you walk, and as the two of you exit the house, Soap grins at the sight of Ghost holding hands with someone.

“Alright, you guys be safe, okay? And you take care of my Simon.” You tell them, and Gaz lets out a quiet chuckle while Price gets in the truck.

“We all look out for each other, so don’t you worry. He’s in good hands. Mostly.” Gaz says while he looks over at Soap, who narrows his eyes at the man briefly.

“Alright, you two say your goodbyes then.” Soap says, and he glances at Gaz before the two of them climb in the truck.

Simon turns to you then, and he brushes a gloved finger over your cheek carefully.

“I love you. I’ll see you soon, yeah?” He says in a hushed voice, as if the guys in the truck could hear him.

“I love you too. Take care of yourself and them. Come back home to me, Simon.” You return, and you stand up on your toes slightly to kiss his cheek over the mask before he gives you a wave, and he climbs in the car with the rest of 141.

You watch as they pull away from the house, and you and Simon share a glance before the truck disappears over the hill.

tag list: @ho3forghost @juggernaunt @shellfishb34ch @redpool

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty reader insert #female reader #pink!reader #simon riley fic

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mosaickiwi · 16 days

Text

Little "Love" Notes

Angel should really tell someone if they think somebody’s breaking in but instead they do… this? For some reason.

very good idea

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Quiet and quick as could be, [REDACTED] slowly opened your window by the fire escape. He climbed in carefully, a little astonished that you still weren’t bothering to lock it after all these months. Their boots hardly made a sound as he took practiced steps over the hardwood floor of your apartment and headed straight to the kitchen. He didn’t need to see to know which floorboards would creak or groan underfoot.

Just as they expected, the usual sight that had him even more excited to go on his now almost nightly break-ins was there to greet him. A handful of hastily scrawled, bright pink sticky notes were slapped across various surfaces.

At some point or another you'd gotten sick of things going missing. Sure, most of them turned up after a while—and always right where you thought you'd left them—but even still it annoyed you. So you started leaving silly messages for your supposed burglar. He chose to read them as love notes.

“Don't take anything in here you BITCH I'll be so mad!!” screamed one from its place on a kitchen cabinet. Your writing there was a little illegible from how fast you surely wrote it, but he found it endearing.

Another, on the side of some faded plastic-ware read, “I made these cookies for a friend but a lot of them came out wrong. You may have the burnt ones.”

“Give that ugly red shirt back it doesn't belong to me.” That was the last one he could find in the room for now, left on top of the counter next to the notepad and pen you always used.

As much as he wished to, the hacker usually didn’t respond for fear of confirming your needless worries. They'd never want to harm you like a real burglar. But he always followed the instructions when he could. And he could do some of those tonight.

Since you'd so nicely asked, he left the bottom cabinet alone. They already knew what you kept in there anyway. He wouldn’t tell a soul.

He took a few burnt cookies out of the container left on the counter—not enough that you'd notice. Some to eat once he left, and one to keep. It was another thing you offered up to him, after all.

But the sorry excuse of a shirt that your (worst) childhood friend had left behind was long gone. [REDACTED] had already given it a much needed vacation to the bottom of Lake Bluemoss, along with some other items that Leon had dared to leave among your belongings.

With the notes in the kitchen mostly taken care of, he set off towards your laundry closet. Only to find the small sliding door in the hallway closed shut with a note of its own smack dab in the middle.

“Please don't take my comfy clothes anymore :c I know you always give them back but it'll be getting cold soon!! You don’t want me freezing in the middle of the night, do you? Won't you forgive me? Pretty please? ♥ ♥”

Mind going a mile a minute, [REDACTED] had to read your beautiful handwriting again and again as if decoding a different language. Those tiny, black inked hearts at the end of the note were all he could understand in the moment. Your sweetly written, pleading love letter finally sunk in once he managed to shake away the haze you’d unknowingly swept him into.

This one was a risk that he was willing to take. Of course they wanted you to be comfortable. He gently peeled the note off so it wouldn’t tear, and folded it away to tuck into his jeans.

Then, the dark haired man began to tug his favorite hoodie up and over his shoulders.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

You lazily pulled the folding door open in search of a blanket. It was just a little bit colder for some reason when you woke up this morning, so you needed something to keep you cozy while you waited for Violet to come over later that afternoon. You reached up to the middle shelf where you normally kept extra blankets, but something just below it caught your eye.

A huge, black hoodie sat folded on top of the pile of clean towels you forgot to take care of days ago.

You didn't recognize it, but it had to belong to one of your friends, right? They all formed a habit of leaving stuff with you once you moved back to town. Jae still hadn’t picked up the roller skates he got for Maple—they were only used the one time.

Ignoring the blanket you meant to grab, you picked up the hoodie and slipped it on. The giant thing practically swallowed you, sleeves enveloping your hands and the hem falling well past your hips. The garish horror design that decorated its front didn't seem to be anything your friends were into, either.

But it was warmer than you thought possible. Plus, it smelled nice, like cherries and a little familiar comfort of something you couldn't place. Whoever it belonged to surely wouldn't mind if you kept it for a while.

You didn't bother to spare it another thought and hurried off to check the kitchen. Hopefully the cookies you'd painstakingly baked yesterday were still there.

#14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy redacted #14dwy ren #momo writing #yesterday was april fool's...#but redacted is a year round fool /silly #they are my fool i love them #also weird little freak angel love them too #anyways i said this for a haha funny joke but i thought about it a LOT #that is how all my redacted ideas start... why am i like this

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just-jordie-things · 14 days

Text

[part three] we weren't just friends - okkotsu yuuta

word count: 10.2k warnings: smut! oral (f!receiving), fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex, size kink (i think? yuuta's packin) praise kink, pet names (good girl, pretty girl, baby, slut is mentioned) overstimulation, soft sex summary: our two idiots may not know how to express their feelings through words, but they sure know how to find creative loopholes to solve that issue! more info: college!au so aged up characters!! roommates!au, childhood friends to lovers, the way i actuallly wrote smut for once and it's still mega softness

part three: "wish you'd let me stay, i'm ready now" ___

It wasn’t pleasant to wake up with a pounding skull.

Luckily what woke (y/n) up first was the rapping of knuckles on the door, hitting so hard it shook on it’s hinges. It was a brutal awakening, and once conscious she could still feel Mai’s rampant knocking in her head. With a groan, she burrowed her face into her pillow, attempting to block out all sound completely. Unfortunately, feathers and cotton weren't enough to do this.

“Could you stop with the banging?” A deep voice behind her groaned. She weakly made a noise of agreement.

The bed dipped and rose as the boy who’d shared it with her dragged himself out of his own comfortable bubble to go answer to the heavy knocking.

As he approached the door he could hear a faint, “Yuuta make her say sorry” whine from the lump of covers on his bed. He chuckled to himself as he swung the door open and hurried out of the room so he could close it behind him again.

Mai, still donned in the skin tight slip dress she’d worn to the bar last night, gave him a lopsided grin as he pulled the door shut.

“Wasn’t trying to intrude on your first morning after,” She teased, and gave Yuuta no time to defend himself before continuing, “But Maki’s outside, so I’m heading out”

Yuuta’s brow furrowed as he frowned at her.

“You could’ve texted me that,” He grumbled while she laughed and carried her purse and heels in one hand while traipsing her way to the door. “You didn’t have to wake up the whole building with your loudness”

“Apologies!” Mai giggled. “I just wanted to make sure you two would hear me in there!”

As she swings open the front door and wiggles her fingers back at him in a playful goodbye, she’s still giggling. Even when the door shuts again, he swears he can hear her cackling as she leaves the building.

He huffs, drags his hand over his face, and goes back into his room.

(y/n’s) curled up in a ball in the middle of the mattress. With the covers tangled around her so snug it’s hard to make out what’s her and what’s blanket. He chuckles, and there’s a little movement in the heap as she lifts her head.

“Did she say sorry?” (y/n) mumbles.

She’s turned towards him, but her eyes are closed, pinched shut to make sure no light penetrates them and sets her already frying headache on fire.

“She did,” Yuuta hums, sitting on the edge of the mattress and pushing her forehead gently back into the pillow. The force of his palm is tender, but he’s firm in guiding her back down. “She went home. Go back to sleep” He tells her softly.

(y/n) lazily swats his hand off of her head after she’s already laid back down.

“D’n’t tell me what to do” She grumbles into the pillow, already drifting back to sleep.

He chuckles at her, fixing up the blanket and tugging it to her chin. Despite her trying to suppress it, a soft smile tugs on her lips at the sweet act.

“You tuckin’ me into bed, Yuu?” She teases tiredly. He rolls his eyes affectionately. The giggle she lets out is muffled by the pillow.

“Yeah yeah, get some sleep and I’ll make you eggs when you’re up,” He tells her, smirking before she gags in reaction. “Extra runny” He adds when he gets up from the bed, and this time he’s greeted with a louder gag.

“I’ll get sick in your bed!” (y/n) threatens when he leaves.

To both of their relief, that doesn’t happen.

It takes a few hours before she feels steady enough on her feet to even get out of the bed. But at some point it’s too uncomfortable to keep trying to sleep off the hangover, and she prays a shower will soothe some of the aches and pains.

Yuuta bids her a cheeky good afternoon when she shuffles from his bedroom into the bathroom at well-past three o’clock. He’d been working on the final touches for his Econ essay at the kitchen table and was pleasantly surprised to see her up at all. She shoots him a glare but her lips deceive her and tilt into a small smile.

He’s more surprised to hear the shower running, seeing as she’d dragged her feet across the carpet and he wasn’t sure how long she’d be upright for, but he’s glad that she’s at least trying to push herself into feeling better. He doesn’t think anything more of it as he goes back to his work.

Fifteen minutes pass and he vaguely registers that the water has been shut off. And then a few minutes after that, the door creaked open.

“Hey, Yuuta?”

“Hm?” He hums in response, his fingers still gliding across his keyboard as he continues to work on his revisions.

“Would you make me those eggs now?”

He laughs, wrapping up a run on sentence that he’d probably go back to delete again later, before turning his head to give her a nod.

But he freezes and the color drains from his face as his eyes land on her. Almost instantly they begin to sting, burning with the need to blink, but they remain wide open and focused.

She’s standing there with nothing but a towel wrapped around her, water still dripping off the ends of her hair and sliding across her skin until they disappeared under the towel.

It was like someone took the dial on Yuuta’s senses and cranked it up until the knob broke off.

He was so obviously staring at her, his face awestruck as he gaped and his eyes dragged over her figure so slowly his lashes twitched.

His throat felt dry. His palms felt itchy. And when he finally met her gaze, she was raising a brow at him, expectantly.

Oh, right, she asked him a question.

“Yeah,” He said, turning his attention back to his computer so he could actually speak. “I’ll make you some eggs”

He’s quick to save his file and shut the laptop before standing from the table and heading to the kitchen.

“Thank you!” (y/n) calls, and shortly after he hears her door shutting and he can’t help but let out a long exhale.

As he gathers the eggs from the fridge and the pan from the cupboard, Yuuta tries to push the image far from his mind. But after their conversation last night and the incident from the night prior, he wonders if this is just his life now.

If he was the one destined to deal with having a hot roommate that he’d been falling for ever since they’d met in grade school. Maybe this was his torture, only brought on by himself the longer he bottled up his true feelings and pushed them deep, deep down.

This is what he deserved, he supposed. After spending years tripping over his words and his feet when it came to her. Years of struggling to keep his face from flushing when she looked at him, or trying to discreetly look at her when she didn’t notice. Years of trying to forget about the lingering buzz in his chest and haze in his brain left by her, all for the sake of trying to cling onto a friendship which paled in comparison to the ways he truly felt about her- but could never admit to.

With a skilled hand he cracked an egg over the pan and tossed the shell blindly towards the sink. It sizzled and popped as it began to cook, but even as Yuuta prodded it about the pan, his mind was far from focused on cooking.

Because now he wasn’t so sure if things were as one-sided as he previously thought.

Drunkenly making out with your best friend-slash-roommate is one thing. Maybe most would have pointed in his face and laughed for excusing such behavior, but he’d justified it as simple curiosity anyways.

But then she’d admitted to him that there were more times she thought about him in less-than-innocent-and-platonic-ways. She’d told him herself about those times- most of which Yuuta had never even thought twice about before. And then she even told him he was a good kisser!

Which begged the question in the back of his mind- was she still thinking about him?

“Shit” He hissed under his breath when he realized the egg was about to overcook past (y/n’s) liking, and rushed to slide a spatula underneath it and plate it up.

He tried to clear his mind as he cracked a second egg in the pan, wanting this one to be perfectly to her standards- not that she’d ever complain.

Just as he’s adding the second, better, egg to the plate, (y/n) pads back into the kitchen, a grin on her face as she takes the plate from him.

“Perfect, I’m starving” She cuts into the lesser-looking of the two and doesn’t comment on why it’s crispier around the edges, only smiles as she slides the fork out of her mouth.

Yuuta chuckles. All that anxiety over an egg, and she didn’t even seem to notice. Maybe all of this stuff had wormed too deep in his head. Maybe he should relax.

“I’m done with my essay,” He lies, knowing fully well that if he turned it in at it’s current state, it wouldn’t get a passing mark. “Watch a movie with me?”

(y/n) smiles and nods, still picking at her eggs as she makes her way to the sofa, putting him in charge of the remote and deciding on what to watch. Yuuta sits at what he deems a safe distance away from her. Completely on a separate cushion, and when he rests his arm along the back of the couch, he’s careful not to rest it too close to her.

He might still be overthinking everything.

But as the movie starts and (y/n) finishes her four o’clock breakfast, he slowly finds himself relaxing. His muscles feel less tense, his mind stops whirring, and for a good twenty minutes or so, he could almost pretend nothing had ever happened, and things were perfectly the same.

And then (y/n) pulls her legs up onto the couch and wiggles closer to him, until she’s tucked under his arm. He must’ve made a face, because when she looks up at him, she gives him a sheepish smile.

“What? ‘m cold,” She says, shifting closer to him still. “Does this bother you?”

“N-no!” He laughs in embarrassment when he stammers out the answer, and (y/n) chuckles back at him, before turning her attention back to the screen.

“Okay, good,” She hums, leaning her head back against his bicep. His entire arm tenses, and he’s overthinking again. “I don’t want things to be weird forever” She admits quietly.

“Don’t worry, s’not weird” Yuuta mumbles back.

She turns her head against his arm, looking up at him with a small frown. He winces, and feels guilty for lying to her.

“Yuuta, I’ve known you for a long time,” She says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think I can tell when you’re lying”

His wince turns into a miniature smile before he huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose.

“Touche,” He mumbles, and the corners of her lips quirk upwards. “Is… is there something I can do to make it less weird?”

Her brows pinch together, signifying that she didn’t think the solution was that easy. It wasn’t a change in habits, or a lengthy conversation at the kitchen table. It was messy, it was raw, and it was currently being held up by a lump in her throat and an irregular heartbeat in her chest.

“I don’t think so,” She murmurs with a sigh. “What about me?” She turns the question onto him. “Is there anything I can do?”

He shakes his head in a small motion back at her, his eyes flickering between hers with enough attention that he catches the way they gloom with sadness. Yuuta frowns, and before he can think about potentially making things worse, his palm cups her cheek, worry taking over his features.

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” He instructs, as though he were capable of reading her mind. “You didn’t do anything wrong”

“I know- I know, you keep saying that, but I…” Her voice is strained, her throat is burning, and she blames the lingering hangover for the swell in her emotions.

But she knows that’s not the source. She knows that the last few months- no- the last few years of gathering feelings for Yuuta are catching up to her, and their drunken little experiment on this very couch was just the tipping point she needed to solidify what those feelings really meant.

Yuuta’s thumb sweeps gently over her cheekbone, his touch was light but the warmth of his skin lingered there. She found herself leaning further into it, despite her better judgment.

Reason tells her to get a grip. It tells her to pack up the hormones and move on. It tells her to go back to the bar until she finds someone to get under just to get over Yuuta, or maybe even text that stuck up asshole that Maki warned her about. Anything it would take to move past this pebble in the grand scheme of her friendship with Yuuta. Reason tells her it was one night, and she can’t let one night ruin years of a special bond.

Her heart begs to differ. It cries, it pleads, it mourns the idea of not being truthful with him. Her heart weeps with the outpour of love and desire, after spending so long wondering what something more with Yuuta would look like, only to have a small taste, a sample, really. It was killing her, the thought of never having him fully, the thought that they’d go back to their friendship, more awkward than ever.

Currently, Yuuta wishes he could get a glimpse inside of her mind, because he could practically feel her inner turmoil happening before him. Her lips were sealed shut, but her thoughts were screaming behind her eyes. His brows draw together in obvious concern, and when she finally moves, it’s not to speak.

She’s pulled away from him and off the couch in a flurry of anxious movements. Yuuta barely registers that she’s grabbed her empty plate and fork and is hurrying into the kitchen. He blinks in a daze, before getting up and following her to the sink where she’s rinsing off the dirty dishes.

“I’m sorry, I-” She’s still stammering, despite trying to clear her mind and focus on communicating what felt the most important. That she wasn’t upset, that he didn’t do anything wrong, and that she was the only one to blame for all of this.

But that’s not what comes out.

“I just didn’t really see any of this going this way, you know?”

She’s speaking more clearly, but her voice is still a shaky whisper, afraid of not being able to take the words back. Yuuta’s waiting patiently, leaning against the kitchen counter while accidentally staring daggers at her back. She knows he’s just focused, but the heaviness of his gaze adds pounds of pressure to her shoulders.

“I know,” Yuuta tries to keep his voice calm, hoping to ease her anxiety by remaining collected. Even though a fiery mess of words were clawing up his throat and threatening to come out in a humiliating act of word vomit. “But, (y/n/n), I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me all the time”

She looks at him then, her eyes glossy with tears that she was trying to keep from falling.

“Yuuta, I don’t feel uncomfortable around you,” She says softly. Her hands tangle together nervously as she turns around to face him properly. They still wring together as she leans back against the sink and tries to find the words to explain her messy thoughts. “You didn’t do anything wrong”

He tilts his head at her, brows pinching in concern. “You didn’t do anything wrong, either” He reminds her for the second time today.

“I know, but-”

“I’m serious, (y/n),” He steps forward and crosses his arms over his chest, silently begging her not to look away from him so that she’d know he meant every word of it. “Whatever we- whatever I have to do to help you, just, forget what happened, you need to tell me,” He pleads. “I don’t care what it is, I don’t care if it’s ridiculous,” He’s shaking his head as he speaks, a nasty feeling of guilt building up in his stomach that he decides to push past for the greater good of not losing her. “I don’t care, okay?” He lowers his voice. “If you want the place to yourself for a while-”

“No!”

She shoots forward then, her hands latching onto his forearm as if he were about to abandon her then and there, as if she alone was strong enough to hold him in place if he tried. Her eyes are wide with panic, and in the heat of the moment a tear tracked down her cheek. She’s just as quick to let him go and roughly wipe away the wet streak with the back of her hand.

“I don’t want that, don’t- don’t do that,” She mumbles after collecting herself a little better.

Yuuta eyes her hands, no longer tangled together in a tight ball of white knuckles. They’re still strained, stretched out in front of her like she had a fresh coat of polish on them. If he looked close enough, he could see them trembling. He starts to uncross his arms, wanting to take hold of them and talk her down from this stressful moment. He wants to remind her that no matter what’s happened, he’s there for her because he cares about her. But just as he’s about to reach for her, she’s speaking again.

“I think I just wanted that to happen for a really long time,” She sighs, one of her hands darting through her hair to pull the overstimulating loose strands away from her face. “And I… I guess I wasn’t expecting it to be like- like that,”

Yuuta’s completely frozen before her, not having expected that of all the admissions she could’ve made. Mentally he’d been packing his things. Now he felt like he had whiplash and needed a good five seconds to do a full reset on reality.

“And that’s not fair I know I- I initiated the whole thing and I should’ve never listened to the Zen’ins it was stupid but I just thought maybe if it was a fleeting thing I’d get over you and things would be normal but I’m not and things aren’t normal and I feel so-!”

“You were trying to get over me?”

Yuuta’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. In fact the forgotten movie playing in the living room had a clearer volume than him. But somehow (y/n’s) frantic rambling ceased, and a silence settled between them.

He’s waiting for her to confirm that he’d heard her correctly, even though her exact words were still spiraling around in his head on a vicious loop. While she’s waiting for the floor to open up and swallow her whole for getting so worked up and letting her mouth run on autopilot.

“(y/n),” Yuuta calls to her when she doesn’t speak, or even move, to acknowledge that she’d heard him.

He knows she had, he knows she’s aware of exactly what she’d said. He raises his eyebrows at her, wordlessly trying to get her to say something, anything. She gapes at him like a fish out of water- thrown into a completely new element that she’s not equipped for, lost and afraid that she’ll suffocate to death.

“(y/n)” He says her name again, this time stepping forward. He finally finds the courage to grab her tensed hands, and he wraps them in his and squeezes until he feels them relax. A method that he’d used countless times before to calm her down- whether she was ranting about work or having a panic attack, it always did the trick.

Even now, her eyes soften a little bit as she stares at him worriedly, trying to figure out what he was thinking before he had the chance to voice it himself. Her hands fall limp in his, and slowly, she presses her fingers into his palms.

“Yeah,” Her voice is hoarse, and her eyes lower from his, at first out of embarrassment, but then they land on his lips, pink and soft and parted in surprise, and her mind wanders off to recall just how sweetly he’d kissed her.

For that first kiss, timid and new and exciting, he’d been so gentle. If she thought about it, she could still feel the tingle of eagerness in her lips, and the warmth of his hand against her thigh. Her eyes linger a little longer than they should have as she brought herself completely back to that moment. She wants to be sure that if he’d kissed her like that- passionately, desperately- that there must have been more behind it than simple drunken curiosity, right?

“I- I was trying to get over you,” The rest of her answer has long since been delayed, but Yuuta doesn’t seem perplexed when her eyes flicker back up to his. “It wasn’t just a kiss,” She continues, her fingers curling around his hands to ensure he felt every ounce of authenticity in her words. “Not for me,” She shakes her head. “I know I said that it was but I… I was lying. It wasn’t. I just… wanted to kiss you. At least once, or, at least to be sure. About my… feelings… anyways”

Yuuta blinked. His expression had been shockingly blank, and it was starting to unsettle her. She didn’t want to have to apologize or take any of it back, but the longer he silently stared at her, the more unease stirred in her stomach.

“I lied, too,” He tells her suddenly, and her lips twitch into a nervous smile. A chuckle escapes him before he clarifies. “It wasn’t just a kiss for me either. Not even a little bit”

He watches in real time as she reacts to his admission. First her expression softens as her heart begins to melt for him. Then her eyes lit up, brightening before him so brilliantly he couldn’t help but grin, just as she was doing now.

And then before he can tell her just exactly how it is he feels, she’s pulling her hands out of his, grabbing him by the shoulders and shooting up to the tips of her toes so she could reach him properly for a kiss.

He’s startled by the sudden act, but just as quickly has his hands wrapped around her waist and is reciprocating the kiss with fervor.

She’s instantly breathless, gasping for air between fast, heated kisses, but even when Yuuta tries to give her a minute to catch her breath, her lips are chasing his and she’s locking them together needily again. Air could wait.

It only takes a miniscule shuffle backwards on her part for Yuuta’s hands to continue pushing her hips, guiding her to keep blindly tripping until her back hits the counter. A small gasp at the sudden bump escaped her throat but she recovered in a moment's notice.

Just as Yuuta’s stooping lower to her height, his hands wandering down her waist and latching onto her thighs, her own grip tightens on his shoulders as she braces herself for him to lift her up. A sweet, delighted little sound comes out of her when she’s placed on the counter and Yuuta’s slotting himself between her legs in one swift motion. Their kisses barely cease as his hands are at the nape of her neck and in her hair as he skillfully tilts her head to deepen their kiss.

Her back arches and she leans forward off the counter until she’s pressed as close to him as she can get. The bend of her knees are loosely hooked at his hips, and in small movements she tries to tighten their hold on him. This proved to be difficult as the messier his kisses became, the weaker her knees grew.

Oxygen is gifted to her in abundance as Yuuta’s mouth trails along her jaw, swollen lips dragging over sensitive skin in between lazy kisses. Her chest heaves as she pants, and Yuuta must have noticed because he chuckles into the junction of her jaw and neck.

“Why were you trying to get over me, pretty girl?” His lips tickle her neck as he speaks, punctuated with a sweet kiss followed by a filthier suckle of the alluring skin. It has her hips squirming, which Yuuta notices as well, taking great haste to wrap his hands around the dips in her waist, keeping her still and firm against him.

“I-” She’s cut off by her own gasp as Yuuta returns to leaving a pretty mark on the side of her neck, just low enough that there was no hairstyle or collar that could possibly keep it hidden. “I thought it was the right thing”

He lifts his head, finally meeting her gaze with hooded eyes and a lazy smirk that she can’t tear her eyes away from, even as he speaks.

“Right thing,” He repeats back with a chuckle that sets her body ablaze. He leans towards her again, his nose prodding hers to the side until their lips brush as they speak. “Baby, it’s an absolute shame that we weren’t doing this the whole time”

Her hands are gripping at the material of his tee shirt so tight she’s convinced she could rip it right off his chest if she wanted to. Her knuckles are white, and bound to start trembling soon, but she doesn’t care about looking foolishly desperate anymore. Wanting him is the only thought occupying her mind.

Her lips are on his again in a heartbeat, and even though she’s kissing him and she’s the one trying to tug his shirt over his head, she whines in annoyance when Yuuta breaks the kiss to properly get the material out of the way. He’s laughing again, mocking her for the pout on her lips before her hands are on him again and she’s sighing contentedly into his mouth.

And her hands are everywhere. She’s touching him like she’s never felt human skin. She touches him like she lost her sight and mapping out every inch of his body with her hands was the only way for her to know who it was before her. Delicate fingertips trace along his collarbones, down his chest, along his abdomen, through the ridges of his abs, and then all over again. At first it’s a precise dance, but it doesn’t take long for the movements to get sloppy, and the soft caresses turn into her grabbing and pawing at him.

“You c’n take mine off,” She tells him, voice low and strained against his lips. His teeth sink into her bottom lip, only for a quick second out of pure impulsive desire, before his hands are sliding under her shirt and shoving the offending clothing up and over her head. It’s dropped somewhere on the kitchen floor with his own forgotten shirt, and (y/n) grins at him as she loops her arms around his neck, fingers raking gently through the hair that hangs there. “Eager, hm?” She giggles, and for a moment, she looks genuinely delighted, happy like she’d just been told good news.

The look softens and melts into something completely different when he responds.

“Well, ‘ve wanted you since high school” His voice growing huskier than she was used to, and when he catches her lips in a deep kiss, slower and more sensual than the ones before, desire pools in her stomach and she buries her hands further into his hair.

“H- high school?” She repeats back to him in a breathy moan. Yuuta hums in confirmation, stealing another kiss. “Why didn’t you-?” The question fails her while his hands roam over her hips, snaking their way up towards her bra.

“Didn’t think it was the right thing,” He chuckles as he uses her words against her. She’d roll her eyes if they weren’t already in the back of her head from his fingers teasing her through the lacy cups of her bra. “Pretty girl, getting all worked up over nothing,” He sighs, and she tilts her head forward to chase his lips, but he doesn’t grant her another kiss right away.

One of his hands reaches for her face, cupping her cheek almost tenderly as he admires the dazed and needy look on her face. Her blown pupils, swollen lips, heavy lashes- Yuuta always found her to be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, but having her in this state might take the cake.

“If only you’d known the way I thought about you then,” He admits. Her eyes grow a little wider, curious, and excited. “Fuck, I don’t think you’d’ve wanted to live with me” He mumbles, an amused smirk on his lips.

Tugging on the strands of his hair until his face is as close as she wanted him to be, (y/n’s) lips curl into an eager smile.

“Well, we’re here now,” She murmurs. One of her hands travels down his neck and then the rest of his body, almost on it’s own accord, until her fingers prod and tuck into the waistband of his sweats. Her eyes follow the bob of his adam’s apple when he swallows thickly, her smile only brightening. “And this time there’s no one to interrupt us?” She tilts her head as she makes the quiet suggestion, and Yuuta’s smile begins to mirror her own.

“Oh, ‘s that so?” He asks, his hands scooping her up off the counter and lifting her into his chest with ease. The quick movement makes her laugh, her arms winding around his neck, and her legs hooking over his hips.

She’s still grinning like an idiot when she leans down to kiss him again. It’s messier than before, all teeth and breathless laughter, but the moment is so sweet, and it feels so good to kiss him properly- not on some silly whim, but for real- that she doesn’t care about it being sloppy. His hands are secured tight under her legs, and when they part again, she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Would you like to take me right here or…?” She asks, her face undeniably flushing with pink at the forward question. He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at their corners as he smiles back at her, giving her left leg a teasing squeeze.

“Take you, hm?” He mocks, before adjusting her against him, pulling her closer, holding her tighter, and her face grows hotter with embarrassment but she’s grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.

“Mhm” She nods, and is giggling quietly again as he begins to carry her with him out of the kitchen.

He wants to keep kissing her, but he can’t help but let his stare linger on her pretty features. His heavy gaze has her flustering even more in his hold, only making him want to stare at her for longer. It’s making him a bit clumsy, tripping over their shirts on the floor, knocking into the furniture on the way, tipping a chair over and wincing when it hits the ground, but not caring enough to go back and correct it. They’re still laughing, noses brushing and quick kisses being stolen in between quiet giggles and hushed, teasing whispers.

“Don’t you dare drop me”

“Before the chance to ‘take you’, pretty girl? Wouldn’t dream of it”

She’s not sure of the room he’s brought them into until the door is kicked shut and she’s greeted with twinkly orange fairy lights and the lingering scent of incense and her favorite perfume.

Once the door is shut his lips are on hers again, so swollen they almost feel sore but he’d rather go numb than refrain from kissing her again. He moves slowly, memorizing every dip and curve of her lips, every taste of her velvety mouth.

He’s even slow when he sets her down on the bed, and slow to let her go so she can shuffle back on the covers. He pauses completely when she settles at her headboard, her thumbs sticking into the hem of the cotton shorts she’d been wearing, and pushing them down her legs.

She’s biting her lip to keep from smiling too hard when she drops them on the floor, her eyes never leaving his.

“Well are you getting in bed with me, or not?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice, kneeling on the mattress and crawling over her until she was caged beneath him, hands settled at either side of her head to keep himself from putting too much weight on her. Her eyes brighten from underneath him, and her hands wrap around the nape of his neck to pull him down to her lips.

“I’ve been wonderin’ about somethin’,” Yuuta hums, appreciating the purple love bite on her neck before deciding she could use some more. His hands slide beneath her, unclasping her bra with ease before reaching for the straps on her shoulders and sliding them down her arms. She hums in response, tilting her chin back as he continued to pepper kisses down her neck and across her chest. “That night, when you hurried off to bed,” He reminds her, a large, calloused palm trailing from her side down to her hip, agonizingly slow. His thumb stretches out to tease at the waistband of the baby blue panties she wore, admiring the lacy trim before flicking his gaze back up to hers. “D’ya touch yourself?”

A bashful giggle escapes her, her head tossing to the side in the hopes of hiding her embarrassment in her pillow. Her reaction was answer enough, and enough to make the corner of Yuuta’s lips twitch in a lazy smirk, but he still wanted a better response than that.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Gotta have an answer, I’m afraid,” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice that’s melting her like putty in his hands.

He gives her the benefit of easing up on the heavy gaze, dropping his head to plant kisses down her chest, through the valley of her breasts, before exploring over to the perky nipple. He rolls his tongue lazily over the hardened bud, before wrapping his teeth and lips around it and giving it a small tug, just as his hand groped at her other breast with a gentle, experimental squeeze. She squirmed beneath him, longing for more. He smirks as he releases her nipple with a pop of his lips, just as his fingers pinch the other one, tweaking it and watching as her face screws up and a long whine is evoked from her. His hands knead selfishly at her breasts a bit more as his lips travel down her chest excitedly, only slowing down once he’d crawled down enough to reach her navel.

“You been worked up since then, baby?” He murmurs so sweetly that she whines. He drags one of his hands down to rest across the lowest part of her tummy. It splayed out far enough to grip at the plush of her thigh, and still trail his thumb over the lacy hem of the last of her garments. She raises her hips for him, desperate to feel just a little more friction from his hands.

And then she nods, shaky and fast, and her hand wraps around his wrist, tugging needily, but he keeps his hold firm on her hip, squeezing a little tighter.

Yuuta grins as she whines in irritation, his eyes flickering down to the wet patch on her panties, and then back up to her pouting face.

“Y’look so pretty when you’re needy like this,” He sighs, before settling down on the mattress completely. Using his hand on her hip he tossed her leg over his shoulder with ease, his other hand wrapped under her thigh, holding it just right so she’d keep them open for him. “You don’t know how long I thought about this pretty girl, ‘bout you”

With his free hand, he ghosted his thumb over her panties, just barely hovering over where she craved the friction the most. This elicited another whine.

“Yuuta,” She huffed, one of her hands fisting the sheets beneath her tightly as a means to let out the pent up frustration he was putting her through. “Please, touch me, please”

He hums, and hooks his thumb through the crotch of her panties, tugging the material to the side to give him a better view of the sticky mess she was making. He couldn’t help but groan as he dragged the fat pad of his thumb from her soaked hole up to the hood over her clit, dragging it back painfully slow. Her breaths grew even more labored, and Yuuta gave into her pleas as soon as her puffy clit was exposed.

“I like when you say please” He murmurs, breath cool over her slick heat.

He didn’t give her a chance to say anything else before he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, giving it a languid roll of his tongue. Her hips stuttered and he quickly found he’d have to hold on a little tighter to keep her legs nice and spread for him.

A few more slow licks and she was moaning for him. Her head tossed back into her pillows, her back arched and hips raised for him while she whimpered and whined sweet noises for him. Every little sound spurred him on further, earning her an eager suck at her throbbing clit.

She got more vocal as his finger circled her needy hole, clenching around nothing as he ghosted around the outside, feeling more wetness spill out the longer he teased her. Yuuta had to press his own hips hard into the mattress just to ease the mind-consuming hardness in his pants.

When he teases the tip of his finger inside, feeling her tight, warm walls practically suck him in, he groans into her pussy, and that was all the more she needed to get louder, and a little more confident about asking for what she wanted.

“Yes, yes, Yuuta, please, put it in, put it in” She’s babbling, carried away by her own building desire, and shamelessly rutting her hips to try and get him to press his thick finger in further.

He hums, sending another jolt through her core as his lips are still wrapped around her clit, and she’s chanting again.

“Please, p- please, please~” Over and over like a mantra, each strained whimper more enticing to him than the last. Until eventually he grants her wish, and curls his finger the rest of the way inside, moving at a slow pace.

It doesn’t take him long to find the spongy spot when he curls his finger just right inside of her that makes her chant his name with so much praise he worries he could cum in his pants just listening to her.

“Gonna-!” She’s cut off by a sharp breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly as his tongue rolls viciously over her overstimulated clit while he plunges a second finger to pump in and out of her. “Yuu-ta-! I’m gonna-! You’re gonna make me-!”

“C’mon pretty girl,” He mutters into her pussy, giving her clit a harsh suck in between. “You can do it, cum for me baby”

The hot, tightening cord in her core finally snaps, washing heat and pleasure over her body in waves so strong she’s tearing up as she cries out his name and clamps down on his fingers, still pumping in and out of her as more sticky cream coats them. He’s grinning at the sight of her shaking legs and screwed up face that relaxes as the sudden climax wears off into a dazed high. He sits up on his knees with a chuckle, sliding his fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean almost dramatically before her.

Her eyelids feel heavy as she gazes up at him in all of his glory. His lips and chin are slick with her juices, his pupils are blown wide and his hair hangs in front of his face, a few strands getting stuck to his forehead. But he quickly rakes a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face before he’s lowering himself over her again, kissing either of her hips before working his way up her body.

“Did so good f’me, baby,” He praises as his lips reach the top of her breasts, mouthing at the soft flesh before continuing on to her marked up collarbones. “So perfect, so sexy when you cum,” He continues to babble out praise while she whimpers and wiggles beneath him, already seeking out more friction. “Wanna make you do it again”

Her hands trail down his abdomen, fingernails dragging just slightly over his skin, until they reach the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Then take these off” The demand comes out as more of a whine than she means it to, and she pouts when he chuckles at her.

“Eager, hm?” He teases.

“Stop using my words against me” She huffs, and one of Yuuta’s hands is enough to replace both of hers, giving his pants and boxers a swift tug that pushes them to his thighs, before he peels them the rest of the way off.

“Make me”

He grins at her, but her teasing mood melts away as soon as he’s completely naked on top of her and she watches his erect dick spring out from the confines of his clothes, tapping against his abs. She knows she’s staring too hard, but she can’t help it. It was her first time seeing her best friend’s dick. And she had no idea he was so… big.

She’d never had much trouble with the couple of guys she’d slept with before, and they hadn’t exactly had small dicks, but looking at him now, she wasn’t sure he’d even fit in there.

“You never told me you had a big dick” She mumbles, shyly meeting his gaze. Yuuta tries to stifle his laughter, but her eyes are so wide and full of wonder that he can’t help but chuckle a bit at her reaction.

“It’s not exactly something- fuck-”

He’s cut off when her hand tentatively reaches between them, wrapping around the thick base and giving him an experimental pump before sliding her thumb over the swollen pink tip, gathering the precum leaking out of it and spreading it down the rest of his length. Yuuta shudders out a breath, his eyes falling shut as he tries to compose himself, she’d barely touched him and his fist was clenched in the sheets.

“Not exactly something friends t- talk about” He stammers as she pumps him again, a small smile growing on her face as she watches his composure crumple as he gives into the pleasure.

“Well maybe you should’ve,” She murmurs, widening her legs as she guides him closer to her. “We probably would’ve fucked a long, long time ago”

It’s by far not the crudest thing said today, but it’s enough for him to take her hand and push it into the pillow beside her head. During the action his eyes catch the silver chain daintily clasped around her wrist, little star and moon charms clinking together. His eyes gloss over with an emotion (y/n’s) never noticed on him before, but she doesn’t get the chance to question him about it before his free hand taking his cock and rubbing the fat head through her wet folds. They both whine at the pleasurable friction.

“Fuck, baby,” Yuuta sighs as he lets his hips roll over hers a few more times. If she felt this good just like this he wasn’t sure he’d make it long once he was inside. Nonetheless, he’s eager to line himself up at her entrance. “Ready f’me?” He asks, his eyes meeting hers, and she nods up at him breathlessly.

She might be lying, because truthfully as soon as he pushes the tip in, she gasps and fights the urge to wince at the pain of being split open so wide. This was certainly the biggest dick she's ever taken, and he wasn’t even halfway in yet. But the more he pushes in, the more the sharp pain turns to pleasure of being so filled up.

“Aah- Yuu-” She cries out, her nails scratching up his back a little harder than she intended. He hissed at the feeling but made no move to keep her from doing it. “Too- ‘s too big,” She whines just as he bottoms out. “Won’t fit- won’t-”

“Shh, no, baby, look,” He coos, his hand cupping her face sweetly before he presses a kiss to her lips and nods down to where he’s completely sheathed inside of her. “It’s all in, you’re takin’ me so well, see?” He muses, giving her a small rock of her hips that has her whining again. “Can I keep goin’?” His thumb strokes over her cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen there.

She gives him a shaky nod, before sighing loudly.

“Yes, please,” She hums, and when he pulls out most of the way and slowly sinks back in, her nails are dragging over his back again, clinging tight to his broad shoulders in between scratches.

He groans every time he buries himself inside of her, picking up more of a pace with every thrust, and making sure to praise her as soon as he catches his breath and is able to do so.

“Feel’so good, baby, takin’ it so good” He grunts as his hips slam into hers with a little more force than before, earning a high pitched moan of pleasure out of her, followed by a tighter grip on his shoulders. Yuuta hums appreciatively and repeats the action until she’s letting out nonstop strings of breathy moans and broken syllables that don’t quite make words.

“Does- ah! Feels- feels good,” She stammers out, rocking her hips in time with him and crying out when his tip hits that spot inside of her that makes a familiar knot twist in her stomach. “So good, Yuuta, right- right there-!”

“Here?” He rasps, his hands pulling her hips upwards for a better angle, and he’s rewarded with a yelp of surprise as her back arches further to meet his thrusts.

“Uh- uh-huh” (y/n) whines back at him as he picks up a faster pace.

Just as she’s about to warn him that she can feel her orgasm coming on, one of his hands slides across her hip until his thumb finds her clit, rubbing messy circles into it until she’s crying out his name like he’d show her mercy.

“Gettin’ so tight, baby, you gonna cum?” A fucked out grin takes over his face as he rubs harsher over the bundle of nerves. (y/n’s) jaw trembles as she gasps and moans. He groans as her walls flutter around him, getting tighter and wetter by the second. She was about to snap, if it wasn’t obvious in the way she whimpered and cried out his name, he could feel it coming on. “Be a good girl and cum all over my cock, hm?”

The wave of her second orgasm is more powerful than the first, her entire bod shuddering as Yuuta continues to fuck her through it, watching a ring of cream form around his dick. She’s still whimpering and babbling out nonsense while he’s fucking her, delighting in the hot wetness that of her post-orgasm pussy. The praise falls from his lips before he can think about what he’s saying at all.

“Fuck, baby, you jus’ got so much wetter f’me” His head falls to the crook of her neck, kissing and sucking at any skin he can reach while his lips relentlessly pound into her.

“All f’you,” She mumbles back uselessly, feeling overstimulated in the most deliciously mind-numbing way. “Jus’ f’you, only you”

He nips teasingly at her throat before kissing the spot sweetly.

“That’s right, pretty girl, all mine now, yeah?” He groans, and she nods weakly back at him, teary eyes struggling to meet his as that coil in her core starts wrapping up tight again.

“Mhm” Is all she can manage for an answer.

“That’s it, baby,” Yuuta praises through a deep groan. “Y’gonna cum again, aren’t you?” She can’t possibly work up the energy to respond, only whining and trembling beneath him like a slut. His pretty n’ perfect little slut. “Fuck, love your pussy s’much, wanna fuck y’like this all the time now, love f’cking you, love you s’much”

With the mindless praise comes a confession that was less than meaningless, and suddenly (y/n’s) eyes are wide and his hips are stuttering and the heat of the room begins to make them sweat more than the strenuous cardio.

Yuuta opens his mouth, about to say something, maybe take it back, or explain that he didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but (y/n) beats him to it, and she cuts through the bullshit before he can even start.

“You meant that,” Her voice is soft and gentle as she stares up at him with wide eyes. Her pupils are still taking up most of her pretty eyes, flickering over his shocked expression with a curious glint. “Didn’t you?”

The rest of the question comes out in a barely-there whisper, but he watches the movement of her lips, perfectly catching what she was saying.

“(y/n/n), look, I-”

“I love you,” She murmurs out before he can come up with a way to explain himself. Her hands are shaky as she reaches for his face, sliding them around his jaw and pulling him down close to her, whimpering in the slightest when the movement has his cock sliding along her walls just right.

There’s tears in her eyes as she stares up at him with nothing but genuine emotion. Her lips tremble as they curl into a small and her gaze flickers between his eyes adoringly.

“I do, I love you,” She says it again, smiling even wider as the sweet confession tumbles past her lips. “I love you so much, Yuuta- I- I love you so much it’s been driving me crazy” She lets out a breathless laugh before pressing a quick peck to his lips.

His eyes are wide and so focused on her he barely registers her small kiss.

He blinks, trying to clear his mind, trying to focus properly on what she’s telling him.

“I did mean it,” He forces out, lips brushing hers as he mumbles the admission. “I do, love you. I love you- I’ve always loved you, it’s always been you, baby, always,” The block in his throat is quickly removed as the babbling resumes, as does the gentle rocking of his hips.

(y/n) can’t recall a time she’d ever had sweet sex with anyone- she can’t recall a time she’d ever craved sweet sex with someone. But something about being underneath Yuuta, having him fuck her softly while he goes on about how much he loves her, has her breath getting caught in her throat and tears of joy and pleasure sliding down her cheeks. He kisses them away between whispered confessions and promises.

“Loved you f’ so long,” He murmurs against her cheek, before leaning down to capture her lips in a sweet kiss, only to be cut off when she gasps, a third orgasm reaching it’s climax. “Love you always, love you s’much, want you to cum f’me again, baby, m’kay?”

With a weak nod, she drops one of her hands to reach down and circle her clit. It’s so sensitive she cries out right away, and Yuuta groans as her walls spasm around his cock.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it, good girl,” He praises, rutting into her a little harder. “Want you to cum with me” He instructs, and she nods again, whimpering and crying in agreement.

“‘m gonna- oh, Yuuta, ‘m gonna-!”

She can’t finish her words, but she clenches down around him and that’s the final straw Yuuta needed to cum, thick hot ropes coating her walls with a deep groan, simultaneously pushing her over the edge with him as she tightens around him and cums again, breathy moans leaving her in pants as all of her muscles spasm.

Yuuta drops his forearm to the mattress, his hand pushing some of her hair away from her face before tracing gently over her cheek. Her eyes were still shut, lips parted as she came down from her high and tried to catch her breath. They’re both hot and sticky with sweat and various other juices ruining the sheets, but right now neither of them care in the slightest.

He just wants to stay here for as long as possible and enjoy how pretty she looks underneath him.

“I can feel you staring” She mumbles, peeking an eye open to catch him in the act. He chuckles at her, pressing his hand against her cheek, heart fluttering when she pushes her face further into the warmth, despite being hot and sweaty, his heat was comforting.

“Can’t help it,” He murmurs back, pecking his lips to the tip of her nose. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” He praises. “Even prettier naked. And under me. Bonus points”

Now she’s the one to giggle quietly, her eyes crinkling and her cheeks flushing with color.

“Be right back,” He hums, kissing her nose again before climbing off the bed, grabbing his sweats from the floor and pulling them on with tired movements before leaving the room.

He must not have been gone long, because when he’s back (y/n) feels like it still wasn’t enough time to catch her breath. But she smiles when she sees he’s brought a glass of water and a damp rag.

He hands her the water before he slides her legs open to gently clean up the sticky mess they’d both made. He does his best to be careful, knowing she was overly sensitive. When he’s done he tosses the rag into his laundry bin and turns back to her with a smile.

“C’mon,” He hums, sliding his hands around her hips. “Let’s get you into clean clothes, too”

She sits up with his help, and he leaves the bed in search of clean panties and a cozy set of pajamas. She gets dressed with his help too, although she insists she could’ve done it herself.

“Thank you,” She hums once she’s in clean clothes. “I’ll have to wash my sheets-”

“We can do it tomorrow,” Yuuta hums, scooping her up from the bed with a grin. (y/n) smiles as she leans her head against his shoulder, not even bothering to tease him for needlessly carrying her from her room to his. “I just want to spend the rest of tonight with you”

“M’kay” She murmurs sleepily, and thanks him again when they’re in his room and he’s laying her down in his sheets.

As soon as he’s settled into his side she wiggles closer, pressing him onto his back so that she can lay on top of his warm chest, humming contentedly like a cat in a patch of sunshine once her leg is thrown over his and his hand cradles the back of her head.

Yuuta pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a few moments longer than necessary, hoping he could convey every last feeling he held for her through the simple affection.

“I love you, (y/n)” He murmurs softly.

Lazily, her hand reaches around until she finds his, fingers pushing his palm open and sliding across it until she slots them between his. He curls his fingers over her hand, squeezing gently, before letting his thumb trace along hers mindlessly.

She tilts her head until her chin rests on his chest, just close enough to look at him properly without being uncomfortable. A soft smile curls on her lips, which he quickly mirrors.

“I love you, Yuuta,” She whispers back, before sliding up closer to him, propping herself up on a shaky elbow, her fingers also trembling as they touch softly against his chin, and then his lips, tracing the curve of his smile, pressing into the plush of his bottom lip, all the while watching with eyes holding nothing short of pure adoration. “A lot,” She adds almost as an afterthought, before leaning downwards, pausing just short of his lips. “Thank you for not letting me slip away,” She tells him, staring so deep into the dark oceans of his eyes that she wonders if she could drown in them. “Thank you for not letting me go”

His smile softens, and the hand that he had tangled in her hair slides to the nape of her neck, before reaching for her cheek.

“Me? Let you go?” He chuckles warmly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiles at her. He guides her face closer to his. “Never,” He mumbles, before sealing their lips together in a long, gentle kiss. When they part, he holds her close so their foreheads touch, gazing up at her fondly. “You’re my moon and stars, pretty girl”

A flash of recognition lights up in her eyes, and her heart melts just a little more for him.

“Is that so?” She teases, but her words are faint, whispered against his lips with barely any volume behind them. He smiles, brushing his nose over hers playfully.

“Mhm,” He hums. “Always have been”

“Then I guess that makes you…” She trails off thoughtfully, before her eyes light up and she looks down at him again. “The sun,” She murmurs.

Yuuta laughs, his brows furrowing together in disbelief and humor.

“Don’t laugh,” (y/n) pouts. “I mean it. You are the sun. My sun” She adds the last part bashfully.

“I think that’s the afterglow talking” He teases with a chuckle, dropping his head back into his pillow. (y/n) grins, wiggling closer until she slid her body overtop of his, straddling one of his legs and beaming down at him when he wrapped his hands around her hips, slipping them under the tee shirt she had on.

“Maybe,” She drawled, both of them giggling quietly to themselves. “But it’s true. You’re bright, and warm…” She trails off, sliding her hands up his chest and giggling before cupping his face and leaning over to smile right at him. “You shine and make my every day… better because of it”

His lips part, taken aback by the sudden sweet words. (y/n’s) cheeks are pink, but she doesn’t shy away from his gaze, only leans closer to brush her lips over his.

“Who knew you were a softie?” He hums, hooking a finger under her chin to keep her close.

“Well, like you said,” She furrows her brow in mock seriousness. “Afterglow”

He chuckles, shaking his head before pulling her chin downward so he could slant his lips over hers properly.

She melts down into him, the simple kiss turning into a lazy makeout session that only got messier and lazier the more she sunk into him. He chuckles when her tongue glides across his bottom lip, breaking the kiss.

“I can feel you fallin’ asleep, baby” He teases, cupping her cheek and tucking her down into him, before grabbing his blanket and pulling it over them both. (y/n) pouts.

“Wasn’t fallin’ asleep” She mutters back. He hums in disbelief.

“S’ok. There’s plenty of time for that tomorrow, yeah?” He asks, sliding his hand over her hip and caressing soothing circles into her skin. “And the next day… and the next day…”

She giggles quietly at him before giving in and settling comfortably against him. He kisses her forehead once, twice, and then a third time just because.

“Alright, alright. Want to go get breakfast tomorrow?” She asks before yawning, and only sinking deeper into the cozy warmth that was him afterwards.

“Askin’ me on a date?” Yuuta muses, but nods his head right away. “I’m in”

“Okay, then, it’s official” She mumbles, smiling into his neck.

“Official” He murmurs back, smiling stupidly to himself even long after she’s gone to sleep on top of him. ___

bonus:

[maki] : for the record, i told you boning was the way to go.

[mai] : don’t be gross. just be happy for them. [mai] : but. ya. glad u boned ur way to happily ever after you cute n sexy bunnies!!!

[maki] : but what I said was gross?? blegh :p

[(y/n)] : ur both gross but i <3 you anyways [(y/n)] : besides, the stuff toge said to yuuta was waaaay weirder o_O ___

xoxo ~ jordie

#okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader smut #okkotsu yuuta smut #yuuta x reader #yuuta x reader smut #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #yuuta #okkotsu

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yan-lorkai · 5 months

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.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Uh.... Apparently I wrote this in the middle of the night but also I have no recollection of it. The things I found on my drafts are so funny lol. Enjoy??? And on another note, gonna finish my others requests this week, I promise! 🥺🤞

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, domestic fluff, I think, soft!Sebby, nudeness, kidnapping but reader doesn't care anymore.

That night, as the moon shone in the starry sky, Sebastian prepared a hot bath for his beloved. The scents of herbs and flowers filled the air, he had even lit several candles of different colors to create an even more comfortable atmosphere. Sebastian was perfect in every way, even though the beginning of your relationship was turbulent, everything had now improved.

Carefully he adjusted the water temperature, making sure it was perfect and exactly how you like it. His beloved mate deserved the best after such a stressful day.

With a calm smile on his lips, Sebastian entered the room he shared with you. There the demon's heart leaped inside his chest, something he would never have believed possible before. You were sitting in your armchair, with a tired expression and your eyes heavy with sleep. Sebastian approached silently, wrapping you in his strong arms.

"Bassy?” You opened your eyes, holding back a yawn but settling comfortably into his arms.

"Shh, go back to sleep darling, I'll take care of you now." He whispered in your ear as he carries you to the bathroom. And you gave yourself to your loved one's care without question, trusting him completely.

If it were a few months ago though, Sebastian thinks with grace, you would force your eyes open and fight against his touch, fight against everything he would do because you used to fear him. Sometimes you still would evade him but now just to tease him and to see the expressions on his face. "It's priceless", you often say.

With skill and delicacy, Sebastian undressed you, revealing the soft skin he adored so much. He let your body sink into the hot water, listening to your sleepy sighs of delight with a smile. Tenderness adorned every movement he made, washing every inch of your body, his fingers gliding gently across your skin, massaging your tense muscles and making you let out soft giggles.

You are such a precious little thing. Giving yourself over to him and his sick love, a love that consumed and consumed and never stopped growing. A love that took away everything you knew, but gave you everything you needed. Sebastian didn't care if it was unhealthy or selfish, he only cared that he had you exactly where he wanted you.

He loved every detail of you, every imperfection that made you unique in his eyes. In other times this feeling would have been a source of shame for the demon, but now it was something he was proud of.

When the bath came to an end, you woke up as the heat of the water left you, but you were soon wrapped in the soft, fluffy towel. Sebastian took you back to the bedroom, humming as he sat you down on the bed and dried every part of your body.

You smiled. "You know you didn't have to do all that."

Sebastian rolled his eyes at your statement. What kind of lover would he be if he couldn't do that? Instead of answering you, he inquired. "What do you want to wear to bed?"

Normally you would wear your pajamas, but for the last few days you have been sleeping in one of his shirts. They were long and had his signature scent even after they were washed, they were comfortable just like you had said after this became a constant occurrence. The look on your face already responded and Sebastian promptly presented you with the white shirt, helping you put it on with the same delicacy used when he bathed you.

You pulled him closer as he reached to fasten the buttons and left several small, noisy kisses across his face. If he was a human, you knew that at that moment he would have blushed due to the expression that inhabited his face at that moment.

He helped you lie down right away, kissing your forehead. The candles were extinguished, the covers were placed over you to protect you from the cold, he walked away to put the towel to dry and when he returned your eyes were already closed. It was difficult not to feel drowsy when all that surrounded your small house were wide woods that stretched out immensely.

"Sleep well, my beloved mate," Sebastian whispered, caressing your face very, very sofly.

The demon also changed his clothes before joining your side, pulling you closer until your back was flush against his chest and resting his head in the crook of your neck. As sleep enveloped you completely, Sebastian smiled, watching your nose curl and your eyebrows twitch, listening to your sighs and snores and feeling your heart beating.

Demons don't usually sleep, but they can if they want. Before you, Sebastian used to think all of this was beneath him. But now that he has you, now that he has experienced love for the first time, he closes his eyes and lets sleep take him too without thinking twice.

#yandere sebastian #yandere sebastian michaelis #yandere sebastian x reader #yandere sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis #sebastian kuroshitsuji #yandere kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji sebastian #yandere black butler #black butler

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bridgetotheskyyy · 6 months

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Accommodations - Itachi

Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, somnophilia, ONE BED!!!!!!1111, dubcon-y elements, fingering, not beta read

A/n: Catch up day! Day 11: Somnophilia! I wrote this in like a half an hour always up for itachi 🤣🤣

Word count: 1.2k

Read on Ao3

When you told Itachi there was only one bed, he didn’t care.

What did it matter to him? They were on an assignment after all, and in no way did it include the most comfortable of accommodations. So once the two of you landed in your targeted village and settled in, Itachi made no comment of the single bed destined to be shared.

When you emerged from the bathroom in nothing but a sleeping shirt and underwear, he still had no comment. It was none of his business how his partner dressed, in or out of bed. As long as you were prepared to adequately perform, to face the next day’s dangers.

He was neutral. Unfazed. Dedicated.

When he woke up in the middle of the night to your plush chest pressed against his back, your arm around his lower half, he cared a little.

Perhaps he had a comment or two.

Itachi’s eyes flickered to the night stand’s clock: its long hand pointed above to two. You would be in a deep sleep, with no awareness of what you were doing. Itachi had not forgotten the comment you had once made in passing about him sharing some similarities to your old lover. He’d only hoped said similarities wouldn’t prove a hindrance to you in future assignments. Your actions were perhaps muscle memory. An old habit struggling to die.

Itachi furrowed his brows, thinking of what to do. Should he intervene? Move you away from him? Wake you? Find somewhere else to sleep? Slowly, he turned to face you. Your face was relaxed from the bliss of sleep. His eyes dipped lower; the sheets crumbled around your hips, leaving your upper half bare to the night’s cold. His gaze trailed up your goosebumped arms, landing on where the night shirt dipped low to expose your cleavage. You were quite pretty.

Itachi tilted his head, surprised by himself. Why would he think that, and at a time like this? It was unnecessary. You nuzzled into the pillow with a light snore. Itachi couldn’t find it in himself to wake you. After all, you had done nothing wrong. Itachi sat up in bed, preparing to shift you to your other side ―

You whined, a much less peaceful sound. Itachi paused. You frowned in your sleep, gripping the pillow harder. A slight squirm before another whine. At first, he wondered if you were in physical pain, before ―

“Don’t go …” You murmured. “N ― No … Stay.”

He realized: a nightmare. Things he was acquainted with. Were you dreaming of him? Your old lover? He knew, this deep in sleep, a nightmare would only destabilize you. He couldn’t have that. He had to help. You had to sleep and sleep well, lest you underperform today. He would worry about himself later.

He pulled you closer, his touch faint as he scooted you into his arms. You hummed with approval, entwining your legs with his.

“More …”

More? More of what? Itachi experimented with touches; he grazed your shoulder with his thumb, stroked your hair, ran fingers over the small of your back. Still, you squirmed, as though unsatisfied, his ministrations calming but not quelling. It was only when his hand, upon return from your back, brushed against one of your breasts did Itachi have his first lead:

“Mmm …” You nuzzled into him, your head coached into his neck, forehead tickling the tip of his chin.

I see. Itachi’s fingers grazed lower until one caught on to the hill of your pert nipple. You shivered, edging closer to him. Itachi’s sickened heart ran wild in his ears despite his composure. Your reactions were so … It had only been the slightest touch, albeit on sensitive skin. If your response was this positive, what if he … He slid a hand past your shirt. His thumb grazed your nipple before capturing the nub between it and another finger ―

“Ahh!” Your moan puffed hot breath at his neck. Your legs squeezed tighter around his as he teased your nipple, a knee rocking into an erection he fought to ignore.

Still, it wasn’t enough; he could tell the nightmare still plagued you. Itachi placed you on your back. He rode your shirt up to expose your breasts, nipples erecting in the cold air and the excitement his touch brought you. Itachi’s mouth ran dry as he eyed your cunt, perfectly hugged into a pair of panties. He laid atop you, fixing a hand between your bodies to slip past the elastic band of your panties.

He kissed your parting lips when his fingers found your aching, slippery clit. His hair curtained and grazed your cheek as he trailed your jaw with kisses. His touch was deliberate, but gentle; he knew not what he was doing, only what he had learned from eavesdropping on other men. You arched into him, the action nearly plunging one finger into your eager cunt.

“Y―Yes …!” You cried out as Itachi nibbled on your earlobe. Dainty hands raised to grip his shoulders as he took the risk and dipped a finger into your cunt.

Itachi’s breath became increasingly labored; there was no hiding his erection now, aching conspicuously at your thigh. He peppered the junction of your neck and jaw with kisses before adding another finger and relishing your response. He wondered in the lustful haze: Did you need more? Did you want more? What would stave away the nightmare(s)? Perhaps you needed something bigger than a finger?

Itachi’s unoccupied hand became occupied with your left breast, kneading and teasing the delicious flesh as you squirmed beneath him. So responsive … And yet still in the deepest sleep. Something about the strange dichotomy sent pleasure throughout him, and he decided to reward you with another finger. You whined underneath him, digging a heel into his leg as he scissored you. Itachi nibbled and absentmindedly marked your neck, growing too greedy to deny you, and added a third finger for good measure. You shifted, rocking into his fingers as they caressed a rough patch of skin from within. You were close …

Clench clench clench. Itachi took the hint, tapping and rolling into the rough skin growing rougher as you suffocated his fingers in a vice and climaxed around him in a series of soft, heavenly cries. Itachi held himself stock still above you as you came, lest the friction of his groin and your thigh bring him along with you.

He withdrew his fingers as you relaxed. Itachi lifted his head from your neck to study your face ― would you sleep well now? ― only to meet your open eyes.

“Itachi …?” You blinked in confusion. “What … Where?”

He removed himself from you, but your eyes caught his slicked, pruney fingers.

“Oh no,” you said. “Did I …?”

Itachi lowered his gaze. “You were in the middle of a nightmare.” He paused before realizing this explained nothing. “I thought it would help.”

He didn’t need to face you to know your breath was labored, and the idea of you exhausted from him, by him, was exhilarating.

You laughed. That got his attention.

“It did,” You said, lowering your legs to nestle in the sheets. “Thank you.” You eyed his erection and your lips curled. “Now … Would you like me to help you?”

#itachi smut #naruto smut #kinktober 2023 #itachi x reader #itachi x you #itachi x y/n #itachi uchiha x reader #itachi uchiha x you

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macfrog · 8 months

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ghost

when i wrote jet, she was always a two-parter to me. two characters, two horses, two stories. equal and distinct. you guys loved the first part so much that i figured i'd leave it as it was, but recently i hit 2k and thought this could be a cool way to mark it. think of this as jet's sister story. walks right alongside her; same universe, same joel - but still very much a standalone. she can be read with or without her predecessor. thank you a million times over for all the love y'all show me on the daily. writing for you guys is so much fun. love you all the most. 🤎🖤 dedicated to @hellishjoel whose love for this pair inspires me daily

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, graphic violence, moderate threat, a horse is shot and killed (though i don't think i made this too graphic, more gutwrenching), reader and joel are separated, badass stealthy reader, near-SA (more intended than attempted), very protective & very violent joel, unprotected piv sex, like...bloodplay i guess? lil bit of consensual choking and spitting, creampie, possessive!joel, dom!joel but also softdom!joel, big fluff at the end, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), strong language. this fic is not sponsored by nike. lol.

word count: 10.1k

main masterlist

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too? You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you. “Go now. Now!” And you do.

St. Louis is quiet, still, but fruitless.

It’s been two long days of wandering around and you’ve found one building safe enough to camp in. One. The rest have either been inaccessible – boarded up, broken down, or otherwise already inhabited by infected – or Joel’s deemed them too close to the middle of town, too open, not safe enough.

Not safe enough in a world overrun by a brain-rotting fungal infection? you’d asked.

He shut you up with a sharp expression which you understood simply as: Enough.

It meant that you were wasting days, though. The night you arrived, Joel quickly combed the area surrounding the barber shop you were holed up in for supplies, and found none. He woke you at the crack of dawn next morning to set off, saying he didn’t like the fact nothing was around here. Meant someone had been through before you guys and taken it all.

Meant company, is what he was saying.

So you’d ridden around for – what, maybe three hours? You and Jet, following Joel and Ghost down cracked roads, under rusted street signs. Listening to the wind circle the buildings overhead, nudging traffic lights gently until they sang in distorted, off-key creaks to you. Always keeping your eye on the Gateway Arch between buildings, using it as some kind of north star – not for any reason other than you’d never seen it before up close, but when you mentioned this to Joel, his brows furrowed and he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Which meant that no, you wouldn’t be paying it a visit anytime soon.

It was mid-afternoon when Joel pulled on Ghost’s reins, brought her to a halt, and held his hand out to you. Jet huffed to a stop, and you swear you felt her cock her hip angrily at him.

“Turn back,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said, turn back. Ain’t nothin’ out this way.”

“Turn back ‘n go where?”

He jerked his head back in the direction you’d come, swerved the reins sideways and then clicked to the black-coated horse to set off. She nodded obediently, like she knew what he was thinking and she figured he was right, and began the long walk back to the barbers.

You muttered an expletive and Joel coughed a Ha, hearing you loud and clear. So you turned to silently praying for a rainstorm, for a horde of infected, for anything you could sling an I told you so in and whip it at Joel.

You followed him, though, deliberately a good few paces behind, knowing he’d keep twisting around to check on you, and letting him fucking do it. Asshole.

When you finally arrived back at your spot, the red sun low behind the buildings and bleeding skyward into twilight, you slept with your back to him.

He didn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind when you’re distant. You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even notice. He knows you’ll come back when you need something from him – want his words in your ear, want his body on yours, want…him.

The splintered sunlight through the boarded-up windows of the shop stirs you from your sleep. It wasn’t much of a sleep, despite Joel’s promise late last night that he’d let you lie for a little longer; knew you had a long day ahead if you were to get out of St. Louis, and he’d already drained your energy with the travelling yesterday.

You’d woven in and out of unconsciousness all night, dreaming of creaky farmhouses with clicking children inside, their skin torn and swollen and sprouting in swirls of pale white, singed with raw red and rotten green. And you dreamt of Joel’s shotgun blowing their moldy maws apart, blood and bone splattering across the floral wallpaper behind them.

You’re lying on your stomach, flat out on the floor with nothing but a worn comforter separating your fatigued body from the dusty tile. Joel’s out front feeding the horses on the street. You push yourself up, stretching your back, and a red-hot pain licks around your wrists.

“Motherf–”

You wince, falling onto your elbows, and your fingers link lightly around the red skin. The marks from Joel’s belt two nights ago still haven’t eased, haven’t cooled down so much as a degree. They’re still glowing, still burning, still painful.

Joel’s rugged face appears through a busted window. “Y’alright?”

“’m fine,” you mumble, turning over and examining the sores in the sunlight. The sting as your fingertips trace over the skin draws sharp tears to your eyes.

He feeds Jet the last handful of the hay you’d stocked up on and steps in from the golden morning to the dim light of the shop, dusting his hands on his jeans.

“You want more water on ‘em? Cold flannel?” he asks, avoiding the sight of your pained hands.

You shake your head. “Don’t think it’s helping.”

Eyebrows close, crease between them deep, he lowers himself with an achy groan and says, “We’ll find somewhere. You ready to go?”

You nod, tight lips blocking any words you think you’d probably regret later.

Joel helps you up, hands you a bag of beef jerky from his back pocket, and tells you to go get settled on Jet. He’ll pack up.

As you walk by him, he runs a hand from the crown of your head down to the nape of your neck. Gentle as air. And you almost fucking turn back. Almost catch his hand as it leaves your hair, almost wind your body into his. Almost.

Almost.

You follow at Ghost’s tail for another two hours, this time west instead of north. Joel turns to check on you more than he did yesterday; asks a couple times if you need more water, if you want any food. Even asks once if you need a break.

Each time, you reply with a flat, No. It seems to come from your throat more than your lips, more a grunt than an actual rounded word. Teeth locked tight around it, barely separating to let the sound through.

And each time, Joel turns back wordlessly. A mutual understanding; an unspoken agreement – as most of them are – to not talk any more than absolutely fucking necessary.

You spend most of the ride hunched over, your palms pushing heavily against the horn of Jet’s saddle. The sleeves of your jacket rolled up to stop them from brushing against your wrists.

The horse whinnies softly, and you reply to her as though she’s actually speaking. As though you can understand her thoughts, your forehead pressed lightly to the crest of her neck. You tell her you’re fine; tell her she’s doing a great job. You notice Joel’s jaw turn whenever you speak to her.

And then he whispers, “Hey,” and you lift your head, following the flick of his head to a tiny, lone pharmacy up ahead. You could fall off Jet’s back in equal parts shock and relief.

Joel winds Ghost along the road towards the building, stops by the curb outside it.

Its windows are smashed, broken glass decorating the sidewalk in front. There’s dried blood painting the white stone exterior, and empty shell casings dotted along the paved ground. You draw your eyes from the sight to look at Joel, and he’s already noticed them. He’s staring around the street, eyes darting from building to building, looking them all up and down.

The back wall inside the pharmacy is blocked, rubble and rafters hanging loose from a huge hole in the ceiling. Dusty insulation hangs between beams, and through the tears in the candy floss material, you can see the metal grate of the dispensing area. Joel sees it, too; notes it with a grumble and a click of his teeth.

“You stay here,” he tells you, dismounting Ghost.

“’n what if you get stuck in there?”

“Stuck in front of the collapsed ceiling? I ain’t gettin’ anywhere close to bein’ stuck. Stay put.”

You slide to the side, rubber-toed sneaker angling toward the ground to jump off of Jet. Joel swings back around and shoots you a look like fire on your skin.

“You got a death wish, or som’?”

“You just said you won’t get stuck. The hell’s gonna kill me in there?”

“Me, if you don’t listen to my damn instructions. Get back on the horse.”

“I ain’t off it,” you snap, a little louder than you intended. Sure, you want him to comfort you sometimes, but fuck, he pisses you off.

Joel stalks off without another word, head low between his shoulders. You hook your foot back into the stirrup and shake your head, averting your gaze to the other side of the street where the sight of an ill-tempered man-child won’t piss you off more.

The street is lined with stores and cafes, a bar on the corner with torn-up leather seats spilling out of the door like someone’s barricaded it. Your eye travels further down, where faded, moldy bunting ruffles in the wind, hooked around a traffic light.

There’s a red-brick building directly across from you, a truck with green tarpaulin parked out front. The doors to the building creak as they swing back and forth in the wind. The windows are still intact – surprising for this deep in the city. Other than that, the place looks pretty damn abandoned.

Ghost shakes her head, ears flicking. A heavy, shuddered breath jolts from her flared nostrils in the form of two white clouds, lit golden in the sunlight. She moves from foot to foot. You pat Jet gently, distracting yourself with the feel of her long, ginger mane.

You hum quietly, filling an eerie silence. Something to the beat of your heart, quickening with each second. Trying to calm the horses, calm yourself. Joel’s still wandering around inside.

You read an article once before the outbreak that said horses can smell fear on humans. It was for a school project. Said it affected their nervous system, like, made their heartrate pick up, though they never concluded whether it made the horses more afraid themselves or not.

Feeling Jet’s body weight shift from side to side as you swerve around atop her, analyzing every movement, every sound, every change in direction of the wind on this street, you figure you know the answer now.

Yeah. She feels edgy.

The wind picks up, carrying leaves across the broken road, fluttering by burnt-out cars. There’s a scuff from the store and your head shoots back to find Joel emerging from the shadows.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, giving the street a sideways look as he walks back over to Ghost.

“Nothing I need, or nothing at all?”

He lifts his hands to take hold of her. “Nothin’ at all. Place is ransacked. Whole damn city’s –”

It all happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re looking at Joel, watching his lips form the words, his fingertips coming to land on the leather strap of Ghost’s bridle, and barely a heartbeat later, there’s a deafening crack from across the street.

Ghost’s body falls to the earth like she’s nothing but an inanimate sack. Her front legs buckle first, her chest crashes down towards the smooth stone, and then she’s rolling onto her left side. She’s dead before she hits the ground.

Dust and dirt are thrown skyward as she slams down, head falling heavy and still on the sidewalk.

“Ghost!” you shriek, and then you feel Joel’s hands on the sleeve of your jacket – rough. Painfully squeezing, canvas burning against your wrists.

He’s gripping the material, hauling you down to him, only you won’t let go of Jet’s reins. You’re being tossed to-and-fro atop the now-panicking horse. Ghost is bleeding from her head; thick, dark blood spilling out like tar and dripping down the curb.

You scream at Joel, fighting his grip off, eyes never leaving the black horse. But then another shot fires, ricocheting off of the ground by the pharmacy window, missing his head by less than a foot, and you fall limp.

You let him drag you off of Jet’s back and hurl you inside the pharmacy, shoving you out of view and into the dingy shadows. When you turn, you realize she’s still out there, a chestnut-colored blur as she rears and spins, fleeing from the noise. You scream her name but Joel whips around and plants his palm flat against your mouth, smothering your cry into a muffled whimper against the curve of his calloused skin.

“Shut up,” he whispers, free hand reaching into his holster for his own gun.

You drag his hand from your face, dropping it. “Jet’s still out –”

“They ain’t aimin’ for Jet,” he replies, switching the handgun into his right. “They’re aimin’ for us, and they’re gonna be down here soon. I need you to listen to me.”

“But Ghost –”

“Baby,” he says, laced with frustration and desperation and panic. Your sentence falls flat on your tongue. “Listen – to – me. Now.”

You nod, tears forming in your eyes. The horse is still lying out front; you can see her past Joel’s shoulder. You think back to your agreement: Do as you say. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eye, repeating those words to you. Listen to him. Focus on him. Stay alive. You don’t survive this if you don’t wake the fuck up right now.

And then he has his hands either side of your face, shaking you back to reality. “Hear me?”

“What? No, I didn’t hear. I didn’t fucking hear!”

He wastes no time chastising you. Just says it again. Calm, clear. Every word its own sharpened shape.

“I need you to move, need you to get out of here. They’re across the street, in that red building. There’s probably a gang of ‘em, right? So we gotta take ‘em out.”

“Take ‘em out? We gotta fuckin’ run, Joel! We don’t even know how many –”

“You,” his voice sounds like he’s about to break, “are gonna head out of there.”

He points past you, behind an upturned shelving unit, where there’s a small hole blown in the side of the pharmacy. Unnoticeable from outside, though if the perps across the street have ransacked this place, they’ll know it exists.

“You’re gonna make your way around the street, head low, quiet, ‘n get in the back of that building. You got it?”

“What the fuck are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna distract ‘em. I’ll cover you, alright? Just do it.”

Just do it. Just fucking do it. I tell you what to do, and you just do it, because it’s me. Because you trust me, because we’ve kept each other alive this long.

Just do it. Because right now, what the fuck else are you going to do?

Your head’s still spinning. Pulse throbbing in your ears. Lungs hammering against your chest wall for breath. You can barely think straight.

“What do I do once I’m in?”

He’s kneeling down, swinging his backpack off of his shoulders. “Take – them – out. You’ve done it before, you know what you’re doin’.”

“Real noble of you, Joel,” you hiss, taking the spare gun he offers and slipping it under the back of your jeans, “sendin’ me in alone to kill who the hell knows how many fuckin’ guys.”

You pull the switchblade he picked up from that farm in Nebraska and flick it once, letting it glint fiercely in the light from out front, then close it and place it back in your pocket, ready to hand if – and when – you need it.

Joel’s loading his rifle, unable to meet your eye. He sniffs. “Do it quiet, you hear me? Sneak up on ‘em.”

You shake your head in disbelief, feet starting to carry you over to the side of the room. Powered by adrenaline only, letting go of any emotion that might keep you inside this stupid pharmacy. Forgetting anything in you that might convince you to stay glued to Joel’s side.

Yeah, you can fucking do it. You’re not a kid. You’ve been doing this long enough.

This was life before the QZ. You were in a group then, a collective of survivors whose only interest was staying alive. At all costs. And you got good at it. You’ve told Joel about it before – you were the first wave. Whenever you came across another group – no matter if it was hunters, smugglers, fucking FEDRA – they’d send you in, alongside Mila. The two of you lightest on your feet, best with a knife in your hands.

You started to find it fun, after a while. Thrill of the chase and all that. Creeping up behind them, dragging the blade along their throat, dropping them to their knees as they choked and gargled and bled out. The two of you could clear an entire building in ten minutes, not a single bullet fired.

Mila preferred puncturing them. She’d lift her arm and bring the knife down with the weight of her entire body, sinking it into their necks, under their jaws, sometimes through their fucking temples. You’d seen that girl do some pretty fucked-up stuff.

You’d seen yourself do some pretty fucked-up stuff. Stuff that’d have you avoiding mirrors for weeks.

And none of it scared Joel away. None of it made him think twice about setting off with you.

Certainly never made him think twice about sending you on what can only be described as a suicide mission, just to rid St. Louis of a few bandits.

Doing it isn’t the problem, though, is it? You haven’t had to do it in a while, sure. Joel takes care of you well enough that you barely have to look twice at a threat before there’s a bullet, a blade, or an arrow through it. And you’re not scared, either. Not of those guys across the street.

No. You’re scared of leaving him. Parting with him.

You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you.

“Go now. Now!”

And you do.

You emerge into an alleyway, concealed from the street by a rusty blue dumpster. Overgrown weeds at your feet, you stay crouched and still until you’re sure there are no eyes on you from the windows overhead.

I mean, you’d be dead by now if there were. So that’s hopeful.

You slink around the jagged metal, slow, silent. More gunshots sound from across the street, and you know Joel’s tossed them a bone. Maybe he’s shown himself – a flash of his jacket or scuff of his heel as he settles to fire back. Maybe they’ve already killed him. Who fucking knows?

At the end of the alleyway sits a black gate, bent and contorted into an archway which separates you from the street. Still covered by knee-high weeds, you kneel down onto your stomach and peer between the wiry green plant to get your first scope of the street ahead.

There’s a long-abandoned nail bar on the right, a few doors down from that bunting you spotted earlier. And right outside it, cast in shadow from the awning: a chestnut horse, saddle hanging lopsided on her back. Waiting, patiently, watching the shootout before her.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Stay there. Stay right there.

Joel’s on his knees outside the pharmacy, crouched behind a Jersey barrier. He lifts his head every thirty seconds, fires one heavy shot at the windows on the top floor of the red-bricked building, and then ducks for cover when they send a burst of erratic bullets back down to him, pelting against the concrete.

You watch for a minute, studying the pattern, and then slip back between the weeds like a lion hiding in the bushes. When Joel fires at the window, you push yourself up and make a swift run for it.

There’s a truck in the middle of the street. Black paint scraped, shot, and sun-burnt off. You take three good strides, kneeling once you’re at the tailgate. You peer around the rear of the truck, huge tires flat and melted into the broken tarmac. You spot your opening.

A gray fence faded by the sun, a few slats missing from the bottom half, guarding an overgrown yard, and, sitting wide open: the backdoor to the building.

Bingo.

It’s an easy enough route. Looks almost like someone’s laid it out for you this way, a perfect path. You wait for your signal – Joel’s gunfire – and sprint over to the fence, back flush against the rotting wood.

You pull the revolver from your jeans and open the chamber. Five bullets. Not bad. You snap it back and adjust your grip on it, finger ghosting the trigger. And then you hear them.

“The girl’s still inside,” a voice grunts from over the fence. Your blood runs cold.

“He’s gotta run out sometime. What the fuck’s Nico doing wasting bullets?”

“How often do strays come through? Let him have his fun.”

Strays. Like a little pet name. Like it’s sport for them. It pisses you off, your adrenaline channeling into rage, white hot across the nape of your neck, growing into determination to put your knife through every single one of them.

So, you return the gun, favoring your switchblade.

Old dog, new tricks. Yadda yadda.

You bend down, peering through the gap like a dog searching for scraps.

It’s just the two of them. One, standing by the door; looks about six feet tall by six feet wide, buzzcut atop a puffy face, tattooed arms hanging loose by his side. The other, pacing around the yard; when his worn jeans pass the opening in the fence, you scan up the tall figure and notice dirty blond hair, scraped back from a gaunt face into a greasy ponytail.

“And if anything hears him? Runners? Fuckin’…we ain’t ready for that.”

Neither of them seem to have a gun. Scrawny doesn’t, anyway, and if Buzzcut does, it’s not in his hands. Which gives you a few seconds’ advantage.

Once Scrawny turns away, you slip through and hook your arm around his neck, holding your knife to the spongey skin under the ridge of his jaw. Buzzcut steps forward, hands reach into his waistband. Fuck.

“Make a sound, I’ll cut him.”

It’s not hard for your voice to fall back to that pitch, that same old tone. Muscle memory. Hushed, so no one inside hears; serious, flat, not a hint of fear. Even though this guy can probably feel your heart hammering into his back.

There’s still shooting on the street. Buzzcut steps forward, pistol between his fingers, silver reflecting the sun into your eyes. He’s unsure if he should lift it or not. Unsure if he should do anything or not. There’s panic painted across his face the color of crimson. He’s not built for this stuff, and he knows it. His free hand comes up, palm forward. Half of a surrender.

Not good enough.

“Put the gun down.”

“Fucking bitch,” Scrawny mutters, wrestling around, long legs bent awkwardly as he leans into your smaller frame.

Fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t know that this is the fun part. This is why you chose the knife, and not the gun. Blade over bullets. It’d be too easy to rip his brain apart with the squeeze of a trigger. Too quick. Nah, you want to hear him. Want to feel him writhe against you.

You let the blade sink into his whiskered neck. Ever so slightly. He hisses and settles.

“Put – the fucking gun – down.”

“Patrick,” your hostage spits, “just do it.”

Just do it.

Patrick glances down briefly and then nods, eyes flitting back to you. Your eyes stay locked on him, your grip tightens around the knife, but you deafen to the heaving of the chest under your elbow.

Just do it.

Where’s Joel? Is he alive? His voice is ringing in your ears.

Just do it.

There’s a pause between the bullets across the street. Have they hit him?

Just do it.

Patrick’s gun hits the ground with a blunt thud.

Just do it.

And then you feel it.

Searing pain, hot as fire in your upper thigh. A sharp scratch just below your hip, teeth cutting through denim and flesh, then a rutting feeling, twisting and digging and fucking burning as the knife is pushed further and further. You let an angry groan pass your lips and dig your own blade deep into his throat.

His skin bursts open like a bag of water. You pull on him, letting him sink to his knees flush against your chest. Before he’s even on the ground, you’re lurching forward, retrieving the pistol and swiping your knife at Patrick’s outstretched hand. He gasps, clutching his split palm, and then backs away a couple steps.

This time, he lifts both hands. That’s better, fucker.

“Don’t – don’t gotta –”

“Shut the fuck up,” you cut back, staring him down while his buddy writhes at your feet, taking his last few gulps of air. Fresh, warm blood seeps into the grass. Your thigh is on fire.

You edge closer to Patrick, and Patrick edges further away. Until his back is pressed against the wall, his knuckles scratching against the brick; his own blood streaming down his wrist.

“How many are in there?” you ask, head nodding to the doorway, barrel of the gun pressed into his cheek.

He gulps.

“How many?”

“Th-three. Please.”

“Where?”

“One in the h-hall. Two upstairs. Please,” he says again, and you drop the gun, leaving a white ring in his skin.

Mila would sink it in deep, right into his neck. The trapezius. Her favorite spot. She’d just plunge the knife in, push until he collapsed, and then leave him to bleed out. But this is a big guy. He’s gonna need more than that to floor him.

“Alright,” you concede, stepping forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You pull your arm down to your hip, knuckles white around the handle and take a fistful of his shirt with the other. Draw him in real close, and angle the blade to the sky, shoving it up under his chin. Nice ‘n snug.

It glides through his skin like it’s butter, and you catch the butt of the knife in your palm, pushing further up. You watch as his eyes widen, his pupils focus on yours long enough to take the memory of your face with him – and then they relax, roll back to check out the metal intrusion behind them.

Patrick gargles, chokes on blood and blade, then gasps as you haul it back out, bright red gushing down his front.

His body folds, both hands come up to cup his torn jaw, and with one kick which cracks into his knees, he’s flat on his face, breathing in dirt and grass and…the blood of his buddy.

“You’re welcome, Patrick,” you breathe, limping over him to enter the building.

Shots are firing again upstairs. It’s dark, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but you’re in a derelict store. Place is empty, probably looted by these assholes.

Patrick told you there was one guy in the hall, which you assume is through the door sat ajar on your left. Patrick, however, was most likely a liar. And even if he was telling the truth, you don’t know what this place looks like. You have no idea when or where you’ll come across this one guy.

The only things you have on you are your gun and your knife. So you open the revolver again, your trembling fingers fish one bullet out, and you toss it, aiming for the sliver of light between the door and its frame.

It rattles through, rolling over the solid floor.

“Patrick?” a voice calls, and footsteps begin to approach. “Tucker?”

You duck behind a battered, empty shelf.

A third guy, long brown hair tangled across his shoulders, thick beard patchy with white and gray, pushes the door open and sidles in.

“Pat–”

You’re on him before he can finish his pal’s name, same way you jumped Scrawny – now Tucker, out there. Your blade glides across his throat and he buckles, much quicker than his predecessor outside did. You settle him face down on the tile floor, nodding to him as some twisted form of a thank-you, and slip out of the room, swinging down to collect your bullet as you go.

Patrick, as it turns out, was not a liar. The bottom floor of the house is empty. You’re in a long, narrow hallway. A bloodstained runner at your feet. There are muffled voices upstairs – roaring, cursing. The sunlight streaming in through the arch-shaped window on the front door draws you nearer.

Your breathing is labored, with stress, exhaustion, and pain. Your thigh throbs under your jeans, pain shooting like lightning from the wound anytime you put weight on it. You drag yourself to the bottom of the stairs.

More shots. You swear they’ve only been coming from this building for the last five minutes. Where the fuck is Joel?

You lift your foot hesitantly, hovering over the first step. Don’t fuck this up now. You line it up, applying your weight bit by bit until you’re pushing up off the floor with a whimper, balancing on one leg, bracing for the inevitable creak of the wood.

Nothing.

You’re about to step onto the second, when the door behind you bursts open. Light screams into the hallway, shining on you like a spotlight, and three huge figures stumble in the doorway.

“Wh–? That’s the bitch on the horse!”

You throw yourself up the stairs desperately, taking them two – three at a time, but a pair of fists are in your hair, dragging you back down to the man they belong to. You cry out, swinging around, and catch him square on the nose with your elbow. He swears, retreating only momentarily, before looking you dead in the eye, blood pouring down his lips.

“Fucking – cunt,” he seethes, arms darting out to reach up for you.

His attempt is short-lived, for a number of reasons.

First: you kick his chest before he can grab you, sending him hurtling back down where he came from.

Second: one of the two Patrick said would be up here is at the top of the stairs now, taking you by the shoulders and hauling you up.

And third: Joel just opened fire downstairs.

The bullets pelt around the hallway, coming from the side you just snuck in through. He must’ve followed you across the street.

The last thing you see as you’re dragged off into another room is the three of them ducking for cover, and then you’re being flung onto a cold, dusty floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs and the revolver from your waistband. You roll over and groan, staring up at two men standing over you.

One of them – the one whose vice grip dragged you in here – is big and bulky. Like a brick wall. You realize you’ve no chance of getting by him. His fists are clenched, face reddened, black beady eyes boring into yours. Then he lurches forward, steals the gun from the floor beside you, and points it at you. The safety’s still fucking on.

The other looks younger, but still built. Toned. His shoulders swell in the green canvas jacket he’s wearing, patches on the sleeves. Short, black hair, face sculpted and smooth, chin hairless. Lips pursed as he surveys you, tosses over what to do.

“Cute little game you were playin’, down there,” he muses. “Took out half my guys.”

“Wasn’t that hard,” you pant in reply, “you’re all fucking idiots.”

You can hear Joel fighting off the rest of them, grunts and growls of pain echoing up the stairs. You don’t know which are him and which are them, and it sends fleets of panic through your chest, tightening your breath.

“Sounds like your man’s losing.”

You laugh, masking your fear with a roll of your eyes, head leaning back. “I don’t think so.”

The two men look at each other. The black-haired one nods down to you, then turns on his heel. “Do what you want to her,” he tells Brick Wall, bored, and begins walking away.

A repulsive smile pulls on the man’s lips as he glares down at you. Putrid pink cheeks swell, eyes disappear. Your heels dig against the floorboards, beginning to push yourself in a dizzy haze backwards as his huge, beefy hand reaches down for your waistband.

Something of a scream, warped by the way your body so quickly jumps away from him, escapes your throat, but it only makes him laugh. Your hand slips up inside your sleeve, fingers clutch the cold metal handle of your blade. It flicks open under the fabric, and, just as the noise draws the attention of the man now fumbling with the button of your jeans, you take one good swipe and cut through his forearm. One clean slice, separating skin and soaking the tip of your knife in his blood.

He hisses, stumbles backwards two steps, clutching his arm. You throw yourself to your feet, backing into the corner opposite.

“Nico!” Brick Wall cries out, and the canvas jacket spins to face you.

You clutch your knife, hunched, panting. The room slowly tilts, resetting every time you blink, then begins rotating again.

Nico laughs, pulling a gun of his own and aiming it straight at your face. It’s a nightmare – two on one, both of them armed. But it’s better than what was about to fucking happen.

“Fucking – bitch,” Nico snarls.

“Y’all keep saying that,” you utter, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun, “I don’t get it. I’m goin’ easy on you here.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it,” Nico spits, apparently not paying enough attention.

The building’s silent. The fighting’s stopped downstairs. And there are no loud footsteps making their way up here, which means one thing.

There’s a quieter, deadlier threat on his way up.

A brutal shot fires from the hallway, taking your breath with it, and Brick Wall’s body flops to the floor. Bullet hole in his temple. Spray of blood across the wall. Only three beating hearts left in the building.

Nico seems to gasp, whether from fright or the way he lunges toward you, wrapping a tight, choking arm around your neck and holding the gun to your temple, both of you waiting for Joel to materialize for two very different reasons.

His figure creeps around the doorway, footsteps slow and soft. His eyes flit over yours, shoulders hunched, rifle aimed ahead. Your breath lets go in one huge, shaky gasp, feeling your muscles relax.

“I’ll do it,” Nico hisses, panic strung through his voice tighter than the bow of a violin. “One wrong move and she’s dead, asshole.”

Joel shrugs. “Do it.”

Nico doesn’t move. He shakes your body, pushes the gun harder into your skin.

Joel looks you dead in the eye. “Do – it.”

Your fingers run over the handle of your knife, lowering it until you have a good enough grip to lock your fist and tilt the blade, lifting your right arm and hammering it backwards, stabbing deep into Nico’s side.

Your head leans to the right as he screams out; he falls to the left. And Joel takes his shot.

Nico’s hand bursts open, blood spraying everywhere. The revolver is thrown from his grip, rattling against the floor as your fist takes one good swing across his jaw and then you fall apart from one another – you, rocking into the steady weight of Joel’s body, and Nico, collapsing against a desk.

Joel catches you in his arms and straightens you up, shifting you to aim his gun back at the threat – though there’s not much about him that warrants such a name anymore. He’s slumped against the dark wood, dark stain seeping through his shirt, head rolled back and groaning. One hand cupping what’s left of the other, blood snaking through his fingers and down his hand like vines on a tree trunk. He looks…pathetic.

Joel fires another shot at him without fucking looking; it lands in Nico’s thigh, and he screams. Mouth full of blood and loose teeth, it’s a gargled, drowned howl of pain.

“They try somethin’?” the fierce drawl asks you, brows low, eyes dark. You know what he’s talking about. The button of your jeans is undone.

You want to say, It’s fine, I’m fine. You want to tell Joel to leave Nico to bleed out. He’s the last one, he’ll be dead inside of ten minutes. You want to go, want to climb onto Jet’s back and let her carry your weak, limp body as far from here as her legs will gallop, and then, once she’s rested, further.

But Joel won’t hear any of that, you know it. Won’t leave this little son of a bitch to slip into a half-conscious drowse, the dripping of his own blood ticking down the seconds he has left while the sound of Jet’s hooves fading into the distance lulls him to hell.

He knows you. Joel. He can read lies on your lips like they’re words scrawled into your skin, so that’s a waste of time, too.

You nod. Joel’s jaw locks. And his eyes flood black like ink.

He hands you the rifle, pulls his arms out of his backpack, and paces over to Nico. The bloody, injured figure begins to back up, push himself further away from Joel, who’s reaching down for something.

“Look, man,” Nico heaves, “you gotta see it from our point of v-view. You guys came walkin’ into our territory, you – you…”

There’s the sound of metal dragging across the bare floorboards, vibration strong enough that it rattles your entire body. You turn away, figuring you don’t need to see him pummel a man to death with a broken pipe.

You hear it, though. Every grunt from Joel, every cry from his victim. Every time the pipe bludgeons into him, the wet squelch of warm flesh and blood meeting cold, rusting metal. You wander off to the other side of the room, closing your eyes.

It’s like a pattern – like the shooting from earlier. Joel sucks in breath as he lifts the pipe above his head, groans as he hurtles it down. There’s the blunt sound, a ding almost of the metal whacking against Nico’s skull, the splatter of blood bursting. And repeat. Deep breath as the pipe winds back – groan as it uppercuts through the dusty air, crack of bone breaking when it makes contact.

Finally, he stops. Takes three deep breaths. Drops his weapon. You turn.

The limp body lies at his feet, a dent the size of Texas in the globe of his skull. Olive skin now splattered red, face unrecognizable. Blood pouring out of somewhere – everywhere in his head, circling his body in a thin, fast-moving pool.

Joel’s staring at you when your eyes lift. Sweat glistening on his forehead, lips apart. Shoulders tight. You’re standing face to face, both of your breathing heavy and labored. Exhausted. And yet…you fucking need him.

You take one step forward and suddenly Joel’s advancing, too, hands out to meet you when you collide into him. Your fingers scram for his collar, ripping his jacket from his shoulders while he messily tears apart the waist of your jeans.

His weight bears down on top of you and he pushes you to the floor, following you down. The floorboards are dirty, coated in a thick layer of dust disturbed by the scuffle you just had, and glazed by the blood of those who lost. You sit up only long enough to remove your jacket before Joel’s pinning you down, unbuckling his own jeans and taking a grip of yours.

You flinch when he tugs on the waistband, and he pauses. Looks up, watches your expression twist. Then follows your eyeline, down to your thigh, where the fresh stab wound oozes thick, dark blood.

Joel slowly peels your jeans down your legs and over the gash. When they pool loose around your knees, you bend them, angling your broken skin in the sunlight. It’s swollen, the cut, reddened and raw. Flesh dragged back and forth, torn and ripped around the edges. You can’t even feel the pain of it anymore, only a prickling heat leading up to the ridges of your broken skin.

And so, when Joel’s fingers run through the air directly above it, and he mutters something about cleanin’ you up, you grunt. Straighten your legs. Pull him by the shoulders back down to you. Reply with a rushed whisper, a Hurry the fuck up.

And he listens; he unbuckles his own jeans, sags them low on his hips, and bends your knees at his shoulders. His cock is already stiff, bead of precum at his wide tip, which he dips between your folds to collect your slick, and then fists himself slowly.

Hurryhurryhurry “– the fuck up,” you groan, watching your wet glisten off the smooth skin of his shaft.

He smirks, then pushes straight in.

Your head hits the floor, eyes rolling with it as he fills you up. His face buries between your breasts, voice muffled by the material of the fabric when he lets out an open-mouthed moan. You both adjust to the feeling – the stretch and the tightness – and then, with a couple more shallow thrusts, Joel begins really fucking you.

He drags his forehead up to yours, sweat mixing where your skin touches. Your jaw clenched; you’re hissing every time he hits that sweet spot inside of you. Holding onto him by the shoulders as he rocks his hips forward, pushing you closer and closer to your first release.

Joel lifts his hand, placing it flat on the floor above your head to steady himself. Then, he quickly glances up at it, an unusual look on his face. You crane your neck and follow his eyeline to find his hand gleaming wet with blood. Bright red. Fresh.

It’s the guy he shot. Bullet wound peering out from the other side of the desk you’re lying next to; his blood has travelled across the uneven flooring.

Joel studies his palm intently, thrusts slowing down some. His face looks…puzzled? As if he’s never had to physically encounter the result of him and his bullets. As if he doesn’t know where to put his hand, now that it’s covered in that result.

You do, though. You know exactly where you want him to put it.

You take his wrist in both hands and draw his gaze down to you. The blood drips from his almost trembling palm down your fingers.

His expression changes – softens, when he sees you looking up at him, watching him from under hooded lids. And then it darkens, when you pull his palm flat against your neck, and the red fluid stains your throat.

You can feel the warm wet between Joel’s skin and yours – the same warmth on the back of your head, creeping through your hair as it seeps further across the floorboards. You’re both covered in blood and dirt, anyway. Joel seems to consider the same, and his grip tightens.

His thumb and forefinger pinch, cutting into your windpipe. Your vision falters for a second, Joel blinks out of focus, and a tiny wave of euphoria crashes over your body. A sick grin pulls across your lips, mirrored in Joel’s.

He releases you and you gasp, oxygen surging through your throat like a burst of water in a dried-up pipe. You let go of his wrists to run your blood-soaked fingers across his face, through his hair. He’s still fucking you hard, and you need something to ground you as white-hot heat pools rapidly between your legs, and a knot begins to tighten.

“You like that?” Joel grunts, driving his hips harder.

“Mhm,” you reply, mouth falling open in a silent gasp when his tip punches into your cervix. The edges of the world start to whiten.

“You’re mine, you hear?” he says through gritted teeth. “Belong to me.”

You’re nodding, throat tossing out an, Uhuh.

“Ain’t no one gets this but me, h-uh?”

Joel’s hand is back around your neck, this time taking either side of your jaw between his fingers, keeping your eyes trained on his. Whatever the fuck makes you do it – the look in his eye, silently commanding, or maybe your own fucking desperation – you’re not sure. But you open your mouth wider, rest your tongue on your bottom lip, and plead with your eyes for him to do it.

So, he does.

His jaw slackens and a bead of spit falls from his mouth into yours. He watches as it lands on your tongue and you run it along your lips, coating yourself in him, before swallowing it.

Joel groans, lets a staggered, “F-fuck, baby,” pass his lips.

You smile in return, filthy, but needy, and beginning to crash hard as your orgasm bursts through you.

He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, still stringing wet saliva between your lips as he kisses you. You pull away when it becomes too much, burying your head in his shoulder and biting down on his shirt.

“Yeah,” he coaxes you, “that’s it. Fuck. Nice ‘n tight, baby.”

As soon as the room starts to return to your vision, the feeling back in your body, you’re rolling him over. Ignoring the burn of the wound in your thigh, you push him back down and straddle him, his cock still deep inside.

You roll your hips lazily, fingers coming down to toy with your clit as Joel stretches you even more from this angle. He groans, hands finding home tight on your hips, head rolling back. He bucks his hips and your free hand steadies yourself on his chest.

“Faster, baby,” he says, trying to move you with his hands.

“No,” you hum, “we go slow. I want to go slow.”

He grunts, pissed off. Good. Keep him that way.

You begin to slowly bounce, pads of your fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit, almost hurting with overstimulation.

“Tell me what you did downstairs,” you whisper, eyes falling shut.

“Downstairs?” Joel asks in a broken voice.

“Mhm. What did you do to ‘em?”

He catches on. “Shot one of ‘em under the jaw.”

You shake your head. “Next.”

“Ch-choked one of them out.”

“No. Not him.”

You want blood. You want Joel’s fists wrapped around someone’s vital organs. You want the sound of your screams in his ears, whether they were really there or not, driving him to commit acts so heinous he won’t look you in the eye when he confesses them.

That’s what you want: him to confess them.

“One of ‘em had a Bowie…” he breathes, knowing what you’re looking for.

You fall forward with a deep moan. “That’s it. Him.”

“…hangin’ from his belt. Shot his leg, right above his knee –”

You moan again, sighing as you sink down on his cock and that feeling creeps over you again.

“– then took the knife.”

“He on the floor?”

“He got up. He – fuck – he stood up, ‘n I put it between his shoulders.”

“Fuck, yeah?”

“Yeah. Ripped ‘im apart, baby.”

You cry out in pleasure, bouncing up and down faster and faster the more the image replays in your head. You’re leaning forward, hovering over Joel as your skin slaps against his every time his hard length fills you. Fucking him to the thought of him slaughtering anyone who posed any threat to you. Those guys didn’t make it upstairs, you’re not even sure they got a good look at you before you were hauled away. But Joel tore them limb from limb at just the possibility.

“Did he – did he scream?”

“Yeah, he fuckin’ screamed.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, hands splayed on either side of Joel’s head, and his fingers knot in your hair. He pulls your forehead against his again, whispering into your mouth.

“Begged me not to do it,” he hums, and you’re thrown over the edge for the second time.

Your hips stop moving to allow space for your high; a second blinding, screaming orgasm ripples through you. You’re gasping now, fingers clutching for Joel, but he’s already moving again.

He slips out from underneath you and lets you down gently on your front, taking your hips and pulling them up to him as he positions himself behind you. And then, without a second’s hesitation, he’s back inside you, chasing his own high. Your back arches as he fucks you, chest flat against the floor.

There’s blood fucking everywhere. On your clothes, in your hair, on the floor beneath you, streaming down your thigh. The entire room smells of it – that suffocating, sickly sweet bite of iron. The bitterness so thick that it coats your lungs with every desperate pant of breath.

And finally, fucking – finally, all the adrenaline and momentum is brought to a climax when Joel releases deep inside you, and you feel yourself contract around him as a third orgasm pulses through you. Your cunt swollen, aching, you almost don’t feel it, but for the way your legs give as soon as he stills inside you.

He’s groaning, borderline fucking whining, before he draws out of you and slumps down beside you on the floor. You’re both staring at one another, almost afraid to touch each other – as if you’re made of glass. Fragile. Breakable.

Yeah. You’re his. And he fucks you like you’re his, like your only purpose is to relieve his stress, tire out his anger, but then…then he looks at you like this, the sunlight twinkling in his warm eyes, dust falling over him like snow. Then he shifts the hair from your face so he can take a proper look at you, study every detail on your face – the cracks in your lips, the curve of your nose. And you know you’re so much more than that to him.

Always have been. Always will be.

You lean over and run your fingers across his cheek, dried blood the color of wine all over your hands. Joel lies still, places a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb when it touches his lips. Your nails sift through his beard. His eyes close over, laying in the comfortable stillness as you trace his face, delicately drawing from his dark brows down to the patches of skin between the graying hair on his jawline.

He doesn’t move when you push yourself up and roll over onto his chest. Doesn’t flinch when you press your mouth to his neck, running from the bottom of his ear up to the tip of his chin.

And when you bring your lips up to meet his, he kisses you back.

His hand sneaks through your hair to the crown of your head and he sits up, rolling you onto your back and caging you underneath him, teeth grazing along your bottom lip, asking it to part. His tongue slips inside, wet and warm and comforting against yours. Your fingers lace at the back of his head, your own cradled in his hands on the hardwood.

It’s like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding off on doing this, for whatever reason. And now that you’ve been the one to open the floodgates – fucking, destroy them – everything comes rushing to the surface. Every time he wanted to, and didn’t. Every time he was buried inside you, and purposefully held his jaw apart from yours. Every minute he’s spent since he met you, without his lips on yours. It all comes rocketing up.

And before it gets too heated, before he begins winding that coil again, he’s pulling away. Lips leaving yours, noses bumping together as they part. You smile, and Joel breathes a laugh for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

You glance down at his flannel: stained with dirt, with sweat, with blood. It brings you down a little from your sun-kissed, golden-rayed eutopia. You suck in a deep breath, and his finger hooks under your chin to lift your face to his.

“Should get that leg covered.”

You nod, and he pulls up off of you, letting you sit up. He wanders around the room, checking the backpacks of Nico and his guys, and pulls some gauze and a bottle of alcohol from a side pocket.

He kneels slowly by your side, offers you the white pad. You shake your head. He has to do it. You don’t know why, don’t know what’s stopping you from wrapping your own wound – something you’ve done hundreds of times by now. But it has to be Joel.

He tips the bottle over the dressing, dousing it in alcohol, and settles it carefully on the floor by your hip. You look at one another, a Ready? and a No, but do it anyway pass across your gaze.

The clear fluid seeps from the pad down his hands, thinning the bloodstains and dragging them in light orange streaks down to his wrist. And when your eyes are distracted, watching the stream of blood and alcohol, he presses the gauze to your thigh.

“Fuck – you,” you stammer, eyes screwing tight enough that you see stars.

“I know,” Joel breathes, and pushes the gauze down harder. Firmer. It shoots heat up your leg, flashes the image of that plank of wood named Tucker who stabbed you across your mind. Your teeth grit, the tendons in your neck leap.

Still holding the pad to your skin, Joel winds a dressing around your thigh. He knots it, gives it a little tug, and then sits back on his heels.

“Okay?”

You tilt your head, lift your eyebrows in form of a Yeah. A half-truth – it feels better to have it covered, but fuck is it stinging. You lift a roll of spare bandage and wrap your wrists.

Joel nods, and then passes you your jeans.

“We should go,” he tells you. Then, softer, kinder, “Gotta go back to the pharmacy. Still supplies in the…”

You push yourself to your feet, unable to listen to the end of his sentence. Ghost was carrying most of your food. The map is still in her saddlebag. Ammo, too. The thought of seeing her again turns your stomach, and Joel seems to figure.

“Why don’t you head out back, go get Jet? I’ll grab everything.”

You stare down at him. Your head shakes before words filter through it. You don’t want to be apart from him again. Not today, at least.

He seems to figure that, too. He nods once, then stands with a low grunt. He fixes his jeans, shrugs his jacket back over his shoulders, and his hand finds the nape of your neck again. He pulls you nearer him, your lips brush against the shoulder of his jacket, and then you split, grabbing your supplies and searching the room for any that these assholes might’ve left to you.

When your pockets are full, you limp at Joel’s heels down the stairs and outside, glancing down the street. The silhouette of a horse slowly meanders back over to you, head bobbing, hooves clicking across the asphalt. Show’s over.

Joel stops and waits for her to approach, lets you bury your face into her strong body when she reaches you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against her muzzle, your forehead between her glossy eyes, and hope the message finds a way through flesh and bone – strong enough and sincere enough to push its way through your skull to hers. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Joel’s hand leaves your back and he walks slowly over to the pharmacy.

Your hands run over Jet’s soft mane, combing her gently, reassuring her as if she’s the one covered in blood, bruised and pained. You hook a finger around her bridle and follow Joel.

As you slowly approach, he’s emerging from the shadows of the pharmacy, a backpack in each hand. He reaches the same curb you were stood on less than an hour ago, and looks up to check on you. Your stomach lurches, glancing down to his boots.

There she is. Black coat shining, chest not moving. Legs splayed out on the road. Pool of blood around her velvety soft ears. She seemed so lean, so fit and graceful when she was on all fours. Now, lying in a heap in the shade of some barren street, she looks huge and clumsy. It makes your eyes swell with tears.

You shift with Jet, turning her to avert her gaze. It’s stupid; she’s a horse. How would she know what’s going on? But then, the way she’s breathing – soft, quiet. It’s like – it’s like she fucking knows.

Joel does it gently – kneels beside Ghost, searches in each pocket for your belongings. He knows your eyes are on him. He pulls a box of bullets and the folded-up map from the bag, slips them into his jacket pocket. Collects the tins of soup and canned fruit in one hand, standing to roll them into Jet’s bag.

He turns to you. “You got your switchblade?”

You nod, and he holds his hand out. You drop the heavy knife into his palm, and he bends back down to Ghost’s side.

He uses your blade to cut the bridle by the corner of her mouth, slicing through the leather running from the bit up to the headpiece. Then pulls it apart, a single strap with a tiny buckle still attached, a silver hoop at one end.

He reaches for your backpack, drags it across the rough ground, and knots one of the canvas ties through the silver hoop of Ghost’s bridle. Triple knots it, to make sure it won’t budge. And then he leans back, surveys his handiwork, and turns to gain your approval.

You can’t do much more than nod, tears dappling down your raw cheeks.

When he’s sure he’s got everything, Joel passes you your backpack, slings his on, and then kneels by her side one last time. He places a gentle palm on her head, runs his hand down her muzzle. Sniffs.

A thank-you, you think. A Farewell, brave girl.

He stands again, turns back to you. Waits for you to decide it’s time to move on.

“I can’t do it…” you whisper, and Joel nods, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to leave her.”

And then you’re sobbing, and he’s taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you into his arms, and your cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. You wrap yourself close around him, bury deeper into his chest, and Joel tightens his grip. The steady beat of his heart pulls you back down, grounds you. You match your breathing with his and pull away.

You approach Ghost shakily, then crouch, fix her mane out of her eyes, scratch her silky ears one last time, and let her go.

Joel’s face is tight when you turn back. Eyebrows low. You bite the inside of your cheek as you pass him, and then hoist yourself up onto the brown horse’s back.

He pulls himself up in front and leans back into you, head cocked to wait for your signal. You snake your arms around his waist and feel a delicate hand rest on top of yours, interlaced on his belt buckle. His thumb traces your knuckles, and when you lean your ear between his shoulder blades, he clicks to Jet.

The horse swerves off, beginning your long journey out of the city.

----------

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